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melofanish · 4 years ago

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Clumsy Your Way Into My Heart

@carlosreyesweek Day 6: AU!!!

Summary: When Carlos first volunteered to go grocery shopping for the station, he didn’t think he would be overthinking it as much as he is right now.

Cereal box shenanigans and loads of blushing later:

Carlos finds that he’s much calmer than he’s ever been since he got here. Maybe overthinking about food isn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

Tags: Carlos Reyes, TK Strand, Mentioned Owen Strand, Mentioned Paul Strickland, Mentioned Marjan Marwani, Mentioned Mateo Chavez, Mentioned Judd Ryder, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Grocery Store, Clumsy Boys, Firefighter Carlos Reyes,, Police Officer TK Strand, Pre-Relationship, Flirting.

Warnings: Blushing and clumsiness.

At the moment in which I'm writing this, this fic has been started less than 24 hours ago and was completed 10 minutes ago. My beta is going through it right now and I'm getting AO3 and Tumblr ready. As we've found out, AU is my kryptonite.

The hugest, and largest thanks and love to the one and only @lire-casander. The amount of love and support that I get from this woman is unbelievable. The help she's been on this fic alone is insane, let alone with everything else that I do. She's been a guide and a friend and this would not have happened without you <3

Read on AO3.

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When Carlos first volunteered to go grocery shopping for the station, he didn’t think he would be overthinking it as much as he is right now. And yet he keeps remembering how Marjan can only eat halal food and Mateo is lactose sensitive, Paul likes spicy food but Judd can’t handle any. Captain Tommy -he still needs some time to get used to her not wanting to be called by her last name- likes white bread while his own soon-to-return Captain Strand won’t eat anything that isn’t full-grain. So he keeps getting more food, and more food, and more food.

He started out shopping like he usually would, keeping in mind the slight dietary restrictions; a few vegetables and fruits, several dairy and soy products, some poultry. And then he came to the realisation that it would be better if he bought food for more than one day’s meals. And then his brain supplied the wonderful what if I want to make a dish and I can’t find canned peeled cherry tomatoes, which he knows is not only highly specific but also highly unlikely. And yet he now finds himself dragging a cart on the verge of overflowing. And he’s still got seven more aisles to go.

He's so focused on studying the displayed boxes of cereal that spread across half an aisle, holding two different brands in his hands and moving right and left to compare them with others, that he doesn't notice a whole other human being on the way until he’s being run over by flesh and bones.

They immediately get into a fumbling battle, legs somehow holding up. The boxes in Carlos’ slip, so do the other person’s. Carlos manages to catch two cartoons, the faint recognition that one of them is sugar flakes -which he didn’t pick- runs through his mind before he focuses on yet another cartoon making its descent through the sky. He steps forward, and so does the other person. They crash in the middle, chest to chest. And this time, they all come crashing to the ground.

Carlos lands on a knee, hands already going out to hold onto the boxes, when a body slams into his. He drops the box, holding onto the waist person that’s half splayed on him now. He follows the flat chest, taking note of the APD logo on the side of his shirt and the rainbow pinned next to it, to the bare beginnings of a stubble, up across thin, pink lips and a sharp nose, to end at mesmerising green eyes.

It takes all of his will power not to gasp, but he can't stop the dropped jaw. The man is beautiful. There's no other way to describe him. His light brown hair lays a mess on top of his head, his green eyes sparkle with a mix of shock and surprise, and his teeth seem to find relief in sinking into his lower lip.

He feels movement around him, and then a hand makes its way between them and lays on his shoulder. He feels the pressure on his chest give way, manifesting as an exhale from the man. Carlos realises that he’s been holding his breath too, and sighs, his exhale mingling with the man’s inhale. And then a cart crashes behind them, and they realise they’re sitting on the floor of a grocery store in the middle of the day. Their bubble crashes.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so clumsy I can’t believe this happened!” The man says as he fully pushes off Carlos, eye contact breaking to pick up the dropped boxes. The apology finally breaks through Carlos’ hazy mind, and he let’s go of the man’s shirt, coming to a stand as well as he picks up the remaining boxes.

“Oh no, no! It’s my fault, I wasn’t looking,” he states, finally straightening up. "Good save, officer,” he adds as he steps back before he can even think about.

The man's eyes snap back to him, widening in shock before his face breaks into a small smile and then his head falls forward, chuckling and shaking his head. Carlos finds himself snickering as well.

"I can say the same to you, firefighter," the man says, nodding his chin towards Carlos' own AFD shirt.

Carlos looks at his own shirt before he looks back at the man. He feels like he knows him, he's seen him before, but he can't remember where or when. But the green eyes bore into his very soul, so he looks down at his hands instead, finally noticing the box of organic multi-bran flakes.

"Uhh, these are yours? I'm guessing?"

The man looks at Carlos' hands, eyes and mouth opening is recognition. "Yeah, those are my dad's. A disgrace to the very idea of flakes," he adds as he glares at the box.

“They’re not that bad,” Carlos laughs, and the glare redirects itself from the box to Carlos. Which makes him cut himself mid-laugh, only to dissolve into chuckles again when the man cracks the smallest of smiles.

“Are you just saying that or have you actually tried them?”

“I’ve tried them, my captain back at the station likes them,” he replies, moving a step back to drag his cart closer. “I even got a box here,” he gestures to the cartoon laying on top of the mountain.

“Pfft, and I thought my dad was the only one crazy enough to like these. Good to know there’s someone else like him in here,” he shakes his head in amusement, a sentiment Carlos shares. Of everything he was imagining when he moved states to join the 126, he wasn’t expecting to be talking to a cute officer in the middle of the grocery store, discussing cereal of all things.

The man takes a few steps back, reaching behind the corner of the aisle and dragging a cart up next to him. Carlos extends an arm to him, handing over the box, which he takes and drops into his cart.

Carlos can’t help but sneak a peek into it. There’s a very obvious mix of junk food and snacks, and healthy organic and full-grain foods. It reminds him of his new Captain. He hasn’t interacted with him much, the man getting injured a mere day after Carlos got transferred. But the rest of the crew has given him a list of all the dietary preferences, Captain’s included.

He looks up at the man, finding him alternating between looking at the ground and the shelves. Carlos has noticed that he already has three boxes of cereal, he couldn’t possibly need more. He looks like he wants to say something, or maybe he’s reading it wrong and he wants to move away. Either way, he decides to take a plunge. He’s already moved half-way through the country in a leap of faith, why not take another one?

“I’m Carlos, by the way,” he extends an arm to the man, “Reyes, of AFD.”

The smile that he receives tells him that it’s the right choice. The other man extends his arm, hand wrapping around Carlos’ in a warm embrace. If this is how his hand feels, Carlos can’t even imagine what a hug would feel like.

“Hello, Carlos, I’m TK,” he gives their hands a shake. “Strand, of APD.”

Carlos is so enamoured with the man’s -TK’s- eyes and smile that it takes him a moment to register the name. But once he does, he can’t help the quick and rapid blinking he does to clear his mind.

“Wait, did you just say Strand?”

“Uhh,” TK blinks back at him, turning his head to a side as his eyelids flutter in confusion. “Yeah?”

Carlos doesn’t pay him much mind though, what are the chances of this happening?

“Is your father Owen Strand? Captain of the 126?”

“Yeah, that’s my dad, how did you know that?” All of the confusion that was mildly visible on TK’s face is now showcased a full one hundred per cent, both in his facial expressions and tone of voice.

“He’s my captain!” Carlos exclaims. “I work with the 126 too!”

It seems to take TK a moment to come to terms with what Carlos is saying. But the moment drags on so long that he begins to think he just got this awfully wrong. He’s about to disentangle their still bound hands when clarity finally shines on TK’s face and he breaks into a wide grin.

“You’re the new guy from New Jersey,” he says around a smile. Carlos is confused for just a second, wondering how he knows about his previous state of residence when TK continues talking. “My dad told me all about you! He can’t wait to get back tomorrow and work with you again. Said he only had to see you on one call and he knew he made the right choice asking you to join the 126.”

Carlos feels the blush rising up the back of his neck and into the highs of his cheeks, but he can’t really stop it. He knows he’s good at his job, he knows he’s a decent firefighter. But having the son of his Captain relay what said Captain said brings a sense of belonging and validation he didn’t think he’d get a mere three weeks on the job.

“He… he said that?” he asks. He needs to know. He’s been worried, stressing himself out of his mind in fear that he’s not showing the best of his abilities. Not only did he travel 1.5 thousand miles from one border of the country to another, he also took a job with a team that’s already well-formed and perfectly working without him. They didn’t ask for him because they needed him, they asked for him because they just wanted to. And he’s constantly aware of that whenever they’re on a call and everyone is on top of what they need to be doing.

“Yeah, man, he did!” TK says. He then takes another look at Carlos, and he can only guess that he can read minds. “He said you’re sharp, careful and smart. You think twice as hard and act twice as fast. He said you carry the job like it should be, with respect and responsibility,” he smiles at Carlos, closing the step between them and bringing a hand up to run the back of his fingers across the logo on his shirt.

Carlos brings his own hand up, covering TK’s -one of many things he’s done before his consciousness can think it out today. TK’s eyes glance over their hands before they stare up into him, the faint emerald greens ripping his insecurities and uncertainties into shreds with each passing second.

“Thank you,” he whispers. He can’t talk any louder when they’re this close. “I needed to know that.”

The smile he gets in reply is worth the distance he travelled. TK drifts his gaze down Carlos’ face, and he copies the action. He finds TK’s lower lip hidden between the bite of his upper teeth, and he can’t help but imagine what they would feel like holding onto his own.

“Excuse me!”

Carlos snaps his head to the side, a woman with bright red hair standing there glaring at both of them. He sneaks a quick glance at TK, both of them stepping back as she steps forward, reaching between them to grab a box of cereal before she dumps it into her cart and moves along. He follows her until she turns the corner, no longer in his visual field, before he turns back to a blushing TK.

He provides a small, pained smile, and Carlos laughs at the expression he’s presented with. They’ve been caught in two of these situations so far, and they’ve only met for minutes. Carlos supposes it would be embarrassing if it wasn’t for the pull he feels towards the man. The pull that has both of them stepping forward again, until there’s barely a foot of distance between them.

“So, you’ve been here for three weeks, right?” TK asks. Carlos knows TK knows the answer. Captain Strand sprained his shoulder on Carlos’ first day here, and that was three weeks ago. He nods anyway.

“So, I’m guessing you haven’t seen much of the city yet?”

A twinkle of hope starts to bubble in Carlos’ chest. He has a faint inkling of where this is going, but he isn’t sure. He can only wish and pray.

“No, not really. I’ve been to a couple of places with the crew, that’s it,” he answers, pausing for a moment to take a breath. “I haven’t found a tour guide yet.”

TK chuckles at him, the sound sending waves of happiness through Carlos, even as TK shakes his head at him. “Well, then, I have a proposition for you, Firefighter Reyes.”

Carlos is playing into it without a moment to think. “Oh, do you now, Police Officer Strand?”

TK is nodding back at Carlos before the words are even out of his mouth.

“How about this: I’ll be your tour guide.”

Carlos looks up at the ceiling of the store, rubbing a hand through his chin and humming as feigns thinking. “What would your payment be?” he asks.

“You let me take you out for coffee,” TK says around a smirk. All pretence of a game falls through shambles immediately, and they’re back into an intense round of gazing into each other eyes. Almost as if they can read each other through them.

“Can I bargain for a cheesecake?”

The question seems to come out of nowhere and throw TK off his track. His eyes widen for a moment before he’s bursting into laughs. The loud, booming kind with the head thrown back and hands bracing his own chest. Carlos smiles at the sight, the closed eyes, the exposed neck, the sound that carries absolute joy; it’s a view he wants to see for the entire rest of his life.

“Ahh, that can definitely be arranged,” TK says once he manages to stop laughing.

Carlos doesn’t reply. Instead, he takes his phone from his pocket, opening the contact app and handing it over. TK takes it, types a few buttons and gives it back. Carlos looks at the screen to see that he’s calling a number. A number that’s been saved under TK Strand Grocery Officer.

A phone ringing has him lifting his head, just in time to see TK pull out his own phone, decline the call and press a few more times on the screen. He then turns it around showing Carlos his own number saved as Carlos Reyes Grocery Fire.

“I think there should be a fighter in there,” he comments, much to the amusement of TK.

“Naaah. That might be your job,” he replies, looking Carlos up and down. “But you’re straight fire.”

As if on command, said fire burns through his face as he blushes yet again. This time he doesn’t resist the urge to hide his face, lifting his hands to cover the warmth he can feel spreading to the tips of his ears. He hears a chuckle he knows is TK’s behind his shield. He doesn’t know how this happened, but he’s sure he’ll be able to recognise the sound out of a crowd of a hundred people.

He feels hands touch his fingers wrapping around his palm as they pull away from his face. TK then rests a hand on his cheek, and Carlos leans into it, eyes locked onto each other.

“I need to go. Call me?” Tk asks, voice flowing like butter.

“You can arrest me if I don’t, officer,” Carlos replies, voice just as soft.

TK nods as he takes a deep breath, the smile never leaving his face.

“That’s a good idea. After all, I do where you work”

From anyone else, that sentence would sound creepy and send Carlos running. But from TK it sounds like a promise he doesn’t want to lose. “Okay.”

With a final glance, TK steps back, breaking all contact they have together. Carlos misses the touch half a second after it’s gone. He moves back, grabbing his cart. He slowly steps forward, moving towards the registers. As he passes Carlos’ cart, he stops to peek into it before he turns back to him.

“Buy my dad cashew nuts and you’ll be his favourite tomorrow.”

As he moves away with a final smile thrown his way, Carlos finds that he’s much calmer than he’s ever been since he got here. Maybe overthinking about food isn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

#carlosreyesweek2021 #Day 6: AU #Carlos Reyes #TK Strand #Tarlos #Tarlos fic #Alternate Universe #Alternate First Meeting #They're clumsy boys your honour #911 lone star #911 lone star fic

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litwitlady · 4 years ago

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5+1

Five times Michael kisses Alex, and one time Alex kisses Michael.

They have been arguing for half an hour. Michael upset that Alex has been avoiding him. Alex upset that Michael no longer loves him – even though he hasn’t admitted that part yet.

When the rain starts, Alex turns to head home. They are getting nowhere, and he doesn’t want to get soaked. ‘Goodbye, Michael.’

‘Wait, Alex.’ Michael grabs his arm as the rain starts to fall in earnest. ‘What’s wrong? And the truth this time. Then you can run home.’

Anger flares in Alex’s chest. ‘What’s wrong, Guerin, is how easily you stopped loving me. It was just ‘you’re not good for me’. And then, poof! I was suddenly so much nothing. How did you do it? Please, because I’m having a really fucking hard time returning the favor.’

His tears mingle with the rain as Michael stares at him open-mouthed and clearly confused. Maybe a touch hurt.

‘What? Alex, no.’ Michael reaches for him again, but Alex dodges. They are both soaked now, hair plastered to their foreheads. Michael follows Alex to his car door. ‘Please. That’s not what happened.’

‘Yes, Michael. To me, that’s what happened. So just, leave me alone.’ His hands go to his pockets for his keys but come up empty. ‘Fuck. My keys are back at the Crashdown.’

‘Stay here. I’ll go get them.’ He runs off before Alex can stop him.

It’s raining so hard the storm drains are starting to backup. Small rivers flow along the curbs, splashing over sidewalks. The temperature has dropped. And Alex is starting to shiver beneath his soggy clothes. He wants to go home and shower this day away.

By the time Michael returns, he’s hugging himself and rubbing his hands up and down his arms – teeth practically chattering. Michael hands him his keys, wallet, and phone – but grabs his wrist before he can pull away. Warmth immediately surges through Alex’s body. Melting away the freezing rain.

‘I love you, Alex. And I never stopped. Not once. Not even for a second.’ He moves to open Alex’s car door. ‘I’m sorry I made you feel otherwise.’

Alex runs his thumb over his key fob. But can’t bring himself to push the unlock button. ‘Well, you were very convincing.’ He guesses the storm has washed away all his anger. Or maybe he’s just exhausted.

‘Years of practice.’ Michael half-smiles and motions to the door. ‘You’re cold. You should go and get warm.’

Alex doesn’t move. ‘I am cold. But I want you to warm me up.’

They stand staring at each other. Thunder clapping overhead. Michael takes a step forward and then another. The gap between them shrinking quickly. And then his hands are on Alex’s chest, walking him slowly back against the Explorer.

Michael moves his hands up to Alex’s neck, presses their hips together. And everything locks back into place. Their bodies curving into each other like that’s what they were made to do.

Alex runs his cool, damp hands under Michael’s shirt. Not caring that they are in public. And Michael shivers. His thumbs reach Michael’s nipples and that’s when Michael attacks. Moaning into Alex’s mouth, sucking and licking along his bottom lip until Alex opens for him.

If possible, the rain falls even harder as they kiss desperately, bodies fused together against the Explorer. Kyle spots them and stops briefly, lifting an umbrella over their heads, before laughing and running off. Alex and Michael do not notice.

Two weeks later, Michael and Isobel are at the Pony. Tucked away in a back booth. Isobel is trying to discuss the Max and Liz situation, but Michael is distracted. Alex is at the bar laughing with Maria. More than once, something in Alex’s left ear has caught the dim bar lights overhead. Michael suspects he knows why and welcomes the heat that flares in his belly.

‘Michael, are you listening? We’re practically in crisis here and you can’t pull your eyes away from Alex for two fucking seconds.’ She throws a slice of lemon into this hair and he just leaves it there. Too distracted to care.

Isobel gives up. Goes back to drinking her beer and plotting ways to get her dumb brother back together with the love of his life. One down, one to go. Then she can focus on herself.

Alex turns around and spots Michael immediately. Grins. Waves goodbye to Maria and heads over to their booth. With every step, Michael gets more and more excited.

As Alex slides into the booth next to him, Michael’s hand goes to his ear and discovers the small, gold hoop. Fingers giving his ear a little tug. ‘When did this happen?’

‘Last night. Liz and Maria helped. Doesn’t even hurt. Do you like it?’

Michael answers by kissing his earlobe. Licking up the shell of his ear and whispering. ‘I think it’s really fucking hot. Forgot how much I’d missed it.’

Isobel groans dramatically. ‘Is this what the rest of my life is going to be like? Watching you two lick at each other like feral animals?’

Alex goes to say he’s sorry, but Michael shooshes him with a kiss.

‘Really, Michael?’ Isobel whines.

Michael reaches back blindly for his hat, uses it to hide their very enthusiastic making out from his sister. She huffs a laugh and kicks him under the table. ‘I will have my revenge.’

‘Wait. Why is there a lemon in your hair?’ Michael puts his hat on his head and takes the lemon slice from Alex, throws it back at Isobel. Starts to nudge Alex out of the booth.

‘Enjoy babysitting Max, Iz. I’ve got better things to do.’ He winks down at her.

Alex grabs Michael’s hand starts pulling him towards the door. ‘He means me.’

Isobel flicks them off as they leave the bar laughing.

Six months fly by and Michael moves in with Alex. Max comes over to help Michael build out Alex’s closet – well, their closet now. Alex is busy working on a coding project for work and leaves them to it.

Lunch time rolls around and they’ve worked up an appetite. Michael heads out to where Alex is hunched over his computer at the kitchen counter. ‘We’re going to grab something to eat. Want to come?’

Alex shakes his head. ‘Too busy. I’ll just eat something quick here. Have fun.’ He doesn’t even bother looking up from the screen.

‘Okay. Well, I’m be home soon.’ Alex’s fingers abruptly stop typing. Michael grins like an idiot. It’s the first time he’s used that word out loud. Home. He’s finally home.

Michael kisses Alex hard on his cheek. ‘I love you so much.’ And then he kisses him on his temple, his forehead and both eyes. Back down to his cheeks. Loudly punctuating each kiss with a smack of his lips.

Alex laughs, plays at swatting Michael away. ‘I love you, too.’

He kisses Alex one last time on the mouth. And then turns back towards Max. ‘I’m ready now.’ As he passes his brother he stops and smacks a kiss on his cheek as well. ‘Wouldn’t want you to feel left out.’

Max chuckles. He’s so damn happy for Michael.

They head out to his jeep and Max pauses before climbing inside. ‘I like this Michael. The Alex Michael. Looks good on you, brother.’

‘Feels good, too.’ He smiles and walks around the jeep, pulls Max into a hug. Lifting him off the ground and spinning him around.

Alex hears them laughing, smiles and sends a prayer of thanks to the universe.

October 2008

Alex returns to Roswell nine weeks after leaving for basic. His hair is shorn close and he’s lost weight. Michael barely recognizes him. And it breaks his heart. All the anger he remembers feeling with Alex left vanishing.

They are sitting on Michael’s bed. In his new airstream. Well, new to him anyway. Alex hasn’t said more than two words. But he’s driven out to the junkyard, so Michael is doing his best to make him feel wanted and welcome. Because Michael has missed him so much that sometimes he can’t breathe.

‘Was it bad?’ Michael asks. He knows the answer already.

Alex just shrugs and hugs his knees into his chest. ‘It’s over now.’

But that’s not true. They both know it’s only just beginning.

Michael aches to touch him. To hold him. Worries if he does, he’ll never let him go. ‘Do you want to stay here? With me. Instead of with…,’ His voice trails off. Doesn’t want to mention that man.

‘I got a motel room. But I’d rather stay here.’ He looks up at Michael for the first time, his pretty brown eyes so haunted. And Michael can no longer stop himself. He scoots back against his pillows, pulling Alex down onto his chest. The way Alex clings to him brings tears to his eyes.

‘I missed you.’ He whispers the words into Alex’s hair.

Alex shifts against him. Looking up. ‘Is your hand better?’

Michael instinctively flexes his fingers, feels the tight scar tissue stretch. Shows Alex. ‘It’s not pretty, but it still works. Mostly.’

They lie together for a long time. Holding on for dear life. Michael is just about asleep when Alex climbs on top of him. ‘Show me how much you missed me.’ His hands are clasped in Michael’s dirty t-shirt. ‘Please.’

He knows sex is maybe not the best idea, but he’s never once been able to say no to Alex. He weaves his fingers through Alex’s hair and stretches his neck up to kiss him softly on the mouth.

At that one simple touch, something in Alex comes undone. He collapses against Michael’s chest, body racked with sobs. Michael holds him until he falls asleep, until the sun comes up, until he has to leave again.

Their one year anniversary happens to coincide with Planet 7’s Pride celebration. All of their friends come along to celebrate with Michael and Alex.

Isobel declares herself in charge of wardrobe and dresses everyone for the big night. Michael looks like a walking bisexual flag – all pinks and purples and blues. While Alex just looks hot. Rainbow tattoos across his cheeks, tight black leather pants, and an old David Bowie t-shirt with the sleeves cut out. Cut off so low that Alex’s nipples are nearly always on display – at least from the side, which is where Michael tries to station himself all night.

Everyone else has some version of cheek tattoos, feather boas, and glitter. Especially Kyle who really takes to everything Isobel throws at him. Even Max has let Isobel do his makeup – the entire bar complimenting him on his gorgeous pink eyelashes.

They have an absolute blast. Singing and dancing and loving each other.

As the evening draws to a close, Isobel brings out a huge cake. It’s covered in rainbows and unicorns and little green aliens. Michael and Alex delight at the garish cake and hug her between them. Both wishing her a happy pride and kissing her thank you.

Michael cuts the first piece of cake and smashes it into Alex’s face. Isobel shrieks, punching him on the arm. But Michael just grins wider and stalks towards his boyfriend. Alex is trying to scramble way, but he’s not fast enough. Michael pounces, grabbing his hips and lifting him onto a stool. Thumbs under his chin, lifting his face up for better access. Licks the pink frosting from his chin and then buries his tongue in Alex’s mouth.

Everyone groans but throws glitter over them as they kiss. Isobel never forgives them for the food fight that breaks out shortly after. Her beautiful cake ruined.

On Michael’s 31st birthday, they head out to their spot in the desert. Wrap themselves in blankets in the bed of Michael’s truck. It’s a cool June night and the sky is clear, stars twinkling above them.

Their two year anniversary is next week. And they are taking their first real vacation. Michael has always wanted to go to Asia, so they have a whole trek planned. Three weeks in Thailand, Vietnam, and Japan.

‘Do you still think about leaving?’ Alex twines their fingers together.

Michael shakes his head. ‘There’s nothing out there for me.’

‘Really? You don’t want to know about your home anymore? Where you came from?’ His brow creases and he worries that Michael has given up too much for him.

But Michael reaches up and smooths out the crease with his thumb. ‘You are my home and I’m way more concerned about where we’re going. The past is the past. But the future can be anything we want it to be.’

‘And you’re really not sick of me yet?’ Alex smirks up at him. ‘I mean, I am unemployed now. Can’t even pay my half of the bills.’

Alex’s honorable discharge was one of the happiest things to ever happen to Michael. He’d work a thousand jobs if it meant Alex was free of the military.

‘Don’t worry, baby. I’m going to take care of you.’ He nuzzles his nose against Alex’s. ‘Staring with this.’ He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a guitar pick, hands it to Alex.

‘Rings are kind of dumb. So, I got you your favorite pick. A whole box of them, actually.’ He laughs, a little nervous now.

‘What?’ Alex is confused at first – but then realization lights up his eyes. ‘Wait – are you – what are you doing right now, Michael?’

Michael shrugs, leaning back into the blankets. ‘Asking you to marry me. Figured two years – ‘

Alex doesn’t let him finish. He straddles Michael’s waist and kisses the proposal from his mouth. Answering with his tongue. They move against each other, Alex frantic – Michael trying to slow him down.

‘Is that a yes, then?’ Michael smiles against Alex lips.

‘That’s a fuck yes.’ Alex attacks his mouth again and Michael doesn’t try to stop him this time.

#malex #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin

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misslavendertown · 5 years ago

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🌹My thoughts on Steven universe future!🌹

WARNING this post contains a lot of steven universe future spoilers if you haven't seen the new episodes and don't want to be spoiled don't read. I would put a read more link below the warning but Tumblr mobile sucks.

Little homeschool

So Steven can heal corrupted gems using a mixture of what I expect are the diamonds escents? Maybe it's from the extraction Chambers? I can't remember what they're called but yellow's sauna and blue's bath.

Pamphlets about being uncorrupted. Kind of makes me think of those awkward puberty pamphlets you get from school.

The next few minutes are just the trailer.

Connie's preparing for college. I'm so proud. 😊

Pearl teaching gems how to use phones is just golden. Also Holo Pearl is back.

"took me forever to pull those puny green earthlings out of the ground" "you mean grass"

People are gonna hate me for saying this but I actually kind of feel bad for Jasper I think she's bored. She just wants to fight maybe she can take up boxing or wrestling. You know what never mind she'll kill the first person who steps in the ring.

F I G H T M E!

Steven putting a bubble around baby birds to protect them from him and Jasper's fight is purest thing I've seen on the show.

Pink Steven shows up but we already knew about that.

Steven seeking guidance from Jasper disturbs me. This obviously isn't going to end well.

Guidance

Guidance counselor amethyst!

Mr. Smiley has gem employees now maybe he can finally get some sleep. Does anyone remember that?

Amethyst assigned human jobs to the gems and a lot of them are doing jobs they did on homeworld. Steven has a big problem with that but I'm not going to be quick to judge him because I also had a problem with it and I'm sure I'm not the only one who did.

I thought little larimar would be smaller

Larimar and snowflake have I've powers. It's really hard not to make a Frozen joke.

Snowflake seems to have a "male" voice like rainbow 2.0 I think it's Ian Jones-Quarty voicing them but I could be wrong so don't get your hopes up.

I just hope people won't start thinking the gems have genders. The gems don't have genders and I'm tired of explaining that to people.

"I wish to hear the humans scream forever" - little Larimar 2019

Steven is becoming a bit of a control freak that must be the diamond in him.

Uncle Andy is back.

One of the rubies has a #1 body guard mug. I love the idea of a Ruby drinking coffee

As expected Steven forcing gems to do things they suck at goes horribly wrong and now there's all kinds of crazy stuff happening including a runaway rollercoaster.

SMOKY QUARTZ RETURNS!!

Pink smoky and they have super speed now or Steven has super speed. they're so fast everything is slow motion like that one episode of regular show with the double glazed apple fritters.

For some odd reason amethyst never questions Steven's new abilities but then again she probably doesn't know that it might be a bad thing.

Some of the gems actually enjoy what they did on homeworld. Amethyst is a really good guidance counselor I'm really looking forward to seeing more of this in the future.

"sometimes you save all the people and the rollercoaster still crashes into the ocean....and that's okay" words of wisdom.

Amethyst found out who she is and what she wants to do.

Larimar likes children and now she hands out prizes for them at one of the game stands.

"I love their laughter it's sounds just like screaming"

"OH NO WE FORGOT ONION!!! eh he's fine"

Onion is immortal apparently. Whatever it's onion don't question his logic.

Rose buds

The homeworld humans are back! They've taken control of the zoo after the diamonds freed everyone and now it's a cruise ship.

J10 and y6 being salty about Greg not choosening them. J10 annoyed at the amethysts for being lazy. I guess he doesn't realize that's how cruise ships work.

Holly blue agate and the famethyst are back! Holly doesn't know how to relax.

THE BUBBLED ROSE QUARTZ GEMS ARE FREE AND THEY ACT LIKE TEENAGERS. THEY'RE SO CUTE!

They consider Steven their hero and are super excited to see what the Earth has become since they've been. There's only three of them staying.

Steven feels overwhelmed by all their questions and accidentally invites them to dinner.

Only three of the roses come a bubbly rose, a laid back rose and the one we saw in the trailer

As expected it's super awkward for everyone the gang isn't ready to face them yet.

They call carrots carrot beans and it's so adorable. I love them so much.

Greg considers the human zoo humans his exes. He mentions he hasn't had this many exes in one place since and then he's cut off I would like to know more about Greg's exes and the incident he was talking about.

"I can feel the rest of my hair falling out!" -Greg Universe 2019 seriously though poor Greg.

They all hide in the bathroom.

The rose quartz want to stay with Steven. he's uncomfortable around them but doesn't want to seem rude and hurt their feelings or make them feel unwelcome.

SLUMBER PARTY!!!

Steven tells the roses how he really feels and turns out they were faking their feelings too. They're really hurt over what happened and they know what Steven is going through with the whole pink diamond fiasco and their conflicting feelings regarding her. It's a very sweet and touching moment between them.

Steven considers them siblings now because they were all created by pink diamond and understand what it's like living in Rose's shadow

I know they don't stay on earth with Steven but I hope we get to see the roses again before the series ends.

Volleyball

Doctor Steven > Doctor Mario don't @ me.

long necked Ruby is hilarious

Pink Pearl's crack can't be healed by Steven's spit.

She doesn't remember being under White's control which makes sense. She was under her control for 8000 years.

So Pink hurt pink pearl why am I not surprised? 😒

I think she's still grieving obviously. Again trailer stuff.

Pink pearl is older than pearl

Some Pearls were made on Earth and the facility doubles as a repair shop. It also has accessories basically it's like a place where you can get your phone fixed and shop for phone cases and other stuff.

Pink pearl is a ribbon dancer. That's what they're called right?

The problem isn't her gem it's a psychological thing.

Gems can damage their physical forms without damaging their gem. That's very interesting and I don't think we've seen this in the show before.

Pink had destructive tendencies It was a tantrum that hurt pink pearl after being denied a planet and gave her PTSD or something similar.

Maybe it was PD hurting Pink pearl that made the other diamonds realize she was a force to be reckoned with and that led to them giving into her demands and giving her Earth.

Seems like those destructive tendencies are starting to come out through pink Steven. Maybe the corrupted Steven theory is right?

Steven should really consider anger management but hey puberty will do that to you. Just kidding I am genuinely concerned.

Apparently the Pearls were both in denial and kept making excuses, never really accepting who PD really was. pink pearl kept saying "she didn't mean to hurt me" this is clearly a metaphor for abuse.

The crack must've been caused by her burying her feelings.

I swear rose/pink gets worse every episode I get she was abused herself but that's not a good enough excuse. Not saying I don't like pink diamond l just hate the things she's done.

I love how the two Pearls bonded over pink hurting them and how they never stopped hurting. it's so sweet and wholesome how can you not ship it? Pearl's gotta stick together.

PEARL FUSION SHE HAS A CAPE!!! SHE LOOKS LIKE A QUEEN!!

I'm assuming the fusion's name is red pearl.

I can't tell if it's a different voice actor playing the pearl or if Deedee is speaking in a low voice.

They didn't show pink Pearl's eye so whether or not if it's healed is up for interpretation.

I think this is easily my favorite episode so far.

#steven universe #steven universe future #garnet #amethyst #pearl #jasper #pink pearl #steven universe snowflake #little larimar #rose quartz #steven universe spoilers #volleyball #steven universe volleyball #queen pearl #pearl fusion

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

Text

Revelation Sunshine, 9/9 (Courtney/Vixen) - Veronica

A/N: Hello loves! This is the last chapter for now. I have so many ideas for these characters, that I probably could go on forever, but it feels correct to end this part of their story in this way. If you want more, please let me know! Thank you so much to everyone who’s read it--this really is one of my most self-indulgent stories ever, and that’s saying a lot. Especially thank you to @theartificialdane for being an amazing beta and collab parter, and of course the founder of this entire universe.

Last chapter: Courtney and Vixen went public, attended the Met Gala, and had a bit of a wild night back in the hotel.

This chapter: A happy ending. Or a happy beginning, depending on your perspective.

***

The morning after the Met Gala, Vixen awoke to the scent of coffee and fresh, buttery croissants as the room service was being wheeled into their room. She stretched, only slightly embarrassed when she realized that she was naked under the thin sheet, especially when she looked over and saw Courtney sitting propped up on a mountain of pillows, tits out, scrolling through her phone.

“Good morning. Putting on a show for the hotel staff, I see,” Vixen commented, voice still groggy with sleep.

Courtney laughed and glanced up from her phone. “He doesn’t care.”

As if to prove her point, he promptly turned and headed out, leaving them to their breakfast.

“Mmhmm.” Vixen shook her head, pressing a kiss against Courtney’s shoulder. She then climbed over her body to pour herself a cup of coffee. After taking a long sip, she spotted a glass of green juice that had to be Courtney’s. She picked it up, giving it a sniff, wrinkling her nose at the cut grass scent. “Want your horrible green juice?”

“‘Kay,” Courtney said, still distracted by her phone.

“And what are you so engrossed in, hmm?”

“Sorry.” Courtney put the phone down and accepted the juice glass with a grateful smile. “Thank you. I know it’s really basic, but I was just checking out social media. You know, to see what people were saying about the clothes from last night.”

“Ahh. Anything interesting?” Vixen asked nonchalantly. She wasn’t used to having her appearance judged by strangers, and even though she wanted to say that she didn’t care about that, part of her was dying for approval.

“Yeah, actually.” A smile played on Courtney’s lips as she looked up at Vixen. “I guess...we hadn’t really realized how...bridal our outfits looked. Especially together.”

“Oh yeah,” Vixen said.

“But the thing is, people seem really into it.” Courtney took a delicate sip. “All the posts and comments are hashtagged with ‘marryher.’”

Vixen laughed, searching through the tray for a pastry. “So then, they liked it?”

“Yeah, the consensus is overwhelmingly positive,” Courtney said. After a few moments, she ventured, “Do you ever think about...getting married?”

Of all the ways Vixen imagined that conversation starting, sitting hunched over on her heels, fully naked, with a mouthful of croissant, was not one of them. She turned to Courtney slowly, eyes wide.

“Do...do you?”

A coy grin lit up Courtney’s face. “Sometimes. Sometimes I think about...you know, having a family with you.”

Vixen took a large sip of coffee to swallow down the bite still in her mouth. Her eyes locked with Courtney’s, a feeling of tingling joy spreading throughout her body.

She pictured it, just briefly: the two of them standing up in front of their friends and families, professing their love for everyone to hear. But then more than that...a marriage. An actual partnership where they supported each other, where they encouraged each other’s dreams and challenged each other to strive for more. A family. Maybe even kids, who would test their patience and mess up the house and demand that they open up their hearts even more. She found herself a bit choked up at the thought.

“What about you?” Courtney asked then, voice soft and almost timid, like she was afraid to scare Vixen off.

“I just did,” Vixen whispered back.

“...and?”

She smiled, heart feeling full to bursting, and the expression on Courtney’s face seemed to mirror her own. Dazzling, radiant happiness, giddy excitement about what their lives could be.

Vixen lunged forward, tangling her hands into Courtney’s hair, kissing her over and over until their lips were swollen, hearts hammering in sync. When they finally separated, the giddy expression was still there. Vixen pulled away the hair that had fallen into her face, tossing it over her shoulder.

“Wow, nice toss…” said Courtney.

“I know. This hair makes me feel like a porn star.”

“Oh yeah? Do you like that?” Courtney asked.

Vixen let out a scoff before lowering her eyes and admitting, “...Maybe a little.”

Courtney laughed, pushing her onto her back.

“Okay, porn star, show me what you’ve got...”

***

Later, on the plane back to LA, Vixen couldn’t help the smile that pulled at her lips when she looked over at Courtney, in a neon pink puffer jacket, glittery headphones, space buns, and pants covered in tiny little rainbows. She imagined taking her to a faculty dinner dressed like that, and the thought made her laugh out loud.

Courtney looked up. “What’s so funny?” she asked, reaching for Vixen’s hand.

“Nothing. You’re just...really cute.”

Courtney’s face lit up in a sunny smile, and she pressed Vixen’s palm to her lips.

“So are you.”

Vixen gazed at her pensively for a few more moments before saying, “I think we should do it. If...if you want.”

“Do what?” asked Courtney, head tilted.

Vixen cleared her throat, suddenly a little self-conscious. This certainly wasn’t the most romantic proposal. Maybe she should have thought it through more.

“...Vix? Do what?” Courtney played gently with her fingers.

“Um...get married?” Vixen bit her lip, a little embarrassed. “Do you want to get married?”

Courtney let out a happy squeal, throwing her arms around Vixen’s neck. “Yes!”

“I’m sorry,” Vixen said, muffled by her jacket. “I probably should have gotten on one knee or something.”

“I don’t care about that,” Courtney said. She cupped Vixen’s cheeks with her hands, pressing their foreheads together. “I just...can’t wait to be your wife.”

***

The wedding was in June, a little over a year later, just after Vixen finished teaching her Spring term. They chose a sprawling castle in the Czech Republic for the location, surrounded by gorgeous rolling hills covered in leafy green trees. It was lush and beautiful and remote enough to keep most of the paparazzi away (except for the photographers that Detox hired, per his exclusive deal with the brides, and the camera crew from The Tonight Show who were making little daily videos to send in while the guest hosts filled in for Courtney).

It was hilarious to Vixen to see Courtney living her full Princess Fantasy. Usually, she was so laid back and down-to-earth and insistent that she was just a regular girl. Not this time, though, as she agonized over every detail, sparing no expense--including first class airfare for all of their friends and family, multiple lavish brunches, dinners, excursions and afterparties, and more flowers than Vixen had ever seen in her life.

When she questioned, in the early planning stages after catching a horrified glimpse at the initial budget, if maybe they should cut back, Courtney’s answer was, “Listen, I don’t know about you, but I’m only planning to do this once.”

Vixen sighed, explaining, “It’s not about that, Court. I just worry that this whole thing...it’s so extravagant, it’ll look...the optics are bad. I’m trying to talk about basic income and economic justice and community building, and this kind of display is just-”

“Okay, okay,” Courtney relented. She sifted through the plans spread out on the table, brow furrowed. “I guess we could cut...um…”

Vixen waited for the suggestion, biting her tongue, running through all the potential cuts in her head. The private planes? The bachelorette weekend in Greece? About 75% of the absolutely ostentatious flower arrangements?

Courtney, on the other hand, looked like a child who’d just had a scoop of ice cream knocked clean off her cone.

“I’m really not trying to rain on your parade, babe,” Vixen told her.

“I know you’re not. And I get what you’re saying...I’ll figure it out.”

Vixen pressed a kiss firmly against her mouth. “I know you will.”

Later that evening, Vixen was greeted at the door by her very excited fiancée who sat her down on the couch to propose a new plan.

“What about this...for every dollar we spend on the wedding, we donate a dollar to the charity of your choosing?” Her bright eyes sparkled, clearly proud of herself.

“Uhh…”

“That way!” Courtney continued, clasping her hands together, “If I go overboard, it’s a win win!”

She fluttered her lashes, waiting to see what Vixen would think of her ingenious new plan.

“I mean, it’s definitely a nice idea, but is it enough incentive to keep costs reasonable?” She raised an eyebrow challengingly.

“Okay, for every dollar I spend, two can go to charity.”

“You’re a terrible negotiator.”

“Vix…”

Vixen took in her hopeful eyes for a few long moments before exhaling. “Okay, deal.”

Courtney bounced into her lap with a delighted laugh. “Lovely doing business with you, Professor Taylor.”

“You’re impossible, you know that?” Vixen said, smiling against her.

“But you love me?”

“Yes. Unfortunately.” Vixen nibbled along her collarbone and up her jaw, coaxing out contented little sighs, and finally capturing her lips in a tender kiss.

So, slightly begrudgingly, Vixen went along with all of Courtney’s grandest plans. After awhile, she even started to get into the planning spirit, especially once it was time to start sampling cakes and planning menus. She put her foot down about a vegan wedding cake, (“my family would disown me!”) which of course led to Courtney’s genius two cakes idea.

Ultimately, though, Vixen had fun. She was too swamped with her first full year at UCLA to stress over the details, happy to simply weigh in on the things that mattered to her, like the music and food and her dress, and check out when it came to the rest. A week before the ceremony, Courtney flew to the venue with Brie, her brother Ben, and the event planner to make sure everything was perfect.

It wasn’t until Vixen was on the plane to Paris 2 days later, grades submitted for all of her classes, Asia on one side and Monet across the aisle, that it really, finally hit her: she was getting married.

The thought was so sudden that it actually made her gasp, and Monet, always a nervous flyer, immediately turned to her with alarm.

“What? Did you feel something? What’s wrong?” she fretted, and Vixen shook her head.

“No, nothing like that, I just. You guys...by this time next week, I’m going to be married. I’m gonna be someone’s wife.”

“You’re just now realizing that?” Monet asked, one eyebrow raised.

“I think we better cut her off,” Asia said, gesturing to her glass of chardonnay.

“Ha ha,” Vixen replied, rolling her eyes. “But really. Come on. This is huge. Isn’t it?”

The absolute enormity of the situation was causing a lump to form in her throat, tears stinging her eyes.

“It sure is, kiddo.” Asia leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “You’ve come a long way from that skinny little kid crying on the floor of my dorm room.”

“I know!” Vixen exclaimed, tears beginning to trickle down her cheek. She sniffled.

“Yeah, now she’s a skinny professor who cries in first class. Here, girl…” Monet reached across the aisle to pass a couple of napkins to her. “Wipe those tears. You’re living the dream.”

“Oh shit, I am,” Vixen laughed.

***

Somehow, Courtney had charmed Violet into making not only her dress, but Vixen’s too. (“That way they’ll be sure to be cohesive!”)

And so, they took an almost 24-hour stopover in Paris as an excuse for a fitting. Vixen was thrilled with the final dress, thanking Violet profusely for all her work and telling her that she’d see her in a few days before hitting the town with her girls for a little last-minute bachelorette night.

They had an absolute blast. By then, Monique and Mayhem had arrived, along with a couple of her favorite cousins and a new UCLA colleague who knew how to party like a rock star. They took full advantage of the VIP access that Courtney had arranged, Veuve flowing all night like water.

They may have overdid it a little, because the next day, while Courtney dragged her all over the castle grounds to show her the various locations, Vixen had a pounding headache. They ended up in the garden where the reception would take place, lights already being strung up, seating chart up on a posterboard next to a collage of the flower arrangements.

“So...what do you think? Is it too much?” Courtney asked, hilariously, given the fucking castle towering over her shoulder.

“Should I even ask how much money you’re gonna be sending to the NAACP and Grassroots Law?” Vixen asked, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

“You mean how much we’re sending,” Courtney said.

“Dodging the question.”

“A lot…”

“Mmm…” Vixen looked around once more before wrapping her arms around Courtney’s waist. “Well...it’s beautiful.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She pressed a kiss to the crown of Courtney’s head.

***

Vixen only had a few more things to do before she could really take the summer off, and she was determined to finish them so that she could be fully present for the wedding and, maybe more importantly, the honeymoon. So the morning before the rehearsal dinner, she opted to skip the brunch buffet and finish her notes on a grant proposal.

She was almost done when Courtney returned to the room, flinging herself down on the four-poster, canopied king bed with a dramatic sigh, arm covering her eyes. Vixen looked up, amused by her theatrics.

“Problems, dear?”

Courtney groaned.

“Don’t tell me that the caviar is sub-par. The duke and duchess will never let us hear the end of it!” Vixen teased, and Courtney sat up, a cross look on her face. “Sorry. What’s wrong?”

“My dad is upset. I mean he’s not saying he’s upset but he’s been bitching to Ben and I don’t know why he didn’t say anything about it months ago!”

“I assume this is about the whole ‘being walked down the aisle by our moms’ thing?” Vixen guessed.

“Yeah. And I thought he understood! I mean it’s a feminist statement! You’d think he’d appreciate that! He ferments his own soybeans to make homemade tofu, for christ’s sake.”

“You don’t think marrying a woman is enough of a feminist statement?”

“Well, you’re not being walked down the aisle by your dad!” Courtney reasoned.

“Yeah, but I’m not close to my dad. He’s lucky he’s even invited.”

“Well…that’s why I made him, you know-”

“A bridesmaid?”

“We’re not calling it that!” Courtney sighed. “Omigod, this is so stressful.”

Vixen rose from the desk and walked to her fiancée on the bed, kneeling beside her. She was so beautiful, and so smart, and so stubborn when it came to taking the easy way out of this type of thing.

“Why not just let him walk with you and your mum? It’ll make him happy,” Vixen reasoned gently.

“But then the bridal parties won’t be equal! Who’ll walk with Monet?”

“You can let Adore walk with two people from my side.”

Courtney paused before giggling, “That is slightly poetic.”

“Do you feel better?” Vixen pressed a kiss to her shoulder and settled against the velvet pillows.

“Yeah, I think that’s a reasonable solution. Thank you,” Courtney sighed. She curled up into Vixen’s arms, head resting comfortably on her shoulder, eyes falling closed. Vixen began to card fingers through her hair.

“No problem, baby.”

“Sorry I’m being such a pain. Are you sure you still want to marry me?”

“Ummm...” Vixen pretended to think, and Courtney scowled up at her, pretending to be angry. After a few moments, they both started laughing.

“You really are the best,” Courtney proclaimed, swinging a leg over Vixen to straddle her.

She was caught off guard at first, hands seeking out Courtney’s waist automatically, gazing up at her, heart beginning to pound in that all too familiar way as their lips met in a slow, leisurely kiss. It took a few moments for her brain to catch up with her body.

“Before this goes any farther…” Vixen cleared her throat.

“Yeah?” Courtney murmured against her neck.

“Don’t you want to tell your dad he’s being upgraded?”

“I’ll tell him later,” Courtney said, teeth sinking into Vixen’s pulse point until she produced a breathy whimper.

“Babe...I still have to finish that proposal…” But even as Vixen spoke, she could feel her resolve weakening, the pleasant weight of Courtney’s body pressing down on hers too enticing to resist.

“Right this second?” Courtney asked, big eyes blinking down at her.

“I guess it can wait a little,” Vixen finally said, flipping Courtney over onto her back.

***

“Hold still,” said Violet, scrutinizing Courtney from every possible angle. It was another masterpiece, the wedding dress of Courtney’s wildest dreams: a big ball gown with a structured, corseted bodice covered with intricate embroidery and silk flowers in bright, rainbow colors that spilled down the skirt. Like someone had thrown a bucket of Pride Parade on a princess gown, but in the classiest, most Violet way possible. All Courtney wanted was to spin and twirl like a little kid.

And of course, Violet’s face had that expression she always wore while working. The one where it was impossible to tell what she was thinking.

“Violet, not to sound ungrateful-”

“What?” Violet’s head snapped up, but Courtney continued.

“But you can’t look at a bride like that. You’re making me fucking nervous,” Courtney said, foot stomping slightly on the floor.

“Violet, please just tell her she looks pretty so that we can get the show on the road,” said Ben, tossing back the rest of his champagne. “Some of us want to get to the party toute suite!”

“Sounds like that’s of the utmost importance.” Violet rolled her eyes. “Courtney, you look gorgeous—”

“Thank y-”

“—But I’m trying to check your seams and you’re as fidgety as a toddler. Stand still.”

“Exactly what you want to hear on your wedding day,” Courtney laughed, resuming the position Violet told her to hold.

“Hire someone else next time if you want sweet nothings,” Violet said, kneeling down to fix a hem that wasn’t falling properly. “You know who I am.”

“I do.”

“You do.” Violet smiled. “Melati’s very excited to be a part of the big day, by the way. She’s concerned about doing everything right like a big girl, though.”

Courtney looked over to the corner, where Melati sat on Adore’s lap, the two of them happily bonding over a tray of croissants that had been laid out for the bridal party. Melati was going to be a flower girl, along with Vixen’s cousin, something the 6-year-old would think of as one of her major claims to fame for years to come.

“Aww, I am too!” Courtney said. “Tell her that she can always follow Mandy if she forgets where to go.”

“Okay.” Violet stood up, brushing off her hands. “I think you’re ready.”

“Really?” Courtney’s stomach twisted with excitement.

“Yeah. I’m officially done. Promise to take care of my daughter while I find my seat?”

“Wait, Vi. Um...how’s Vix doing?” Courtney asked. She knew that Violet had done her last checks on Vixen first, and was dying to know how she was feeling. Was she nervous? They hadn’t spoken since dinner the night before, both of them spending the night with their respective bridal parties.

“The outfit is impeccable. She has a very nice frame for draped clothing, everything is-”

“I don’t mean her dress,” Courtney clarified. Leave it to Violet to think everything was about the clothes. “I mean...how is she doing?”

“Oh...well...she seemed happy. Maybe a little nervous, but...no more than you.” Violet smiled, placing a hand on Courtney’s wrist. “It’s gonna be a beautiful wedding.”

“I really want to hug you, but I know you’ll yell at me for messing up the dress,” Courtney said, tearing up.

“Please, that dress can withstand anything-” Violet smiled, pulling her in for a hug. “You’ll be fine-” Violet whispered. “From one married woman to a soon-to-be other. I promise-” Violet pulled away slightly, looking into Courtney’s eyes. “This is right for you.”

“Thanks. Merci.”

“Bien sur.” Violet gave her one last grin before she walked over to Melati, kissing both her cheeks and speaking quietly to her in French, the little girl laughing as her mom walked away.

***

When all was said and done, Courtney was happy with the decision to have both of her parents walk her down the aisle. As the string ensemble played “Revelation Sunshine,” she looked around at the faces of all the most important people in their lives, her own heart full of love for everyone who was there to support them, so many of them people who’d uplifted her countless times throughout the years.

There were her LA friends: Adore’s bandmates, Shea and her girlfriend Sasha, Gigi, and many of her current and former coworkers from both coasts, including Andy, Charlie, even Derrick, the director of her first ever music video.

Jujubee and Detox were there with their whole family, little Julia kneeling on a chair to get a better look at her dress. Beside them were Jinkx and Alaska and their two little ones, who waved to Courtney as she walked as if she was on a parade float. Violet and Sutan stood with Raja and Raven, the four of them people that Courtney would never have imagined being supportive wedding guests ten years ago, but of course, so much had happened in that ten years.

Latrice, who had been so much more than a manager: at times a life coach, a therapist, or a disapproving parent, stood with Jeremy Scott, Brie, and some of her Glimmer co-stars.

In the next row, Morgan, Tyra and Naomi looked on happily, beaming with pride for their friend, beside two of her oldest friends from Brisbane, all of them happily bonding over drunken shenanigans the previous night.

Fame looked gorgeous as always, in a pale beige dress that was suspiciously close to being white. When Bianca caught her eye to give her a wink of approval, Courtney nodded slightly at her, grateful that they could still be friends after all they’d been through.

As they approached the altar, Courtney grinned happily at their wedding party. Vixen’s friends and family looked amazing, especially little Mandy, holding Melati’s hand protectively, both of them adorable in matching blue dresses. She gave Tatianna and Honey a big smile as she finally reached the front. Then, she turned to kiss her mum, who was pretending not to cry, and her dad, who was openly weeping.

Adore couldn’t help reaching out and hugging her from behind as she stepped up to the altar, and Ben, always the boss, yanked her back. Courtney giggled and rolled her eyes, reaching back to squeeze Adore’s hand, making sure she knew that it was all okay.

And then, she turned around just in time to see Vixen appear at the top of the grand staircase, breath catching in her chest at how absolutely radiant she looked.

Her dark skin was glowing in the soft light, offset by a cream-colored, lace a-line gown. Her box braids had been swept into an elaborate updo, adorned with the same silk flowers that decorated Courtney’s own dress, and those same colors were embroidered into the bottom of the skirt.

The whole effect was stunning. Courtney watched her, absolutely entranced, as she and her mom made her way down the stairs and up the aisle. It wasn’t until she stepped up beside her on the altar, reaching out a hand to gently touch her cheek, that Courtney realized there were tears dripping down her face.

“Are you already crying?” Vixen asked as she dried Courtney’s cheek with her thumb. She said it in a low voice, one that only Courtney could hear.

“You’re just so beautiful,” Courtney whispered.

Vixen’s lips curled up into a soft smile. “Shit, now I’m crying.”

The officiant leaned forward and quietly asked, “May I begin?”

Vixen clasped her hands tightly. “You ready to go?”

Courtney sniffled, smiling through her tears, and proclaimed, “I’ve never been more ready for anything.”

***

Vixen wrapped her arms around Courtney’s waist on the dance floor as the band played “Revelation Sunshine.” The whole day had been like a dream, their friends and family showering them with love. After hours of partying, things were finally winding down. And as thankful as Vixen was for every single person who’d come to support them, suddenly all she wanted was to be alone with her wife. She pressed her lips to Courtney’s temple, inhaling the familiar scent of her hair.

A soft sigh left Courtney’s lips as she let Vixen pull her in closer, a sigh that told Vixen exactly the mixture of exhausted, content, and giddy she was.

“Hey...what do you say to an Irish exit?” Vixen asked.

Courtney tilted her face up, giggling. “In Australia we just call that leaving.”

“Perfect. We can honor your culture.”

“Will your family be mad?”

“I can apologize at brunch,” Vixen said. “Come on. Let’s enjoy our wedding night.”

“I might be a huge disappointment,” Courtney said, eyelids already heavy, admitting, “I’m so fucking tired.”

“Well,” Vixen began, arm around Courtney’s waist, guiding her to the exit. “ I read an article that said that most people don’t have sex on their wedding nights anyway.”

“Really?”

“It may not have been an article. It may have been a factoid on ‘Married at First Sight,’” Vixen admitted.

“Is that a reputable source? Will it survive a peer review?” Courtney giggled.

“Hmm, depends on the referencing system,” Vixen said, making her laugh more.

“I love it when you talk Academia.”

Vixen shook her head, unable to wipe the ear-splitting grin from her face as they climbed the steps up to their suite, fingers laced together.

Before she opened the door, Courtney stopped her, a hand on her forearm.

“Wait.”

“Everything okay?” Vixen asked, studying her face.

Courtney nodded, fingers sliding up Vixen’s bare arms, a smile tugging at her lips. She took a deep breath and said, “I just...I can’t believe you’re finally my wife.”

Vixen dipped her face down for a tender kiss, pressing her against the door before whispering, “Let’s go in and take off our stupid heels.”

“Ohhh, god, you know just what to say,” Courtney moaned playfully, moving aside so that Vixen could turn the antique key and unlock the door, pulling her inside.

Minutes later, both of their gowns were tossed over a chaise lounge, shoes and undergarments strawn about the floor in a haphazard trail leading to the bed, where they collapsed together in a tangled heap.

Vixen pulled the covers up over their bodies, kissing her wife on the cheek before murmuring, “Goodnight, baby. I love you.”

“Night,” Courtney whispered, eyes already closed. Vixen assumed she was halfway asleep until she added, “Thanks for marrying me.”

“Anytime,” Vixen laughed, resting her chin on top of Courtney’s head.

#rpdr fanfiction #the vixen #courtney act #courtney x vixen #asia o'hara #monet x change #violet chachki #trans!vixen #fluff #lesbian au #galactica au #black girl magic fic #diversity fic #revelation sunshine #veronica #trans character

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kashimos-hajime · 5 years ago

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viper | s.r.

summary: you would laugh at the irony — bucky is the one telling you the love of your life is gone — if you didn’t feel like this.

WARNINGS: angst, swearing, they kiss n stuff so ig its cute sometimes, civil war discourse, guns, unstable reader, also TREAT YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHERS RIGHT or ill come beat you with a BAT lmk if i missed anything pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!enhanced!Reader word count: 12.5k

a/n: written for hann over @sunmoonandbucky!! and i’m so sorry this is late! this is a stand-alone kinda prequel that occurs in the same universe as come undone so sorry yall steve is still an asshole and this ain’t up to snuff but i was having trouble keeping it a reasonable length (like maybe less than 15k???) my prompt was “i bet they have a sex dungeon” but i reworded it just a tiny bit. gif not mine

It begins with “Maybe I can get Thor to come down,” and “Only if you call your blondie first.” (You add you could pretend to put a gun on Jane and he’d instantly come down in a blaze of white and rainbow light — Jane retorts with the fact that Steve Rogers bought a bouquet of roses on your first date a week after you began being her shadow and writes you hand-written letters every second week. The instant you call, he’ll come running)

It begins with a friendly competition between Thor and Steve, who are not even present, but love the women there just as much (Thor would say he loves Jane more than Steve loves you because everything’s a competition on Asgard — Steve would say he loves you in some poem he wrote on the flight over with pink cheeks and a shy smile)

It begins with jokes and smiles, “I bet there’s a sex dungeon,” and laughter. (Jane comments that the abandoned warehouse is full of cobwebs and the readings are off the charts — you tell Darcy under your breath that that’s something you hear everyday and it’ll take more than that to interest you)

It ends just the opposite.

It ends with Jane Foster pulling your smoking body from the ashes of an abandoned warehouse. (Her hands nearly burn as they grab at bits of melting leather — your veins glow beneath your paling skin in bright, unearthly red)

It ends with a call to S.H.I.E.L.D. and Steve Rogers being pulled out of Washington, D.C. (Darcy makes the call because Jane doesn’t want them involved — they’ll end up doing what’s best for them rather than the best for you)

You end.

And something else begins.

It’s 2010.

You’re assigned to shadow Tony Stark alongside the Black Widow. You’re fresh-faced and chirpy, someone who whistles when they make coffee in the morning, the type of girl who’ll dance like no one’s watching and belt out the lyrics to her favourite song. Someone who believes that the insurmountable can be an anthill if you only look at it with a new point of view.

You wear combat boots and three thigh holsters and knives to work, but you love wearing makeup and sundresses and taking walks on the beach at sunset.

Essentially, if the Black Widow is the night, you are the day.

Essentially, if you ask Natalia Romanova her opinion of you, then you’d get that you’re annoying as fuck, but if she catches anyone looking at you the wrong way, there’s no doubt they won’t live to see another day. That is, if she gets to them before you do.

Because before the sunshine girl Natalia affectionately calls a pain in her ass, you are the Viper.

And vipers never strike twice.

It’s 2002.

Budapest is cold at this time of the year, but you’re only here because you owe Yelena a favour and if you don’t pay it back, she is going to kill you.

Whether that is a figure of speech or not, TBD.

Anyway, you figure you’re going to die anyway when your tires are shot out as you speed across the Liberty Bridge. It’s your last night in Budapest after killing whoever you’re meant to kill, and although it’s spring, it’s still fucking cold.

So, there you are, appropriately panicking internally because you do not want to plunge into ice cold water. You’re already shifting gears as you try to gain control of your car and you hear cars beep at you, but it’s two in the morning and you’re exhausted and you think maybe you can pull it off. Then another tire blows.

You fail miserably.

Swerving off the road, you let out a short yell before you’re sinking into the Danube, and the night air weaves underneath your tac suit before the freezing cold of December currents slams into you. You cut yourself free with the knife strapped beneath your dashboard as another wave of river water laps at your waist. Sucking in a huge breath, you fight back the freezing cold and reach up to your sunglasses department.

“Yelena, I’m going to kill you,” you mutter between your shivering as you grab the automatic center punch and press it against the glass. The glass shatters near instantly and you take a deep breath, climbing out through the window as your car sinks deeper into the river. The water nips at your cheeks and you fight off the urge to gasp at how bracing it is. Pushing yourself to the surface, you suck in a gaping breath and glance for the closest shore before swimming as hard as you can. An odd sensation of something burning you from the inside out fills your arms and legs as you paddle to shore, and you drag yourself onto dry land, wet dripping, squeezing out with every press of your body against the ground.

“Fuck.” Wiping off the water from your cheek, you roll onto your back and suck in a cold breath that is somehow warmer than you are. Closing your eyes, you let the breath shudder in your lungs as you try to pull yourself together. A list of names runs through your head as you push yourself up on aching limbs. You cross off a name one by one of those who’d want to kill you and instead rub your arms, trying to get some warmth back into you. You’re quite sure a mighty bruise is gonna bloom along your arms and ribs in a few days as an arrow lands at your feet.

“Stop.”

A voice, American, male, makes you turn around and you know immediately it is the one who shot out your tires.

“What do you want?” You look up to see him, a blur of dark violet and black as he propels himself down and lands a distance away. His bow folds back into a compact black rod that fits on his back, and he lets go of the rope as another figure appears at the top of the bridge. A flame of red hair and a black suit that looks a lot like yours drops to the ground and you gasp, lips barely parting and this time, it’s not from the cold.

“My name is Clint Barton, I’m with S.H.I.E.L.D.” The man smiles. Your eyes drag warily back to him, a hand on the pistol strapped to your back, along the line of your waist. The woman with red hair steps off the rope, shaking her head when the water laps at her feet. Pebbles crack beneath her feet and your breath rattles as your eyes dart back to her. “You’re who they call the Viper, right?”

“Yes,” you murmur, hand still on the gun.

“Well, me and my partner here were tasked to kill you, but we’re thinking of making a different call.”

“We’ve been tracking you for a while now.” Her voice. The smirk you can barely see and the way she tosses the hair out of her face. Even the way she walks is the same

“Natalia?” Your voice bursts from your throat and you feel breathless at the sound of her name. The woman with red hair looks up jerkingly and your eyes widen as you soak in her face. She hasn’t aged a day, and you almost want to cry. “Tali, it’s me.” Her body goes limp, her arms swinging by her sides as you let go of the gun at your waist. Taking a tentative step forward, you press your lips together in a desperate attempt to smile. “Nat? Natalia?”

“No…”

“It’s me.” Your eyes burn now and you take another few steps, your knees weak and shaking. “I thought you were dead. They… they told me you were dead.”

“Well, clearly I’m not.”

“Fucking funny, Talia,” you spit, unable to help the tears clogging your throat as Natalia Romanova takes a step towards you. “It’s… it’s fucking… it’s really fucking funny.” You let out a sharp, chilling breath just as she opens her arms, and you glare at her, half-hoping she melts into a puddle at your feet.

“Come here,” she whispers and then you are flinging yourself into the Black Widow’s arms. Melting in her warm, dry embrace, you bury your face in her neck. You wrap your arms as tight as you can around her and squeeze, eyes closing shut. “Oh, god, Vipe,” she breathes out, and then she murmurs a Russian prayer of thanks you haven’t heard since you were five. Joining her, you can feel the smile beginning to pull at your lips at the familiarity of a sister’s hug.

“I feel like I’m missing something here,” Clint says, “but it’s a moment, so I guess I’ll let it slide.”

It’s 2012.

And there is a god on the loose.

“Can I just say that I hate this? For the record, that is,” you chime in helpfully, and Tony rolls his eyes at you through the screen as he fixes his mask and you sigh, stuffing another one of Peter’s pair of pajama bottoms into a duffel bag you’ve brought with you. “I don’t think we need to move Peter out of New York when Loki’s going for Stark Tower.”

“Just make sure Parker’s good. I don’t like the thought of us losing as much as the next person, but if we do lose, you know it’d be good if I didn’t get another Parker killed.” Tony’s voice echoes and you press your lips together in half a smile, wry and tired.

“What happened at StarkExpo two years ago wasn’t your fault,” you say, but he merely shakes his head as you rifle through the closet for day clothes. The moment Peter is back from school, you’re taking both Peter and May to Tony’s place in Malibu for the weekend. “Ben Parker did what he thought was best.”

“Hammer drones killed him and they were going for anyone with the mask, Vipe.” Tony sounds exhausted, and you pause, glancing over your shoulder at your phone propped up on a stack of Peter’s textbooks. Sighing, you momentarily abandon your task of packing Peter’s bags and instead head to grab your phone. “If it weren’t for you, Peter would be dead, or worse—”

“You’re the one who saved him, Tony,” you murmur, sitting on the bed. You know he’s spiralling despite how put together he is externally, and you wish you could be there. You wish you could just reach over and hug him. But you can’t. Not yet. “I just made sure he stayed safe.”

“He’s just a kid.”

“I know.” You pull a strand of hair away from your face. “Tony, please don’t do anything stupid.”

“Cannot be guaranteed, Little Miss.” Rolling your eyes at the nickname as playfully as you can, your small smile tugs at your cheeks. Tony barely has the goggles on his face, holding them by one hand as the blowtorch sparks in every direction and you lean on your knees, just watching him at work. It’s always been something so intriguing to you, watching Tony make a suit, but now, it just makes you tired and sad.

“Then, at least put on your goggles,” you whisper, and it is at this volume that Tony finally looks at you. He blinks, squints at you with those dark, wet eyes and absorbs your sagging frown, the bags pulling underneath your eyes. “Tony.”

“Yeah. I will.” He sets down the blowtorch to pull the strap over his head before glancing up. “I’ve gotta go, Little Miss. I’ll see you on the return trip.”

“Bye, Tony.” You smile and he manages one of his own forced grins before you end the call and let your hands drop, leaning heavily on your knees as your head hangs low. The weight of the situation has always been on your shoulders, but for the first time, you feel like you have something to lose now. And it isn’t just Tony.

Coulson wasn’t the only one who ‘watched Captain America as he slept.’

You know everything there is to know about him, but you wish you knew Steve Rogers half as well you knew his alter ego.

So, when Steve Rogers asks you out on a date the old-fashioned way in the middle of the airport, you want to say yes. There are a ton of reporters around, snapping pictures of Captain America in his domestic life, and you’re tanned from your weekend in Malibu. Peter is clinging onto the luggage cart even though you’ve told him not to. May’s gone to the bathroom, and your eleven year old companion interrupts Steve’s no-doubt-memorized speech on how much he likes you with coughs he refuses to acknowledge collectively as a symptom of a cold.

“You always come with the extra set of arms and legs?” Steve asks when you don’t respond right away. He jokes to ease the tension, and you grin, just glad to see him in one piece. Unexpectedly, Steve smiles back and you feel your heart beat faster. You think you might just be a little in love with that smile as May comes back.

“Uhm, no. Sorry to disappoint you but I don’t think Peter wants to go on a date with us,” you quip and he chuckles. “I’m being reassigned in London, so maybe I could put a rain check?”

“Of course. I’m going to Washington, too, uh, since Fury said he has some work for me there.”

“Perfect.” You smile and he brushes hair away from your face, a bit shyly. A delighted pink flush swells in his cheeks as he turns, walking to the cart. He begins to push and you blink as he sets off in the direction of the exit. A protest builds up in your throat — you can push your own luggage — but Steve is already off with Peter clinging onto his back, and you’re left with May.

“He’s good with kids,” she hums and you agree. “You two would have cute kids.”

“I just said yes to a date,” you admonish, much to her amusement. “May!”

“I’m just saying!” She throws her hands up in the air, walking after Steve and Peter who are being chased by reporters, and you let out a frustrated groan. You’re sure your boys are already playing a game of Tag with the paps chasing after them.

Wait.

Your boys.

Oh, you’re fucked.

You fall head over heels in love without a second look back.

It’s 2013.

After New York, Steve was reassigned to Washington as the newest S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, and you to Jane Foster on Phil Coulson’s secret, special command. He owes Thor a favour.

So, you shadow Jane Foster as her bodyguard of sorts and you don’t say from who but you have enough charisma to lay down some heavy hints.

After all, Phil’s supposed to be dead. But he isn’t.

And the moment you touch the black cube, some part of you knows you’re supposed to be dead, too.

But you aren’t.

When you wake up — and you’re surprised you wake up — you can taste the blood pooling in your head that feels like it’s splitting open and the drying tears on your cheeks. The sky is too bright and it’s pitch white, red and blue spiralling at the edges of your vision as a high-pitched siren rings between your ears. A violent push forces you into a sitting position and a scream tears itself through your throat as you cough, hot smoke spilling out of your mouth.

It curls in your lap, black as sin and silky between your thighs as a hand lands on your back, warm, heavy and familiar.

“Doll? Hey—” You jerk away, the mind-splitting agony causing another round of tears to burn at your eyes. The hand wraps around you and a hot rush surges down your fingers as something snaps. “Hey, it’s just me.” Your hands plant themselves against the pavement, the roughness grating against your skin as lips brush against your ear.

“S-Steve?”

“That’s right, baby girl. Just me.” You blink, face twisting as the pain begins to melt away. It flows down your spine, nests at the base of your skull as the hand runs up and down your back. “Hey, you got yourself into some trouble, huh?” You raise a trembling hand to your face as you pry your eyes open and you let out a choked sob at the blood running down your wrists.

“Steve, I’m… what happened?” Your words slur and echoes in your skull as you screw your eyes shut again. “Everything… hurts.”

“I know, doll, I know. Just hold on for a moment, okay? You’ve been out for thirty hours. S.H.I.E.L.D. set up a perimeter, but it’s…” He lets out a breath in a whistle and your eyes flutter open.

“Where’s… Jane? Is she okay?” As your eyes begin to adjust, you try not to let your tears overflow. You run a hand over your face. Blood smears over your cheeks and Steve hushes you quietly, taking gentle hold of your hands. “What?”

“You’re bleeding. Just… let me take care of you, okay? Let me take care of you.” His words whisper over your skin and you turn towards him, raising your chin just enough to catch a glimpse of his sapphire eyes. The moment his gaze meets yours, it’s like a shock runs through your system. You’re all at once aware of how cold you are and you shake your head slowly, turning to examine your surroundings.

A white tent has been set up around you, and it’s where you lay now, on wet pavement beneath the ceiling you know now is not a white sky. The police sirens swirl along the walls, flash through the tarp flaps, and you feel something tug at your arm.

“Don’t pull on your IV,” Steve murmurs, and you blink, dazed. Looking down at your elbow, you spot the IV that runs up to the stand and frown at how many marks there are there along your skin, as if some amateur did it. “They asked me to keep you hydrated, but I did a pretty bad job.”

“Where is everyone?” you ask, turning to look at Steve again. He looks exhausted, plum half moons staining beneath his eyes, his blond hair barely shining in the darkness of the tent. The whole tent is drowned in shadows and you feel him rub at your hands with a rag. Glancing down, you watch him tug at your fingers, slowly coaxing the red off your hands.

“No one could touch you. Every time someone tried, it was like something lashed out. Whatever you touched inhabits you. Like that movie you made me watch when I came over to visit last Christmas.”

A chuckle builds up in your throat and you let it spill, a smile tugging into your cheeks as you sniff.

“Alien. It was the Chestbursters,” you whisper and he laughs against your cheek as he runs his hand through your hair.

“Right. Well, it was sort of like that,” he continues and you nod, burying your face into his shirt and you breathe in the smell of sweat and blood as he wraps an arm around your waist. “But you’re safe now.”

“Steve—” The words catch in your throat. It feels like layers of you have been peeled away and you can taste whatever it is that squirms beneath your skin as you fling your arms around him. Holding onto him as tight as you can, you bury your face into his neck and let out a shuddering sigh— “Thank you.”

“You’ll have leave, and be reassigned to a facility back in New York. Tony will love to have you back,” he says and you pull back. Quirking an eyebrow, you try to make yourself look as attractive as you can — as the sunshine girl Steve knows and maybe even loves, but you find yourself failing at how gross you feel. Like there’s something inside your body, sharing you, taking over. You feel like vomit. Not like vomiting.

Like stomach acid and day old corn, beef, potato salad, stale water and foul air.

And it makes you want to cry at how uncomfortable you are in your own skin.

“Christmas is just around the corner,” you say weakly and Steve chuckles as you poke his cheek. Wetness meets your fingertip and you blink, for the first time noticing the tears streaming down his face. His cheeks blotchy, eyes red-rimmed, he looks like hell took him and spat him out.

“You scared the life outta me, doll,” he murmurs when you plant your clean hand against his cheek. “Shit, you scared me.”

“Didn’t mean to, Stevie,” you mumble and he sighs, almost like he’s exasperated and grateful and half-in-love before he pulls you tight towards him again. Steve’s lips press into the juncture of your neck and shoulder before he hugs you tighter and you let out a wheeze. You raise your hand, the other clean one still flat against the ridges of his back, and marvel at the way the siren lights play with the dark blood streaking across your skin.

And as you focus on the warmth flowing through your body, swirling in your stomach and ebbing down your arms, red sparks at your fingertips.

“Everything used to be normal,” you whisper, closing your fist tight. Crescent moons imprint on your skin as you close your eyes. Steve’s arms tighten around you and you let out shuddering cry. “What happened to me?”

“We’ll figure it out, alright?” He pulls you back by the shoulders, makes sure you meet his eyes because they are sure as stone. They anchor you and you cup his face, feel his heat. He feels so real.

You nod. The sirens stop and you can hear people walking, murmuring to each other, words you can hear that they might as well have screamed in your ear. Freak accident, crazy, broken.

“We’ll figure it out,” he repeats, hand tilting your chin up as he half-smiles. “We’ll figure it out, and I love you, and I promise you I will fix this, okay?” Your eyes widen and you suck in a helpless breath as his smile shrinks. “What is it? Are you hurt?” He looks down at your body, still sopping wet and freezing, but you can barely feel the numbness tingling at your feet. Heat shoots through your veins as you fling yourself at Steve again, wrapping arms around him.

“You love me?”

And he laughs, laughs and laughs against you until all you know is the sound of him in your ears and the feel of his heart against your chest. “Of course I do.” He turns your face so he can kiss you and you smile into his kiss, a wet smile that he doesn’t care about because any smile of yours is… priceless.

“I love you, too,” you utter and he smiles against your mouth, eyes closing. “I love you so much.”

“That’s perfect, ‘cause I plan on staying around for a while.”

You roll his words in your head before smiling to yourself. Melting into his arms, you press your ear against his chest as red wisps curl coyly around your fingers and you look into your lap, stained with the black you’d coughed up and the slick of blood.

“Thank you, Steve,” you whisper above the sirens. You can barely hear yourself think, but Steve merely holds your head to him, supports you in ways you cannot.

“Anytime.”

It’s 2014.

You pace the length of the glass, pulling at the electrodes connected to your head while Thor, Steve, and Jane all yell at you through the intercom to stop. It’s been twenty four hours and you haven’t slept in any of them. Instead, you refreshed yourself on French, Croatian, and Finnish.

Instead, you’ve recreated your room to look like scenic Sweden in the middle of summer and you’re strolling through the streets of Stockholm.

It’s a neat little trick, that.

“Look, if this Malekith wants to come get me,” you say, planting your hands on your hips as a bird flits past your head, “he can come get me. Can I at least get a breath of fresh, non-filtered air? It tastes stale.”

“Sorry, doll, but no.” Steve’s voice filters through the speakers in the room and you let out a frustrated groan, your fist flaring up as you throw him a glare. Or at least where you think he might be standing. The illusion burns away by red flames and you face the mirror and pale white walls you can see in the reflection. Your boring test chamber. Prison. “I know, it’s New Year’s, but—”

“Steve, save it. It is New Year’s, and Tony and I were supposed to go to Peter’s party because I promised him.”

You haven’t seen Peter in months. You wonder how he is, and you think it would be enough to hear voicemails, but instead it isn’t. Your phone is flooded with voicemails from him, voicemails you’ve saved and listen when it gets hard to sleep, and you want to show him the newest thing you’ve learned in your detention. The hopeful smile he’d have… the one full of wonder and his eyes…

Thinking of him just makes you miss that boy more, and you want to scream at the top of your lungs, but then Steve would tell you to be quiet and that Malekith can hear you, and whatever it is — the Aether — will flare up and you’re just so sick of sleeping in a glass cell like a test subject.

Whatever.

“I’m sorry. I have no idea how to make this easier for you, but you just gotta look on the bright side.”

Not whatever.

If anything, you’re so sick of false promises. You’ll be out once we’ve run some tests, you’ll be okay, whatever’s inside you isn’t hostile and Viper, Viper, Viper, someone wants to come in and do another round of blood tests, maybe your chemistry has changed and—

You want to snap.

“You’re right! I’ve only been here ever since you guys found me passed out in London. I can’t leave, I have fucking powers I can’t understand and apparently I can make anything I want become reality.” Whirling around, you spot the croissant you haven’t touched from breakfast yesterday and grab it as a surge of energy flows up to your palm. Immediately it flickers in your hand like some hologram, distorting until a croissant no longer rests in your palm, but a rich red apple. You show it to the three watching you, show them the fruit of your labour. “See that? I’m doing great controlling this thing, huh.”

“Doll, stop. Power spikes might tip off Malekith on your location and—”

“You know it’s real,” you comment, cutting off Steve coldly. Biting into the apple, flavour bursts on your parched tongue and you swallow down the fruit before you toss it in the air. Letting it land in your hand like a baseball, you look down at it. “Or, I think it is. It tastes real, and at this point, any type of reality feels better than this, y’know?”

“My lady, you must control your temper.”

“Thor’s right.” Jane’s soft voice makes you pause and you rip your gaze away from the bitten apple in your palm to the mirror. You can only stare at yourself, at how much you look like some insane asylum patient. The electrodes, the issued white jumpsuit in a white room with a white bed and everything burning white or silver, the ankle tag in case you walk out of your cell, because everyone knows you can.

After all, if you can literally turn water into wine when you want to, what else can you do?

“Thor’s right,” you repeat dully, a terrible smile etching itself into your face. “Yeah, he’s right. ‘Cause I’m crazy, right? And some dark elf is trying to kill me, but I should stay the sunshine girl, right?” If your every word was corrosive, you know the glass would have melted. Would’ve been fitting, and for half a moment you are tempted to burn the whole building down.

The searing heat singing in your arm balls at your wrist and you glance down to see bright red smoke spiralling down to the floor, kissing at the apple you have dug fingernails into and juice leaks down between your fingers. You let out a heavy breath when the heat is blown away, cool conditioned air puffing against your bare skin. At how everything is regulated, even the temperature, what you eat, your calories, your oxygen levels, everything tiny little thing you don’t know about.

A knot in your chest twists harder and you want to throw a bed across the wall or shoot something, or just go for a round of sparring but instead you settle for throwing the apple hard enough it splatters on impact. Bits of fruit go everywhere and you watch the juice track down your reflection as apple seeds clatter around you. You didn’t try to break glass, but you think you can hear something crack as you close your eyes.

“We could give you a few hours,” Jane says, apprehensive for a potential galactic war, maybe, worried about your sanity and her safety, definitely, “right?”

“Malekith will take any chance he has to reach the Aether. There is no time for whims of the one,” Thor says.

“Doll, I’m sorry—”

“No, shut up! I miss kissing you, Steve, okay? I’m horny! And I’m supposed to be normal, you know? As normal as I can get!” You fling your arms out to the side and you spin around from the bed where you have a tray of food that was pushed in the flap in the door resting atop your blankets. You slam a hand against the glass, red smoke running along the surface. Your breath comes out ragged and you look at your own reflection, eyes wide and your shoulders heaving. “I’m… I’m supposed to be Natalia’s pain in her ass, and I’m supposed to wake up in the morning next to you and bring Tony his coffee or tell him to sleep because Pepper’s out of town or help Peter with his homework.

“I’m supposed to be there for him,” you whisper, eyes closing as a burning in the corners of your eyes track down your skin. Pressing your forehead against the mirror, you swallow down the lump in your throat. “I’m… I’m supposed to be figuring out whatever the hell they did to me with you, Steve, not… not alone. Not as some lab rat for S.H.I.E.L.D. to poke and prod.” Your hand runs flat along the cold surface and you look up at your own reflection, at the mess your hair is, at the paleness in your face and how gaunt you look. At the red that seems to flow through your veins instead of blue and how utterly witch-like you look. “I’ve had enough of that in the Red Room, and I thought I switched sides for a reason.”

“I’m right here, okay?” Steve murmurs through the speakers and you sniff, trying to imagine him on the other side of the glass. His blue eyes staring back at you — eyes you have not seen in months. His blond hair swept off to the side and maybe he’s wearing a white tee-shirt and that dark jacket you bought him as a parting gift when he got reassigned to Washington. “I swear, we’re going to get this son of a bitch, but for now, you’re just a walking dart board, and I know they won’t miss. I miss you so much, but I can’t lose you.”

“Steve.” You slide down onto the ground and it’s almost as if you can feel his heat. If you close your eyes tight enough, maybe you can imagine him just on the other side of glass you’re not too afraid to break. “I miss you, too.”

“We’ve had quite a courtship,” he teases and you chuckle, pressing your cheek against the mirror. “Long distance, then London, isolation, and hell, I promise I’ll take you wherever you want as soon as this is done. I’ll take one of Tony’s jets and we’ll go, fix this, find someone who can fix you. Marry you, if that’s what you want.” Red smoke flares brightly at your fingertips and you shove them beneath your thighs, snuffing it out.

Some part of you wants to feel grateful.

Another part of you wishes he told you there’s nothing to fix instead. Wishes Steve can just accept that this is who you are now, as you have.

“A wedding sounds nice. Like a jailbreak party,” you whisper and he laughs, crackling over the comms. “But I need a ring first.”

“Give me a few hours.”

When dinner rolls around, the door beeps and swings open to reveal Steve Rogers in sweatpants, one of his hoodies he bought in some Brooklyn corner store, and dinner.

You smile and invite him down to your cot where a TV hung on the wall plays Aliens.

“What do you say to a movie night?” He pulls the hoodie over your head. Tucking hair away from your face, he kisses you sweetly. He tastes like sugar and heat, and you plant your hands flat against his cheeks.

The hoodie smells ripe of him and you dig your nose into the collar, inhaling deeply before looking up at him. “It’s sweet but how’d you convince Coulson to allow you in here?” The blond doesn’t respond except for another few quick pecks and you pull away from his seeking lips with a scandalized gasp. “He doesn’t know?”

“Would it kill you if I said no?” he mumbles and you laugh into his next kiss as he sets down the tray of food on the floor and plucks something off it. He slides off the bed, sinking to one knee before you and you rake hair away from your face, the elated smile freezing on your face as he cracks open a velvet box. “‘Cause it would kill me if you did.”

“Steve?” His name stutters in your throat as you stare at the diamond ring way above your pay grade. You have a sneaking suspicion that Tony had something to do with it but it sparkles, glimmers in the artificial light. “Steve, I was joking—”

“I wasn’t.” In sweats and a grey hoodie, Steve has never looked more like a god. The white light plays in his hair, turning it silver-gold and his eyes are alight with pure hope that you nearly melt as you sit on the edge of your bed, just… speechless. “I love you, and I’m here for you. Sickness and in health. So… what do you say?”

“Yes, but also, we can’t get married here,” you warn and he laughs, leaning over to kiss you as he picks the ring out from between the cushion of velvet. Sliding it onto your finger, he pushes you over against the bed and wraps an arm around your waist. Draping himself over you, he kisses your chin, your lips, down your neck and you giggle, outstretching your arm as the red mist curls around the ring, curious to what this new thing is.

“Doesn’t have to be now, ‘s long as I got my yes,” he mumbles and you close your eyes. All of a sudden, the walls in your prison have pushed themselves out by three inches. Letting your hand fall back, you run your fingers through his hair. “And what was that again? You said you were horny or was that my imagination?”

“Rogers,” you warn, but you can’t help the way he chases away the weights sitting on your chest as he brushes kisses up and down your neck. “C’mon, they’re watching.”

“Oh, no, they’re not.” His fingers poke teasingly into your sides and you let out a squeak as he chuckles, lips meeting yours again. “Forgot how ticklish you are, doll.”

“Steven Grant Rogers—”

“Shhh,”

“But dinner—”

“Can you forget about the stupid dinner? I’m trying to take your clothes off.” You wiggle beneath his body, hair splaying beneath your head and he growls, nipping lightly at your jaw just as his phone vibrates and he jerks back. Bracketed between his legs, you prop yourself up on your elbows and frown, the joy slipping away like oil. Weights crush down on your shoulders as Steve’s eyebrows knit together and you reach up to cup his cheek just as your vision flickers.

Like a faulty TV, it breaks with red and you blink at how Steve’s face seems to fizzle as your fingers meet his cheek. His blue eyes meet yours immediately, drowning away the red and you let out a sharp breath.

“Steve?” Your voice catches and he flinches back, stung. “Steve, what happened?”

“Something in Washington,” he whispers and he stumbles off the bed as you sit up. The heat of him leaves a chill on your body and you stand up. He texts furiously on his phone and you walk after him as he gets the door to open. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Can I help?” You reach for his arm and you can’t help yourself from wondering what on Earth is this important. You know Tony’s in town and Natasha can handle Washington. Hell, S.H.I.E.L.D. is based in Washington and whatever it is, surely— “Captain America doesn’t need to go, does he?”

“Look, I have to go.” He shakes off your hand and hurt slams into you like a truck at how he doesn’t so much as spare you a glance before he pockets his phone. “I’m sorry,” he says and you think he almost means it by the way his blue eyes widen inconsolably. “I’ll be back.”

“Steve!” He pushes you back deeper into the room just as everything flickers red and you let out a gasp as something digs into your brain. “Steve, wait!” Your hands clutch at your skull as you fall to your knees and you squeeze your eyes shut. The pain blisters, pulsing like a heartbeat inside your spine before it drains away as quick as it came, and you let out a shaking breath.

When you open your eyes, you see everything outlined in blood red, their edges flickering like TV static. The ring on your finger burns cold and you rip it off, flinging it into the glass.

It cracks, shatters your reflection, and you turn away so you do not see your own tears fall.

It’s 2015.

You breathe new air for the first time in ages and your lungs spasm in your chest as you feel the sun on your face. With your bags packed and ready, you stand at the entrance of the S.H.I.E.L.D. compound and wait.

Sokovia was two months ago and you have some new teammates to meet, apparently.

“Steve said he’d come pick me up, right?” you ask the agent standing next to you. He’s swiping on some datapad but turns to look at you with a smile. “A hundred percent?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Cool.” You twist the ring around your finger and pretend not to notice the imaginary ants you have crawling on your boot. It’s not like you’ve told Steve. You know he’s been busy with whatever made him run out on you the first time and you know he said he might be a little bit late picking you up, but you didn’t think Captain America believed in being tardy. Not really.

A part of you wants to be angry that he’s a hero, and another part of you wants to just go home on your own.

Thirty minutes roll by.

“Do you have any cars I could borrow?” you ask. Sighing, you don’t wait for an answer and pick up your bags. “I’ll just drive back on my own. New York isn’t too far from here.”

“Of course, ma’am.” The man smiles and you half-smile before you fish out your phone. “I’ll have someone bring one around to the lot.”

“Thank you for waiting with me,” you call and he merely nods before heading back in. A disappointed pang hits at your stomach as you walk over to the lot, and you try not to let it bite at your heels until you’re bleeding.

You’re sure your heart already is.

You drive back to the Avengers facility where Tony’s working with Bruce on something and the welcome you deserve resides in Tony’s arms. Nearly two years since you’ve seen him and some very exhausted part of you jumps at the sight of him. Even if he’s visited, you know nothing will ever compare to seeing the exhausted eyebags beneath his eyes.

“Welcome back, Little Miss!” he cheers and you grin, holding onto his neck tight. “Welcome back to society.” You nestle your head against him, holding on for a second more before pulling back.

“Hey, Bruce,” you whisper, turning to hug him quickly and he smiles like how you think your dad might’ve when you came back after an unruly tussle when you pull back. Or maybe that was the Red Room and how the madame would smile when you beat every opponent in your class. Parts of Bruce’s face stretch too wide, and his eyes narrow when you blink, and you wonder if it’s your mind playing tricks or he really looks like a stone-cold killer behind warm brown eyes.

You don’t even want to think about it.

“Cap didn’t pick you up?” Tony asks and your gaze darts to him warily. His face flickers red and for a moment, there’s two of Tony in your field of view before it’s gone. “You okay?”

“Yeah. A lot’s happened, y’know?” you say with a slight smile and he smiles, then, too, sad and bittersweet. “Uhm, can you show me to my room, Tony?”

“Yeah, definitely.” He claps and the lab lights turn on systematically, revealing more than what’s illuminated on the table Bruce turns back to. “Bruce, if you could work on the… the thingy.” He doesn’t stop to hear the answer, guiding you out of the lab.

“So…” You descend down the steps, your sneakers slapping against the tile as you pull yourself together. Red wisps, barely there and faint as steam, play at your fingers as you try to come up with a reason Steve just… disappeared. You’re getting good at that, making up excuses. “Steve didn’t pick me up, and I was wondering if you knew where he was?”

“Steve didn’t come?” Tony’s eyes land on you and you press your lips together as you shake your head. Shoving your hands in your pockets, you turn to look at your friend. “I—”

“It’s fine. Two years — basically — of solitary confinement and he just… doesn’t come to see me out. It must’ve been important.” You shrug then, and Tony frowns. “It’s okay, Tony. I love him, like not-crazy love him but close enough, and I know it had to be something important because we’re getting married, y’know?”

“Yeah, congratulations to the happy couple,” he says but it’s half-hearted. “You give Cap too much credit,” he adds under his breath and you frown, blinking as you look at the floor. Stomach the soil, seeds of doubt are planted deep in your gut as you run Tony’s words through your head. “He didn’t even text you?”

“Maybe it was a mission.”

“And he didn’t take Wilson?” Tony shoots back, and you look up jerkingly, eyes flashing to the man beside you as you stop at the lounge. He walks around to flop down on the couch and you nearly cringe at the crumbs littering the glass coffee table. Tony leans back, kicks up his feet, and slaps the space beside him.

“I still have to meet Wilson,” you mutter, crossing your arms across your chest and walking onto the carpet. Sitting down, you nearly sink into the cushion and let out a yelp. “Shit, this is comfortable.”

“Haven’t had luxury in a while?”

“I was in a detention facility, so no,” you retort and you lean in towards Tony’s heat. “I’m just gonna wait and maybe it’ll be okay, y’know?”

“Right.” Tony claps again before resting an arm along the back of the couch. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you show Vipe where her room is?”

“Right away, boss.” You sit up, tucking your feet beneath you just as the elevator dings. Looking towards the sound, you watch as the doors open and your mouth drops open as a blond and a redhead step out. “Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Rogers have returned.”

“From where, exactly?” Tony calls out and Steve immediately whips around to the sound of his voice. Natalia is basically sleepwalking as she rubs at her eyes and you stand, grabbing an empty cup from the coffee table. Red smoke fills up white porcelain as it fills with warm tea and you rush over to her, offering her the drink.

“Hey, Tali,” you whisper as Natalia looks up sharply, blue eyes wide and sober. A face-splitting grin on her face, she knocks the white mug to the ground, hot tea spilling everywhere. It shatters, a sharp cacophony, and white shards go everywhere, hot tea splashing against your shoes.

“You’re out!” Her arms wrap around you tight and you let out a wheeze when she lifts you up but the smile dies as you meet Steve’s gaze. He looks stricken at the sight of you, but the corner of your mouth quirks up as your sister puts you back down. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there.”

“It’s okay. I drove myself back,” you whisper and you cup her face, relishing in the warmth of her smile before a yawn on her part breaks the moment and you grin. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Promise,” she agrees and she heads up the stairs before you turn to Steve. Tony jogs past you, climbing the stairs after Natalia and you turn to watch them go before looking into his stricken face.

“Where were you?” you ask quietly, trying not to sound hurt. But you feel hollow, and everything is red when you’re not with Steve. “I really missed you these past few weeks.”

“Sorry. It got really busy with the new assignment,” Steve says with a shrug and you nod, pressing your lips into a smile as you open up your arms. “It’s really good to see you.” He walks into your embrace and you melt into his hold. “God, I’ve missed you.” His lips press against your hairline and you close your eyes.

“I love you,” you murmur and you tilt your chin up to look at him. His blue eyes are dark, tired, and he’s barely able to keep them open as you card your fingers through his hair. Just looking at him makes you feel so empty and whole at the same time that you know it has to be real. To feel such a paradox, such an oxymoron that you can’t even describe it, it must be real. “I love you, so it’s okay and you can tell me why you didn’t pick me up.”

“I needa tell you about Bucky,” he says and you thumb his cheek, feeling the soft swollen bags beneath his eye. He takes your wrist carefully, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your wrist, eyes meeting yours beneath the hood of his brow.

“Tomorrow,” you say and he sighs against your palm. You step closer, your other arm wrapping around his waist as you tilt your head. “Whatever it is you need to tell me can wait. For now, shower and get some sleep.” The blue of his gaze lightens and he leans down to press a gentle kiss against your mouth. Breathing him in, you nearly sob at how soft his lips are, the smell of him so overwhelming — the smell of sea salt and smoke — that you feel your sinuses sting.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and you pull back with a nod. As he goes, you let your hand drop with a shattered sigh. Turning to watch him ascend the steps, you feel something inside you ache.

He looks as hollow as you feel.

It’s 2016.

“Couldn’t they put this as a PDF or something,” you murmur, trying to get a hold of the thick-as-fuck Accords. Words spin in your head as you flip over another page and Steve, with his arm around your shoulders, ignores you to argue with Tony. You sneak an arm around his waist, running it up and down his side as you scan the next few lines. “Save the trees.”

“I really don’t think that’s the U.N.’s priority right now,” Natalia comments from across the way and you sigh, setting it down in your lap. You can’t help the weird feeling in your stomach as wisps of red weave between your fingers. They seem to want to drag your hand back to the Accords and keep reading, but your head spins.

“No, but it’s run by people with agendas, and agendas change.”

“That’s good. That’s why I’m here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stopped manufacturing.”

“Tony, you chose to do that. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose,” Steve exclaims and you look up warily. Tony’s eyes meet yours for a moment before you turn your gaze back to the Sokovia Accords. “What if this panel sends us somewhere we don’t think we should go?” You unweave your arm from around Steve’s waist and stand, tossing the Accords onto the glass table between them. Wanda and Vision, sitting on a bench, reach for it. “What if there is somewhere we need to go, and they don’t let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own.”

“Steve, I really think you need to read this,” you begin and razor sharp azure meets your eyes. “Look, if this doesn’t happen now, on our terms, they’re going to do this to us. That’s not going to be fun for any of us.”

“You’re saying they’ll come for me,” Wanda begins, and you whirl around to face the girl. She holds the Accords, too large for her slim frame and her eyes glow as red as your veins do.

“We would protect you.”

“Look, Vision, that’s sweet, okay, but it’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“There are weapons of mass destruction in this room,” Tony continues, “and the government’s not going to allow a couple of nukes to walk in downtown New York. Ross had a point. Do we even know where Thor and Bruce are?”

“No.”

“Maybe Tony’s right.” Natalia sounds certain, and you turn to her, surprised as she breaks like static. Blinking, you see color other than red once again and try not to let it show on your face. Other than the fact that going from red-vision to full-colour still makes you surprised, you hadn’t expected her to pick a side so soon. You cross your arms as you sit down next to Steve once more. His arm falls around your shoulders as you tug at the skirt of your sundress. “If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer. If we take it off—”

“Aren’t you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?”

“What?” You look sharply at your sister who shrugs helplessly. Shaking her head, she looks at Wilson with a fierce stare.

“I’m just… I’m just reading the terrain. We have made… some very public mistakes. We need to win their trust back.”

Something vibrates against your leg and Steve’s arm slides from your shoulders. You turn to look at it, distracted as Steve grabs it and you slide your arm along his shoulder as he reads whatever message he was sent. Running your thumb over the curve of his shoulder, you rest your head on his shoulder just as he gets up. Your arm falls flat and you catch yourself just barely.

“I have to go.” Steve’s voice cuts clear across the tension and you watch the man leave, throat knotted. You feel something inside you twist and your eyebrows furrow as you try to come up with some reason, some way you can follow.

“I’m going to, uh, go see what that’s about.” You clear your throat, getting up to follow after him and you hear his footsteps echo as he descends the steps before stopping at the landing. “Steve?” He leans against the banister and bows his head with a heavy sigh, and you come up to him with gentle hands. “Steve, what happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Steve, is it Bucky?” You lean in beside him, trying to get a read on his state as he pockets his phone and you sigh softly, trying to figure out what to say. “Is it the Accords? Because you seem pretty adamant on not signing.”

“And you are?”

“I could’ve been the person who killed the Wakandans.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Someone did.” As soon as the words leave your lips, Steve’s head twists towards you, a frown pulling at the corner of his lips. He looks whole in your eyes, not a flickering edge in sight and you sigh at how much relief it brings you. “I’m not saying Wanda meant to do it on purpose, but she’s a kid and kids need supervision.”

“She had it.” Steve crosses his arms tight across his chest, and you turn to him, planting a hand on the rail and another on your hip.

“Did she? Because I read the report, Steve.” You throw up your hand, turning back to lean against the rail again as you try not to let your anger simmer. Your brow furrowed, your chest begins to tighten. “Rumlow said Bucky and suddenly, nothing else mattered, did it?”

“Doll—”

“And… it feels…” You trail off, and you have no idea why. You think you’re softening the blow for him, but maybe you’re softening the blow for yourself.

“What?” Steve’s voice, sharp as daggers, sinks into you and you drag your gaze towards him. He looks shocked, pale as a sheet with rosy lips barely parted as you let out a soft exhale.

“It feels true.” You shake your head before meeting his eyes. “Look, it doesn’t matter. What does is that I’m going to sign. Because we may not be kids, but we are dangerous and we need oversight.” Fingers reaching for his, you’re stung when he pulls his hand away. Clenching your jaw, you try to keep your voice hushed. “Steve, I don’t want to fight.”

“We can barely agree on when to get married, doll.” When he looks at you, it’s almost as if he stares right through you. “I don’t see how we can’t fight when we can barely make the small things work.”

“This isn’t some small decision! This isn’t choosing a winter wedding or a summer wedding, or whether the napkins should be folded in a Sydney Opera House or a lotus. This is whether or not we allow ourselves to get arrested or we play our cards right.”

“I’m not trusting a panel who won’t care about the people we’re supposed to be protecting.”

“You don’t know that.”

“It’s happened before.”

“Okay, but this isn’t S.H.I.E.L.D.” Your voice sharpens and you bite your tongue. “This is something we can give input to. What do you think they’re going to do when we disagree? Restrain us?”

“It isn’t that simple! Just because you see everything black and white doesn’t mean I have to. We can’t just choose to give over our rights and be okay with it.”

“You’re the one who’s seeing things black and white! Because this is a fucking grey area and we are drowning in it. This is… It’s not easy to just hand over the keys to people who don’t know us but we need this.” You struggle to find the words. “Steve, open your eyes and just… just understand that I want us to stay together. And if you do this, it’s almost as if you don’t care.”

“I’m standing up for what I believe in. I thought you could respect that,” he whispers harshly and you hold back a groan in frustration. Planting a hand on your hip, you look at him with narrowed eyes.

“And you don’t believe in family? In staying together? Because we can make changes. I promise, and you can still search for Bucky, I just—” Your breath hitches in your throat and Steve looks at you, eyebrows quirked. “Bucky.”

“What about him?”

“It’s Bucky. It’s always Bucky,” you whisper so quietly under your breath you don’t know if you even said it. “Natalia told me that—” You turn to look at the top of the stairs desperately. You can’t begin to describe how much you want to run up the stairs, down the hall and never look back. But you’re an optimist.

You always have been.

“Told you what?”

“That I’d never be your first choice.” The words come out bold and burning, and you can feel the ash it has left in your gums as you clench your jaw. You can still hear your sister’s voice echoing in your skull, whispered in confidence the day after one of Steve’s secret missions when he was looking for Bucky. Specifically, the mission that caused him to miss your birthday. You can still taste the bitterness, the tears that pressed bruises into your throat. “And I think he’s part of the reason why you won’t sign the Accords. Because you’re afraid they’ll issue sanctions if you go on your secret, unauthorized missions.”

Steve sighs, and his eyebrows knit together as you wrap your arms around yourself. You stare at him, wait for him to deny it, but you know he won’t. Because you’re in love with a man who supposedly loves you, but clearly doesn’t love you enough.

“Ever since Bucky came back into your life, it’s all you ever think about,” you continue, leaning against the banister once more. You cross your legs at the ankles, and turn to look at him. Your eyes immediately soak in the shadows that play across his face, the way the pale blue light of the sunroof has cast him a god of wind and sea. “And even though I’m talking to you… you’re not even here.”

Steve’s gaze darts to yours and you hold it, searching for someone who you haven’t seen in years.

“I love you,” he insists and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down so you can breathe in his scent. He smells cool and clean, like sleep, and you want to go back to yesterday, last week, last year. You want to go back to when you were too afraid to break a bubble that you lived in, when the Accords didn’t exist. “I’m in love with you, but I’m so damn sorry.” His whispered words push into your mouth as you kiss him chastely, a barely-there kiss that makes your heart mend and break. His forehead knocks into yours and you hold him there for a moment, just watching the tiny little twitches of his face. Burning him into your head.

“It’s okay,” you say, hand stroking over his face and into his hair. His eyes half-mast, he just watches you as red runs beneath your palm, through your veins. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and it just makes you all the more aware of the hole he has carved in the shape of pieces he took from you. He won’t even touch you. “I can’t compete with what you and Bucky have.”

“I don’t want you to. You’re the only one I want—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you murmur and he closes his eyes pulling away to stare at his feet. He grips the handrail and you stare into your palms, red playing against your flesh. The silence is thick and you swallow, trying to think of something to say — anything. Your chest is smashed to ashes and an ache spreads in your lungs as you close your eyes, hot tears sliding over your cheeks. “Steve—”

“I’ve got to go,” he mumbles and you’re not quite sure if the salt on your lips is yours or his as he presses a quick farewell kiss to your mouth and pulls away. He wipes at his face with a sleeve, and you wipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand as he turns away to hide his red-rimmed eyes and sniffing you can still hear. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Yeah, you always do,” you murmur and you watch him go as he bows his head, sleeve to his face. Sucking in a cold breath, you lean against the banister and tilt your head back. Closing your eyes, you try to ignore the migraine digging into your skull.

But you can’t. It only grows when you sign, and with the deadline to bring in Steve Rogers, and nearly tears you apart as you fly to Germany.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks as you walk to your position in the airport. He looks good in his new suit Tony had designed and you smile tiredly as he fidgets with the mask. You ruffle his hair, leaning over to kiss his forehead before trying to reinforce your weak smile.

“Yeah, I am. Watch yourself out there, okay?” you add and he nods as he opens up his mask. “If May finds out Tony smuggled you into Germany, my ass is going to pay for it.” He half-laughs, and you nudge him towards his hiding spot. “Go kick some ass.”

And you do, and he does, and you think maybe team Iron Man might make it work bringing in a rogue Captain America without J-SOC.

That is, until the giant.

“Okay, anybody on our side hiding any shocking and fantastic abilities they’d like to disclose? I’m open to suggestion.” Tony’s voice echoes in your ear, adding to the headache balling up between your eyes as you throw yourself at Clint. The man catches you by the rod of his bow as you wind yourself around his waist and flip him over.

“Would it kill you if I said I have untapped energy potential?” you ask into your comms and Clint sends you a confused look as you roll your eyes through the pain. Everything is hazy red and red mist spills from your hand as you stop Clint from swinging at you with a baton.

“No, I like that idea.”

“Tony, it’s not a good idea.”

“It was a joke, Stark,” you growl, flinging Clint away. The rod of his bow skids a few feet away and you scramble towards it, snapping it open with a sling. As you pull the string taut, an arrow forms between your fingers and you let it fly, following after Hawkeye with a barrage of arrows and keeping him busy running. “I’m trying not to kill anyone today.”

“Understood, Madame Secretary,” Tony teases and you squint an eye, letting another arrow fly just as Clint jumps onto the walkway leg. It nearly tags him in the ankle and you draw the string once more, black metal materializing between your fingers just as someone tackles into you. You’re slammed into the ground with a hard groan, your head snapping back into concrete. You hear something crack and you groan as Sam Wilson’s voice rattles in your ears.

“I got her, Steve. It’s a go from me.”

Steve… you repeat in your head, dazed. Turning over, you watch as Sam takes off after a jet and you try to get up. When you blink, your world is covered in red film, breaking like faulty holograms and you let out a sharp breath, trying to rub it out. The roar of the jet echoes in your heart, weaves into your chest as you reach out a hand. Red energy curls against your palm, soothing a nefarious drilling digging deep into your brain. Steve is getting away, and I can’t stop him. No, no, no—

It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together — to know Steve’s the one who put a target on your back. Blood shoves its way up your mouth as the ball of pure agony in your head explodes.

“They’re getting away.”

“Get up, Viper! Come on, get up! You can stop them!”

You can’t get up. You can barely see as you plant your hands against the ground. Blood slick against your palms, you roll onto your stomach as you try to push yourself up. Shockwaves shake your bones and you let out a painful groan when your head tips you over. Landing on your side, you feel something warm dribble down your chin.

“Vision, I got a bandit on my six.”

“What’s happening?” Peter’s innocent question makes you turn blindly towards him and you reach out just as strong arms hoist you onto your knees and you try to open your eyes only for white light to seep into your irises. “What’s happening? Are you okay? Hey, hey, hey, are you okay?”

“Vision! You copy? Target his thrusters, turn him into a glider.”

“Pete.” His name is thick in your mouth as you pat blindly and you come into contact with his face as you cough, black dotting the edges of your vision and you let out a groan when the blood pooling in your chest sloshes against your lungs. “It hurts. Shit, it hurts, Pete, it hurts so bad.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Oh, god, what do I do? Is there some way I can make it better?”

“Pete, you gotta go. You needa go, you needa go.” You can feel his arms holding you up as your hands trace down his cheeks and onto his neck, streaking blood all over his skin. You can barely see him but you know that he is smiling through his tears, tears that run over your knuckles and you think, brave boy. A brave boy who shouldn’t be here. “Pete, go.”

“I’m not gonna leave you here alone! You’re hurt, and I don’t know what to do. What do I do? Where does it hurt?”

“Rhodey!”

“Everywhere! Fuck, my head, Pete, you need to just… go. It hurts, it hurts. Make it stop,” you whimper as a ripple of agony travels across your skull. Jerking back, you rake your hands through your hair, trying to keep your eyes open through the tears. Everything is blinding white and red as you catch a glimpse of Peter’s face, brown eyes wide and tears dripping down his face as a double of him flashes before your eyes. A jackhammer digs into the center of your mind and you let out a scream, a pulse thundering through your body as you flare scarlet red.

“Tony, I’m flying dead stick.”

“No—”

“Leave me alone.” The words slip out of your mouth, incoherent, barely audible as voices begin to echo in your head. You half-recognize some of them, and others you barely know as frost sinks into your limbs, paralyzing you. Your whole body rigid, you fall to your elbows and knees as Peter’s hands hover around you. You can feel his warmth, every single molecule of his being, the racing of his heart and the soft whomsh of his blood. His breathing echoes in his ear, and you can hear his fingers twitching, the blink of his eye, the thickness in his throat, the roar of the quinjet and the sound of a body whistling through the air, falling faster and faster, too fast, and two men desperate to catch him—

You can barely hear your own thoughts and your breaths come in sharp, painful gasps as you try to sort through the storm in your head — your thoughts from whatever it is that lives inside you, or changed you, or whatever it did because you can hear voices in languages you don’t understand and everything turns red, static and breaking apart as your reality crumbles to pieces around you.

“Let me help—”

“Leave me alone!” Pushing him away blindly, a surge of heat sinks its teeth down into your bones as everything inside you breaks. You pitch forward, bones snapping as voices echo in your head, and the ground splits beneath your hands.

“RHODES!”

It’s 2023.

You wear a black sweater because Pepper said it’d look nice and the heels Tony bought for you after the Civil War that’ve been gathering dust in the apparent five years you’ve been gone.

A part of you wants to toss the heels into the lake when the service is down, and you want to see if you can siphon what is left of the energy you have to bring Tony back to life. But you can’t. So you don’t try. You sit at the edge of the lake as the water laps at your feet, and you send gentle wisps of red over the soft waves as they lap at your feet. Tony’s last message echoes in your head, and you can picture him so clearly. And Natalia too, her last words to you—

“Don’t go—”

The wisps take shape, mere figures of shadows of Tony and you and Natalia, memories playing like puppets on strings, jagged and sharp and all too wrong.

“Hey.”

The figures vanish, sink into the water, and you flinch at the sound of his voice. Putting on a smile, you turn around and he stands there, hands shoved in his suit pocket, face pale and swollen around the eyes. Wiping at your own tears, you stand up and clear your throat.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Natasha’s service is tomorrow, so I was thinking we should all get some rest,” he says and you nod, turning back to the lake. He steps up to the shore beside you and you try your best not to look at him, no matter how much you want to. Your ring seems to cut off the blood to your finger as he breathes in quietly. “How are you?”

“I’m alive,” you reply softly. “Guess that’s what matters.”

“Doll—”

“Don’t call me that. Just…” You turn to him and stare into his glossy blue eyes, eyes that you haven’t seen in so, so long. Your heart nearly snaps in two as his lower lip trembles and you throw your arms around his neck, embracing him so tightly you can barely breathe. “I missed you so much, Steve. Oh, god, I miss you.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers hoarsely, and then suddenly his arms are around you, squeezing the life you’ve just gotten back out of you and you run your fingers through his gelled hair. “Germany, I— I never meant for that to happen.” Cold water douses whatever warmth you feel and you pull back, face pulled back in a terrible mask of an empty smile. “I never meant to leave you in the middle of one of your breaks.”

“Steve, that was apparently seven years ago and… it was for Bucky. You’d do anything for him. Do anything for anyone from your past, apparently,” you whisper and he tries to smile, but even he can now see how finished you are. How you’ve given up, and you wonder if that can scare him any more than it scares you. “And it’s sweet, and admirable, and that kind of loyalty is rare. I wish someone was like that with me, but… it’s just… you were always the only one who could stop me and in Germany… in Germany you were the reason it happened.” His arms fall away and you step back, clearing your throat. “But it’s in the past, now.”

“Doll—”

“Steve, fighting Thanos was the fucking scariest thing of my life, and I wanted to kill him so badly I tore open what Stephen Strange thinks is a multidimensional tear. Because I lost control, and I didn’t want to come back.” You can still recall the feeling — like free falling and knowing the clouds will catch you — as you just let go of everything holding you up. Of falling into the darkness and just barely snagging the last of the light so you can pull yourself out again if you wanted to.

And you didn’t want to until it was over.

Until Tony was dead.

“Everything from the past doesn’t matter, because I have more important things to fix,” you continue blithely. Steve barely has time to open his mouth before you lean up to kiss his lips. “I love you, Steve.”

“I need to tell you something—”

“I’m not in the mood to talk, Steve. My best friends are dead, and it’s permanent. I’m not so lucky as you.” You force a smile onto your face and run a hand up and down his arm in farewell. “I’ll see you at the cabin.”

You don’t.

It is Bucky who tells you the man is gone.

You would laugh at the irony — Bucky is the one telling you the love of your life is gone — if you didn’t feel like this. Like your world is ending and like you’re not good enough and like the ring on your finger was just a cheap way to keep you around.

Instead you thank him, and go to Natasha’s funeral. Because that’s what you do.

You look to the future. You are the sunshine girl after all. The Viper who can shed her skin and move on.

The Viper who is searching for someone. Who doesn’t know yet, but someone who doesn’t want to fix her, because she is not-fine-but-accepting of the way she is now. Who isn’t searching for someone else, someone from their past, someone you aren’t and can never be.

And you find him, weeks after the Battle, in one of New York’s finest bars.

Because if Steve Rogers is a loyal golden retriever, then Quentin Beck is the snake in the garden.

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plumblossomkun · 5 years ago

Text

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟷:「𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛, 𝙸'𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚋𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 / 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚗, 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚎?」

word count: 3.5k

setting: student!Taeyong x writing assistant!Female Reader, University!AU

warning[s]: none for this chapter besides some angst. later chapters will have more sensitive topics and they will be mentioned.

chapter summary: in which Taeyong reminisces & tries to forget, but doesn’t stand a chance against the stars & their song. or, in which Taeyong & y/n meet again under the same sky, after years apart.

a/n: this is heavily inspired by Love Deluna; a big thank u @starxblossom for the help on this fic, which is VERY loosely based on something between a boy & me that began sweet. here is chapter one, as inspired by my messy [love] life.

READ ME: this story will contain a LONG series of chapters :) i will italicize flashbacks in their entirety & indicate any changes in scene or point of view in bold. furthermore, chapters will alternate between Taeyong and y/n unless otherwise indicated.

other tags: @bunny-doyounq! enjoy~ ♫

previous | next

Exactly 4 years ago—

“What are you looking for?” he asks, leaning into her so that their shoulders are barely touching. She stares up into the dark, cloudless sky, eyes focused on something he cannot see, painted coral lips slightly parted.

He wonders if one day he’ll feel them against his skin, instead of the winter breeze. Instead of the knowledge that her heart is somewhere else, has always been somewhere else.

“The stars,” she replies, abandoning her search in favor of looking sideways at him with a faint smile. Her gaze is distant, though, and it feels like something sharp has lodged itself in his gut, because he can’t remember if she’s ever really looked at him. “I love the city lights. I really do. But I want to see the stars, I want to see the sky covered in them.”

And then her eyes turn back to the heavens.

He wishes he could anchor her, bring her down from the clouds— but he knows she won’t let him. At least, not as they are.

Not as he is.

So, instead, he places his hand on top of hers, the words he really wants to say stuck somewhere between his heart and his throat, threatening to choke him as he assures her, “We’ll go somewhere you can see them, someday.”

Someday, when I return, he promises silently.

She looks at his hand, then at him, and her voice is tiny, barely audible when she asks, “How far?”

He sees the glimmer of fear in her eyes, and takes his hand away, missing the warmth of her even as he does so. But he knows better than to linger too long and spook her.

“As far as you want.”

Now —

Daly City, CA

—in one word, home

How many moons has it been, since he last set foot in this tiny city, engulfed in a sea of fog pierced only by the headlights of the Model Y Teslas that speed away towards the skyscrapers of the big city to the north?

Too many.

And yet, though he’s returned to the place he’s loved most out of all the homes he’s forged, he feels like he is about to make the second greatest mistake of his life.

He scales the moss-lined steps leading up to the park from the main road, relishing the way the sounds of traffic are muffled by the towering, groaning pines. But when he steps off the uneven dirt path, his heart drops a little when he digs his heels into the earth and finds that the soccer fields have been filled with fake grass and rubber dirt.

He shuffles towards the library, passing through the playground and its vacant swings, sparing a wistful glance for the sand pit, which is filled with mud and litter and not a single child to dig through it. It’s early, the sun hasn’t even started to peek its head over the horizon, but he remembers when he was a child, the seesaw was always creaking away, and the swings were never left unoccupied.

The jingle of a bell lifts his chin from his chest, though, and he sucks a breath in between his teeth in disbelief. There’s no way it’s the rickety old ice cream truck that used to come around when he was a kid, the one with the smiling old man and his wife.

And he’s right, though he’s never wished more in his life that he was wrong.

It’s a cluster of kids on their bikes, ringing their bells like mad and whooping as they zoom through the parking lot, past the basketball and tennis courts that have always been worn and gray, but seem all the worse for wear without the thud of shoes against the cement to fill the spaces in between the groaning fences.

He shoves his hands in his pocket and walks back to his car, shoulders heavy with the knowledge that the world he left behind was not untouched in his absence.

You included, though he knows better than to think you’d be waiting for him. You would never have looked back, not when he’d left like that, without warning, without so much as a goodbye.

You probably hate him for it.

So he gets back into his car, grits his teeth, and promises himself, later, he’ll forget about it. He’ll start at a new school, make new friends, focus on his classes, and act as if the past doesn’t still have its claws in his heart.

Later, he’ll pretend he doesn’t miss the days you’d sit at the top of those steps and drink Arizonas together, wasting the hours until the sun set and you had to decline call after call from your overprotective father, insisting you come home because it was getting too late.

Later, he’ll unpack his boxes at the university apartments, and thank his parents for leaving out the pictures of you and him.

But for now, he grips the steering wheel and takes the I-280 south, all four windows down, using the roar of the autumn wind to drown out the voice inside that says he’s made a mistake, coming back home to California. The voice that insists he came back not for a new start, not because his parents insisted he finish his education abroad, but to see you again.

Santa Clara, CA

— the place you imagine when you think California vibes.

“You know, Taeyong, you didn’t have to come all the way from Korea to bring me flowers.” Johnny eyes the bouquet of violently pink hydrangeas that Taeyong has just produced from the passenger seat of his car like they’ve offended him. “These are pretty, but you know I have allergies, right?”

“They’re not for you,” Taeyong snorts, lifting his computer tower from the backseat with a grunt. “Can you grab the other box from the back?”

Johnny grabs the storage box filled with peripherals and shuts the trunk. “Who else would they be for?”

“My mother told me your mother was visiting.” Taeyong kicks the door closed and locks the car twice, holding his beloved computer tower close to his body and the flowers under his arm. “And that we’re getting lunch together, apparently. Also, since when have you been allergic to flowers?”

“Since I saw these.” Johnny wrinkles his nose at the flowers. “And we’re not eating on campus— I never thought I would say this, but I am sick of burritos.” He shudders as he taps his ID to the scanner at the front entrance, and holds the door open as Taeyong tiptoes through, careful not to trip over the door frame. “There’s a good Korean barbecue place in San Jose, ten minutes out from here. Mom’s checking out the stationery store at Santana Row, said we can call her when we’re ready to go. Have you toured the campus yet?”

Taeyong laughs. “No, I haven’t had the time to look around—”

“Seriously?” Johnny purses his lips in an exaggerated pout. “Okay, come on. Let’s put this stuff away, and I’ll show you around.” He ushers him through another set of double doors, past a small expanse of grass complete with a volleyball net and red flowers draped across a wooden pavilion, shining steel grills polished and ready for the next Sunday playoffs, to the ground floor apartment of a building on the opposite side of the complex.

Taeyong can’t help but already imagine himself sitting on the grass, when he has time after classes, taking the time to watch the sun sink below the rooftops, coffee in one hand and music filling his ears. He can imagine himself mapping the skies, searching for stars.

He catches himself there, shakes his head at his own foolishness. “Lee Taeyong,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair, “this is no time to think about stargazing.”

“Stargazing?” Johnny echoes, emerging from the bathroom with his hands still a little wet, waving them about to dry them. “We have an observatory, if you’re interested in that.”

Taeyong tries to act like the idea hasn’t excited him, bending down to tie his shoes to hide the grin splitting his face. “We can check it out if it’s not too out of the way, I guess.”

Johnny chuckles, closing the door behind him. “Of course. Last and least on the list.”

Palm trees overlook the majority of the campus, leaning low over the buildings and casting long shadows along the pavement. And where there isn’t red or gray brick, there is carefully curated grass, neatly clipped hedges, and collections of too-perfect, too-saturated flowers highlighting each walkway.

It’s a little artificial, a little unreal, but Taeyong can’t deny that, with the afternoon sun beating down on his shoulders, casting golden light without a single wisp of fog in the air, and a slight breeze nipping at his fingertips, it feels like a slice of paradise, straight out of the movies.

Near the end of the main road, Johnny points out a pastel rainbow of roses that lead to a side path that wraps around the church, under a canopy of vines and branches and ornately wrought wood. “I like to come here instead of on the quads; it’s quieter. Some people even take wedding pictures here when the weather is nice.”

Taeyong spots a bench a little ways down the path, surrounded by roses— the perfect spot to take a picture, one to remember his first day back under the California sun.

When he turns back to ask his friend to capture the moment for him, Johnny is already motioning for him to hand over his phone, a knowing smile playing across his face. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask me to take a photo earlier.” Taeyong laughs, brushes rose petals off of the bench before he sits, squinting as he finds a spot that is both well lit and doesn’t have the sun blazing directly into his eyes. “This is too pretty to pass up.”

“Ready?”

Taeyong nods, smiling chastely into the eye of the camera.

“Okay, three, two, one—”

Click.

“Another pose~ three, two, one—”

He adds a peace sign. He knows his mother will definitely ask for one of him and Johnny later, and makes a note to take one at lunch.

Click.

“Last one, look sexy, Taeyong-ah, say mwah for the camera~”

Taeyong bursts into laughter at that, but Johnny snaps the picture anyway.

Click.

“That’s the candid I was looking for,” he says, clearly pleased by his work, handing Taeyong’s phone back to him. “You look good.” And for all his teasing, Johnny is right about the photos— he looks sun-kissed and happy. Nothing like how he’d felt earlier that morning.

He takes a deep breath, taking in the rich scent of the roses around them as the church bells sound, signaling noon. He gathers a handful of pink petals and marvels at their unmarked, silken beauty. “I feel good, too.”

“What did Seoul do to you?” Johnny asks thoughtfully, looking him up and down as if this is the first time he’s really looked at him all day.

Taeyong tosses the petals in the air with a chuckle. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, when we were teenagers...” Johnny snaps his fingers, looking for the right words. “You look like you know yourself better. Is that it?” A girl’s wail splits the air before he can answer, followed by the pitter-patter of quick footsteps. “Excuse me, I’m laaaate—”

Taeyong steps aside automatically, and as the girl runs past him, long hair whipping him in the face despite his quick reflexes, he catches a whiff of summer, of wildflowers, jasmine, and something of the ocean breeze.

And while he doesn’t recognize the perfume, his heart sinks when he realizes he does know that voice.

Your voice.

His phone drops from his hand, and he jumps to his feet.

There’s no way.

Luckily, Johnny snatches up his phone before it hits the ground, and when he sees the expression on Taeyong’s face, leans in front of him with a concerned look, waving a hand to catch his attention. “Whoa. You good, buddy?”

Taeyong’s eyes don’t even register the movement. He presses a hand to his chest to check if his heart is still beating, and has to sit down on the bench again, because he is shaking like a leaf caught in a hurricane.

He feels like all the breath has been sucked out of his lungs, like the bones in his body have suddenly become hollow and thin like glass. “I… was that...?”

Johnny follows his gaze, staring at the back of the girl who is still rushing down the path. “Oh...” he exhales, craning his head to get a better look. “Oh.”

Slowly, he nods his head, and the confirmation is like a death rattle to Taeyong. “I heard she was here, but, you know... I didn’t really go looking.”

Johnny places a firm hand on Taeyong’s shoulder, and his voice is gentle when he reminds him, “You shouldn’t either.”

Taeyong closes his eyes and shakes his head, because after all this time, despite the years he’s spent under a different skyline— here you are— here—

The thought chokes him. It wraps icy fingers around his heart and crushes it, crushes him.

He can’t remember the reason he left, only that it wasn’t right, only that he should’ve stayed.

And though he has only caught a moment’s glimpse, shared a single breath, he can’t deny it, he hasn’t changed at all.

He is still the same boy, praying that a flower that lives for starlight will bloom for him instead.

6 and a half years ago—

Taeyong did not want to attend Winter Ball— in fact, he would rather have eaten dirt— but Yuta and Ten ended up buying him a ticket anyway. He had tried to escape after the last bell, ducking towards the door before the teacher had even dismissed them, but Johnny locks an arm around his shoulders before he can escape.

“You can skip every dance after this one,” he bargains, clicking his tongue, and drags Taeyong down the street to his house to lend him clothes for the night. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Live a little. Dance a little.”

“No, it won’t,” Taeyong grumbles, but puts on the white collared shirt and black tie ensemble anyway, Mrs. Suh cooing “So handsome!” a thousand times at them as she snaps photos to keep in her newly-bought scrapbooks, before ushering them out. “Be back by midnight, okay?”

And now, he plays the wallflower in the small gym, watching in faint amusement as the people dancing freeze in confusion as they try to guess at what song is playing next, the DJ’s transitions between songs awkward and stilted. Despite that, towering over everyone in the very heart of the crowd, Johnny dances like there’s no tomorrow. Yuta and Ten had tried to get him out there, too— they had tried to drag him, princess-carry, and Yuta had even tried to throw him— but Taeyong isn’t in the mood to dance.

A flash of silver catches his eye, and he momentarily forgets that he is supposed to be uninterested in everything that the evening has to offer.

A girl strides towards him, sparkling white glitter sliding off her collarbones like someone has poured starlight on her, refracting tiny pinpoints of light onto her face. She is smiling, and her cheeks are a deep shade of rouge, but her smile is more like a lioness baring her fangs, and the rest of her expression is cold and hard.

Her lips purse as she stares at the half-open door to his left, and the wind whispering behind it. She pauses in the doorway, gaze flicking back to the crowd. And then to him.

When she sees that Taeyong’s looking back at her, her expression lightens, the corners of her eyes crinkling in true mirth.

And then she’s gone, the door swinging shut behind her with a sigh.

He finds her perched on the railing outside, on the balcony that overlooks the entire campus, watching the last snatches of day start to die away. She turns as he approaches, the light on the horizon line pooling around her, framing her figure in gold and scarlet. The breeze bites at his cheeks, and her midnight blue chiffon dress clings to her body, but unlike him, she does not shiver; instead, she leans into the icy caress of winter like it is an old friend.

So when her eyes burn into his, he is already half-convinced that she is some ethereal creature. He opens his mouth to speak, but she shakes her head, as if the sound of his voice will break the spell she’s cast, one that blurs the noise behind him in favor of the shifting world before him.

A wry smile curls her lips, like she’s laughing at some unspoken joke, and she pats the railing next to her, inviting him to join her in the moment.

Mutely, they watch the sky until it darkens and the northern star has begun to twinkle, the last murmurs of gold plunging below the school buildings. So much time passes, in fact, that when she suddenly takes a deep breath, consuming the night air like it is her lifeblood, it startles him, and he almost falls off the railing into the uneven hedges below them.

She laughs aloud then, and says, in a low, almost husky voice, “Are you afraid I might bite?”

His brain fizzles as he tries to think of something to say that isn’t stupid. He settles for the truth. “You look like you might just fly away if I come too close.”

She looks startled, like she wasn’t expecting him to respond with those words, and then shakes her head, that same mysterious smile curving her lips. She tips her head back and lets the wind comb through her long hair. “I wish I could fly. Don’t you?”

He thinks about it, looks up into the sea of gray clouds filtering the moonlight into ivory shards. “Maybe. Where would you go, if you could?”

She leans back a little too far and loses her balance for a split second— and he instinctively reaches out to catch her, gripping her hands in his.

Her hands are small, and freezing, but still, they do not shake. Her heartbeat thrums against his palms, and she laughs breathlessly, the noise dragging his eyes up to meet hers.

He can’t help but flinch; her gaze is filled with stone that had not been there a second before. It does not soften until she has extracted herself from his hold, and the cold railing is the only thing they share in common.

Only then does she answer his question, clearing her throat. When she speaks this time, her voice has lost its airy quality, becoming sweeter, softer. He loses himself there, and openly stares at her, awed by— everything about her. “I think I’d see if heaven existed,” she breathes, reaching towards the stars, cupping the curve of the moon within her hands. “Go as high as I could until my lungs cried out for mercy.”

She slips down from her perch, lighting down quietly on the hard cement. On level ground, she is quite a bit shorter than him, and yet he feels intimidated by her proximity when she leans towards him, face impassive as she studies his.

“What?” he asks, jutting out his chin in challenge.

The girl rolls her eyes, unimpressed. But whatever she finds in his expression, she clearly doesn’t dislike because she says carelessly, tossing the words out at rapid-fire speed, “I’m going to go find a better view, and real food. Feel free to tag along, if you want.”

And then she’s walking away before he can even accept the invitation, tugging off both her heels in one fluid motion and dangling them off of her shoulder as she starts heading down the five flights of stairs leading down to the main entrance, completely barefoot and humming a tune he does not know.

He looks back at the gym. He doesn’t see Yuta, or Ten, or Johnny through the glass— in fact, he’s sure they won’t notice him leaving, either, not while they’re dancing— so he makes his choice.

He can be back by midnight, if he keeps track of the time.

“Wait—” he calls after her.

She pauses, and their gazes lock. For a split second, something flickers to life in her eyes, summons a peal of laughter from deep within her throat. She licks her lips, head tilted up towards him, and he understands it then. She is lovely, and the moonrise suits her, but she is no ethereal being, no angel, no goddess.

“Catch me if you can, then.”

Still— he can’t look away.

He can’t help but chase after her.

a/n 2.0: feedback of all kinds is appreciated! ♥ luv y’all

#nct #nct fics #taeyong fics #taeyong smut #taeyong #lee taeyong #nct smut #nct imagines #taeyong imagines #taeyong x reader #taeyong x female reader #nct fanfics #taeyong fanfics #taeyong was my first bias in nct ever #everyone involved in this fic is legal #dulce et feram

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the--wrench · 4 years ago

Text

Send me 😊 to hear a fluffy hc. Send me 😈 to hear a dark hc.

@gildedscripture said:😊😊gimme

1. idk if I posted it before and idc if i did, here goes anyways babey!!! Wrench has a famous UTAUloid with his own voice created. The internet, however, doesn’t know who the creator is, and many have come forward to claim it was them. None of them are telling the truth. His vocaloid got SO fucking popular though that he became an honorary vocaloid, a la kesane teto and gumi. they even have his vocaloid sona playing in those cool 3d vocaloid concerts!!!! he’s always wanted to see his utauloid singing in action, to be honest ... He calls his UTAUloid BOLT !

2. When he was a kid, Miles often hummed tunes and little original songs he’d made up. He actually has a really pretty singing voice, which i think that,, if he had ANY friends whatsoever, he might sing for them or around them. an actual voice of an angel, guys, from all the voice training he was taught.

@frimaerke said: 😊😊😊 give! me! fluff!

3. Wrench is classically trained in piano, violin, and flute! singing too, though that’s already been said above, haha. he is INSANELY good with violin, decent ish with piano, and has trouble remembering the notes on a flute since it’s the one he plays least ... he RARELY takes off his mask, but he will still ghost / whisper play the keys ( it’s called ghosting / whispering the keys when you blow into your flute EXTREMELY soft, not enough to make a noise, and do the fingerings ). he still keeps up violin practice, and keyboard is a stand in for his piano. You wouldn’t expect him to bust out a crazy tune w them, but he totally can. and he’s passionate about them!

4. he often fucks around and teaches his cat sushi how to say real words. like, look up WELL HI southern cat or cats talking videos-- sushi can and will talk when you least expect it and scare you shitless. wrench is exceptionally proud of this. also, she can use the toilet bc he trained her to use the toilet. ... well. given he ever moves into a house or apartment, i mean.

5. Miles really looked up to Jespie when they were both kids. Like, I’m talking, he fucking ADORED jesper, even though he never rly expressed it that well. he kind of got a little bit of a crush on him for a short time as a kid -- you know, puppy love stuff. but it was never reciprocated ( for obvious reasons ) because he thought jesper was really sweet, kind, nice, and caring .... until that went sour, but we’re here for the fluff. Anyways, when they were younger, he totally tried his hardest to impress jesper and make sure that he liked him, because he was always nervous that jes would realize he wasn’t cool, or a good friend. except, he WAS a good friend -- he just had anxiety!! and jespie really helped him through it and used to be really sweet and gentle about it. he really appreciates jes being such a positive friend and influence in his life then, even if it didn’t last.

@madamhatter said: 😊😊😈😈

6. Wrench always smells like oil and coffee. How the hell does he do it? It’s a REALLY weird smell combination. and he always has some fuckin’ oil in his hair. he’s always dirty when working in the garage, but that’s okay -- if you make him shower, he still never gets rid of that oil coffee smell but it isn’t anywhere NEAR as strong. however, his hair is INSANELY soft !!!! if he washes it right or with the stuff he uses when his hair is freshly dyed. and he dyes his hair a LOTT.. it’s been every color of the rainbow at LEAST once, but typically falls to yellow ( like cartoon yellow ), blonde, pink, or white.

7. HE !!! LOVES !!! PHYSICAL AFFECTION! !!! GOODNESS GRACIOUS!! as long as HE’S the one who initiates it, he likes to be really touchy !! lots of hugs, noogies, climbin on ya, arms around the shoulders, cuddles .... he was deprived of it pretty hardcore as a kid, so to the people he befriends as an adult and actually can form a meaningful relationship with, he’s very touchy!! we see this with how he is with marcus, like, 24/7, and he can even be a lowkey flirt if it comes down to it. just hold his hand or he’ll use the ( / \ ) and or miles plead on you. don’t know what the miles plead is? basically, the most effective plead in the universe. NOBODY is immune to the miles plead or the energy it produces behind ( / \ ).

the next two are angst headcanons!! under a readmore, tw for marriage cheating & ( very vauge ) abuse ment ( from his parents ) !

8. Miles / Wrench is actually,, an illegitimate child. He never actually knew this or found out until shortly before he ran away. buut it’s part of why his dad was particularly harsh on him later on in his life, because his father took the aggression he had for miles’ mom & extended it to him. he looked pretty different from his siblings, so it’s obvious that miles wasn’t his ... but for the most part, his dad treated him totally okay, if pretty distant. until. yknow. he DIDN’T. and shit from blume caused his behavior and attitude to corrupt, and.. well. we all know where it went from there. being an illegitimate child is also why his mother was so harsh on his appearance and honed in on the scar, and treated him poorly. and bc of her.. he can’t even stand to look at himself in the mirror ( in canon! ) to this very day. he will cover any reflective surfaces he can, and even covers mirrors in the bathroom or around the house if he lives in one and he’s maskless. he didn’t deserve ANY of this unfair treatment, though ...

9. wrench is ... extremely self loathing, though you’d never guess that with how much humor he hides behind. he really doesn’t feel like he has ANYTHING left to lose, no matter what he does -- to him, nobody would care if he was gone. but he’s come to accept that. if he gets hurt, he gets hurt. if worse happens, worse happens! he just really! does not give a shit and, thanks to his parents, has an incredibly hard time grappling the fact that there’s always someone who’s gonna care about for his wellbeing. Nah, he’s not suicidal, but it is canon that he does pull all sorts of EXTREMELY DANGEROUS STUNTS and does not care if he dies in the process, but he’s not going out quietly. and if he wants to be reckless and have some fun when he’s so convinced nobody would care, might as well make stuff interesting, yeah? :^) s’why he REALLY loves blowing shit up as a mechanism. nah, he won’t hurt anybody, but it’s .. concerning. hm. get this boy some therapy.

#im NOT clogging my blog with tons of posts so here's all the rqs i got in one big post #damn.. no angst beast today!#**ANOTHER TIME ...**#anywayys #ask to tag!!!#tw: self loathing #tw: illegitimate child #tw: cheating ment.#it's actually not that in depth but it's stll under a read more just in case..#tw: long post #tw: abuse ment #but only rly vaguely

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moonlightreal · 5 years ago

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Winx Club season 8/16

In which we get a large terminology retcon and some Trix of a different color.

16 The Sparx Festival

Sparx like the starlight or have we timeslided back to 4kids when Domino was named Sparx?

We open in what must be the Winx common room. The festival hasn’t been mentioned except in the title, we jump right in to the girls’ planning. Aisha wants to do a gymnastic dance competition. Musa’s ready to provide the music and Tecna the special effects. Of course Stella thinks it should be a fashion show, and Flora’s more keen on a rare plant show. Stella transforms her look into a lil blue dress with flowers and a very questionable hairstyle and conjures a red carpet… which is pulled out from under her by the chompy carnivorous plant Flora brought in. Girls, you’re perfect, never change.

Bloom, though, is moping and everyone shortly realizes it and does the “you can tell us about it.” thing. It’s Sky, of course, he’s not answering the phone and nobody knows where he is.

Where he is, is climbing a cliff with Diaspro. Even though they can both fly, and have a spaceship. They’re looking for the lost medallion of Eraklyon, which changed its name between episodes.

Sky’s phone rings and he says it must be Bloom, and Diaspro does an evil grin and… throws herself backwards off the cliff, falling to her doom! O_o

Sky catches her of course, even though he was above her on the cliff and there’s a definite animation fail as Diaspro sort of kneels in midair with Sky supporting her on one arm. Props to Rainbow that this is the first glaring mannequins-in-weird-poses I’ve seen this season!

Diaspro: oh, you saved me! <3

Sky: Be more careful next time!

Sky, she has wings. She would’a been fine. Unless Diaspro’s no longer a fairy because Season 8 timeslide, that is a possibility but it’d be a damn dark one because that would mean Diaspro is willing to risk her life to get Sky’s attention. I foresee a lot of this episode will probably be me microanalyzing all of Diaspro’s actions trying to put together a coherent picture of what she’s really like as a real character rather than the caricature that Rainbow is meaning to give us. I think the final picture will be of someone who should maybe be in some kind of inpatient mental health place getting counseling instead of out alone with the object of her obsession.

They get to the top and there’s this great Indiana Jones temple with arches and waterfalls. Sky’s phone rings again and Diaspro pops up with, “Look over there!” and when he’s still keen to check his phone, “Our mission can’t wait!” Sky grumbles but follows her without contacting Bloom.

Back to Alfea, I swear the approach shots of the school just get better and better. We may have just had a weird mannequin moment but the settings are really quality cg.

And here’s Miss Griffin! Still looking like herself, I think her hair is more lavender but I think the artist made her one-horn hairdo make a little more sense. Griffin and the witch students came to perform in the festival that still hasn’;t been named, and some of the witches have conjured a friendly green slime.

Stella’s here too, she bangs into an adorable witch with Stormy’s exact hair but in pale pink. In fact here are three witches who look just like niceified versions of the Trix! The not-Icy has pink and blue hair and a kitty purse. The Winx do not notice these lookalikes, but Stella does notice not-Icy’s purse.

Not-Darcy’s hair is brighter green than actual Darcy’s, it looks really good, and she and not-stormy both have kitty t-shirts. Why kitties? Anyway once the Winx have gone on their oblivious way Stormy says, ‘i’m gonna crush her!” revealing that these are the actual Trix. I think it would’ve been more fun if they just randomly looked like them. I hadn’t been spoiled with images of these undercover Trix and I love their looks.

The two groups of students gather in I guess a big classroom, it has tiered seating even though average class size at Alfea is twelve girls. A fairy student is showing off her talent, she conjures a bubble around herself and can float in it. The Trix can’t resist having a little fun. First icy pops her bubble, and when she conjures it again stormy blows magic wind sending her bouncing around the hall. Undetered, bubble-fairy goes up again. Darcy is about to prank her wen the students are summoned to the courtyard to begin their performances.

Faragonda and Griffin do this great setup, “Everything in the universe has its opposite. Light… and shadow. Fairies… and witches. But the same magic spark unites us all. The sparx! Sparx is the energy that created the magic universe! The sparx granted powers both to us, the fairies, and to our guests for this very special day, the witches.”

Ok, FG and Griffin, that was so awesome… except, retcon much? Great Dragon? Backstory of your whole universe? Ringin’ any bells? I mean, it would be an interesting change to have Bloom be less like maybe-an-avatar-of-the-source-of-all-magic but… I dunno. The Great Dragon legend is so… legendy. Solid. I like the idea that witch magic and fairy magic are from the same source and I always assumed it was, that source being the Great Dragon. This whole change, just to explain why Valtor needs the Trix to get the wishing star for him?

Stella: “I wouldn’t mind if the Sparx had skipped the witches.”

That wasn’t very nice, Stel.

Now it’s time for everyone to perform… but the Winx haven’t settled on what to do! Panic! Bloom says they should pick something they like doing together and Musa suggests they like playing music together. Bloom glows like this wasn’t a totally obvious thing. Of course it was gonna be a concert, what else could it have possibly been?

Sorry, I snark, I’m loving this episode but I kinda want to see Aisha go off and join a gymnastics group and Stella join a fashion group and Tecna join maybe a hologram 3d art making group and Flora join a gardening group and Bloom and Musa stand there looking confused. It’d be funny. And I still wonder if the other girls feel pressured by Bloom and Musa into all this performing.

But then the star box appears! The compass spins! It has decided it’s time to chase a prime star! The girls run off, assuming the star is in running distance I guess. The disguised Trix follow them.

To another part of the courtyard! The compass is pointing to the well. didn’t they find the Sirenix book down there or something, a few seasons ago? I kinda remember, there’s some cool stuff down a well.

The box speaks! The star is here, but there will be “tests and traps” and also, ‘You can reach your goal all alone or reach the stars joined as one.”

The Winx look down the well and there’s pillars and vaulting and all sorts of architecture down there, I guess there’s a big cave under the courtyard. They walk down spiral steps, following the floating box, until at the bottom there is a round pool of water with light shining up from it. A “door of light” apparently.

Cosmix up to go through the door! Did the song get a new stanza? Maybe I just didn’t notice it before.

They fly through the door.

Into a similar looking underground room hung with overgrown bushes and things. A ruiny sort of place. Flora asks a flower what they should do in this room, but the plant doesn’t want to talk to her. The girls do some magic and the plants recede, revealing each wall of the room has a giant lock and key in it. Six locks, six Winx, obviously. But the flowers are snappy and won’t let them turn the keys. The flowers have quite long stalks and Aisha gets the idea to fly around so the flowers will tangle up trying to catch them.

The Trix have reached the door of light. They switch to their Trix selves with no transformation sequence, too bad, then Icy and Darcy start fighting over who should go through the door first. Stormy beats them to it.

Stormy appears in a room with nine circles on the floor. One lights up, then another, and Stormy seems to automatically know she’s playing Twister. She has success, when a cloud slurps her up and dumps her back with her sisters. You can’t do it alone!

The Winx turn their six keys. Nothing happens. Stella realizes the keys and locks don’t match in color. The girls carry the keys to the matching locks and another door of light appears.

Which leaves them in another cube room with round medallions on the walls and a floating cube with mystical symbols on it in the middle. Tecna recognizes it as a die, and stella gives it a shove. The die bangs against some walls and the symbols on the die and the walls light up, but it’s clearly not the right sequence. Tec says all games have rules, they just have to figure them out. Time to experiment!

Trix stand on three twister circles and another door appears. they’re not exactly working together, Icy and Darcy keep shoving each other and stormy keeps rolling her eyes at them.

Tec figures it out, they have to match the symbols on the die to the ones on the wall. So they all together push the die to the matching wall and another door opens.

Now they’re in a room with shelves of what look like potion bottles. A round skylight and shelves of magical implements. This room looks like a place people might use instead of just another trick room.

Flora is delight.

Bloom seems to think the prime star is one of the objects, but there are so many.

Aisha finds an aqua ball that looks like the sphere protecting the star compass, but of course it isn’t that easy. The ball splits into two and then into many balls that go bouncing away. The Winx keep catching them and they keep multiplying.

The Trix find the die but can’t push it the same direction and it rolls around the room and squishes them.

Darcy figures out what to do, they have to move it together. Her sisters are having none of this ‘together’ stuff. Darcy uses magic and a mirror to reflect the symbol from one side of the die to the correct wall, opening the door. Darcy is the smartest Trix.

Now our villains are also in the magic item storage room. They go straight to finding the prime star-- wouldn’t they want to grab a bunch of magic items?? Here comes the aqua ball! They also recognize it as the prime star and all garb it at once… and here come lots more balls!

The Winx are trying to figure out which of their balls is the real one, I guess. They know they have to work as a team.

They do a very cool Elements of Harmony thing, each grabbing a ball and speaking words of teamwork.

Bloom: friendship

Musa: unity

Aisha: loyalty

Stella: sincerity

Tecna: collaboration

Flora: mutual understanding

They fly into the air and all the balls come back together into one ball which has a lil green star charm inside. Bloom puts it in the star box and the girls poof away.

Meanwhile the Trix are still drowning in balls.

The girls appear back at Alfea to Miss F announcing it’s time for them to perform. Wait, what about the other performances? I’ve seen a million Winx concerts, I wanted to see something else!

Concert! Minor fairies dance1 the boys except for Sky are there. Faragonda and Griffin clap along. Even witch students seem to be enjoying themselves.

Back with sky and Diaspro, they’ve found a big door. Diaspro says this mission is thrilling, but Sky can’t wait for it to be over and what does the map say so we can get on with it already?

Diaspro unrolls her map and it’s just emojis of her and Sky in a heart. Pffffhahahahaha! Oh that is so weird and dumb! Diaspro, yer off your nut, why do you even want a dude who can’t wait to be out of your company?

Ok, we didn’t get as much Diaspro analysis in this episode, but it was still a good one! Maybe next time!

#winx season 8 #winx club season 8 #winx club

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ebonyfont · 6 years ago

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magenta | yeosang

⇢ genre: fluff ; college au

⇢ member: Kang Yeosang

⇢ word count: 2.3k

⇢ summary: After being asked to be used as a muse for an upcoming project, you didn’t expect a discovery from the art piece Yeosang’s about ready to forfeit.

⇢ warnings: some language

⇢ author’s note: for my sunshine @wooyeops.

Across from you, Yeosang perches on the edge of an ivory stool, indigo paint smudged below one of his eyes and a thin paint brush gripped between his teeth. You’re holding back from letting a whine disrupt his moments of concentration, as your back is pleading for help from not having any sense of support for the last hour.

You too have been sat atop a stool, only having the top half of Yeosang’s face as company while he continues to create on the canvas in front of him. Proper posture would be helpful to alleviate this pressure, but even that got tiring after a while.

“Aren’t you hungry?” You attempt to make some sort of suggestion. “It’s already past lunch.”

The breath that leaves him is audible when it escapes his nostrils. He pulls the paintbrush out of his mouth and sticks the pencil that he was using behind the shell of his ear. “Fine, but it’s actually going somewhere now.”

Yeosang’s back straightens while he pushes back his dark fringe. By now you’re able to get a full view of his head. “You really wanna interrupt that?”

You’ve already slid off the stool. “Just a snack, we have all afternoon.” Your hand grabs at the short sleeve of his white t-shirt before he practically yelps.

Both his arms fasten themselves around you, huddling over your figure as if he’s the shell of a tortoise. “What’d I say about peeking?! I didn’t just spend two hours for you to be spoiled!”

“This isn’t even for me!” You squirm, but part of you is trying to calm the sudden rise of your heartbeat. It doesn’t help that his scent lingers of aftershave from this morning. Chemicals of acrylics don’t even bother to distract you from the fact that it’s a smell that always had you ready to melt for your friend (emphasis on friend).

“Still, you can’t deny an opportunity for wow factors if the moment’s available,” he explains. Yeosang begins to waddle while you’re still in front of him, hugging your face to his chest. The metal of his dog tag necklace grazes of your ear that often has you tempted to pull him in by it for a kiss, but you don’t ever dare to make the move first.

Yeosang is absolutely ate up in the art of painting. Being his medium of focus, it isn’t odd to have you dragged into the studio at campus to join him when exploring his creativity. After all, you too are working for the Bachelor’s in Art, but you preferred the chalky blend of pastels on a black background.

It began when the two of you utilized the art studio only a week into classes. Ideas and concepts were shared over countless cans of energy drinks, and the two of you didn’t pass out until four in the morning while covered in the supplies splayed across the old flooring.

You fell for the boy and his passion, but you know by now that his only love is for the sceneries brought to life with the nimbleness of his hands and the only date nights he’d schedule was with a paintbrush dipped in liquid hues.

Today, Yeosang had asked for you to be a subject for his recent assignment. The two of you had been confined in the tiny art room of the small university as usual, but he was vague when describing the purpose of you acting as a muse for his painting.

Once the two of you are out into the corridor, he brushes the palms of his hands on the fabric of his jeans while you tumble out of his embrace.

“That acted as a hug of gratitude, by the way,” Yeosang half-smiles down at you. The smirk falls while he points a fingertip at you that looks like it had just been used for finger-painting. “But that was enough to last the week.”

“Your abundance of empathy is showing. Careful there, or people will think you’re an open book,” you tease. Your footsteps begin to resonate off the stark walls of the art building, the tall ceilings making them echo far more dramatically and making it seem the two of you were apart from being alone. The snack machines are located at the end just next to the flight of stairs, their glow illuminating where the end of the hall where no one ever bothered flicking on the lights.

Yeosang purchases the both of you a grape lemonade each, considering there’s already a giant tub of cheese puffs in the corner of the studio that’s always been his favorite to snack on. You didn’t mind, the cheese balls always paired well with the drink.

“Wait a minute,” he says while the two of you begin to take your time back to the art room. “I share my stories through art, isn’t that an open book?”

The lip of the bottle lowers itself from where you’re taking a sip, looking over and up and Yeosang to see him focusing on the ground as if it’s another one of his paintings. “I was kidding.” The chuckle that escapes your lips has him looking back at you while pausing in his trace.

Both of you are already at the door feeding into the studio, and Yeosang still seems expressionless and dwelling on his question. “. . . Right. Apologies, I guess.”

You don’t say anything back. His response isn’t a retort, it sounded more melancholy as if he’s struggling to release a grudge.

“Wait, almost forgot,” the door to swings shut and almost in your face as Yeosang makes his way around you before bringing his hands up to slide over your eyes. “Alright, let’s go.”

“You and this freakin’ painting,” you mumble, but a smile eats away at your cheeks and makes it undeniable to hear it in your voice. You let Yeosang guide you back to your appointed to seat before dropping his make-shift mask.

“Listen, I’m sharing my snacks. You share your time,” he pops open the tub of cheese puffs and hands them rightfully over to you. His hand dips inside and grabs a handful of the balls before lazily walking back over to get on his stool.

Thirty minutes later and you’re craning your neck, trying to see over the canvas that Yeosang is practically hiding behind. You haven’t heard the clanging of a paint brush against the edge of a jar as telltale signs of his work for nearly twenty minutes.

It isn’t the first time it’s happened. Since those twenty minutes, he barely said a peep and the playlist that was playing over the Bluetooth speaker had went ended. You know that Yeosang can get grumpy if you tried talking to him when concentrating, but it’s not a risk worth taking to make sure he’s okay.

Finally, you step off your stool, head tilted up to see if you can catch what he’s doing.

Yeosang sits hunched on his stool, one hand on his knee that’s exposed by a hole in his jeans and the other one wrapped around his chin and mouth, staring straight ahead at his painting.

He’s still.

You can tell his neck’s tense, making you leave your stance on the stool to take a few steps forward before asking, “Mind if I take a peek, bubs?”

Yeosang breaks his state to flicker his dark eyes up at you. He just nods, his hand not leaving from where it’s placed. It seems that he’s almost too careless for you take a look at the project in progress, but maybe it’s just him silently asking for input on what to do.

You wander to face the canvas, Yeosang sitting back a bit and once again sighing through his nose.

Coming to life on the parchment, there’s a sketching of flowers that you don’t identify. Their shapes are warped and appear to have been erased one too many times. At the top, right corner of the soon-to-be painting, there’s already a humming bird in the corner. It’s feathers are laced with tones of periwinkle and the same paint of indigo that had marked Yeosang’s cheek, it’s wings spreading out into a striking shade of purple.

The art’s background is decorated with with that of a bush, in front of a lake that doesn’t hold too much detail. It isn’t just the small bird, but the sky captures your heart in an array of baby pink and coral, cyan lacing and marrying the pastel rainbow together.

Overall, it’s typical of Yeosang’s art style that you’ve picked up on, but why he chose to paint the landscape and bird first puzzles you.

“This isn’t a self portrait! Why am I even here?” Is your first response, but the words flow from your laughter. It isn’t the kind that’s a mockery, but merely amused.

The painting is beauty and screaming with nature.

“What’s wrong?” You ask after not hearing an excuse out of Yeosang, looking down at him to see that he’s playing with the threaded bracelets hugging his wrists. “It’s exceptional like the others. It might even be one of your best.”

“These dumbass flowers,” he murmurs, hand reaching for the paintbrush that’s dipped into a baby food size jar of a color that screams magenta. “I can’t find one that’s. . . I don’t know. There’s not a color that I can find to match.”

Yeosang stands up from his stool to pace over to the window streaming afternoon sunlight into the studio. While he’s up, you take a seat onto the chair.

While the boy tends to take a lot of pride and concentration on any piece he works on, he usually doesn’t let it get him too pissed.

After studying the painting, you look over to see Yeosang continually rake hand after hand through his hair, fluffing it up in the process and massaging the back of his neck.

“Yeosang?”

He stops, head turning to the left.

Your teeth find home on your lower lip, still tasting of the lemonade. “. . . Well, what’s that emotion you can’t interpret? Is it something that makes you happy? Somber? Angry?”

Yeosang folds his hands behind his neck and lets his head fall back. You catch an undeniable smile gracing his features. “Now, Y/N, why would I put something angry on a piece like that?”

At this point, you feel like the dumbass, not the innocent flowers.

“I mean, it could have a dark twist - “

“I’m kidding,” he cuts you off, now standing behind you.

There’s silence once again, not one that’s comforting, but one that’s longing. It’s one that’s begging for relief, and you debate on whether you should catalyze it.

“I mean, why do you think I asked you to be my muse?” He questions. You continue to watch the painting, and he continues to speak from the words that both his heart and soul were weeping. “Because let’s face it, you are. I didn’t have a lick of intention on being friends, Y/N. But then we just decided to keep it up, you surprised me. I thought you just wanted someone to distract you from self-doubt of your work, just like you did with me. I never really expected to. . . fall. It’s like I discovered art all over again.”

The last sentence comes out like a scarlet leaf in the wind. You wonder if your heart’s even beating anymore, or if its rhythm’s so fast you can’t track each thump it racks against your chest.

Surely you’re only dreaming, you have to be.

“It’s perfectly fine for an assignment, but that’s not really what it’s for.”

At this point, your breathing grew shallow, life’s essence is being stolen by Yeosang himself and quite possibly you could fall off the stool right in this moment.

There’s a gentle touch on your waist, and his voice raises above its usual tone that’s reminiscent of a late night drive under the still glow of street lamps.

“Y/N?”

You bring your entire figure around in a 180. Yeosang steps back, his hand drawing away like the snap of a rubber band. Before he can get away too far, you reach out to grab the dog tag hanging outside of his t-shirt splotched with various colors of paint, pulling him in to place your lips firmly on his.

It took a moment for Yeosang to relax and let his emotions dance with yours. Your other hand rests at the nape of his neck to pull him as close as possible, his coming up to cradle under your skull.

Your kisses molded into one, and while the essence of passion and longing kept the two of you stuck together like plaster, your butt bumps into the table of paint behind you and making Yeosang pull away with a small gasp.

“Yeosang, what the hell,” you emphasize, pulling him in by the belt loops of his jeans. He lets out a laugh, rubbing his forehead against yours and looking down at you like the truest form of art you are.

“Listen, isn’t this romantic, though?” He muses. “Think about it.”

You lean up and press a kiss to the corner of his lips, then pulling him in and resting your head on his chest. He sways you a bit side to side before you lift back up. “But one question. . .”

“Shit, I knew there’d be a catch,” Yeosang cowers away, but your hands find themselves cradled in his while he takes a couple steps back.

“Why the little bird?”

Yeosang peers over your shoulder since you’re standing in front of the canvas. “Oh, that? You always look. . . Tiny? You know, when you’re working with pastels? You always crouch when you do it on the floor and you like working with the color blue.”

“You have some wild interpretations, Yeosang.”

“Still romantic though, right?”

You press your forehead to his again, the sunshine igniting and bringing the warmth of Yeosang to life.

“It’s perfect.”

#ateez #yeosang #kang yeosang #ateez fluff #ateez one shot #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios

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splendidlyimperfect · 5 years ago

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Written for @fyeahstingsu Stingsu Event 2019 [super late entry I’m sorry!]; prompt: birthday

Also written for Nonbinary Month 2019 [Natsu + Trans, Sting + Trans]

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Sting's known for a long time that Natsu is who he wants to be with forever - ever since the day they met under a string of lanterns shaped like fireflies and kissed under the stars. The life they make together isn't always easy, but it's worth every moment.

Chapter Summary:

Chapters (5/5): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Natsu Dragneel/Sting Eucliffe Characters: Natsu Dragneel, Sting Eucliffe, Lucy Heartfilia, Levy McGarden Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Flowers, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, they're adorable and i love them, Natsu is awkward as hell, and Sting loves him for it, Tumblr: FTLGBTales, Marriage Proposal, Weddings, Wedding Fluff, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Pregnancy, Trans Male Pregnancy, parenting, Trans Sting, Trans Natsu, everyone's gay because reasons, Cute Kids, they're both awesome dads

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“I’m five.”

A little voice comes from the other side of the library information desk and Levy frowns, standing up from the computer and leaning over the counter. She’s greeted by a wild head of blond curls and serious blue eyes.

“Hey sweetie,” she says, giving the little boy a smile. “What’s your name?”

“Jacen,” he says, standing on his tiptoes and holding onto the counter. “I’m five and in kindergarten.”

“Wow,” Levy says, opening the gate and coming around the desk so she can crouch down next to Jacen. He’s wearing purple rain boots and a t-shirt that says you are my sunshine, and a clip with a sunflower on it is attempting to hold back some of his wild hair. “Do you need help with something, Jacen?”

“I needed a book,” he says, still looking incredibly serious for someone so little.

“What kind of book?”

“A book to give babies names,” he says. Levy raises her eyebrows, trying not to laugh as she stands up and offers him her hand. He stares at it for a second, then turns around and looks over to the other end of the library where a man with blond hair like Jacen’s is holding a little girl on his lap. The man looks up and waves at Jacen, giving Levy a smile.

“That’s my daddy and my sister,” Jacen says, waving back at the man and then taking Levy’s hand. “She’s two and boring.”

Levy laughs as she guides Jacen toward the nonfiction area, searching the rows of books until she comes to a section on pregnancy and parenting. She crouches down, running her fingers along the spines until she finds two books on baby names.

“Which one do you want?” she asks Jacen, holding them both out for his inspection. He peers at them with narrowed eyes. One is pink with a generic smiling baby on the front, and the other has a rainbow on it.

“I can have both?” he asks, looking up at Levy hopefully. Her heart melts at his sweet expression and she nods.

“Of course,” she says, and when his face transforms into a smile, she wants to pick him up and hug him. “Is your mommy having a baby?” she asks as she stands up and they both head back toward the desk.

“No,” Jacen says, shaking his head. “Papa has a baby.” Levy frowns, looking back over at the man with the little girl. Jacen gives her a spectacular eye roll and sighs. “That’s not Papa, that’s Daddy.”

“Ah,” Levy says.

Continue reading on AO3

She’s about to lead Jacen back over to his father when a voice says, “are you being polite, little man?” Levy turns to see another man with bright pink hair standing behind them and raising his eyebrows at Jacen.

“Papa!” Jacen shouts, throwing himself at the man. “Look! The lady finded me books to make a name for the baby!” Then he kisses the man’s stomach and turns back to Levy with a bright smile on his face. Levy realizes with the start that the man is pregnant, and it takes her brain a second to catch up with Jacen’s excited bouncing.

“I’m Natsu,” the man says, running his fingers through Jacen’s hair and then reaching out to shake Levy’s hand. “Sorry about him, he’s really excited.”

Levy shakes her head, smiling at both of them. “Don’t apologize,” she says, making a funny face at Jacen. He giggles, then lets go of Natsu and hugs her instead. “He’s much more polite than the last person who asked me for help.”

Natsu laughs, rubbing the back of his neck and nodding at the books. “He, uh… he has his own library card, but I’m pretty sure that’s not the kind of stuff kids normally take out.”

Levy waves off the embarrassed explanation, taking the library card that Jacen proudly holds out and running it under the scanner. “When are you due?” she asks.

“Oh.” Natsu’s cheeks turn pink and he looks back down at Jacen. “A month or so.”

“On Christmas!” Jacen says, staring up at Levy with a grin on his face.

“Maybe,” Natsu corrects, giving him a gentle smile. “Remember, we don’t know exactly when.”

“I know when,” Jacen says solemnly. “It’s my superpower.” Natsu rolls his eyes good-naturedly and is about to say something else when Jacen frowns at Levy’s stomach. “Do you have a baby too?” he asks.

“Jacen!” Natsu chides, reaching out for Jacen’s arm, but Levy just laughs and nods. She’s only showing a little right now, but Jacen’s not the first curious kid to ask.

“Guess what?” she says, crouching down next to Jacen again. “I have two babies.”

Jacen’s eyes widen and he looks back up at Natsu, who still looks vaguely embarrassed. “You can have two babies?” Jacen asks.

“Yep,” Levy says, smiling at him. “It’s called twins.”

“Papa, I want two babies!” Jacen says.

Natsu laughs. “No way, kiddo,” he says. “You and your sister and this little one are gonna be enough trouble.”

Jacen’s face falls, and Levy takes one of his hands. “How about when my babies are born, you can come see them?” she offers. Then she looks up at Natsu and adds, “if you papa says that’s okay.”

Natsu looks surprised, then smiles and nods. “Yeah,” he says, taking the books from Levy and resting one hand on Jacen’s head. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“You making new friends?” Sting asks when Jacen and Natsu rejoin him at the play area of the library. Penelope looks up from the blocks she’s playing with and says, “friends!”

“Jacen got us a playdate,” Natsu says, helping Sting up. “With twins.” Sting frowns and looks over at Levy, who is sorting books at the desk. “In six months,” Natsu clarifies. “I’m pretty sure he’s forgotten how boring babies are.”

Sting laughs, kissing Natsu’s cheek. “All right, you two,” he says, reaching down and lifting Penelope up onto his hip. “You ready to go see Uncle Rogue and Uncle Gray?”

Jacen’s eyes widen and he jumps up and down, then grabs Natsu’s hand and starts to drag him toward the doors. Natsu tugs Sting along behind him, laughing at Jacen’s excited squeals. “Guess that’s a yes.”

Sting puts the kids to bed that night while Natsu dozes on the couch.

“God, I love you,” Natsu murmurs when Sting finally reappears. He tips his head back on the couch and smiles at Sting, pulling him down for a kiss. Sting laughs, rubbing their noses together.

“I know you do,” he says. “You want popcorn?”

“Do you really need to ask that?” Natsu replies, curling up in the corner of the couch while Sting heads to the kitchen. Jacen and Penelope are both fast asleep, and part of Natsu feels like sleeping, too.

“You gonna make it through the movie?” Sting asks when he returns with popcorn. “Or should I put you to bed?” Natsu hums noncommittally, shifting to make room for Sting on the couch next to him.

“Maybe,” he admits, leaning into Sting. “You’re comfy.”

“I know,” Sting says, grinning and kissing Natsu’s head. He grabs a pillow and settles it into his lap so Natsu can lie down, then starts running his fingers through Natsu’s hair. “You’ve got peanut butter in here,” he comments, and Natsu just sighs.

“This is the last kid,” he grumbles, shifting to a more comfortable position. The baby kicks hard and he winces, then sighs when Sting starts rubbing gentle circles on his stomach. “That feels good.”

Sting doesn’t say anything, just gazes down at Natsu as he nudges Natsu’s shirt up and traces gentle patterns across his skin. Heat rushes to Natsu’s cheeks when Sting’s fingers run over the stretch marks across his stomach, but he doesn’t pull away. Sting likes him just like this.

“What if I wanna make out with you instead of watching a movie?” Sting asks, leaning down and kissing Natsu.

“I could be persuaded,” Natsu murmurs against Sting’s lips, reaching up and running a hand through his hair. Sting’s gentle touch moves further up Natsu’s side and Natsu hums happily, arching up into the touch.

“Good,” Sting says, kissing Natsu harder. Natsu nips at Sting’s lip and is about to suggest they head to the bedroom when the baby gives a particularly hard kick and he groans, tipping his head back into Sting’s lap.

“Sorry,” he grumbles. “They’re already interrupting us, and they aren’t even born yet.” Sting laughs, and when there’s another kick beneath his hand, he leans down and presses a kiss to Natsu’s stomach.

“I love you,” Sting whispers, and Natsu isn’t sure if Sting is talking to him or the baby, but it doesn’t really matter. The smile on Sting’s face is enough to light up the room.

There’s a familiar twisting sensation in Natsu’s stomach and he watches Sting’s eyes widen as he feels the movement under his fingers. “They’re doing gymnastics for you,” Natsu teases. He shifts again, groaning when he can’t quite get comfortable.

“Wanna come take a bath?” Sting asks, resting his head on Natsu’s stomach and gazing up at him. Natsu yawns, rubbing his face and nodding before looking over at the coffee table.

“What about the popcorn?”

Sting manages to run the bath without waking up either of the kids, and when they’re finally settled into it, Natsu breathes a sigh of relief. He relaxes between Sting’s legs, leaning back against his chest, and hums happily when Sting cups the water in his hands and starts to wet Natsu’s hair.

“You’re spoiling me,” Natsu murmurs, tipping his head forward as Sting’s fingers work out the knots – and peanut butter – from his hair.

“You deserve it,” Sting says, kissing the back of Natsu’s neck. “Plus, I’m not doing this for entirely altruistic reasons.”

Natsu laughs, reaching down into the water and running his hand up Sting’s thigh. The heat and gentle touches are making him sleepy, but he’s not quite ready to end the day yet.

“C’mere,” he says, tipping his head back against Sting’s shoulder and kissing him.

In a few weeks, everything’s going to change again. It’ll be loud and messy, and Natsu’s ready, this time – for the fussing and crying and the sleepless nights in the rocking chair. They’ll all be exhausted, and it’ll be entirely worth it, just like the other two.

But right now, Natsu’s warm and comfortable, curled up in his husband’s arms. They kiss softly, taking their time with each other because these simple, quiet touches are precious and so full of love.

And Natsu will never get tired of moments like this.

#fairy tail #ftlgbtales #ftlgbtfics #nbm2019 #stingsu #stingsu2019 #nonbinary month #sting eucliffe #natsu dragneel #sting x natsu #prompt: birthday #trans characters #fanfic #my fic

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oc-rehab-centre · 5 years ago

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OC Design Basics #1 - Colour Palettes

Every part of an original character, fandom or non-fandom, humanoid or animalian, is important to the bigger picture. Your original character is like a mosaic or a puzzle, every piece is crucial to having a “good” character: personality, backstory, relationships, etc., you know the deal. But today we’re going to discuss: the importance of OC design, common mistakes and what you can do to fix them.

Now, this isn’t a post made only to talk about how OC fame/attention is linked to OC design… Which is really isn’t, and I hope that’s clear! This isn’t a tutorial on how to get famous either, but rather a collection of information and tips meant to help you! This is also geared towards a younger audience - so some things are pretty obvious.

Alrighty then, let’s get into this~

Importance of Design

We all know the idiom “don’t judge a book by its cover”: which discourages people to prejudge something’s overall worth from a mere first glance, positive or negative. However, when it comes to characters, you’ll often see the images before you see their biography or information and get to know the nitty-gritty information about them.

It’s pretty superficial, but first impressions can make or break your OC’s popularity and reception, but alas, that is just human nature. If you have a fandom OC; how well your OC’s design blends in with the existing cast, or how much they stand out against them can reel in an intrigued audience. Your OC’s design is just one of many factors which may bring you an audience, or leave you with just a small one - but shove aside that notion and let’s focus on what’s actually important.

A good OC is congruent, with all the little pieces working together naturally to tell your OC’s story and fit with aspects of their personality in a way that doesn’t feel forced. Their appearance should reflect things about them, and give the audience an idea as to what they are like from a first glance or two. It’s a challenge, but as you grow more experienced, it becomes easier. However, some help along the way is always nice, and that’s why we’re here!

In this tip & tutorial post, I’m mostly going to cover more natural colours and make your OC look more, well, “original”! Of course as always, these are just opinions, and you are just as entitled to your own as I am to mine! Also, I’ll be talking about more common mistakes I’ve seen several young artists and creators make, so if you’re new to OC creation, here’s some tips from someone whose been doing too much of this kinda thing!

I will not be covering facial features and shapes here, but perhaps I will in the near future??? This mostly focuses on colours!

For this tutorial, by the way, I used a colouring page found HERE. I’m not entirely sure if this is the original artist, nor is the original artist credited. If you ever find the source and wanna let us here at @oc-rehab-centre know, that’d be just dandy!

Common Mistake #1 - Hair Colours/Styles

If you’ve browsed the undiscovered page of DeviantART, you may find yourself browsing the work of younger creators. It is always wonderful to see young artists working to produce their own characters, but it’s a shame to say that most OC creators can determine or guess your age range and experience from the way you design characters, or perhaps an inability to credit base makers lmao.

What I see a lot on DeviantART when it comes down to hair colour is often… unstimulating. Hair colours like black and oversaturated colours are often used, perhaps due to a lack of understanding the colour wheel of infinite possibilities or how to make colours beyond what they can find in their box of 24 Crayola coloured pencils.

When it comes to OC design, you want to try your best to avoid black and bright, bright colours that are hard on the eyes unless absolutely necessary and essential to your character.

Black hair can easily be substituted for other dark and natural colours, like shades of brown or red. Heck, there are entire charts of natural hair colours online you can browse.

Blinding shades of red, green, blue, etc. can all be made easier on the eyes by simply mellowing or darkening the colour. Perhaps you might settle for pastel hues, or a darker and less saturated tone. Both your eyes and the eyes of your viewers will thank you for making something other than pitch-black or a vibrant hot magenta!

Hopefully this little diagram shows what a difference a bit of playing around with your colour wheel can do! Now time to address another common trope in OC creation when it comes to hair: hair styles.

A very common hairstyle that you see is the hair over one eye. OCs with their bangs draped down over one eye. TV Tropes discusses this infamous design cliche as a way of symbolizing sexuality, shyness, solidarity or powerful [HERE].. However, most OCs with this hairstyle are not always explained and if it is, it’s done poorly, making it seem as though a) the creator was merely going for a run-of-the-mill edgy look with their character OR b) they just can’t draw the other eye.

While having an OC who's a bit on the edgy and badass side is cool and all, it is a trope to avoid. I went through a phase of having my hair over one eye in my elementary days but trust me, it’s not a very practical hairstyle, and it’s certainly not very stylish if your bangs are all scraggly too. If you have chosen this hairstyle to avoid drawing the other eye, just take the leap! You’re not going to improve unless you push yourself to experiment with new hairstyles, of which there are many!

Finding other hairstyles to use for your OC is as simple as browsing the Internet. There are countless of video and written tutorials to watch on how to draw hair styles, all of which are arguably more appealing and interesting than that mock of edgy bangs. If you are striving for an edgy character, there are other ways to show that in their design than simply such an ill-mannered hairstyle!

Credit: doggerland

Common Mistake #2 - Eyes/Facial Scars

Much like hair colours, overly-saturated colours can ruin eyes when they seem out of place. You can have an OC with natural coloured hair, a good colour palette and then oh wait - an eye colour that doesn’t really fit. I’ve seen many young creators using eye colours that really don’t exist and look very unnatural, clashing with their character’s design.

Like with hair, a certain number of natural eye colours exist. Even if you’re bending from natural eye colours, avoid using saturated shades or shades that are just too dark. You can get some nice and more natural colours by playing around with your colour wheel. You can be bold without using such assaulting colours! XD

Another common trope derived from anime and gaming are scars. I know I was mostly going to discuss colours here, but like hairstyles, it’s something worth addressing!Once again, I’m gonna make reference to TV Tropes’ article. The most common scars include:

A cut over one eye

A claw mark (usually three or four even gashes on the chest or face)

Any of the Standard Bleeding Spots

Any scar shaped like an X.

A scar on the face that happened in a sword duel.

Credit: TV Tropes

Regardless of the universe, fandom or non-fandom, scars may add to your character’s story, but it takes a lot to make a scar on the face seem original. I’m personally not a fan of OCs with scars on their face, since it’s often not acknowledged or even drawn in a way that is realistic.

For example, getting slashed across the eye with a sword or blade would not leave a clean scar and a pearly, blinded eye, as we often see in anime. It would look nasty and it would look as disabling as it feels, so when people don’t abide to the very nature of how the human body heals, it irks me a little bit.

My tip here would be to avoid scars that go over the eye unless you’re going to do it right. Research the injuries if you don’t have a weak stomach, and see what injuries like that would really look like. Overall, facial scars are also something you should steer away from. Important scars can go elsewhere, you know! There’s more to your OC’s body than just their face.

Scars also come in more shapes than just 3-4 animal claw marks, burns from abusive parents or straight-lined sword scars. Scars come in different shapes and sizes. Some are hypertrophic/raised while others are flat and just sort of look like birthmarks upon healing. Are you willing to give up your action-packed duel scene and settle for a more realistic scar for your OC? It’ll help in the long run if you’re aiming for accuracy.

Common Mistake #3 - Colour Palettes

Oh goodness you guys have probably heard enough about me yammering about colour. But hey - this tip post is mostly about the importance of colour. This here is the last major tip for designing your OC. This will be the last part of this post, and I apologize for this being a bit of a mess! I was trying to keep this one as general as possible!

ANYWAYS-

Colour palettes are essential to a character! I hope that’s ingrained in your brain at this point because it really is! Their wardrobe should reflect their personality and should be carefully considered as well. Too many times have I seen colour palettes that just do not work at all with the character’s attire nor their apparent personality.

Using the girl who has been our base for examples in this post, let’s take a look at her attire. A baggy hat, a bandanna around her neck, a sweater, fingerless gloves and a layered skirt. This is rather cutesy attire and while perhaps you could argue that a pink and teal getup or an edgelord black and rainbow outfit could work, there are palettes that might fit this character a little better.

Pastel colours fit better with this style of dressing. It feels more correct to have the four palettes on the right than the two on the left. This is the effect your colour choices have on how pleasing your character looks to the eye.

And that is all!

We hope you enjoyed this tip post! Likes, reblogs and follows are always appreciated. Some aspects of OC design were not covered here, especially the important stuff that more experienced creators would’ve wanted to see like how to make face, eye, nose, etc. shapes more unique and clothing design. I’ll try to ensure that gets covered in the future, as I said before, but I hope that those that read this enjoyed it!

#General #Multifandom #Non Fandom #Multifandom OC #Non Fandom OC #OC Help #OC Review

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renywrites · 6 years ago

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Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Hello! I am back! I wrote a completely new Alternate Universe that... I don’t think it’s ever been done before. This is only part one of many.

So this is my baby. I love it dearly. Please enjoy with me.

If you don’t want to read the full thing here, you can find it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18105458

***

Why are there so many songs about rainbows And what’s on the other side — Rainbow Connection

As far as Lance was concerned, there was only one side to a rainbow.

At least, that was what he had been taught. You see, he’d grown up on the one side of the rainbow - the one with the light and the color and the beautiful arches stretching over the city, as far as the eye could see. He lived in a city with buildings made of crystal, made for light to refract off them and fill the world with color.

The people themselves were bathed in color - dressed in beautifully colored clothes that complimented their rich and luxurious skin tones, hair that caught the beautiful colors of their world and took it as their own. Their eyes were luminous and their smiles bright. It was as though whatever had created them had harnessed the sun and the colors of the rainbow it had made their home to write them into being.

They learned in school about how to take these colors and put them to use; how to harness the power they’d been gifted and use it to better the world around them. Lance had chosen blue. It was the sweetest of the colors, cool and refreshing. They used it on the bodies of water around them, purifying and healing with it. Many citizens who wielded blue became nurses or midwives or caretakers. They were sweet and gentle and curious beings.

This curiosity was both a blessing and a curse. It often got Lance into trouble as a child. When he got older, he sated his curiosities with the vast collection of books in the city library and archives. He also went on excursions past the city lines when it got to be too much, but nobody knew about those. Not even his best friends.

But after he’d read all of the books he could get his hands on, after he’d learned about the same things in a hundred different ways in a hundred different author’s words - Lance got bored again.

It wasn’t until one specific librarian had noticed him sulking in the stacks that he had been given one particular book.

This was the day Lance McClain’s life changed.

***

“You really shouldn’t do this, Lance.” Hunk hisses for the third time that afternoon.

“Yeah, you said that.” Lance rolls his eyes, looking over at the yellow wielder. Hunk was nervously folding Lance’s basket of unattended clean clothes. He tended to fuss when he was anxious.

“I think it’s cool.” Pidge pipes up from where she was lounging on his bed. The green wielder was scrolling through her datapad.

“We don’t even know if what that book said was true - it’s a hundred years old!” Hunk insists. “I’m almost certain that it’s just some elaborate plan to kidnap unsuspecting victims!”

Lance rolls his eyes, packing a water bottle into his backpack and zipping it closed. “And what if it is true?” He challenges. “If it’s true, then there’s a whole other world beyond the borders of our city! I want to see it.”

“Of all things, why did you have to be blue?” Hunk bemoans, folding a shirt a little too aggressively. Pidge snorts.

“I’ll be back before school tomorrow.” Lance huffs. “And remember - I’m sleeping over at your house, Hunk.” He winks. “Bye!”

“Please be careful!” Hunks calls after him as he slides out the window.

“Bring me pictures!” Pidge hollers after him.

Lance grins, slinging his bag over his shoulder and heading toward the setting sun.

***

There are rumors of a place far beyond our borders — a place devoid of light and color and beauty. I have only heard of it twice, in hushed conversations and fearful whispers behind closed doors. Those who know of it call it the Monochrome, or the other side of the Rainbow.

It is said to be a place where the evil are cast out, but there is no evidence of this. I have looked extensively into our justice system, and there is no sign of anyone ever coming close to sending people there. It would be considered inhumane in our leader’s eyes.

Although many people seem to be afraid of it, I have not heard of any threats or worrying behaviour from the Monochrome and its people. As the devout scientist and explorer I claim to be, it is my duty to not only find this place, but learn everything I can about it and its people.

Wish me luck.

— Dr. C. Wimbleton-Smythe, Over the Rainbow

***

As the light faded from the sky, drained from vivid golds and pinks and oranges and replaced with silver and gold and navy of the richest kind, Lance found himself venturing farther from the city than he had ever been before. It was thrilling, but he couldn’t decide if that was a good feeling or not. He knew his mother was going to kill him if she caught wind of what he was doing, but hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

He wasn’t paying much attention to the things around him. Or he didn’t until he realized that the colors of the sky were duller than they had been minutes ago. Upon closer inspection, he realizes that the color around him was fading. Muting itself. He looked down at his own skin, at his own clothes, and felt oddly out of place. He seemed a little too bright, a little too intense for this place.

Lance stops in a clearing in the trees, looking around. The ground drained from a muted green to a dull, drab grey. It bled into the trees, into the sky, into the land that stretched for miles before him. It doesn’t even occur to Lance to take the pictures Pidge wanted.

The color was gone, replaced with shades of grey and blacks and whites. Lance pulls out the journal he’d been given by the library, grinning and leafing through to the bookmark he’d left.

“The Monochrome.” He breathes, his fingers brushing over the yellowing pages.

“What are you doing here?”

The journal snaps shut between Lance’s hands and he jumps, whirling around to look at… a boy.

Well, not exactly a boy, he looked to be about Lance’s age. But that was where the resemblance stopped.

He was shorter than Lance, his arms crossed over his chest and his brow furrowed. His stance was defensive, his lips turned downward in a scowl. He looked angry, but that’s not why Lance found that he couldn’t breathe.

This boy was breathtaking in a way that Lance had never seen before. His skin was pale and unblemished, almost glowing in the dim moonlight. His hair was the color of ink, looping around his face in soft waves that brushed against sharp cheekbones.

Lance couldn’t quite make out the color of his eyes. He guessed they were some form of grey, because they were softer than the rest of his features, however wary and angry they were.

“Uh…” He chokes, after he remembers to breathe. What did he say to someone who looked so different yet also made Lance’s heart thump hard in his chest?

“What,” the boy repeats, stepping closer toward Lance. “Are you doing here?”

“I’m exploring.” Lance declares after he’d gathered his wits about him. “I read about this place in a book - I thought it wasn’t real! But, wow, look- it is! You’re real! Wait till Pidge hears about this, she’s gonna be so psyched! Can I take your picture?”

The Monochrome boy gives him an incredulous look, some of the defensiveness draining from his posture. “Excuse me?”

Lance grins, then extends a hand. “Hi, I’m Lance. I’m a big fan.”

His eyes flick from Lance’s hand to his face, uncertainty flickering across his face. He takes a step forward after a while, reaching forward and taking his hand.

The Monochrome boys touch is… well, normal. Lance wasn’t quite sure what he had been expecting. Cold? Calluses, maybe? Anything but the soft, warm grip that slid into his own, shaking his hand firmly. It’s gone as soon as it had come.

“Uh… Keith. I’m Keith.” He - Keith - says, the wariness giving way to confused curiosity. “What… are you doing here?”

“Exploring.” He says, holding the journal aloft. “So you guys aren’t a myth. There’s more than one of you, right?”

The apprehension is back. Keith edges away, picking at the hem of his shirt. “Why do you wanna know?” He asks, his expression pinched. “You aren’t a spy, are you?”

“What?” He blinks, looking down at his vibrantly colored self. “No! Besides, if I was, I would be the worst spy in the world. I don’t fit in here at all.”

Keith relaxes again, smiling faintly. How Lance — or anyone, for that matter — could have thought these people were cold and threatening was beyond him. Keith had the nicest smile he’d ever seen.

“No,” the Monochrome boy concedes. “I guess you don’t.”

The two of them stand in awkward silence for a moment before Keith clears his throat. “Well. It was nice to meet you, Lance, but I should…”

“Can I come back?” Lance interrupts, blushing faintly. “I mean… I know it’s probably weird I’m here. But nobody knows you exist! Or… I don’t think that anyone does.”

Keith smiles faintly, tilting his head to the side. “Why are you so interested in my people?”

Lance thinks about this a moment, brushing his fingers over the old, leather bound book that had taken him this far and brought him to Keith. He wasn’t quite sure why he’d come, let alone why he was so interested. There was just something about Dr. Wimbleton-Smythe’s genuine curiosity that had resonated with Lance.

He wanted to prove that these people were worth knowing about. Nobody deserved to be a long-forgotten myth. Especially not when they still existed.

So he answers honestly. “I’m not sure yet. But I’d like to find out.”

This makes Keith give him a wide, crooked smile. Lance finds he’d like to document that smile. “Okay.” The Monochrome boy agrees. “You can come back.”

“Thank you.” Lance breathes. “I can’t- thank you. Tomorrow? Here?”

“Tomorrow,” Keith agrees, tucking his ebony hair behind his ear, a hint of that smile tugging at his lips. “Here.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Lance grins. “Bye, Keith.”

“Goodbye, Lance.”

***

I have reached the part where our two worlds collide. The color has faded, like something has sucked the vibrancy away from this stretch of land. At first I thought it may be sick, but upon closer inspection, the foliage seems to be in peak condition.

This is a phenomenon that I have never seen before, and I can only hope to meet someone from this land who may explain it to me. That said, I have decided to stay on the edge of this land, in case these people are as hostile as they have been proclaimed to be.

I am optimistic and hopeful toward the future of my research and adventures.

— Dr. C. Wimbleton-Smythe, Over the Rainbow

***

“Pics or it didn’t happen,” Pidge scoffs the next day at school, leaning back in her seat and munching on her sandwich. It was one of the rare times she wasn’t typing away at her screen.

“I told you,” Lance groans. “I forgot! Plus he didn’t seem like the type who would’ve wanted his picture taken. I was being respectful!”

“It was safe though, right?” Hunk worries, not even blinking when Pidge reaches over and takes a handful of his chips. “He didn’t seem… I dunno, aggressive?”

“What? No! No, he was… Well, I mean, he was worried at first. But he was nice!”

“Did he seriously not have any color?” Pidge leans forward, her hazel eyes intense. “Like - just black and white? Like one of those weird pictures they keep in the museums?”

“Weird… pictures? Museum?” Lance blinks.

Pidge nods, pulling back and giving him a bored look. “Yeah, like the ones nobody goes to anymore? They have this weird section with black and white pictures.”

Weird pictures. Weird black and white pictures. As far as he knew, the cameras here had never been black and white. Maybe… maybe-

“Pidge, I need you to take me to the museum. Right now.”

“Now?” She asks incredulously. “Right now? In the middle of lunch?”

“In the middle of school?” Hunk yelps.

“Yes!” Lance springs out of his chair, packing up his bag haphazardly. “Right now, I have to go!”

“This journal is making you crazy.” Hunk says warily. Pidge only heaves a frustrated sigh, grudgingly packing her own bags. “Fine. But if I fail chemistry, it’s all your fault.”

“I can live with that. Now come on!”

***

The museum desk clerk looked bored out of her mind when she gave them their passes. “The exhibit is that way.” She points, popping her gum and tossing her bright pink hair over her shoulder. “Have a wonderful day.”

“Come on!” Lance walks as fast as he could, his long legs eating up the ground under him and basically leaving his friends behind. Which seemed to be fine with them; they were going to explore other places of the near-empty museum.

Sure enough, the black and white exhibit was tiny, but it was there. And right before the hall, there was a massive portrait and a plaque that read; This Exhibit was Founded by the Research of Doctor Coran Wimbleton-Smythe.

The man was a regal, expressive creature, with wild orange hair and an impressive mustache. He had a wide smile, mirth and wisdom twinkling in his blue eyes. He looked like he had seen the world and found beauty in all of it. Even in the Monochrome.

A thrill runs through Lance. He wanted to be just like Dr. Wimbleton-Smythe.

With a reverent, hopeful breath, Lance walks into the room that had long since been forgotten and looked over.

The walls held big black and white pictures, full of life despite the colorlessness. Coran seemed to be in every single one of them, vibrant still despite the lack of pigment. He had his arm thrown around a beautiful woman in one, his head thrown back in laughter, a drink in one hand. The woman was grinning, staring off just past where the camera was aimed. The plaque on the bottom read Midsummer Festival, circa 20XX.

The next picture was of a family, drawn close together, arms around one another. The mother was cradling a baby. At first glance, they seemed somber, but Lance had seen that expression on Keith, and somehow he knew that these people simply took everything seriously.

The room was filled with similar pictures. There were weddings, celebrations, funerals, or simply people going about their day to day lives. Dr. Wimbleton-Smythe had taken these people and painted them in the same light as the ones from Rainbow City. They weren’t different at all.

***

The people here are more lovely than anyone I have ever seen in even that of my own home. I find their lack of color to be more appealing than that of my own people. Their beauty is not found surface deep, but instead found in the kind way they treat each other and the loyalty that holds their society together.

I have found that the people in my own home, while they may be derived from heavenly color themselves, are vain and condescending toward that which they do not understand. And, as such, I have found that they do not understand the people of Monochrome.

There is such a deeply rooted fear of the unknown in my people. It closes their minds and hearts, poisoning their reasoning and clouding their judgement. I wish they would only get to know the lovely people in these towns to love them just as dearly as I do.

Dr. C. Wimbleton-Smythe, Over the Rainbow

***

“There’s a museum exhibit with pictures of your people.”

Keith looks up, surprise writ on his face.

They were sitting under a tree, the only one standing on the in-between. Keith had suggested they do it, after Lance had revealed he’d brought snacks and the Monochrome boy had admitted to never having tried the things Lance had brought.

“There is?”

Lance nods, giving him a small smile. “It isn’t very big, but… It’s there. Dr. Wimbleton-Smythe instated it a really long time ago. I guess nobody has bothered to take it down.”

Keith blinks, then tilts his head to the side. “How do you know about him?”

“Oh!” Lance turns, pulling the journal out of his backpack. “The librarian gave this to me after I read all of the books in the library.”

Keith snorts. “You read all of the books in the library?”

Lance smiles sheepishly, turning to hand him the book. “Yeah. I was a pretty hyperactive kid. It was that or get into more trouble than it was worth.”

The Monochrome boy chuckles, shaking his head and looking down at the book. A bit of hair falls into his face, and Lance has the urge to push it away from his face. He’d always been an impulsive boy.

Keith looks up when Lance’s fingers brush over his cheek and ear, his eyes wide and his gaze slightly awed. For a moment, they stare at each other, unable or unwilling to break eye contact.

But then Lance pulls his hand back, a brilliant red blooming over his cheeks. “Sorry.” He says quietly, glancing away from Keith.

He only looks up when a thumb brushes over his cheek. Lance jolts, surprised, and turns to see Keith with that same awed expression. It occurs to him then that Keith had probably never seen color — or at least not color as vivid as this before. So he leans into the boy’s touch, letting him trace over the slowly fading blush.

“Why aren’t you scared of me?” Keith whispers, looking up at Lance, his gaze troubled. Upon closer inspection, Lance realizes that his eyes are a muted purple, like some sort of smoky amethyst.

“Should I be scared?” Lance asks, just as quietly.

He gets a smile and a little shake of the head before Keith is pulling his hand away. Lance wants to pull him back, hold his hand there. But he doesn’t, instead watching as porcelain fingers brush over yellowed pages.

“I can’t read this.” He admits after a moment, looking up at Lance. “I don’t read this language.”

Lance laughs, taking it back. “Do you want me to read it to you?”

His heart flutters when he gets that crooked, happy grin for the second time. “Yes, please.”

***

I have fallen in love.

It isn’t with a woman, or a man, or anyone in between. No, I have fallen in love with this culture and harmony. These people feel like home. It hurts me to think that I have to go back to Rainbow City, but I also feel at peace with my decision.

The people who raised me need to know who these lovely, monochromatic people are. They need to hear from one of their own that these are not people who need to be feared, let alone casted out for the way they were created. I — we — owe it to this beautiful group of people to understand.

I have fallen in love. Irreversibly, irrevocably in love.

— Dr. C. Wimbleton-Smythe, Over the Rainbow

***

The sixth time Lance visits, Keith falls asleep against his chest.

Lance was reading to him, the sun still in the sky. Keith had settled under his arm to see the diagrams and sketches that filled the empty spots in the pages. Somewhere along the way, his eyes had grown heavy and he had fallen asleep against the boy from Rainbow City.

He hadn’t noticed, not at first. But when Keith stopped asking questions or making Lance pause a moment so he could study the sketches, he trailed off and looked down.

The Monochrome boy had his cheek pressed against Lance’s collarbone. His thick eyelashes brushed over his cheekbones, his lips parted as he breathes, soft and even. His hand was curled, his knuckles pressed against his cheek and holding on loosely to the sweatshirt Lance had thrown on.

He was lovely.

Lance could see where the Doctor had been coming from. Then again, he had seen it since the first time he’d bumped into Keith. And to think, before this journal, Lance hadn’t even known that someone as beautiful as the boy on his chest had existed.

He brushes a hand through inky locks, not daring to move an inch in case he disturbed Keith.

And after his foot fell asleep and the chill from the setting sun started to creep from the floor into his bones, Lance realized he might just be a little bit in love.

***

“My mom wants to meet you.”

Lance looks up from divvying out the fruit he’d brought, his eyes wide. “I… Excuse me?”

Keith looks away, rubbing his cheek in a gesture Lance had come to realize meant that Keith was being shy. “She… I’ve been talking about you, and… she wants to meet you.”

“You talk about me?” Lance squeaks, not quite able to compute. Keith talked about him! He could sing praises to the heavens, run a thousand laps around the city fountains, die happy in this exact moment.

And then he realized just what Keith had said, and his elation turns to slight fear.

“Your… mom wants to meet me.” He repeats, after Keith nudges him with a worried call of his name. He must’ve been unresponsive.

“Yes,” the Monochrome boy nods, biting his lip.

“When?” He asks, his voice faint.

“Um…” Keith smiles, shy. “Today? She said I could invite you to dinner. So.. want to come to dinner?”

Lance stares at him, his eyes wide. The silence drags for a long, terrible minute, before Keith pulls away, his face falling. “Unless you don’t want to, that’s okay- I get it. I’m- I’m me, and… that’s okay.”

“No!” Lance reaches over, taking his hands, shaking his head quickly. Oh, heavens, stars almighty, he was an idiot. “No. I’m sorry, I just- you caught me off guard. Of course I want to come to dinner. Thank you for inviting me.”

The Monochrome boy looks down at their hands, then back up at him, his smile hesitant. “Yeah?” He whispers, squeezing Lance’s fingers hopefully.

“Yeah.” Lance whispers back, taking a chance and leaning forward, pressing a soft kiss to this beautiful boy’s flawless forehead.

***

Krolia Kogane was the single most terrifying woman on this side of the border, Lance had come to realize.

He and Keith had made the trek into town, past a few dozen curious faces and polite smiles (he was certain he’d be met with hostile stares and terrified mothers pulling their children away. That’s what Keith would have been greeted with). They’d walked through the town, right to what seemed to be the biggest house in the whole place.

Standing in the doorway was Krolia Kogane, cutting an imposing figure as her son lead a Rainbow City boy up to her and into her house. And now she was sitting across from him at their kitchen table, her gaze inscrutable.

“So,” she starts, and he snaps to attention. “Keith tells me you’ve been visiting him.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lance replies hastily, then clears his throat and adds, “He’s very nice.”

Krolia gives him the slightest of smiles. One of Keith’s smiles. “He is, isn’t he?” She looks toward the stairs, where Keith had disappeared to get one thing or another. She turns her gaze back to him, then sighs. “I don’t know what you know of our history, Lance, but the Rainbow folk haven’t exactly been the most friendly.”

“Yes, ma’am. I… I know a little of it.” Lance nods solemnly. He hesitates a minute, then lifts his gaze to hers. “I’m sorry.” He says softly. “I don’t want to hurt Keith in any way. I… I really like him.”

Keith’s mother studies him a moment, then smiles and sits back. “You look at him the way my husband used to look at me.”

And again that bright red blooms over his cheeks, warmth settling in his chest. He looks toward the stairs. “I really like him.” He says again.

The three of them spend the evening making traditional dishes and swapping stories. Tonight was the first night Lance heard Keith laugh without restraint and the first night he wanted to pull him close and kiss him.

At the end of the night, he gets that chance. They’re lingering on the border, standing in their perfect little in-between. Keith is stalling, dragging out their goodbyes with soft thank yous and his fingers twined around Lance’s.

When there’s a breath of silence, a moment with their eyes locked and the silence heavy around them, Lance leans forward.

Keith’s lips are soft and gentle, his breath stalling between them as his brain catches up with his body. His arms reach up, wrap around Lance’s neck. Lance puts a hand on the small of his back, pulling him against his chest and kissing him like it was the only thing in the world he wanted to do. Because, in all reality, it was.

They part with the promise to see eachother again the following night. And the one after that. And the one after that.

When Lance leaves, all the colors around him seems dull without Keith by his side.

***

“I think I’m in love with him.” Lance says one afternoon, when all of his friends are hanging out in his room.

Hunk looks up, surprise flickering over his face. Pidge’s typing stops.

“What?” His best friends echo, almost in sync with one another.

“You haven’t even known him that long,” Hunk protests.

“We haven’t even met the guy!” Pidge huffs.

Lance rolls over on his bed, blinking at them. “Do you want to meet him?” He asks.

That night, Lance asks Keith if he wants to meet them.

“Will they like me?” Keith asks, worried as he looks up at Lance. They’re curled up in Keith’s bed, back to their usual reading sessions (or, rather, Keith’s daily naptime before dinner).

“Of course they will.” Lance smiles, smoothing his hair down and kissing his forehead. “I like you. They’re bound to like you — we have similar interests.”

“Okay,” Keith concedes after a moment of long and hard thought, snuggling back in. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

***

It wasn’t going well. Keith was flighty and nervous the moment he saw that there was three of them. He flinched when Lance took his hand, apologizing softly when he sees the concern on the Rainbow Citizens face.

Hunk was anxious as all get out; he had done some research himself, but of course he hadn’t borrowed the journal from Lance. All of the feedback he got painted Keith — sweet, soft, beautiful Keith — out to be a cold hearted monster.

Pidge had her own suspicions. This was displayed after tense introductions when she leaned over to Hunk and murmured, “He looks like a ghost.”

They hadn’t seen it, but Lance had seen his Monochrome boy crumble. He had felt fingers tighten on his own, heard the soft exhale.

“Pidge,” Lance says, aghast. “He can hear you.”

She has the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry.”

After an hour of agonizing small talk and mediating from Lance, he’d given up and told the group he was getting tired and that they should probably head home. But once they’d started off, he hung back.

Keith holds it together for a few minutes after they’re out of sight. But then his lip starts to tremble and his fingers twitch.

“Oh, Keith,” Lance breathes, pulling him against his chest, just in time to catch a weak sob against his shirt.

“I’m sorry.” He gasps wetly. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, no. It isn’t your fault. You haven’t done anything wrong. I forgot… just how much my society has been taught to pretend yours doesn’t exist.”

He feels Keith try to form words, and he feels his heart break when all he comes up with is another sob. So he holds him, until the tears are dried and he can kiss those trembling lips.

“I want to take you to my parents.” He whispers, stroking his cheek, brushing away the tears. Keith looks up at him, smoky eyes wide and dewy. “I want to show the world — my world — just how much I love you.”

“You do?” Keith asks, and smiles.

“I do.” He tilts his head up, pressing his lips against his forehead and lingering there.

“Tomorrow?” Keith whispers.

Lance smiles against his skin and nods. Tomorrow.

***

A life well spent is, in my eyes, one spent devoted to easing the suffering of others. I believe I have had a good life. A wonderful life, even. Though I was unable to change the minds of many people, those who listened made a great difference, and I hope that one day, it may change this world for the better.

My life as I have known is nearly over. My bones are fragile, my health even more so. The rest of my life may be spent in a bed, but I am surrounded by loved ones and filled with happiness.

I hope that you, my dear reader, have gained something from listening to the ramblings of an old man. I hope that your life is filled with as much wonder and beauty as I was able to find. I wish you well, in your studies and your happiness.

Dr. Coran Wimbleton-Smythe, Over the Rainbow

***

The walk through town stops many people, gathers much attention, earns stares and murmurs from people who happened upon them. But Lance walked proudly, Keith at his side. And Keith was glowing, hardly paying attention to the people around him as he took in all of the color with childish wonderment.

“It’s so beautiful,” He had said in hushed tones the moment they entered the city.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Lance had answered.

Now they were stepping into his house, into Lance’s life. With his many brothers and sisters, with his mother cooking dinner at the stove, with the house full of the memories he’d carried with him for his entire life.

“Lance! Where have you been? I need you to come help with dinner, Veronica is-” His mother rounds the corner, then stops, her eyes falling on Keith.

Lance steps forward, Keith’s hand in his. “Mom,” He says, with a voice that promised them both an eternity of tomorrows and an abundance of love. “This is Keith.”

#klance #keith #lance #Voltron legendary defender #monochrome keith #rainbow lance #not so slow burn #light angst #happy ending #part one #refraction - the series #renywrites

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xuxii-sushii · 7 years ago

Text

unfaithful | [2/3]

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader.

Genre: ANGST!, drama.

Plot: The moment when you realize that everything that was ❛ oh so perfect ❜ in your mind was nothing but fabricated with lies and betrayal. You fell for Jungkook. And it hit you hard; you got played.

Word count: 3k

(One-shot turned into a 3 part story)

“Really? Black and silver?”, Nick-Cristina’s boyfriend- murmured under his breath after accepting the first gift of the evening.

“Hey! Don’t say that! It’s beautifully wrapped,” Cristina slapped his arm.

“I guess.”

You giggled at their bickering. Their banters were the only reason you laughed in the last five months. But hey, it’s a start.

Nick was a budding writer who just bagged a huge publishing company to launch his new book. It was a big deal. Hence, the grand book launch.

Everything was set up by the company which just showed how much faith they had in Nick as a writer. All you were allowed to help with was the decorations and the menu.

Ah, the menu. You chose all your favorites and they, tasted, AMAZING.

You would manage to sneak to the food court in between pleasantries frequently. And now you were there, again, with a dipped meatball and a glass of Mimosa.

“I can’t believe you. Again?,” Cristina said while walking towards you.

You nodded, “Again,” and winked at her.

She picked up a glass of mimosa as well while you ate your meatball.

You were about to sip your drink when your eyes landed on a familiar figure.

No.

It can’t be.

No.

That familiar figure turned to his side to talk to Nick.

It is.

It is him.

Your glass’s edge was just an inch away from your lips when you completely froze on the sight in front of you.

“Hey? What’s wrong?”, Cristina looked at you when she noticed you going stiff.

You didn’t tell her clearly about what happened. You just said it was not working because of the distance and it was completely fine. Which it wasn’t. At all.

You vaguely said it ended on good terms; while in reality it ended on.. terms.

“Why did you invite him? Out of all people?”, you asked her still looking at him.

“Jungkook?”, she questioned, “I thought you guys were good. Also, I didn’t invite him; Nick did. He helped him in the publishing of his book. I couldn’t ask him to not invite the main reason this is happening.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”, you snapped in a low voice.

“You said you didn’t want me to talk about him, remember? You’ve been ignoring it for a while, Y/N.”

That was true. But it wasn’t relevant at this point because you were about to breakdown in a gathering of 2000 people.

What are you going to do now? Run? Act normal? Hide under the table?

“Go talk to him.”

Or maybe, that.

Yeah, no.

“Nope. Gotta run,” you said as you turned to your left towards the nearest restroom. You went in the single restroom and with your back still against the door, you were breathing heavier than usual, unable to take in this mess of a situation.

Knock knock.

Who the fuck is it?

“Occupied!”, you screamed.

Knock knock.

It isn’t him, is it?

Of course not.

What if he saw you and followed you here to talk to you? Maybe he wants to explain. Or be with you. Maybe he has an explanation that will make you forgive him and you both can be together.

“It’s me, Y/N! Open up!”, you recognized Cristina’s voice.

Maybe not.

You told her everything.

“Wow.“

“Wow indeed.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I didn’t know how.”

“Y/N?”

“Yes, Cristina?”

“Let’s get out of here.”

Pain.

Excruciating pain- that you experienced- was making a comeback.

Walking out of the restroom and into the sea of people; everybody mingling and having a good time around you; you felt helpless. Nothing around you was vibrant; everything felt pale. No sharp edges in the shapes and curves around you; all you could see were blurred lines.

You decided not to talk to him, I mean, why would you? How was that going to help with anything? You just hoped he would do the same thing and not approach you.

Knowing him, you knew he will, in fact, approach you.

You went on to pretending everything was normal and joined your university pals in the hopes of calming down.

Double tap on your shoulder. Felt like someone was approaching you. Of course, you were frightened it was Jungkook.

You turn around on your heel, slowly.

Or not.

It’s Cristina.

“Are you going to talk to him or not?”, she said in the lowest voice.

“No, I don’t plan on doing so,” you answer.

She nodded before giving you a warm smile and walked away. Well, now that she’s not constantly telling you to talk to him, you felt a bit better.

You saw Jungkook talking to other people on the other side of the room. You couldn’t help but notice the changes. His hair; still black but slightly side parted coming onto his forehead in a subtle curl. His face; looks like he lost some weight. His eyes; still the same big doe eyes. His lips; pink as ever forming a small smile.

His body language bothered you a bit, it was somewhat, loose? He wasn’t the same jolting personality anyone could spot from a mile away.

But then again, you weren’t giving off glittery rainbow vibes either.

You wanted to punch him in the face.

You also wanted to hug him to death.

But you also wanted to never see him again.

The way he always manages to swoon anyone just by the effortless talki-

Cristina just went on to tap Jungkook on the shoulder. She is talking to him.

WHY THE FUCK WOULD SHE TALK TO HIM?!

And now he is looking at you.

Great.

You quickly made your way to the exit while excusing yourself from your friends.

“Y/N! Please wait!”

Motherfucker.

‘Should I scream? I don’t want to,’ you think to yourself.

You turn around to find Jungkook standing 20 steps away from you looking worried and also shocked that you stopped at once while chasing after you in the parking lot.

You were looking at him, straight in the eyes; and so was he.

“Hey,” he managed to speak out in the most defeated tone which was somewhat mixed with a sigh of relief.

“Hi”, you managed to reply after a brief look of him from bottom to top.

He was wearing a smooth black dress shirt paired with his everlasting, skin-tight, black jeans. Of course he looked good. Why wouldn’t he?

“Hi,” he said again while taking a small step forward as if he’s afraid you’ll either run or attack him. Again.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I should’ve told you everything earlier but I was afraid of losing you,” he ranted, “I still did, didn’t I?” he gave himself a small chuckle.

“I can explain everything. And no it won’t justify anything and it would certainly not change anything but I wanted you to know. Please.. please, can we go somewhere and talk? I won’t take much time, I swear.”

“Say it right now. I’m not going anywhere with you”, you spit out in a calm tone.

“That’s okay,” he took a deep breath in, “I did feel strongly for you, Y/N.. it’s just the situation.. didn’t allow us.. to be,” he stopped and closed his eyes. You could see his hand forming a fist in agony.

“I loved you, okay? I still do. But the girl you saw earlier in New York.. she’s Yeri.. and fuck, you weren’t supposed to find it out like that. I was going to tell you but it-”

“Could you wrap this up a bit faster?”, of course, you felt strongly for him but that would never let you show your weak side to him. Not after what he did. You were too stubborn for that.

“I- I’m sorry, I just.. didn’t expect you to be here and actually agree on listening to me,” he looked like a broken person who just saw a ray of light far at the end of the tunnel. You crossed your hands and lifted up your eyebrow signalling him to go on.

“Right. Well things were difficult with me and Yeri. We started dating last year and it was all fine until the time she cheated on me. With my best friend.”

That’s.. infuriating. On so many levels.

“And you decided to give her a taste of her own medicine? By sleeping with the girl you met at the library in San Francisco?” you scoffed, “Still doesn’t explain why I got dragged in the cheating game of yours with hers.”

All the anger; it was returning to you. You felt your body temperature rise. Why did it have to be you who he fucked to get revenge? Why did he let it get to the point where you actually fell for him? Did it ease that sick mind of his?

“No that’s-,” you cut him off.

“You know what, Jungkook? You know why I was in NYC that day? On your birthday?”, you uncrossed your arms and lifted a hand to point at him. You were trying your best not to cry. Not right now. Definitely not in front of him.

“To tell you that I was in love with you. That I loved you with my whole heart. With everything I had. To tell you that you were the best thing that ever happened to me. To tell you that you were the reason why I started to love myself. That for once, in my entire fucking life, I was happy. The happiness that makes you feel pure from the inside. Which makes you go run out in the rain and dance. And which makes you go take walks in the sun during winters. You know the warm fuzzy feeling you get? That. You gave me that.”

You didn’t realize that multiple tears had left your eyes while your throat felt heavy.

“And then you went on to breaking my heart. Breaking everything which was just fine before I met you. You wrecked me”, you sniffled.

“It wasn’t a cheating game, Y/N. Please,” he said with wrinkles on his forehead and voice softer than usual.

“I decided to break up with her. And I did,” he looked down on the floor, “Until..”

Until what?

“She tried to kill herself. Repeatedly. I didn’t want her to die, okay? She kept asking for a second chance until I gave in. I talked to her sisters and they said she was doing it to get me back. Whatever it was, I didn’t want her to die. I was scared, okay? So I did give her a second chance. I asked for space and everything. Then came the uni workshop in San Francisco. Where I met you. And God, weren’t you the only person I ever needed. When I met you all I could think was where was she my entire life?” he recounted the memories while his eyes lit up at the thought of first meeting you.

“I constantly told myself that when I would get back to NYC, I would tell her everything. And then tell you everything. But I just.. couldn’t. What if she did do something to herself? Those scars she had that were too fresh. I didn’t know how. In the midst of all of this, you came and saw everything. You thought I cheated on you. I mean, I did but it wasn’t what it looked like.Shit, I should’ve handled it better but, I don’t know,” he choked on his own strangled tears.

Wow.

“And seeing you like that.. that night. The way I hurt you. I fucking deserve it. You have every right to hate me but please don’t ever think what we had was just for some revenge. You saved me. I was completely gone. And then you came into my life like the refreshing air I needed. I was drowning; but you saved me. And I will forever be thankful to you. I am so sorry. You deserve the world, Y/N.”

He finished with inhaling deeply after all the talking he did. He looked at you one last time, hoping you’d say something. But after he saw the blank expression on your face; he just tried to give you a smile.

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he spoke out softly before turning around and walking back into the party.

Why? Why couldn’t you just resent him forever for what he did to you? Why should you trust anything that he said? Why do you feel bad? And even more hurt? You were confused. So fucking confused. The way he fought the urge to cry; that just made your heart break even more than you thought it was possible.

“Jungkook..”, you said softly. What are you even thinking? What the fuck is wrong with you?

He stopped in his path. Terrified of what you were going to say. It took his entire courage to explain everything. He cannot bear to hurt you more than he already did. He turned on his heel gently to look at you. He looked entirely too hopeful at this point.

“I am sorry..”, you managed to speak out. You heard a car approaching from distance. Of course, you knew what it was.

“I am sorry, Jungkook. I wish things.. they were different”, you needed to say this. You wouldn’t be able to live if you didn’t get this off of you right now. You love him. Maybe you love him too much.

He thought maybe; just maybe, you could work things out. He would give up anything to have that. To have you.

“I love you, Jungkook. And-”, you heard the car stop behind you. The car door opened with a swift voice and someone stepped out.

Jungkook’s eyes wandered to who it was who stopped their car in the middle of the alley. After the door was closed, the steps approached you and the person stood beside you.

Chanyeol.

He held you by the waist and looked at Jungkook who just experienced one of the biggest shocks of his life. He knew Chanyeol, from the bar. But he didn’t know how or why, he was with you; particularly with his arm around you.

“Let’s go”, he said gently while nodding his head towards the car.

And you both left. Leaving Jungkook in the middle of the parking lot.

He saw you walk away. He wanted to stop you but he knew this was for the best. He went back in to be approached by Cristina.

“Hey! Did you apologize or what?”, she said trying not to sound too hateful.

And he broke down; in front of Cristina, who had no fucking idea how to handle him. Tears left his eyes while he tried his best to not cry his heart out.

She managed to take him to the balcony to figure out what happened. All he could do was think about the night you found out. The night everything went wrong.

Jungkook’s POV

‘What?’

‘What is she doing here?’

‘Did she see me?!’

‘Of course she did! Yeri made everyone listen to her. Oh no.’

‘Oh no.’

‘Should I go talk-’

‘She is looking here,’ Jungkook thought to himself when he found your eyes fixed on his.

‘Why is she here? How did she know I was going to be here? Shit. The look in her eyes; she hates me. Of course she does. She has every right to hate me.’

‘Oh no.’

‘She’s leaving. Should I stop her? Should I let her go?’ Jungkook thought frantically to himself.

Fuck it, he decided. He hurriedly shoved his glass into someone’s hands he didn’t care about.

‘I have to stop her,’ he thought to himself. ‘What am I going to say to her?’ He followed your steps towards the club’s exit.

“Y/N!”, he screamed worrying how you were going to react. He knew you hated confrontations, but he had to do this. He couldn’t let you go.

“What?!”, you screamed when you turned to face Jungkook. He stopped in his paths not knowing what to do next.

“What do you want, Jungkook?!”

‘You. I want you. Please stop. Stop screaming.’

That night; after Jungkook left you on the sidewalk, Chanyeol came out of the bar to check on you when he found you completely drenched in the rain.

“Wait!”, he stopped you.

“He left.”

“Yeah, I saw. Let me help you. It’s late,” he said.

To be continued..

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eleanorkeye · 4 years ago

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honey days - excerpt

Chapter One

I want to live in a castle. A hundred and five rooms, each a different color, because sometimes I like emerald green, sometimes I like powdery pink, and sometimes, my favorite color in the whole world is jetty, midnight, inkwell black. I will craft my own stained glass and let the foyer bathe me in rainbows at sunrise. Hopefully, that front room will look east, and then I can choose which hue to run with for the rest of the day. If it faces west, however, I can deal, something of reflection. I know that I want a greenhouse for the winter and a garden for the summer. In the springtime, my hundred year old trees will flower, and in the autumn, of which there must be ample autumn wherever my castle is built or remodeled, those same trees and all of the others in the little forest that is my surrounding land, must go red and gold. I hope to have apple trees, but if someone from the town down the hill, where I get along with every single person, wants to place a crate of them on my old, or made to look, steps each October, that is fine. My lack of height doesn’t lend well to taking fruit from trees. Actually, I would love to climb my trees. Is it too late to have an orchard in the backyard, too? I don’t need too much in the way of a kitchen— I haven’t been very hungry lately— but I feel strongly about hallways. They should be bright. Rugs are important, for my castle will have wooden floors. I’m drawn to red rugs, though I don’t know really why. In any case, each room should have a rug, because I want to run all through the estate, and I feel like the echo of my shoes will wear on me. The shiny black shoes with the winged tips and the spiked-bottom shoes with brown plaid aren’t meant for running on hardwood, anyway. I have grand visions of a different outfit that belongs to each room, but I think that I only want five pairs of shoes. Unkind-weather boots, dark, some kind of imitation leather because cows are for hugs and milk, but only when they agree, since I can’t eat meat anymore. I’ll have my shiny wing-tipped black shoes, the spiky-bottomed plaid shoes, some flat canvas lace-ups for sportier looks, and- “What are you thinking about, Hudson?” Margarite always asks me what I am thinking about just before she leaves me to try and fall asleep. Apparently, I think of the funniest things around this time. When she asks, she combs her fingers through my cinnamon colored half curls to get the knots out and judge how much has fallen out since last night. I think that it’s her fingernails that get me thinking. Then again, just about any woman could comb her fingernails through my hair and I would be spaced out for hours. “Shoes.” She gives a questioning sound. “Shoes?” I just nod, my eyes to the window. The moon should be full one of these nights, and with how much trouble I have had getting to sleep at a reasonable hour recently, it’s an incentive. I could stare at the sky forever. Once the town goes to sleep, once the lights have all went out, the stars take their place. In other times that I have laid in this bed, I have gotten up and stood at the window, but I don’t think I will do that tonight. Maybe I’ll be able to see which sign is in the sky from here. I’m not sure, though. Five stars shine in the sky beyond Roseville Towneship Medical Centre, room three two zero four. I only ever count five, and there is no way in which I could tell you why. “What about shoes, Hudson?” I shake my head. “I’ve moved on.” Maybe I won’t have trouble sleeping anymore by the time I move to my castle. I don’t really have the money for it right now. I’m just a little tailor, but I’m good enough at it to save up. It’s not easy for me to go back to work now. Usually, I still work while I’m here since anyone can bring me my sewing box and projects, but this time is different. I don’t want to think about it. I want to think of my castle, because even though I am stuck here for now, in this yellowish-white room with squares on the pleated and round-hemmed curtains, sun-powered lights in the ceiling that are so unkind, and the scratchiest blankets in the world, someday, I will live in a castle. I just hope that someday is relatively soon. Now, to spend so much time in rooms with no art on the walls, single beds, higher than they should be, with overbleached white sheets, and these little lamps with sun-bulbs that affix to the tall headboard, switches on the walls and little sketching monitors or tall poles adorned with clear bags, there is no soul to be found. I have been so drained of anything. It’s harder to breathe. It’s harder to speak. It is so much harder to sleep. Even if, on the little table beside the window, there is a radio, there isn’t any life here. Maybe that’s the point. I was doing so well until recently. For months, I never even thought of anything being out of place. I worked in my parents’ laundromat, setting my sewing machine up at the counter. When anyone came in for their drycleaning, they spoke to me before my mother. It was always something along the lines of looking better. I’d like to think that I always look decent, being very much my mother’s son and all, but I am biased towards the bruisier, rheumy aesthetics. They’re all I’ve ever really known, I guess. I’ve never woken up feeling rested. Not a day goes by without an ache or standing too quickly. Too many times in life, I have jumped to my feet, only to fall over like a logged tree. There must be some pretty short trees out there for this simile to work. Anyway, daily inconveniences aside, I had been doing so well. I saw my friends often and put my paychecks towards new albums or scented candles or throw pillows. I made my bed every morning after waking up on time after falling asleep quickly. Three meals a day, colorful ones without ingredients that made things worse, coordinated outfits that fit right, and I even got a good haircut at a point. None of my friends pointed out that I should find different sweater sizes. They didn’t call my haircut, “uh… interesting…” and not one person asked if I’d slept alright the night before. I was smiley, talkative, and present. I was fuzzy and warm and just about to turn twenty-four. I was betting castle savings that I’d never have Margarite’s good fingernails through my hair again, or that it would be falling out again. But I guess I bet a bit too much. I was out with a girl named Melody, laughing over conspiracy theories and craft brews at the after-hour library. I liked Melody a lot. We met at the record shop. My favorite lead from my favorite band left last March. I knew that a solo album had been released, as well as a business as usual album from the two members left, but I hadn’t the heart to invest in either of them until then. I have a favorite member, but it was still heartbreaking to have to choose a side. The record shop had both albums on a table. The single from the solo record had gone to number one, the other number two, and the feud was so dramatic that I couldn’t escape it. It tore me apart. Truly. I’d gotten so bad, and to not have my favorite band behind me, to have my favorite band falling apart so dramatically right in front of me, threw me into episodes of nothing mattering more often than I’d like to admit. The nurses gave me news when they found out from the gossip columns in the paper, but only good news. I couldn’t handle any more bad news. Anyway, Melody saw me weighing my options at the table. “They’re both good,” she said from the counter. I turned quickly, wondering when the owner, an older and worse for wear gentleman who has a warrant out for anything on the baroque spectrum and does not condone my checkerboard mustard yellow and navy blue slacks— which look amazing, mind you— had been replaced with a goddess of heavy eye makeup, loose-bobbed curls the color of coffee, and, fatefully, a navy blue overall shift dress atop a mustard yellow turtleneck. I was in love. I pushed back my tears as quickly as I could. I stammered the only thing that mattered to me. “Which is more baroque?” She smiled through caramel lipstick. “Solo album.” So I bought the solo album, we exchanged names and free evenings, and then on Saturday, chose a table in the new non-fiction section. I talk politics like a madman, and luckily, Melody and I agree on universal healthcare and social progress, so we got wheat-buzzed and laughed at the right wing. Roseville is a small, cobblestone town situated barely inside cotton and tobacco country, and maybe it was the will of the conservatives at the bar, or maybe I got too optimistic in my newfound alcohol tolerance, but either way, I made it halfway back to my parents’ house at the end of White Street before waking up on the sidewalk at the hands of burly paramedics, my date replaced with a canvas-covered trauma-trolley, and my lifelong cycle of, “actually, it can get worse this time” repeating itself. I didn’t ask what happened. I know how it goes by now. I didn’t wonder what madness my body would assault me with this time. I’ve learned better than to try and predict it. I didn’t bother asking how long I’d be spending in room three two zero four of Roseville Towneship Medical Complex. They always underestimate. I took my new side effect of excruciating pain down my legs, six hands’ worth of needle drips per carpal set, and bad news after bad news after bad news, and decided to think of other things. Like living in a castle, for example. “We’ll get you reunited with your shoes soon,” Margarite presently tries. I respond with a roll of violently hazel eyes and a breath not too strong to beckon the breather again. “Once you’re a little more vibrant.” “That’s offensive, Margarite.” “Last time, you called it clever.” “Last time, I couldn’t remember my name.” “Which reminds me,” she takes my board of paperwork from the foot of the bed. “What’s your name again?” I’ve done this six times today— name, age, month and day of birth, sun sign, height, and, get ready for this one, street address. Exciting stuff. I love feeling like I’m locked out of my life. “Hudson James Walker, twenty-four, August twenty-second, Leo, if my birth time is to be believed, five-seven in shoes, and,” I catch my breath. “Three-thirteen White Street.” She returns the board. “At least you don’t have to worry about any of that,” as she reaches the door, the lights are cut off. “Goodnight, Hudson.” “Don’t count on it, Margarite.” The begged question at this point is along the lines of, “What is wrong with me?” Short answer: Everything. No, honestly, it is my tendency to collapse at complete random and violently convulse until something is knocked off-kilter, out of place, or into dormancy. It comes in clusters. I’ll go a few months completely fine, usually immediately after Roseville Medical glues me back together, and then it will strike with the most random thing at the most random time. My most recent hiatus was the shortest at three months, but it was the best. I got summer, and I do appreciate that, because I got my birthday, too. The lake outside town was so nice on the solstice. I couldn’t go in past my waist because I still had patches taped to my chest from having lightning pressed against the lifespots, but I did take my shirt off despite the bolt scars up my shoulders. I think that people were more obligated to stare by the month’s worth of hair in the time I couldn’t shave, but I understand that. I’m small… for the most part… and have a very gentle face— long eyelashes, low hairline, the whole nine— so, really, there is no excuse for me to have as much hair on my chest, arms, and legs as I do. Some lake-goers, I think, were waiting for me to speak, and when my s’s and high-ish tenor delivered in spades— ‘sspadess’— the mystery got that much deeper. I enunciate a lot, and very little of it, if any, comes across as masculine, so I get it. It’s all confused. Overall, summer was great, though. I enjoyed it alongside my health, toothy smile, and best friend. Autumn is my favorite season by far, though. October the only month I live for, so losing this year is a bit of a— sigh— bummer, but I’ll live. Wait. The time before last was the most dramatic. I think that they shocked me six times. The hair doesn’t grow there anymore. I kept the patches on for six months. I’m not sure the scars will ever go away. So, yes, I’ve died before, here, and, yes, it keeps me awake at night. I still get sore around my ribs sometimes. It was my memory last time, and they said that they fixed it, and I’m inclined to believe them what with the fact that I remember it, but I don’t recall exactly how. I don’t want to know. If I know, then I know what to worry about. This time, it flipped a switch that turned my legs to radio static. It hurts at the best of times. I have learned to cope with the base hurt, the stationary static, but they won’t send me home because, unless I stay completely still above the waist, it is absolutely unbearable. It is safe to say that I am mildly dramatic, but I have an incredible pain tolerance. If I say something hurts at a ten, I don’t. If something hurts at a ten, I am collapsed to the floor, unconscious. I can’t be touched below the hip flexors without coughing up whatever I’ve eaten in the past five days, and I think that’s why they aren’t offering food anymore. A shower, during which I never stood, was so intense that it stopped them pushing liquids, too, and I’ve never been so thirsty, but drinking then involves getting up twenty minutes later, so I’ve taken to dealing with it. No one is allowed to give me anything, and I don’t really want to sneak over to the sink. I am just going to be thirsty forever, feeling no relief from painkillers, breaking down into tears when I remember how much I love toast. It’s bad this time. It was bad last time. It was bad the two times before that. Before those times, however, it was little more than finding a safe place to lie down once every few months and, at worst, waking up with bruises. I got warnings before anything happened, a little shake in my hands. The episodes were short, no more than five minutes. No switches were ever flipped, the day just went on as normal. It wasn’t fun, but it wasn’t bad. I worked regularly. I saw my friends often. I lived with my girlfriend. She found me the first bad time. We rented a one-bedroom apartment on North Main Street, tucked away between the historical district and the park. It was an industrial thing, an old mill, I think. The ceilings were high, the windows were tall, and all of the furniture was either dark wood or upholstered mustard yellow. I did not decorate the apartment. Maximalism and I don’t do well together. I asked only for my turntable and a third of a bed. Her name was Emily Monday, and I’m pretty sure that it still is. She had blonde hair, and I’m pretty sure that she still does. We dated for three years. I don’t really want to talk more about any aspects that aren’t medical, but I loved her. I loved her so terribly. I got along with her about as well as I get along with maximalism, but I really did love her. It was around three in the morning when she found me on the vinyl tiled kitchen floor, affront the laminate ‘wood’ cabinets, or so the people involved have told me. She knew as much as I did about it. Less than five minutes, don’t try to stop it, I’ll deal with the aftermath when I wake up, “don’t worry about it, babe. You wouldn’t even know it happened if I hadn’t told you.” Except, I got no warning. I don’t even remember going into the kitchen. I remember falling asleep combing my fingers through the longest, straightest, softest blonde hair, and then I woke up in July. The incident happened in the second week of June. I don’t really know what tipped her to call paramedics, and I haven’t gotten around to asking her about it, so we’ll never know. I take a bit of joy imagining two burly men dragging me down the three flights of stairs, no lift, that I was cursed to climb a few times a day. I’m not heavy, but they must have been on their toes, never knowing when I would flail and hit them. It’s what the ideally built man deserves, to be scared of me for once. Then again, everyone who knows is absolutely terrified of me. I shiver or cough or stare into one spot trying to add two double digit numbers together for too long and everyone has a panic attack. I don’t work register anymore. I couldn’t find words for a while after that first bad time, but Emily could, and that was that. We ran into each other at the lake over the summer. Her new boyfriend is taller than I am. He has broader shoulders and a deeper voice, doesn’t overdo ‘s’s or anything. We went to school together, all three of us. He’s a nice guy, I guess. I never really knew him. He dragged her up to me, saying that we should talk, catch up. I politely lied that I had to go, but there we three were, half-naked on a man-made beach. I don’t remember what we said, but I remember my best friend, Lionel Lee, ending it by making the sound of thunder by cupping his hands over his mouth and dragging me away to collect my clothes. Lionel is a great friend. I wonder why he hasn’t called in the week since I’ve been here. I wonder what color I’ll paint my bedroom in the castle.

There comes a point. I’ll start with that. There comes a point, and to elaborate, there comes a point in situations such as mine at which all avenues have been exhausted, and a decision must be made. I’ve known medications before, three of them. Two of the three didn’t work, but the one that did was so terribly unkind that it pushed me over a terribly unkind edge, and it was never an avenue again until yesterday afternoon. Yesterday? Yesterday— it’s tomorrow now, quarter past three. I was confronted by a doctor alone, in stark contrast to the usual confrontation involving my mother. I know this doctor well, but I can’t ever remember his name. I guess that is to be expected in a situation such as mine. He said that we all know what works in controlling these spells, and that I should strongly consider considering it again. This is not my worst outcome, but if a usual pattern is to be followed, it will get worse over the next few days, and then disappear for a while, only to come back that much scarier. I can always rely on being brought back with how irrationally eager my soul is to stay in this body, but it has been implied that I should avoid it in the first place. I agree, but I cannot subject myself to what I was subjected to on that chemical compound the last time. I told him that. In response, and in complete honesty, he told me that I have about a hundred days left to live, should I choose to live alone. Alone, referring to free of chemical intervention, I can move in with as many women as I’d like. Of course, a hundred days is a rough estimate. It could be fewer or it could be more, but he said that one hundred days was a good estimate for me. He then said that I should rethink my decision. I refused to rethink my decision.

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