#❪ ⊱ — ❛ she keeps her best sunrises in her pocket. ❜ ┊EDITS.

[deadboyfriendd]

Tequila Sunrise, I Waited For You

In the time that Steve Harrington had lived in San Diego, he had been married to the sea. He admonished the curls of the tide as he did the curves of the body of a woman who he would never come to know. He ran his hands across the polished oak of the helm as he would her waist. He let the salt kiss his face as lips would map roads unseen across the expanse of him. The sea loved him in ways a woman couldn’t, and, god, he would never admit that to a soul. 

As he stepped off the port, he tried to fight the heaviness of his body, the way in which the land did not rock him back and forth as the sea had. He did not feel weightless now, the world could reach him here, feasible and attainable where he wanted to be neither. 

He sighed as he set forth, the sun now nearing a point of beating as the pinks of sunrise had faded to blue and the beaches swarmed with tourists and locals alike. Steve hated the beach. He hated the sand and the way it stuck to him. Hated the people and their brashness and screaming children. He hated the way the water was too harsh and too cold as it rushed over his legs, slimy bubble kelp holding unknown dangers catching on his legs and threatening to drown him. He knew the sea, knew what she had to offer, and the beach had to have been the shittiest part of the whole thing. But he knew; he thought of it like a secret between them. Just a little further, past the tide as it broke over sand. She danced for him, stilled for him, and he would watch her for hours. 

Over again, as if he were trying to fight the thought of the sea from his head, he ran over his list of non-boat, non-sea things he actually needed to do today. Maybe shave. Probably shower. Check his PO Box. He repeated this list again and again in different variants, striking things off as he swung the metal door of the mailbox open and–

Ho-lee Shit. 

When Steve had let last week's edition of The Early Bird take him for all of his pocket change and probably at least a day’s lunch, he didn’t expect anything to come of it much less a response– from a real girl. He turned this page over and over again between his fingers, feeling the grain of the paper against his skin like it had been something much, much more valuable than something that had been torn out of a notebook in haste. 

He read it again, just to make sure he was still able to read:

Hello tall, dark, and handsome. 

I am writing in response to your ad in the personal columns of The Early Bird from the Sunday, June 27th edition. Three years ago, my heart was broken by another tall, dark, and handsome type. I read that the ocean heals, so I traded my land legs for sea, and now I seek a captain to guide me to smoother waters. 

 I will spare the formalities. I am not into hiking or health food. I live a life of comfort and leisure. I eat when I am hungry and drink when I am thirsty. I like to live my life in good company between work days, and you seem like the company I’d like to keep.

I am particularly fond of getting caught in the rain– when it happens, that is. I hail from the desert southwest, and I thrive on sunshine and sand. I live quietly. I like to read and paint. I keep houseplants. I am nobody’s poet, but I’m into champagne. 

I want to meet you. I want to cut through all of this red tape. 

It is true, I like pina coladas, though I prefer a tequila sunrise at the best of times. The Pisces bar on Mission and El Camino De Playa conveniently has both. Meet me there at tomorrow, noon. 

Sincerely, 

Tequila Sunrise

Box 1751.

He couldn’t help the smile on his face, the way it pulled against his skin on invisible strings. 

You’ve still got game, Harrington. You’ve still got game. 

He ran a hand over his head, fingers tangling against the grain of sea-salt-kissed waves, smoothing over the scruff of his jaw as he read it again, just to be sure. The Pisces Bar. Noon. Mission and El Camino De Playa. 

Pisces Bar. Noon. Mission and El Camino De Playa. Tequila Sunrise. Pina Colada. Definitely shave. God, you smell like tuna. Please shower. What the hell do you wear to The Pisces Bar?

He shook the thoughts from his head as quickly as they circled through, looking at the run-of-the-mill analog clock ticking away the precious time he should have been using to get dressed. And, yet, he strolled along, back to that penthouse apartment that he didn’t have nearly enough money for, and wondered who this Tequila Sunrise was. Who you were.  

He strides into the penthouse, unusually happy, with a bounce in his walk and a certain smugness that Robin can only discern as– 

“Holy shit.” She asks with wide eyes, both shocked and appalled by the news that she knows she’s about to receive, “Did you actually swindle some poor girl into writing back?” 

She snatches the letter from between his two fingers, her lips mouthing words of a yacht rock sonnet over rapid rolodex words on notebook paper. And then she says nothing, staring at him in disbelief, because how in the hell did her live-in idiot manage to pull this one off?  

“Like flies to honey, Robin.” He said to her over his shoulder, sauntering into the bathroom where steam already rolled through the doors in a fog, “Like flies to honey.” 

+

There was no writing to be had on Saturdays. No copy editing. No typing. You had the gift of time and god was it ticking slowly. You counted the hairs on your head it was moving so slowly, and smoothed them back down into the mass of curls that moved across your back as a unit. 

You had evaluated your outfit, put it under a firing squad. It was too nice for The Pisces Bar, but had it been too nice for Pina Colada? You shook your head, peeling the dress off of your body like a second skin, the weight of it already sticking to you in the sweltering June air of La Jolla Cove. Shorts were inoffensive. Denim was never out of style, and nothing about them was too formal or too commandeering. You nodded. Test passed. Good enough for The Pisces Bar and good enough for Pina Colada– whoever he was. 

You paced your room topless for several minutes, threatening yourself with leaving your house as you existed in this moment. Stupid. Clothes lay strung about your room in a flurry, and you slipped against a shirt that had been left along the hardwood, feigning it as a sign from the universe to just shut up and put it on. White linen, button fronts, oversized. It didn’t cling to your skin, and that much was enough. The fact that the stark whiteness of it made you look like you got enough sun was an added perk.  

11:00. Enough for a walk and yet not nearly enough time. The cliffside streets of La Jolla Cove buzzed with people, they always had. Tourists in shorts and hoodies despite the warm temperatures and residents sporting this season’s stretchiest athleisure as they strolled in the mid-day sun. 

You wondered if Pina Colada man was among them, if he had a blinding smile or waves of lustrous golden hair. You shook your head, laughing at your romantasy-born delusions. Pina Colada man was, more than likely, just some guy. The same resident of San Diego clad in board-short armor and fresh off of a charter boat steed. Yeah. That was right. Just some guy. You clung to that thought, the nonchalance of it all easing the nerves you felt as your feet hit the sand-covered patio. 

The Pisces Bar was a dump, its redeeming quality the fact that it was on the beach. However, it was your dump, and you would claim this in its entirety before you owned up to the dumpiness of it all. It had its charms, a washy, acoustic song reverberating off of the sea-washed wood of the walls, chili pepper lights casting a waxy sheen over the bartop. Homey, if that home had been a dump. 

However, you frequented this place often enough to where the waitress could identify both you and your order. Tequila Sunrise. Side of fries on a good day, and, seeing as it was noon on a Saturday, the fries were a must– malt vinegar and ketchup waiting to be served against a beautifully salted vessel. Your own personal idea of Heaven. You slid into your corner table like you owned it, even if it was only a half-truth. 

It was a halfway busy day, the people coming in and out resonating a low hum that served as a harmony to the tenor of whatever melody was playing over the speakers in this place. Clinking glasses and the occasional laughter of percussion you tuned yourself into as you watched. You did not know what Pina Colada looked like, though, you’d figured you would know when you saw him– or that he would be an absolute nutcase and start asking for a woman by the name of Tequila Sunrise. 

11:55 and a wash of sun-golden hair, and horrendously, devastatingly all-too-familiar. San Diego had done him well, better than the harshness of Arizona ever had. You would be lying to yourself entirely if you said he wasn’t still beautiful, hair falling in waves around his face like a halo, the coarse hair of his chest still prevalent against the ASU-patterned Hawaiian shirt he was clad in. You’d also be lying to yourself if you didn’t think you could still love him, but you wouldn’t, and your own shame would make Pina Colada man have to wait for you. 

The glass would stay half empty on your table, and your fries would have to go soggy because you could not still love Steve Harrington, no matter how much you wanted to– and you could not expect yourself to sit here, on a date with a man that you had written to from a personal ad, and act like he was not a mere few feet from you. 

This whole thing was stupid, you were stupid. 

The wind on your face was a sting now as you crossed the threshold from wood to concrete to sand in a desperate attempt to put miles between you and The Pisces Bar– between you and Steve. As you feet hit pavement, step after step in an aching speedwalk back to the sanctity of your home, you drafted the letter in your head. An apology, and excuse. Anything, was better than this. 

+

This place was a dump, but at least they played good music. 

11:55, entirely too early to be drinking if it was any day other than Saturday. Nevertheless, Steve pushes himself into a barstool and quietly ordered two drinks. One tequila sunrise. One pina colada. He takes a look around the bar, now only a few beachgoers paintently sitting around. 

He wonders who you are, what you look like. He wonders the color of your hair, those weird, nuances that make you human. He thinks about your defining features, and, at every new noise, he wonders if its you. 

12:00, he feels strangely human now, settled here into the air of The Pisces bar. He sips slowly at his drink, wiping the sweat that has started to bead against yours. Maybe he had been too eager. Maybe he should have waited to order your drink. 

He distracts himself from these thoughts by thinking instead about the life you’d live. Would you join him on the boat while he worked? Would you help him pull fish from the water and prepare dinner with the catch? Would he leave the penthouse? Oh god what would Robin think of you? 

Steve sat, pineapple and coconut sweet on his tongue, but not nearly as sweet as the memories he formulated in his brain, of the next ten years of his life.  

12:05, fashionably late. No big deal. Girls did that sometimes. Maybe you changed your outfit, maybe you got stuck in traffic or ran into a colleague and got stuck in conversation. Maybe you were just like that, always five minutes behind. He could find it in his heart to forgive you all too easily. 

He thinks of you on the sea, an entity he has yet to know with hair blowing in the wind, the sea kissing you in the same way it kisses him. He liked the idea of sharing that with someone– likes the idea of sharing that with you. 

12:15, maybe you’re waiting for him. He looks around the bar, looks for a girl that looks like a tequila sunrise. Maybe you’re shy, or maybe you don’t know who you’re looking for, He takes a look around, pairs of men and women, clearly so. No lone woman in sight. No Tequila Sunrise. Half of a pina colada. 

The casamigos filling his drink should taste an awful lot like To Her Casa Me Go, but now, it just tastes like a settling sadness. Sweet, coconutty sadness. 

12:30, he’s panicking. 

Dew falls from the glass as the tequila sunrise remains untouched and lukewarm, just as the sweat drips from his forehead at the thought of being stoof up. He tries not to make eyecontact with the bartender, he doesn’t want that stupid sympathetic look. He looks for you, he searches for you. He doesn’t even know who you are, and yet, the sting of the rejection hurts all the same. 

12:45, and Steve hated the beach. 

He hated the sand and the way it stuck to him. Hated the people and their brashness and screaming children. He hated the way the water was too harsh and too cold as it rushed over his legs, slimy bubble kelp holding unknown dangers catching on his legs and threatening to drown him.

And now he hates it because of you. He hates the way he should be holding your hand and walking in the pools that form in the water. He hates the way that the chatter of the beachegoers hasn’t been drowned out by the sound of him falling in love. And he especially hates the way it harbors his heartbreak like a boat anchored to the dock. 

He didn’t want to go back to the penthouse. He didn’t want to face Robin right now. He couldn’t decide which would be worse: the unrelenting teasing, or the look of sympathy that Steve was alone again. Adrift at sea, stranded on a desert island. Lonesometown. 

So instead, he drafts is letter, written in stolen Pisces Bar pen against a paper placemat. 

Tequila sunrise, I waited for you

I thought about you for the better part of an hour. I thought about your hair, and how it would look in the wind. I thought about what it would feel like. 

I thought about you sitting on the boat while I worked, I thought about your folded against the seats, with a book in hand. I thought about the way you’d beg me for those days. I never would have told you no.

I have never told anyone this. But I am in love with the sea, though, we have a complicated relationship. She never speaks back with me in the way I speak to her. She never tells me her secrets and she can never stay for as long as I want her to. I know you would have loved me better. 

Tequila Sunrise, I would have loved you. 

Sincerely,

Pina Colada. 

[peakyblindersxx]

whiskey business - john shelby x reader (part 8 of ?)

gif by @thesoldiersminute can i send you a cake or something cause fuCk!!!!!!!!!!! he's beautiful

a/n: to everyone still reading this fic, my sweet angels, ily!! this fic is so near and dear to my heart and @stxdyblr-2k has just done such an amazing job with it i can't even thank her enough. as per the last part, this one is also mostly her, just me editing but i hope you guys love it as much as i did!!! don't worry, there's gonna be a lot more :) and i apologize for being not as active, i'm gonna try to get a couple of requests up that i'm really excited about this week tysm for being patient with me <3

love, abi xxx

read part one two three four five six seven | my masterlist

prompt: ada has some talking to do, and you're not about to deny her.

warnings: fluff, semi-angst, tommy being the cocky mf he is (let's be real, it's only acceptable cause he's so damn fine), john being cute and in love and jesus i am head over heels

tagging: @datewithgianni, @mayaslifeinabox, @deepdonutkid, @springsoulofengland, @lilymurphy03, @operation-spot

You had planned to go to Ada's after work, but she obviously had other ideas. She didn't even bother walking in and asking to speak to you; instead, choosing to bang on the window closest to your desk and yelling at you to "fucking hurry up!" Your boss opened the door for you expectantly, not offering you any protection; he was firmly in the Shelby's ever growing pocket and as long as he could go home to his children, his sickly wife and their six bed in the country, with a full time nurse and nanny, he had no interest in crossing Thomas.

"Ada, I was coming to see you after work, I swear."

"I know. I was going to let you but..." She trailed off. "We need to talk. I don't know what the fuck is going on with you. John said he'd seen you last night and you asked after me."

John had indeed seen you last night. It was strange waking up with him, used to leaving almost immediately after he was finished with you. Your small bed could barely comfortably fit you both, having to intertwine your limbs with John's to not fall off the edge. You had awoken to John pressing a kiss to your forehead before lazily trailing his fingers between your legs, waiting for you to open your eyes before settling between your thighs, tongue swirling around your clit, making you cum before sunrise.

"Do we have to do this in the street?" You practically begged, the shouting having attracted onlookers.

"I wanted to talk to you before anyone else in the family gets to you because I need you to be honest."

"Ada-"

"No, I'm doing you a favour here, so you fucking listen. Right now, between you and I, no bullshit. No tactics. No white lies. You have to tell me exactly what we're dealing with." She looked frantic, scared for some reason.

You nodded, walking her down the side street, careful not to link arms with her. You knew she was doing you a favour; this wasn't about forgiveness or friendship, much more was at stake here.

"To what extent was Thomas involved?"

That took you off guard. Ada read the confusion on your face and sighed impatiently, her subtle plea for you to keep up.

Shit. You remembered your conversation with John, how she thought this was her brother's way of pushing her out of the company.

"Don't spare my feelings. What did my brother say to you?"

"He said it was in our mutual interest that you didn't find out. He didn't care who John slept with but cared who you trusted so I had to trust him. He said there was no point in upsetting you over one of John's conquests who he'd tire of in a month."

"That all?"

"Pretty much, I didn't know Arthur knew. He never talked to me about it, did laugh at Thomas' digs now that I think on it-"

"Did you know Isaiah and Michael knew?"

"I thought they were aware but no one ever talked to me about it."

"Of course they wouldn't." She hissed, frustration causing a nerve on her neck to jump.

Ada and you had spoken for years about the rampant misogyny of her brothers and any men you two came into contact with. Although you were both far more reserved than you used to be as rebellious and adventurous thirteen year olds, you'd both grew increasingly angry at how you were treated. She'd long written off her brothers as womanisers, who saw women as purely sexual and entertaining, objectifying them. You both long despised how they dehumanised women. She was amazed that Thomas had attempted to settle down and managed a somewhat loving marriage, but resented him for his carelessness and need for power which inevitably killed his wife.

"Ada, I just want to say..." You licked your lip nervously, unsure of how to continue.

"You need to talk, Y/N. No bollocks."

"Before last night, he'd never been to mine or called. I always went to him."

The muscle in her jaw tensed.

"You slept with him last night then?" You met her question with silence and she rolled her eyes. "The second he said he saw you I knew you had, he wanted to tell me that he was going to continue seeing you and that he hoped I'd be able to accept it one day."

"We never intended to hurt you. It was meant to be fun at first, but now..." You cut yourself off with a sigh, unable to admit you'd fallen for her brother.

"Isn't fun for me. It's fucking embarrassing." She paused, lighting a cigarette, nervous to offer you one, conflicted within herself. She raised her eyebrow, prompting you to continue, the mannerism so similar to her brother’s.

"It should never have happened. I am never going to be able to fix this, I'm so fucking ashamed for doing this to you, Ada."

She sulked, silently drinking in your words.

"Obviously it's not going to be the same, yeah? I'm really fucking upset. I'm so fucked off with you but Poll's really worried about a coup. She thinks you're being used as blackmail against John to keep him on side with Tommy while he expands."

"Makes sense."

"You're part of a much bigger game, you know?"

You nodded. "Yeah, and I knew I would lose from the start. Fucking tragic, Ada."

"My brothers keep pushing, keep growing the business. They keep chasing this prize but I don't think it even exists."

"If it does, it isn't worth it if this shit is the cost. I didn't mean to play into his hands."

"You couldn't have known." She said with a shrug, " 'Siah thinks John loves you."

"He told me last night." Several times, this morning also. You would never tire of hearing him moan those words into your neck or being yelled from your front door as he left for the office.

"You love him, don't you?" She said bluntly, a statement more than a question, your face suddenly hot with embarrassment.

Everything you'd suppressed for months, everything that you'd hidden, every time you lied smiling, every knowing glance from a stranger, every degrading comment from under Thomas' breath.

"I do, an awful lot."

She pauses, relighting her cigarette, "The worst thing about the entire situation is it could've been fine if someone told me. I wouldn't have loved it, obviously, but-" Ada sighed, rubbing her temple with her free fingers.

"I thought you'd hate me."

"How could I? I'd be more angry that you'd drop your standards for my brother. Seriously? Him? Mate…."

"Come off it, I've always thought he was charming. He's funny, smart-"

"Don't gush over my brother, it's grim. I'm just so fucked off you all lied to me." She peered at you through her cigarette smoke. "If you love him and he loves you..." she pressed her lips together as she tensed her jaw, "I could get over it. If it'd make you both happy. But that's going to take a long time. A long time."

"Ada-"

"Look I have meetings and shit to sort, I have to run." She interjected, checking her wristwatch, adjusting the cap which sat atop her trendy short haircut. You caught her arm before she could turn away.

"Thank you. For understanding."

She shrugged you off, "I don't get it, I'd never do that to you. But you also don't get to choose who you're attracted to. I'm really hurt, but I do love you and John a lot. He mentioned that after last night you helped him, got him cleaned up. I have to believe that you both do love each other. So I have to believe that this is a good idea for you both and not stand in your way."

"I love you, Ada. Can we hang out soon, just us two?"

She shook her head. "I need some time, I'll be in touch, yeah?"

You nod, stretching out your pinky finger. She sighed and linked it with hers, as you'd done since you were children, a silent signal to each other after a fight that you still had the other's back.

"Right, I've got to get back to this meeting, Tom is getting done by Polly for nearly getting John killed. I need to be there in case one of the lads needs patching up."

"Your aunt has a nasty left hook, I'll give her that."

"She'll be pleased you think so, she wanted Tommy to slice you to bits for crossing me."

"Fuck’s sake, thanks for the warning, I'll keep my head down. Good luck with the meeting."

Ada nodded and you watched her walk away, a Blinder suddenly appearing by her side seemingly from nowhere. This city was crawling with them. They clambered into Ada's car as you watched the car disappear into the distance before walking back to work. Thankfully, with your head still attached to your shoulders.

*******

Ada arrived at Thomas' estate, following the swell of shouting voices to his exquisite library. It was eye roll worthy and typical Tommy to choose the location of his post-fuckup debrief to be where he had the best view of the gardens, river and rolling hills. She could bet he'd sit in a corner and stare at the view, zoning out their aunt's lecture.

An armed blinder she vaguely recognised opened the door. Thomas was making a statement today with the armed guards, she noted. Her brothers really were fucked up. Arthur was an alcoholic killer who couldn't understand that Thomas would betray them all eventually, Finn was letting the tokyo and the razor chasers that circled him distract him from keeping the family together, John was apparently in love with her best friend, and finally, Thomas nearly got Arthur and John murdered last night with his foolishness. At this point only herself and Polly were holding everyone together, keeping everything silently moving along.

The door opened, and she was the last to arrive, Polly glaring as she murmured an apology, standing next to Finn. His eyes were bloodshot, grey-purple smudges under his eyes, he'd obviously had a heavy night. The last thing the poor lad needed was Polly's shrill yelling and the blinding sun streaming through the large immaculately crafted windows, which he'd tried to block with the brim of his cap. John caught her eye, acknowledging his sister with a nod, which she returned with a small tight smile.

Ada couldn't bear to think about the reasoning behind her brother's smug interjections in between Polly's rant to Thomas who was listening wordlessly, smoking.

Y/N and John? It didn't make sense. They had a similar sense of humour, sure, but she was far too intelligent for him. He also had a swarm of children, while Y/N preferred a wild night out only staggering home at daybreak.

It made far more sense for Y/N to end up with Michael, or if it had to be a brother, Finn. They were younger, so had less responsibilities and commitments so they could keep up with her. But John? Of course she knew he was believed to be the Casanova of her brothers, he was kind, he was an excellent father, yet he could never keep anyone around long, usually John was chasing someone new after a month or so. That's why the revelation that John had been involved with her best friend for almost half a year had taken her completely by surprise. Maybe that was why she was open to them being together. That had to be it. This relationship was completely out of character for John; she needed to believe that he was serious about his feelings towards Y/N and wasn't going to fuck her over. Because if he did, John would be a dead man.

"I don't know why you're all bleating at me. Yeah, I overlooked some details in the planning of last night's meeting-"

"Such as warning us that they were really fucked off because you'd helped bomb their warehouse." John pointed out.

"What do you want me to do? Apologise? Grow up, John." Tommy snapped back.

"They had loaded guns against their heads, they deserve an apology." Ada interjected, John giving her an appreciative flash of smile. She did love her big brother. Despite the fact that she'd pretty much only been yelling at him for the past month, John never dismissed her feelings and only apologised. It was confusing to admit to herself, but when Isaiah told her that he was confident John loved Y/N, she felt a wave of relief. At least he cared about her; it was the bare minimum but the Shelbys were notorious for not even meeting the bare minimum for acceptable social interactions.

"They didn't fuckin’ get shot." Thomas stated, his voice matter of fact and condescending.

"Do you ever hear yourself speak?" Polly spit back at him. "They didn't get shot this time. But it was too fucking close."

"It won't happen again, Polly." Tommy sighed. "What else can I say? Sorry lads, take the weekend off?"

"It's a good start." Arthur countered, "You're also paying for the extension on my house and my wedding."

"Fuck’s sake Arthur I was joking. But fine. Sure."

"You can't buy your family off." Polly scoffed at him.

"Think of it as compensation, a settlement." Thomas coolly corrected his aunt. "What do you want, John? A fucking farm?"

John hesitates while Finn whispered suggestions to him, Ada meeting his stare, John raising a brow to her in question. She sighed and nodded her approval.

"You can pay off my mortgage Tom, give me the kids' birthdays off-"

"So you'd never come into work then?" Finn cut in, Ada elbowing him in the ribs. She usually enjoyed Finn's remarks but she knew where John was heading; she could barely breathe.

"Tom, you're also to leave Y/N completely alone. If you have a problem with her, you come to me about it." He said firmly.

Arthur and Tommy traded knowing looks, obviously more aware of the ins and outs of his relationship than Ada was.

"Also if you're paying for Arthur's wedding I want the equivalent in cash." He adds.

Tommy shrugged. "Whatever. As long as we can move past last night and focus on today's order of business."

John nodded, satisfied. He knew Tom wouldn't care, but just saying out loud that he was involved with Y/N and having his family aware was a relief. He hadn't realised until he finally admitted how stressful keeping his relationship a secret was. Now, he could stop worrying about Tommy interfering.

Polly rolled her eyes, lecturing the brothers on their lack of moral backbone to allow themselves to be bought off, but dismissed them. She caught Ada's arm in hers on their way out, pulling her far from earshot.

"So Y/N and John are together now?" She asked, her face firm and scowling.

"Polls, I talked with her, she's aware of what she's done. She apologised and meant it. What more can I ask for?"

"Her not to have fucked him in the first place."

"She said that. Look, Polls, they're happy right? John seems happy-"

"He always is when he gets a leg over."

"You know she looked after him last night? Fixed him up after the meeting."

"Meeting? It was a fucking set up." Polly hissed but her face had softened. "She cleaned him up?"

"Antiseptic, bandages and all."

Polly looked subtly impressed, although she'd never admit it. "He went to hers? Not yours?"

"He wanted to talk to her." Ada shrugs, "I saw her this morning and-"

"What do you mean? You bumped into her?"

"I went to her work." Ada admitted, her aunt shooting her an exasperated glare.

"Why do I bother? Nobody listens to me."

"I had to talk to her, I'm glad I did. She reckons she loves him, he told her last night that he loves her, so..."

"We are talking about John? Our John?"

"I know Polls, I'm as amazed as you."

Her aunt huffed, unimpressed. "Are you okay with it though?"

"I guess, I just want them to be happy. I've told them to give me time with it."

"She was a good friend growing up, but people change, sometimes for the better, often for the worse."

"Poll, it's Y/N; she's my best friend. At the end of the day, we'd do anything for each other."

"Sweet Ada, you're going to be so miserable if you keep letting people walk all over you." Polly said wisely, kissing her goodbye affectionately. "I hope you're right. If she makes you cry again I'll kill her myself."

"Thanks, Polls."

She knew her aunt wasn't joking.

[bittcrglory]

TASK 003: FACT OF BEING ( * EVENT 002, THE LAND OF TELLUS !

 i rise like the sun above olive trees, like the moon above date palms

where there is light, i shall be --------- where this is darkness, there is none of me.

                                                 i rise like the moon above date palms. i am counted as one among STARS. 

GENERAL ; 

NAME.  idana  ❛ ida ❜ stokli. AGE.  twenty four. ALLEGIANCE.  house of arvum. OCCUPATION.  clothier. MARITAL STATUS.  unmarried. FACECLAIM.  beste kökdemir. 

THE STORY ; 

 from an age of eight idana had the skills with a thread, he had a good hand at making PRETTY THINGS & hiding seams ; if anybody could turn silk into GOLD like tales told, idana would be your best bet.  ( or -- she could do the next best thing: she did some nice things with velvet ! ) she was a pleasant child, one that always did her chores, one that always found light in the world around her. even when parents pass when she’s too YOUNG to understand, even when that absence finally hits within her chest. she could always find the brighter sides for the people of arvum. she’s third born in the stokli bunch, most importantly? the first daughter. with that title comes the pressure of a fate to marry off, if she was fortunate enough she’d find love, but love didn’t put food on the table -- love wouldn’t support her family. she’s pushed into society young with the intentions of finding suitors & with that blossoms her strong gregarious trait, the ability to be the pillar for others like her older brothers were to her. she knows her responsibility, to do what a woman is supposed to: be a wife, care for a home, bear children, and while the idea of husbands, sons & daughters is seen as a DREAM in idana’s eyes? it slips more & more from her fingertips as the years pass, and more & more as other ideas settle in it’s place.  

making pretty things is what she does best, therefor it’s what takes up most of her time, as older siblings form their own lives, it’s eventually her time to step out into the world that had pulled the wool over the young girls eyes. it’s the title of clothier that she adopts. at seventeen she’s an apprentice for a clothier in arvum, an elderly widowed woman with no children ; evalee goulde is nice, she pays idana extra under the table & even gives her a place to stay. eventually the woman sees idana more like a daughter than a worker, and it’s easier to get idana to go out to get customers with her uplifting persona ( she’s a likable person ; people seem to be more eager to hand over coin to a pretty, sweet girl compared to a scowling old woman. evalee had the reputation to be rather aggressive to her customers. )  idana is twenty three when evalee passes after a struggle with sickness. a woman with no husband and no sons? well, her possessions are fair game, including her home & business --- idana’s home & work. idana is only a woman, and without that income? it’s a harsh fate. she panics, plans form, and with the help of another she manages to keep her place securely with a web of lies. as far as anyone is concerned, she works for the son of the old woman that passed, and that’s fine by her ------ the risk of living on the streets outweighs the risk of getting caught stealing possession that aren’t hers.

WANTED PLOTS ; 

( * FOR YOUR TROUBLES. ❜ ---- ( well, basically the man that helped idana keep her store. he would have acted like the son of evalee goulde so idana would still be able to work & live comfortable. idana would have also offered something in return??? and this would also include idana giving you half the wage each week to keep you happy & quiet. ( OPEN !

( * WARM YOURSELF AGAINST MY HEART. ❜ ---- ( basically just a friend?? a best friend?? someone who is there for her when she needs it and visa versa ! v cute, 10/10 rec for cuteness. ( OPEN !  

( * STOLEN INNOCENCE. ❜ ---- ( uh. .  . this is very much a jack sparrow/angelica type plot ( basically someone who stole her innocence and left her poor heart broken :-((( fuk me up fam ) because lets face it, idana falls too quickly & forgets to think about the consequences, and we all know how #controversial a woman’s rep was back in these ol’ days. this could go either way, either young love or more of a blackmail thing?? i’m not sayin’ ruin her but. . .ruin her. ( OPEN ! 

( * A GIRL’S BEST FRIEND IS A PRETTY DRESS. ❜ ---- ( idana makes stuff !! clothes !!! let her fawn over a girl & dress her up real pretty. gossiping included in price. ( OPEN !

( * A MAN’S BEST FRIEND IS A PRETTY DRESS HIS EGO. ❜ ---- ( just the male version of the previous ! let her stroke ur ego & make u look suave, boiS. ( OPEN !   

& anything else ! these are just suggestions, and i’m totally up for anything. love me.   

PLOTS ;   

allister le hugh --- tba !

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

We've Got Tonight - Ch 4

Summary: “It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

Inspired by Bob Seger’s “We’ve Got Tonight”

Warnings: Major Character Death, More Major Character Deaths (sort of?), higher than show level violence, blood, light smutting, language, demons, apocalypse, inferred suicide, cult activity.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This story is set hazily around season 8. Just squint a little, and it’ll settle in somewhere. I wrote this story after certain big revelations in the show, but before other big ones; you’ll most likely be able to tell which. I play with time a bit in the story itself, so if things seem out of order, they are. Hopefully, by the end, all the pieces will fit together.

What the hell, let’s give it a shot.

EXTRA WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS THE SOURCE OF MOST OF THE WARNINGS FOR THE STORY. Please don't kill me. THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER, I PROMISE. It's not over yet. I can't promise you won't hate me when it's over, but I will not leave you here. There's more.

Image and major edits by the incomparable @there-must-be-a-lock . Heavy editing and cheering by @thoughtslikeaminefield . Thank you both so much.

In case you missed it: Chapter 3 ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

...

We’ve Got Tonight

Ch 4

Pre-dawn is too damn cold, she decides. She has to visually check that her fingers are actually doing up the buttons to her ragged denim jacket. She lost sensation in her hands a while back, and it’s the only way to make sure they’re actually doing their job. Her jacket is utterly unsuitable for the current temperature, but she doesn’t expect to need it for much longer.

Just before sunrise, Crowley told her.

The sky is already lightening on the horizon, the medium gray more obvious than she would have thought against the stark black, but, then, she’s never had much occasion to be out quite this late before. She’s usually done at the diner by six, singing at the club by ten, and in bed by two at the latest. She hopes Crowley is punctual. She can’t decide if the waiting or the cold is worse.

Except that, yes, she really can. The waiting is definitely worse.

The sound of shifting gravel pulls her out of her thoughts, and she turns to find the King of Hell himself smiling beatifically at her. She shivers, not bothering to search out the source of her discomfort, as she is rather spoiled for choice at the moment. She’s out in the freezing dark, about to hand over her life and soul to a demon because deranged cultists got it into their heads that they should use her blood to start an apocalypse (and who knew there was more than one of those outside of Sunnydale, seriously).

Shivering is probably the most rational reaction she’s had in a while.

“Hello, darling. Pleasant evening with the boys?”

He’s got more sass in one off-the cuff remark than she has in her entire history, and for a moment she can only marvel at the affected innocence in his expression. It's almost convincing. She opts to remain silent rather than take his bait. He smirks, the expression natural and only a touch derisive.

“No surprises, then? No sidekicks to save you at the last minute from the bad, bad demon?”

“I thought the torture didn’t start until after you kill me,” she sighs, hugging her arms tighter around herself, a futile attempt to ward off the chill. Maybe she’s got a little spark in her, after all. He laughs, a friendly, personable chuckle that would set anyone else at ease, reassure them of his honorable, benign intentions.

“Come on, Crowley, what's the hold up? I was here on time. Can we just get this over with already? I could have gotten one more round in with Dean if we were just going to stand around, shootin’ the breeze.”

Even watching for it, she can only just see the tick in Crowley's jaw, the slightest tension that betrays...something. She doesn't know what or why, but Crowley has more than a little unhealthy obsession with the elder Winchester brother, and she is pleased she managed to crack his veneer even for the briefest moment.

At least I don't have to worry about Dean, Andy thinks, relief creeping into the sea of dread that is her stomach. Her deal with Crowley was not only about stopping the apocalypse but also keeping Sam and Dean and even Castiel safe.

“Once you're gone, I won’t harm a hair on their precious heads, nor any other part of them,” he swore to her a mere eighteen hours earlier.

“I’m hurt you don't find my company more pleasant, love,” he murmurs, taking a couple of steps closer. He slides his hands in his coat pockets, the very picture of nonchalance. “I do try my best to be cordial, even congenial, after all. But since you’re so very uncomfortable, I suppose you won't object, then, that I took the liberty of inviting a few friends whose company you seem to prefer. What a lovely party we’ll have when they get here.”

As if he’s summoned them, a pair of lights appear in the distance, growing larger with every passing moment. Headlights, she realizes; a second later, she hears the distinctive roaring of a very particular car engine, and before she can turn back to Crowley, the Impala leaps out of the darkness, skidding across the hard-packed dirt road, coming to a halt bare inches from the demon’s impeccably shined shoes.

Andy stumbles back, choking in the cloud of dust the car kicks up, only to hit something solid. Impossibly strong fingers dig into her chin, lifting her face out and away as cold, thin metal is pressed to the side of her neck, and only now does she freeze.

“Let her go, Crowley,” Dean growls, his gun drawn and aimed even before he exits the car. “This isn't her fight, and you know it!” On the other side, Sam and Castiel climb out, Sam drawing his gun and moving to flank the demon.

“I do heartily protest, sir,” Crowley says, his tone mild and conversational. The blade digs in ever so slightly under her ear, and a thin trickle of warmth slides down her skin to soak into her collar. Dean doesn't flinch, but his eyes narrow, and he readjusts his aim.

“Not only is the lady at the epicenter of this fight, she's gone and made herself the brightest star in the show. Ask her yourself, if you don’t believe me.”

“How-” she manages through fear-numbed vocal cords. Dean should be unconscious, snoring blissfully away in his bed where she left him. She made sure to leave no sort of trail they could follow, and she checked that they were all asleep or otherwise occupied before she took off.

“I wasn’t asleep, Andy,” Dean replies, leveling his gun at Crowley. “And I’ve been tracking since I was seven. Gimme some credit.”

“I wouldn't do that, if I were you, Moose.” Crowley’s words freeze Sam in his tracks, and the blade on Andy’s neck digs in a little deeper. The flow of warmth down her neck widens just a touch. The sheer smugness in Crowley’s tone sets her teeth on edge, breaking through her stupor, and she grabs the hand with the knife, pulling at it with all her might. She, of course, doesn’t make a dent in the demonic strength, but she’s got to try something.

If you asked her later, Andy would swear to you that the searing pain that drags along her neck parallel to her jaw line right then is pure Hellfire. Deep down in the darkest recesses of her mind where all the worst truths lurk, she knows she’s feeling the bite from Crowley’s knife, but in that instant all she is aware of is the agony of the wound, of Dean’s enraged roar, and the juxtaposition of Crowley’s gentle touch pressing her own fingers to something hot and slippery under her jaw.

“Hold pressure there, sweetheart, or you’ll bleed out too soon. Wouldn’t want you to miss the finale.”

Her knees buckle, and she drops, but somehow she stays upright long enough to see Crowley’s demons approach out of the darkness. She tries to warn the boys, but time moves with a dreamlike lethargy that betrays every one of her good intentions, and, anyway, her voice doesn’t seem to be working at the moment. The roar of gunfire all around her sounds faint in comparison to the rushing in her ears, and she is powerless to stop Crowley’s plans from reaching fruition.

“You...said...you wouldn’t...”

“Well, pet, you aren’t dead yet, are you? I’ve got, what, at least another three minutes before you snuff it, by my count. Plenty of time to conclude my business with the Winchesters and their featherbrained friend before you expire.”

Though he was right behind her only a moment ago, Crowley appears abruptly next to Castiel, who at the moment is distracted by two lesser demons both wielding machetes. She realizes as she watches Cas easily fend them off that they, just like Andy, are only a distraction, only bait to tempt the bigger players to overextend themselves.

Too late, she sees the perfection of Crowley’s plan. In all the confusion, she loses track of Sam, and she wrenches her eyes away from Dean’s staggering form only to watch as the angel blade in Crowley’s hand bursts through Castiel’s chest. Then her gentle, confused friend is gone in a flash. The demons vanish, and she can’t find Sam or Dean, can’t reach them, can’t make her voice work to call out.

The quiet is wrong, so out of place after the violent cacophony. The roaring is gone, the gunfire silenced, and all that’s left is a terrible wheezing, gurgling sound that takes her too long to recognize as her own labored breathing.

“Crow...ley…”

“I’m here, darling. What do you need?”

“Lying...bastard…”

“Now, now, sweetheart, are those really what you want your last words to be?” He lifts her easily from the ground, carrying her the few yards to where Dean lies sprawled in the dusty gravel. His shirt is stained black in the retreating darkness, and Andy can only be thankful that she won’t make it to sunrise to see what exact shade of red is spreading over him. Dean’s far hand scrabbles on the ground, stopping its frantic search only when it finds his brother’s.

Sam’s still form doesn’t return his brother’s grip.

“After all, I’ve done you a favor; I didn’t have to give you the opportunity to say good-bye. I can’t promise you adjoining cells, but I’m sure your torture will coincide with his occasionally,” Crowley continues conversationally, “so, really, the two of you should be thanking me that you’ll at least get occasional visiting privileges. It pays to be on good terms with the king, after all. And, who knows? After a couple hundred years of good behavior, I might even be persuaded to-”

“Why?” It’s all she can manage as he lays her on the ground. Dean reaches for her with his free hand, and she is just able to find his fingers. Their eyes meet, but her vision is blurring as breathing gets tougher, and she can’t see what he’s mouthing to her. Even his eyes, such a luminescent green only hours ago, are fading into the remaining dark of the night.

“The Winchesters, dear, it’s always been about the Winchesters. Oh, the fanatics and their doomsday ritual were real enough, as was your blood. I just simply took advantage of the situation, as any intelligent monarch would do. Settled things with the apocalypse groupies, rid myself of some major pains in my rear, and now I get you, to boot! I do love when a plan comes together.”

Dean’s fingers tighten in hers, and she tries to grip his back, but the harder she holds on, the less she can feel him.

She’s not really feeling much of anything but cold now.

“Shut...up...already.”

“Always ungrateful in the end, even after everything I do for them,” Crowley grumbles from above her. But then he does shut up, and she finally feels something besides the cold.

Relief. ...

Chapter 5

[danganronpa-21]

Naegiri Week Day 1 - Sweet

Happy first day of Naegiri Week! Today I bring you the most tooth-rotting fluff I have ever written. Like it is excessively sweet. Still, I even managed to make myself get all giggly and excitable during the editing phase, so I really hope you like it. I have no content warnings to issue this time around. Just pure, sweet Naegiri. I hope you enjoy it!

________________________________________________________________

“No way.”

Kyoko’s lips curled into a smile as she stared at her wide-eyed fiancé, a curt nod punctuating the statement that had caused him the utmost disbelief. Though there were plenty of things that might shock him about her, she never expected for this to be one of them.

 “Yes way.”

 “No way!” Within a matter of seconds, he’d taken hold of her wrists, shaking them with all of the enthusiasm of a small child. There was a frantic look in his eye as he shook her, clearly too absorbed in his shock to even think about how funny this would look from her end of things. God, her Makoto was a special one. Not that was a bad thing, of course. His little eccentricities were part of the reason why she liked him so much. “No way, no way!”

 It was hard to fight off a laugh as she watched his expression; he looked all too serious for the topic of conversation. He always had been a man of rather interesting passions. She had been a witness to many a debate between him and Yasuhiro about seemingly silly things, most of which she did not understand. How he found the energy to argue about flavours of soda pops, which Robocop movie was objectively the best one, and which sitcom had the weirdest actors was beyond her. Still, she found that this one was a bit… much, even for him. On the list of things that she anticipated he might get overly excited about, a topic as childish as candy was not one of them. It was a bit of a strange position to be in, watching the man she loved have a total conniption over her grandfather’s refusal to accommodate her sweet tooth.

 “Yes, really,” she did her best to not sound short with him, but she really didn’t see what the big deal was, “I missed out on a lot when I was a girl. I never had a chocoball, or a crunky bar, or caplico… There were even some traditional desserts that I missed out on, too.”

 If it were possible for his eyes to open any wider, they would have. He practically gasped at her statement, so horrified that her younger self had been denied the sweets he deemed so precious. “What desserts haven’t you had? I swear, if you’ve never tasted manju, I think I might cry.”

 Kyoko chuckled softly, rolling her eyes at him. Had he really forgotten? “No, I’ve had manju before. You made it for me for our first date, remember?”

 Makoto exhaled with quiet relief instantly, nodding his head with a nonchalance he hadn’t possessed thirty seconds prior. You’d have thought she had just told him he had not tested positive for a fatal disease or something, with the way his shoulders relaxed. “Right, I did do that,” he paused for a second, “And you liked it, didn’t you?”

 She could have laughed at how intense his eyes got over the question. She’d seen troublesome students at Hope’s Peak receive glares less intense than this one. “Yes, it was lovely,” she assured him, brushing some hair away from her face, “The variation of desserts I have yet to taste are more treats like dorayaki, taiyaki, yokan, dango, or coffee jelly.”

 To this, Makoto actually cringed. Full-on eyes squeezed shut, teeth clenched, drawing the head back slightly cringed. You’d have thought the man were genuinely pained. “I can’t believe I’m marrying a woman who’s never had dango,” the furrowing of his brows seemed to deepen as the news settled within him, “And coffee jelly! Oh, Kyoko, you would just love coffee jelly!”

 “I’ve always thought I would, but I didn’t have much of a chance to try it.”

 “Well, that settles it, then.”

 “Settles what?” Kyoko blinked, tilting her head to the side.

 A new found determination settled in her fiance’s expression; within seconds it seemed his energy had renewed. He practically beamed with elation, a cheery smile stretching across his face. “You and me are going sweet-tasting. Desserts, candies, the whole deal!”

 “Wait, Makoto. You don’t have to do this for me,” she fruitlessly attempted to wiggle her wrists out from his grasp, “It’s okay, really-”

 “No!” he interrupted her without a second thought, his movements just as dramatic as ever, “I have to. This is a matter of life and death.”

She snickered, finally prying her wrist out from Makoto’s hand with sheer force. “I think that’s a tad dramatic, love,” her now-free hand found her way to her ear, reaching up to tuck some of her lavender hair behind it, “But I suppose… I will indulge you. I don’t imagine you would give me much of a choice otherwise.”

 He chuckled. “No, I would not.” His hands rested on his hips as he puffed his chest up proudly, looking a bit like a small child who had just finished tied his shoes for the first time. “Now c’mon and get your coat! We’ve got a shop to visit!”

  Kyoko couldn’t help but smile as she and Makoto walked through the crisp winter air, the snowing raining down and settling on top of both of their heads. Fighting off the grin forming on her face as she watched her husband-to-be prancing through the snow was a fruitless endeavour, so she didn’t bother. His fingers were interlaced with her own as he led her down the street, swinging their hands forward together with uncontainable glee. It had been quite awhile since he last saw him ignited with this much energy, and to be honest, she was relishing it. His smile always felt like seeing the sunrise after waiting all night.

 “So where is it that you are taking me again?” Though she was not sure whether she should be enthused or slightly fearful, she tried her best to keep up with her fiancé’s delight. It wasn’t particularly hard, getting to see that big smile on his face and hearing the snow crunch cheerfully beneath their winter boots. Admittedly, the promise of many delicious sweets probably had something to do with it, too. After all, her grandfather had been the one to make the choice about whether or not she got them as a child. If a young Kyoko had had things her way, she would have been eating candy and desserts for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Her sweet tooth was unimaginably huge back then, and if she were to tell the truth… it was still pretty big as an adult, too.

 She was sure that Makoto’s smile would deepen if it were capable of getting any bigger. “It’s this combination dessert café-candy shop that lets you taste all of the sweets of your dreams. I was thinking we should start with desserts, and then move onto the candies to take home. I hear they have a great selection.”

 “I will take your word for it. You are the candy connoisseur.”

 Makoto rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly; his face tinged pink. “I’m not sure if I’d go that far…”

 Kyoko smirked. “The dessert director.”

 “Alright, Kyoko, stop playing around-”

 “The chief of confection.”

 His lips twitched, telling her just how badly he wanted to smile. Still, he was trying pretty hard to keep that phony scowl going. She could even see that liar biting his cheeks to keep himself from laughing at her jokes! Oh, she would get him for this falsity later. What a cruel, cruel man her lover could be.

 “Are you done now?” He asked, his tone betraying the amusement that his expression wanted to hide. She nodded contentedly, happy to know how easily she could get him to grin. With all of his seriousness about the desserts and candy, she figured that she should be able to take her turn to be silly. So, she didn’t think it so wrong that she could joke around with him, and then press a kiss to his cheek.

 “Yes,” she affirmed, “I’m done now. Care to continue on with your sweets speech?”

 “Hey!” His tongue poked out at her cheekily from between his lips. “You said you were done with the alliteration!”

 A gloved fingertip pressed itself against the space just below her lips, batting her eyelashes at him with all of the innocence she could muster. If she truly desired to portray innocence, she would be doing a horrible job of it… but thankfully, this kind of thing would work when playing around with Makoto. “Whatever are you talking about?”

 He half-nudged her shoulder before pulling his phone out from his pocket. For a moment, he swiped fruitlessly over the touch screen with his gloved hand. Then, with all of the lacking grace of a middle school boy, he pried the glove from his hand with his teeth. Sometimes, he really could be so boyish. Not that that was necessarily a bad thing, of course. It was actually something that she liked about him. It made him passionate and interesting in the same way that other people just weren’t. She couldn’t count on both hands the number of men she’d met who took themselves far too seriously, denouncing anything childish and writing horrible love stories in their ugly moleskin journals. Try-hards, she remembered thinking about them. Makoto never seemed to feel like that. In a way, she supposed that was why pleasure from his little dessert desperation blossomed so easily.

 “Anyway,” she was so lost in thought that she wouldn’t have noticed him pulling up her options if it weren’t for him shoving the phone four inches in front of her face, “They have a big menu of desserts that you can look at online. You should look at their options and see what you want to try!”

 A smirk threatened to overtake her, leaving her wondering just how cheeky she could with him before he got fed up. “I was under the impression that I would simply be trying everything I had yet to try, given that you seemed so serious about it when we first set out. I definitely know that coffee jelly is on the list, though. You know how much adore coffee and anything coffee-flavoured.”

 Keeping her mind from drifting to a cup of warm coffee was a struggle. In the midst of the frozen air nipping at their noses, a cup of coffee sounded excellent. Just holding it against her gloves, breathing in that rich aroma… Mmmm. Kyoko hoped that they might serve a cup of coffee or two at the shop. You know, to pair with the desserts. Not because of her own fixation on it or anything.

 “Well, ideally, you would try everything. I just wanted to know if there was anything you really wanted. If you don’t like it, I can always eat it for you.”

 She shook her head. “I’m sensing a bit of an ulterior motive here, my love.”

 Blush rose in his cheeks, prompting him to reach up the scratch at them in that awkward habit he never managed to kick. “I mean, that wasn’t my only plan, but… it is one of the perks, heh.”

 “So you say.”

 “C’mon, don’t give me a hard time!” The luckster whined, pushing out his lip in the fakest pout he’d given her in a while. “You can’t be mean to the guy who’s getting you desserts and candy.”

 A smile played at her lips. “Is he paying for all of it out of his own pocket, or is he snagging some of his rich fiancée’s money?” She asked, quirking an eyebrow at him expectantly. She couldn’t help watching intently to see if his blush from before would strengthen. Perhaps doing so was a tad mean, but she liked to tease him. Getting a reaction out of Makoto was always fun, especially with his tendency to get flustered and stumble over his words. If she were to be honest, she found his embarrassment totally adorable.  

 To her surprise and slight disappointment, he puffed his chest up at her. Prideful little Makoto who would pay out of his own pocket. “He is treating his special lady today, and so she pays for nothing. Although it should be pointed out that he usually pays for dinner anyway.”

 “Alright, alright. You got me there,” she chuckled, leaning over to plant another kiss on his cheek, “Now is this dessert shop very far from here? I fear my nose might start to frost over soon.”

 He giggled and reached over to place his hand on her nose. “Aww, your poor little nose,” it was hard not to cringe as he rubbed her nose, “Does this help?”

 Admittedly, his mitten-clad hand did help her nose become toastier, but having her fiancé rub her nose in public felt a little embarrassing. Like one of those things that others would judge them for. People already tended to stare at them due to their presence in the School Life of Mutual Killing broadcast, so she preferred to avoid attracting extra attention where she could. She briefly considered whether or not she should swat his hand away, but that nose warmth… it was too good to pass up. Her hands reached up to meet his wrist to keep him there, muffling any words she spoke. “Yes, that is good. You still have yet to answer my question, however.”

 “It’s just a few more buildings up the street. Something like four,” he tilted his head to the side, “Can you manage that?”

 Kyoko mustered up the biggest possible sigh she could manage. “I suppose,” She complained theatrically, batting her eyelashes at him once again. All her partner could do was snort softly and shake his head at her, keeping his hands on her nose as they ventured towards the combination candy-dessert shop.

 The rest of their walk seemed rather short in comparison to the first half; the two of them chattering back and forth lazily the whole way there. The pieces of conversation weren’t anything incredibly impressive – Makoto enthused about the snowflakes that settled within Kyoko’s silvery locks, and Kyoko murmured quietly to him about how cute his pink nose looked in the winter’s cold. A more girlish part of Kyoko squealed at how lovingly domestic this all felt. She prayed that after their wedding in the summer, the same happy feelings would persist. The mere thought of getting to go on adventures like this as a married couple made her heart light itself with new flame. Maybe, if today went well, they could even see about having a sweets bar at their reception. Wouldn’t that just be so nice, she said when she told Makoto. Her soon-to-be-husband had lit up at her suggestion, saying that he’d let her pick out all of her favourites to be displayed on the table. Next thing she knew, they were babbling excitedly about their future desserts table, barely even seeming to notice that they had come upon the dessert shop.

 “Here it is!” Makoto announced, throwing his arms open wide, “Chieko Chisu’s Confection Cabin!”

 That’s a lot of c’s was Kyoko’s first thought. Following that: this is exactly the kind of shop Makoto would pick out. Seriously, the cabin name was almost literal. The whole store appeared as if it could have been made from bulky cherrywood planks, with a pair of frosted-over, white-trimmed windows being the only clue to the inside. The door appeared to have been fashioned from lumber as well, with a forest-green sign hanging on it. The characters for ‘OPEN’ were written across the sign in someone’s swooping handwriting, portrayed by a white marker. They’d even taken the care to doodle little ice cream cones and bonbons along the sign’s edges. When her eyes found the rim of the roof, it met her with a scattering of multi-coloured lanterns, all featuring hand-painted illustrations. From the way it looked, each of the lanterns was intended to advertise its own type of dessert or candy. The purple ones all had a shiba inu snacking on manju, the yellow with an ezo red fox enjoying dorayaki, the pink featuring a deer nosing around a few choco-balls. They were so childishly sweet that she couldn’t help but grin at them, knowing for sure that they had plenty of young customers. Without going in, she could already feel the warmth radiating off of the place.

 “It’s adorable,” she told him, leaning her head on his shoulder, “Did you see the lanterns?”

 He nodded and pointed up at them; his finger directed her to one of the green ones. “The field mouse struggling to enjoy the hi-chew is my personal favourite. It’s so chewy it gets stuck in his little mouth.”

 Sure enough, there was a depiction of a field mouse with a sticky green candy in his mouth, trying desperately to chew it. She could relate to that one – Hi-chew was just fruity enough that her grandfather let her have it as a treat every once in a while, and she had many memories of it getting stuck in her teeth. “At least he has good taste. The green apple ones were always my favourite.”

 “Mine too.”

 Expectation might have led one to expect the couple to do something other than smile and take each other by the hand, but that is where it would be wrong. In times like those, sometimes the only thing either of them needed was to take the other by the hand, and lead them to a new moment of happiness.

 Kyoko refused to fight off her sigh of relief as the door to the Confection Cabin closed behind them, the homely air soothing her chilled bones. Though she would be the first to confess about having complained, she hadn’t realized how much the winter air affected her. Now that she was inside where it was all cozy, she wanted nothing more than to snuggle up in Makoto’s arms and have a nice, long nap… and perhaps peel off the layers of her coat that suddenly felt very hot. Such things would have to wait, of course, for an incredibly bubbly staff member bombarded them the moment they entered the restaurant.

 “Hello there!” The girl chirped, waving almost too enthusiastically at them. “Welcome to Chieko Chisu’s Confection Cabin. My name is Kajitani Anzu-san, and I’ll be looking after you today. How might I help you? Would you like to explore our nummy candies or mouthwatering desserts today?”

 Kyoko couldn’t help but glance over at her fiancé helplessly; talking with staff always made her uncomfortable. Not due to any snobby rich girl disdain for them, of course – her generally more closed-off behaviour simply made it more difficult for her to be comfortable with someone who was so obviously ingenuine. Makoto tended to handle it better, and certainly much more naturally than she ever could.

 “Actually, if it would be okay, we’d like to try both!” Without warning, he threw his arm around Kyoko’s shoulders, taking her entirely by surprise. She hoped the staff member hadn’t seen her tense in shock. The last thing she wanted was for this random girl to get the wrong impression about her relationship with Makoto. “You see, my fiancée here has been very deprived of sweets all her life.”

Anzu’s hands flew to her face almost comically; her brown eyes as wide as a full moon. “Oh no! We can’t have that!”

 Her fiancé nodded in agreement. “Exactly. Which is why we were wondering if it would be possible to start with desserts, and end off with some candy shopping. Would that be okay?”

 It became Anzu’s turn to nod as she clapped her hands together enthusiastically. “Of course, of course, sir! We can manage many a treat for you and your sweetheart! A table for two, I presume?”

 The only thing Kyoko could think to contribute was an awkward snicker. “Yes, please.”

 “Excellent, now if you’ll just follow me…!”

  At this point, Kyoko was very close to bursting like a balloon.

 Well, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but she sure felt like it. After an hour in the café portion scarfing down Makoto and Anzu’s recommended desserts, her stomach already felt full to the point of discomfort. Their insistence on her attempting to choke down all of the candies and chocolates the store had to offer only worsened the strain, and now, she felt a bit like a beached whale.

 She supposed she could take some pleasure in the fact that Makoto seemed to be feeling the same way. He’d become so full while enjoying the desserts with her that he insisted that they call a cab to bring them home, rather than force themselves to walk the full way with the weight of their packed bellies. As embarrassing as it was to admit, she felt so overwhelmed that she had to oblige.

 Even so, it was a good trip, all things considered. Just as promised, she and Makoto packed themselves to the brim with all kinds of goodies. Mochi filled with strawberry ice cream, dango of every colour they could manage, some beautiful winter’s nerikiri, delectable banana mushi pan, and the definitely-as-good-as-promised coffee jelly… Her mouth could have watered at the thought of all of those foods, had it not been for the fullness. She could still recall sitting in her booth with Makoto, the two of them sliding dishes to one another across the table and popping treats into their eager mouths.

 “Oh my god,” Makoto had exclaimed upon taking his first bite of the mushi pan, “I think this is the best I’ve ever had.”

 Kyoko had already been in the process of enjoying her half of the bun cake, and could agree wholeheartedly. The texture was so light and fluffy that it felt as if it melted in her mouth; the sweet but subtle flavour of banana dancing across her tongue like a memory. “Me too,” she mumbled through a muffled full mouth.

 “You have nothing to compare it to! This is your first mushi pan.”

 She smiled at him with chipmunk cheeks. “And it’s the best I have ever tasted. Pass the coffee jelly, please?”

 “Of course,” he chuckled, “I knew you’d love it.”

 What a surprise, the answer tempted her far too much. Hopefully, as her fiancé, he would know her that well. Still, she held her tongue, instead choosing to take another spoonful of the jelly he’d just slid over. Pure heaven the moment it entered her mouth. Coffee jelly plus banana mushi pan tasted like breakfast but better. Together, she and Makoto had entered a sugary paradise.

 And now they were laying at home, flopped on their plush blue couch, lethargic and exhausted. Yet, strangely, Kyoko honestly couldn’t help feeling happy. The grin on her face was effortless as she laid her head on her partner’s shoulder; the two of them doing their best to ignore their aching tummies. Even if this was the worst shape her stomach had been in in a while, she couldn’t find it within herself to care. Honestly, she wouldn’t even be willing to categorize the scenario as a mistake.

 “Ugh…” Makoto groaned, sticking out his lower lip into a childish pout. “I ate way too many desserts.”

 She found herself nodding in agreement, reaching over to pat his belly. “You sure packed away a lot. You ate much more than I did… Not that I’m surprised. You always have been better at eating than me.”

 His shoulders rose and fell; a smirk snaked across his face. Clear intent to be cheeky. “What can I say? You called me the chief of confection. I had to do my best… I’m paying for it now, though.”

 “As am I,” Kyoko sighed and nuzzled her cheek into his shoulder, “But if I have to feel like I’m going to regorge a rainbow with someone, I’m glad that it’s you. Today was really special, my love.”

 She knew his cheeks started burning without looking at him. In spite of their engagement, she didn’t always have the confidence to use pet names with him. ‘My love’ was his absolute favourite, and she liked to spring it on him at unexpected moments like these. It always seemed to bring him the greatest joy. When he spoke, she could hear the smile in his voice.

 “I’m glad you liked it. I had a really good time with you, too. I hope we can keep doing stuff like this for a long time.”

 Kyoko laughed and raised her hand to eye-level, wiggling her fingers in front of his face. The rose-shaped diamond on the ring glittered at them cheerfully, as if to accentuate her point. “I should hope so. That is what you gave me the ring for, is it not?”

 “That’s true,” he snickered, “So I can have good times with the woman I love for the rest of my life.”

 “Well, I can’t promise you that I won’t spend the night regurgitating all of the desserts we just ate, but I can promise you that.”

 He leaned his head down to rest upon hers. “That’s more than good enough for me.”

[fiddlepickdouglas]

To The Wick - Bobby’s Birthday

Disclaimer: I’m not usually a fic writer, I tend to stick to original stuff, but I just felt like I had to write this for Bobby today. I definitely wrote this in one go and did no proofreading, so I’m very sorry for that.

Summary: 2.3k wd. Bobby celebrates with Rose and Ray while still dealing with survivors guilt. Lots of fire imagery and comparisons.

WARNINGS: deals with death, symptoms similar to anxiety or PTSD, funeral mentions, survivor’s guilt

Staring at the flame, he fought every impulse to snuff it out with his fingers. For a moment, he contemplated on its gentle flickering, not unlike himself at this time. Every moment of its existence a fight against very strong currents, against all but one element surrounding it. All it knew was heat and the need to grow outward, but not being able to without the permission of exterior forces.

The words to the Beatles’ birthday song drummed on his ears, but his mind was in the back of the cavern where the music could only echo at a distance. Shaking his head and pulling his mind out of the depths of the cave, Bobby let a small smile loose for Rose and Ray and blew out the candle on the cupcake before him.

His friends cheered and they all bit into their own homemade cupcakes. Rose had been perfecting her recipe, and so far these were the best.

“You’re going to open a bakery,” Bobby told her through a mouthful. “And I’m going to be your most faithful customer.”

“But I get to do all the taste-testing, right amor?” Ray teased, earning a hand messing up his hair from Rose.

“Mi abuela didn’t pass this down and I didn’t tweak it so you could eat it for free all the time,” she said in a sassy tone, kissing his cheek.

Ray raised his eyebrows. “Noted,” he replied with a smirk.

Bobby finished his cupcake, entertained by the two lovebirds.

“So,” Rose started saying. “Now it’s time to open gifts!” She leaned away from her seat and grabbed an object from the counter a few feet away, then handed it to Bobby.

Tearing apart the purple wrapping and blue ribbon, he looked down at the small stack of CDs. Meditation Sunrise, The 7th Chakra, and Celtic Wind sat in his hands like rectangular dumbbells, each weighing heavier on his heart than he cared to admit. Suddenly, Ray was draping something over his head, and as he looked down he found himself wearing a necklace of prayer beads.

“You guys!” he chuckled, trying to sound genuine. It was his birthday, he was supposed to enjoy all of this. The gifts were actually great, too. “Thanks, this is awesome. You’ll both have to join me in a session, you know.”

“We were thinking we could do it with you today, if you wanted to,” Rose told him.

Bobby sat back in surprise.

“O-okay,” he stammered. He caught the look in her eyes that was hoping this wasn’t too much, to which he gave her a small smile of assurance. It was impossible to blame them for anything he felt today, especially when she and Ray were putting in so much effort to make it full of the joy and happiness it was meant for. It didn’t mean he hadn’t subconsciously stuck his hand in his pocket to where he kept a lighter. Just to feel that it was there, of course.

“Is it okay if we do it later tonight?” he asked. “I just have a quick meeting with my producer and a couple other things afterward to do. And I can pick up some incense while I’m out.”

“Great plan!” Ray exclaimed. He didn’t elaborate, but Bobby could guess that all the eye contact with Rose meant something he needed no part in. He got up from the table and grabbed another cupcake for the road.

“Say we meet back at, like, eight or nine?” he asked, grabbing his leather jacket and keys.

Rose looked up from being halfway embraced with Ray, barely paying attention. “Sounds perfect!”

********

“So, after talking with Jedd we decided we wanna cut out the second repeat of the chorus in Long Weekend. It makes it easier to put into radio time.”

Bobby stared at Callum, his producer, in disbelief.

“But we can just do a radio edit, then, why cut it off the album track?”

Callum blinked condescendingly.

“You think you’re just going to get radio edits out like that before you have an album out, kid?”

“Have you listened to it?” Bobby challenged. “That album is gonna shoot through the charts and I know you know that.”

“Tch,” Callum acted like he’d been shot by a Nerf gun. “That’s a bold statement from a guy who didn’t write these songs.”

A fireball seemed to form inside his chest, and Bobby wished he could open his mouth and shoot it toward the man. He clenched his teeth.

“You signed the deal, you recorded these songs, and you are getting this opportunity from us. We - need I say this - are professionals. Trust me, I’ve dealt with music written by dead people before. You’ll thank me in a few years.”

He was trembling to keep the fireball from burning down the entire room, and clenched his fists. Focusing on a stupid paisley design on the carpet, he avoided eye contact with Callum. There was no way he was letting Luke’s songs go any different than what they had played together for so many years. He had read the contract well enough, hadn’t he? It was hard enough not crediting the rest of them, but it was honor Luke with letting his music connect to people or honor Luke by letting him keep his songs to the few who heard them from the source. Not to mention Alex and Reggie being equal parts in that equation.

“Fine,” he forced out. “Make the cut. See how it does. I’ll bet you that when I make a remaster in twenty years with greater freedoms because I’m a respected artist, fans will ask why you cut it to begin with. I’ve got better people to see than you right now.”

He only saw Callum shaking his head out of the corner of his eye as he pushed through the door of the studio, flipping the bird behind him. It would’ve been nice to simply say over my dead body, but he was already bulldozing over his three best friends and it wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that he could walk along the street, get into his car, and drive off in a huff. Not fair that he could go to the abandoned grocery store parking lot and yell until his lungs were sore. It was absolutely inadequate that he remained on this earth, soul inside his body, light in his eyes, breath and blood and bones and all. He screamed in that parking lot until he was dizzy.

Bobby laid in his seat, exhausted, until twilight approached, and then started the engine again. The route was so well-known now that he knew exactly when the lights turned so he never had to make a stop. He came to the right stop and parked on the shoulder, looking wistfully out the window.

So far, he hadn’t managed to set foot on the grounds again after the funerals had passed. Still, he came and made sure his line of sight at the closest angle to get a proper look at them. They were all in a row, even though only two stood vertically. Reggie’s parents had cremated him and only gotten a stone plaque that acted as a placeholder while they kept his urn with them at home. It was nice of them to at least contribute to keep the three together.

Today still wasn’t the day he was going to venture closer to them. Bobby wasn’t going to handle it well after the conversation he’d just left. He pulled the lighter out of his pocket and flicked it off and on. It hadn’t really been a habit he had before, but there was something weirdly comforting about it. For something that couldn’t think, it really understood him. He didn’t want to use it on anything, he just wanted to watch it exist before disappearing. The fire was them. But he could control it.

Taking in a deep breath, he went to get some incense.

********

Mats were spread in the backyard with tiki torches and a camping lantern in the center, more paper lanterns hanging from the tree above. Bobby had gotten a nice incense burner a few weeks back and was excited to put it on display. Ray was in his swim shorts, already seated with his legs crossed and repeatedly going “oommmm” and breaking it with giggles when Rose swatted at him playfully.

“We’re not doing that kind, tontoroso,” she teased.

“Pero me quiero - ah!” Ray cried as she accidentally thumped him with the boombox she’d been carrying out.

“Oh, lo siento mi amor, me desculpes!” she cried, setting it down to address the minor bump now forming on his head.

Bobby sat patiently as they babbled for a moment ensuring that Ray wasn’t harmed too much, smirking a little. He didn’t really mind being the third wheel on his own birthday - it helped take away from some of the guilt.

“Okay!” Rose said finally, standing and adjusting the bottom of her tank top. “I think we should try the Meditation Sunrise, so it will guide us through every motion and we don’t have to think.”

“Agreed,” Bobby nodded, with Ray doing the same. “The less thinking the better.”

Rose pressed play on the first track as all three of them sat in their assumed meditative positions with their eyes shut. Calm, synthesized music floated out of the speakers of the boombox, with light chimes twinkling here and there.

“Welcome to Meditation Sunrise. This first exercise is to help you free yourself from resentments and embrace forgiveness. Listen to my words. Focus on my voice and soon you will be free of anything that stirs up anger. This can be anger toward another person, anger toward a higher being, or even anger toward yourself…”

Bobby felt his heartbeat increasing and strained to keep his eyes closed. He tried to sit up straighter so that he could breathe in even deeper. He could hear Ray and Rose exhaling, sounding so calm and relaxed, and let out his own breath hoping it came out the same way.

“Forgive faults. Resentment comes from Latin, meaning ‘to feel again’. We all have these feelings, and they all visit us from time to time. Sometimes we hold onto things in the past that have caused harm. These things were painful. Letting these feelings continually visit us repeats that pain. In this exercise we are here to let it go…”

Taking a careful peek through his eyelashes, Bobby checked to see what Rose and Ray looked like. They sat close together, holding hands with the remaining ones shaped in circles. Rose had her head tilted back, so free and open to the sky, so light from the weight that wasn’t sitting on her chest. The flames from the tiki torches flickered and Bobby squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t focus on them instead.

“Now we are going to envision that we have a shovel in our hands. We’re going to dig. Get that shovel deep into the rich soil and lift it up. Set the soil to the side. Smell the fresh, upturned earth. If you want to, you can kneel down and take some into your hands. Let the soft, rich earth be cool to the touch. Let it calm you.

“Imagine you are digging in a garden and planting a seed. It’s a seed of happiness. It’s small right now, but will grow as we continue through our meditation. We just need to go a little deeper into the ground…”

Bobby’s mind was transported back to the cemetery he’d visited earlier. It travelled all the way to the funerals - open ground, lowering cheap wooden boxes. His hand filled with a small amount of dirt.

“Stop,” he muttered, eyes remaining closed. Rose and Ray were still entranced.

“Stop, stop, turn it off, I can’t -” He felt his breathing get uneven, and Rose was already in front of him, cradling his face and wiping away tears that he didn’t realize had escaped. He jerked away from her touch. Ray rushed to stop the playback on the CD.

All he felt was heat rising everywhere. In his veins, all over his skin, the fireball growing like a small sun in his chest, and apparently tears could be hot, too. There was too much rage building up inside. Bobby let out a frustrated cry and kicked over the incense burner, the camping lantern doing down with it. Turning, he almost hit a paper lantern and he whacked it off the tree as he headed back inside the house.

Rose caught up to him and frantically tried to block his path.

“Bobby, I sincerely apologize, I did not know it was going to be like that,” she placated. He paused as she stood before him, pleading. “If you need me to, I can get you a different present, I just wanted to do this because you had seemed interested and thought we would have a fun night together - Bobby, I am so sorry!”

Looking back at her, he sighed heavily and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“You don’t need to get me anything else,” he told her solemnly.

Ray had joined them and put an arm around each of them. A twinge of reminder came to Bobby as he recalled Luke doing the same thing for him. But coming from Ray, it still had the warmth and love connected to it that he needed. He looked between the two of them.

“That was a bust,” he said. They all chuckled a little, albeit with heavy hearts. “But having you guys still made it a good birthday.”

His friends both muttered an “aw” and they came together in a group hug. Bobby sighed as they both squeezed him so tightly before breaking away.

“So what do we wanna do, then?” he asked.

“We could watch Wayne’s World,” Ray suggested.

“Baby,” Rose objected, giving him a look.

“What?” he lifted his hands defensively. “I could make a dip, we could grab some tortilla chips, you know I love dips.”

“But Bob -”

“No, I like that idea,” Bobby interrupted. “Ray makes some good dip, I’ll give him that. I think we can hold off on the meditation for now. Wayne’s World it is.”

[goonlalagoon]

A smile in your heart (no better place to start) || Second Star to the Left

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33459862

(Spoilers through to end of ep 10 ahead)

It’s been weeks - months - and Bell’s thought about what they could say, when they’re finally on the ground and face to face with Gwen for the first time. Thank you, that’s a strong contender; they know themselves well enough to know they’re more likely to go with how did you do it? Maybe this time they’ll actually be able to say I love you, though Gwen seems adept at picking it up even when they can’t put the words to it. In their head, they planned for it to be - not dramatic, because they’re supposed to be a fugitive and they don’t want to draw attention, but meaningful. The kind of memory that’s something to think back on with misty eyes and fond words.

Capital-R-Romantic, as Gwen termed it so long ago, that first grudging conversation.

What they actually say is,

“Wow, you really do have a great jawline.”

It’s…admittedly not the worst thing they’ve ever said to someone they have a crush on, but that isn’t exactly the metric Bell wanted to measure this by. They’re standing just feet away from each other, drinking each other in. The silence starts to shade awkward before Gwen swallows, shrugs, gives a shaky smile. Bell remembers a letter, one of the first, remembers reading the clouds are all blurry and the twisting mix of regret and guilty relief, because they didn’t want Gwen to be upset but they couldn’t help but cling onto the fact that she was, that someone was upset on their behalf.

“Well, I never got to see your school graduating photos, so I had no expectations of your jawline, Bell, but hey! It’s a pretty good one too, so congratulations!”

Gods, they’ve missed that laugh.

Someone interrupts them then, of course, because the settler ship has just landed and scout Hartley is very much in demand by everyone, not just Bell. There’s a whole crew of people looking to start a new life, and all of them need their scout to tell them what to do, where to go, what to watch out for. They wave a forlorn goodbye, find a place to sit and idly look around, trying to match this new settlement (very new, scout Summers could probably gauge to the day when these buildings were set up by the wear and tear, even after all this time) to every overheard exploit they’d listened in on over the years.

Gwen had moved the settlement into the trees, combined the natural firebreak with dug trenches to add a layer of defence. There’s a clear track that Bell would bet leads straight to water by the quickest route, an escape path to the coast. They think that perhaps the two of them should put their heads together, figure out emergency bundles for evacuation protocols. Food and water, a spare repair kit for any prosthetics…by the time they find Gwen again, hours of running around helping the settlers - the other settlers - move in, Gigo has a whole list stored. Ideas and checks and suggestions that Bell got halfway through recording before realising that maybe Gwen already thought of all of this and they no longer needed to jot everything down to cram into their four hour window of contact.

They live on the same planet, now. There’s no limit on contact, except that the first several months after settlement are absolute chaos for the scout, and from what Bell recalled hadn’t seemed likely to slow down even before the apocalypse threw everything out the metaphorical window.

Maybe with two of them with scout training it’ll be less…just less. Gwen might be able to get if not the mandated six hours of sleep at least enough to average out more at four or five. They weren’t going to comment on it, but it was easy to tell she hadn’t been getting her full rest anyway - probably hadn’t for months, dark circles under her eyes like permanent bruises.

They’re standing awkward feet away from each other again, and Bell knows there’s going to have to be a conversation about that soon, because it hadn’t really occurred to them before that they know a lot of things about Gwen, years and years of stories and rambling conversations, but there’s things you don’t learn without being in person. Personal space, definitions and comfort thereof, the body language and facial expressions to interpret to know what’s welcomed and what isn’t.

“Hey, so, uh…I know there’s a protocol that I’m supposed to follow when my settlers arrive, and all, but there’s something else I want to do instead.” Bell huffs a laugh, steals a shy glance to see Gwen’s answering smirk.

“Another sworn class tradition to fulfil?”

“Nope! We never talked that far ahead except as jokes. We knew the stats, y’know? But - you told me, the first day, that I should watch the sunrise, that that was something I shouldn’t miss, my first morning. And I don’t…we don’t have that, but I’ve had a long time to find my own wonderfully inspiring views of nature here and I wanted - Bell, you haven’t been on a planet for years and you were with me through everything, but you’ve never seen any of it in real life and I want to show you all of it, and I know where to start.”

Bell thinks about muttering about protocol, for the form of it, for the joke that can be dragged out of it, familiar banter, but they decide not to. It’s no longer their job to care about protocol, and anyway the only reason they cared about the protocol was to keep their scouts safe. Gwen is standing right in front of them, leaning gently against Boots with a casually familiar stance - if they pointed it out, Bell knows she wouldn’t even have thought about it. This is just what Gwen does, when she’s standing about with nothing to do with her hands; rests an elbow companionably atop Boots, one foot hooked around a standing leg and balanced on the toe of her boot.

Gwen is standing right there, safe and alive and happy, so protocol can sort itself, thanks.

(Bell realises they have their own hands in their pockets, their own casual stance, and wonders if Gwen is noticing that too, drinking in all of the unconcious habits that it would never occur to either of them to verbalise. All the little tics and quirks that don’t translate over a FTL comms.)

It’s not a long walk, and it’s more silent than Bell would have guessed, but it’s comfortable. Novel, really, to not have to narrate things aloud because they can just look and see what Gwen is doing, can point at a bird with a dorsal fin and pause to watch it flutter around rather than try to describe it.

They can’t stop stealing glances sideways, catching Gwen more often than not doing the same, both of them collapsing into giggles about it each time. It’s just so surreal, to be walking side by side, after all this time. It feels like a dream, like one of the stories Gwen tells Boots at night - once upon a time, there were two explorers, setting out through the trees…

The light dances on the waves, well below their cliff edge destination. At some point Gwen must have rolled a fallen log over to act as a bench, because it’s too well placed to be natural and there’s a fire-pit dug and lined with careful stones. Close enough to be cosy, but far away from the treeline itself to be safe. The light is dancing on the waves and the grass is drifting in the breeze, a periwinkle blue that Bell is used to seeing in photos if they thought of it at all. Something that had seemed so wonderful and new, when scout Hartley made her first observations, but had drifted into commonplace. A detail that wasn’t worth mentioning any more.

“One day, I’m going to make a boat and go explore that.” Gwen waves grandly at the horizon; she’s leaning her head on Bell’s shoulder, and Bell has decided that they will happily never move again. The two of them can just stay there, forever, Gwen’s head on their shoulder and the soft whisper of waves below. “Once my settlers are…settled, and can be left without supervision for more than a few hours at a time.”

“Already missing the solitude? Mourning all that lovely peace and quiet?”

“What solitude? I had a very efficient scout minder in my ear, I’ll have you know! I didn’t have time to get used to the peace and quiet before beep, time for another check in. Hartley, have you followed the itinary, Hartley, did you maintain a reasonable sleep schedule, Hartley, have you eaten a balanced meal at your officially directed time selected for nutritional optimisation…”

“I’m honestly surprised that you went for reminding me of my remote presence first rather than protesting that Boots was with you the whole time. And I would also like to ask, in the spirit of enquiry, have you done any of those things without my input?” Gwen shakes with barely suppressed laughter and doesn’t bother answering; Bell tries not to join in, because Gwen’s head is still on their shoulder and they’re still determined not to dislodge it until they really have to. “And…hey, I also told you to go watch the sunrise, and you found this instead. I - when did you find this? You never mentioned a little ocean watching viewpoint.”

“I - uh, set it up a few months ago. I didn’t know if it had worked, or if it had all gone wrong, or - and I spent so long pacing around here and wondering what you’d think of the view…”

“Aw, and you say I’m a romantic.”

“With a capital R, yes, you so are. I’m your favourite person, you said so, it was very romantic.”

“That was possibly the least romantic declaration of love that has ever been given. I congratulated you on your jawline, Gwen, I write poetry in my spare time and that was the best I could come up with. I should have just stopped talking - writing, I don’t even have the excuse of not being able to edit it out, the first bit was fine but I kept rambling.”

“It was romantic and I loved it and I have saved all of your letters in three separate back ups to make sure I don’t lose any of them.”

Bell laughs, curls an arm around Gwen’s shoulders as easy as breathing, and lets themselves relax for what feels like the first time in months. A flock of birds takes off from the trees, darting past them over the cliff edge, setting out over the waves. The sun glints off their feathers, the raised fin, a riot of colour catching the light as they watch, leaning against each other, shoulder to shoulder. Gwen is beaming out at it all, and Bell can feel their cheeks creasing to match.

It isn’t a sunrise, but this - this is something close enough, a snapshot of a new world, a new horizon that they get to learn, the first day of a new life.

[tragically-broken]

Nessian Librarian/Professor Part4

Ship: Nessian  Type: Librarian/Professor AU  Rating: T Word Count: 1,439

Hey, y'all!! I'm so sorry I haven't updated in so long! I've been working on my own WIP and found it far too difficult to be in multiple worlds in my head at once, so I had to pause on my fic writing. Fortunately, I just finished my skeleton draft of my book and I am now taking a break to let it marinate before I dive into truly editing. This means I get to spend time on my fics again! YAY! Hopefully, I'll finish this full series soon but I won't make any promises. Hope you enjoy <3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 

AO3

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Nesta was rearranging the study desks in the Quiet Room when Cassian came sauntering in.

“Hey, gorgeous!” He made his way to her, kissing her on the cheek. Nesta blushed and batted him away, eyes darting towards the door.

“Don’t let Amren see you!” She tugged him away to the corner where she knew the security cameras wouldn’t reach, and most importantly, where Amren couldn't see. She checked the doors one last time before she guided him to pin her against the corner wall.

“Someone is eager today,” Cassian smirked, less than an inch from her lips.

“Shut up Cas.” Their moment was heated, electrified, and definitely not library-appropriate.

“I could get used to this,” Cassian muttered against her lips as she smiled up at him.

“What are you doing here anyway? You’re supposed to have one more class.” She reached up to twirl a strand of his hair that must’ve come loose from his bun during the day.

“Keeping tabs on me are you?” She pinched his arm playfully in response.

“Hey, hey!” Cassian laughed. “I canceled my last class since they did so well on their test last week. Their reward is a free day.”

“Lucky me.” Nesta beamed.

“Lucky us.” Cassian dipped down to kiss her again, bunching her skirt in his fists. Desire licked her skin as the fabric of her skirt was roughly dragged against her thighs and his tongue slipped deeper into her mouth. She moaned softly against his lips before remembering where she was. She reluctantly pulled away from him.

“Amren will notice my absence.” She breathed, lips lingering an inch from his.

“Better get going then,” he spoke softly against her lips. She never wanted to leave. She leaned in for another kiss and then backed away quickly, teasing him as she moved back into eyeshot of the security cameras.

“You little minx!” She laughed and made her way to the door when she was met with gold piercing eyes, not at all happy to see her.

“Hi, Amren. I just finished rearranging the desks.” Nesta brushed a stray hair behind her ear.

“So it seems.” She wasn’t looking at Nesta with those deadly eyes, she was looking at Cassian.

“Evening Amren.” Cassian nodded in her direction.

“Yes, how wonderful to know you can tell when the sun is going down.” Amren's face gave way to nothing but pure annoyance as she stared him down.

“Nothing gets past you!” Cassian smiled, completely unaffected by Amren.

“No. It doesn’t.” Amren’s eyes bore into his. Cassian seemed to decide that he preferred to be alive for the time being and leave immediately.

“Well, I’ll get out of your way and let you ladies finish up here.” Nesta could tell he resisted the urge to touch her as he passed but decided against it given their particular audience.

“How kind of you.” Cassian nodded at Amren and snuck behind her to get to the door. Only when he left completely did Amren look at Nesta.

Cassian mouthed “sorry” outside the glass door and then darted for the double door exit.

“Careful with that one. Many have tried, and none have succeeded.” Amren hadn’t moved an inch since she walked in, but somehow she overpowered any energy in the room.

“We’ve only just begun dating.” Netsa stuffed her hands in the pockets of her dress, feeling awkward talking about her personal life to someone she barely knew.

“Yes well, that seems to be where the trouble usually starts.” Was Amren even blinking?

“I appreciate the heads up, but I have everything under control.” Nesta tried to reassure her with a smile.

“Hmmm” Amren hummed to herself, not at all convinced as she eyed Nesta. “You have exceeded even my expectations since you arrived here to take over this position. Seeing as it’s the weekend, why don’t you head out early today. I can finish things up here.” Nesta looked at her in shock. Quite frankly, she had no idea what Amren thought of her. She was all sharp looks, judgmental glances, and blank stares. It was hard to get a read on her.

“Thank you Amren. I’ve enjoyed my job here and hope to continue doing so.”

“Very well.” Amren’s short heels clicked in a steady beat as she walked out before Nesta could wish her a good weekend. Her first instinct was to pull out her phone and text Cassian like a love-sick teenager, but she decided not to read too much into it.

N: Amren set me loose early!!

C: THE FIREDRAKE SET U FREE?! I was half-convinced she’d chain u there forever.

N: She’s more bark than bite.

C: I’ll take your word for it.

Nesta gathered her keys and wallet, shoving them in her purse to get ready to leave.

C: What do u think about staying at my place this weekend?

Nesta stopped in her tracks, staring at his message.

N: All weekend? Like, overnight?

C: Just an idea! Thought it might be fun.

Nesta hadn’t spent the night at a man’s house well, ever actually. Every Time she’d stayed at Thomas’s place, she’d wake up at sunrise and scurry home. She never felt comfortable living in his space. That should have been the first clue that he wasn’t the one for her. She’d made excuses and ignored her gut. Never again. She listened to her instincts now and her gut felt...fine? She found herself a bit nervous about morning breath and her early morning grumpiness, but other than that the idea of spending the weekend with Cassian sounded wonderful and all kinds of sinful if things went the way she thought they would.

C: I promise not to leave the toilet seat up :p

N: You better not.

C: Is that a yes, princess??

N: It’s a yes. Unless of course, I change my mind.

C: Challenge accepted. Not even you can turn down my killer breakfast skills!

N: We’ll see if you can put your money where your mouth is.

C: Oh, I can guarantee my mouth is more than capable. See you tonight ;)

Butterflies fluttered in Nesta’s stomach at the thought of sleeping under the same roof with Cassian let alone in the same bed. Her cheeks heated at the thought. Suddenly, a million thoughts crossed her mind at once about what she should wear, what she should pack, and whether or not it would be considered rude to bring a book with her. Her palms started to sweat as she walked outside and towards her car. Should she bring something sexy to wear or would that be too obvious? Did it matter? Come to think of it, she didn’t think she even had a scrap of lingerie anymore. She burned every memory of Thomas and that included all of her sensual attire. Nesta sighed as she turned the key to crank her car on. There were so many decisions to make that overwhelmed her, but then Cas’s face popped into her head. Suddenly, she realized her desire to know him, to be close to him, outweighed any nervousness she had. She smiled to herself as she started to drive home. The feeling in her chest was so unfamiliar to her. Was she falling in love with him? That couldn’t be true. It had only been a few weeks. Yet, she felt that feeling surge in her chest. And then the panic came.

She didn’t have time to fall in love. She had too many things she wanted to do first, things she wanted to be. She spent too long in her previous relationship putting her life on pause. She wouldn’t do that again. That decided it then. She wouldn’t tell Cas how she felt, she’d try not to get any more attached, and she’d do her best to appreciate the moment for what it was and nothing more. She refused to think about the future, or what could be. She would never again put her life on the back burner for someone else. She pulled up into her driveway, hustled into her house, and packed quickly without putting too much thought into her choices. She looked to her full-length mirror, overnight bag in hand, wearing workout spandex shorts and an oversized crop top. She took a deep breath. She could do this. She could have fun with a sexy professor without getting too attached and ruining her life. Right? She didn’t wait to answer her own question. She got back in her car, typed his address in her phone, and began to drive, hoping she wasn’t making another life-altering mistake.

_______________________________________________________________

Thank you for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think, but please not ACOSF spoilers!!! I know I'm horrible and haven’t read it yet ajdhgkajdfh

[concussed-to-pieces]

Whether It Works Out Or Not: Summer’s Warmth, Part One

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: High Honor!Arthur Morgan/Named OFC

Rating: Holy shit T.

AN: Thank you all so much for continuing to read! Enjoy!

EDIT 4/18/21: Attempting to fix the formatting now, forgive me! It shows up fine before posting, but I believe I have it squared away! ;-;

[Spoiler warning for the epilogue!]

Tag List: @huliabitch​​​ @cookiethewriter​​​ @pedrosbigdorkenergy​​​ @thirstworldproblemss​​​ @anonymouscosmos​​​ @culturalrebel​​​ @karmezii​​​ @teaofpeach​​​ @crookedmoonsaultpunk​​​ @wrestlingfae​​​ @zombiexbody​​​ @nelba​​​ @scribblenotes76​​​ @toxiicpop​​​ @mstgsmy​​​ @misty-possum​​​ @gallowsjoker​​​ @midnightbeauty35​​​ @lackofhonor​​​ @renegademustelid​​​ @missfronkensteen​​ @newplanetshine​

Part One: Strangers

Part Two: Friends

Part Three: More

Bonus One: A Brief Diversion

Bonus Two: Back In The Cage

Winter’s Cold, Part One

Winter’s Cold, Part Two

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains emotional distress, vivid recollections and self-loathing. Stay safe!]

Arthur dreamed of the vigil he had stood beside Kieran's grave, Chase's large head resting on his shoulder. Bitter, sorrowful words had twisted up in his throat until he just shoved his face into the horse's mane so he could unleash a body-rattling sob. He had left a handful of bulrushes crisscrossed over the grave. Kieran had always plied the horses with whatever treats he could scrounge up, mushrooms or bulrushes or the rare luxury of sugar cubes. 

Kieran O'Driscoll, Kieran Van Der Linde, but in the end he had died Kieran Duffy. Just one more hideous taunt sent to the Van Der Linde camp from the O'Driscolls, one more life lost in the feud of two proud men who had wronged each other. 

Arthur dreamed of the nightmare of Guarma, the way his body was wracked with feverish chills on that godforsaken island, blistering sun beating down on him and he had just forced himself onwards, ignoring it. 

Micah mocking him, Dutch's merciless slaughter of that elderly woman.

Stumbling across Hosea and Lenny's graves on his long, slow trek back to Shady Belle from Van Horn and it just hitting him like a bullet to the gut that they were gone, truly gone. Like Kieran, like Sean.

When he and Charles had found that young woman in the Murfree hellhole, Arthur had sworn for several long, panic-stricken seconds that it had been Irene. The fear he had felt, the agony, he had nearly been sick with guilty relief when she stepped into the light and her eyes were blue. The enforcer would never say how dangerously close he had come to pitching himself at her feet and begging her forgiveness for being grateful that she wasn't who he had thought she was. 

And the girl's mother in Annesburg trying to pay him, like he had done something incredible. Like he wasn't a monster himself, jaded with loss and becoming more and more certain that Dutch was hellbent on reaching their collective doom. Tahiti and mangoes had never sounded so unappealing.

Molly, struck down with no mercy, 'she knew the rules', they all knew the damn rules.

Collapsing out of the blue in the streets of Saint Denis on his way to meet up with Sadie so they could rescue that fool Marston, coming back around with a kindly stranger directing him to the doctor, the sterile reek that permeated the office as the learned man dropped the bad news on him with all the grace of a boulder on his chest.

Tuberculosis, and the noose that had been around his neck since Blackwater finally snapped taut to strangle him. 

His slow, shambling walk down the street as whatever that doctor had given him to take the edge off made him hallucinate that the damned deer was back, the majestic creature sauntering through the crossroads in front of him like some kind of divine herald.

Or hellish omen.

After that was just the long, torturous slog as Dutch did his best to drag them all down into the fiery abyss with him.

Strauss, Strauss, preying on fools, on desperate men with pregnant wives, on folk he knew damn well couldn't pay him back! When Arthur had finally had enough of being the bastard's lackey he roared at the man to get the hell out!, every ounce the commanding king of legend that Sean had mockingly likened him to.

Hearts are so rarely pure. But then again, they are also rarely impure, that sister had said. Her wise words had given Arthur pause, the man speechless beside her on the bench. He wasn't used to such ambiguity from religious folk. Normally it was either saccharine-sweet pandering about how he could still be saved, or self-righteous wrath as he was told that his perdition would last eternity for every rotten thing he had done.

Rightly so, too! He was a terrible man.

The imagery of the deer kept haunting him. Arthur didn't understand it, he couldn't manage to wrap his head around why he kept dreaming about the deer. The deer or Irene, her violin music lilting fae-like through the twilight of his consciousness nearly every night as he struggled to stifle his coughing.

Black lung, black lung, Micah mocked and sneered.

When Ms. Grimshaw's end came, it was the final signature on the decree of his damnation. Violence begot violence begot violence and Arthur could scarce imagine how grisly his own demise would be.

Pinkertons flushing them out of the cave like hounds after quail, he and John fleeing--

The sound of Micah's labored breathing, blows landing over and over, the two of them circling one another on the edge of Purgatory itself until Arthur's broken body had finally given out.

In the final act of his life, Dutch had met his eyes and then departed wordlessly with Micah in tow. The sting was a far-off sensation, dulled by inevitability.

I gave you everything I had.

Arthur had thought he was dead; had thought the fight was well and truly kicked out of him. That incorrigible, stubborn spirit of his, the spite and loyalty and grit flickered and faded like a candle in a draft. He barely remembered the sunrise, his last rambling thoughts before consciousness deserted him fixated on the fact that he could feel the deer from his dreams, pacing just outside his field of vision... 

But of course, he couldn't forget the price on his head. He was still worth something to someone, even if he was hovering at Death's door.

…

Irene didn't sleep a wink, tossing and turning until the wee hours of the morning. Finally, when she checked her old pocket watch for the sixth time and saw that it was four o'clock, she gave up. 

Irene got out of bed, got dressed, and went to Anna's room to wake her. "You're coming fishing with Mama, little fawn." She whispered while the child yawned. "You can even go back to sleep on the shore, alright?"

"Mmhm." Clearly still half-asleep, Anna nodded, rubbing her eyes. 

Irene gathered up her fishing gear and her daughter, leaving a note in case she wasn't back by the time Arthur managed to rouse himself. For his sake (and perhaps a bit for her own as well), she hoped he slept in. 

It wasn't until she reached the riverbank that the lunacy of the whole situation really hit her. He was the father of her child, she had nursed him back from the brink of death itself, and yet she feared what the reveal might bring! Hadn't she done enough worrying over the last few months? 

Maybe she was more worried about whether he would stay simply out of believing it was his duty to do so.

If nothing came of it, if he...wanted nothing to do with her now that the two of them had inadvertently brought a new life into the world, it wouldn't change anything in her existence. She would live out her days in peace, far from society. Arthur Morgan would no doubt carry on in the same manner that he always had, though perhaps just a touch more cautiously. 

She didn't let herself think of the alternative. It was best that she not get her hopes up. After all, he had been the one to put their meetings to an end. Knowing what she knew now, further clarified by what Trelawny had mentioned, it seemed as though Morgan was trying to protect her from the grisly fate the rest of their band was barreling towards. She could not fault him for cutting her loose, no doubt he had thought he was doing the best thing for her. 

In a way, it had been. 

Irene hooked several fish as she pondered, reeling the small offerings in absently. Anna was young. Young enough that should Arthur decide to leave, she probably wouldn't even recall him given enough time. So it was Irene's own selfishness that she was hung up on, her own silly feelings and emotions. 

Somewhere along the way, during their free and easy couplings, she had fallen in love. With Arthur Morgan, a man she could readily admit to knowing precious little about. It seemed so foolish now, what had she been thinking?

The woman smiled wistfully as the sun rose.

She hadn't been thinking at all, there was the truth of it. She had enjoyed herself for the first time in her life, consequences be damned. 

Besides, when it all comes down to it, Irene mused as she glanced over at the sleeping form of her child, I would trade a thousand Arthurs for one sweet little Anna.

Anna woke up again around eight, clamoring for her breakfast. The two of them walked hand-in-hand back to Irene's stead, Anna swinging her arms and singing some tuneless ditty only she knew the words to. 

Arthur was awake and upright on their return, the man supporting his weight with the rough-hewn posts of the paddock. Chase looked for all the world like she was listening to him as he muttered to himself, the mare's ears pricked to catch his voice.

Clearly Irene wasn't the only one who had missed him.

Anna bolted forward, crowing in triumph. Normally Chase tended to keep to the far side of the paddock, where it was more shady. "Up, up! Wanna' pet!" The little girl demanded, straining to reach Chase's nose.

Arthur, frail and pale as he was, certainly gave it a good effort. He got the child nearly two inches off the ground before he failed, visibly panicking as he dropped her. Mercifully she didn't seem to notice, the little girl just thinking they were playing a game. 

She was laughing, "again again!", waving her arms and Arthur shot Irene a look so terrified she was barely able to restrain her mirth.

"Annie, how do we ask?" Irene prompted her daughter, then propped her boot up on the lower cross-beam of the fence and patted her thigh. "Come along, up you get!" Anna threw herself over her mother's knee, grappling Irene's skirts before managing to reach Chase's nose from her new vantage point perched on her mother's thigh. 

"Mister Art'ur no lift me?" The little girl queried after a time, giving the tall man a quizzical look. 

"It's gonna' be a while before I'm liftin' much of anythin', Miss Anna." Arthur answered her ruefully. 

"But Mama can lift?" The child continued curiously. 

"Your mama is the strongest person I know. She can lift you, me, that horse, the barn…" Arthur rattled on, listing more and more outlandish things as Anna giggled. "I once saw her lift a whole riverboat with her pinky!" Arthur claimed. "Weren't even breathin' hard neither!"

"Mama can do all that?" Anna asked, those blue eyes wide as she tilted her head back to stare up at Irene. 

"Absolutely!" The woman replied firmly, then smiled. "I'd do even more for you, my little fawn."

"She's a real strong woman, Miss Anna, real strong. You'll be just like her someday." Arthur murmured, his gaze gone melancholy again.

In response, Anna seized Arthur's hand and bunched up her tiny fist to make a 'muscle' in her arm for him to feel. "Strong!" She insisted, her expression fierce. 

"You shoah are, what you need me for around here?" Arthur humored her with a grin. "I'd just get in your way at this point." Irene realized that he wasn't talking to the child anymore, for all that his eyes were on Anna. 

"We are more than happy to have you, isn't that right Annie?" The woman stated, making Arthur glance up at her. The raw look in his gaze caught her off-guard.

"Mmhm," Anna agreed with a decisive nod. "Make you better!"

"S'pose if I had to pick a place to convalesce, I couldn't find a nicer sanatorium even out east." 

…

Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph. 

Was this little baby girl his? Did he even deserve that sort of joy? She was two already, he had missed her first steps, her first words…God, it always seemed like he was too late. From his first child Isaac with that sweet girl Eliza, to Mary, and now this.

He and Irene sat on the porch of her little cabin, the woman having made a delicious fish fry for breakfast. It smelled amazing, but Arthur's stomach was too knotted to eat. He fumbled with his fork a few times, casting about for an opening to ask Irene the all-important question on his mind.

Anna unwittingly offered him his opportunity, the child scarfing her breakfast and then begging to be permitted to play in the puddles in the yard. Irene nodded after a moment, collecting the child's plate and then instructing her to don her mess trousers.

The little girl tore off to do so and her mother chuckled quietly. "She is such a menace. Always rummaging, stomping, finding new things to squish or examine." Irene remarked. 

Arthur couldn't wait a second longer, abandoning his plate as he turned to look at her. "Irene," he said her name sharply, trying to keep his voice low. "Is that girl my child?"

Irene took her sweet time replying to him, chewing a mouthful of flaky fish. "What happens if I say yes, Arthur?" She asked, her own words soft. 

"I...I want you to know that I did my damnedest to not--I mean, when we...hell, I didn't want you pinned down like that bastard Carson wanted." Arthur swore grimly. "I didn't want to saddle you with somethin' you ain't asked for, Irene."

"Will you leave? If she's yours?" Irene was picking at her food now, refusing to look at him. Anna carried on stomping in the puddles across the yard, her giggles punctuating the silence.  

Arthur inhaled to respond and accidentally sent himself into a coughing fit, hacking and snorting in the least glamorous way possible. "It ain't fair that you've had to put up with me for so long, with the...shadow of me, even. I'm barely a fraction of the feller I once was. Can't even lift the little one," he mumbled after he managed to get the spasm under control. "But...but even if she ain't mine, even if you've been uh, knowin' other men, it doesn't matter to me, okay? I got no business commentin' on your personal affairs." 

Arthur felt like he would burst into flames from how hard he was flushing; he usually wasn't this nervous when it came to speaking what was on his mind. 

"Feels like I've gotten a second wind here, and I just...I never stopped thinkin' about you," he confessed. "Dreamin' that I would come out the other side of this and that I'd still have a damn chance to see you again."

Irene was merely listening to him ramble, her face neutral. Meanwhile, Arthur was floundering. He had no idea what the right answer might be. Did she want to be left alone? Should he entirely abandon these thoughts, these selfish wishes of his?

"I spent most of my younger years tryin' to put on a respectable front so a specific woman and her family would deem me worthy." He vaguely recalled being strung out on drink in Valentine, crying against Irene's stomach as she stroked the back of his head to soothe him. "It was never enough, and I thought that was it. That was the end for any of those dreams I had. Then I...I met you." Arthur took her hand, rubbing his thumb over the pulse that beat in her wrist. "As much as it killed me, I had to...I didn't want you to be trapped in my mess. I felt--I-I mean, I..." 

I love you, I love you, say it, you cowardly fool!

"If I do this, if I let you stay...you can't go gallivanting off into the wilds, understand?" The woman informed him sternly, her back ramrod straight. "I will not have my daughter getting attached to a man who cannot be there for her, Arthur."

His heart twisted uncertainly in his chest and Arthur hesitated, teetering on the precipice. "She is mine, isn't she?" He finally asked, his voice faltering. At her hesitant nod, the man's throat closed up. "Jesus." Arthur rasped, trying and failing to blink the tears away before they could fall. "A daughter. A li'l baby girl. I never thought I'd...Christ almighty Irene, I n-never--" 

And in an incredibly masculine display of self control, he dissolved into hiccupping sobs.

…

Irene had tried to steel herself for his reaction, fearing the worst. This however, was...manageable. 

"Hush, Arthur." She chided him, feeling her own lower lip quiver. He caught her up in an embrace, his once-powerful frame fragile and trembling with every gasp for air. His fingers clutched at her sides and he buried his face in her shoulder, his hat tumbling to the ground. "Arthur, it's alright." Irene's arms slipped beneath his own and she tentatively hugged him back, just letting him weep and sniffle into her neck. "There's no need to cry."

He stifled a cough in the crook of his elbow, pulling away after several moments. "'Course, a'course. M' fine." He choked out, mopping at his face with his bandanna.

"Art'ur, Mama!" Anna called from the paddock, her tiny hands cupped together around...something. "Art'ur see!" She stumbled to the steps, where she opened her hands just the tiniest bit. 

A wee toad sat in her palm, the creature looking a bit put-out over their current situation. 

"Caught yerself a prince there, Miss Annie?" Arthur asked, rattled by another coughing fit when she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Nuh Art'ur, a toad. Not a frog." Anna corrected, giving him a fierce scowl. "No kisses for toads."

"Little miss," Irene interjected sharply, raising an eyebrow. "Mind your manners. I know you're not that rude."

"B-But...is a toad!" Anna protested, waving the aforementioned critter around.

"I know that, Annie, but you need to be polite when you talk to folks. Now, what do we say?"

"M'sorry, Art'ur." Anna mumbled, depositing the shaken toad into her mother's waiting hands and then scuffing her boot on the ground.

"Oh don't worry about it, li'l Miss Annie. No harm done. You were right, after all." Arthur assured her with a tight smile, his eyes clouded with emotion. "Guess I got a lot to learn about that sort of thing, I ain't much in the habit of readin' fairytales." 

Irene seized the moment of distraction to usher the toad into the shelter of the shade beneath the steps. Then, she brushed her hands off on her apron and got to her feet. "Well Anna, you know what day it is. Come along, little fawn." To Arthur, she continued, "it's Monday, which is also wash day. Be a dear and strip your bed, would you?"

…

Arthur hated that he was absolutely drenched in sweat over something so mundane! He recalled enviously the sheer amount of times he would trek back and forth across whatever camp they had set up, lugging sacks of maize or a fresh kill over one shoulder with the greatest of ease. 

He had nearly been bested by sheets and bedding, of all things. This boded poorly. 

He laid on his back for several long minutes after he had managed to finish remaking the tick up in the hayloft, doing his best to catch his breath again. He knew he should be grateful for surviving the consumption in the first place, but there was a nagging fear in the back of his mind that threatened to fester.

What if this was as good as he got? What if he never really...recovered? His clothes fairly hung off of him; his entire body had become so frail. He was winded from making his blasted pallet! He would be a dependent, a sponge on Irene, a leech. 

That thought had him cringing, and he forced himself to sit back up. Everything ached. He had pushed himself too hard, that was all. Arthur knew in a logical sense that he couldn't just...expect to leap out of bed ready to wrestle a grizzly so soon after a five-month stint of nothing. It just pricked at his pride.

"Arthur?" Irene's head appeared at the top of the ladder, the woman giving him a quizzical look as she took in his rumpled state. "Would you like to bathe? Water's still hot."

Bathe. Lord, a bath sounded heavenly right about now. His sore muscles practically screamed for it. "Depends on how much I'd have to pay to get you as my bath girl." He replied without hesitation.

"I'm a luxury, Mister Morgan." That would have driven a knife into his belly, had she not punctuated it with a saucy wink. "I'm afraid you'll have to do a bit extra to earn a helping hand in your washtub."

Arthur grinned ruefully, shaking his head. "Forgive me ma'am, my mouth ran away from me."

"Oh I'm certain!" Irene laughed, reaching up to swat his knee. "Come along now, before the water cools."

Stripping down in the privacy of her bedroom was...interesting. Arthur studiously avoided looking at the mirror she had as he shed his clothing, folding everything and leaving it by the door like she had asked. The woman already had clean clothes waiting for him on the chair beside the tub. He wouldn't get better service in a Saint Denis hotel!

Lowering his body down into the still-warm water was absolutely heavenly, for all that he nearly scalded himself. Irene must have topped off the tub before he came in, bless her for it. 

A lump of soap sat primly atop a wash rag on the mat next to the tub, and Arthur knew he ought to get started before the water grew too tepid to be comfortable. But there was no harm in taking a moment or two to relax, right?

He lolled his head back against the lip of the tub, his eyes wandering lazily to the mirror beside the door. It was safe to look at now, as it was tilted in such a way that he wouldn't see himself. The last rays of the day's sunlight reflected off the looking glass, the beams warming the rough-hewn floorboards from their usual pale gold to a rich, honeyed brown. 

Arthur wondered idly if Irene had built this place by herself. He didn't doubt it; she was a resourceful woman. 

There was still the question of how she had managed to get ahold of him. Oh certainly, she had mentioned Josiah. But there had been an omission of further details involving his rescue that he found odd. He would have to ask her after he was done with his wash. Maybe over supper.

He groaned, straightening his back and scooping up the soap. He'd best get to scrubbing if he wanted to be presentable for the mealtime.

…

"Arthur?" Irene knocked on the door to her room, a touch worried when she received no answer. "Arthur, it's nearly time for dinner." Still nothing. She took a gamble and turned the handle, easing the door open a hair. 

Arthur appeared to have fallen asleep in the tub, and Irene barely managed to stifle her chuckle. She closed the door behind her gently, tiptoeing to the side of the tub.

He didn't look so worn when he was sleeping, she decided. The furrows smoothed from his brow and the lines around his eyes eased a bit, his mind temporarily free of the burdens that plagued him during his waking hours. Irene settled onto the floor beside the tub, stroking her fingers through his damp hair. "Arthur," she called softly. 

He hummed low in his chest, those blue eyes blinking open as she continued to comb through his thick locks. "Well, ain't you a sight for sore eyes." The man drawled, a lazy grin on his face. "Prettiest bath gal I've ever seen." Arthur slotted his fingers through her own, pressing a kiss to her raw-washed knuckles. "These poor hands of yours...Irene, you'll work yourself to the bone." He chided. "Once I get back up to full strength, I promise you'll want for nothin'." 

Nothing at all, his gaze continued, the heated stare sending those old but oh so familiar waves of delight through her body.

"Arthur…" Irene was at a loss, biting her lower lip and breaking his stare by dropping her eyes to the floor. "We will have to wait and see. Once you're back on your feet." She allowed finally.

"It's a deal, Miss Craft." Arthur swore, his jaw set in a determined line. 

Once you're truly well again, I doubt I'll be able to hold on to you, Irene thought sadly as she rose to stand once more. "Supper is nearly ready. Don't take too long, otherwise Annie will polish off your helping!" She teased, her heart not really in it.

Arthur cocked his head, appearing like he was about to question her further, so Irene seized the moment to slip back through the door and close it behind her.

She leaned back against the door, staring up at the ceiling while exhaling hard. Her throat felt suspiciously tight and Irene shook her head at herself, annoyed. I'll be alright. Annie and I have been fine, and we can carry on just fine even without Arthur.

If only she believed it!

Summer’s Warmth, Part Two

[spookysanta]

online - two. (g.d.)

Summary: everyone warned him about talking to this girl online. but he can’t help but want to fall for her... now he has to meet her. what happens when they finally get together in person?

Pairing: Grayson Dolan x Reader

WARNINGS: sexy thoughts, oops

UNEDITED

click here for part one

***

She didn’t exactly know what to do with herself. Usually, when she’s home, she goes to her classes for the day, grabs something to eat from somewhere on campus, and then she goes back to her apartment where she talks to Grayson until she gets tired. But now she’s here and she doesn’t have to do any of that, which is why she was sitting on Grayson’s bed scrolling mindlessly through social media while he sent an e-mail to “someone important”.

“I’m bored.” She said after about twenty minutes of silence.

“I’m sorry.” He replied.

He was a little shit sometimes and she just wanted to knock him in his perfect head for it.

“You have to entertain me because I’m your guest.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“Okay, well at least talk to me. I have nothing to do.” She rotated her body horizontally, facing Grayson’s desk. She grabbed one of the throw pillows that sat at the head of his bed and rested her head on it as she lay on her stomach. “Can we please do something fun?”

He turned in his desk chair so that they were facing each other. He sighed, “Fine.”

“Yay!”

“You wanna go out or stay in?”

“Mm. I guess we can go out.” She shrugged. “Maybe grab some dinner?”

“Fancy or casual?” he pulled out his phone, to, as she assumes, find somewhere for them to eat that accommodates for him being vegan (at the moment), and for her and her possible allergies. “I think we should do fancy so we can take pictures.”

“Who says I want to take a picture with you?” she joked.

“If you keep playin’ with me, we’ll be eating cereal without milk.”

She decided to be quiet, much to his enjoyment. “Alright, so I’m going to make reservations at Le Comptoir for eight o’clock. So that means we can hang out for a while and then you and I can get fancy-shmancy, and then we can eat until we’re stuffed—or until I run out of money. Whichever comes first.”

“Le Comptoir sounds expensive.”

He replied to her with a, “So?”

“I don’t want you wasting your money on me—”

“I’m sorry, but please shut up.” He groaned. “I don’t know what it is about me spending money on you that annoys you but let me. Let me buy you things, let me take you places, let me spend my money on you. I like spending my money on you. I like making you happy. So just…shut it.”

“Why, though?” she had to ask. She doesn’t think she’s that special. And quite frankly, she doesn’t think she’s worth him going broke. All her life, people have been handing things to her or doing things for her just because they could. So now that she’s an adult, she thinks that earning things or doing things herself is the best way to obtain what she deserves. “What makes me so important that you feel the need to spend your money—your hard-earned money—on me? Isn’t there something else you’d rather spend your money on?”

“Nope.” He got up and sat next to her body on the bed, his leg parallel to her head. She laid on her back this time so she could properly look at him. “You want to know why I spend my money on you?”

She nodded.

“Because you make me happy. Your smile makes me smile. So, whatever I can do to see your smile, to see you light up, I’m going to do.”

That made her smile, as much as she tried to fight it. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am. Because I like you a lot. And I would give anything—do anything at all—to make you happy. I can’t help it.”

“You like me a lot?”

He nodded. “Yup.”

“Like…you like me, or you like me?”

“What are you, six?” he laughed out loud, which made her smile turn into a grin. “Do I need to spell it out for you? I want you to be my girl.”

Her heart did a thing. She’s not entirely sure what it did. Maybe she was having a heart attack? Maybe it stopped beating altogether for a moment? Maybe it’s fallen to her ass?

She’s got no idea. But man, she’s happy.

“Really?”

“Yeah. More than anything.”

“So does this mean us going out tonight…is our first date?”

“Technically, I counted lunch at Olive Garden our first date.”

(She did, too.)

“So then it’s our second date?”

“Yeah.”

“Y’know, I’ve never been on a date before.” She confessed.

His jaw dropped. Of course, a girl as beautiful as she is has been taken on a date before! Who the hell has she been dating for them to not take her out and spoil her? Clearly they don’t see how amazing she is. “Well now, we have to make a night out of it.”

“No, we don’t.” Okay, sure, he lectured her about how he spends his money on her because he liked her a lot, and sure, she heard him, but that doesn’t mean she agrees with his logic. “We can just do dinner and then come back.”

He snorted. That was not going to happen. “Yeah, okay.”

***

“(Y/N), are you—fuck.” He entered her room (after knocking first, he wasn’t an animal), and saw her in all of her glory. She was wearing a black sequin cocktail dress and black heels, and really, she brought it as an excuse to go to a club if there was one around. But now, she thinks it was a smart decision to have packed it either way.

“What?” she turned from the mirror on the wall to face him. “Do I look slutty?”

“No, not at all. You look fantastic.”

Clouds. Rainbows. Sunrises. Red. Green. Orange… he had to keep thinking of things that weren’t her and that weren’t what he wanted to do to her in this moment with that dress on so that the blood won’t rush from his head, to his…other head. All it would take is for me to shuffle the dress up, pull her panties to the side, and…purple, blue skies, butterflies, leprechauns.

“Thank you. You look really nice, too.” He was wearing black pants and a white button-up with a black tie. Fancy, yet simple. And she especially thought it was cute that they were both matching (unintentionally). And she had to keep her mind away from what she wanted him to do to her. And obviously, that was difficult, because he was a walking sex puddle. But then he opens his mouth, or he laughs, or he does literally anything at all, and then he’s an adorable teddy bear.

Teddy bear, teddy bear…you can’t have sex with a stuffed animal, (Y/N). If you keep thinking of him as a teddy bear, that’s all he’ll be. A cute, soft, cuddly teddy bear.

“Ready?” he took her out of her trance, and she’s certain she was staring, but he was too. So they’re even. “Kyle’s outside so we can take our pictures here, and then we can go.”

“Okay.” She strutted to where he was and took the arm he offered – his big, strong arm that would just wrap perfectly around her—

No.

Not now, (Y/N). You’re literally on his arm thinking about how you want this exact arm around your throat? Are you that desperate to get laid?

And he smells so good. Like the best kind of good. Like all the best manly scents in the world, plus the smell of mint gum. That good. And all she wanted to do was have his scent engulf her in every possible way. She wanted him to engulf her, really.

They managed to get to the door without her tripping over her feet, and without Grayson deciding they wouldn’t go out and ravishing her against the nearest wall. He opened the door for her and let her walk out first, partially because he’s a gentleman, and partially because his eyes felt the need to wander.

It’s good that they’re on the same page about this whole relationship thing.

And damn, was that a not-so great decision. It was great that he got to look because she was curvy in the best ways and that dress really showed off her “assets”. But he forgot for a quick that he’s a guy with a penis. So the opportunity he had to stare was cut short when he felt himself jump in his pants; which was when he decided to get the show on the road. He closed the door and locked it. Kyle Houck stood outside in the driveway, leaned against his car as he waited for the couple.

“Hey, Ky.” Grayson greeted.

“Hey.” Kyle replied.

She’d never seen what he looked like. She’d seen him in their recent videos, but never really got a look at his face. He was kind of cute, actually. In a stoke of non-flirtatious confidence, she introduced herself with a smile, “Hi, I’m (Y/N).”

He offered his hand to shake, and she did. His hands were soft but a bit cold due to the changing air. “Nice to meet you, I’m Kyle.”

“Okay!” Grayson interrupted. “Time for pictures, I’m hungry.”

The couple took a step back from the car and Kyle began snapping photos. Grayson pulled her in close to him, with an arm securely wrapped around her waist. He took about thirty pictures, each of them followed by a short compliment from Kyle…to (Y/N).

“Okay, (Y/N), you look amazing. How about you take a step forward for me?” he instructed her, crouching down to get a better angle of the two. She took a baby step forward, allowing one of her legs to be in front of the other. “Yep, you look perfect.”

Grayson’s arm tightened around her.

Does Kyle not see him?

And, more importantly, does (Y/N) see him? It’s not like he isn’t standing right next to her or anything.

Who does Kyle think he is telling her that she looks good? Grayson knows she looks good, and he doesn’t need that to be announced to the entire city. She looks good for him. Not Kyle.

“You ready to go?” Grayson asked her not-so kindly. “If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late.”

That wasn’t necessarily a lie, but it wasn’t entirely the truth either.

“Oh, yes, let’s go.” She replied, grabbing her purse from the hood of the car. “Thank you, Kyle!”

“It’s no sweat.” He shrugged. He nodded to Grayson, “I can edit these and get them back to you later.”

“Actually, that’s not necessary. Just give me the drive and I’ll take care of them.”

“You sure, man? I don’t mind.”

“Yup.” Grayson held his hand out. Kyle reluctantly handed him the drive from the camera and Grayson shoved it in his pocket. “Thanks.”

[antihero-writings]

Stolen Sunlight

Fandom: Tangled | Tangled the Series | Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure

Summary: Arianna never thought she'd find herself afraid of a fourteen-year-old boy, but the events of Secret of the Sundrop won't seem to leave her.

She needs to talk to Varian in prison. Not for his sake...but for her own.

Character focus: Arianna and Varian

Notes: This is a fic I started writing many many years ago, during the hiatus between seasons 1 and 2. I intended to post it way back then, as a long one-shot. I continued to occasionally work on it over the years, however, it's proven one of the hardest fics I've ever written to edit, (mostly due to the amount of internal monologue).

I finally decided that probably the only way to get it actually edited and posted is to break it up into multiple chapters, despite the fact that it's essentially only one scene, and I feel like that messes with the format. Hopefully it'll help me edit, and end up making it easier for people to read too XD I might post the full version of this, unbroken up, too after I finish it. But I finally got fed up with my editing process and decided this was the only way.

I'm aware that plenty of other people have written Varian and Arianna fics over the years, but at the time I started this there weren't that many yet, and I worked so hard on this, I still wanted to post it, even if others have done things like it. Plus, I'm not sure how many people have written it this heavily from Arianna's perspective.

I hope you all enjoy it, either way! Please don't hesitate to leave a comment to let me know, if so!!

Chapter 1: Fractured Memory

Sun splinters through the castle windows, designing reflections on the newly polished floor.

When she walks into the library, her mouth drops open; The entire room gleams. That Corona sunlight bounces between the tiles, tables, and shelves like a little boy full of energy, laughing as he leaps around the room. 

It may be a royal library, but there’s usually still a layer of dust draped over everything, sealing up the gaps, and clogging up the stories. The servants try their best, but it’s hard to get into all the crevices between the shelves, the cracks between the pages. 

The tiles glitter, the shelves look new, the books don’t cough up dust when she lifts them, even a few of their bindings are mended. 

She stays a while to admire it before heading back for her room, and as she does, Arianna smiles, her gait almost dreamy—so like her daughter’s. 

Who would take such care to polish her library? She appreciates the gesture more than words can express, but she would like to say ‘thank you’ at least. 

A curious sight down the hall interrupts her wondering; a laundry cart, moving on its own. 

A very full laundry cart, that is…Cassandra doesn’t usually fill them so much.

“May I…help you?” she walks up to the cart, tilting her head, strands of hair falling to the side. 

“Oh, no, it’s fine! I got this!” the laundry cart replies. 

The ventriloquist reveals himself: a boy steps out from behind it. She guesses he must be one of Rapunzel’s friends, since she doesn’t remember seeing him here before, and he doesn’t exactly look like a royal servant, (despite the fact that he’s performing one of their jobs).

He pushes back his hair—black, with a streak of turquoise at the front—and smooths out his apron. Upon seeing her, his eyes widen with shock.

 “Oh!” he stumbles, attempting to bow too low, too quickly, “Your majesty! I-I am so sorry! I didn’t realize—!”

She laughs, holding out a hand to steady him. 

“Don’t worry. Please. I’m Arianna.”

“Oh—O-Okay. That…seems to run in the family,” he mutters beneath his breath. “I’m Varian.” He leans confidently against the laundry cart…which starts moving, so he pulls it back with all his strength before it gets out of hand.  

“Oh! Varian! Rapunzel told me about you!”

He freezes, his eyes trailing back to her, like people talking about him is usually a bad thing. “She…She has?”

“Of course!” she steps closer. “You’re the alchemist, right?”

He pauses, blinks, then his face breaks into the biggest grin. He clears his throat, rubbing fake dirt off his gloves, trying to hide his joy, as he looks back up at her. “Ten points to the lady in the crown.”

She smiles.

“Are you here for the completion today?” 

He nods. “I think I’ve got a pre-tty good chance of snagging that first prize if I do say so myself,” he pulls on his apron straps, then pauses, realizing how arrogant that sounds. “Not to uh…toot my own horn or anything. But it doesn’t seem like there’s anything like my invention in the running, so I think once Master Doctor St. Croix sees it he’ll be impressed! At least I hope so.”

“Well, if your invention is anything like the ones Rapunzel has told me about you’ll have no trouble snagging that blue ribbon.”

“Oh stop,” he flicks his wrist to wave her off, but is beaming from ear to ear. 

She notes that she may be encouraging him a little too much. The experiments Rapunzel has told her about aren’t exactly all blue-ribbon worthy. Or, perhaps they would be…if they all worked properly. At the same time, she isn’t sure labelling him as dangerous, and reckless is really fair. She and Willow had tried out their share of inventions, which often failed in a grand array of explosions. If they had worked properly, growing up wouldn’t have been as colorful. At least he was trying his best to help people with his inventions. Without the explosive failures, there was no room for fiery success either. 

 “Wait, shouldn’t you be there with the other contestants now?”

“Oh, yeah.” He says nonchalantly. “But I figured since I’m going second-to-last I’ve got a decent amount of time before I have to present. Cassi—Cassandra has agreed to be my assistant, so I’m helping her out with her lady-in-waiting duties first.”

“Don’t let her make you do all her work.” She says in a motherly way. Then gasps, “The library!” 

 He winces. “Did I do something wrong? I-I can fix it, don’t worry!”

“No, no!” she puts her hands on his shoulders, “So you were the one who cleaned it?”

“Yeees…?”

She pulls him into a hug. “Thank you so much.”—his eyes widen with shock—“I’ve never seen the place look so beautiful.” She releases him. 

“Oh!” he rubs the back of his neck and the smile turns sheepish.

“That must have taken you hours!”

“It was no big deal. Nothing a little home-alchemy can’t fix.” He says like a salesman.

“How did you do it?”

“Just a compound of my own invention,” he digs in his pocket and holds up a little, blue orb between his thumb and forefinger. “Most people don’t understand the more practical uses for alchemy.” he marches forward, hands on his hips, in a hyperbolic show of pride, making his voice sound deep, “that’s why I make it a mission to show the world the value of alchemy! To boldly go where no man has gone before!” he laughs, his pose collapsing, “Or something like that.”

No wonder Rapunzel had such nice things to say about him. There weren’t a lot of people out there who were so…genuine. People who cleaned libraries because they needed cleaning, who created solutions for problems simply because they needed fixing. 

 “Maybe one day you can teach me.”

“Really?” He drops the ball and it explodes into a sudsy mess on the already polished floor. “I mean, not that I think a queen should be doing housework! But…really?”

“Please,” she waves him off. “I wasn’t always a queen, you know. If Willow and I had had tricks like this maybe our house would have always looked like a pigsty. Sometimes I think we started going off on adventures just to get away from the smell.” She leans in closer, whispering behind her hand, “One time, I set the kitchen on fire trying to bake a birthday cake for Frederic.”

He laughs, then pauses like he isn’t sure he’s allowed to. “I guess not every queen is scared to get her hands dirty, huh?”

“Uh huh,” she puts her hands on her hips, “You should have seen the look on his face.”

“Happy birthday huh?”

“Now make sure to always send someone to Monty’s for his cake…spare us all.”

He fails to keep himself from laughing again, then pauses.

“Well… I really should be getting back to these chores. This laundry isn’t going to clean itself, amIright?” he bobs his head and walks backwards to the cart. “But it was really nice talking to you, your Maj—I mean,” he points, “Arianna.”

“Let me help you! This cart is too heavy to carry on your own.” she rushes over to the other end—he’s so thin, she’s afraid he’ll snap in two if he does all the chores by himself.

“No no!” he comes dangerously close to slapping her hands away. “I mean,” he smiles nervously, pulling his fingers close to his chest, realizing his outburst to the Queen. “I wouldn’t want you to get your…er…royal hands dirty…Right?”

She smiles. 

Well, if a little stubborn. 

“As long as you’re sure.” 

*

*

* The scene shifts, smearing like a painting left out in the rain. The reflection becomes more sinister; a glowing tower of amber, and encased within, a man reaching to the sky as if trying to catch rays of sunlight; as if light alone can break himself out of his prison of stained glass. The curtain to this godforsaken show is crumpled at the bottom. A giant machine stands in the middle of the room, made of metal, lightning, and cold, haunting music. 

The room smells like sulfur, and rust, and a lot of other chemicals she can’t quite place. Things from the earth which don’t smell natural at all. 

The same boy stands before her. The same, and yet…not the same at all. Along with the light from the windows, so too has disappeared the light from his eyes. The blue is something akin to moonlight; less the gleam of day, the reflection of the sunrise, full of hope, instead, more an eclipsed glow, shrouded by darkness. 

She feels that rusted metal, the cold in his eyes, wrap like icy hands around her ankles. 

She looks quizzically from her cuffed ankles to him. Doesn’t the warden usually cuff the prisoner’s hands? 

He seems to understand her confusion, because he answers her unasked question;

 “Please,” he scoffs. His eyes meet hers, and he smirks. The words, the smile, no longer contain compassion, they are manufactured with bite and scorn; “I wouldn’t want you to get your royal hands dirty.” 

He tugs hard on the chain, showing that it’s connected to the lab’s floor, as if saying to a toddler You’re stuck here, understand? He walks back over to his desk—littered with bottles, liquid bubbling and seething like his emotions, an array of colors that tell nothing of what they contain. 

If the color green is sleep, then what color is death? 

She looks up at the golden tower in the center of the room. She doesn’t want to, but she can’t look away. 

—Look away…like Frederic did, when people like Varian were crying out for his help against the rocks. Look away, like Rapunzel had to when the storm was coming, and Quirin was being imprisoned. Look away, like they all did after the storm passed.

 She still couldn’t believe her husband would, could do something like that. That was the reason she was here, the reason the boy was hurt, the reason…the mistake, the poorly made choice. 

No, she couldn’t think that way. Besides, she knew he had his reasons, that he wanted to make sure people didn’t panic, and he wanted to keep Rapunzel safe. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t fully understand the situation. 

And she would never blame Rapunzel. Rapunzel had had to make one of the most difficult choices of her life that day, had had to learn too much about being queen, too soon: that it was about choices, and sometimes those choices would be leaving behind the one, for the sake of the many. 

And the amber was the other reason, and that wasn’t Frederic’s fault...The amber Varian himself had mistakenly made.

Still, it would have been so easy. So easy to come back to him once the storm had ended. So easy...

So where did the fault lie, really?—

Was it amber? Was amber the color of death? Or just another kind of sleep? 

The boy’s eyes shift, glaring at her with nothing more than bitterness. 

Or was it blue? The color of the moon, a well-timed strike of lightning, an icy landscape. Was blue the color of death?

 “What are you going to do?” 

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “I’ll reveal my whole plan to you. Let me go into the tragic backstory of Varian,” he waves his hand grandly, “The poor boy, who lost his father to an experiment, a few rocks, a storm, and a princess’ broken promise.” He leans on the desk, resting his cheek in his hand in some mock-loving fashion, his eyes aimed on her like gunfire. “It’s simple; Rapunzel broke her promise.” He stands back up to his full height—which, admittedly, isn’t very high, but it’s more impressive from her place on the ground. “I tried asking nicely for her help, and I was denied.” He jabs a finger on the table to emphasize his point; the first sign of violence. “Now I’m going to ask” he smirks, tilting his head to the side, his eyes half-lidded in the dark, “not so nicely.” 

He pauses a moment, glancing at the chemicals on his desk. 

“I once said I’d teach you the ways of practical alchemy.” He reaches forward and takes up a flask. “Well, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind, but I will show you something.”

He walked over to her, holding the flask full of something green and frothy that smells like dog breath.

Was it green? Was death’s color the same as sleep? The colors of leaves and grass and everything everyone thinks is a sign of life. ...It would be a cruel joke.

“This is a little solution I like to call…Varium.” There’s something hurt in his eyes when he says the word. “You see, when it reacts with the rocks,” he runs his fingers along the black spire jutting through the wall between them—one could be fooled into thinking in an intrigued way, but there was something harsh in his touch, resentful in his eyes, “it has this tendency to—” he held it over the stones, the liquid trickling slowly downwards in the flask, teasing her breath to catch itself and fall. He turns the bottle upright, and bites his lip, closing his eyes, willing himself not to turn around and look at what this has done before. 

What he’s done. 

“Well, you get the idea,” he mutters, returning the flask to his desk.

She doesn’t have to ask, and he doesn’t have to finish. 

“You think if you threaten me Rapunzel will work with you?” there’s a bite to her words. 

 “Ten points to the lady in the crown.” 

She pauses as he returns to work, her eyes trailing along the chain, the floor, jumping onto the windowsill—the rocks interrupting her gaze at every bend and break of the room—searching for any way out, any chance at rescue, anything her husband and daughter could use against him.

Was death black? The color everyone thinks it is. The black of these rocks, the low blue glowing beneath them, destroying his home, destroying their hearts, their chances at friendship and…It surely seemed like it. 

“She won’t, you know.”

He raises an eyebrow as if to say oh, you think?

“Rapunzel.” She tries to urge her confidence, like a stubborn pet, to come out, but it shies away by the second. “She won’t help you.”

He smiles. “You make your hypotheses, I’ll make mine.”

“And what are yours?” her own eyes are half lidded. 

He thinks over his words. “She can’t…help but help. She always had this sick compassion about her.” After a moment he adds softly, “…but only for her kingdom.”

Anger, injustice, bubble within her chest. 

 “You don’t have to be like this, you know.”

“And she didn’t have to break her promise,” he tilts his head, “ya know.”

She grits her teeth, clenches her fist. “I met you once. What happened to that boy who—”

He laughs a little, cutting her off. “Yeah, well, he learned a couple things about the real world.”

For a moment, just one brief moment, there is something there. Something in his eyes, a memory, a reaction, like the chemicals. Something real, something lost, something hurt, something…something not this. Incased within a prison of blue—

And then that moment ended.

[bittcrglory]

INDIANA STOKELY + NAME MEANINGS !

INDIANA — english, place name. NOELLE — french, christmas. STOKELY — english, variant of stockley / from the tree stump meadow.

[frobster]

Still taking requests?? If you are, perhaps a sequel to your bucky x Peter prostitute drabble would be interesting... I know I would enjoy it :)

HERE WE GO this took forever because it spawned an entire fic. I am responding with the first chapter. Chapter 2 will be posted in a week and I am currently working on chapter 3. Oops.

It is also currently up on ao3 where the next chapters will be added!

EDIT: here's the original ficlet that inspired this request!

☆☆☆

Peter was fiercely independent and did not take well to Bucky offering to pay for everything. He slipped away while Bucky slept, taking all the money he could find and jumping in a cab as soon as he could. His mind reeled as the cab drove him home, running over all the events that transpired in the past few hours. Some random rich guy plucked him off the street, took him home, and offered to pay for everything he could ever want. It had to be a trick. That didn’t really happen outside of movies, and even if it did, it would never happen to him. He wasn’t lucky enough for that.

When he got back to his crappy little apartment, Peter collapsed face-first onto his couch. He barely got any sleep the previous night with how anxious he was about this man. It might not have been safe for him to fall asleep. What if he woke up in some dark, cold basement, tied down and completely at the man’s mercy?

Peter shivered as that thought crossed his mind. But no, he had to stay focused. That was not a scenario he wanted to find himself in. Fantasy had to stay fantasy.

Checking his phone, Peter realized it was dead since he had been working most of the night and then spent the last few hours before sunrise at a stranger’s apartment. He groaned as he pushed up from the couch and shuffled to his bedroom where he plugged his phone in before flopping onto the bed in the exact same fashion as the couch. Maybe he could get some sleep while his phone charged.

It felt like Peter had just closed his eyes when his phone rang. He blindly swatted around his bed until he found it and swiped to answer without even bothering to look at the caller ID.

“Pete, where the hell have you been?!”

Peter winced at the loud voice, but he recognized it immediately. 

“At home,” he mumbled in reply.

“Well get up and come open the door. Me and MJ are here, we brought food,” Ned said.

The sounds of doors closing and bags crinkling filled the line for a moment. Peter finally pried his eyes open and winced at how bright his room was. He must have gotten some sleep, the sun was high in the sky by then. When he got home, it was barely sunrise. 

“Yeah, yeah. See you in a minute.” Peter hung up the call before sliding out of bed and going to open the door.

Ned was Peter’s high school best friend. They had just graduated the year before and Peter had taken some time off to earn money since he had to support himself and couldn’t afford to go right to college. MJ was Peter’s street best friend. She worked the same job and they often planned to stand on the same corners together so they wouldn’t be bored or lonely. To his relief, they both got along well.

“Hey, kid,” MJ said with a grin as she walked in with Ned right behind her. They were both carrying bags of food and it seemed like they did some grocery shopping for him too. Peter felt a little guilty, but Ned lived with his parents still and had money from his part time job that he didn’t really need to spend on anything else, and MJ had far more experience along with living in a shared unit so her rent wasn’t as high. 

“I’m not a kid, not compared to you,” Peter pouted as the two started putting food away.

“I’m two years older than you,” she countered. “And Ned is a few months older. You’re the baby of this group, Petey.”

Ned snickered as Peter glowered at them and flopped onto his couch again. He didn’t have the energy to debate them on his baby status.

“You disappeared last night and never answered your phone. I called you like twenty times.” MJ walked over and looked down at Peter with a stern expression.

“Yeah, sorry. Some rich guy picked me up and took me home. He said he’d pay for everything I ever wanted if I lived with him, but that sounded like a trap so I snuck out this morning. Didn’t have time to charge my phone while I was planning my escape.”

Both Ned and MJ had raised eyebrows. They glanced at each other and had a silent conversation that consisted of vague hand gestures and pointed facial expressions.

“Almost sounds like you could’ve snatched up a sugar daddy,” Ned finally said as he pulled out a container of french fries to hand to Peter.

Peter accepted the fries and ate a few as he thought. “Maybe. But come on, I’m not stupid. Nothing like that ever happens in real life, and it definitely would never happen to me. He probably had some sort of torture room where he kills vulnerable, helpless people like me that he just plucks off the street.”

“Dude, you were there all night and nothing happened,” MJ pointed out before biting into her burger.

“Yeah if he really wanted to kill you, it would’ve been easy last night.” Ned wiped a spot of ketchup off his face and shrugged. “Did you get his name? Maybe we could look him up, do some investigating.”

“Well, he didn’t tell me his name but I went through his wallet when he was asleep to take his money,” Peter said casually as he picked up his phone. He had already tried googling the guy earlier but nothing much came up.

Pulling up the search page again, Peter showed his friends the name and measly number of results. MJ scrunched up her face in distaste as Ned rolled his eyes.

“Really, Peter? Have I not taught you better than this? Never go to google for your stalking.”

Ned shook his head as he got up to grab his backpack. He dug out his laptop and booted it up before opening his own search page. Peter recognized it as something they had worked on together in high school, though he couldn’t do much now since his own laptop was a cheap, crappy thing that he could barely connect to the internet with. 

MJ shifted to sit on the other side of Ned so she could see the screen too as he typed away. It took a few minutes but soon Ned had a search page with far more results than Peter managed to find, and even some pictures.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Peter confirmed as he went back to his chicken nuggets.

“I see why you’re suspicious,” MJ muttered, pointing to an article link. The boys glanced at it and Peter sucked in a sharp breath.

“Peter! The mafia?” Ned whispered sharply.

“I had no idea!” Peter whispered back in the same tone. They were all afraid to talk too loudly, especially with the thin walls of his apartment. 

“You could be the kept boy of a mafia don,” MJ added with a smirk.

Peter just squeaked and looked away, heart racing as he thought of all the ways the previous night could have gone. He felt lucky to be alive, let alone in his own apartment. 

There were plenty of reasons for Peter to fear for his life without the interest of such a dangerous man. Being a sex worker was bad enough, on top of also being transgender. He made it clear up front to anyone who wanted to buy a service from him and he put up with cruel misgendering so long as they didn’t physically harm him. There was pepper spray, a pocket knife, and a rape whistle in his bag at all times, and he wore jewelry that could be used as a weapon if he couldn’t get to his bag.

Ned and MJ knew about the struggles he faced on a daily basis and always tried to support him as best as they could, but Peter wasn’t sure if there was anything they could do in this case. Maybe if he was lucky, this James guy would just leave him alone. 

“Maybe I could just skip work for a few nights, or stand on a different corner,” Peter suggested lamely. He couldn’t really afford to skip any nights of work, but he also didn’t want to risk James finding him again.

“Pete, I doubt that would really stop this guy if he’s actually interested in you. Guy owns like half the city, he probably has people out right now looking for you,” Ned pointed out.

Peter sighed and flopped back onto the couch. He felt stuck and entirely unsure what to do. Typically he and MJ worked the same corner, or at least the same street, so they could keep an eye on each other. But he didn’t want MJ to fall under the attention of this man too.

“We can work different streets if that would make you feel better,” MJ offered with a smile. “I’ll just talk to the boss and tell him we’re gonna be in a different area. It shouldn’t be an issue as long as we stick to a street with bars and a nearby hotel.”

“Yeah, okay.” Peter relaxed slightly. He could always count on MJ to have his back. “That sounds good. I don’t work tonight, so maybe tomorrow?”

“Sure thing, kid.” MJ was already taking out her phone to send a text to their boss about changing locations.

Peter rolled his eyes at MJ calling him a kid again, but he liked it. It was a term of endearment between them, nothing against his age or slight stature. Even with the help of hormone therapy, something Peter refused to give up even when money got tight, he was still on the smaller side. He was always immensely thankful that he managed to get top surgery before his aunt passed away. Her insurance had helped them afford it and there was no more to pay off on it. All Peter had to really worry about was paying for his hormones. 

The day passed with all three of them lounging around Peter’s apartment, cooking when they were hungry but otherwise just watching television or playing games with Ned’s laptop connected to the tv. It was just what Peter needed to relax after the strange night with James, and he didn’t think about being followed or tracked until his friends bid him goodnight and left. 

When he was alone, Peter huddled down into his bed with every blanket he owned piled around him for comfort. His phone was set aside to charge with the volume all the way up before he closed his eyes and tried to settle his chaotic thoughts. 

Nothing bad will happen. It was a one-time thing. MJ will help if something does happen.

Eventually Peter was able to fall asleep, but he tossed and turned all night as strange dreams played through his mind. In one, James found him again and all his fears came true. He was kept prisoner, abused, tortured and finally killed. But it morphed into something that made his dream self feel like he was coming back to life. The dream glowed bright white and seemed to reset with him in James’ apartment once more. This time, the man was making dinner with his hair tied back in a casual bun, whistling to himself over the sizzling stove.

Dream-Peter got up to walk over, curious about what was cooking. It looked exactly like the pasta he had made with his friends that day and somehow, that soothed him. He glanced up to James, surprised to see the man smiling, and instinctually smiled back. 

“Go sit down, Pete. Food’s almost ready, I’ll serve it up soon.” James’ voice was smooth and deep. Definitely something Peter could get used to hearing.

As if in a trance, dream-Peter sat down at the nearby dining table which was already set with two places. Soon James came over and scooped some pasta onto both plates and pressed a kiss to Peter’s head before sitting down next to him.

“Eat up, baby,” James said with a smile. He had one arm draped over Peter’s chair and ate with his other hand, as casual as could be. 

In a complete flip of the previous dream, Peter felt safe and relaxed. He scooted his chair closer to James before digging into his food. Real-Peter started to drool onto his pillow as he imagined a fresh plate of pasta with garlic butter sauce. 

The dream skipped as dreams often do, and the two were then on the couch. James once again had his arm around Peter, who leaned into the older man like he belonged tucked against his side. It was a calm, comfortable moment and real-Peter finally relaxed in his mess of blankets. 

“I’m glad you came back to me.” Dream-Peter looked up to James who was smiling again, always smiling, and looking at him like he was something precious. James leaned down to give dream-Peter a proper kiss but just before their lips met, there was a shrill beeping sound.

Peter jolted awake with a gasp, lips still warm and tingling from what almost happened. He groaned when he realized it was all a dream, rolling over onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. The dreams were exhausting, emotionally and mentally, and he wasn’t sure how he would be able to stay awake that night. Maybe MJ could buy them coffee at some point. 

The memories of the first dream made Peter shudder and tuck his blankets closer around him. The shrill beeping started again, so he finally reached over to smack at his phone until it stopped. He cursed the sound, wishing the dream could’ve continued, before realizing what that thought meant. 

“Fuck,” Peter muttered.

Just one day after it all happened and he was dreaming about James in a romantic way. Should he tell MJ? Did he wish that James would appear again to take him back to that penthouse apartment, so far away from all his other worries?

Wanting to distract himself from that line of thought, Peter rolled over to grab his phone. There were only a few notifications, most of which he didn’t care about, but one was a text from an unknown number. 

“You ran out before we could really talk, Peter. I would like to see you again, if you’re willing. -JBB.”

“What the fuck?” Peter squeaked out. He snapped a screenshot of the text and sent it to his group chat with MJ and Ned, desperate for their opinions on everything.

> Ned: Dude. I need to do more research before you go out tonight. When do you start work?

Ned, bless him, was always casual about Peter’s line of work. They had known each other for years and even though it was a big change, he never judged Peter for it. 

> Peter: I’m leaving at 7:30. Me n MJ are gonna meet up around 7:45

Peter stared at his phone for a few more minutes before setting it aside. Ned was either in class or already doing his sleuth work. Maybe a shower would help clear his mind.

Sliding out of bed, Peter grabbed his phone again so he could listen to music while he showered. He was on Ned’s Spotify family plan, another best friend blessing, so he queued up his playlist as he started the shower. The water wasn’t often very warm thanks to the shitty building he lived in, but he had become accustomed to it after nearly a year living there.

As he stepped into the shower while singing, Peter’s voice pitched high as the cold water splashed onto his skin. But he powered through, quickly soaping himself down and staying focused on the lyrics of his songs. He was almost finished, rinsing the conditioner out of his hair, when his phone started dinging with new texts. Assuming it was MJ or Ned with news, Peter took his time making sure his hair was completely rinsed before turning off the water to check.

With a towel around his waist and one wrapped in his hair, Peter picked up his phone to idly read the messages as he walked back to his room. But he didn’t make it very far before he realized someone was in his apartment. 

“I tried texting you, figured it would be kinder than calling.” That same voice from the other night, from his dreams.

Peter slowly looked up with wide eyes to see James seated on his couch, looking as though he belonged there. The younger man swallowed nervously, just staring at James and entirely unsure what to do. He was naked, he couldn’t just run. And even if he tried, there were likely more people out in the stairwell and surrounding the building. 

“Um. Hi,” Peter finally managed.

James glanced down from Peter’s face, taking in his bare torso, watching the water droplets trace lines down his chest. Peter was never self-conscious about his surgery scars and that gave him a surge of confidence as he stood up straighter, daring James to say something about them.

“I gave you a day to think. I’m sure your friends had their own opinions yesterday as well. My offer still stands, even though you ran out on me,” James continued, as casual as ever. 

“Yeah, well. Imagine you’re a young, broke prostitute who just got picked up by a rich mafia boss and offered to have all your dreams come true. Sounds pretty impossible,” Peter countered, finding his sass despite his racing heartbeat. 

James was silent as his gaze returned to Peter’s face. Peter didn’t notice before, but his eyes seemed an unknown color. Blue, grey, almost silver. Sapphires and precious metals. Expensive rings and steel bars. He shivered and blamed it on not having a shirt.

“Well, here I am, ready to make your dreams come true.” James held his arms out like he was offering Peter the whole world. 

Maybe it was a dream come true. Or maybe it was a nightmare. Peter’s dreams had him feeling conflicted. It could go so terribly or so well and he had no idea which would be the outcome unless he dove right in.

His phone buzzed again and Peter looked down out of habit. There were two more texts from the unknown number, who he now knew for sure was James, and twelve in the group chat with Ned and MJ. 

“Go ahead, check your messages. Hell, tell ‘em I’m here.” Everything about James was so casual, it was starting to irritate Peter.

“You’re trespassing on my apartment. I didn’t invite you here.” Peter looked to James again, eyes narrowed in a more confident expression.

“Can’t trespass in buildings that I own.” James smirked and Peter huffed, hating how attractive the man looked there - slouched but not in a lazy way, suit unbuttoned, hair slicked back, confident as could be.

The comment eventually settled over Peter and he realized that James really did own a good portion of the city, likely the hotels and bars he worked at too. There was no way he could get away from this man.

“If you really don’t have any interest in my offer, just say so and I will leave you alone. I ain’t the obsessive stalker type. You have my number, you can reach me any time.” James stood and took a step closer to Peter, who swayed slightly as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to step forwards or back.

“So I can have some time to think?” Peter asked.

“Sure. How about a week?” James closed the distance between them and reached up to cup Peter’s cheek. He stroked his thumb slowly over Peter’s skin, soft and flushed from his shower. Peter blushed and he hoped James wouldn’t notice. “I hope you agree. I would love to keep you.”

It felt so much like Peter’s dream, he almost leaned in for a kiss just to see what it would really feel like. But he held his ground and licked his lips instead, trying to remember how to speak with this gorgeous man so close to him.

“Okay,” Peter breathed out.

James chuckled softly, entirely aware of the effect he had on Peter, and dropped his hand. He turned to walk out, then paused again.

“You can call me Bucky, doll. I only use James for business.” Bucky shot Peter a wink before leaving, closing the door behind him.

☆☆☆

[enchanted-prose]

#9 On the Horizon

two in one day I’m sorry, I just had to do it, plus I’m excited to see everybody else’s reactions because I’m posting to fanfiction.net and I have one reviewer who has some good theories on the overarching plot. . .

Word count: 5,433

Characters: Tobias, Mott, Feall (Original character), Renlyn Karise (Original character) The Faola (Original creation)

Notes: Edited!

Enjoy!

Tobias wiped his forehead with his sleeve, the summer heat piercing his long sleeved tunic. He loved his work. He loved being able to see results, being able to visibly help other people. It was his mentor, the castle’s official physician, who’d suggested Tobias set up temporary clinics in the poorer areas of the city.

It would give him good practice.

The temporary clinics were nothing like the pristine physician’s suites in the castle, but it was certainly better than a pigsty. It was always set up in the morning by the earliest patrol. A large striped tent was set up in the middle of a large space surrounded by dying buildings. This kept patients out of the heat.

Due to his dedication, Tobias had climbed higher than many of the other apprenticed physicians. He was the one telling the others to get patients clean, keep a steady supply of water, and clean up any mess.

Power felt good. Power over a group of people with a similar cause.

The truth was, he liked not having to sweep floors, he liked cleaning people up. He liked stitching them back together.

That was what his ‘power’ brought him.

In the heat, Tobias requested that canopies be set up in addition to the central tent. It would be easier to work that way. He gently patted his current patient’s shoulder after bandaging the patient’s infected wound. The instructions were clear: Keep clean or he wouldn’t survive.

The new trend of cleanliness was creating a string of new businesses.

Or at least that’s what Renlyn Karise said. Everyone was racing to build up their own bath houses. Racing to supply water to people who could pay for it.

Renlyn played her cards well.

She was one of the few members of the gentry providing water for free, in turn, she received a new wave of Carthyan employees.

Supposedly she was setting up an office in Drylliad dedicated to building structures.

Business to Renlyn was like medicine to Tobias.

The patient thanked Tobias profusely, and walked away. With a grin, Tobias handed his used instruments to the nearest assistant, and moved on to the next canopy. A new bag of tools and a new patient were waiting for him.

“You see, Mott, I was able to track down the doctors that healed Imogen after she was shot through her shoulder,” Tobias said as he opened up his bag of instruments. “Because that kind of survival? Nearly impossible. He wouldn’t tell me his name, though, it took a lot of string pulling on both my part and Amarinda’s part.”

Mott, who often accompanied Tobias during a temporary clinic, scratched the back of his bald head. “Right. I have a feeling you’re going to tell me all about it no matter what my answer is, what did he say?”

“Cleanliness is key. He did a study in which he followed doctors with used instruments as well as doctors who used clean ones. Those with dirty instruments had a higher mortality rate.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Mott nodded. “Dirty cities tend to have higher plague rates, or at least they did.”

“I’m glad you- please stick your tongue out, ma’am-  noticed that,” Tobias squinted at his patient’s throat. “It appears that you have white pockets on the back of your throat, you told me it’s quite painful? Do your ears feel jammed too?”

The patient tilted her head left and right.

Tobias nodded, and stepped away when the patient hacked into the open air. “Good, it’s not an infection of the ear, rather an inflammation of the throat. You can get better if you sleep, drink plenty of- absolutely no ale, I’m sorry- water, and make sure you’re coughing often. Come back in three weeks if symptoms don’t subside.”

“You’re very good at what you do,” said Mott as he leaned against one of the canopy poles.

“Plenty of practice, and my wife is an ambassador, she has a lot of access to the best books in the realm. Thank the Saints for the printing press.”

“Rumor has it that you’re single handedly responsible for the lack of bloated corpses in the streets.”

He didn’t mean to make a face.

There would always be people he couldn’t save, and that didn’t sit well with Tobias.

What he’d chosen as a profession differed from what Roden did.

Medicine didn’t label anybody. You were supposed to use it to help everyone in need.

When a person died under a physician’s care, it was far different from taking a man’s life in battle. It was different because steps had been taken to try to save the patient. Because no matter who the patient was, they were being cared for.

In battle, it was a contest to see who was strongest.

Battle crushes compassion.

Medicine exercised as much compassion as it could.

Death never sat well with Tobias, he wanted everyone to have the chance to see another sunrise.

“That’s not true,” Tobias insisted. “Jaron’s the one who's mostly responsible, and I’d put a lot of credit to Imogen and Amarinda. Roden, too. And Renlyn. It’s never the work of one person, it’s the work of a lot of people with good ideas and respect for another human being.”

“Have you been reading books on philosophy too?”  Mott arched an eyebrow.

“How did you know?”

“Because I read the same book.”

Tobias opened and shut his mouth several times. A wide grin spread across his face. “Really? I absolutely loved it, though there were some situations where I- please take a seat, sir, I was told you have an injury on your foot and you mustn't put any more pressure on it- didn’t agree with the author.”

“That’s the point of philosophy, is it not?” Mott narrowed his eyes at the patient’s wet boots. “I don’t make a habit of philosophy, but that book was certainly worth my time.”

“Good, good! I thought- sir, can you remove your boot please?” Asked Tobias, trying his best to juggle both conversations.

To his dismay, he couldn’t carry both.

As gingerly as he could, Tobias removed the patient’s boot, and kept a straight face as the smell assaulted his nose.

The foot seemed normal, but Tobias knew better to dismiss a patient’s concern based off of appearance only. Shifting around in his bag of instruments, Tobias withdrew a cloth, and used it to cover his hands while he touched the patient’s foot.

There weren’t many things Tobias disliked, except for feet.

But his love for what he did helped him overcome that loathing in order to help people like his current patient.

“When did you begin feeling pain?” Tobias asked after thoroughly touching the foot. “Does it ever flare up?”

The patient held up his hand and tilted it from side to side. “Fales up on occasion, usually after I’ve worked a long day.”

“And when did this pain start?”

“Er, ah, I took up a second job hauling metal for the blacksmith. My foot started hurting a week or two after I began.”

Ah, that second job would certainly contribute.

So many of the patients Tobias saw had afflictions that could be cured with a little rest, and a little less consumption of liquors. Renlyn’s attempt to provide fresh water to those who couldn’t get any was helping, but as people were working themselves to death, there was only so much water could do.

“You mentioned that the pain flares,” noted Tobias, suddenly very aware of the fact that the cobblestones were hurting his knees. He rocked back onto his heels, “Can you tell me when they get unbearable? And when they’re not painful at all?”

“I, ah, let me think,” the patient’s shoulders twitched. “They don’t get so bad on the Saints’ day. I think they’re the worst on the last working day of the week. I suppose it builds up over time.”

All it took was that explanation to confirm Tobias’s diagnosis.

Unfortunately, the patient likely wouldn’t like it.

He cleared his throat, trying to pick out the best words to describe what needed to be done. “Sir, you don’t have any fractures of the bone, nor any growths or other bad things. . . But you’re working yourself to exhaustion.”

The patient was silent. Tobias could feel Mott’s eyes lingering on the scene, taking in the utter disappointment. Asking the patient to work less was asking him to starve. Asking him to let his family starve.

And that notion made Tobias’s heart begin to whimper. It made his heart break in two.

His patient should be allowed to rest.

He should be allowed to build up his strength.

Allowed to take a moment to ease his aching feet.

“Sir, if you want to make the best recovery you can, you’ll-,” Tobias heaved in a breath, panic crawling up his spine in tiny steps. “Your feet aren’t broken in any way, but they’re tired. Your body is tired. You must take more than a day of rest in order to prevent further injury.”

The patient hung his head.

Behind him, Mott stiffened. Tobias could sense the sudden change in the atmosphere around them. He was preparing to defend Tobias in case the patient grew violent.

It had been several weeks since the last patient tried to hurt him, but it wasn’t something Tobias could ever forget.

After several moments of silence, the patient nodded. “How long would I be unable to work?”

“Depends. If you completely take the pressure off of your feet, I suppose you could recover in a few days. You’ll want to eventually build up strength, but you do that in small increments, not by lugging metal and other wares around for nearly a whole week.”

“I, ah, I have my family to think of.”

Tobias didn’t mean to wince. He’d known that was coming, and he wished with all of his heart that he’d solve the-

“Lord Branch, it truly is a nice afternoon,” said a familiar, catlike voice.

“Lady Karise, I was just meeting with a patient. We’re discussing the best way for him to recover,” Tobias glanced back at the woman behind him.

“Oh?” Renlyn shielded her eyes against the sun. She had to be blistering hot in her gown and veil. “Is there a price to be paid?”

“Not necessarily,” the patient bowed his head, murmuring the appropriate titles for the woman before him.

“Then why is both patient and doctor so disenhearted?”

As subtle as he could, Tobias nodded at his patient. Renlyn wouldn’t have him flogged for speaking to her. Or at least he didn’t think so.

There was an air of nervousness as Tobias’s patient brought his eyes from the ground to Renlyn’s face. Reverence filled his voice. “My lady, Lord Branch has asked- has informed me that my pain will go away given a little rest. . .”

Renlyn arched an eyebrow, both she and Tobias were waiting for the outcome of their discussion.

“My family depends on my, my lady, that’s all I have to say on the matter. I will not let them starve,” the patient finished by bowing his head once again.

“True dedication,” Renlyn mused.

Something mischievous was sparkling in her eyes. Tobias could see it from where he sat. He could see that glimmer as clear as the daylight illuminating Drylliad.

“What are you implying?” Tobias tried not to frown, there were all too many possibilities about what Renlyn was trying to get across.

“I promise you, dear sir, that you will be taken care of.” That twinkle still hadn’t left Renlyn’s eyes. “If you swear to rest for a week.”

The patient stuttered to life, “But how? What-”

“You will simply have to trust me, my friend.”

Tobias wrinkled his nose, but said nothing.

He still didn’t know Renlyn well enough to understand the multiple games she was playing.

The games she was playing and winning.

“Goodbye then,” Renlyn clasped her hands behind her back. And yet, despite her farewell, remained planted where she stood.

Tobias and his patient exchanged a look. There were many things to be done around the temporary clinic, it would be foolish and inconsiderate of Tobias to toss aside Renlyn’s quiet offer to help.

“Ah, there’s many patients who need water, if you wouldn’t mind helping them,” Tobias said, and then he looked at his patient’s wet shoes. “And if you could spare a-”

“Pair of boots?”

“Yes, actually. These ones aren’t suitable, they’re soaked and worn full of holes.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Renlyn tipped her head, and retrieved the discarded boot.

Tobias flashed a bright smile at his patient. “Stay here for a little while longer and rest.”

“Sir, I- ah, thank you,” the patient shifted. “But it’s a lot to ask me to go on blind faith. The nobles aren’t exactly. . .”

“Kind?”

“Exactly.”

There was something stirring in Tobias's chest. Something hot and ready to fight. He heaved in a breath, knowing that this was a deciding moment.

He was deciding that yes, he did trust Lady Renlyn Karise.

“I can promise you that Lady Karise doesn’t go back on her promises,” he held a hand over his heart. “I suppose that’s why she doesn’t make many of them.”

“Then I’ll take your word for it, Lord Tobias.”

“It’s alright, I try not to throw my title around while I work, sir-”

What a fool. Tobias had never asked for his patient’s name. He hadn’t expected to get so involved in his patient’s life.

“Derforgall,” the patient flashed a grin. “Calagan Deforgall.”

“Any relation to Alistair Derforgall? One of the king’s knights?” Tobias scratched the back of his head, curious about Derforgall’s answer.

He nodded. “Alistair is my son.”

“He’s a good man, I’ve heard a lot about him.”

A smile crossed Derforgall’s face. “I couldn’t be more proud of Alistair, he’s my oldest son, and he does what he can for us. It’s not much, and I don’t expect him to provide for me while I can still work. He’s too foolish in trying to give us things. My wife, she, ah, she has a habit of kindness. Alistair learned that from her, and I take pride in knowing he is in a place to use that kindness for good.”

Tobias caught himself nodding. Kindness was perhaps the most valuable currency in the realms. There wasn’t much of it following the Avenian War.

But many people were trying to prove otherwise.

And Tobias would do all that he could to contribute.

The temporary clinics remained standing well into the evening. Tobias, Mott, Renlyn, and the others had their hands full with various different tasks, varying into all sorts of forms. Renlyn brought water, Mott helped with settling rambunctious patients, and Tobias patched up as many people as he could.

And to top it all off, Derforgall got a new pair of boots.

However, Renlyn was nowhere to be seen when he was given the boots. In fact, Tobias didn't see her until Derforgall had left, promising that he would rest for a week.

He didn't bring up her promise to Derforgall until they were dismantling the canopies.

"That was very kind of you," Tobias noted as he untied part of the canopy.

Renlyn made a face. "I don't see why it has to be discussed. Many people would do the same."

"Some people argue that it's in man's nature to be kind," said Mott from the opposite end of the canopy. "Shows that you're human, Lady Karise."

"Shame, I was hoping that I was secretly a fairy for the longest time."

"You sure do look like a fairy," chipped in a new voice. Lord Feall was watching from his position on his horse.

No retort came from Renlyn, she only scowled and continued untying parts of the canopy.

"Lord Feall!" Tobias grinned. "What brings you here?"

Feall waved his hand, "I was in the area, just completed patrolling the upper streets. Missed

helping you lot earlier today, I figured I could make up for it by assisting with the cleanup."

"You have a height advantage, mind grabbing the center of the canopy?" Mott gestured to the aforementioned spot, which was threatening to drop into the cobblestone street and dirty itself.

With a nod of his head, Feall slowly walked his horse forwards, grabbing the center of the canopy. He held it up with both hands as Tobias, Mott, Renlyn, and another attendant scrambled to untie the canopy.

Tobias held his side of the canopy as high as he could, and instructed the others to go to Mott's side. Mott, catching on, began to roll the canopy.

It was all rolled up and stored within a matter of minutes.

They repeated the process for multiple canopies; Tobias profusely thanked Feall for his assistance, to which Feall responded that it wasn't him who needed to be thanked, it was his horse

On the third canopy, Tobias once again mustered the courage to speak to Renlyn.

He could no longer deny his curiosity.

“Lady Karise, I-,” Tobias began.

“My name is Renlyn, you’re allowed to call me that.”

“Right, ah, Renlyn? You promised Derforgall he’d be taken care of.” He paused, untied the string before him, and continued. “You never specified how he’d be taken care of.”

“I didn’t realize I needed to,” Renlyn frowned at the post in front of her. She glared at the other assistant who’d been looking at her. “I have many ties.”

“To what kind of people, Lady Renlyn?” Mott chimed in, his own eyes glued to the post before him.

“People who have more of an ability to take action.”

“I have many reasons to distrust you, but I’ll take your word for it.”

“Is that because I’m a woman of business, sir Mott?”

“Partially, yes.”

Feall cleared his throat. “You can’t be too harsh about the stereotype. Renlyn has proved herself to be as unpredictable as the weather in late summer.”

“First I am a fairy to you, and now I am a storm with human skin,” Renlyn narrowed her eyes at Feall. “Am I something pretty to look at or something you fear?”

“Is it wrong of me to say both?”

Once again, Renlyn had no biting retort, and instead continued with freeing the canopy from the posts it was tied to.

“I believe Lady Karise,” Feall said as a small smile flitted across his face.

“Thank you, I suppose.”

“Right, ah, uh,” Tobias stuttered. “I think we should go to the Dragon’s Keep once we’re finished. Roden says there’s a new series of pastries we need to try.”

“I haven’t got anything planned,” shrugged Feall. He then looked to Mott and Renlyn. “What about you two?”

Renlyn tilted her head from side to side. “I’ll make that choice once everything is cleaned.”

Tobias tried to suppress his grin.“And you, Mott?”

“Haven’t got anything better to do.”

The thought of pastries split between his friends warmed Tobias's sore back. The work went much quicker, and Feall provided many insights on how to correctly weave a lattice for a pie. In turn, a debate sparked between Feall and Mott about which type of lattice was superior.

It didn't take long for the conversation to grow heated enough to make Renlyn crack a grin.

Altogether, Tobias decided that he'd had a victory over the day's passage. He'd managed to set up and take down the canopies in less than a few hours, stitched up several patients, helped a good man, and even managed to see Renlyn grin at the ground.

If there had to be a loss, it was because Mott argued that a pie lattice was much better over the pie crust in general, ensuring there was more pastry to eat.

Seeing the pie filling guarded by artfully placed dough was always a positive in Tobias's eyes.

With the supply wagons slowly headed back to the castle, Tobias decided that it was appropriate to make their way to the Dragon's Keep.

A sweet, warm pastry was calling his name, he simply knew it.

Feall fell into place beside Renlyn, and Tobias found himself squished in the middle.

Even Mott was in oddly cheerful spirits.

Unintentionally, they all pressed together as they passed one of the dark entrances to the ever mysterious Vaults.

Pastries were the goal, not an agonizing death in a place that rivaled the Devils' Lair.

Days later, Tobias would wonder what would've happened if they'd never decided to get pastries.

The attack came out of nowhere.

Nothing could've warned them about the cloaked bandits launching themselves out of hidden crevices.

They poured out from alleyways, from doorways and from windows.

Mott and Feall reacted much sharper than Tobias did. They faced outwards, keeping the unarmed Tobias and Renlyn safely sandwiched between them. Hooded heads surrounded them all.

One stood out from the rest.

Patched cloak.

Shorter than the others.

"Get his sword!" Bellowed the figure in the patched cloak.

Tobias was able to put the pieces together the second his mind calmed down.

The shrieking figure before him was a Faola. A fugitive Tobias had managed to trust. Had managed to talk his friends at court into trusting.

And here they were, abusing that trust.

“If we make enough noise, Captain Harlowe will come,” Mott said firmly, he’d dug the ball of his foot into one of the cobblestone crevices.

“This place is empty,” explained Feall. He jerked his head towards one of the buildings, “How else would they have gotten here?”

“I still think if we make enough noise, we can-”

“Get his sword, Devils have you!” The Faola barked, gesturing to Feall. When it became evident that nobody wanted to go near him, the Faola began to approach. “And get a rope. They can’t take us, we have higher numbers, we’ll hold the-”

“We’re not supposed to touch nobility,” mused another Faola. This one was short too.

“I don’t-”

“You should care,” Feall argued back, swiping at the Faola approaching him. “It’ll destroy your reputation here. And you don’t want that now, do you-?”

Tobias flinched as Feall’s sword met the Faola’s.

“You will speak when spoken to,” growled the Faola.

“Aren’t you speaking to me now?”

“I will get the captain myself!” Roared the other Faola, he drew his sword. “You’re putting us all at risk for something we don’t even stand for!”

“There is no-,” grunted the Faola fighting Feall. He swung at him again. “There. Is. No. ‘We’!”

“This is madness!”

“This is accomplishing a goal more important than keeping the peace!”

The second Faola wasn’t convinced. “Get the captain. You two, down the main road, you two up the low, and you two up the high-”

The cloaked Faola suddenly stopped fighting Feall, and hurled himself at his fellow bandit, taking the second Faola completely by surprise.

It was entrancing. Absolutely captivating.

Feall lunged forward to attack the cloaked Faola while he was distracted. However, the Faola predicted his move, and spun out of the way, leaving Feall’s sword to clash against the second Faola. The pair exchanged several blows before Feall realized he was attacking the wrong opponent.

The cloaked Faola continued his odd dance. Always spiraling away at the last moment. Always putting himself in the crosshairs and yanking himself free before he was hit.

Mott grabbed Tobias by the wrist, and yanked him as far away from Feall and the fight as he could. Renlyn lithely stepped away, her pale hands clenched into fists.

The Faola who’d been told to find Roden had long since ran in their appropriate directions. The others remained.

They didn’t contribute in any form, they only stood like hooded judges watching a trio of cockroaches fighting over a crumb.

“You don’t know what you’re doing!” Yelled the Faola fighting beside Feall.

“On the contrary!” Retorte the other as he once again spun out of reach. “I’ve been plotting this for ages!”

Feall nearly managed to swipe at his opponent’s middle, but his sword only met open air as the Faola melted into the crowd. He instantly stood tall, looking for his missing foe. “What is his name?”

“I don’t- I don’t know,” the Faola panted. “I-”

A blood curdling howl interrupted the short conversation. Tobias’s gaze was drawn to the shrieking, but all he found was that unbreakable line of Faola.

The distraction worked all to well.

The cloaked Faola materialized out of the crowd, just behind Feall and the other Faola.

Tobias looked away as the cloaked Faola brought the hilt of his sword crashing down on the other Faola’s head, knocking him unconscious.

Feall barely managed to block a blow aimed at his neck.

Another harsh clap of metal meeting metal shattered the air, followed by another, and another, and another. Mott held his ground, and shifted his way to best defend Tobias and Renlyn.

It didn’t seem like Feall was trying to overpower the Faola, or at least that’s what Tobias was trying to believe. The shared blows were much too short. Feall parried each one of the Faola’s advances, and did his best to push the Faola’s blade out of his grip.

A second Faola joined in trying to dispatch Feall, followed by a fourth.

Mott knelt before the fifth Faola, and put his hands behind his head. He then motioned for Renlyn and Tobias to do the same.

Was this really happening?

It was difficult to wrap his mind around it. They’d all been walking in a straight line to get pastries, yes, but the atmosphere changed. Tobias screwed his eyes shut. The swords hitting against each other over and over and over again pounded in his head.

Pounding, pounding, pounding.

Saints.

All he wanted was to go home.

This was only a bad dream.

Unfortunately, when Tobias cracked his eyes open, he and Mott were being guarded by a few of the Faola.

How much time had passed.

“Keep your eyes down,” Mott muttered. “They’re not here for us.”

“How do you-, oh,” breathed Tobias.

The Faola in the patchwork cloak.

The one fighting Feall.

That had been the Faola who’d led the attack in the woods.

Oh, oh saints.

Tobias had allowed for this to happen.

He couldn’t bear to watch as the clashing of swords grew faster, faster, faster.

He couldn’t bear to watch because he knew that Feall had no chance fighting off three of the Faola at once.

And it was all his fault.

Just out of the corner of his eye, Tobias could see the fight. He watched it just as he’d watched the snow falling lazily to the earth just months before. Ever so slow, ever so graceful. Sword hit sword, Feall dodged, all three Faola took a turn kicking at him. Feall tumbled to the ground. His hands and feet were pinned down. The cloaked Faola raised his sword high above his head.

They were watching an execution.

Unable to watch the scene any longer, Tobias turned his head, hoping that Renlyn would offer him the slightest shred of comfort.

But she was nowhere in sight.

All at once, everything came back to speed.

With a roar, Mott threw all of his weight into the nearest bandit, stealing his sword in the process. Tobias frantically looked for Renlyn, for Feall, for a way out, but he saw nothing.

Everything was rapidly filling with chaos.

The Faola, once so serene in their judgement, were fighting soldiers dressed in blue and gold. A tall man hacked through the crowd, bodies falling as he did so.

It seemed that Roden saved the day after all.

And all Tobias could do was watch.

Watch as the Faola tried to keep a protective circle around their patched friend.

Watch as they slowly ran for the shadows.

Watch as Feall scrambled to his feet, Renlyn holding a glittering dagger not far from him.

Watch as Roden demanded to know who was responsible, and be pointed to who was responsible.

The hood was torn off, revealing a young woman with scarlet hair.

Words were being said, but Tobias didn’t hear them.

He’d covered his ears to block out the sounds of unnecessary deaths.

“Tell me everything you remember,” Roden said gently, leaning ever so casually against the fireplace in his office.

Renlyn, Mott, and Tobias all sat in comfortable chairs, and each had their own mug of something warm. Feall was being looked over by the royal physician.

Tobias was still reeling from the attack.

Still trying to put the pieces together.

They’d been walking to get pastries, passed the Vaults, nearly made it to the Dragon’s Keep, a horde of Faola appeared out of nowhere, they attacked Feall but left the others alone, and the perpetrator was arrested.

He’d been told her name was Ayvar, and she was vehemently denying her involvement.

Clearing his throat, Mott told the story. Details fell from his mouth, but Tobias wasn’t listening.

Tobias had seen the entire scene on his own.

Too much blood and anger in one place.

“-there was a promise made,” Roden explained. “Jaron swore we would take care of the Faola if Feall allowed us to.”

“The attack was rushed,” Mott said.

“I know, there’s much more Faola here than were there at the attack. I was on patrol just a few streets over, too. If they’d been planning this, they would’ve done something much more inconspil-inconsnipu- much more quietly.”

“Is inconspicuous the word you’re looking for?” Tobias provided, his ears finally clear of the sound of flesh being sliced open.

“Ah, yes, yes it is,” a deep blush spread across Roden’s face. “It’s been a long day.”

“I agree.”

Renlyn sat straight up. “Is anybody concerned by the fact that they didn’t actually hurt us three?”

“Very much so, actually,” Mott answered.

Spin, spin, spin.

Tobias had been fascinated by several different clocks Renlyn had brought to court to sell. He loved watching how the gears had taken on different shapes.

His mind was just like those clocks, except his gears had frozen up.

Renlyn’s observation spun them back into action.

Think, think, think!

Connect the dots Tobias!

“It doesn’t make sense!” He didn’t mean to stand up. Tobias kept his blanket draped over his shoulders, much like the philosophers of old. “There were too many of them, too many opportunities to slit our throats. I mean, we’re not the best fighters, no offense Mott, and one of the Faola was very adamant about not touching us. They didn’t use any- any- they didn’t hurt- they ah-.”

Mott’s voice brought Tobias back down to his feet. “Take a breath, it’s alright to take things slow.”

Take things slow.

Tobias began to drum his temples, “It doesn’t make sense that they’d leave us alone, but try to cut Feall’s head clean off his shoulders.”

“Beheading is punishment for treason,” Renlyn chirped. She made a face when all eyes flew to her. “What?”

“I’m only slightly concerned,” announced Roden. He was beginning to pace. “Maybe they’d been paid to kill him.”

“But there was an entire group there,” Mott pointed out, a scowl settling on his features.

“It’s quite possible that only one of them was singled out and paid,” Tobias said. “Roden, can I ask how you found out the Faola’s name?”

“I’ve met her before, in the Vaults. I didn’t think she was a killer.”

Thinking, thinking, thinking.

The dots were coming together bit by bit.

Tobias began to pace in the opposite direction of Roden. “Then maybe she was paid to do so.”

A single question lingered in the room. Mott was the one to give the question a voice. “Who would want Feall dead?”

“I’m sure several people would,” Roden answered. “I know there’s dozens of people who want me dead.”

“You grow used to it,” muttered Renlyn.

Used to people hating you so much they wanted you to die?

The prospect made Tobias frown.

He’d have to wait until he could talk things through with Amarinda. He’d be able to see and hear all the details then.

Put them all together and listen to what Amarinda had to say.

There was more to this than just an attack on Feall.

Tobias refused to believe the attack was simply based in money.

You don’t attack a man out in the open with the captain of the guard nearby. Unless you were a fool.

No, this had to be a warning.

A storm of blood and bone lingered on the horizon.

And it was coming all too soon.

[callmethehunter]

Maggie and Robert

Here’s a new chapter!  I hope you like it.  Thank you to @firethatgrewsolow​ for feedback and help with editing.  As always, there’s a recap of the previous post, followed by the new material.   RECAP:   After a passionate and funfilled night on the beach with Robert, Maggie now has to face the music…aka her old man, Steve

End of Part 3:   As Robert’s silhouette grew smaller in the distance, she knew that she needed to see him again. She simply HAD to see him before he left for the UK on Saturday.  He was magical.  The passion and connection that she had felt with him during their brief encounter was exactly what was absent with Steve and what she deeply craved.

 When she lost all sight of Robert, her eyes swept over the skies.  The sun was beginning to rise, dispersing the quiet darkness of the night...a night she would treasure always.   She sighed wearily, turning her back to that golden sunrise as she headed back home to a man she did not truly love or even respect.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Part 4:  Steve and Schemes

Maggie slowly made her way back to the Bahia Mar just as the dawn lightened the skies.  It was as if the sun was awakening from the depths of the sea to continue it’s restless journey.  There was something about the light and the retreating darkness that made her feel exposed, unable to hide from others or from herself. With each step, closer to Steve, her dread mounted. She replayed the moments with Robert, reliving them as she put one foot in front of the other.  It distracted her from the looming anxiety about having to face Steve and explain where she had gone off to the previous evening.

While she believed that honesty was the best recourse, she decided to make an exception in this case. Just this once, she thought.  She rationalized that it was none of Steve’s business how she chose to spend her time, given that they weren’t married and he had no claim on her.  

They had shacked up for convenience sake. Their initial arrangement had been that each of them paid half of all expenses, which then gradually became Steve paying a larger share.  She had quit bartending at the Elbo Room back in January so she could attend community college.  

But Maggie knew his cash flow came from dealing in weed and acid, not from a 9 to 5 job.  In her opinion, it was easy money since the hippies had started congregating at the northern end of Fort Lauderdale Beach where housing was cheaper, granting Steve access to a booming clientele.

It was the age of tuning in and tuning out.  Timothy Leary advocated the use of psychedelics such as acid as a means to spiritual and personal growth. The drugs  practically came with an endorsement, for crying out loud and added to the Free Love movement that was spreading like wildfire especially now that the Pill was in greater use.  In fact the media was touting last summer of 1967 as the Summer of Love.  

Her internal dialogue was interrupted when she heard her name being shouted repeatedly.  She spotted Steve sitting in the shiny red Camaro, his prized possession. It was one of the only vehicles in the lot this early in the day.  He started the loud engine and practically peeled out of the parking space headed towards her.  

Oh fuck!, she cursed under her breath. Here he comes... The smidgeon of peace that had remained from her magical evening with Robert went flying out the window, replaced by a deep annoyance at having to explain herself to Steve.

“What the fuck, Maggie!” Steve barked as he pulled up next to her. “Where have you been all this time? I was worried about you out there trippin’ all by yourself.” He gestured wildly towards the beach. “One minute you were there, then the next time I looked you were gone. Man, I thought you drowned!  I sure hope it was worth it to keep me hanging like that,” he berated her.

Maggie’s tactic when he became this belligerent was to placate him and act contrite. “Steve, I know...I am so sorry you had to go through all that.  That purple microdot was so strong I don’t even know what all I did, I just remember being at the Jetties, and laying down somewhere looking at the sky...probably for hours.  The stars looked as if they were dripping wax from candles on the beach and the colors were so bright!” 

She ventured a glance at his face, which appeared calmer. “You know how it is, babe, I didn’t mean to worry you.” See?  she said to herself, telling half truths was not really lying, she rationalized again. But in her heart she knew that she was skating on thin ice.

“Yea, I know, that shit’s groovy, man, but you can’t just walk off and not tell me what you’re doing or where you’re going for hours!”   The fact that his voice was back to a normal decibel was promising.

 “C’mon man, get in the car. I’m starving thanks to having to sit there all fucking night waiting on you.” As usual, the crisis had become all about him.

“Steve, seriously, who are you kidding? You know damn well you and your friends were partying all night... You barely missed me, seeing as Shannon the chipmunk was hanging on your every word when I left.”  She wasn’t buying his ”holier than thou, concerned boyfriend” crap. It might work on Shannon but it wasn’t going to work on her.

That must have been what happened, because Steve did not respond as he sped down AIA towards the House of Pancakes.  By the time they pulled into the lot, they had toned it down.  Steve had a short memory, probably from all the weed he smoked, and now that they were going to eat, his self-righteous attitude diminished.  After they were seated, he studied the menu, commenting on what he should order.  

Maggie breathed a sigh of relief.  She had been right in only revealing where she’d been and not who she was with...Only the sexiest and most intriguing man she had ever laid eyes on, she said to herself.  Had she divulged that small yet crucial detail, she would not have heard the end of it.  

Yet Steve was the one who had brought up having an open relationship when they shacked up the year before. They were more like friends on equal footing back then but somehow he seemed to have developed a sense of ownership.  Nowadays he acted as if he was her sugar daddy or had some claim on her.   The longer she allowed Steve to finance her life, the longer she would be in this rut. She had become lazy and complacent.  The realization deeply troubled her and she vowed to take action, once and for all.

After ordering a breakfast platter, Steve mentioned he had been looking at a boat that was for sale at the docks near the Bahia Mar.  It was  last year’s model, a 1967 Chris Craft Cavalier, he said, as if that would explain it.  

“Well, tell me more about it.  I don’t know much about boats,” she added, “except that some have cabins and some don’t.”

“Man, I gotta teach you about the finer details of boating! if I can get this dude to go down on the price. I think he will, seeing as I fronted him 100 hits of acid and some weed last week and he still hasn’t paid me.”

“You know what, Steve? One of these days somebody’s gonna screw you over so bad or you’re gonna get busted by the fuzz, man,” she chided him. “You gotta be more careful, people talk…”

“Maggie, shut the fuck up, you don’t know what I do or don’t do.” He spat out bits of the omelett he was chewing, with how forcefully he replied. “I've been doing this shit since I was 16, so for over 10 years now, I ain’t never had a problem...well, except with a Cuban dude that tried to rip me off one time. But anyway,” he continued, “I don’t have to do shit, you hear?”

She hated when he spoke to her with disdain, belittling her intelligence, sometimes right in front of his friends. Most of the time, she sucked it up and went with the flow, letting it roll right off her back.  But lately, this type of behavior angered her and she had been growing increasingly resentful towards his snide remarks.

  “Fuck you, too, Steve” she countered, setting her toast down on the plate, suddenly losing all appetite.

“Whatever...Look, Maggie, do you wanna go see the damn boat or not? You’re lucky I’m even asking for your opinion seeing that we’re gonna be spending a lot of time on it.”

“Oh really?” she replied, “what if I don’t like boating, did you ever think of that? What if I always get sea sick, huh?” she asked but he just looked at her, mouth agape.

“Steve, you know I don’t like it when the water’s really deep, you can’t just assume I’m gonna feel comfortable on that boat day in and day out…”

“Why not?” he asked incredulously. “You should see the cabin, Maggie. It’s got a full sized bed, mini bathroom and little kitchen. It’s sweet, baby, you’re gonna forget all about that you’re on the water...It’s gonna be like being in a camper on land. You’ll love it, baby.”

She cringed at the familiar way he disregarded her feelings, bulldozing over them and then pretending she had been the one to suggest whatever it was he manipulated her into doing.  This was insanity!  He’s never gonna change!, she realized. 

Almost in a defeated tone, she answered “Yea, maybe you’re right, Steve. Let’s go take a look when we leave here.”   

He reached over the table and patted her hand, “Thata girl. We’ll go right after I pay.”

With that, he signaled to the waitress to bring the check, took a wad of cash out of his pocket, and glanced over the bill.  

Maggie looked out the window and realized they were only a few minutes away from Tugboat Annies.

She mustered up all her courage and nonchalantly asked  “Hey, sweetie, if we were to get the boat, could we dock it over by Tugboat Annies? It doesn’t cost as much as the Bahia Mar and you can pull up through the intercoastal, dock it in the back, and you’re right at the bar....There’s actually a really good band playing this weekend,” she continued, “if we had the boat, we’d look so cool pulling up in it, right?”

She knew Steve well. He was a show off and loved to appear important. The idea that the hip people at Tugboat’s would notice his latest purchase was irresistible to him.   His growing smile told her everything she needed to know, and her heart soared as she thought about seeing Robert again.  She ached with longing for him.  That gorgeous blonde, that sexy man. 

She smiled back sweetly at Steve, proud of herself for having turned the tables and being the one who manipulated the outcome, making him feel he was still in control.  

Her self-congratulation faded as a tinge of anxiety surfaced.  Steve was a narcissist, that much was true, but he was no dummy and he was extremely possessive of her time.  How was she going to manage making contact with Robert while Steve was hovering nearby? How was she gonna pull this one off?  

Different scenarios ran through her mind.  She suddenly realized that the answer lay in having distractions... Lots of distractions.  They would put the word out and invite all his cronies out to the concert, in part to celebrate and party on the boat.  People could step out onto the marina behind Tugboat’s and score, getting their stash for the week in the privacy of the boat’s cabin.  She’d wait to suggest that part later… 

After the waitress brought back the change, she grabbed her bag from the back of her chair, stood and followed Steve out of the diner, this time with a light heart and a bounce in her step.

To be continuied at Tugboat Annies....

[peter-parkourwrites]

Heartbreak Summer 3

Bucky Barnes x Reader, College AU

Summary: James Buchanan Barnes broke your heart two years ago. Now, after settling down finally in college with your group of old and new friends, he ́s transferred into your school, and maybe back into your heart.

Word Count: uhhh idk

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of death, slight thor x reader, jealous buckaroo, crying, fluff if you squint

A/N: TAG LIST IS OPEN!! Also uhhh sorry this is a lil late my laptop is broken and i can’t use the schools to post it here so i had to improvise and use my phone for it so thats also why it’s not edited completely 😤 but thank you for reading 💖

Feedback is always appreciated! Thanks for reading loves, I hope you guys like it!

*Gif not mine, credit to owner*

series masterlist

It’s hard to actually pinpoint the exact moment you fell for Bucky, it always has been. Maybe it was when you met. Steve had invited you and Wanda out to one of their highschool football games because he knew Tony would tag along, and you were almost certain he would ask if he was coming. That night he simply ignored anything anyone besides Tony said, leaving yourself, Bucky, Sam, and Wanda to chat. Bucky's whole aura made you giddy, he kept you on your toes and laughing. His blue eyes reminding you of an ocean, that you wouldn’t mind drowning in. Or maybe it was when he saw you walking home in the pouring rain and offered you a ride in his mom's minivan.

Sure, you tell people forever. But that’s only because you’re a bit prone to dramatics. James Buchanan Barnes had your heart, and always would. No matter how many people you dated, you’d always be his. And you realized that, lying awake at five am, the sunrise peeking in through the windows, and showing how much dust you really had in the small room.

“Steve I told you, it’s fine. I’m not mad. A little annoyed, but not mad. I just wish you would have told me.” You sighed, taking the cup of coffee his outstretched arm was holding. “Besides I am so over him. And I have more important shit to focus on than thinking about old flames.”

“What like school? Psh that shit is boring.”

“Wow I must be in another world, first Bucky comes back, and now Steve Rogers is saying ‘shit’? I should just head down to the psych unit in the medical department.” You tease, bringing the cup up to your lips.

“Please, (y/n/n) you work on that floor anyways.”

“Hey! It’s not by choice you idiot, my professor wants us to switch things up every few weeks. But thankfully I start my internship soon.”

“With professor Coulson?”

“Yeah.” You hum and walk over to the couch, that has a plethora of pillows tossed about. “Starting on the pediatric floor I think.” You mumble into the cup of coffee as you slowly lift it up to your lips for another ling sip.

Steve sits across from you on the old black recliner he’s had since you could remember. He loved that squeaky old thing. Even if everytime he actually reclined in it, it’d send him flying violently backwards.

“That’ll be cool, you’ve always been good with kids.”

“Only because of Becca, I called her earlier and told her about it, and she reminded me of when Bucky, you and I had to take care of her. Man that whole weekend was a mess.”

“Yeah we had to beg his parents not to leave us alone for the weekend ever again.” He laughed, crossing an arm over his chest like he was on SNL. You rolled your eyes and finished the rest of the coffee.

“Oh whatever, anyways thanks for letting me come over at ungodly hours.” You grinned, kicking your legs up on the rest of the couch and craning your head to the side to look at him. Steve nodded and placed his cup on the table.

“I’m always here to talk, you know that (Y/N).”

“Don’t get all sappy on me now.” You groaned, grabbing a pillow from beside you and tossed it at him. He caught it without a glance and turned on the TV. “Showoff…” You muttered, crossing your arms over your chest and turning to face the now illuminated screen, as a rerun of Law and Order started playing.

You and Steve lounged around for a good hour and a half, now being around seven. He got up to make breakfast for everyone while you clicked through the guide.

“You guys have shitty TV, this is all football.” You moaned, dramatically flopping against the back of the couch. “Don’t you guys ever watch anything interesting? Like The Simpsons, or Criminal Minds? At least one of you has to be a sucker for crime documentaries.”

“That would be me.” Sam announced his arrival as he walked out from the hallway and to the front door as a rapid knocking was heard. He pulled open the door and Tony came rushing in, hair disheveled and eyes wide.

“I thought you died!” He yelled, waving his arms around wildly in your direction.

“We told you she wasn’t dead.” Nat said with a groan as she walked in behind him, dragging a half asleep Wanda behind her. “Hey hun, he woke us up yelling that you were gone.”

“He made up,” Wanda yawned, “So many theories…” She groaned and flopped down on the couch, laying her head on your thighs. You chuckled and patted her forehead, continuing to scroll past the plethora of sports channels.

“Like what?” You asked, turning your head slightly to glance at Tony. He was having a hushed chat with Steve and turned his attention back to you, now holding a steaming cup of coffee.

“Oh ya know, you an Buckaroo getting back together, you got drunk and left the apartment without even knowing, or Thor had asked you to go over for a quickie.”

“Gross!” You hissed, chucking the remote at him. It went sailing past him and landed on the floor with a thud. “We do not have quickies.” You muttered, crossing your arms over your chest and letting out a huff of air.

“Hey does anyone know how Buck takes his coffee?” Steve asked, eyes scanning over the different creamers.

“Black with two sugars. Unless it’s from Starkbucks, then creamer. Says it’s too bitter” You said, the words flying out of your mouth before you could even stop them. The kitchen went silent and you faked innocence as Nat raised a brow at you for an explanation. “What?!” You yelped and raised your hand in defense. “We dated for three years, and it's not like it’s that hard to remember.”

“Uh-huh just keep telling yourself that you love sick fool.”

“Tony shut up I am not.”

“Yes you are.”

“No.”

“Yessss.” He said in a sing-song voice as Steve walked over with a plate of pancakes. Wanda sat up from your lap, only to move beside you. Nat sat on the floor next to Sam who kept picking food off her plate, you could have sworn Nat threatened to stab him at least twice. Steve sat in his usual recliner, and Tony sprawled out next to you on the couch.

“Jesus what did I miss?” Bucky’s raspy morning voice filled your ears, and you shuddered, a chill running down your spine. You shook it off by reaching for the syrup.

“Pancakes and yelling.” Wanda beamed up at him before grabbing the syrup from your hand. “Share.” She muttered, sending you a glare. You stuck your tongue out at her before beginning to dig in to your second pancake.

“(Y/N) never shares her food.” Bucky chuckled and began fixing two plates of food. Shooting him a cold glare, you finally looked at him. His long locks were an absolute mess, per-usual in the mornings, he had black basketball shorts, hanging low on his waist and he was shirtless. You gulped, your eyes not daring to scan his god like body.

But you failed, like usual. And oh you wished you hadn’t looked. He still looked as if he was sculpted by the gods, that much was obvious but there we small red and purple marks littering his collarbones. Hickies.

You gulped down the last bite of your food and with a shaky hand, placed the plate on the coffee table.

Sensing your mood change Nat sat up, but still chewed on her blueberry pancakes. Wanda already had a hand pressed up against your lower back, but you brushed her off as you stood up.

“Actually James, I do, just not with you.” You muttered, before walking over to your stuff. You pulled Thor’s sweatshirt from the back of your chair and slipped it over your head, then stuffed your phone into your pocket. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have class and I’d rather not be here when your little… plaything wakes up.” With that, you opened the door, stepped out, and slammed it shut. Then you took off down the hall to your own apartment and threw yourself in.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” You chanted, tripping over furniture, tears already spilling from your eyes.

You did have class, that much was true. Then you had a study group with some lower-classmen you were helping in biology. So you weren’t really lying, even if it was at noon, not eight in the morning. But you had to get out of there, you could barely hold yourself together seeing him alone after a one night stand, but seeing him with the girl? No way in hell you would have kept it together. Not like this.

You wiped the tears off your cheeks, rubbing under your eyes. Red cheeks replaced the pale ones you had moments before, and the bags under your eyes were way more noticeable. Turning on the faucet, you splash your face with cold water and run your fingers through your hair.

“Get it together…” You muttered, not even wanting to look at yourself in such a disheveled state.

-

“No that’s not right.” Peter’s voice became a distant memory, your head falling limp in your palm as you fought against the sleep that was pulling your eyelids closed.

After the mini reality check from earlier, you managed to take a quick shower, and throw your hair up into a ponytail. You looked presentable at best, but it was better than not showing up at all. You managed to toss on one of Thor’s old sweatshirts you stole, along with a pair of leggings, and some slippers. Because the weather was surprisingly cold for early fall.

“Sorry, what?” You blinked as MJ tapped your shoulder.

“Peter wants to know why blood sugar levels are so important.” She mumbled, not even sparing you a glance, her nose dug into a book.

“Because, Our blood sugar refers to how much glucose is present in the blood. Glucose is important for cells to be able to make energy and build other complex carbohydrates. However, too much glucose can be toxic for the body. So we need to know if it becomes too much, or too little. You should know this.”

“And you Miss (Y/N), shouldn’t be falling asleep.” Peter teased, sticking his tongue out at you as you shot him a glare.

“Listen kid, I didn’t sleep last night and I haven’t had enough coffee. Stark is dropping me off some.”

“Just get the coffee from the front desk.”

“Parker I am going to pretend you didn’t just say that. Library coffee is horrible. I need fresh brewed from home, or Dunkin.”

“Oh or that nice little place on Manhattan blvd.” Ned added and you nodded, shooting him a warm smile.

“Yes, the absolute best.”

“I heard my name.” Tony said with a grin as he placed the steaming cup in front of you.

“If you mean the absolute worst? Then yes, yes you did.”

“Harsh, I have been wounded. Maybe I’ll just drink this coffee myself.” The brunette mutters, pulling the cup just out of your reach and taking a small sip. You shriek violently and fling your textbook at him. Tony simply steps out of the way before shooting you a sly grin.

You let out an annoyed groan, standing up from the chair and picking up your textbook, and that's when Tony really sees what you're wearing.

He knows this small step back into what you used to be, like dipping your toe into the pool to test the water before diving in.

Under Thor’s blue sweatshirt, is one of Bucky's red henleys. He had plenty, they were his favorite shirt. And he’d be damned if they ever got stolen… by anyone other than you of course.

Tony's breath catches in his throat as you yank the sweater back over the fabric to refrain from prying eyes of passerbys, your friends, and most importantly Bucky.

“Y/N-”

“Please don’t…” You choke out, holding back a soft cry. He nods, understanding, but not ready to completely let it all go. He places a gentle hand on your wrist and waits for you to look up at him. Your eyes are slowly turning puffy and red, even more so than they already were. Your free hand is picking at imaginary lint and he lets out a sigh.

“Okay… not here.” He confirms and shakes his head at your pleading face, that's begging him to drop the subject completely.

Tony doesn’t give in to the puppy dog eyes that make everyone else but him and Natasha melt. He places a short peck to your forehead, hands you your coffee and walks off after saying a quick hello to Peter.

You clear your throat, take a small sip of the now lukewarm liquid and sit back down in the creaky hard chair.

“Sorry, where were we?” You ask, looking around the room instead of the freshman in front of you.

“Lets get some lunch.” MJ announces, abruptly standing up and shoving her books into her bag, clearly over the study session.

Of course she was done with the study session, anymore talk about isotopes and she might have exploded. But she also noticed how uncomfortable you got when Tony had started whispering to you. She had some inkling as to why. When you were a senior in highschool, she was a freshman. It was uncommon for the two classes to mingle but you and her got along great. Her, Peter, and Ned were tossed into an AP Calculus class, and you of course had gotten stuck with them. But it wasn't all bad, yourself and MJ had often made snarky comments towards the boys, and would mumble obscenities under your breath as the teacher would get things mixed up. MJ was observant, and quite the character, so when you and Bucky had split up, she knew it immediately.

Everyone was truly shocked when you both split. Bucky had left for Europe the day after, and you showed up to school, alone, with puffy eyes. She recalls when you were taking your final the next day you had ran out in the middle of it, tears pooling down your cheeks.

And she resented him a little for it, but then again she didn ́t know what happened, and she didn't know why, and she didn't know Bucky.

But it wasn't like it was rocket science to figure out that he was what had you so shaken up. MJ heard a rumor about him coming back, but refrained from saying anything because… a rumor is just that, a stupid rumor. And she didn't want to upset you if she didn't have to.

“I want the extra crispy grilled cheese.”

“You get that every time Ned.” MJ grumbled as she scanned over the blackboard that held all the options on the menu.

“Okay but it’s really good.” You chimed in grinning at MJ, you pulled out your wallet as everyone ordered and reached out to pay. Peter shrieked and smacked at your hand, shaking his head.

“No no no my treat, you always help us with studying and we don’t even pay you. Let me get this.”

“Such a gentleman…” You cooed, giving him a cheeky grin. “But its work study so I get paid anyways.” Peter simply shrugged you off and handed the cash to the cashier, who grunted in response. You recognized the kid from your Economics class, and attempted to wave but he simply turned away to grab your food.

~

“I still don’t see why you didn’t want to go out tonight.” Wanda muttered as she handed you a bag of goldfish to snack on.

“Because I have homework, and I have an econ test to study for. Plus it’s movie night.”

“Econ can suck my dick.”

“Who’s sucking whose dick?” Sam muttered as he flopped down on the love seat, hanging his feet off the side.

“Econ is sucking Wanda's dick because I didn’t want to go out.”

“Well it is movie night Wands, we can't just skip it.” Nat hissed, curling up on the longer couch, settling herself comfortably beside Wanda.

“Not like everyone shows up all the time.” Wanda muttered before leaning forward and cradling the warm cup in her hands. “Where the hell are Steve and the other asshole. Or were going to start without them.”

“Relax ladies we’re here.” Bucky announced, giving Sam and cheeky grin. He nudged his legs off the side to sit, but Sam shook his head and kicked his legs back up.

“What movie’s first?” Steve asked pulling out the large box of DVD’s from behind the TV stand.

It was a large clear plastic bin with half scratched off stickers. The memories of Becca sticking them all over Bucky’s things was fresh in your mind as you stared off into the distance. She’d constantly have any sort of glittery, scented, or stickers with her favorite foods on them. When Bucky had shown up to take you to prom, there was a pink glittery heart on his shoulder.

“I vote we watch Terminator.”

“Sam we always watch that movie.”

“Yeah well get used to it (Y/N) it’s a good movie.”

“Well I for one think we should watch The Princess Bride.” Wanda announced as she dug her hand into a bag of M&M’s.

“Nope, we’re watching The Lost Boys.” You said, standing up and grabbing the box out of Steve's hand. He rolled his eyes and stood up, moving to sit in your spot.

“That shitty eighties movie about the vampires? No thanks.” Sam groaned and took a handful of popcorn from the bowl. You scoffed, placing the disk in the player and turning to face him, your hands resting on your hips.

“Shut your trap, it’s a good movie.” You hissed, sticking your tongue out at him. He gave you a playful wink and turned his attention to the screen. Surveying the area around you, you noticed Steve was now occupying your seat. Pursing your lips, a small groan left your lips. The only empty seat was next to Bucky.

Unwillingly you trudged over and plopped down beside him, your heart obviously had a different plan from your brain.

Curling your legs up into your chest, and resting your head on your knees you relaxed as best as you could beside him and focused on the movie.

The movie played quietly in the background of your thoughts as you wondered why he came back. You thought he loved it over there, from what Steve had told you, he was having a wonderful time. But then again, Steve was never good with translating sarcasm. No matter if it was in person or over text. He sucked at it, plain and simple.

Bucky also wondered why he came back sometimes. He missed his friends, his sister, and his home… you.

Bucky had always lived a hectic life. He grew up beside Steve, ever since birth they had been close. Their mothers were friends so it was only natural the pair would become close.

Steve eventually went from a scrawny kid with asthma who had a knack for fighting bullies to, Steve the football player, no longer stricken with the burden of not being able to breathe. A chick magnet, who was so kind to girls it was almost unbelievable he hadn’t dated anyone.

And then Steve met Y/N. You became fast friends and Bucky could have sworn you knew one another since you were born just like him and Steve. He had met you in sophomore year. Three years, and Steve had finally introduced him to you. But it wasn’t just simple you. Bucky was introduced to the person who changed his life. A beautiful girl who he swore made his heart beat louder than it ever had. But of course, Bucky thought you and Steve were in love. You were the only one who he allowed to refer to him as ‘Stevie.’ He hated that nickname, but not when you said it. So Bucky backed off, until your large group of friends all got smashed at a party and Steve embarrassingly kissed some dude on the track team. You practically burst with joy for him for finally doing it and all Bucky could do was sit there, beer in a cup now warming due to the burning in his hand, where you gripped it in pure joy for your shared best friend.

It was then that Bucky had made it his plan to get you to fall for him in the same way he fell for you. It was easier said than done, but he eventually won your heart.

You became his favorite person. The one he would constantly visit, and stop whatever he was doing to see you. You became his home.

He thought your voice was smooth like honey, and as sweet as the sugar his mom would put on his cheerios when he was younger. Your voice would seep into the cracks of his soul, to remind him he’d always have you.

He even had you now, as your head rested against his shoulder, the rest of your body slumped against the back of the couch. Soft snores rang through his ears, focusing only on you. He’d be damned if he or anyone else woke you up. The movie ended about an hour ago, and everyone had gone to bed. But not without some snide or silly comments on how you were cuddled up against him.

However, he paid no mind to them. All he thought about was how he missed your arms around him, your body heat radiating off of you, keeping him impossibly warm. The familiar scent of lavender and vanilla filled his nostrils as he relaxed all parts of his body but his right arm where you were curled up against. An odd position, yeah but for you? He’d fall out of a plane if it meant keeping you safe. (I’m sorry forgive me for that reference lol)

He felt you stir beside him, and Bucky froze, his breath halted in his lungs as he very slowly glanced down towards you. Your face scrunched up as you wiped at your cheek, after pulling up from his shoulder. Your eyes blinked open, and Bucky quietly watched your eyelashes kiss at your cheeks every time they fluttered shut. He froze again, praying you wouldn’t freak out, and that you’d calmly get up and go to bed, or curl up next to him again.

You chose neither and sat up fully, hunching forward and grabbing the remote from the coffee table.

“‘Nother movie?” You asked, leaning back against the couch and looking over at him. He nodded and focused his gaze on the screen as you chose a crappy netflix original. “ ‘M sorry for falling asleep on you by the way…” You mumbled, running your fingers through your hair. Bucky let out a faint chuckle and shook his head.

“I’m happy to be your headrest doll, long as you don’t drool.”

“Shut up Buck, that was one time…” You groaned, lightly punching his shoulder. He just shook his head and kept his eyes trained on your face, and he swore he saw a hint of a smile curling at your lips.

Smiling at him? Maybe, he could only hope.

Discarding the thought, much to fast for his own taste, he busied himself by grabbing some popcorn and tossing it into his mouth.

Maybe one day he’d work up the courage to actually talk to you, not some silly banter that was somewhere on the cusp of anger and misread feelings from old times… maybe.

—

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