#I definitely rushed it too much thinking my logos could at last fill the lack of arts damage for khagan

[little-lanterns]

the toxic yaoi has once again harmed me <- failed is4 ending 4

[nationalharryleague]

The Busy Bean

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Coworkers to lovers AU

Word count: 5.6K

A/N: Hi all! This is my entry for Sadie’s (@meetmeinfleetwood) To Lovers Fic Challenge!! As always, many thanks to Mia (@hardcandy-harry) and Lu (@meetmymouth​ even tho shes taking a little break lol) for being wonderful betas!! I really love it and I hope you enjoy it too! You can find more of my writing in my masterlist and I would love to hear what you think (or anything else lol) in my ask! 

***

The first day at a new job is a universally terrifying experience.

You can’t sleep the night before, head full of nightmare scenarios of evil customers and mean bosses, and a swirl of anxiety continues to bubble in the pit of your stomach, refusing to slow or calm. There's a part of you that prays they will call and tell you that they don’t need your help anymore, despite how bad you need the money. But the call never comes, and the next day you stand in front of the building, desperately trying to take deep breaths and slow your heart rate, bracing yourself for whatever is to come whenever you enter.

This is where Y/N was today, in a mess of shaky palms with slight blue bags under her eyes from a lack of sleep that wouldn’t disappear no matter how hard her concealer tried. She stood in front of the large plate glass window of the cafe, sneaking glimpses and trying to prepare herself for whatever awaited before she actually reached to take the door handle. With a glance at her watch that signaled it was time for her to arrive, she took one last deep breath and entered the small but cozy space.

The cafe itself wasn’t open yet, devoid of customers with only a few lights behind the counter on, but it was full of the delightful and familiar smell of coffee that swirled around her head. The wall to her left was an exposed brick that had been painted white with a long table running along it with stools tucked underneath and a long cafe counter ran the length of the shop to her right. The far back wall of the shop was a giant book shelf with books stacked from the bottom of the top, arranged in a rainbow pattern along each shelf. The store was unbearably charming.

“Hello?” she felt herself call out softly into the empty space. Her voice came out slightly timid, her anxious mind not giving her lips full permission to speak.

She listened to a shuffling and a distant voice muttering “shit,” that seemed to be coming from a door that sat behind the counter where the few lights had been turned on. Before long, a man with curly hair popped his head out from the back hallway, giving her a wide dimpled smile. “Just give me a minute!” he said, holding up his pointer finger for a second, before disappearing back into the hall. After a few more moments of shuffling and muffled cursing, he reappeared. His face held the same dimpled grin as before.

“You must be Y/N,” he said, reaching out a hand for her to shake across the counter. “Boss man said you would be starting today.”

“That’s me,” she spoke gently, still apprehensive in the new surroundings. She placed her hand in his and he shook it with a friendliness she hadn’t expected from her first couple minutes in a new work space. His hand was warm and his nails were painted a bright and sunshiny yellow.

“I’m Harry. It’s great to meet you!” His voice was deep, but light and enthusiastic, far too excited for the early morning calm that she had been reveling in on her walk to the shop.

She decided quickly that he looked like a ‘Harry’ and that his name matched his cheerful disposition. His green eyes shined, even in the relatively dim early morning light that illuminated the room through the front window, and they held a disarming and calming quality that slowed her heart rate for the first time since she had woken up.

“You too.” She forced a smile onto her lips, hoping to conceal the first day jitters that ran through her system.

“Don’t worry about your first day,” he read her like a book. “Everyone here is very nice and you have the best trainer in the world.”

“I’m assuming that’s you?” she questioned, letting out a light chuckle.

“Well, of course it is.”

She was slightly taken aback by the peculiar, yet undeniably charming, man that stood across the counter from her. He was dressed in a loose fitting black sweater that looked cozy and soft, paired with wide-legged tan slacks, all covered with a dark green apron that had the cafe’s logo on the chest. The Busy Bean was embroidered in a light yellow sitting above a mug with a bumble bee on it; it was charming and cute, fitting in well with the plethora of plants and flowers that filled the cafe.

He must have noticed her staring at the logo. “You like the name?” he asked her, pointing at the logo that sat on his chest. She nodded softly, a smile finding its way on to her lips. “We’re going to be very busy beans in about,” he paused to check his watch, “thirty minutes when we open. So put this on,” he slid her very own apron across the counter, “and let's get ready.”

Harry wasn’t lying when he said they were going to be busy.

While the shop had intentionally started her on a Saturday morning when it was usually a bit slower, the morning rush came in and threw her for a tizzy. She took orders and ran them to tables for what seemed like hours, kept far away from the coffee bar as she was unsure of how to make all of the drinks yet. But thankfully, she wasn’t alone.

Soon after opening, another woman arrived, wearing the same dark green apron that matched Y/N and Harry’s. She had long dark hair that fell to the small of her back and in gentle waves and glowing mocha skin with golden eyes. She introduced herself as Isla, with a warm and friendly smile, and stationed herself behind the counter, making drink after drink that smelled intoxicatingly delicious. Y/N thanked god, or whatever was out there, that she and Harry had someone else to help them out while customers flowed in and out of the shop.

Harry hung by her side for the entirety of the morning rush, carefully watching her every move, and gently redirecting her when she seemed to make a mistake. He was kind and she could tell that he genuinely wanted her to learn, not just to do a job well for efficiency’s sake. There was never a trace of frustration on his features, just patience and good will.

Around noon, the flood of patrons looking for their morning coffee began to slow, finally giving Y/N an opportunity to rest. She flopped herself down on a stool that sat behind the counter and released a long sigh, stretching her neck and slumping her shoulders. She was met by sympathetic giggles coming from her two new co-workers.

“Honey,” Isla began with a hint of pity in her voice, “that was nothing.”

“What did I get myself into?” Y/N chuckled through a groan, putting her face in her hands out of exhaustion.

“I promise it gets easier,” Harry chimed in, always one to calm someone’s anxieties. “You just need to get into the swing of things.”

“What I need to do is learn how to make all the fancy coffees that people keep asking me for,” she said, peeking through her fingers at her still amused coworkers.

A look was passed between the two of them, Isla eventually moving out of the way and motioning for Harry to take over the coffee bar. “Come on Baby Barista, lets teach you some of the basics.”

His nickname for her made her release a loud laugh, immediately stifling it to a few giggles when she realized she had caused a few patrons to look up and over at her. Her cheeks warmed instantly, embarrassed for disturbing them, and she added another item to the list of things she was learning never to do again with customers in the store.

He guided her over to the counter full of machinery including pots of coffee, hot water, an espresso machine, and more equipment she couldn’t even identify. He spoke to her gently and gave her all his attention, carefully talking her through how to make a few of the most ordered drinks. Other than almost burning herself a couple times, she was starting to get the hang of it. She had a very hard time wiping the smile off of her face after Harry taste tested each one and gave his seal of approval.

“Not bad, Baby Barista,” he complimented with a dimpled smile and a slight nod after she handed him what she believed was a caramel latte. She reveled in his praise, wanting to do her job well, but also loving his approval and the nickname he had now assigned to her.

They did this coffee lesson for a few more hours, as the shop slowed to almost a complete stop as they got closer to closing time. Isla had headed home and there were only a few stragglers left that had spent their days working or reading in the cafe as the sun began to set around 5pm, with closing at 6. Harry diligently continued to teach her as much as he could in one day as they began to close up the shop and get ready for the next day. He was easy to talk to and their conversation seemed to flow effortlessly as they swept and did dishes.

“So, what brought you to London?” he asked after a short lul, looking at her with an inquisitive look, the ever present dimple on his cheek and grin on his lips disarming her easily.

“Oh, you know,” she stumbled over her words slightly, “I just needed a fresh start.”

“No mysterious or heartbreaking backstory I need to know about?” he quipped, a questioning eyebrow perched on his forehead. She let out another loud laugh, deciding not to quiet herself this time as there was only one customer left in the store.

“No,” she chuckled, shaking her head as she swept. “I got dumped in a small town and needed to get away from them. It was like they were around every corner.” She wasn’t sure why she was telling him this, but he just had a way of pulling the truth from her. “I always dreamed of living here and the breakup was the kick in the ass I needed to actually do it.”

“I’m glad you made it here, but I’m sorry about the breakup.”

“Don’t be,” she smiled. “Definitely for the best.”

“Okay, then I won’t be.” His eyes had a mischievous glint behind them, but she couldn’t exactly place what he was getting at.

They worked together in a comfortable silence after that, making sure everything was ready for the morning to come and clean from the day that was leaving. Y/N covered a yawn as Harry told her that she was done for the day.

As she clocked out and gathered her things, she heard Harry’s voice as she moved towards the exit. “Do you live close by? I can give you a ride if you need. Don’t want you having to walk too far in the dark.” His offer was sweet and made her smile.

“I’m pretty close and I like the walk.” She grabbed onto the handle of the front door but couldn’t make herself leave just yet. “Thank you for being so patient with me today, Harry,” she said looking back towards him and connecting their eyes. She tried to convey her emotions to him on her face, something she wasn’t always very good at.

“No problem. We’re happy to have you here, Baby Barista.”

With a final nod and a light flush to her cheeks, she set off down the street towards her new flat. It wasn’t a long walk, just long enough to get a little chill in her bones from the cold winter air and to turn her nose into a small icicle.

She reflected on her first day as she walked. She liked Isla, and really liked Harry. And while she was very busy, it was good busy, not the type of busy that depletes your energy and makes you want to fall over at the end of the day. It was a kind of busy that kept her on her toes, ready to learn, and develop a skill.

Her thoughts were broken through when she noticed the old beat up red car that seemed to be following her down the road. It drove slowly, as if it didn’t want it to see her, and took extra long at intersections like it was hoping to stay behind her. She took a turn she didn’t need to at the next block, and another after that, and when the car continued to follow, her heart began to race.

She thought about running, or going up to a pedestrian and asking for help; she even considered calling her mum just to stay on the phone with her until she got home. It wasn’t until she recognized the green eyes and dimples behind the wheel that her heart began to slow. She turned around fully then, making eye contact with the man who had been following her, and crossing her arms in front of her and shooting a questioning eyebrow up at him.

He wore a look of shame as his car slowed to a stop in the street next to her.

“Excuse me sir,” she said sarcastically, bending over to look in the window and get a better look at his embarrassed rosey cheeks. “Why were you following me?”

“I wasn’t being a creep, I promise,” he quickly defended. “This neighborhood gets a little dangerous at night and I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.” He looked panicked and frazzled, clearly not planning on being caught. It was the first time she had seen him without a smile on his face all day.

“Harry, you were the thing that was making me feel unsafe,” she said, playfully scolding him through giggles. She watched as his face fell in a flood of relief that she wasn’t angry with him. “If you told me that you were going to follow me home anyway, I would have taken the ride.”

“I’m sorry.” He hung his head and ran a stressed hand through his curls.

“It’s okay, Harry,” she smiled softly. “I appreciate you caring enough to make sure I got home.” She rested a hand on the passenger side door handle. “And now you’re going to drive me the rest of the way home to make up for making me get off my normal route,” she laughed as she pulled on the handle and settled herself into the passenger seat.

The car was old, but clean and it smelled like the cologne he wore that she had picked up on a few times throughout the day. He was quiet, hanging his head like a child who had been caught with his hands in the cookie jar, as she directed him towards her flat. “I’m sorry, again,” was all he said when he pulled up in front of the building.

“Don’t be,” she smirked, using the same words she had earlier in the day when discussing her breakup. She exited the car, giving him a wave, and a call of “I’ll see you tomorrow,” before entering the building and shutting the door behind her.

***

Over the next few weeks, Harry and Y/N became fast friends.

After about a week of begging, she finally broke down and allowed him to pick her up and drive her home from work every day. Their morning rides consisted of the perpetually peppy and excitable morning person in the driver's seat blabbering on about something he saw on the news while he was getting ready or going on about a new book he was reading, while she would settle her still sleepy head on the window and rest her eyes for just a few more minutes before their day was forced to begin. At the end of the day, Harry was the quiet one, letting her recount the day (usually complaining about unruly customers or people that would sit and steal their wifi all day without ordering anything), while he drove her at a painfully slow pace to her flat. He always waited until she got inside the building, even asking her to text him when she got inside her tiny flat.

“I just want to make sure you got inside safe,” he would argue when she teased him about it.

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” she would rebut.

“Then I’m not coming to help you anymore when you can’t figure out the milk steamer, Baby Barista.”

“Don’t threaten me with that stupid milk steamer. It has so many buttons you need to work for NASA to understand it,” she would groan, only to be met with a teasing glare from the curly man next to her. “Fine, I take it back,” she would always concede.

His protectiveness was not unwelcome to her. If she was being honest with herself, Harry was the only real friend she had made since she made the move to London and she was quickly becoming heart crushingly lonely. She took any care that anyone in the new and scary city was willing to give her with open arms.  

He was her only friend. They got on so well, she couldn’t deny that she enjoyed the extra few minutes she spent with him every morning and evening in the car. Maybe even a little too much.

At work, there was usually a chorus of laughter and giggles coming from their direction as Harry had taken her under his wing while she learned the ropes. There were days they would stay late after they had been off the clock making drinks over and over again; him patiently teaching, and her desperately trying to learn. There were definitely a few failures along the way, but they were always met with a teasing joke and then careful step-by-step directions on how she could fix it.

Technically Harry was her boss, store manager to be specific, but they worked alongside each other seamlessly, him never barking orders at her or using a harsh or authoritative tone.

Until today.

Y/N had been talking to one of their regulars, Robby, after she delivered an Americano to his table in the corner while it was particularly slow. Robby came in often, always shooting Y/N a bright smile and peppering compliments into their quick conversations. He was gorgeous, she couldn’t deny that; he had deep brown skin and an athletic build that she was sure was muscular under the thick sweater he was wearing to protect him from the cold. But he wasn’t her type, a little too arrogant and self-obsessed for her liking, always figuring out a way to turn their quick conversations back to himself. While it was fun to flirt with him, she knew it would never go any further than that.

“When do you get off?” Robby had asked suddenly, derailing their conversation away from the drink she had just delivered him. “I would love to take you out and see you in something other than that god awful apron.”

“Hey! I quite like my apron,” she playfully feigned offense, reaching to lightly swat him on the arm. “And while I appreciate your offer, I just got out of something pretty long term and I’m really not looking for anything right now. I’m sorry, Robby.” She forced a friendly pout onto her face, pretending like she was actually sorry for denying him.

Before he could respond, she heard an annoyed voice call her name from behind the counter. Whipping her head around to see who it was, she found Harry wearing an annoyed and frustrated face she had never seen him make before, especially not directed towards her. “We need some help back here. You have a job to do, remember?” he scolded, eyebrows furrowed and jaw steeled.

Her cheeks flushed white hot, embarrassed to be reprimanded like that in front of the whole shop. She hung her head in shame as she quickly walked back behind the counter. She was beyond embarrassed, suddenly uncomfortable in a place she had finally begun to come into her own in. She was learning and doing a good job, at least that was what she had been told, by both Isla and Harry; but the uneasy feeling in her stomach kept her from feeling comfortable for the rest of the day.

She carefully and quietly navigated behind the counter for the rest of her shift, sheepishly doing her best to stay out of her coworkers’ way and just do her job.

For the first time, she was slapped in the face with the reality that Harry wasn’t just her friend; he was her boss. He had an authority over her, and could probably get her in trouble with the owner, or even fired if he really wanted to. Navigating a business-like relationship was awkward and abnormal for them both, but Y/N decided she needed to learn how to quickly.

There was another reason his silent treatment seemed to hurt, one that Y/N had been trying her best to ignore. An undeniable crush had begun to build in her for the bright and bubbly man, despite however hard she had tried to fight it.

Harry made her feel safe, always keeping an eye out for her and trying to make sure she was alright. He made her laugh more than anyone she had ever known and their chemistry together felt electric. But what warmed her heart, and what now hurt the most, was that it felt like he cared about her just as much as she cared for him.

But now, it all felt like a fairytale she had built up in her head.

Their usual banter and giggles fell quiet for the rest of their day, reducing to curt directions from Harry and understanding hums from Y/N, following his orders without question or comment. Even Isla was quiet, not daring to breach the tension the pair had created between themselves.

The car ride home was quiet and strained that day.

But she still texted him when she was safe inside her flat.

***

While she had prayed that the next day would be like any other, their morning ride to work was filled with much of the same silence.

Harry fiddled with the heat and the radio in an effort to avoid her eyes or having to make conversation, eventually settling on a station that was playing old classic rock she didn’t recognize. He drove like she wasn’t even in the car, staring silently ahead at the road. She sat stiffly in the passenger seat fiddling with her fingers, not daring to get comfortable in a space that was all his.  

At work, they both held tight to the tension, only muttering at each other when absolutely necessary. She kept her head down and just did what she was told to do.

She was at the counter when a woman approached the coffee bar, seeming to bark her order for an extra hot cappuccino with extra foam at Y/N. Her face was twisted into an angry pout, like she had just smelled something bad, and spat her words out her words. Y/N just nodded and breathed a “yes, maam,” unable to fight with any nasty customers today while her head was so occupied with Harry. She was off her game.

The woman hovered at the counter, watching intensely and tapping her foot impatiently as Y/N fought with the dreaded milk steamer attachment to one of their large industrial machines. She would have sworn that she pressed the extra hot setting.

Passing the full mug to the woman at the register, Y/N watched as she took a long sip of the drink before paying, something that wasn’t really allowed, but Y/N just didn’t have the fight in her today to reprimand her.

“That will be £2,” Y/N spoke softly with as much sweetness as she could muster, afraid of what could come out of the woman’s mouth. She watched as her face turned even more sour than before after she finished the long drag from the cup.

“I’m not paying for this,” she declared, nose stuck high in the air.

“I’m sorry?” Y/N asked with confusion clear in her voice. “Is there something wrong with it?”

“It’s not extra hot and there is no extra foam.”

“Okay, I’m very sorry about that,” she said apologetically, even though she knew for a fact the drink had both of those things, and released an exhausted sigh. “I will make you another.”

The woman’s eyes flicked down the counter in Harry’s direction, rudely snapping her fingers at him to catch his attention. He was hunched over the back counter, somehow worsening his already terrible posture, trying to eat a sandwich as fast as he could before his break was over. “Are you her boss?” she shouted at him, even though he could have heard her without raising her voice at him.

Y/N’s eyes were already filled with anxiety when Harry connected his with her’s, seeming to wordlessly ask what was going on and Isla watched on in terror. She felt her body try to shrink away from the woman before her and Harry as he came closer.

“I’m the store manager. Is there something going on that I could help with?” His eyes kept flashing back and forth between Y/N and the woman, trying to decipher the situation without words.

“I want you to remake my drink.”

“I’m actually on a break-”

“No,” she cut him off mid-sentence. “If she makes my drink again, she is just going to fuck it up all over again. She’s obviously incompetent.”

Y/N eyes flew open at her words, a mix of shock and hurt running through her. With her heart beginning to race, never one for confrontation, she wanted to melt into the floor and disappear all together.

Harry’s face hardened at the woman as she hurled insults towards Y/N. Stepping in front of her, as if putting his body between her and the woman could protect her from her harsh words, he took a deep breath before he began to speak again. “First of all, you will not speak to anyone who works here like that,” he defended her. “Second, I’m sure she’s completely capable of making your drink again if you give her a moment.”

“I don’t want her to make it and I have places to be,” she continued to fight. “I don’t have time for some pathetic newbie to give it another try.”

Her comments hit Y/N hard in her existing feelings of inadequacy and before she knew it, her vision was beginning to blur. She felt like this woman was repeatedly kicking her while she was already down.

“You have to leave.”

Harry’s voice was angry. It wasn’t the frustration or annoyance she had heard the day before, and it was a far departure from the kind and patient tone she had grown to love since she began working at the shop. It was full of anger, something she had never heard from him and an emotion she hadn’t even been sure he could feel before this point.

“I’m not leaving until I get another drink that’s correct and free.”

“I will call the cops if you don’t leave right now.”

Y/N couldn’t stand to watch this unfold before her any longer. An anxious weight had settled on her chest and she had felt the tears begin to roll. She was gone from the counter, running towards the soundproof walk-in fridge in the back hall. She planned on shutting herself inside and sobbing until she froze.

She stood in the freezing chill, holding her arms tight to her frame, desperate to keep herself warm and shield herself from the wrath that was playing out in the cafe. The cold seemed to ground her and the distance she had put between herself and the woman eased her stress, but the tears continued to flow as her eyes ran over the stock of the fridge in an attempt to distract herself.

A knock came from outside the heavy metal door that startled her, a soft and patient voice that she knew so well called through. “Y/N, are you okay? Can I come in?”

After doing her best to wipe the tears off her raw and cold cheeks, she choked out a small “yes.”

The door carefully opened and she was met with a soft and empathetic gaze from the only person she wanted to comfort her. He breathed a soft “come here,” before he opened his arms wide. She bolted into them, letting his giant frame envelop her whole in the warmth that always radiated from him. Y/N let herself weep softly into his chest as the dizzying scent of his cologne took over her senses.

He held her close to him for a few moments, letting her get all her emotions out, before releasing her body and taking her face into his somehow still warm hands, using his thumbs to swipe away a few more tears that had managed to escape.

“I don’t think that I even messed her drink up,”she broke the silence, feeling pathetic as he held her in his hands.

“I know you didn’t. She won’t be coming back.”

“Thank you for defending me,” she said, hiccuping as she stared into his comforting eyes. “I feel so stupid. I’m sorry.” She went to pull away, but he continued to hold her close.

“No, this is all my fault,” he shook his head slightly, eyebrows drawn together in concern. “If I hadn’t been such a dick yesterday then none of this would have happened. I’m so sorry.” His eyes held honesty, determined to be granted absolution by the girl before him.

“I don’t like it when we don’t get along,” she squeaked. “I really don’t like it when you yell at me and make me feel like I’m not doing my job well.”

He sighed hard, his face looking like his brain was going a mile a minute. “I have to be honest with you,” he confessed. “I wasn’t acting like an asshole yesterday because you weren't doing your job; you were just doing fine. I was upset you were flirting with that guy.”

She felt her lips fall into a small ‘oh.’ While she hadn’t meant anything by what she thought was harmless flirting, Harry hadn’t known that. The frustration and annoyance she had heard was in actuality all jealousy.

“You were jealous?” she asked softly, bringing a hand up to hold over one of his own that were still holding her face.

“Well, yeah,” he said with an awkward shrug. “I just thought that there might be something between us.”

He looked so adorable like this, slightly uncomfortable and shy. She looked at him intensely as an excited bubble began to form in her stomach at the idea that this massive crush had been mutual the whole time.

“There is.”

She couldn’t hold back her smile any longer, a grin breaking out onto her face as she nodded at him. The cold of the fridge was no longer nipping at her skin, her whole body radiating a flattered and excited blush of heat. The screaming she had just endured felt long behind her although it had only been a few minutes.

He mirrored her giddy expression. She watched as all the tension in his face began to melt away in relief and it reminded her of the look on his face when she teased him after he followed her home that first day.

“Oh, thank god,” he breathed. “I was so worried that you were going to friendzone me forever.”

“I thought you were going to employee-zone me,” she chuckled.

“Are you going to kiss me or keep staring?”

A wide cheeky smile stretched across his lips, before she reached up and connected hers to his. The kiss was caring and sweet, but it felt like it sealed something she had been feeling since the first day they had met.

Their lips moved smoothly against each other, interrupted occasionally by a smile one of them couldn’t contain or a giggle that slipped from one of their mouths. She wasn’t nervous or overwhelmed by his proximity. She was so comfortable in his embrace. He was her best friend, after all.

They broke apart after a few moments, giant grins plastered on their faces that neither of them could manage to wipe away. “I liked that a lot,” Harry beamed, a boyish flush to his cheeks.

“Me too,” she mirrored him.

They spent a few more minutes in the fridge, swirling in a daze of infatuation and affection. “Do you think anyone heard us?” he asked softly, looking over towards the large metal door that had been left open a crack, before it flung open and they were met with a thrilled Isla.

“Yes, I heard you!” she exclaimed. “It’s about time!”

Thank you so much for reading! Feedback/Reblogs mean the world!! 

[lizamango]

Finding You (Bucky Barnes x Reader) 3/?

 A/N: Hey everyone, sorry this took so long!! This chapter was kinda hard to write, I felt like there wasn’t much that I could add but I did my best! I wanna get to Bucky as much as you all do! 😭😩

Summary: You’ve been one of SHIELD’s top spies for years but what happens when the organisation you’ve put your trust in crumbles and Captain America gives you a mission to help him find his best friend? The last thing you expected to happen was to fall in love with your assignment and become best friends with a witch.

Taglist ~ just comment if you wanna be added

@buckylokisimp​​, @white-wolf-buckaroo​​, @austynparksandpizza, @markandlexies​

Word Count: 2098

​Masterlist

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~

Warnings: none

Chapter Summary: You and Steve run from HYDRA

Chapter 3: TOMORROW ISN’T PROMISED TO ANYBODY

I enter a shopping mall where I buy a hoodie for myself and a jacket, glasses and a hat for Rogers using cash. I pass by JD sports and see some Supra Vaders I know the Captain will just love so I go in and grab a pair, and get a pair of Nike Dunk Sky His for myself. I leave and meet him where he waits, away from any crowds and we put on our simple yet effective disguises.

“First rule of going on the run, is don’t run. Walk,” I say, recalling my operations training.

“If I run in these shoes they’re gonna fall off.”

I smirk. “Sorry, thought you’d be bigger.”

Ignoring my innuendo, Steve huffs. “They’re ridiculous, why can’t I lace them up?”

“It’s a fashion statement.” I glance at a map as we pass by. “Apple store’s upstairs.” We ride the escalator and enter the store.

Finding an empty laptop, I get to work. “The drive has a Level 6 homing program so as soon as we boot up, SHIELD will know exactly where we are.”

“How much time will we have?” he asks, surveying the area not so subtly.

“About 9 minutes from…” I insert the drive. “now.” I enter the coding commands to unlock the intel but something inverts each one… now comes in my training from the Academy of Science and Technology. “Fury was right about that ship. Somebody’s trying to hide something.” As I look through the coding script my inputs are rewritten to counter the commands. “This drive is protected by some sort of AI.”

“Like Stark’s robot voice? Can you override it?”

I raise a brow as I type away. “The person who developed this is slightly smarter than me. Slightly. I’m gonna try running a tracer. This is a program that SHIELD developed to track hostile malware, so if we can’t read the file, maybe we can find out its origin.” The map tracks a location and pinpoints it as we are approached by a store employee.

“Can I help you guys with anything?”

I react quickly and give him my best charming smile. “Oh, no. My fiancé was just helping me with some honeymoon destinations,” I giggle, placing my hands on Rogers’ shoulders.

“Right,” he adds awkwardly. “We’re gettin’ married.”

“Congratulations! Where are you guys thinkin’ about goin’?”

I go back to the laptop and the state has been pinpointed.

“New Jersey,” the Captain reads aloud.

“Huh,” the employee lets out, surprised. “I have the exact same glasses,” he says after a pause.

“Wow, you two are practically twins,” I remark as I type away.

“Yeah, I wish!” he chuckles. “Specimen. Uh, if you guys need anything… I’ve been Aaron.”

“Thank you,” Rogers rushes out. “You said 9 minutes,” he checks his watch. “Come on.”

I shush him. “Relax… I’m working.” The screen reads Wheaton, New Jersey. “Done.” I look up at him and he has a frown on his face. “You know it?”

“I used to. Let’s go.” He pulls the hard drive out of the laptop and we walk out of the store. “Standard tac team. Two behind, two across,” he turns to face forward. “two comin’ straight at us. If they make us, I’ll engage, you hit the south escalator to the metro.”

As he speaks I roll my eyes, this guy was definitely not meant for the spy world. “Put your arm around me and laugh at something I said,” I say.

“What?” he sounds utterly confused.

“Do it.” I feel his arm rest on my shoulder and he gives the most awkward laugh I have ever heard come from a person. “See, Captain? No need to make such a scene.” We work our way to the escalator and I spot Rumlow on the escalator coming up. I turn to look up at Rogers. “Kiss me.”

“What?” he says again, flustered.

“Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable.”

“Yes they do!” he whispers.

I put my hand to the back of his neck and push him towards me so our lips meet and I feel his hand fall on my waist. I open my eyes and pull away slowly after enough time has passed.

“You still uncomfortable?” I ask turning and walking down the escalator.

“That’s not exactly a word I would use,” he murmurs and quiets down as we get to the parking lot.

“We could get bus tickets to New Jersey, think I’ve got enough cash for the trip,” I suggest.

“Keep a look out,” he says approaching a truck as I frown but do as he says. In no time I hear the start of an engine and whirl to look at him. “Come on, we don’t have all day,” he says smugly.

I get into the passenger’s side and he starts to drive to the Garden State.

“Can’t believe Captain America can steal cars…” I say striking up a conversation.

He chuckles. “Kind of a necessary skill when you’re fighting a World War and you’re in enemy territory.”

I hum and he glances at me. “And it’s not stealing if we give it back so get your feet off the dash.”

“Bossy,” I remark but do as he says. “I like that,”

There’s a pink tint to his cheeks and his jaw clenches but he doesn’t say anything.

“So I have a question for you…” I start with a raised brow. “But you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, although no answer is an answer in itself so-“

“Get to it, L/N,” he interrupts authoritatively.

“Was that your first kiss since 1945?” I smirk.

“That bad, huh?”

“I didn’t say that!” I laugh.

“Well it kinda sounds like that’s what you’re saying.”

“I was just… wondering if you’ve had practice… since going… into the ice,” for a super secret agent, that answer lacked finesse. “It’s just, I don’t know how you did it in 1945 but guys normally move their mouths for a long kiss like that,” I shrug.

“I don’t need practice.”

“Everyone needs practice.”

“It was not my first kiss since 1945. I’m 95, not dead.”

“Oh?” I say, curiosity piqued. “Who’s been kissing Captain America then?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Someone special?”

He chuckles. “It might come as a surprise to you but it’s hard to find someone with shared life experience,” he says sarcastically.

“That’s okay, you just make stuff up.”

“What, like you?” I know he doesn’t intend for it to sound mean so I shrug it off.

“Not everyone can handle the truth, can they? I wouldn’t mind a few white lies to keep something good going… and you don’t need shared life experience, right? Not really… there’s that whole opposites attract notion, after all.”

“But it’s good to have someone who understands what you’re going through, right?”

I shrug… sometimes not knowing is better. Safer. “Maybe. But in this occupation…” I sigh. “Well I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been in love.”

“You’ve – you never had someone?” Looks like I threw him for a loop.

Shaking my head I turn to look out my window at the trees we pass by. “I don’t hate love or anything… it’s just dangerous to love someone like… us. Isn’t it? They’d either get hurt by people we go after or… ya know, if we don’t come back… it hurts them too.”

“But tomorrow isn’t promised to anybody,” he reasons. “So why deprive yourself of something as great as love on the off chance you die?”

“Because it’s easier.”

“For who?”

“Why the interest Rogers? You wanna fill that spot? Play a little house? Imagine we don’t have to save the world from domestic terrorists?”

He hums at my decision to not answer the question. “No, that’s not what I need right now.”

“And what do you need?”

“Just…” he sighs. “a friend.”

Of course. “Well, there’s a chance you might be in the wrong business, Rogers…”

“Maybe we could start with not calling each other our last names?” he offers.

I smile. “Maybe.”

We arrive at the location the tracer indicated as the sun is setting.

Camp Lehigh is on a sign but it seems to be long abandoned.

“The file came from these coordinates,” I say as I pick the lock on the chained fence.

“So did I…” Steve says looking up at the sign in nostalgia. “This camp is where I was trained.”

“Change much?”

“A little…”

I wonder around, scanning the area for any thing to indicate a power source. “This is a dead end. Zero heat signatures, zero waves. Not even radio. Whoever created the file must have used a router to throw people off.” I tuck the scanner in my back pocket and the Captain looks up at me then shifts his gaze to behind me, frowning. “What is it?”

He starts walking and I follow. “Army regulations forbid storing munitions within 500 yards of the barracks. This building’s in the wrong place.” He breaks the lock with his shield and we enter as it leads us underground.

I turn on the lights and it reveals the insignia painted on the wall. “This was SHIELD. The early days, after it evolved from the Strategic Scientific Reserve,” I say, recognizing the outdated logo.

We wander around, finding a wall of three portraits. “The three founders.” He looks at me. “What? The history is one of the things they teach at the academies. Colonel Philips, Howard Stark and Margaret Carter.”

“There are academies?”

“Three. Very tough admission.”

Rogers spots something and looks closer. “If you’re already working in a secret office…” he pushes the shelves apart. “Why do you need to hide the elevator?”

Using my SHIELD issued code breaking device I type in the code for the elevator which takes us down even further to a room of computers, monitors and servers.

“This can’t be right… this equipment is ancient how could it be used to make the files?”

There was one place that looked like it came from this century and I decide to take a risk and plug in the usb drive. The servers whir and more lights come on.

“Initiate system?” a computerized voice says.

Yes, I type. “Creepy.” As we wait for the system to boot up I smirk. “Shall we play a game?” I laugh at myself. “It’s from a movie that was really pop-“

“I know,” he interrupts. “I saw it.”

A camera moves to Rogers and a voice recites his name and year of birth. Then it turns to me and does the same.

“Is this the AI that was blocking my commands back at the mall?” I say looking closer.

“I may not be the man I was back when the Captain took me in 1945 but I am.” A photo appears on one of the other screens.

“You know this… thing?”

“Arnim Zola was a German Scientist who worked for the Red Skull.”

“He’s been dead for years,” I add, remember something of the history lessons.

“First correction, I am Swiss. Second, look around you. I have never been more alive.” The robot voice recounts his end of life story and how he uploaded his consciousness into databanks.

“How did you get here?”

“By invitation.”

“It was Operation Paperclip after World War II. SHIELD recruited German scientists with strategic value. Always thought they shoulda just locked them all up… we probably wouldn’t be in this mess if they did.”

“HYDRA would have died with the Red Skull.”

“Cut off one head… two more shall take its place,” I recite their mantra aloud.

“When history did not cooperate… history was changed.” A flurry of photos of the Winter Soldier in the back ground of significant political events appear on the screens.

“That’s impossible, SHIELD would have stopped you,” I say, moving closer.

“Accidents would happen.” News of Howard and Maria Stark’s car accident shows up next.

Rogers punches the screen as Zola provokes him.

Does that mean…? I don’t finish the thought as the mad scientist explains what the drive contains.

“What kind of algorithm? What does it do?” I ask.

The doors begin to close as Steve is too late to throw his shield. A beeping comes from my communicator, detecting something. “Steve, we got a bogey. Short range ballistic 30 seconds tops.”

“Who fired it?”

“SHIELD.” I pull out the drive and Steve pulls a grate from the floor. I jump in and he follows, putting the shield up above us as rubble rains down on us. He strains against the weight of it all and the debris settles.

💖💖

Thank you for reading!

I'll be gone until Monday again but I'll try to write on my phone!! I have literally never been so busy throughout this summer until now!

Chapter 4

[the-cryptographer]

My tiny yugioh shrine - before and after pics. The Jounouchi figure still up top, holding a chain and ready to shank you with a scapegoat~ But I thought I’d zoom in so we could see my BEAUTIFUL NEW ISHTAR SIBS CLEARFILE INSTEAD~

I thought my shrine was getting a little too shippy. And especially a little too shippy in the absence of Mai. WHERE IS ALL THE KUJAKU MAI MERCHANDISE?! i need it pls, thx. But, anyhow~ I bought the Ishtar clearfile off of auction. And I thought it might be an old one, but on the back is actually a logo for the 20th anniversary of ygo, last year in 2016. And they weren’t even really in the movie, so now I’m wondering maybe there is also the chance of some recent Mai merchandise out there, hmm, so she will properly be represented in my collection >3>

But yeah, this is just by the exit to my room so i can stop by before i leave for the day and, offer coins or pieces of fruit or whatever and pray at my card game based alter, and maybe then Jounouchi’s good luck will rub off on me a little~

...

And there’s also a gore version of the shrine, but I usually keep that picture in the back so visitors don’t think i’m a creep. i guess i’ll put this picture in the front if i ever decide to host ritualistic demon summonings in my room or smthn~

(Both prints are from toxicosis by the way.)

Doujinshi are in another location. And I was only going to talk about my stupid ygo bookshelf shrine thing today, but then my doujin shipment came in and I decided FUCK IT i will brag about my crippling lack of impulse control cool swag all at once if i want to... Under the cut-

@battymarionette

If you remember this one~

tdah~ Basically it seems like a Kaiba Corp has put out a game, some kind of ridiculous fantasy RPG where Atem is some kind of Ron the Death Eater villain and Jou may or may not be the princess or smthn. And Mokuba invites Jounouchi over to play it or playtest it or something of that nature. Which seems like as good a premise as any for this kind of thing. And it’s got all the cute platonic Joukuba vibes which is a plus~

But yeah, Jounouchi goes over to Mokuba’s place, has some kind of fight with Seto, and some kind of conversation with Atem, and Mokuba’s kind of confused or upset about something, and then Jou gets all cute and announces that he and Kaiba are dating~ which i’m pretty sure Seto didn’t want Mokuba knowing about or whatever~

But, see, now I’m making this doujin sound sweet when, to be really blunt, i didn’t like it. At some point Seto slaps Jounouchi across the face for something.

I guess I shouldn’t pass judgement when I can’t even read the moon runes that explain why this has happened, but- no. (I’m trying to articulate. It’s not that I think Jou and Seto are incapable of being violent with one another (jfc how hypocritical would it be of me) but there’s something about the whys and the hows~? in my mind, Seto doesn’t gets hands on with that kind of thing unless it’s landing a measured martial arts blow in self defense, or lashing out from a place of extreme vulnerability - the kind that involves him being five seconds away from curling up in a ball of self-protection. So... Seto being collected and composed and instigating violence on Jounouchi’s triggers all my ‘no’ responses. And I also doubt Jounouchi would take that kind of thing without complaint, unless he was actually raving or spiraling and it was, like, a calm-the-fuck-down slap. I think he would definitely retaliate with shouting and intimidation, if not a physical blow. With Jounouchi it’s a little harder for me to define what would prompt physical violence, partly because i think his idea of what violence is is narrower than mine, and doesn’t include things like grabbing somebody’s jacket collar and shaking them around. But, hmm, I think by the time he’s through canon he doesn’t exactly break out the fistcuffs lightly.)

The point was that this doujin made it to the top of my shit list very fast. And I was concerned because, see, I had been avoiding buying KaiJou (in that order) doujins because most of them kind of do this thing to me and completely miss the glass cannon type of volatile fragility I see as being kind of central to Kaiba’s character. But then I caved and ordered a whole bunch. But, actually, I was pleasantly surprised by the other couple of ones I bought, so maybe the curse has finally lifted~ I liked this one in particular-

But, tbh, it also knew the way into my heart~

The way into my heart is Wheeler siblings :x

@rainstormcolors

First of all, I got POLARIS and it was good!

I don’t know what to share about it other than that because it was mostly porn. But I felt like it was kind of sweet and sentimental and Kaiba and Atem going on silly dates at the beginning with gorgeous background details. Also they sit on the throne together at the end and look very in love teehee~

But, yes, thank you for reccing~ I enjoyed a lot~!

BUT- !!! More importantly this finally came in the mail!

To answer your question, it’s a normal rivalshipping anthology. 112 pages, comics and fic~ Exciting things happen like Yuugi and Kaiba playing twister~

And in another story they’re out travelling and having punishment games of some sort and Yuugi gets a beard painted on his face~

AND HIS MOM OMG!! I love when odd characters cameo in my doujins. I think you can tell~

But, no, I lied- I addition to the anthology I got all this other stuff too~

I don’t know. There’s a set of tiny playing cards you have to disentangle. Some have exciting images.

Notably Jounouchi and Atem are the jokers, heh~

I still haven’t checked out the CD. This is a very rushed post where I don’t attempt to read things carefully or any of that~ But it comes with a manual with a bunch of character avatars - lots of expressions for Yuugi and Kaiba, as well as one avatar each for Jou, Anzu, baby Seto, Kisara, and BEWD. So I think it may be a visual novel of sorts. Undetermined~

So now you’ll know what you’re getting if you decide to order, in theory at least. I’m not sure because I bought this off the author’s BOOTH, so idk if the extra merchandise is limited in any manner or if toranoana only sends part of it(?)

ugh, let’s see.

I also got another anthology- a Yuugi-centric one.

It’s mostly rivalshipping, which I’d expect. rivalshipping is really popular in the jp fandom. but, tbh, i enjoyed the more odd ships more-

Like Juudai/Manjoume/Yuugi... Kaiba walks in on the Kohais basically crushing yuugi with love after this it’s so cute~

And Otogi/Yuugi. Ah~ I love the DDM chapters in the manga and how softly Otogi warms up to Yuugi~

A Duel Monsters themed art book I spent too much on~ I’m ashamed to say I don’t recognise a whole lot of the cards

but you’ll recognise Yubel, perhaps~

or the lady that Y!Bakura crossdresses as ;)

and there were quite a few dark magician girls and blue eyeses.

from another illustration book~

and i found a couple of apprenticeshipping doujins on BOOTH, but none of them wow-ed me really~

although I’ve been thinking a lot recently about how Mana inherited the Ring in manga canon. I feel like there are things to consider here. This picture struck me as a result.

Alright~ And now for my favourites~

OMG! A WHOLE DOUJIN ABOUT MALIK AND HIS SIBLINGS!!! I think this one was a predictable fave. I loved it so, sooo much. I was absolutely filled with quality Malik and Rishid moments.

EVERYONE IS SO CUTE!!

Malik and Rishid go biking and run into Mai which is very !!!

There are vacation photographs~

It looks like Malik tries to feed Ra a revival slime and gets eaten himself. I don’t know. But it was good. I’m so happy~ Ishtar family doujins. My life is complete. not really. i can’t die until i finish my fics.

Okay, but my other fave I didn’t see coming at all.

I don’t ship this! I shouted into the void. But nobody really believed her, not even herself. It’s too late for me. I’m just multiship trash. I will ship anything you put in front of me...

Okay, but the real reason I decided to get this was because of this preview panel. Of course I knew it was puzzlleship. But actually I love Mana and vaseshipping for reals. And this was so cute and the art was so pretty I thought- We might as well check the rest of it out~ (the idea of top!Yuugi didn’t hurt either...)

And then jackels happened~ And this kind of ethereal magic stuff~

There was some confusion I think with the cultural imagery in the doujin. Some of it looked vaguely Indic to my untrained eye but- I don’t know what to say, the art was so gorgeous and detailed.

And the smut was all facials and frot so obviously the doujin artist has my gd number, smh.

And Jou appeared near the end, looking amazing, and Jou is automatically about +50 points for any doujin.

I don’t know what to say. Very nice. Would recommend.

Also- just fyi- I do buy doujins for things that aren’t ygo. pls forgive my focus on my ygo obsession tho.

I’m really glad I stumbled across this in the hetalia tag~

And there’s a picture of Tifa being so bad at games at the golden saucer that Nanaki, who doesn’t even have opposable thumbs, can defeat her in PvP. Beautiful~

[awww-brain-no]

Darcy and Bucky. 60: Before you decide to murder me, let me explain...

“Damn neat freak. Why can’t he just leave things out where I need them?” Darcy muttered as she shuffled through Steve’s desk as carefully as possible. If she’d had more time to take photo evidence and ensure she put everything back where it was, she would have. But she’d only been able to convince Nat to kick Steve’s ass for two bouts in the ring, maybe three tops. She didn’t want to encourage too much saltiness between teammates, after all.

“I don’t know if it’s the army or your own tight-assed nature Steve, but why the hell do you have to hide your stuff?”

He’d let her go through his sketches a week earlier and she’d found it. The perfect image she needed for her next attack on Sam. Steve had doodled him as a pin-up model, flirty posture, heels and everything. And it was the exact logo she needed to brand her new assault. Literally. If only Steve hadn’t taken away the notebook as soon as he heard her mildly evil chuckle. Spoilsport. 

If she could just find the damn sketchbook.

She had just started gently rifling through the sock drawer when there was a soft click and the door swung open behind her. Her hands clenched and she plastered a placating smile on as she turned her head. But her teasing cajole died in her throat. That wasn’t Stevie Wonder Boy at the door.

It was Bucky.

Shit.

“Before you decide to murder me, let me explain...”

However, instead of a murder glare she had seen in pictures and grainy video, he only stood there, shoulders stiff and an obvious non expression in place.

It was probably best to tell the truth. Dude probably had some secret Russian lie detector crap built in. Darcy took a deep breath, finally let go of the socks she’d been holding onto for dear life, and fully turned towards the door.

“I'm playing a prank and need to borrow Steve’s sketch pad.”

Maybe if she was Natasha she would have seen some sort of response at that, but as it was, he was just a big wall of non-emotion and muscle.

“If it helps, I'm getting back at Wilson for the beet juice ordeal last week.”

Bucky’s expression finally shifted, and she swore there was a minor smirk as he stepped forward, reaching to the top of a cabinet she wouldn't have been able to get to herself grab the treasure she sought.

“Praise cheezits!” she muttered rushing forward to grab the proffered gold. “I wouldn't have found that for at least another 20 minutes and I don't think the Ego of Justice would have been able to handle Natasha’s ass kicking for that long.”

That comment seemed to elicit an extra puff of breath and she chose to take it as a sign of his amusement. She was about to scamper off to complete her nefarious plot, but then paused and glanced up at Bucky’s face, back in safe non-expression mode.

“Wanna help?”

He raised a brow.

“I mean, you wouldn't need to do anything, I just like company when devising my emotional torture.”

He tilted his head minutely as if weighing his options.

“Besides,” she continued. “You're already implicated if anyone catches me. I refuse even try and hold out against torture so everyone will know you helped.”

This time there was a definite chuckle and he held his hand out towards the door, signalling for her to lead the way.

Bucky dodged a kick coming towards his head and went for a leg swoop. Natasha easily rolled out of it before doubling back in on her offensive attack. This near-rehearsed back and forth continued until he took advantage a brief pause a couple moments later.

“Darcy Lewis.”

Natasha grunted, either in response or because he’d actually landed a punch.

“Tell me about her.”

They continued throwing punches and kicks, Natasha landing most of them. Without weapons, she had the upper edge, and seemed to be taking full advantage of it after his question, biding her time before answering.

“Not a threat,” she said calmly, using her leg to press down on his windpipe.

“That's not what I asked,” he responded once he had thrown her off.

She charged again, parsing out her words between attacks.

“You didn't tell me you whether you wanted a background check or not.”

She was testing him. Watching him more than his movements to try and gauge his interest. When she got him in a better chokehold, it was easier to admit momentary defeat and he tapped out.

“She spoke to me the other day.”

Natasha didn't say anything as she went for her towel.

“She said my words.” His voice was low, but he knew she’d heard.

They were both silent for a moment, Natasha watching him without a word as she wrapped the towel around the back of her neck.

He pulled his bottle of water out of his bag, a bit more forceful than he intended. “I had figured they would have been said on a mission. Another target that had gotten lost in all the brainwashing.”

“What did Steve say?”

Bucky snorted, taking a drink of water before answering.

“Haven't told him yet. He's got too many stars in his eyes when it comes to that. Always did.”

Her head tilted to acknowledge that, and she went for her own water. “And how did Darcy react? I'm surprised this is the first I've heard of it.”

“She didn’t. I didn't say anything.”

Her lack of response was more telling than others might have thought. But she purposely held her body loose, standing up straight to face him again, arms relaxed at her sides as she silently dared him to look at anything but her.

“She isn't a mission for you to weigh all your options and strategize.”

That was exactly what he had been doing. 

At his silence, Natasha’s eyes narrowed.

“I should have choked you harder.”

As another SHIELD lackey with a Sam ‘Falcon’ Wilson pin-up girl tie made his way past her, Darcy’s grin grew. It had been a good day. Admittedly, her month had been made when Coulson had merely raised his brows at his new mug before continuing to drink out of it despite Sam’s gaping for a full 30 seconds. She made a mental note to bake Clint a double batch of brownies for completing that switcheroo.

But from the ties she’d distributed through the Science! labs, the badges she’d slipped into everyone’s mail, the travel cups she’d put in every break room, and the mugs Coulson and other senior agents were carrying, Sam’s buxom alter ego had certainly made its way through SHIELD. Admittedly, it was probably only a couple more hours before the man in question chose to embrace it all and collect one of everything for himself, (hell, he’d probably have t-shirts made if Steve hadn’t already) but she was going to enjoy his mild embarrassment while she could. It just helped remind her she'd won. That beet juice had been a pain to wash out. She’d gotten him back and then some.

Humming to herself, she filled her own jumbo pin-up mug with another cup of coffee and made her way to the training room. It was time to lord her victory over Wilson once and for all.

Sam was attempting to hold his own against Natasha, the woman seeming to never get tired of kicking every man’s ass in the tower. With a friendly mug lift to the glaring man who grunted at a kick to the ribs before shifting his attention back to his deadly sparring partner, Darcy made her way over to Steve’s perch on one of the weight machines.

“Morning Mr. Spangly Pants.”

He raised his own pin-up Sam travel mug with the tell-tale acknowledgement of another shit-stirrer.

“Darcy.”

She cackled, about to detail the awesomeness of her achievement to make him jealous, but they were soon joined by Buky.

“Have you two met yet?” Steve didn’t wait for a response before continuing with .

“Oh. We've met.” She gave him a smile. Bucky really had only been there as silent company, watching as she’d designed her revenge wares, pointing out his suggests on the screen. If she had anything to do about, they might team up on other ventures in the future, so she raised her mug to him in mock solute. “I'm still appreciative of the lack of violence towards my trespassing.”

Steve let out a grunt as he suddenly put together how she pulled it off, but she was distracted by Bucky giving her a full grin. To hide the effect it had on her, she drank deeply from her coffee. She was getting ideas that had nothing to do with pranks. Ideas that could be dangerous, but would probably be very worth it.

As if he knew what she was thinking, his smile grew even more.

“Even in my day we didn’t kill our soulmates.”

Her eyes widened and she inhaled suddenly, choking on her coffee. A great way to meet your soulmate, bitter liquid burning, eyes watering, spit dribbling, and Steve laughing through it all.

But despite her hacking, the peanut gallery decided to actually chime in as he thumped her on the back, nearly sending her into a faceplant. “Looks like you’re halfway to murdering her already, Buck.”

She glanced up at his quiet chuckle.

“Nah, that’d only count as manslaughter at most.”

Through her coughing, Darcy made a promise to herself. She’d spend the rest of her life getting the little dad-joke-during-a-momentous-occasion jerk back. She would start just as soon as she could breathe again.

[captainswannl29]

Happy Birthday Hollie!

So you know you’re REALLY special when someone who never - ever - makes a post, or finishes any kind of writing and prefers to stick to behind-the-scenes beta-ing goes full out and does a one shot for you!

I know it’s not on YOUR level, but in my defense, i didn’t have a beta as good as you do ;) I hope you enjoy it!! @the-captains-ayebrows

Birthday Fic based on this prompt;

“I’m on a date at a hockey game and my date is being a douche. Now we’re on the kiss cam, but hes on his phone, so i’m just going to kiss you instead, okay?” 

and this post;

http://killianisacupcake.tumblr.com/post/151446047966/frozenmusings-booooost-sympathypaynes

“Great!” Emma huffed, as she slammed her battery depleted phone down onto her thigh. The impact made her skin sting under her jeans. Taking a deep breath, she rolled her eyes at the fact that – apparently - iPhone batteries don’t do so well in near-frigid temperatures. The motion caused her to catch a glimpse of Neal to her right. In his worn jersey puffed up atop layers of thermal clothing and backwards baseball cap, perched on the edge of the hard, cold, plastic arena seat he was every bit the Hockey Fan she decidedly was not.

“Come on guys! That’s it!” He shouted through gloved fingers – Jesus, even the gloves were embossed with a team logo. What team is it again? Something red. Damned if Emma could remember. Being at an NHL game with Neal was kind of like being at a little kids’ birthday party… there’s nothing in it for you, but the kid is having a great time so you’re just kind of… there. And freezing. Did she mention freezing? Without the excuse of her touch screen phone to justify her lack of mittens, she was fast approaching frostbite. After tossing her useless phone into her purse, she rubbed her hands together in a failed attempt to warm them, then hugged herself tightly, tucking each hand carefully under her biceps.

“Serve’s you right, Em!” joked Neal, now glancing back at her “I mean, who goes to a hockey game in a tank top and leather jacket anyways?”

“Well, you know, maybe if somebody had warned me they don’t actually heat these places adequately I would have been more prepared” she sighed heavily creating a cloud of frozen breath. “I never have this problem at an NBA game.” Emma arched a sarcastic brow in his direction, but his attention was turned back towards the ice and she was alone in her misery once again. Perhaps a bit disappointed at the lack of engagement with her top-notch banter, Emma narrowed her eyes and began to asses Neal’s profile. The tips of his hair were poking out around the edges of the hat and plastered against his forehead. Several creases around his eyes grew deeper as he concentrated on the players whizzing up the ice, and the line of his nose pointed towards a hinting of a moustache and beard that never quite achieved the whole “meticulously unkempt” look she knew he was secretly going for. Despite Neal’s desire to be the devil-may-care type he really looked a lot more like a boring future in the Hamptons. Which probably explained why her parents, most emphatically her mother, were always “Team Neal.” They just want you to be happy, Emma told herself. And she was, right? It had been 5 years with Neal and things were… they were okay I guess. Her mom was constantly dropping hints about planning a wedding.

“We just want you to have what we have, Emma.” Her mother had said over a blinding smile the last time they’d visited for dinner. “I knew from the first moment your father kissed me.” But the problem with that was there never was or would be another couple so perfectly cookie cutter happy as David and Mary Margaret Nolan. And as much as Emma loved them for it, she always had a nagging suspicion that she wasn’t cut from the same cloth.

“I prefer basketball too, Lass.” A mellifluous voice to her left snapped Emma out of her contemplation. Twisting around to catch a pair of serenely blue eyes she was taken completely off guard.

“Uhhh…”

“Although nothing American could ever compare to a proper match of footy.” The stranger whispered, with a one-sided smirk and eyebrow tilt to match. A few pieces of raven hair fell across his brow and brought Emma back to the here and now. He had a sharp jaw covered in a textbook 5 o’clock shadow, full lips, and a hint of chest hair escaping through the v neck of his t shirt, all wrapped up in a fitted black leather jacket reminiscent of James Dean himself. “Actually, I think it’s Canadian. Basketball that is. Common misconception.” Oh, My, God, seriously, she was mortified at her response before she had even finished it. Professor sexy and his perfection of an Irish accent – British? No, Irish, definitely Irish, is giving her a look that screams everything your mother would never let you date and she comes back with a brief history on the origins of basketball? What she wouldn’t give to be able to hide behind her phone right now.

“Ah, which explains my greater affinity for it I suppose. Never the less, Hockey isn’t exactly my cup of tea but my brother here – “He tilted his head to his left, signalling a curly haired but equally as attractive man “Well, he dragged me here. Afraid I lost a bet.”

“Well, sucks to be you I guess!” she scrunched her nose and raised her shoulders at him.

“Ha-ha, that may be true, love, but at least I have gloves.” He held up one hand and wriggled the leather covered fingers. Touché. “I’m Killian, by the way, and on that note – I hope I’m not overstepping here – but I did a quick run to the canteen just now and… well I couldn’t help but notice you looked quite cold, so if you’d like I grabbed an extra beverage.” He held a red cardboard cup with glorious steam rising from the rim out towards her.

“Oh, thanks that’s really nice…”  Emma was filled with an odd sense of surprise and if she’s being entirely honest with herself, delight, “But what about your brother?” She leaned to glance over his shoulder towards the other man “He looks kinda chilly too, ya know.”

“Not to worry, love, that tosser can fend for himself.” He winked before the tip of his tongue made a brief appearance at the corner of his mouth, which Emma noted, perhaps a little too obviously.

“Thanks.” She smiled sweetly as she wrapped her extremely grateful fingers around the cup, she was in no position to turn down the offering. As it was, the hot liquid inside was already working wonders. Even if she didn’t drink coffee, her hands appreciated the warmth.

“My pleasure, love.” He narrowed his eyes in a positively sinful fashion and followed it up with another smirk as he settled back against his chair, slowly returning his gaze to the ice.

Emma twisted back towards Neal again, gripping the cup tightly and trying to process what had just happened. He noticed she was cold – had he been watching her? He must think she was an idiot in a sub-zero arena dressed like this. Although – now that she thought if it, he was wearing a plain white tee and leather jacket himself. How long was he sitting there? How had she missed him? Now that she knew he was there she was painfully aware that their thighs were practically touching. And that he smelled incredible – like sex in a bottle really. God, had she done anything stupid… Was he hitting on her? He had to notice she was with Neal. Maybe he was just friendly. They do say that about European people, don’t they? God, why was this getting her so worked up? Snap out of it Emma! Get a grip.

In an attempt to ground herself she took a quick sip from her cup and was surprised at the familiar sweet taste of hot chocolate, not coffee. The corners of her mouth turned up in a small smile and a gentle laugh escaped.

“Em, are you seeing this? Our guys on a breakaway!” Neal exclaimed back at her as one member of the red team charged towards the net on the far side of the arena and shot the puck powerfully towards the Goalie.

“HE SCORES!!” Neal thrust both arms into the air and jumped out of his seat joining the majority of the audience in celebration. Flashing red lights and what sounded like a siren blared over the speakers and Emma had to hold her cup strategically to prevent the liquid from spilling in response to all the jostling. After some raucous high 5s to the strangers with painted faces in the seats behind them, Neal sat back down and casually put his arm around her.

“This is great, babe, it means we’ll have a lead going into the third period!” Neal smiled, and she returned it, her mood drastically improved by her warmed hands and the much-needed sugar rush. Maybe she was being too hard on him earlier. Freezing to death will do that to a person. He cupped her shoulder and pulled her in to a side hug.

“Jesus, Em, you’re freezing!” he recoiled and she fixed him with an annoyed look of contempt. “Sorry, self preservation.” He held his hands up as if he didn’t have a choice and turned back towards the game. Right. Emma sighed and shook her head slightly.

No phone, a total douche to her right and gods gift to women unforgettably on her left, she was forced to actually pay attention to the game. From what she could gather, the score was 1-0 in their favor and they were coming up on a break before the final period. At least then she might have some distraction watching the dancers, lights display and other entertainment. Plus, Neal may be less entranced and actually hold up a bit of a conversation.

Or not! As it turns out, Neal had other plans. As soon as the horn signaled the end of the second period, he pulled out his tablet and started tweeting, blogging, and instagramming his thoughts on the game. Out of the corner of her eye Emma was pretty sure she saw more than one self-assured gif directed towards fans of the opposing team. Whatever, she was two thirds through this and before she knew it she would be at home in a nice bubble bath. Depositing her empty cup by her foot for now, she leaned back and took in the show. Some kids were invited onto the ice to play games for free pizza, and a short man with an apparently cantankerous disposition was hampered with the duty of shooting t-shirts into the crowd out of a giant cannon. When one landed just below them a full-on dog pile resulted – seriously, grown men and their sports paraphernalia. She didn’t think she’d ever get it. All the while Neal remained totally unfazed. Rolling her eyes, she noticed that over the speakers, “We will rock you” was faded out as a poppy rendition of “Love will keep us together” took over. Emma glanced up at the jumbo-tron and saw a heart shaped frame focusing in on random couples throughout the stadium, urging them to kiss to the cheers of the crowd. God, how embarrassing. What if you were there with your brother?

Before she could finish that thought, she was shocked to see herself and Neal, completely consumed with his online trolling, focused on the giant TV. If there was one thing Emma could think of that was more embarrassing than kissing on the jumbo-tron at a professional sports game, it was being ignored on one!

The crowd immediately surrounding them began to hoot and cheer, an electric excitement buzzing and Emma wanted to get the whole thing over with so the camera man could move on to his next victim.

“Neal!” Emma called placing a hand on his forearm, urging him to look up.

“Just a minute babe, I’m right in the middle here.” His eyes were laser focused on the tablet as his fingers danced frantically over the screen. Emma felt her cheeks begin to flush and her heart race in mortification.

“No, Neal seriously, look up!” She pleaded, stretching her hand out to point towards the kiss cam. The crowd kept cheering, but a few were beginning to laugh, some people were pointing, above the roaring noise and blasting music she could make out a chorus of “Kiss her! Kiss her!”

“Emma, 5 seconds, I’m about to make this kid look like a total jack ass!” he snorted. Emma’s breath escaped in a scoff, what the fuck! She was going to kill him! Totally livid, and a bit hurt, not that she’d ever admit to that, she couldn’t help feeling totally alone in the moment. A little bit of panic snuck in and she felt desperately like she was drowning, without a lifeline. Oh God, just get me out of here!

She began to shrug her shoulders and raise her eyes, hands upturned when warm fingers slid gently up her left thigh and paused on her knee with a small squeeze. A shoulder pressed against her own, and a pair of pillow soft lips came to rest aside her ear lobe,

“A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.”

The words tickled across her cheek and a thrilling rush of adrenaline shot down her spine as she drew in a sharp breath. In total disbelief of what was happening – in front of tens of thousands of people no less – Emma slowly turned to face Killian. She let go of the breath she was holding, and glanced from his eyes, to his lips, and back up again. He was looking at her in a way Neal never had. Almost like she was something precious. Her heart was pounding in her ears, completely drowning out the crowd. Her head felt fuzzy and her stomach was filled with butterflies. Oh God, she was going to pass out. Yup. That’s about right, that’s how this ends, complete and utter humiliation.

“I don’t mean to embarrass you, love, but a woman as beautiful as you deserves a man’s full and prompt attention.” At that he ran his tongue across his bottom lip and curled his mouth into a completely wicked grin.

Emma looked over her shoulder at Neal, who was still oblivious. Then to the Kiss Cam, which panned from left to right, Neal to Killian.

She met his eyes – shock replaced with revelation – and said,

“You’re fucking right!”

She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him towards her, capturing his lips in a fierce and passionate kiss. The crowd went absolutely wild, but all Emma could hear was Killian’s moan of surprise. He seemed a bit stunned for only a second before threading his fingers through her hair and slanting his mouth over hers in a follow up kiss. She steadied herself by splaying her hands against the firmness of his chest while she absolutely melted into him. He kissed her like nobody ever had before. Her entire body hummed with electricity, from her finger tips, all the way to her toes and if she hadn’t remembered she was broadcast over a fucking 200-foot screen right now she would have climbed astride him and took this thing up a notch.

“Em, what the hell!” shouted Neal behind her as she emerged from the haze that had been consuming her. She turned to see him, covered in popcorn and half eaten hot dogs, the subject of jeers and scowls from everyone around.

“What a tool!”

“Jackass!”

“He’s way hotter anyway, hunny!”

Emma started to laugh as Killian began to unwind himself from around her and pull slightly back. She grabbed his arm just before it slipped completely away from her, and a second wind of boldness surged within her as she shrugged at Neal,

“Sorry babe, I’m right in the middle here.” She taunted before pulling Killian back in to another sizzling make out session amidst the hoots and howls of entire stadium.

     Ra���

[flightofaqrow]

chance meeting

qrow + Robyn ( @boundariestcbreak​​ )

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“Hey there, 5 O’Clock Shadow. I didn’t expect to see you down here.”

“Robyn Hill,” easy to know who she is, but bold of her to act so familiar with qrow branwen, to act as if she could recognize anything about his patterns of behavior, and lay that fact out loud and clear. even though her expectations are wrong.

...

“You seemed interesting to me,” Robyn offered gently but sincerely. After all, what’s life without a little risk? If Robyn always did what was expected of her, she’d likely still be up in Atlas right now instead of down here among the people of Mantle as their ‘hometown hero’.

“…interesting is one way’a puttin’ it, that’s for sure... guess you’ll find out.”

dry. qrow’s throat is dry and his mouth is dry, and his life is dry now, and Robyn is sweeter and more of a salve than he deserves, than he has any idea how to handle.

whether he wants to or not, he can feel the change in the atlas atmosphere. and maybe even another change in himself.

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mantle remains one of the few places which changes everytime qrow finds himself here.

atlas? maybe upgrades. gets fancier and stuffier and more full of itself. nothing truly changes. mantle switches storefronts and neon lights like they’re going out of style. the dust within buildings barely settles before new paint and a new logo appears on the outside, and boards nail up next door. just another sign of the struggle, but it keeps things interesting.

qrow finds comfort in some change right about now, meandering the streets, satiating wanderlust in his down time, with few other idle desires left to choose fulfillment from. distraction through exploration.

the restaurants can’t be beat. no perfectly-plated schnee manor meal could boast the same flavor as an authentic bowl of who-knows-what stew from some backstreet hole-in-the-wall. especially the ones tenacious enough to stick around long enough that he still recognizes the name.  

he notes more bars than bookstores around these blocks.

qrow hangs his head, holds onto the familiar weight of Harbinger on his back, and newly-shined black boots kick an empty bottle on the sidewalk out of his way.

just keep walking, qrow. obstacle by obstacle, step by step.

keep moving forward.

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Robyn, despite being born and spending all of her childhood and adolescence in Atlas, actually feels more comfortable in Mantle. Even before she became the crowd favorite in Mantle, she’s always felt more comfortable and inconspicuous here. More free to be herself than living in Atlas afforded her. Making the choice to live in Mantle instead of in Atlas, and work on her own with her team from the academy instead of with the military? Well, it really wasn’t a choice at all, because in her mind there were no other options for her. Knowing how badly Mantle was suffering, she couldn’t even fathom staying up in Atlas and ignoring the problem.

So she’d chosen to live down here, instead, and she had no regrets about it.

She liked to walk along the streets and check on people every so often, so that was what she was doing. And, as she did so, she noticed a familiar head of messy black hair.

She crossed the street to where he was walking and started walking alongside him. “Hey there, 5 O’Clock Shadow.” She said conversationally. “I didn’t expect to see you down here.”

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qrow suspected through the whole ordeal of going dry that his senses would wreak havoc with him before they got better. become more sensitized than sensitive. too much feeling or not at all, finally facing the mess he’s made of himself and letting it settle before he can sort it out.

maybe that’s why he’s easily distracted by the clattering of that bottle and slow on the uptake of a woman’s approach.

or maybe it’s because nothing he picked up on posed enough threat to enter trained perception; no spying eyes causing hairs on the back of his neck to stand, no suspicious scuffling from the shadows or looming presence creeping like a predator, no scent of steel or gunpowder or blood. she carried herself like any other passerby on the streets until deciding to sidle on up into his personal space, and hazy eyes pop open in half-startle before instinct narrows them to turn his head to see who would dare, right before she speaks.

“Robyn Hill,” another split second and he softens - only his face, not his guard. her true name drops from his lips rough and with such skepticism it renders any counter-nickname completely impotent, would only sound playful. easy to know who she is, but bold of her to act so familiar with qrow branwen, to act as if she could recognize anything about his patterns of behavior, and lay that fact out loud and clear.

even though her expectations are wrong.

his attention returns only to looking ahead as he continues forward, but long legs slow their lengthy stride so she can keep up more easily; he decides to ride out this walk and see what Mantle’s hometown hero, and thus Ironwood’s more immediate rival, wants.

qrow shrugs, ignores anything implied by this whole situation, “if you’ve come to gimme some sorta campaign spiel, can’t say i really want to hear it.”

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Robyn fights the urge to smirk at the way he startles ever so slightly when she slides up next to him. He must have been pretty deep in thought to not notice that she was coming up next to him. Not a good trait for a Huntsman to have-at least, she assumes he’s one, she really has no way of knowing for sure, but not many people walk around with a weapon on them, or at the very least within reach, if they’re not Hunters. She smiles a little, though it’s more a smirk than anything else, when he says her name. She knows his, too, with all the recon she’s done on him and the rest of the people he’d come in with. She just prefers ‘5′o Clock Shadow’ if she’s being honest.

She won’t say this out loud to him, but she’s glad that he has the courtesy to slow down so she can easily catch up to him.

“Nah, I would never do that. I save those for campaign days.” Robyn says, half teasing. It’s hard to miss her face on posters all over Mantle, though-that the rest of the Happy Huntresses put up-so she can see why he’d assume that.

“Perhaps I’m just making conversation, ever think about that, hm?” She asks as she looks up at him. She’s not exactly short, but he’s definitely taller than she is. That’s an interesting thing to note, which she does.

“So, what brings you to Mantle? Night on the town?” Her tone is jovial and light.

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qrow is a huntsman with plenty of bad traits. doing his best not to count the bundle of smaller side effects of giving one big one up as equal and unworthy of the trade. he may be better, but not yet his best. she can forgive him or get lost. never asked for company on tonight’s journey.

but he can’t complain, really. especially when she promises not to go all political on him. might still be playing spy, but that’s a game which comes more natural. could fill idle time as they walk along broken streets with too many temptations.

Robyn’s presence keeps qrow honest.

“good,” he gruffs, looking up above buildings towards a sunset sky, a bigger picture, “savin’ your voice for when you can reach more of a crowd makes sense.”

normal conversational questions in normal tone yet sounds like interrogation, considering. even so, qrow has nothing to hide, not currently, not so long as he watches what he says. maybe she could be equally as valuable for him in finding out the real goings-on of the grittier half of the kingdom.

or maybe it’s alright for both of them to actually be something more like normal during off-hours.

qrow rolls his shoulders back and smiles, a tiny thing accompanied by the huff of a chuckle. did he look ready for a night on the town while still in combat gear? he shakes that thought from his head and spares a quick glance over at her before returning to a slow scan of everything around.

“just checkin’ the place out. seein’ the city for myself. it’s… lookin’ worse around here since the last time i’ve been.”

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Robyn nodded. “Yeah, exactly.” She said, smirking a little. She couldn’t tell if he actually felt that way, or if he was just humouring her, but he wasn’t telling her to walk away, so she considered that a win. “Would you believe me if I told you I’m actually not much of a public speaker?” She asked as they walked. This whole conversation felt very casual, which she wasn’t opposed to in the slightest. “My decision to go into politics was actually more of an impulsive one, brought on by the desire to help the people of Mantle. I mean, it’s clear Atlas won’t do it without a push from someone down here.” She wasn’t sure why she had told him that, mainly because she didn’t see any reason to hide it or be ashamed of that fact. She was doing this for the people.

And then he smiles at her, and she finds herself returning it briefly before her gaze follows his around Mantle. “Yeah. I don’t know how long it’s been since you were here last but things are…I think they’re slowly getting worse? Which is another reason why I want to run for Council.”

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qrow doesn’t lie; not to allies, not over something so insignificant. he thinks out loud, because thoughts come rushing so fast without an ocean of liquor forcing them to swim sluggishly. and isn’t that what small talk is? exchanging thoughts?

or beliefs, as it were. ‘Hmn,” an affirmative huff of air acknowledges her disclosure.

“I mean, it’s clear Atlas won’t do it without a push from someone down here.”

Robyn repeats things the masses always like to say, but combines it with her own action. sounds passionate as she speaks. which does make him raise a skeptical brow about the first part on public speaking. maybe it’s true she might not like it, but he doubts she lacks the skill for it.

she’s getting qrow of all people to listen already.

“i wouldn’t say slowly,” he narrows his eyes at yet another dilapidated building, and the next shift of sooty faunus filled carts drive by next to them. Mantle’s never been the most glistening town, but now it’s like a cloud hangs over everyone there. The embargo, the crumbling defenses, the unrest, news of the rest of the world - for who followed it. and very little light to be found in the gloom.

maybe that’s why qrow feels like he fits in on these streets. it’s definitely how people can cling to Robyn so easily, even a promise to try and fight for the city gives them something to hold on to.

brows furrow, and lips press together in thought, more thinking, “what d‘you think its biggest problems are? …to change if you make the council?”

it got political anyway, didn’t it? well, hard to avoid when all of solitas seems in a crisis.

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Robyn’s brow rises at his lack of initial response to her words. But, she supposes-in his defense-that she hadn’t given him much to respond to. Anyone who knows anything about Atlas and Mantle likely knows of the huge power imbalance between the cities, even if they’ve never been here before; though from Qrow’s words, Robyn assumes that he has in fact been there before. Either way, he’s listening to her, which she considers a personal victory.

At his next words, a soft, almost hollow laugh escapes her. “No kidding.” She murmurs, silently watching the Faunus filled carts drive by, coming from the mines. Her eyes narrow slightly at the sight, but when one of them looks up and meets her eyes, she offers what she hopes is a reassuring smile, and takes great pride when the Faunus she smiled at seems to perk up, ever so slightly.

His question jolts her out of her own head, and she looks at him. “The treatment of the Faunus, of course.” Robyn says without hesitation. “The fact that the dust mines are still leagues more dangerous than they should be. I don’t know everything that goes on in the mines, obviously, but I hear things and they’re…they need fixing. Not to mention the treatment of the poorer citizens-not just in Mantle, but in Atlas as well.”

She winces a little. “That’s probably trying to take on too much at once, though.”

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qrow’s not the chattiest type to begin with, save for lectures or storytelling, let alone with a pounding in his head, the tremor of his hands still hiding in pockets, a twist in his gut adjusting to regular amounts of real food, and a craving in the back of his throat he forces himself to swallow down dry. just past forty and he has to get used to his own body all over again. eloquent use of his tongue not currently high on the priority list.

his head works overtime to keep it all together, but as he watches the interaction between Robyn and the faunus, his breath skips a second. and that’s new. Mantle’s hero spreading hope and joy, indeed, so much that some of it even spills over onto qrow. time seems to halt for a few single moments of everything being okay, promised by those smiles. corners of his mouth lift, and his features lighten, and there’s a spark of softness in his heart not unlike when he’d witnessed his nieces reuniting.

Robyn’s attention circles back to continue their conversation, her turn for deep thought, and he finds himself suddenly unable to meet her gaze in realizing how he was staring though that exchange, and some strange impulse forces him to look away before he might be caught.

still hears her, and resets quickly, in time to note the second-guessing on her face; offers an encouraging toss of his head as if to say chin up.

“that’s a lot, and some pretty heavy stuff, sure. if you’re talkin’ only one person. but you seem to know better’n to go it alone. got a good number of people behind ya, if talk on the streets is anything to go by.”

and more to come between now and election day, if what he just saw was anything to go by either.

and that’s possibly more than Ironwood can say right now, on Mantle’s side of things anyway.

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Robyn doesn’t mind that Qrow doesn’t seem to be the most talkative person that there is. Joanna’s not very talkative either, but when she does speak, it’s always insightful and important. Somehow, she gets the feeling that Qrow is the same way. Not to mention the fact that they’re still virtual strangers to one another, which could also be part of the reason why he’s choosing not to talk much. Either way, whatever the reasoning, she’s unbothered and won’t pry about it. If he ever wants to tell her, well, that’ll be up to him.

She does notice that he’s looking anywhere but at her, and she finds herself wondering why, her cheeks burning ever so slightly.

His next words draw a smile to her lips, and she nods. He knows that she isn’t just talking about the Happy Huntresses, either. She has so much support from the people of Mantle. But, it’s still nice to hear all the same.

“I do. I’ve worked hard to earn the trust of Mantle.” She admits, though she isn’t sure why she’s admitting this to him. Or why he’s so easy to talk to. “I was born in Atlas, to a more than kind of well off family.”

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qrow’s used to hanging back, staying quiet. broody and in his own head, even. but he finds he doesn’t mind this woman walking next to him, or the thoughtful chatter. taking a walk with a partner before so often meant absorbing the tempest of Raven’s dark, tangled presence, the too radiant light of Tai trying to shine on him, the ceaseless smiles of Summer trying to uplift him whether he liked it or not, lectures from Oz or threats from Glynda, or Yang and Ruby tugging at his cape and trying to tell him what to do, and when they got older the only thing much changed is how much he’d listen.

all to make him realize - he appreciates the unassuming, undemanding presence of this person; allowing him his space, not yelling at him too loud when his head and heart can’t handle it. all he’s done for so long is create distance. he’s forgotten what it’s like to have someone be so comfortable at his side, too.

it helps that they’re out in the open air, even if it’s a little stale, and cold, and poor quality. qrow’s always done better without walls.

it helps that it’s easy to tell how much Robyn cares.

“i don’t doubt it,” qrow laughs, louder than a huff this time, but still soft, soft enough to match her smile, “they’re a rowdy bunch down here. stomped on enough that they don’t put their faith in someone real easy.”

hmm, sounds familiar.

he’s also forgotten what it’s like for him to care enough to not want to ruin something.

her second statement surprises him, actually. he’d never tell by the humble, comfortable clothes she wears and a distinctive lack of uptight mannerisms, more down-to-earth... and mantle’s about as low as it gets. that guy in the transport ship said the huntresses all graduated from the academy, though, and a well-off home certainly makes funding an education easier. it sounds like the makings of a good story, and he does enjoy those.

“so what brought you down out of the clouds for this kinda work, then?”

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“A lot of people in Mantle believe that it’s every person for themselves.” Robyn explained as they walked. “They’ve survived this long, so perhaps their belief has some weight to it. But I want them to see that they do have someone on their side.”

His question catches her more than a little off guard. No one outside of the Happy Huntresses knows Robyn’s reasoning for choosing to help Mantle and abandon Atlas instead of enlisting in the Atlesian Military like her parents had expected her to-and she prefers it that way. But something about Qrow makes her want to be open with him about this. She figures he won’t spread it around, anyway. 

“When I was at Atlas Academy, I noticed that even some of my classmates didn’t have enough-Food, clean clothes, new school supplies, all of it-while a lot of my other classmates seemed to have more than they knew or cared what to do with. Including me. And since my family had so much to spare, well, I figured, why not…take some from my parents and give it to those who needed it?” Somehow, she got the feeling he’d appreciate that way of thinking more than anything else. And it was simply the truth.

“I don’t think my parents ever figured out where the money went. Or, more likely, they had so much they didn’t notice when a decent chunk of it went missing. My classmates were grateful, to say the least. But I didn’t do it for the glory. I did it because it was the right thing to do, and because no one else was going to help them.”

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more windows and doorways pass by as they walk. qrow no longer takes note of what directions they head, where they go; happy to explore streets as well as this newfound comfort in conversation, with no worries of getting lost. Robyn likely knows the city as well as herself, and all it takes for him to find his way home is to duck down an abandoned alley and shift for an aerial view.

honking horns and whirring spybots don’t sound so loud with something else to focus on.

qrow nods again, still listening more than responding.

“A lot of people in Mantle believe that it’s every person for themselves.”

they should see vacuo, he thinks, but doesn’t interrupt. and yet there’s a difference between being on one’s own until they prove themselves, and a person struggling so much day after day that there’s no time to notice the allies already around you.

Robyn gets people to look up, and look around.

there’s probably a lesson for himself buried somewhere in that train of thought, but it makes his head twist with clouded memories, and his heart pinch until his mouth sours; maybe a bullet to the head for loading up later, but for now he’d rather pay attention to what she’s saying than his inner voice; Robyn’s recollections given in a clear and far more pleasant chirp.

how she progressively keeps making him more jovial, qrow may not know or even realize, but now he lets out a deep belly laugh between them, briefly bringing his outside hand up to cover his mouth, and swaying enough to bump against her and brush shoulders, “redistribution of wealth that skips right past the middle-man, huh?”

she’s not wrong to believe he’d understand; growing up as a communal bandit taught him to share and to steal alike, and plenty of programs existed in city society for kids who needed help, but whether they were timely or enough could be another question. nice to know he still looks enough of a bad boy to make her spill something like that, even all cleaned up.

and amusing as it is, he does take note that she has every potential to be a thief from those in charge; not unlike himself, even now.

he doesn’t see the harm in fair trade of what’s now in the past.

“can’t say i’m a stranger to pickin’ pockets myself. though, it wasn’t for glory or what’s right,” tone turns more somber as he gazes down at the sidewalk once more, “just didn’t have much choice at th’ time.”

a quick pause, and then he’s turned towards Robyn again, stupid grin spreading across his face, “buuuuut …i can use that skill a little more wisely these days.”

more like wise ass, since he dangles something shiny in front of her - a bracelet which just a minute ago had been resting around her own wrist.

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Robyn laughed softly at his words, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. I saw an injustice being done and took matters into my own hands to fix it.”

She wasn’t surprised to hear that he also picked pockets from time to time. If anyone knew how important that was, it was her, and she said as much. “You have to do what you have to do to keep the people you care about safe.”

Robyn had a simple silver bracelet around her wrist. It had been a gift from her older brother, Sparrow-who was the only member of her family she still spoke to-upon her graduation from the Academy, and she hadn’t taken it off since he had given it to her. The rest of the Huntresses knew not to touch it, and she usually kept it concealed under her sleeve just so no one attempted to steal it. He was a skilled Atlesian engineer, working independent of the Military; something they had heavily agreed on was that they didn’t want to be indebted to the military in any way. She knew General Ironwood was doing what he thought was best, at least she hoped that was the case, but military work still simply wasn’t for her.

The bracelet that was now dangling from Qrow’s fingers. a soft gasp escaped her and she jumped for it, feeling kind of childish but determined not to let him have it. “Stealing from me after I got vulnerable with you? That’s a low blow.” She said, but there was no malice in her tone.

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genuine.

Robyn doesn’t need to have the most eloquent speeches in Remnant when sentiment rides so high in few words. yet trained ears can hear her teeth within the sound of them, promises just as much as threats. it could just be a trick of the streetlamps, but qrow’s eyes shine just like the glints of light off metal jewelry still spinning in his grasp.

malnourished ego relishes in the surprised and distraught look on her face, telling him he’s not lost all of his skills in the disorienting sucker punch of sobriety. he still knows where to find the important picks, see through into the hidden places people tried to tuck away treasures from prying notice; not that their value always meant the monetary type.

child-like mischief dances across his features right back, something wicked and sneaky were it not so bright. he finds amusement in watching her values come so immediately to life - caring, keeping things close to her, reaching her desire right out to reclaim what is rightfully hers. would admit it’s kind of cute, if he let his mind go there.

he raises a brow, shakes his head and lets out a dry chuckle before rough voice rounds off into a defensive plea, “c’mon now, Robyn… ‘s’it really stealin’ if i show ya and give it right back?”

for as much as his bird brain argues against giving up a newfound shiny trinket, his arm doesn’t pull away from her clutches or try to resist. no desire to be accused of taking advantage.

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Robyn really didn’t want to get into a fight with him-she wasn’t an unnecessarily violent person, and usually only turned to it when her own life and safety or the lives and safety of the people that she cared about were threatened. But she didn’t know him that well, and if he refused to hand over the bracelet, well, she might have to make an exception for him.

It was a good reminder, though, to never let her guard down. She wasn’t short, but she knew she might have to jump in order to get it back, which she wasn’t looking forward to. But if it meant she’d get her bracelet back, she’d do it without hesitation.

The look on his face is both infuriating and a little endearing, but also intriguing at the same time.

“Considering you took it without my permission, I think that yes, stealing is stealing regardless of the brush you paint it with.” She said, finally snatching the bracelet back from him and clasping it firmly to her wrist.

“Not bad, 5′o clock. I’m impressed.”

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and qrow lets the item go without a fight, hands soon retreating back into his own pockets as he resumes his stride. sense of time and location all the more distorted, flies when he’s having fun, knows only that city lights looking brighter means that the sky further darkens. can’t say he’s not finding himself interested in making a night of this, but too many familiar doubts claw the surfacing of urges back into the depths of self-denial without liquid courage to keep them afloat.

a little parlor trick doesn’t seek to impress, hardly the extent of elite skill, but maybe his spine straightens a little anyway.

dry air scrapes out over a parched throat in yet another amused huff. she bends the rules to suit herself, huh? how pleasantly human.

“speakin’ a brushes an’ paint,” subjects to change, observations to make, qrow tilts his chin towards graffiti on the next building wall, motion tossing layers of hair to fluff around his face before settling again, “you got the same opinion on vandalism? seems some of your fans have quite ah… a talent.”

no accusation in the tone or upset on his features, only continuing to tease. Robyn does good without being a goody-two-shoes, stands firm while remaining kind. likeable traits, in his opinion.

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Robyn doesn’t hesitate to keep walking along next to him, still keeping up with him relatively easily. She wonders what he’s thinking, but knows enough about decorum and the way society works to know not to ask outright. He doesn’t seem like the type to enjoy talking about personal things-but he’s been forthcoming enough with her so far, so maybe it would go over well if she asked him.

His question causes her gaze to be drawn to the symbol on the wall of the building that they pass. Though she knows, as a politician, she shouldn’t endorse it, she can’t help smiling at the sight of it. He doesn’t seem upset that it’s there, just curious.

“On the record? It’s wrong and they shouldn’t do it.” Robyn says casually. “Off the record, though? It’s flattering. That’s the slogan I use often when I’m…not focused on political business. I didn’t ask them to do that, but I’m also not opposed to it, either.”

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qrow nods once and begins, “well, not-”

but as his sole slips off a curb which seemed to come from nowhere, reality reminds him why he started with a low head and side-glances. knocked off balance, knee giving out from under him, qrow’s lanky frame buckles to the ground with a pained grunt, and only well-trained reflexes bring his hands out in time to rescue from a total faceplant.

scratches appear on palms, then fade quickly as aura activates - making it worse as a hanging sign falls off its awning of the nearest shop, close enough to hit Robyn’s head if she’s not just as quick.

fists ball tense and pound angry into the ground. it’s what he gets for not paying attention for too long.

he finishes his statement with a sigh, “…not everyone or everything is under your control.”

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Robyn gasped as Qrow tripped, and reached out to help him. But before she could actually do so, he seemed to catch his balance right before he could face plant into the ground, so she brought her hands back to her side, cautiously watching him in concern to make sure that he was okay. He seemed to be okay-if she had to guess, she suspected that if anything was damaged because of his almost fall, it would probably be his pride.

She heard the sound before she saw it, and ducked just in time that a hanging sign narrowly missed her head, a gasp of surprise escaping her.

She wanted to make a quip about it never being a dull moment with him, but she figured that would be the opposite of helpful.

“If my father had almost been hit by a falling sign, he’d be demanding to speak to the restaurant’s manager.” Robyn said instead. “Thankfully, and I’m grateful for this every day, I’m nothing like him.”

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yeah, qrow’s pride already laid dead at the bottom of a forest trench somewhere, or made into the fertilizer of a garden, what’s left of it. especially now that he can’t even find the residue of some false security at the bottom of a bottle. no, what always remains wounded is his patience.

always, every time. can’t even go for a stroll without something fucking up. every sense aware of it tonight.

of course she aims to help, and for once, she misses. no one able to anticipate, not since Raven, and she eventually got tired of him too. qrow is the one opposite of helpful, in every case.

fists no longer pound but clench harder. legs don’t even move to raise him up; returned-to-weary face pinching and pulling back an imposing wave of tears from tiny things threatening to break the dam and flood him over with everything he’s avoided for so long. but at least Robyn avoided the sign.

a sardonic huff responds as qrow collects himself, finally stands and brushes the street dust from his arms, “sounds like a great guy.”

sarcasm a favorite fallback while trying to suck it up and move forward.

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Robyn knows she should probably be less willing to continue to spend time with him after nearly being injured or worse by a falling sign while walking with him. Strangely though, or maybe not so much-she’s always been a bit of a rebel, even before starting the Happy Huntresses-that isn’t the case at all. In fact, it just makes her want to spend more time with him to see what else happens while they’re together.

Maybe she’s crazy, but she doesn’t care. Being with him makes her happy, so she’s going to continue to do so regardless of what happens. After all, what’s life without a little risk? If she always did what was expected of her, she’d likely still be up in Atlas right now instead of down here among the people of Mantle as their ‘hometown hero’.

His sarcastic words made her smile. She wondered if he thought she’d be offended by the way he spoke about him. But, as it turned out, she was outrageously amused whenever someone decided to make fun of or insult her father and his extremely elitist friends and coworkers. “Yeah, he was a real piece of work.” Robyn said. “He’s not dead or anything, sadly, but we just don’t talk.”

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qrow pauses in place and breathes in the space of Robyn’s thoughtful silence; pays attention to his surroundings, for once. no frustration. no blame. no upset at being inconvenienced or insulted. the only demonizing words heard are echoes within his own head, not the emptying streets around them. Robyn smiles through the threat of mishaps and harsh tone, the collapse of a black hole that follows in his wake. as if she laughs in the face of danger and simply sidesteps around.

no kidding when they call her a hero. attitude and all.

then she moves the conversation forward rather than running back. maybe living in Mantle just makes one used to being down on their luck. qrow’s tempted to run, though. it’s what he’s used to - hiding from the shame, not taking the risk, not forcing it onto others.

“his loss,” he finally responds, and saying it makes qrow think twice about what he has to lose. ...so he doesn’t run.

not yet. holds out, holds on just a little longer tonight. a frown sets to something more neutral on his face, and any voices go quiet, replaced with pounding against his skull. shaken by his fall, or maybe something else more insidious. everything hurts.

she’s too good for this. too many important tasks held in her hands to leave to chance.

he looks over his shoulder, longing, and turns away as slowly, palm finding the side of his head like some sort of comfort, grounding, pressure placed on temple. pain and happiness dance side by side, and without liquor-laced words, without any guiding compasses left in his life, all he can do is be honest, even if only in quiet breath off to the side.

“…can’t say i’d like the idea of not bein’ able to talk t’you again,” pained yet soft words speak the truth of how he feels. Apparently his clothes aren’t the only things new about him these days.

he hurts and he also hurts for her. it shouldn’t be that way - to say sadly someone’s not dead, “well, anyway. …i’ve been findin’ more and more that family isn’t always everythin’.”

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Robyn keeps on walking, and not just because she doesn’t relish the thought of almost getting hit by the sign (or something entirely different for that matter) a second time. She knows it likely isn’t intentional at all, and probably has to do with his semblance, so she doesn’t take offence to it. She could, but there’s really no point to it in her opinion.

A smile comes to her lips at his words about her father. They’re two simple words, but they mean everything to her. His loss. So many people just gloss over the fact that her dad is not a nice man-or worse, assume that because he is, she must be too. But not him. He actually makes her feel validated for her dislike of him.

That means a lot more to her than she thinks she can ever tell him. She’s confused and concerned by the expression on his face, but not enough to actually ask him about it.

Her cheeks burn at his next words and she chooses to focus on what he says after that. For now, anyway. “I think you’re right about that. My mom is well-intentioned but she’s also kind of a doormat.” Robyn admits. “She never stands up to him for anything.”

“And for the record, I like spending time with you too. You’re probably one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.”

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Robyn moves right on, and it gives qrow enough encouragement to lift his own feet and start following her on their walk, now. though, they still feel heavy; he feels heavy. shame and guilt sitting like yolks on his shoulders and no bar to help hold them up.

it still hurts even though happiness makes her face shine. but he bears it. he’s used to carrying burdens, even if right now he’s only swapped some for others before he can finally, maybe, set a few down for good.

“i dunno too much about parents t’be honest. never had any t’know how that feels.” shoulders slouched again. hands in pockets again. brow bent at the weight of it all again. but qrow is breathing, and he’s moving forward, and he’s talking. and maybe some of that skull cracking sensation is really just some stuff starting to seep out.

“but it sounds as though you’re nothin’ like either of ‘em, then.” one of the kindest, most stand up people around.

he looks up with softer eyes, finally caught completely off guard. he rattled things off, out, whatever, stream of consciousness for conversation. 

“i…” he didn’t really expect to be complimented back. at the moment, it’s an unwelcome rush to his head.

people easily changed their mind about what it meant to spend time with him, but interesting was a compliment he couldn’t easily deflect. by all accounts, he was - skilled at fighting, part of an infamous team, traveled most of the world - and learned more than he ever wanted to about it, knew a lot of people in high and low places alike. even with his mind at it’s most unforgiving, he couldn’t argue with a more subjectively neutral descriptor.

“thanks…” vermillion gaze stays connected before sinking to the ground, counting footsteps in time with the throb in his head, “…interesting is one way’a puttin’ it, that’s for sure.”

at least it made his life sound like something of a story instead of a joke.

“i prob'ly shouldn’t take up all’a your time,”

don’t do it, he thinks, don’t run from this. someone who wants time with you. even if it is only for now.

“… but if i’m gonna, i could at least offer you somethin’ t’eat.”

dinner. food. more things he skipped for too long in favor of other priorities filling him up. real calories might help the headache. he squints to take in the options of whatever street they’re onto now. somewhere open late, because it’s gotten late. any old diner would do.

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Robyn considered his words. Was it better to live with parents that she didn’t get along with, or would it be better to be without them? She didn’t know, and she wasn’t about to ask him that. Even she had more tact than that-which was definitely something she’d need a fair bit of if she was planning to go into politics (and she definitely was, there was no turning back from it in her opinion anyway).

Hearing him say that he didn’t think she was anything like either of her parents caused her smile to widen slightly. “Well, thank you.” She took that as a compliment, and why shouldn’t she? “I try very hard not to be like either of them.” She wanted to make a difference in this city, make things better for those around her, and defend those who didn’t have anyone else to defend them in the first place.

“You seemed interesting to me, which is why I said it.” Robyn offered gently but sincerely. Her brows furrowed when he said he shouldn’t take up all of her time. “You’re not taking up any time that I don’t already have free.” She told him.

And then he mentioned offering her something to eat, and she beamed. “Come on, I know just the place!” If she knew him better she’d probably take his hand, but as it was, she just started off in the direction of her favorite place to eat in Mantle.

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“guess you’ll find out,” qrow submits. people did, always, one way or another. she already had the first sign. her energy at the offer is contagious enough to keep him awake, even if the clouds still hang around his head and body drags.

good thing she didn’t grab his hand; he’s not sure he could keep up with her tonight. she pulls his gaze from looking about right back to her bright smile, and the corners of his mouth quirk up in return. she saves him from having to think, at least. and tries to absolve him of stealing her from any other task or person.

“fine, okay,” sounds more like resignation over depreciation. he really didn’t expect a simple stroll to turn into a late night date. not usually that lucky.

though, maybe the fact he feels too worn down to truly enjoy it, a mess of person and emotions in every other aspect of the situation, accounts for enough. food to stop the headache and maybe a drink along with to -

no. not an option.

he shakes his head, maybe to himself, maybe to her, maybe to the slew of taverns and pubs and simple restaurants that still serve alcohol strewn about the city, maybe to the universe itself, “… but if we’re stayin’ out this late y’gotta keep me outta trouble.” tired, and hurting, he’s slipping. qrow starts the statement off almost like a joke, but his step slows and his voice roughens by the end before blowing out in a sigh. he reaches for her first, a light hand on her shoulder, if only for the necessity of slowing down eager scurrying to hold her to something more serious, “as long as… this place y’got in mind doesn’t have a bar, alright?”

opening up once makes it easier to do twice. Robyn makes it simpler somehow, and Clover would be thrilled to know qrow is learning to be all the more grateful he doesn’t have to go it alone. can only imagine right now - how tonight might have turned out if he was.

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“Guess I will.” She agrees, smiling a little, even though her back is to him so he won’t be able to see it-or maybe because of that reason. Maybe there’s something wrong with her, but she’s excited to see more of him, to learn more about him as a person. Or maybe he’s just an interesting man who seems to be as interested in talking to her as she is to him.

She does, however, look over her shoulder to make sure that he wants to go with her, because he doesn’t seem all that enthused about it. But maybe that was just how he was as a person, because he seems to want to come along with her.

“I can do that, don’t worry.” She assures him. The feeling of a hand lightly on her shoulder, turning her around stops her and she looks at him. “Don’t worry, Qrow, it’s just a diner.” She promises. She’s not about to judge him for why he needs to stay away from it. “I actually don’t drink alcohol, either. I’ve just never had a taste for it.”

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she sounds so sure, and reassuring. leader’s colors shining from Robyn, and qrow realizes how long it’s been since he’s had such direction and such easy willingness to follow.

for now, anyway.

qrow looks into pretty purple eyes making promises, and he breathes out the tightness in his chest, and he believes her. believes her with some sudden depth in an angry gut that tells him he might believe in just about anything she told him, and anywhere she’d take him. because whatever she says she means it, and that concern is clear all over her face, and he’s close enough to see it.

“thanks.” qrow will trust Robyn, and trust in this fleeting feeling; won’t bury it with worry or drown it with whiskey; he will find the burn he seeks from his own heart, even as a lamplight flickers ominously and then dies out with a crack next to the pair.

just another signal to keep moving forward, and he does, moving in beside her again. 

“you’re better off for it,” he praises. “heh. gotta say food has more flavor without’t around too.”

senses. his senses still catching up with him just as much as his feelings are.

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Robyn looked steadily back at him. She wished she could read his mind, just because he was such an enigma to her, even now, even the amount of time that they’d spent together just tonight alone. Not that they’ve spent much time together tonight, but it was more than she expected. She hadn’t expected this at all when she’d woke up that morning, but now she couldn’t imagine not having come up beside him to make casual conversation with him.

Even the sign that almost hit her couldn’t dampen the fact that she was glad she’d made that decision to begin with.

“You’re welcome.” She said earnestly when he thanked her. It was clear that he trusted her, and she’d do whatever she could to make sure that trust stayed completely intact.

Robyn could tell as he talked about how she was better off without alcohol that he was speaking from experience. “I bet.” Not that she was going to judge him for it, of course-she didn’t know his history, and even if she did, it wasn’t her place to judge him.

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Robyn wouldn’t like qrow’s mind much right now - a mess outside of huntsman and saving-the world work, and seriously he’s got to be losing it with the myriad directions it’s running. or maybe that’s just the experience of his heart speaking louder than his head for once.

“You’re welcome.”

a platitude. a nothing statement. but the way Robyn looks at him and says it full force, it hits him deep. because it’s been a long time since he’s really felt welcome anywhere.

“tch,” he scoffs at her second statement, though. lightly, the jagged edges of it worn down from sheer exhaustion over the subject. more nothing statements that his own insecurities twist, so this one hits more like a jab to the side of his head,  “i’m not someone y’should bet on, believe me.”

but he still follows.

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Robyn smiles at him. It’s clear he’s lost in his thoughts, and that’s fine with her. She’s never cared for trying to forcing conversation. The conversation will come if it wants to, as their previous words to each other have shown pretty clearly. Even though she hasn’t known him for very long, it’s clear to her that they don’t need to fill every moment they’re together with words.

She shrugs when he says he’s not someone to bet on. “Why not? I’ve always loved the story of an underdog. Not that I’m saying you’re one or anything, but I find that most of the time, the people you ‘shouldn’t’ bet on are the ones who need it the most.” Gods, that sounds so cheesy. All she can do is hope he finds her words charming or endearing instead of corny.

She isn’t sure why she wants to impress him so badly, but she does, and she can’t seem to shake it.

“Look, we’re here.” She said, more than a little glad for the opportunity to change the subject, holding open the door for him. “After you.”

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Robyn continues to give him time for his thoughts, and it’s something that keeps him clinging without even realizing it. In and out of conversation, in and out of his head, in and out of luck; in and out is the way of qrow branwen, and she hasn’t had a problem with it yet.

“mmh,” a grunt attempts to acknowledge and appreciate, but it comes out rough around the edges. she doesn’t really understand, and he’s not up to explaining. not tonight. not when everything hurts too much already.

let him have tonight. just one where she doesn’t realize how wrong it is to even stand next to him.

“maybe that’s true,” qrow mutters quietly, almost not loud enough to hear over the slush splashing at his feet until he steps inside, still pensive, vision a little blurry and slow to adjust to the change in light, “i usedta like those stories too.”

he thinks her sentiment neither charming nor corny, just true. he is one.

it had gotten so dark out.

he’d normally insist on being the one to hold the door, but he’s off. simply follows along with what she says, still follows her. and after she comes in behind, the door closes in suit and he can hear the window crack.

he closes his eyes and clouds pass over his face and he tries to ignore it, shakes it off and signals the greeter by holding up two fingers, not even speaking, until it’s to Robyn.

“but i think i’m gettin’ too old for fairy tales these days.”

they made for good segues, but ones with an underdog usually ended with the character coming out on top. not qrow’s experience in reality. maybe he used to hope, but somewhere along the line he stopped seeing himself in those stories. sometimes the underdog just stays kicked down in the dirt.

they really did need to change the subject to save this. he leans on the nearest wall, scopes the place out as they wait to be seated. three exits, no one suspicious, good lines of sight from most tables, no bar - just as promised. don’t be disappointed, qrow.

“…geez, i can’t remember the last time i’ve been this hungry. what d’you recommend, Robyn?” real food. not alcohol, qrow. his stomach growls in agreement.

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Robyn can’t tell if he genuinely agrees with what she’s said, or if he’s just humouring her, but either way, she’s glad he’s listening to what she’s saying. Not that she thinks he’s the type of guy who will just brush what she’s saying aside without actually hearing it. Though she doesn’t know him well, she can tell that much, at least. When he says he used to like those stories, too, she looks at him in surprise. That’s something she hasn’t expected to hear from him, but she’s happy that he at least used to like them.

Even though he doesn’t seem to feel that way now. “They don’t have to be fairytales.” She points out. “When I left my family behind in Atlas, I had nothing because they wouldn’t give it to me if I supported Mantle over Atlas. And yet now I’m Mantle’s hometown hero.”

She figures that if she wants to keep him from walking away prematurely, and never wanting to talk to her again, that maybe a subject change is the best course of action.

So when he asks what she recommends, she immediately lights up, grabbing a menu that’s near where they’re standing. Bringing it over to him, she opens it so they can both look at it together. “The soup is really good. The grilled cheese sandwich is a classic, of course. They have a couple of really tasty pastas.” Oh, and now she’s rambling. Well, what can she say, the food here is really good. And since they’re both here to eat, why not tell him the most filling options?

“It kind of depends on what you’re in the mood for.” She looks almost lazily at him. “So tell me, Qrow, what are you hungry for?”

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qrow doesn’t brush people off. one thing he’s learned in his travels is that everyone has a story, some more fairy tales than others. everyone has good thoughts, from the veterans to the kiddos, from the elite to the streets, from one continent to another. his eyes stay trained on her, listening as she talks more about her family.

hero, indeed. did any heroes lack hardships? he wonders. he’s glad her underdog story is unfolding better than his. he’ll do what he can to keep it heading in that direction. better than dwelling on his own stagnation.

he pushes the topic no further. as good at listening as knowing when to keep his mouth shut. …when sober, at least. perhaps less so in the past.

but his lips purse tight until she gets to answering his question and a menu appears in front of him. it’s almost adorable how she seems so excited, so determined to keep his interest and soft rose eyes meeting hers again all but say so, as well as promise she’s done nothing to lose it. usually he’s the one on that end of the game. trying to make a friend or run intel or teach.

what is he hungry for?

an innocent question, but it tweaks his head to the side in response, unreadable and pensive expression on his face as too many answers fill it. he looks over the menu, over the room, gives Robyn an unsubtle once-over, too.

he’s a recovering addict, purpose-lost huntsman, in the middle of the night, in the middle of a war.

what is he hungry for?

a stiff drink. a full plate of meat. a whole bowl of berries. a brisk brawl. a good lay. a long flight in fresh air. everything, anything. he’s never felt so alive and so dead inside at the same time, and hopefully something will balance out, but for now he holds on to this night and this woman doing her best to be good company, who is deserving of the same.  

“don’t know, quite frankly. …seems like lately my tastes have been changin’” qrow steps in beside Robyn, in front of the laminated list, palm reaching up and covering her hand like he helps hold the menu up too, “maybe i’ll start with whatever you’re havin’,” rough and tired voice comes off something like a flirtatious purr, whether intended it or not.

“first things first, though, huh? we should probably find a table. uh… off to th’side if we can.”

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They don’t say much before she starts rambling about the menu, but the look in his eyes says that he doesn’t mind listening to her talk. At least, she hopes that what it’s saying and she’s not just projecting what she wants it to say. A look is just a look, but sometimes there are other meanings to it. And now she’s not even making sense in her own head. Thankfully, he can’t read her mind. But, if he could, maybe he’d find it endearing. A light shiver runs through her body as his hand covers hers, like he’s helping to hold it up. Her heart pounds like she’s a teenager again, and she feels more than a little ridiculous. But she makes no attempts to pull her hand away from him.

When he says he’ll have what she’s having, she smiles. “I appreciate your confidence in me, but I’m going to have to disappoint you in that regard because honestly haven’t decided what I want yet.”

His soft suggestion, which definitely seems flirtatious and sends another brief shiver through her body-hopefully he can’t tell or otherwise doesn’t notice. “Yes, absolutely.” She agrees, and then slowly moves over to the side so they’re not blocking the door.

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“guess we’ll figure it out together.”

Robyn could talk all night and she’d have a captive audience.

her voice is lovelier and kinder than the one in qrow’s own head, though what it says echoes so many of his heart’s sentiments. his thoughts might make more sense most of the time, but sense and thinking isn’t in his plans on a night off, never were. her voice is smoother than the alcohol for that, too. whether more effective or not remains to be seen.

…

although it... must be the case. because she leans away, and the pair are led away, and then everything is something of a blur even more foggy than his deepest black out drunk nights.

before he knows it, they’re laughing at that corner booth over almost-empty plates and bowls, having decided to just go halves on a whole selection of things; each more flavorful than the last, possibly for having someone to share it with.

“you serious?” with a tilt of his wrist, qrow points a fork in Robyn’s direction, table manners still lacking even after 30 some years of consuming solid food, “i knew th’ foot drones were junk, but tha’s just pathetic.”

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Robyn feels her cheeks burn when he says they’ll figure it out together. Yep, she feels just like an Atlas schoolgirl. “Guess we will,” she agrees softly. The fact that he’s so interested in what she has to say is a large part of why she’s so eager to spend time with him, why she finds herself wanting to be vulnerable with him despite the threat it could pose to her well-being.

Before long, they’re both seated in a both in the corner of the restaurant, more than a few nearly empty dishes on the table in front of both of them. To get past the ‘I don’t know what to order’ issue she had been having, they decided to get several different dishes and share them with one another. The whole thing feels very intimate, and it makes her heart pound sharply in her chest.

Which is why she’s grateful to have something else to focus on, like how laughably easy to disable Atlesian drones are. She giggles. “Oh, I’m completely serious. For something that Atlas is so reliant on to help keep the peace or whatever in Mantle, they’re really flimsy and delicate.”

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qrow can’t tell if that cute little flush on her cheeks really is what he thinks it is, or just the creeping red light of dawn coming in through the window of their corner. 

wait… 

...sunrise? 

he’d left for a walk in the early evening, and now the sun’s coming up?

they’d truly spent all night together. and not even together together in the more literal ways qrow’s used to. adult ways. no, they’d hung out like kids. walked and talked and shared stories and snacks; his head has to catch up to that fact, and his heart can’t remember the last time it had come so naturally.

he even, had fun, aside from how his body aches and really needed the rest and recovery. food and another day added to his sobriety count was a good enough start, he convinces himself.

and worth it, to see a pretty face smiling and laughing in his presence. he finds himself staring fondly in return, and halfway feeling guilty, like any spark of joy is some great sin of indulgence when it comes to his life, and he had partaken in plenty all at once.

things had gone unexpectedly uncomplicated, and he can only imagine someone, somewhere in the restaurant is paying the price instead, even though he’d done his best to distance himself from the other customers and the kitchen.

“speakin’a atlas, though…” he sighs and leans back, not even realizing how at some point he’d leaned in, closer; his arm drapes over the back of the booth, reluctant to truly let go, “i’d better head back soon. patrol’s startin’ ‘n three hours.”

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Robyn is usually a very time focused person. She always knows what time it is, or when she specifically needs to be somewhere, and has never been late a day in her life-for anything. She always has been. That’s just who she is as a person. It’s one of her better traits, even if her need to be punctual drives May and Joanna completely up the wall, she knows being early is leagues better than being late.

Her gaze follows his, and her eyes widen. how is it already day time? They haven’t been here that long, have they? Even if they have, though, she finds that she doesn’t mind in the slightest.

She almost knows what he’s going to say before he says it, because she honestly feels the same way, but the words still sink into her stomach like a pit. They have to get back to their responsibilities. “Yeah, you wouldn’t want to be late for that.” She agrees, leaning into his touch a little as she feels his arm brushing against her back ever so slightly.

“This has been really fun.” She says softly, looking over at him. “You’re a fun guy, Qrow.” That’s putting how she feels mildly, though. Even for barely knowing him, she already feels completely at ease and comfortable around him-and that is not a feat many people accomplish with her when she barely knows him. It’s refreshing and comforting.

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dry. his throat is dry and his mouth is dry, and his life is dry now, and Robyn is sweeter and more of a salve than he deserves, than he has any idea how to handle. he feels her body weight against him and locks onto lovely eyes full of fondness, and a wave of warmth washes over him entirely, which her words then set fire to; he feels like he’s breathing through smoke, and his chest gets so tight he coughs, turning his head and bringing his opposite fist up to cover his mouth while trying to morph it into a nervous laugh.

gods, what is he doing. giving her the entire wrong idea of what lingering close to him means.

and yet he can’t bring himself to self-sabotage as he’s done before so readily. something in Robyn’s softness, her compassion, her tenacity, the values she’s shared with him tonight, make him feel like even if Misfortune makes him fall flat on his face (again), she’d be a safe landing. but he still worries about keeping her safe at all.

he chokes on words. not wanting to lie but not wanting to lead her on, and clueless how to keep this up without messing it up; he eats up even more of their time and offers nothing for it but a small, grateful smile.

only when he stared again out the freedom and fresh air of a window, can he find himself and catch his breath enough to peer back in one more sideglance and speak, quietly, as if he said anything with discernable volume, he’d jinx it, “yeah, it has.”

with that, he tosses some lien on the table, standing, before he can let inklings of a next time grow into anything more than a passing thought, and hurries as quickly back across the threshold of the establishment as not leaving her behind allows.

qrow shoves his hands back home in his pockets to keep them from the temptation of touching her again. he shakes his head, looks at her, then looks up into sky. and he knows, he pushes it into the very depths of his chest and swallows the lump in his throat, but he knows it. he has taken flight and soared through the air so very many times; he has stared into clouds and storms and rainbows and auroras, and the arcing chase of the moon and the sun, but this dawn’s colors look different. brighter. full of all those nameless wavelengths avian eyes can discern, and they’re unblurred and unfiltered for the first time in a long time.

whether he wants to or not, he can feel the change in the atmosphere this Atlas morning. maybe even yet another change in himself.

a spontaneous night with Robyn has turned into a brand new day.