#I do think I know an unusually low number of awful people *well*

[lurking-latinist]

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[sanchosammy]

Wrong Calls

Description: In a desperate attempt to find information about Pablo, you suggest your boyfriend Javier to see an old informant... Will you regret that decision? 

Warnings: Some cursing and a blink of sadness, and probably badly translated Spanish . that’s about it.

Number Count: 2,717

The fight with Pablo Escobar had been on pause. The DEA was stopped with a block in the road. That was hypothetically speaking, of course. Pablo had been quiet. Too quiet to say the least. He cashed out most people’s silence and it was clearly working out well for him so. No one could get information on him and nearly three weeks had passed.

As you can imagine, Murphy, Peña, and yourself had become restless from the free time.

This was too long without a move being made on the DEA’s part. Too much time wasted on waiting for an informant to finally come forward. You were like sitting ducks as you waited for someone to drop any information at this point.

Today you couldn’t take it anymore. You didn’t want to waste your time in the office looking over the same material you have studied for weeks. None of it would help you. It was all useless paperwork by this point. The sounds from the office had become more like mockery the longer you listened. You had never spent this much time in the building and it started to feel like your own personal hell.

That’s why you went home early. The boys could see it on your face when you practically stormed out without a word. That was an unusual move on your part, but they knew what was going on with you. You were beyond committed to this case. Javier and you had plenty of late night conversations about it. The both of you were in agreement, you and him were all in no matter the cost. You just wanted Pablo Escobar caught.

In the first year of working together, it was something you bonded over. You were hesitant in the beginning considering what you knew about Javier’s past, but he looked at you with such adoration that somebody would be a fool to deny that man was in love with you.

You had stolen his heart and he didn’t want it back by this point. As Murphy put it, Javi was whipped.

All three of you lived in the same apartment building. However, you found yourself in Javier’s apartment a lot more lately. You liked to clean it for him while he stayed late at work sometimes. It was something to distract you from the stress of work, and he made sure to reward you for your thoughtfulness later at night. You couldn’t complain about that.

You were in the process of cleaning the coffee table when the telephone rang. A part of you was hopeful it was Javier with something new at the office, life had been too quiet. You were grateful for some time to rest but your mind could never find ease with Pablo on the loose not paying for a single damn crime he committed.

You picked up the phone and fell backwards into the couch with a huff,  “Hello?”

A woman’s voice replied, clearly confused from the sound of her tone. “Hola, ¿es el teléfono de Peña?” (Hello, is this Peña's phone?)

When you heard the Spanish, you found yourself sitting up a little straighter in instinct. You knew Spanish somewhat. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but you had spent enough time in the country to have some of it down. Not to mention Javier constantly helped you practice in case you ever needed it.

“Sí, ¿puedo tomar un mensaje?” (Yes, may I take a message?)

She paused on the other end. From the silence you could tell she was weighing her options on what she wanted to do. She seemed uncomfortable with your presence on the phone.

“¿quién es?” (Who is this?) She asked.

Now it was your turn to weigh the options. This woman had to be someone outside of personal contacts. This wasn’t an old friend at all. Her hesitation and concern to put forth personal information was speaking volumes to you. She had to be an informant… Javier had a past with those before the two of you started dating.

You bit your lip and internally shamed yourself for what you were about to do. How could you even consider playing into the possibility of letting him see an old informant… and yet, you found yourself speaking the words without fully thinking it through.

“Soy la criada del señor Peña. ¿Puedo llevarle un mensaje?” (I'm Mr. Peña's maid. Can I take a message for him?) You asked in an almost customer service tone, playing into the stupid role you put yourself in. This was quite frankly embarrassing.

"¿Podrías hacer que me llame, decirle que es Tina." (Could you have him call me back, tell him it’s Tina.) You hummed in response and wrote down the name on the notepad.

“Sí, se lo haré saber de inmediato.” (Yes, I’ll let him know right away.)

She said her thanks before hanging up. You rubbed your faces in your hands, wanting the world to swallow you whole. You couldn’t believe what you were about to suggest.

*

You walked into the office and leaned against Javier’s desk. Tossing the paper in front of him silently, gaining the attention of not only Javier but Steve as well. Both had confusion spread across their faces.

“So, Tina called.” You commented and looked ahead at the wall. Murphy’s eyebrows shot up as he let out a low whistle. A polite way of saying ‘you’re in for it now, buddy.’

“What?” Was all Javier could ask as he looked at the paper then back at you.

“Yeah, she called when I was at the apartment. I think she has information about something, but you weren’t the one to answer the phone so…” You shrugged before looking at him. It was almost a little humorous how taken aback he seemed.

He hadn’t seen any of those informant’s in months. He had remained completely loyal since day one of the relationship, and you knew that without a doubt. That’s why he looked so dumbfounded to hear one of the girls contacted him after nearly six months of silence on his end.

“What did you say to her?” He asked like an animal who just saw the light of day for the first time.

“Well…” You weren’t proud of this, and you had to swallow some pride to say it. “I told her I was the maid, truthfully.”

Murphy was the first one to react, his laughter filled the room. You looked over and gave him a lopsided grin in response. It was such a joke of how far this had gone, but you couldn’t ignore the humor of it all. Javier’s girlfriend pretending to be a maid to his old prostitute, now that was a story to tell in the future.

“No kidding, you are something else (Y/N).” Steve was shaking his head before enjoying his coffee.

“Why the hell would you do that?” Javier asked, baffled as he failed to light his cigarette. The lighter not working with him.

“Look, Javi, we need something. We are sitting here wasting our fucking time while Pablo is out there continuing his bullshit. We need something, we need our in.”

Javier leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed. You noticed Murphy from the corner of your eye watching the scene intensely interested where this was heading.

“Tina isn’t going to provide any information unless I sleep with her, you know that. I’m not going to get anything out of her,”

You nodded silently before mumbling you knew that already. When you looked up, his face said it all for him. He couldn’t believe you’d actually hint at him sleeping with someone. His eyebrows scrunched together and his voice was low “Are you seriously asking me to fuck Tina?”

“Well, I mean… I’m not asking necessarily, all I’m trying to say is we have limited options Javi.”

“No.” He immediately responds. Almost sounding a little angry with you.

“It’ll be a one time thing, Javi. You’ve done it before, what’s the big deal now?” You huff with your arms crossed now, looking at him with frustration.

“I wasn’t in a relationship back then, and now I am. That’s the difference. I’m not sleeping around to catch fucking Escobar.”

By this point Murphy at least had the decency to pretend to mind his business, but you knew he was still fully in the conversation as much as the two of you were. You were all close. Partners. Not to mention you lived in the same building, and would have double-dates regularly.

“You remember what you asked me? You asked if I was all in? Well, I am. I don’t want you to sleep with some street whore, trust me. But I know that I have to sacrifice my own happiness for the sake of catching this bastard.” You sighed and pulled yourself away from this desk. You returned to your seat and the silence seemed to consume the room.

No one talked for at least five minutes. Javier hadn’t moved in his chair, he remained leaning back in silence. The most noise was Murphy pretending there was something interesting about the file on his desk, but everyone in the room knew that Murphy read through all of that already. He was just trying to pretend like he wasn’t involved for the sake of privacy.

Javier cursed under his breath as he picked up the phone, Steve and you looking over at him waiting to see who he was calling. You had a suspicion but you needed a confirmation.

He was stressed out, you knew because he would take longer drags of his cigarette when he was unhappy. The smoke left his mouth as he replied in Spanish into the phone.

“¿Tina? Soy yo, Javier. ¿Qué tal las diez esta noche?” (Tina? It's me, Javier. How's ten tonight?)

Murphy looked at you in awe. He couldn’t believe you had convinced Javi to do this. His eyebrows were raised and he forced his mouth to remain shut before he could say something stupid.

Javier put the phone back on the hook before looking at you. “Ten tonight.” He said emotionless. He stood up from his chair and walked out of the room.

“You’re a crazy bitch, you know that?” Steve asked, looking at you. It wasn’t judgmental when he said it. He understood completely why you did this, he felt just as strongly about Pablo as you. However, he would’ve never asked his wife to sleep with someone for intel. You had taken this desire to a different level and he wasn’t sure if that was the most positive thing.

*

You were in Murphy’s apartment by now, a request made by Javier. He didn’t want you to be alone as this happened tonight, but you almost found yourself wishing you were. You sat on the couch uncomfortable with the thoughts looming in your mind

You recalled the conversation you had with Javi before you had left. He asked if you were sure about this several times, and you continuously said it was for the better good. You needed information and if that meant going behind the government’s back and working some magic, you considered it done. Javier was uneasy though. And that made you sit down to reflect on it all.

Had you taken this too far? Your boyfriend was downstairs fucking a woman named Tina… and you were the one who made it happen. He had done all of this before, when the two of you were simply coworkers you knew he fucked them for information. Why did it feel so much worse now though?

What if this changed your relationship? What if this reminded Javier why he didn’t want to be in a relationship in the past? What if she was better than you?

It all started to pile in. You felt a little queasy from the sudden rush of concern hitting you. You hardly noticed when the couch sunk next to you, it was Steve holding out a drink for you.

“I thought you could use this.” He commented and you noticed the beer in his hand. You mumbled a thanks before downing half of it. His hand patted your knee and you looked over at him.

“Do you think I made the wrong call?” You asked quietly. Worry starting to reveal itself in your eyes.

He looked at you and sighed, putting an arm around your shoulder and pulling you in. Steve was what you needed in a friend. He knew what you needed, when you needed it. He sorted out the few fights that happened between you and Peña. He was just an all around good guy.

“It wasn’t a call I would’ve made to be honest with you, (Y/N).” He sipped his beer and remained his stare ahead. You noticed Connie wasn’t around anymore, she must’ve gone off to bed early. You don’t even know why Steve stayed up to sit with you. Maybe he could see your self pity coming from a mile away before you did.

“Would it be horrible if I stormed down there right now?” You asked. He looked down at you and then finished his beer.

“Yeah, I’d say it’s probably already happening. Might as well just get the information at this point.”

You hummed in acknowledgment. You pondered it all for a minute. Do you just continue to let it all happen, or do you cut it off early? You sighed before downing the rest of the beer and handing the bottle to Steve.

“Another one?” You asked with a small smile. He nodded and understood, you’d need it tonight. He pulled himself from the couch and headed towards the fridge, what he didn’t know was you’d rush past him and out the apartment door the moment his back was turned against you.

You practically flew down the stairway, Steve close behind as he called your name frantically trying to get you to stop. You shoved the key into Javier’s doorway before nearly slamming the doorknob into the wall, screaming your head off as Steve came up behind you holding you from going in any further.

You were screaming something, it had all blanked out the moment Javier came from around the corner fully dressed and alone. “Hey, hey!” He yelled out grabbing your attention.

“Where is she?” You tried to catch your breath, Murphy still holding onto your arms not willing to let go in case you found the poor woman somewhere.

“She left. I couldn’t… nothing happened.” He commented quietly. He nodded to Steve to let go. “Goodnight Murphy,” Javier commented, walking him to the door before shutting it.

“Nothing happened?” You asked, confused. Javier was exactly as you left him. His hair still in the same position as before, his clothes not wrinkled in the slightest. He shook his head and pulled you by the arm to the couch.

“I couldn’t do it. I kissed her, and I just couldn’t do it.” He looked at you. His eyes were troubled and concerned, with a touch of disappointment. You found yourself relieved. How could you almost risk your relationship for fucking Pablo, hasn’t he ruined enough?

“I’m sorry, I just freaked out.” You whisper placing your face in your hands. He pulled you into his embrace instead, holding onto you as if you would keep him grounded into reality. He placed a kiss against your neck. A habit he started to do whenever work emotionally exhausted you.

“I’m never asking something like this from you again, I swear. I can’t imagine you with another woman.”

“Good because I can’t imagine myself with another woman either.” He chuckled but there was seriousness behind his words. He pulled you to face him before a quick kiss.

“I love you.”

The words were sweet to your ears. He had only said those words once when you were hurt during a chase, but it was something he was incredibly reserved to say.

“I love you too.” You smiled at him, your hands finding their way to hold his face. He was such a rough man. Hardened by his job, but something about you softened him. You let out a small laugh “Murphy’s right… you’re whipped.”

“Cállate, Cariño.” (Shut up, darling) He mumbled against your lips.

[wri0thesley]

Could you please do headcanons for Bruno's gang with a s/o who is autistic? Like they have trouble in social situations, they have special interests, they stim, etc. Thank you!

hi anon! i am also autistic so i drew a lot from my own experiences here, i know that many autistic people have different experiences so i am sorry if this doesn’t match up with your own! <3 

♡ Bruno’s own personality is a little . . . eccentric. He is kind, yes, and caring - but he also has a chaotic streak that likes to see people he cares about squirm and laugh and blink at him in confusion. It will take him some time to realise that these jokes can make you uncomfortable, or go over your head entirely - but once he does, he is likely to remember it. He makes an especial effort to include you, upon realising you have never really been one of the ‘included inner sanctum’ before - and your slightly different way of looking at things, at making observations on the rest of his gang, means that he is given plenty more ammunition for some of his more unusual jokes. He’s not bothered by your stimming, in public or in private - Bruno is a man who accepts people’s small quirks, as long as they are not dangerous to anybody. If you do have some self-destructive stimming habits, he will do his best to find you an alternative that won’t leave you in pain. Bruno takes care of his team. 

Abbacchio is one of the harder members in Bruno’s gang to read, even without your problems understanding social cues. His face remains passive, his tone sarcastic - you often misunderstand him, and he rolls his eyes, and you feel lost and adrift. But he is not so stand-offish on purpose - he genuinely sometimes forgets about other people’s issues, because he can get so caught up in his own. If he sees your eyes fill with tears or frustration, you may notice his shoulders stoop, a soft sigh escaping him, as he rethinks what he’s saying. He has the bonus of being the kind of man who talks to one straight; he does not sugarcoat his words, and when he strips back his sarcasm, you appreciate the forthright words. He’s not the right person to go to if you want to talk about your special interests - he’s likely to put on his headphones - but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t respect you, or that he wouldn’t hurt somebody who hurt you. He’s one of the first to rise to his feet and draw himself up to his full height with a low; “Excuse me?” if somebody in the vicinity sees you as an easy target.

♡ Mista takes a little while to understand. Friendships, social cues, thinking he is very cool - all of these things come to Mista very naturally. You find his laidback nature frustrating - his ability to just take things as they come, without finding out why. His fear of the number four is one of few things that does make sense to you - you may not understand it, but you also recognise there are things about yourself other people do not understand. He will come around, in the end - Mista is nothing if not loyal to people he cares about - but he’s one of the more difficult members for you to be around. People just seem to click with him. One thing he is good at, though, is helping you with routines - noticing if something is Wrong and being able to fix it. He is so used to doing it for himself that learning your own particular quirks and needs come second nature, and he knows how off-kilter a stray quadruple of something can throw off his day - so he does his best to ensure it doesn’t throw off yours. 

♡ Narancia, surprisingly for someone whose entire being is so chaotic, really gets it. This is a boy who values friendship above all else - and as a member of his gang, you are his friend, and he will fight for you to the death if it comes to it. He doesn’t make fun of you if you stim in public, but he will threaten those who do. Whilst he understands social situations, he has a tendency to be naive within them - and sometimes, your way of cutting straight to the point helps clear his muddy mind. He listens to you with wide eyes, becoming very interested in whatever subject that you have decided to infodump on him about today (and being willing to hear the same thing over and over again, because he can sense the happiness and excitement in your voice) - and you, in return, listen to him very seriously about his own interests. You do sometimes have trouble following his quick thought processes, but he cares so much about the friendship (and you, in return) that the two of you will rehash and go back over things until you are once more on the same page. 

Fugo is no stranger to not understanding other people. A sheltered life as a child genius means that he did not have much time to socialise with other people at all, let alone people his age - his anger is partly because of this. He has never really learnt how to control it, and he sees shades of himself when your eyes dart from side to side as you try and work out what the proper way to respond to Mista’s jokes or Bruno’s kindness is. He’s good with words, and he loves to soak in new knowledge - so hearing you trip over yourself in excitement about your special interests fascinates him. He’s the kind of boy who would look into things you are interested in to try and gather you up in conversations - he needs his brain to be sparking at all times, and you are always excited to launch into a new spiel about your current hyperfixation, and he gives back as well as he can. Despite his anger issues, he genuinely cares about you - and he knows, too, that you’re one of the members more likely to not quite understand what’s gotten into him, so he holds his rage back and digs fingers into his palms so as not to explode at you. If he can hold back, and explain why he’s angry to you later, carefully and concisely without his emotions clouding his brain, he knows you will understand. 

Giorno’s childhood means he tends towards being quiet - unlike you, though, Giorno is an expert at other people. He has had to be - he’s had to learn little tells if someone is angry at him, understand the modulation in people’s voices. He sees, in you, though, somebody who does not have the same skill - and as such, he reaches out to protect you, murmuring what he thinks is happening under his breath when you begin to panic at being unsure of the next step to take. You are in awe of Giorno’s confidence and determination - he knows exactly what he’s doing at all times, and you admire him for that. He’s another who is willing to quietly listen to whatever it is you want to talk about, offering you small smiles and leading questions to continue - part of him, really, just enjoys watching you talk about something you care about. 

[selfwriting-sugarquills]

70 Fred Weasley headcanons in celebration of 700 followers:

(plus an extra one, for the heck of it lmao) 

You guys, thank you so much for 700 followers! I appreciate every single one of you and writing for the twins has been such a blast so far, much to the thanks of all of you <3 

Find the 70 George Headcanons: Here

Fred has always been really good at sleight of hand stuff, as a kid, he could do card tricks with ease, steal baked goods from his mother’s kitchen and later on since his allowance wasn’t exactly anything to brag about, he’d steal sweets from honeydukes' on Hogsmeade trips, with the help of George, he’s not proud of it but in his defence, he was a stupid teenage boy at the time. 

Fred is incredibly competitive and will hold onto anything you challenge him to for way longer than you might think. He’s definitely the type to “race you” anytime you’re headed to herbology, care against magical creatures or Hogsmeade together.

As the man himself said in the deathly hallows, Fred doesn’t like the idea of a big grandiose wedding ceremony, he’d prefer something more low-key and simple, where the focus is more on having fun and celebrating instead of neat seating plans and meticulously chosen decorations. Some flowers and booze will do, he’ll provide the fireworks - In essence, he only needs his S/O and the rest he couldn’t care less about. 

George may be better at cooking, but Fred makes a damn good pancake and he will forever pride himself on that. 

Fred is the more jealous, overprotective twin. He’s aware of this and tries his best not to let it go to his head but he can’t help it. 

Fred snores, I’m pretty sure it’s canon that both twins snore, but Fred is louder and, as mentioned in my last headcanon post, a very heavy sleeper meaning it’s more difficult to get him to wake up so he can stop, your best shot is trying (and probably failing) to turn him over. 

Fred is also a very restless sleeper, he’ll toss and turn, and occasionally dream about quidditch. I’m saying you might want to be aware that he might confuse you for a bludger in his sleep, don’t worry though, he’ll always apologise profusely and make it up to you with a lot of kisses (and maybe a bit more than that, if you’re keen ;)) 

Fred has an extensive caffeine addiction, which is unfortunate cause he’s quite hyper already but he can’t function properly until he gets his coffee in the morning, and then again in between lessons/at lunch and then again late in the afternoon. Sometimes, if he needed to write an essay that was due, he’d drink coffee at like nine pm. He knows he won’t be able to sleep because of it, please, Y/n, he’s accepted his fate. 

I personally always imagined the twins as having ADHD, idk why it just fits their characters. Fred is for sure the more outwardly fidgety and intrusive, this gets less and less with age, as it does for a lot of ADHD people, his inability to focus remains the same though. 

Fred loves being outside, he’s the first of the Weasley siblings to suggest a game of quidditch or just going outside for walks, hide and seek in the woods near their house. He absolutely loves taking his dates on walks in parks or at the beach and when he has kids he plays with them in their yard, building snowmen etc. 

Fred probably suggests at some point that the whole family should go camping, and he’s actually really fun to camp with. He’ll tell the best scary stories by the campfire. 

In regards to children, Fred wants a lot of kids. Like at least three but would be willing to have more if his s/o wants to. He just really likes the dynamic of a large family since that’s what he’s used to. 

Fred’s favourite flavour of sweets is anything sour, the sourer the better, because of this he can handle it really well and he loves handing people some of his ridiculously sour candy and watching them squirm. 

He also really likes spicy food, he’s a bit of a daredevil so don’t challenge him to eat anything because he will eat a whole chilli and nearly die. 

 You know he’d be really casual about it too, lol, like sweating and crying but just leaning on the counter like “*pant* what? hot? no not at all *deeeeep breath* I can ha-aw-rdly taste it!” 

One thing about Fred is that he’s oddly squeamish, like seeing his brother’s ear blown off isn’t so bad (if you don’t take into account the emotional trauma that is), but a needle for a blood sample or a vaccine? oooh, he’s gonna need a big juice box and a cookie and his s/o’s hand to hold if he’s gonna make it through. He also has a thing about leeches. One time at Hogwarts they were mentioned in a lesson and he thought he was going to faint the entire time. 

Fred’s broken five bones over the years, four are from quidditch: his left arm and two ribs, and then the other arm from trying to do an elaborate stunt on the stairs in the burrow and falling down two flights. 

Fred loves to sing karaoke (because I cannot get that damn clip of James singing karaoke out of my head) though he particularly enjoys doing a very poor job on purpose. 

Fred is such a good liar that on several occasions he’s given presentations in school and gotten good marks for them despite having bullshat his way through the entire thing. 

Like seriously, he’s that guy in the group project who only looks at the slides like five minutes before the presentation and then just turns on a full charming newscaster voice on the professor to the point of them being genuinely convinced (albeit a little confused) that what Fred’s saying is true. 

This is also why Fred loves playing card games like poker: he’s really good at bluffing. 

Speaking of poker-face, he’s really quite good at teasing in public (if you’re into that sort of thing *wink*) because no matter the dirty deeds he might get up to under a table, his face remains as regular as always (safe for a little smirk to his lover every now and then) 

Fred always wanted to learn an instrument, he thought it’d make him cooler when he was a teenager, as an adult, he just really wants to recreate that clip of the trombone-playing dad with the sunglasses, or maybe serenade some cows with jazz or something. 

Fred was never a big fan of the uniform thing, so he always tried to make it his own, whether that be tying the tie differently, or having his sleeves rolled up; it’s not much but you gotta take what you can get when you’re literally dressed the same as everyone else. 

Fred might make fun of his dad’s interest in muggle things but secretly he loves it too. He has spent a lot of hours in the shed with Arthur, assuring everyone that it was just to have some quality time with his dad but he would still pay close attention when Arthur explained things to him. 

Fred had a whole business of selling candy from Honeydukes’ and joke products from Zonko’s to second and first years before he and George started dabbling with their own products, he could get you a butterbeer too but it’ll cost you an extra three galleons. 

Fred really likes glitter, George has a thing for lace, anything that glitters on his s/o makes Fred weak. If you want to get your way just put on some glittery eyeshadow or lipgloss and watch him spin. 

Since he loves things that glitter and gleam he loves buying his s/o jewellery, he loves seeing them wearing them as little tokens of their relationship. 

Did someone say slight possession kink? oops not me

Fred is incredible with numbers, this is pretty much canon and has been explored but I’m just amazed at this boy’s wit AND intellect. I have a slight headcanon that if he ever goes on a proper first date with someone where a bill is involved, he impresses his date by calculating the tip after just a glance.

Even if Fred has a longstanding reputation of not caring about school, when he has kids he does want to help them with any coursework over the summer and Christmas breaks, he’ll even study up on his old books just to be able to help out in any classes he didn’t take/didn’t pay attention in. 

Fred would, in general, be an amazing father. He’s goofy and playful most of the time, though he’s serious and incredibly caring whenever his kids are in a bad mood or have problems. He knows that he’s not the most outwardly emotional of the twins but he makes sure his kids know they can always talk to him about anything. 

Fred is incredibly messy. His room is usually a cry for help and he only cleans it when it gets to the point where it distracts him from focusing on work. 

No worries though, his S/O doesn’t have to do all the housework for him, he’ll do it. He just needs to be reminded that he needs to every once in a while. 

Fred has a really bad temper, he doesn’t know where he gets it from but he tends to get angry easier than George, though Fred is better at letting it out so it doesn’t continue to bother him. 

His bad temper does mean that he used to brawl more with siblings as a kid, and it wasn’t unusual to see him with scrapes and bruises as a kid, much to Molly’s dismay. Fred didn’t mind though, he thought it made him look tough. 

Fred is more likely to get caught sneaking around because of his brash nature, he tends to forget just how quiet you have to be to avoid Mrs Norris in the corridors. 

Fred is certainly not an early bird but his favourite time of day is, in fact, the morning when the sun’s coming up. He only knows this because of Wood’s ridiculously early quidditch practices but there’s something about the way the world looks when it’s bathed in soft golden light that just hits different to Fred. 

Fred is a great team player, as much as he seems like he’s more selfish than George, if it’s regarding a team activity (like quidditch or a battle of sorts) he’ll completely lose all focus on himself and only try to ensure other’s safety and victory. This is also why he plays as a beater, he’s not afraid of getting hit at all when he’s focused on getting the bludgers away from his teammates. 

So if his s/o ever needs it, he’ll be there to help with anything: Needs to take a day off from work to take care of his sick s/o? no problem. Needs to stay up with his small child because his s/o is exhausted and needs rest? On it. Something as small as carrying groceries or books, making a cup of tea when the other is busy or doing the dishes is all on the list of things that Fred will happily do for his s/o, and often without having to be asked, he’ll just do it. 

Fred’s boggart is seeing his family members and/or his s/o hurt beyond what he can save. Essentially his worst fear is being helpless when he needs it most. 

One of those times was when George lost his ear. The first night when George was lying practically unconscious on the couch with blood everywhere was the worst night of Fred’s life, he truly felt so anxious and helpless and angry that he vomited and ended up passing out next to the couch after staying up till sunrise watching his brother like a hawk. 

He didn’t just sleepwalk when he was younger, he also often experienced nightmares, it’s only George, Molly and Arthur who remembers anything about this. 

They got less and less the older he got and he assumed that he’d never be bothered by them again until after the second wizarding war and the battle of Hogwarts. 

I don’t like to headcanon that he dies cause he didn’t and that’s final lol. I do, however, headcanon that Fred still gets hurt, since everyone in the explosion beside him seemed to sustain minor injuries, I just think that to even out with George losing his ear, he hurts his leg and needs a lot of retraining/a walking stick. I think that’d be a more fair/unfair ending for Fred who’s always full of energy having to have to adjust to living slowly for a little while (not permanently, I couldn’t do that to my boy). 

The boy has anxiety sometimes, ok. (just let me project for a second)

He didn’t know how much tension he usually holds in his body until he drank alcohol for the first time and felt his entire body loosen up and was like “huh this is new.” 

He doesn’t use alcohol to deal with it though, he prefers just talking to George about whenever he feels is stressing him out and that helps. A massage from his s/o to loosen him up doesn’t hurt either. 

Fred prefers to talk to his dad about his problems more than he prefers to talk to Molly, generally. 

His favourite body parts on his s/o: Shoulders, hips, hands. 

He loves to kiss, just in general, but he also loves kissing his s/o’s nose, forehead, neck, shoulder, etc. as little gestures of affection. 

He def. has a bit of a size kink, he loves being taller than his s/o. 

If Fred could have any pet he wanted, he’d probably want a dog, the bigger the better. He doesn’t think he has the time for a pet though. 

It was his idea to start breeding pygmy puffs, it’s the closest he’ll get to having a pet. 

I don’t know why but I feel like when Fred and his s/o are expecting and his s/o goes into labour he just panics. loses it, drops the binkie as we say in Denmark: Freaks the fuck out, if you will. He’s definitely the pacing and wringing his hands together type, though he probably tries his best to keep himself composed and chill during the whole thing whilst simultaneously hyperventilating. 

Fred doesn’t cry often but he sure as hell wept with pride when he held all his kids for the first time. 

Despite the notion that the twins often slip in a joke version of a sweet treat or something similar amongst the snacks at parties, Fred is strongly against tampering with drinks. He knows the connotations it holds and he doesn’t want anyone to be afraid they’d put something in it. If he wants you to test out their truth serum or a love potion, he’ll just ask you flat out and if you don’t want to, he’s not going to continue asking. 

Most of the detentions Fred has gotten from Snape come from times he’s spoken back to him when Snape’s been giving another student a rough time. He doesn’t regret it one bit. 

 If you ask Fred what his proudest accomplishment is, he’ll probably say that it’s having had enough restraint to not punch Umbridge in the face every time he saw her. 

On the note of Umbridge. It wasn’t her detentions with him that got his blood boiling, it was when she punished little kids (a la Nigel) for doing practically nothing, he understands that to an extent and by comparison, setting off a bunch of fireworks inside a building would harbour a harsher punishment, but making twelve-year-olds bleed for running in the halls or playing music or just doing things that twelve-year-olds will inevitably do, is something Fred doesn’t understand. That year pretty much any kid younger than him, or anyone who was too afraid to stand up for themselves, became Fred and George’s little siblings, and they’re very protective older brothers. Umbridge can vouch for that. 

He struggles with a lot of insecurity in his relationships, he always puts on a front of being extra funny and outgoing when he’s in a new relationship because he’s secretly afraid that the way he is isn’t good enough and that eventually, his s/o will see through him and leave because they don’t like the softer, more serious side of him. 

Fred is the godfather of all of George’s kids but is also the godparent of Hugo, Lily and Lucy. 

Fred loves business meetings, he sees them as a good challenge to practice his smooth talk. 

Fred spent his first salary from the shop on the most expensive bottle of champagne he could find and a new suit. 

Fred tried to get into whiskey, feeling like it’d make him a cool business owner type of man, so, with his second salary, he went out and bought a fancy-schmancy bottle of whiskey and the whole getup with a bottle and some cool glasses, and then invited Lee over to try it with him and George. 

They did not like it. Fred thought it tasted like what he imagined gasoline tastes like so they mostly used it as decorations, not having the heart to mix it with something. 

Fred doesn’t necessarily like PDA, it depends on what you mean. He likes being secretive. Pulling his s/o into an empty classroom, nook, hallway, secret pathway etc where anyone could wander in at any time and snogging her senseless is one of his favourite things to do. 

Fred knows how good he looks in his quidditch uniform and will absolutely use it against his s/o. (they’re gonna get spicy from here on so read with caution if you're in public)

Fred prefers giving more than receiving oral. 

He has a lot of energy, did you not think that would rub off (no pun intended) on his sex drive? He can go pretty much any time and place, and typically last at least two rounds. 

Also, his favourite position is having you on top. Okay, I'm gonna stop now. 

[fuwahiko]

NOT ME TAKING LITERAL DAYS TO FIGURE OUT HOW MUCH BACKSTORY I WANTED TO GIVE THIS AND ACCIDENTALLY CLOSING THE APP AND LOSING WHAT I HAD WHEN I WAS FINALLY GETTING SOMEWHERE I-

Im a disaster but i finally got my head on straight alright HERE'S SOME OUMOTA FOR YA

SO. The V3 kids have gone on the town to hang out. Why? They were sick of always going to Amami's house. They needed a change of scenery. What are they doing? Karaoke? Bowling? Who knows. But they're all making fun of each other.

Their collective love language towards each other is bullying.

At some point, a lot of people get hungry. Miu, for some ungodly reason, yells at Kokichi to go and order for them. And bring the food down when it's done. For some even ungodlier reason, Kokichi agrees. Without an argument. Not even an insult.

He does kiss Kaito while flipping everyone off before walking off, but now everyone's scared of what the gremlin's planning. Only Kaito's safe if Kokichi's got something planned. Boyfriend priveleges work...sometimes.

With Kokichi, he's waiting for everyone's food when someone shouts his name...or something close to it. Intrigued, he turns around and immediately tenses up. But only slightly.

It his ex-boyfriend. Kokichi never wanted to see this ex (who i call Fuckface McAsshole) again. It wasn't healthy, and when he tried to break it off, said ex lost it and dragged shit out for a week and a half. Kokichi was about to turn and rush towards Kaito and the others, because safety in numbers (plus Kaito could throw a mean punch), but the ex got there first. He had also accidentally left his phone on the table with the others.

There was no calling for help. Kokichi was stuck.

So he was forced to play the long game. He didn't wanna make a scene in such a public place. He let his ex talk and talk and talk while retaining none of what he was saying. When the ex noticed Kokichi wasn't listening, he commented. ("...why aren't you listening to me, Ko? Got somewhere better to be? With people that actually want you around? Fucking doubt it.")

When he hears that, Kokichi snaps. Not completely, but enough to get snappy

"Actually, my friends and boyfriend are waiting on their food. I'm here to get their food. And I can't hear the person calling out numbers because of your blabbering. So be quiet."

Kokichi knew he shouldn't have snapped. He knew as soon as his ex's eyes widened, then narrowed. He'd never admit it, but that look made him slightly nervous.

From there, everything escalates very quickly. Quicker than Kokichi anticipated. It's about to get real ugly in two seconds. And everyone's going to hear and stare at whatever's going to go down.

......soooooo now i hand it off to you. What exactly happens between Kokichi and his ex? How do the V3 kids find out about all this, and how do they react? How does Kokichi react after that fiasco? And what do they all (extra emphasis on Kaito bc Oumota) do to try and comfort and/or cheer up Kokichi after THAT?

(Did i listen to "Happier than Ever" by Billie Eilish when i thought of this...maybe i did and maybe i didn't. You can't prove anything.)

this is a really interesting scenario! kokichi feeling so backed up into a corner like that is certainly unusual, for one thing.

ok ok so I like the idea of like, kokichi trying to work on himself a lot. dude needs therapy. and in this au I can see it being the case that kokichi has been working through stuff a lot and has managed to become so close with everyone because of that - like I'm sure in a non despair au he wouldn't be quite so... ~the way that he is~ anyway, but he'd likely still have a lot of issues and struggle to get along with everyone at first, but then with some encouragement from someone he trusts and gets along with more (kaito? maybe someone else? maybe it's more of a slowburn with him getting closer to kaito?) he'd eventually start going to therapy and start slowly working on himself, as well as starting over with some people he maybe started off on the wrong foot with before. it might take some time, but eventually even the people that really didn't get along with him start to open up a little and try to understand him more, and he does the same for them. everyone sees how hard kokichi is trying, and he's really changing for the better, and that inspires them to work on themselves too and it brings everyone a lot closer.

so. when kokichi's ex shows up, it stirs all of this awfulness inside of him, all of this bitterness. it ends up starting to pull at the worst things within kokichi, trying to bring it all to the surface, and kokichi is trying his hardest to stop himself from saying something horrible, from making a scene, from making every stranger in the area turn to look at him with that look that makes him want to disappear. he's trying so hard not to fall back into old habits and old behaviours; he's been working so hard and finally things are looking up for once.

but then he slips up.

he knew he shouldn't have said anything, but his ex wasn't going to leave him alone anyway, and suppressing his own emotions was getting too difficult, so he had to do something. but now his ex was glaring at him even more than before, and kokichi could feel the rage radiating from him, and he immediately regretted ever opening his mouth. but he'd already come this far, and his ex had backed him so far into the corner that all kokichi could do was bite back just as hard.

kokichi's ex raised his voice, and it was like the floodgates had been opened. everything he was saying was blurring together into an endless string of sharp needles that pierced into kokichi, targeting all of his weak points, hurting him over and over, each needle piercing deeper than the last. kokichi snapped back, his own voice just as loud, throwing insult after insult and trying to dig up all that he could think of to hurt him back, trying to find just the right words to hurt his ex even deeper than he had hurt him, all the while a smirk spread across his face as kokichi pretended like he was enjoying himself, enjoying this conflict, but with every word he fired back he only felt more hatred towards himself. it was a form of self destruction, and now that he'd started hurting himself, kokichi didn't know how to stop.

just when kokichi felt like his own self hatred was going to swallow him whole, he half-registered footsteps growing louder just out of view. then, before he knew it, suddenly his ex was being lifted off the ground in front of him.

kokichi's eyes widened as he finally processed what he was looking at. it was kaito. kaito was here and he had grabbed the ex by his shirt and lifted him up, a furious expression spread across kaito's face.

"the fuck are you doing to kokichi?!" kaito practically roared as he held his free hand in a fist.

after maybe a brief moment of relief, kokichi felt fear and panic grab hold of him, and when he met eyes with kaito he seemed to immediately understand exactly what he was feeling.

kaito let go, letting kokichi's ex drop and stumble as he found his footing. "sorry. I wasn't gonna do anything, I didn't mean to scare you." kaito looked ashamed now, and he turned away from kokichi for a moment. kaito had been working on himself a lot too, specifically dealing with anger issues and his tendency to resort to violence when things got hard to deal with, and he'd been making a lot of progress. kaito knew he would've decked this guy if kokichi hadn't looked so upset, and he felt horrible about it. he felt awful that he was just reverting back to his usual ways, and he felt even more awful because he'd made kokichi feel worse, even if only for a second. he felt like such a disappointment. kokichi felt horrible too, and he felt like it was his own fault that kaito had gotten so worked up, that if he'd just dealt with his ex in another way then kaito never would've gotten dragged into this. kokichi had brought the worst out of himself, and now he felt he was doing the same to kaito, pulling him down with him.

just then, security showed up and asked them to leave. kokichi and kaito both had the thought of telling them that the ex was the problem and that they'd just been going about their day until he started shit, but neither of them said anything, just left without making any more fuss. they gave them their money back for the food at least, but now the whole thing had just been a waste.

when they grouped up with the others outside again, kaito holding kokichi's hand as they walked, everyone was chatting and laughing together as they had been doing all day, but they all quickly realised something was up as they saw how shaken kokichi looked and how kaito's face was scrunched up with frustration. of course they'd also seen that the two of them were empty handed, but that wasn't their main concern.

"guys? what's wrong?" kaede rushed over to see them, a look of worry spread across her face. kaito squeezed kokichi's hand a little tighter as he told them all what he'd walked in on. he decided to do the talking himself, knowing kokichi was struggling at the moment and not wanting him to have to explain everything on top of that. he didn't really know what had been happening exactly, but he'd gathered that this guy had been kokichi's ex, and he knew he'd started something with kokichi because he knew that kokichi would never start anything like that himself now.

maki suggested they all move to somewhere quieter, so they headed down a nearby street that lead to an open area with a park that was surrounded by a long wall that was low enough to sit on. kaito sat with kokichi on the wall, pulling him in close at his side and wrapping his arm around him firmly, reassuringly. kaede sat on kokichi's other side, speaking gently and offering to let him borrow her earphones to listen to some music to help him calm down. he refused, but he appreciated the thought. himiko sat on the grass at his feet in silence, but he knew her well enough now to know she was trying her best to support him, even if she didn't know what to say or do. shuichi and maki sat down beside kaito, who was calmer now, but concerned for kokichi and still upset with himself.

"it's all my fault..." kokichi mumbled sadly, his head resting against kaito and his hand clinging onto his shirt. "it's not your fault. he started it, didn't he?" kaito questioned, already knowing the answer. "not that. I mean... I got you involved." kaito ran the hand that was holding kokichi up and down gently along his arm to comfort him, his free hand reaching to stroke his hair. "don't worry about that, that's not your fault at all. I shouldn't have lost my cool. ...sorry again about startling you." kokichi shook his head. kaito felt kokichi's body start shaking, and he realised he was crying. "I'm the worst... I'm the worst, I'm the worst, I'm the worst." kokichi cried as he buried his face further and tried to hide away. "nothing's changed, I'm just as shitty and horrible and worthless as I always have been... I should've just... done things different... but I did the same as I always do..."

of course. kaito finally realised the real reason why he was so upset. sure he was upset over his ex showing up and the nasty things he'd been saying, but now that they were away from him he was more upset with himself than anything, because he'd worked so hard and he felt like none of that work had actually gotten him anywhere. he felt like change wasn't possible, because if he'd reacted that way then to him that surely meant that he was exactly the same as he'd always been, despite how much he'd tried.

"hey. that's not true and you know it." kaito was about to continue, but miu interrupted. "yep, that's bullshit. ha! if you think you're terrible, that guy sounds ten times worse! what a loser." gonta also spoke up, obviously very upset that anyone would raise their voice at his friend. "hmm... that not how gentleman should act. should be polite, even if ex doesn't like you."

"kokichi, we can all see how far you've come and how hard you've been working, so please don't beat yourself up over this one time. that guy is the one at fault, he put you in a difficult position, a really difficult position, and you wouldn't have reacted that way otherwise." kaede reassured him. "she's right, you wouldn't do that unless you felt you had no other choice." shuichi agreed as he handed kokichi some tissues. kokichi had calmed down somewhat, but he needed to get his emotions out still, so everyone waited patiently, offering words of support every so often, kaito still holding him and placing a few kisses on the top of his head, until kokichi stopped crying and pulled away, sitting up and drying his eyes.

angie jumped up off of the grass. "we should do something fun!" rantaro looked up at her from where he was sitting. "you mean like a distraction?" "nyahahaha! yes! doing something fun will help kokichi take his mind off things and feel better!" "do you have something in mind?" kiibo asked. angie thought about it for a moment. "hmm... nope!" rantaro sighed. "we shall just have to think of something, and we should also find somewhere else to eat as well." kirumi said as she stood up, dusting off the front and back of her dress.

ideas began getting thrown around and the atmosphere lightened up quickly - everyone chatting and suggesting fun things to do together, kokichi just quietly listening, but feeling a lot more comfortable again and appreciating his friends' efforts to cheer him up. it wasn't too long before kokichi was joining in, though, and everyone was relieved to see him slowly returning to his usual self; a bit immature, sometimes annoying, but funny, sweet, so full of life. kokichi was someone they'd all grown to love, no matter how things might have started out for some of them with him, and he wasn't at all who he thought he was when he was feeling down on himself. they hoped that one day kokichi would finally understand that.

[bybdolan]

ANYTHING THEY WANT TO HEAR [based on cowboy like me by Taylor Swift and this edit] Word Count: 4225 ; Rating: T+ ; TW: slight mention of corruption of minors ; AO3 PLAYLIST

“I'm trying to save my money when it comes to small things like that, you know.” She pushes her sunglasses up. “This thing has an expiration date for me.” “What do you mean?” “I'm getting older, Jack. My beauty and my youth are my currency, and they won't be mine forever.” He looks at her for a very long time. “I don't think you'll ever not be beautiful,” he says after a while, and Isis knows he actually means it. His voice is almost plain when he's being honest, it's so different from his usual act.

read below the cut.

“May I have this dance?”

His voice is dark and low in all the right ways and for a moment Isis is almost lured into his sweet web, but then she remembers how he talked to the old lady with the sapphire ring earlier and she knows that he wants something from her she isn't willing to give him. So instead of answering, she lazily stretches her back like a cat in the sun and takes another sip of her champagne.

“Dancing is a dangerous game,” she replies after a while, and it's almost a bored sigh.

He laughs and exposes a perfect row of white teeth. “Cynical, aren't we?”

“Takes one to know one.”

Her eyes scan the crowd and she catches the eye of a man who is looking at her over the shoulder of the woman Isis assumes is his wife. Isis looks away. This is only her second day here. She has to give the men time to take her in first, let them see her exit the pool in her wet swimsuit and cross her long legs while waiting at the bar; so when they finally get to undress her, it feels like a relief, like unwrapping a gift you have been waiting for. It makes them feel special, to think that they of all people charmed her. Isis knows that men like that.

“You know that he's a married man?”

Isis smiles. “Hasn't stopped me before. It's their choice, not mine.”

She turns back to the man beside her. He's very handsome, all dark skin and dark hair and dark eyes. There's something rugged about him, as if he was a statue somebody had left unfinished, and Isis has the sudden urge to put her hand on his cheek and feel the roughness of his beard against her palm.

He reaches out his hand and Isis takes it. His long slender fingers wrap tightly around hers.

“Jack. Nice to meet you.”

“Isis.”

“Did your parents give you that name?”, he asks, and she laughs and shakes her head.

“No. I did.”

“What's your real name, then?” He lowers his voice and Isis has to smile because she knows what he is trying to do. There's a glimmer of disappointment in his eyes when she doesn't lean in to hear him better.

“It was a church name. A good church name for a good church girl.” She enjoys the sight of Jack's white-teethed grin for a quick second before she turns away.

“I'm sure that's what you are,” Jack says, his voice still low and dark, and it sends shivers down her spine. He's good. If she talks to him for too long, he might get her where he wants her, but Isis isn't willing to give him that satisfaction. So she puts her now empty champagne flute on a tray a waiter carries past, rolls her shoulders in a way she knows makes her shoulder blades look good, and gives him an apologetic smile that he will know is fake.

“Well, Jack, it was nice meeting you, but good girls like me shouldn't talk to young men for too long. It gives them ideas.”

Her high heels are softly clicking on the tennis court floor as she is walking away and she can tell that Jack is looking at the silky skin of her back, exposed by her sequined gown, and for once she actually feels good about it.

The gentle wind that blows across the town square tugs at Isis' napkin and her blouse, but she doesn't mind it because the breeze is making the heavy heat slightly more bearable. Jack is sitting across from her, Aviator sunglasses up in his dark curls, head thrown back as he enjoys the cool air.

“Had I known how awful this heat would be, I would have gone to England,” he groans, and Isis smiles.

“I personally prefer sunshine over constant rain, but that might just be me.”

“Of course you do.” He grins. “It allows you to wear the skimpy bathing suits you love so much.”

Isis rolls her eyes at him over the rim of her sunglasses, but she doesn't actually mean it. “If you don't like me doing that, you have done a very bad job at showing it.”

Jack chuckles and looks up into the blue sky again.

They have been spending some time together these past weeks. It's beneficial to both of them to be seen together occasionally, in situations that suggest they are romantically involved. When Isis goes out with an older man later in the day, his ego is soothed by the impression that somehow, Isis chose him over Jack, and it's the same with the ladies that Jack dines with. Isis is aware of the way they look at her. Most with jealousy, some with desire. Isis feels sorry for the latter.

Of course they sleep together sometimes, secretly, and Jack always sneaks out of Isis' room when they are done, leaving her alone in the big, cold bed. She enjoys the arrangement, it is nice to do something just for her own pleasure, without submitting to others' wishes or expecting monetary gain from it. As much as they publicly exploit their sympathy for one another, their friendship – though Isis wouldn't necessarily call it that – is genuine.

“Do you think that store over there is selling an English newspaper?” Jack asks and Isis follows his eyes to the small shop across the square. She shakes her head.

“I doubt it. But why don't you just wait until we get new ones at the hotel?”

Jack shrugs.

Every week or so, there is a fresh stack of newspapers on the receptionist's desk, and Jack is always the first to buy one. He spends the entire morning standing around somewhere, hair dishevelled, completely engulfed in whatever news he's reading, and Isis knows he actually cares about the articles because there is a spark in his eyes that isn't there when he is reading Albert Camus by the pool.

“Why does it interest you so much?” She cocks her head to the side and drinks her Espresso.

“Because I care about what's going on in the world,” he replies, “I actually wanted to be a journalist when I was younger.”

It surprises Isis. For some reason, she automatically assumed Jack was like her, with no aspirations besides getting the most out of what they were doing.

“Is that why you started doing this?” She makes a vague gesture with her hand. “To get money for college?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “I wouldn't sit here with you if that was the case.”

“Then what was the reason?” She doesn't know why it suddenly interests her so much.

“I didn't want to go to war.” There's a moment of silence. “All my friends got their drafting letters and none of their weird tricks to get out of it worked, so I figured the only way to not get shipped to Vietnam if my number was pulled was bribing the officers. And since I didn't have the money myself, I had to find somebody to pay for me.” He picks up his coffee cup, but instead of drinking he just stares at the dark liquid. “I borrowed a suit and snuck into the fanciest bar in town and somehow managed to get this widow – her name was Rebekah – wrapped around my finger. When my letter came, she gave the officer a thousand bucks to let me off the hook. I couldn't fuck her while being dead in the jungle, after all.”

The silence between them suddenly feels as heavy as the heat. Jack finally drinks his coffee, then his eyes go to Isis.

“What about you?” he asks. She looks away, gaze fixed on the child playing with a stray cat by the fountain in the middle of the square.

“I just wanted pretty dresses,” she says plainly. “My parents were very religious in an almost puritan way, my sisters and I weren't allowed to do anything that was deemed a distraction from our faith. I hated it. I wanted to be like the other girls in school. So whenever I could, I would take the bus into town and look at the dresses in the shop windows or flip through every fashion magazine I saw. And one day this guy came up to me in the streets and told me he'd buy me the dress I was looking at if I did a little favor for him.” Isis looks back at Jack, eyes all cold and icy through her tinted glasses. She puts her chin up, even after all those years. “I wore that dress like an armor. I felt like fucking Joan Of Arc. It was a fuck you to my parents and my church and my teachers and everybody else who thought they could control what I wanted in life.”

The wind blows her hair into her face. It sticks to her cheeks and her lipstick and Isis combs it back into place with her fingers angrily. It's an unusually rough motion for her.

“And then I just went with it, I guess. Always on the lookout for men who were willing to pay for my attention. It's so easy, you just look pretty and tell them anything they want to hear and that's it.”

Jack nods slowly, fingers toying with the white paper napkin tucked under his cup. “That's one of the reasons I didn't go to college with the money I made. I was scared of not being any good.”

Isis looks at him and her features soften. “That's a stupid reason for not trying.”

Jack gives her a crooked grin. “I guess.”

He looks at his hands and then at his wristwatch and makes a face. “Fuck, I've got to get going.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

Her choice of words makes him laugh. “Yes. The blonde lady who always carries those expensive leather handbags, I'm sure you know her.”

Isis nods. “She looked at me this morning when I sat with you during breakfast and I'm surprised I didn't drop dead right then and there.”

Jack laughs again and runs his fingers through his hair. “She's the jealous type. I'm sure she'll be willing to do me a lot of favors if it only means I won't look at you for a few days.”

“You won't manage that.”

“Maybe.”

They both grin.

“If you are planning on ignoring me,” she says, “You should at least pay for my coffee.”

He shrugs. “I guess it would be the nice thing to do. But let it be known that I always pay for your food.”

“I'm trying to save my money when it comes to small things like that, you know.” She pushes her sunglasses up. “This thing has an expiration date for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I'm getting older, Jack. My beauty and my youth are my currency, and they won't be mine forever.”

He looks at her for a very long time. “I don't think you'll ever not be beautiful,” he says after a while, and Isis knows he actually means it. His voice is almost plain when he's being honest, it's so different from his usual act.

“A lot of people don't think like that.” She looks back at the child near the fountain. The stray cat is gone. She feels a tightness in her throat. “So it would be nice if you could pay for my coffee.” Her voice is a little shaky and she hates it.

Jack silently pulls his wallet from his pocket and puts a bill on the table.

“Thank you,” she says, without looking at him.

He stands up and nods his head as a good-bye.

Isis feels terribly embarrassed and uncomfortably close to him for reasons she can't quite explain, and when she watches him walk to the brown Chrysler he parked in one of the neatly marked spots on the other side of the town square, she has the urge to say something that will make him forget about how unusual this conversation was for them.

“You're really just in this for the fancy cars, aren't you?”

It's a stupid thing to say, now that she knows how untrue it is, but she hopes it's shallow enough to erase what they just shared and make them go back to the sly back-and-forth they've gotten so used to, always vague enough to be fun.

There is relief in his laugh that warmly bounces off the buildings and echoes over the piazza. He throws up his hands in an almost triumphant gesture.

“Damn right I am!"

And that's how Isis knows everything is fine between them. The smile eases its way onto her face without her noticing at first, but when she feels the warmth in her cheeks and in her gut, she bites her lip to make it stop.

Five weeks after his arrival in Italy, Jack gets sick. Isis blames it on a bad oyster, which makes him laugh because she says it in a way that allows no discussion and reminds him of his mother. There are flowers in his hotel room with Get Well Soon!-cards written in fancy ink, but it's Isis who goes to the pharmacy to buy him medicine using her broken Italian, it's Isis who comes to air out his room when he's too tired to leave the bed, and it's Isis who wipes the sweat off his forehead and reassuringly runs her fingers through his greasy hair.

She knows she has better things to do than sitting by his bed and conversing about the topics they only educated themselves about to appeal to the rich folk. The man she has slept with for the past two weeks has flown back to England (not without declaring his love for her in the form of a letter and a diamond necklace), and there are new visitors at the hotel who look at Isis the way she wants them to look at her, and she should be by the pool with her head thrown back and legs curved, or at the bar, touching their shoulders while laughing at the stories they tell. Instead, she is sitting on the cushioned chair in Jack's room with her legs comfortably stretched out, arguing about whether or not Andy Warhol is any good. Sometimes it scares her how much she enjoys his company. She'd rather spend the days with him than alone in her room, she doesn't remember the last time she felt like that about another person.

Her visits get rarer and shorter once Jack gets better and Isis finds a man that takes her to fancy restaurants and buys her flowy dresses in the shops in town, but she makes sure to see Jack at least every other day. One time, as she is about to leave, he tells her to wait and rummages through his bedside table until he pulls out the sapphire ring she had seen on the hand of the lady at the tennis court dance, all those weeks ago.

“For you,” he says, “As a thank you for your time and care.”

When Isis hesitates he cocks his head to the side. "I won't miss it. Blue is more of your color anyway."

Isis lets him slide the ring on her pointer finger and looks at how the blue stone catches the light.

“I'm surprised you actually scored that lady,” she says softly, “I would have bet she wasn't interested in you.”

It's not what she actually wanted to say and they both know it, but they let it slide, and Isis manages to hide how fast her heart is beating until she is alone in the hallway and presses her palm to her chest.

“Do you want me to light that cigarette for you, sweetheart?”

Isis nods and leans over so James can reach the tip of her cigarette with his lighter. She knows that her pose allows him a good look down her dress, and she can tell that he enjoys it.

“Thank you,” she says after her first exhale. The smoke drifts away over the town. The restaurant they are at has a nice view, but maybe she just thinks that because when she looks at the city, she doesn't have to look at James.

It's not that he is ugly – he still has a lot of thick brown hair and some of the bluest eyes Isis has ever seen – but she can't look at him without thinking about his wife, Elizabeth, who had left the hotel last week because she missed their children back home.

Usually, Isis doesn't care about the casualties of her actions, but guilt has slipped into her mind over the course of the past few days. When she told Jack about it, he just shrugged and said he doesn't care, he knows how these people would treat him if he wasn't staying at their hotel but working in his father's garage, and while Isis understands him, her skin is still the same color as theirs and so it’s not her anger to share. Besides, she doesn't feel bad for the men she lies to about her feelings, she feels bad for their wives.

She has never thought much about what it must feel like for them, to be betrayed by the ones they've sworn to dedicate their lives to, be hurt and discarded by the ones they love. Love had been a commodity to Isis, as long as she can remember, and it worries her that the term has started to feel more and more like the vague idea of ‘sacrifice’ she has read about in countless romance novels. It had always seemed so foreign to her, but she kind of understands it now.

“Is there something wrong?” asks James and Isis smiles sweetly and shakes her head. Her mind is trying to replicate how it had felt when Jack kissed her temple last week, when she asked him to stay after they had slept together. Of course he left anyway, but the tenderness of his goodbye kiss made Isis so happy that it frightened her.

“I'm just admiring the view.” She takes another drag of her cigarette and tilts her head in a way that shows off her long, pale neck.

James looks at her and grins. “So am I.”

It takes everything in Isis not to roll her eyes. Instead, she throws her head back with a laugh that bubbles like champagne, covers her mouth with her one hand and puts the other one on James'.

“Oh, stop it, Jac– James!”

The C is a full stop in her throat and she can tell by the look on James' face that he heard it. She intertwines her fingers with his and strokes his thumb to make him forget.

“I’m going back to San Francisco.”

“When?”

“In two days.”

“Why?”

Jack shrugs. “I’m bored of this place. These people. And the heat.”

Isis nods. She knows she would feel the same if it wasn’t for him, but it still feels like he punched her in the gut. She’s not reason enough to stay.

“I just felt like you should know,” he says when Isis doesn’t respond, and she nods again.

“Thank you for telling me.”

There is an uncomfortable silence. Isis doesn’t know what else to tell him, except for the truth: “I’m going to miss you, you know.”

“I’m going to miss you, too.” She can tell that this isn’t all that he wants to say, but he stays silent after finishing his sentence and she wants to grab him by the collar of his stupid yellow shirt and call him a fucking coward. But she doesn’t. Instead, she grabs her book from the table next to her and tells Jack that she has to get ready for dinner.

When he knocks on her door hours later and asks her why she wasn’t at the dining hall, she tells him a lie.

“Come to L.A. with me.” The words fall from her lips carelessly. She had a plan on how to ask him, but then the sunlight made his skin glow even more than usual and suddenly, her words were stronger than her self-control.

“What?” Jack turns around, the look in his eyes somewhere between bewildered surprise and a deep sadness Isis wasn't expecting.

“I'm serious,” she says, voice shaking, “Come to L.A. with me. Or I come to San Francisco with you. I don't care.” She presses her hands into the wall behind her back. “We can live together and sell the other apartment so you can pay for college and finally become a journalist, and I'm sure that I'd find something to do, too, and –”

“Isis,” he interrupts her, and his voice is so gentle that it breaks her heart, “I... Why?”

She shrugs and looks at the shiny tiles on the floor. “I like being around you. And I want you to like me, even though there's nothing in it for me. I've never felt that way about anybody before I met you. And I don't want it to go away.” Her back is pressed against the wall so tightly by now that she feels like the wallpaper is going to swallow her. She doesn't dare to look at Jack.

There is a long moment of silence. Jack looks at his suitcase and sighs. His left thumb is pressed into the palm of his right hand, as if to distract him from pain somewhere else in his body.

“Do you think we can do this?”

It's not a no. Isis feels like she could cry.

“Maybe. I don't know.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“But what if we fail?” He turns to her and his eyes are filled with worry. “We both haven't done anything besides this in our lives. Do you really think we can just stop?”

“That's a stupid reason for not trying.” She puts her chin up. “The fear of failure. I've told you that before.”

He exhales and his shoulders drop.

“My god, Jack, look at us. Have we ever failed before?”

“This is different.”

“But it's still us.” Her hands are numb by now from being trapped between her back and the wall, but she doesn't care. She feels the same way she felt as a young girl, standing in front of the storefront windows, so determined to get what she wanted.

Jack looks very lost in the middle of his room. It's the first time Isis notices how big it is. “I'm just scared of hurting you,” he says softly.

“The fact that you care is enough for me.”

There's a short moment where neither of them move, as if they were frozen in time. Jack looks past Isis through the window, out into the sky, then back at her. She holds his gaze. She wants this. She wants him. So much that it’s clawing at her from the inside. He should know that.

Finally, slowly, he closes the space between them, wraps his arms around her waist and puts his head on her shoulder. He pulls her away from the wall and Isis feels the blood rush back into her hands. She buries her fingers in his hair. Jack softly rocks her from side to side as if she was a child.

“You know, I've always wanted to go to L.A.,” he murmurs into her neck and his words are echoing in her bones, “The palm trees look very pretty.”

“They are,” she whispers, “They are.”

“I’ve forgotten how uncomfortable these seats are.”

Jack chuckles beside her. “You've been in Italy for too long.”

Isis sighs. “Yes.”

She feels her body vibrate as the plane starts to drive. It will take them to Rome, from there, they will go to Los Angeles. Her stomach starts to twitch, like it always does during takeoff, but there is more to her anxiety today. The rattling of the tires on the concrete and the roaring of the engines drown out her thoughts. She closes her eyes.

“Are you okay?” Jack's voice is as soft as ever and yet she understands him just fine.

“I'm nervous,” she replies.

“Is it because of the plane?”

Isis opens her eyes and smiles at him. It's an unsure smile, flickering somewhere between excitement and fear. She can tell from the look in his eyes that he understands what she is trying to tell him.

He reaches for her hand and starts drawing small circles on her skin with his thumb. The plane lifts off and suddenly everything feels very still and quiet, despite the engines’ constant roar.

Jack's thumb rests on the sapphire ring on her pointer finger.

“I can't believe you're actually wearing it,” he murmurs, “Considering how it came into my possession.”

Isis puts her head on his shoulder. “It was the first gift you ever gave me. It's mine now. It doesn't matter how you got it.”

Jack laces their fingers together and kisses her forehead. Then he turns his head back to the window and they both watch as the plane breaks through the clouds, into the bright sky.

[wisteria-lodge]

badger primary + very burnt lion secondary (bird model)

Hi, I’m a Badger primary and stuck between Lion and Snake secondary. I model Bird and Badger over whatever my (probably pretty burnt) secondary is. Would you mind helping me figure it out?

As a kid, I remember being a total joker in class. I thought it was really funny to trick my friends. I got everyone to start chanting at the teacher once. I’d do something daring (for a first grader) like look up “sex” in the dictionary. It basically just said gender and I was confused about what all the fuss was 🤦🏻‍♀️.

Definitely see why you’re thinking Improvisational secondary. One of the old-school SHC bits of wisdom is that when proud rule-breaking is a personality trait, that’s usually the sign of a Lion secondary.

My mom didn’t want me reading all night so I hid flashlights under my bed and would pretend to sleep if she checked on me. I’d lie and would only feel bad about it if threatened with consequences. If I got in trouble, I’d lie or pretend I didn’t know what I’d been doing.

But I could also see Snake. Being very proud of your ability to lie or pretend is very Snake to me.

In middle school, my learning disability really began to show and I started having anxiety and possibly PTSD after 9/11. (I’m from NY). That’s when the Bird model kicked in.

As it does.

People at my new school didn’t get my humor and took my trolling literally and it was really uncomfortable. Honestly middle school sucked and most of what I remember is just snobby, awful social stuff.

I’m definitely getting Lion secondary here. You are YOU, it’s very important that you be you, and the problem is that other people don’t get you. Snake secondaries aren’t so binary.

Oh I did manage to get a teammate’s cell phone number and pranked them. And I hacked into someone’s AIM account. And one time I got in a fist fight with someone on a different team of mine and then we were best friends. Which is weird, looking back.

awww Lion secondaries making friends :D

High school was really hard because I had a really hard time with the schoolwork (learning disability was still undiagnosed) and with finding good friends. I got in trouble a few times for offending people by repeating things I didn’t know were offensive, I dressed up as someone kinda controversial for Halloween which is honestly still one of the highlights of my high school experience. I tricked this creepy guy who wouldn’t leave me alone and embarrassed him in front of the whole school. But wouldn’t ever insult someone to their face on purpose unless I completely lost my temper.

Obviously you can have a hot temper and not be a Lion secondary… but I’m already skewing in that direction, and everything you’re saying here is supporting it. Kind of getting a kick out of offending people (or making them uncomfortable) is VERY Lion secondary.

I joined the Political Union club and didn’t really debate because I’m terrible at it.

Lion secondaries tend to be pretty bad at formal debate. That’s more a built secondary thing. Great at giving speeches, though :)

I just watched everyone argue and trolled people. I remember one meeting, people started throwing books at each other and it was amazing. That “agent of chaos” answer on the quiz is me haha.

The “agent of chaos” answer is the Lion secondary answer.

I knew the perfect way to get this one teacher to go off on a tangent about the Soviet Union for the entire lesson. I couldn’t keep up with the schoolwork so I’d BS a lot of it and manage to get by. Participation was key to your grade so I’d read just enough to discuss parts of it and then just make throwaway funny comments and ask good questions to beef up my contributions.

I’d say that gaming the system in this particular way (which I completely support) actually sounds like you Bird secondary model. Which makes sense, if the *purpose* of that model is to help you out in an academic setting.

I think I burned after a traumatic event at the end of my senior year. I started modeling Badger secondary hard. Basically just be sweet and helpful and everything will be fine, right? When that did not, in fact, make everything be fine, I pulled out the manipulation to make damn sure people were on my side.

I’m interested in what you mean by “manipulation.” Because while that’s normally a Snake secondary word, I’m not getting Snake Secondary from you. I suspect you may actually parse your Bird secondary as “manipulation,” which is sort of unusual.

I did still troll sometimes, but I haven’t felt playful and fun in so long. I’ve been really depressed over the last few years about some serious medical problems that can’t really be resolved. I just feel flat like a car stuck in park.

Oh ouch. Yeah, that’s a burnt secondary all right.

I’m scared of failing. I’m scared people won’t like me or that I’ll get in trouble. I don’t have the energy to lie convincingly or put on a show but I also don’t feel safe enough to be blunt. I’m reluctantly forcing myself to be diplomatic while screaming inside.

This is portrait of a Burnt Lion secondary. You’re afraid of failing, but failing is necessary and important to Lions. It’s how they change direction. “Being yourself” had gotten you into trouble and made some people not like you, so you’re scared about going there again. You want to be blunt, but it’s too scary. Instead you’re being diplomatic and putting on a show, both things you define as “lying” (very Lion secondary) but it’s incredibly energy consuming.

I don’t know how to go back to how I was. (I am trying to find a good therapist but it’s hard to find one who specializes in all the things I need, not to mention a good fit personality-wise). When I’m not Like This, I can be really charming. I miss it. 

Well, a therapist is the first step. I guess my tiny little piece of advice in the meantime, is find a place in your life where you *can* use your lion again. Make that place as tiny and as low-stakes as you need to. Maybe you have an anonymous blog where you shit-post. Maybe you bring out your Lion for just one person. Maybe go to a weekend convention - if it’s three days with people you never see again, who cares if you get in trouble or offend something. Check out the SHC discord server, and see if any of the other burnt Lionsecs have tips. I know Lions are very all-or-nothing, but I’m a Badger. Baby steps are steps.

[saphie3243]

First Solstice

For my Secret Snowflake @tomtenadia

Nesta spends her first Solstice sober in Illyria, unable to bring herself to brave the inner circle celebration for a second year in a row.  

Word Count: 5500+

Read on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297182

There  was something soothing about a room being so crowded it became hard to breathe. Better still when the music was so loud you can’t hear yourself think. Best when bodies are grinding, booze is flowing, and something to smoke is being passed around. Everyone was here for the same reason, everyone wanted a distraction. Amren had made several comments that she couldn’t believe Nesta got males to go home with her when she smelled like sweat and a distillery. She apparently didn’t understand that everyone smelled the same at places like this. 

The band was better than usual. The music was… actually good. Maybe that’s why the bar was extra packed today. Or maybe it was because Solstice was tomorrow and no one wanted to think about all the ways they’ve disappointed their families this year. 

Disappointing. The male she dragged into the bathroom was just that. He wasn’t even worth the time she wasted not getting another bottle of wine. She didn’t even let him finish before booting him out and stumbling back to her favorite stool. The bartender knows her by now and has mulled wine waiting. 

It’s warm and more mulled than wine. She nodded to him. They know how to take care of her here, she certainly spends enough. Leo is decent enough to warn her off of the less than savory types that might be interested in more than even she was willing to give. She sighs back into the glass. Why she felt the need to judge herself when tomorrow she was going to get 5 times over from Feyre and insipid little family was why she needed another glass. 

She turned around in her stool, facing back out, watching the crowd move in a formless mass. This band had changed over. The new one wasn’t nearly as good. Several months haunting bars and clubs to all hours in the morning had provided Nesta a proper sampling of Velaris’ bands, and, in her mind, gave her a liberty to criticize as she saw fit. This crater-faced crooner was pitchy and couldn’t move a room if he winnowed them. That earlier one had a woman out front. She was unusual for a Fae. She was beautiful, yes, but she wasn’t the wispy waif most fae women were. She was tall and built, covered in a layer of extra fat that filled out wonderful curves and jiggled when she danced. But that wasn’t what made her remarkable. Her voice took your heart by the ears and pulled you into the emotion she wanted you to feel.

“Weird compliment, but I’ll take it.” 

__

“Lor-Cass said you weren’t going home this year,” Emerie placed the breeches she was folding into a pile of identical wares. 

“I didn’t go home last year, either,” Nesta swished the black liquid in her cup as she reviewed the ledgers. Last Solstice only served to remind Nesta how much of a stranger she was to her own family, to Feyre’s new one. She would never be able to call that debacle “going home.” This year, however, she could avoid Velaris. Being banned from the city meant Feyre no longer had the ability to force her into attending farcical family meals, no matter how pissy she was about it. 

She closed the books with a sigh and placed them back into a drawer. “Numbers look good.” 

Emerie moved her pile of pants over to their shelf. “Thanks for looking over them, I haven’t had anyone to check my math since dad.” Nesta nodded and pulled out the books and notepads Emerie kept hidden with her accounting ledgers. 

She leafed through to the furthest marked page. “You didn’t get much further last night,” she commented. 

“Ah, no time, had to process a big shipment.” 

“It’s fine,” Nesta muttered. 5 words underlined. Not the most, not the least. She reviewed the best-guess at the words definition in Emerie’s notebook. Most were correct. She added pronunciation guides next to some. “Macabre means bloody, gruesome.” 

“Why is there an R in it?” 

“Because the gods are cruel.” She heard Emerie’s answering laugh. “You’re doing well though. We can probably move on to actually writing.” She didn’t really think it would be that hard for Emerie to learn to read and write. She ran this business - she was clearly whip-smart, just uneducated. It could easily be remedied.  

“In the meantime, can you answer the orders?” 

This little arrangement worked out nicely. Nesta lended her books and made her literate, meanwhile she would help out with store correspondence and would review the books. Reviewing the books was less about checking Emerie’s math - that she had a natural understanding for - and more about making sure each transaction had sufficient notes. 

She took another sip from her night-black liquid. The best part of Illyria, in her mind, was this coffee thing. It didn’t grow locally, needing a warmer climate for the source plant to thrive, but it had become a staple in the tribes as a way to keep troops moving with minimal sleep. Hot and bitter, it really shouldn’t have been as pleasant to drink as it was, but she found herself unable to stop. 

“When does Lo- Cass head down south?” 

“He should be meeting everyone Solstice morning and be back the day after.”

“What are you going to do?” 

Stare at the liquor bottles he filled with water to tease me.  Drink my weight in coffee and stand outside Devlon’s house at 2 am sending waves of power over the door to fuck with him until some asshole walks by and works up the balls to ask me back to their place - or die of exposure. Whatever’s first. 

“Not sure, why?” 

“Would you… I don’t know… want to spend tomorrow with… me?” Emerie had approached the table, tapping her fingers with each phrase. Nesta looked her up and down. If it was anyone else, she would have thought Cassian put her up to it. But she was also alone for the holidays, and Nesta knew that was probably a much bigger deal for the Illyrian than it was for her. She had mentioned once that she didn’t have many people since her father died. Adding in that Emerie didn’t do anything she didn’t want to do... If she was asking, it was because she wanted to spend this day with Nesta. 

She smiled at her friend, “Come over whenever.” 

___

Dinner was hot and ready when she came in. Cassian always made sure that their meals were piping. His own way of combating the awful wet cold of Illyria. She had to wonder if part of it also had to do with keeping the fires low in the house.  

Nesta kicked off her boots by the door and carried them to the fireplace. She set them down next to Cassian’s - the secret to warm feet, he’d said. Their coat rack was also by the fireplace for similar reasons. She gently felt the socks left hanging there- warm, thank the Wall. She pulled off her damp knits and left them in a pile on the floor while pulled on the fresh clothes. They went up to hang immediately after.

“Do you need to take every peg? Emerie’s store is only 5 minutes away,” Cassian called from across the house. He was standing in the kitchen with two bowls of stew. 

“Five minutes flying, 25 walking,” she turned to him. “Through a foot and a half of snow.” 

She pointed to the bottom of her dress and the crust of ice that had formed there. He grimaced. 

“I would have picked you up if you asked.” 

“Unnecessary.” She pulled the dress over her head and left it to hang on the coat rack. After months of living together, they had long overcome the initial discomfort with mild nudity. Not that she was anywhere near naked. She still had the chemise that ended at her knees, her wool sleeves, her knitted belly warmer, and a double layer of wool hose. She was more covered than either Amren or Morrigan on any given day. Finally in only dry clothes, she marched over the kitchen and took the bowl from Cassian. 

Four months of living with Cassian in Illyria was… surprisingly easy. The mountains were peaceful, simple. The way of life here is more similar to the human society she grew up with than the magical speed of Velaris. Emerie was a pleasant discovery. She still wanted a drink, desperately, but the biting cold had a similar numbing effect if you stood out in it long enough. The worst part was being dragged out of bed at dawn for “training”. Though her training was less about learning to fight herself and more about standing around the training rink terrifying males while Cass tried to teach little girls to throw a punch. 

Coincidently she hadn’t gotten laid in 4 months either. 

“As much as I love seeing you in your underwear, you do have very nice, very warm leathers.” 

“Bite me,” she said as she shoveled food in her mouth. She had made it this long avoiding putting those damn things on. She wasn’t going to cave now. No matter how much imagining the fur lining made her whimper. 

He smiled down at her, making a point of flashing his teeth. “Gladly.”  Whatever mischief was running through his thoughts cleaned itself up as he changed subjects. He was the other surprise. The animosity between them was turned down to a polite simmer. Oh they still bickered, and they flirted. They never said it, and God willing never would, but any edges of disgust in their banter had long been smoothed by fondness. “Az will be picking me up at 7 tomorrow. If you change your mind about coming with me, be ready to go then.” 

“I won’t,” she answered, choosing not to tell him that she would be spending the day with Emerie. 

Surprisingly, he didn’t push. 

“Oh good, you’re up. I’m making breakfast, if you want.” 

__

Nesta woke up in a bed that was far too clean to be her own. Her head ached, her throat was dry, and she was naked. She sat up and took in her surroundings. This room was not hers. She had less furniture and more piles of shit everywhere. She was trying to figure out how she got there when the door opened and a woman came wandering in. 

Nesta recognized her as soon as she spoke and finally recalled the night prior. She was the singer for that band. They chatted each other up at the bar for hours, getting progressively drunker. By the time the bar closed they stumbled home - going to hers because it was closer. They jumped each other as soon as the door closed. It was a new experience for Nesta, being with a woman. And it was good. The singer sounded as lovely when she came as she did when she belted. 

Staying for breakfast would be nice. Something real in her stomach to soak up the alcohol was very needed. And if she played it right, there was a chance for as lovely a morning as there was a night. 

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute.” 

Nesta waited until her partner had left the room before she pulled on her dress and snuck out the window. 

Lovely wasn’t what she deserved. 

___

No training didn’t mean that Nesta didn’t wake up at first light. It just meant she didn’t need to get dressed. Part of the initial torture of first arrival was learning that Cass put her in an east facing room with larg windows on the walls - and refused to let her have curtains. Privacy apparently wasn’t as important as making sure she didn’t have oversleeping as an excuse.

She swore at the sun, as she did every morning, and felt around in the bed next to her. Before getting out from under the covers, she pulled on her fluffy robe. This little trick she learned back in the hut. Sleep with the clothes you’re going to wear if you want them to be warm in the morning. 

She trudged out to the main room and kitchen, beginning the process of preparing breakfast. Another rule of the house, if you are up first, you cook first. Same for dinner and coming home. Lunch they were on their own. There was a housemaid when she first arrived, but… she didn’t last long. She found the tea kettle and set about making hot water while she poured oats into bowls. From their icebox - a box they just left sealed outside to let winter keep cold - she pulled out a package of cured bacon. The kettle whistled, and she used the entire batch to steep the coffee. The next round of water was for the oatmeal.

The shadows between the windows grew and darkened. Before he even stepped out, Nesta greeted him. 

“I’m making coffee. Get a cup if you want some.” 

“Thank you. I’ll take bacon, too, if you don’t mind.” 

“It’s Cass’s money,” she answered, adding three more pieces to the griddle. 

Azriel was the only one from Velaris that visited with any sort of regularity, mostly due to how closely he needed to work with Cassian. He would come up about once a week for updates or meetings or to winnow Cass somewhere. He had begun to make a habit out of arriving early to chat with Nesta. Sometimes he just came up to hang out with them. He probably only came up to spend time with Cassian, but since she was usually around, they included her.

No one else from the Inner Circle bothered to visit. Rhysand and Feyre came up once, but that… did not end well. Elain felt too guilty to come see the sister whose banishment she had consented to. Morrigan wasn’t even on the island, so it wasn’t a surprise she didn’t stop by. And Amren… Amren was keeping her vow to not speak to Nesta until she apologised to Morrigan. Something Nesta still didn’t think she needed to do. 

Morrigan spent 4 nights a week at a gay bar. How the fuck was Nesta supposed to know she wasn’t out? 

“Elain asked me to bring this,” he conjured a set of books and hand-knitted socks into existence, placing both onto the table while pouring himself a cup. The books were tied together with ribbons and decorated with small bows, clearly meant to be her Solstice present. The socks - well, Elain had taken up knitting sometime in the last year and had Azriel deliver a pair every time he visited. 

“Why didn’t she just ask Cassian to bring it back with him?” Nesta scooped some brown sugar into her oatmeal. 

The ever so slight blush on his cheeks told her what his answer did not. “She wanted to make sure you had a present for the holiday.” 

“Because she knows how much I care about holidays,” and it had nothing at all to do with you leaving from her room this morning and it seeming convenient at the time. They wanted to be discrete, and Nesta accepted that - no matter how bad they were at hiding it. She poured in the hot water into her breakfast and stirred. “Any messages with that present?” 

“The bacon looks done.” 

“Azriel.” 

He sighed. “No.” 

Nesta tightened her jaw and moved the bacon from the stove to a plate, allowing him to have a piece. She wasn’t sure if she was more pissed that he didn’t have a message or that she was still hoping he would. Either way she was going to play it off. “I’m surprised they didn’t have you hock me about going, too.” 

Az cocked his head. “Cass made it pretty clear you weren’t ready for that.” She snapped up at him. 

“And what was his barometer for knowing if I was ready?” She sneered. 

But Az only shrugged, well accustomed to playing referee for Cassian and Nesta by now. “You not wanting to go.” 

__

Nesta was still thinking about Azriel’s answer by the time Emerie came over. She couldn’t decide if Cassian was being a presumptive ass or if he was being genuinely considerate. He had a habit of being both interchangeably. Like when he finally made his way to the kitchen, fully dressed and demanding breakfast. He added in some last minute jabs about coming back early if she got lonely as Az winnowed away with him. And even through the mocking tone, the message was clear. “If you don’t want to be alone, just say the word and I’ll come back.” 

He still didn’t know she was spending today with Emerie then. 

“Do you not own any decorations or do you just not like them?” she asked, looking around the room. 

“What decorations?” Nesta strained in her thoughts, there was a lot of extra shit in Feyre’s living room last year… 

“Solstice decorations.You know, candles, holly, garlands,” Emerie explained. It sounded like what Feyre had up - and what most of Velaris had up -  but in all honesty she was not sober enough last year to make the connection that it was for the holiday and wasn’t just some seasonal nonsense. Emerie squinted at her and placed a wrapped box on the table. Presents! 

Fuck. That’s right. Fae exchange presents on the Solstice. 

“I honestly don’t know.” 

Emerie squinted at her. “What do you mean you don’t know?” 

Nesta shrugged. “Humans don’t have holidays.” At most they had festivals, but they were distinctly not holidays, just an excuse to drink and dance with as many strangers as possible. The closest thing they had to a formal holiday was Treaty Day, and even that was not the intimate affair this seemed to be. She hadn’t even heard of a Solstice dinner until Feyre asked her to go last year. 

“How do you not have holidays?” she asked. 

“Holidays used to be very dangerous days to be human.” There were plenty of horror-stories around the suffering of human slaves on religious days. Whether they were being traded as gifts or killed as sacrifices...  even if the stories were exaggerations, it led to whole-sale rejection of everything religious by human society. 

“So you know nothing about solstice?” Emerie placed a hand on her hip. 

“It is the longest night of the year.” 

Emerie made it her mission to instruct Nesta on the finer points of an Illyrian solstice. First and foremost, every 5 years it was the last day of the Blood Rite. The theme of doing battle still continued in the other years, most tribes had hunts or tournaments for the men to mark the occasion. Women were expected to work the day to prepare for the night. The night of the Solstice was the only true peace Illyria ever saw. Solstice nights were for feasting, music, and dancing. Fighting after dark was strictly forbidden. Gifts were expected between families, friends, and especially rivals. It symbolized an acceptance that though Illyrians may compete with one another, they were still members of one army. 

“Does this tribe have a tournament?” Nesta asked. Cassian hadn’t mentioned anything about it, or a feast afterwards, but he might not have thought her interested. Or ready, she thought ruefully.

“Devlon hosts a melee tournament. Puts all the entrants in the ring together and waits to see who comes out. The large feast at the end is prepared by entrant’s families,” Nesta knew she meant women in those families, “For the entrants and their families. Dad didn’t enter, so we would just watch the tournament and then spend the night at home.” 

“Do you want to watch the tournament this year?” 

“Yeah but you’re still in your pajamas,” Emerie laughed. 

She watched by the door as Nesta dressed in her warmest clothes. Watching men fight on her day off wasn’t exactly Nesta’s idea of a good time. But Emerie wanted to go. And Cassian had tried to make the decision of whether or not she should go by not telling her about it, so that in and of itself made her want to go. Because neither were entering, and certainly neither were cooking, they wouldn’t be able to attend the feast after. But that’s just as well. A night back at the house with hot drinks and Cassian’s pantry seemed just fine to both of them. 

The tournament took place in the training rings. Normally the 5 or so rings were roped off from one another, allowing different ages and skill levels to train separately. But today Devlon had taken down the separators, providing an obnoxiously large space for his melee. But it was needed. It seemed every one of Devlon’s soldiers signed up for the tournament. About 200 competitors, ranging from small boys to grown men. There were even some father-son pairs helping each other warm up in the ring. 

Outside the rings, there was yet another crowd of voyeurs. Women and girls taking breaks from their preparations to watch, the merchant families - like Emerie’s, and the men too old and frail to compete anymore. Standing at the head of it all was Devlon, a poor-man’s Cassian. He caught wind of them walking up and immediately flared at the sight of Nesta before turning back to the tournament. Being a witch in Illyria had certain perks. Devlon’s apprehension being only part of it. The crowd parting for them, allowing them to stand at his side and have the best view, was another. 

“Soldiers!” Devlon called as he stepped forward. All 200 men turned to him at attention, well trained by now. “You know the rules. No siphons, no weapons, no flying, no killing. You fall, you’re out. You yield, you’re out. You get knocked out of the ring, you’re out. The last men standing at sunset wins.” He raised his arm in the air, making it visible to all. He took one last look around the ring, took a breath, and dropped his arm and stepped back as he bellowed, “Lay on!”

The chaos was immediate. One of the younger kids, there without a father to hold them up, fell immediately. The rest were at each other's throats, kicking, punching, wrestling. Part of her was worried that the battle-royale would be too similar to the war. But without the clang of steel and the geysers of blood, she found this was more similar to the crowded dance halls in Velaris. Devlon, now standing next to the girls, kept his eyes on the mock-battle as he spoke. “I thought you’d be with Cassian today.” 

“And miss a battle royale? Honestly Devlon, do you know me at all?” She smiled at him, relishing how he flinched at her grin. “Can’t help but notice none of the girls are competing.” 

His jaw tightened. “The Solstice melee is not training. It’s tradition.” 

“Now you said the same thing about the girls training, too, did you not?” Nesta had no interest in ever learning how to fight herself, and didn’t really care if girls trained or not. But there was a difference between choosing not to do something and not being allowed to do something. 

“If Lord Cassian wants to insert his views here as well, he should be here to do it himself.” The harsh words were undercut by the bead of sweat racing down his cheek. He wasn’t wrong. That was part of the reason Cass was stationed up here full time. Changing the rules around women required full time intervention. In Nesta’s mind, it also required more input from the women, but that was a discussion for another time. 

“Maybe next year,” Nesta yawned. She watched the battle progress. After the initial early eliminations, they had plateaued into a minor stalemate. Some alliances also became clear. Groups of friends or families fighting together, watching each other’s back, catching each other before they fell. She didn’t cheer as the crowd or Emerie did. Rather, her and Devlon seemed to be the only calm people there. 

Then… something odd happened. One of the teenage boys fell suddenly. He didn’t seem to get hit particularly hard, for one. And secondly, he didn’t get back up. Both Devlon and Nesta leaned forward, looking closer. She saw it first, sniffed it out. Blood. The boy had been hit in the side and was bleeding from the wound. 

“Devlon,” she said very carefully. 

“I know, I didn’t see who did it.” 

“We need to get him out.” 

“His friends will get him out.” 

She held her breath, watching. No one came. She hadn’t been watching him particularly, but she didn’t remember him teaming up like the others. The way they walked around him… “He doesn’t have friends,” she snarled. Even Emerie gulped as Nesta’s anger stirred the well of her power. Cass told her stories. Back when the shakes and cold sweats were unbearable, he stayed up with her and told stories, trying to distract her through it. Trading one dark truth for another. She told him about watching her mother die, he told her that he was alone for years until Rhys. A bastard that was left to fend for himself, potentially to die if he wasn’t strong enough. From the way they walked over this kid, he was the same. She needed to get him out of there. He was bleeding out and no one was doing a damn thing about it. 

“We cannot interfere with the melee,” Devlon said, “it’s against the rules.” 

“So is weapons, but someone clearly has a knife,” she spat. Devlon didn’t say anything to that. He just kept scanning the make-shift battlefield, searching. “There!” he shouted, and his green siphon flashed. Another teenager was plucked into the air by his wings. He kicked and thrashed, a small knife in his fist. Devlon pulled the kid to him, releasing his magic’s grip and decking as asshole as he got in range. The boy went down with just that one hit. 

But the first boy was still out there. He was still bleeding out. Alone in a crowd. He was going to die. He was going to die in this little mock battle where killing was strictly forbidden. Was this why Cassian didn’t tell her about it? Did he have holidays like this? Did older boys gang up on him and try to kill him without anyone noticing? Was he left alone to bleed on his own? 

“Nesta!” 

Emerie’s voice was farther away than it should have been, and muffled by a crowd of idiots fighting with one another. She wasn’t entirely sure how she got here, but Nesta was standing over the fallen boy. As they registered her presence, one by one the soldiers stopped. “The witch.” “It’s the witch.” “Why is the witch here?”  She ignored them all, kneeling down to the injured. He was pale and grimacing, having lost a lot of blood - still losing it, actually. The knife had gotten him just below the ribs, catching who knows which organs. Without another word she picked him up, allowing his head to rest against his shoulder and his body to rest on her torso. 

She turned back to Emerie and Devlon, one watching with concern, the other pissed as hell. She stepped towards them, slowly, carefully. She didn’t want to jostle the kid’s injuries more than necessary. No one came near her as she walked out of the ring. At first she thought it was the same as the audience, that they were simply afraid of the witch. But a glance around gave her a different answer.

Her power extended around her in a sphere, creating barriers of ethereal flowing silver. The grass around her withered and died, and no man here wanted to see what would happen if they touched the walls of silver flames. When she got to the edge of the ring, the rope touched her power and rotted to nothing. She didn’t know how this boy still lived in her arms, but he was still breathing- barely. She spoke to both Devlon and Emerie. 

“He needs a healer.” 

“I’ll find Marta and have her meet you at the house.” 

Nesta nodded to her friend and turned to walk the familiar path to Cassian’s house, her power dying down as she crossed the threshold.

__

Marta arrived at the same time she did. They set the kid down on the kitchen table as the old woman got to work. The boy did get stabbed, but only in the liver. It took longer than Nesta would have thought, certainly longer than the battlefield-healing she remembered from the war, but Marta was able to stabilize him and stitch him up. She left them with instructions to make sure the boy didn’t get infected or pop a stitch in the night. 

“Not how you planned to spend the Solstice, I’m guessing?” Nesta asked. 

Emerie tilted her head, “No but seeing every warrior in the village piss himself is worth it.” She slumped down on the couch. “We have a moment, want to open your present?” she gestured to the box on the table. 

“Y-yeah, just let me grab yours.” Nesta ran back to her room. She grabbed the stack of books Elain bought her, still wrapped from this morning. Definitely a faux paus, but she would never know. 

Nesta came back out with the present and set it in front of Emerie. “Happy Solstice.” The look of awe and excitement was worth it. As Emerie began to untie the books, Nesta began to unwrap her present. Under the paper was a long, thin box. She unlidded it to find a set of leather and wood hair pins - Illyrian style hair pins, made to not get cold in winter. 

“Thank you,” she said, still admiring the etching on the leather thong. 

“I’d thank you but, I think mine goes to Elain.” 

“What?” Nesta whipped her head up to see the first book open on the table and Emerie holding a hand written note. She was clearly reading it but let Nesta snatch it from her anyway. 

“So should I let you borrow the books or-”

“Shush.” Emerie laughed and paged through the first novel as Nesta read the note. 

Dear Nesta, 

I know you are still upset with me, and with Feyre, for sending you away. And you are right to be upset. You were there for me, after the Cauldron and after Grayson. You held our family together after Feyre left. And when you needed us, needed me, I didn’t know how to help. 

I don’t know if it is the power or just my own knowledge of you, but I knew there was nothing I could do. I knew that if I tried to help, I would only fail. And that is not an excuse. Fear of failure does not make not trying ok, but it is what I did. And I am sorry. 

I know putting this in a letter hidden in a book is still the coward’s way, but I don’t think I could face you if I didn’t apologize first. I hope to have Azriel take me for a visit after the Solstice if you would have me. 

Your sister, 

Elain

___

They stayed up most of the night, playing cards, reading, and watching over the boy. Nesta had planned to stay up the full night, but using her power that day and waking up at 6 am had taken its toll. She found herself drowsing into her cards. Around 3am, Emerie sent Nesta to bed, agreeing to stay up and keep watch. Nesta’s head barely hit the pillow before she was out. 

She woke in darkness. Not odd for her. Waking up in the middle night was fairly common. But when she looked to her window, she saw that it was not night. There was sunlight shining behind the makeshift curtain someone had thrown over her window. She pushed herself up. Who? 

“You’re up.” 

She turned her attention to the chair on the other side of her bed. Cassian sat there, watching over her with an indecipherable expression. She sat up.

“When did you get home?” 

He ran his fingers through his hair. It was down and knotted, unusual for him. There were bags under his eyes. “Last night, before dawn. Az brought me back,” he brought his hands together and looked at her. “Emerie told me what happened. You lost control again.” 

“How’s the boy?” 

“Petros is fine. I moved him to my room to sleep off the rest of the potion the healer gave him.” 

“That’s good.” 

“No, you couldn’t,” his hands gently reached out and lifted her face to look at him. “Why couldn’t you?” 

Cassian moved to the bed, sitting next to Nesta. “You lost control for him.”

“I-I couldn’t just let him bleed out,” she explained, staring at a spot on the bedspread.

Because he reminded me of you. She didn’t know if she said the words out loud or not. But Cassian’s answering kiss was so soft, so gentle, so sweet, she didn’t care. She responded to his kiss in kind, her hand cupping his face, finally feeling those perfectly chiselled cheekbones. His tongue passed over her lower lip and she opened for him, inviting him deeper. She met his tongue with her own and wrapped her hands around the back of his head, pulling him closer. He grinned through the kiss, gently placed his hand on her shoulders, and pushed her back down on the bed. 

It was the first time Nesta stayed for breakfast after.

___________

Tagging potential readers:

@perseusannabeth

[louisapennyfeather2021]

Can you do a Jack Kelly sister x race or Albert (up to you) and Jack finds you guys kissing and is about to kill race or Albert. Then you all sit down and Jack gives the classic dad talk. This could be plantonic Jack/ race or Albert love. (You also don’t have to make it a sister I’m just a girl myself haha)

I finally made myself do this, mostly because I said I'd have it done by Friday and that's in less than four hours, but I'll(hopefully) make it happen!!! Have I finished my essay? Of course not, but I did finished my math tests! Planned procrastination is somewhat effective, right?

Anywho, here it is!

Relationships: Brother!Jack, Reader x Albert

Pronouns: She/Her as the person who asked did clarify that she is a girl :)

(psst... I can always make this with they/them pronouns if anyone would like that)

A/N: This is definitely not my best work, but it's not bad!!! I always feel awkward trying to write Dad Talks, but never enough to not write them at all!!! Maybe it'll help that I'm awkward with it so it'll be projected onto my work haha!

Warnings: some kissing, a bad word or two. That's about it? Oh, also, I'm really bad at writing kissing stuff lmao

Setting: 1899 Duane Street Lodging House

***

"No, Y/N, you gotta wear ya cap right or ya gonna look like ya ain't got hair." Jack snatches Y/N's hat from off her head before flipping it and placing it on her head correctly.

"Jack, cut it out! Ain'tcha got somethin' better t' do?" Y/N swats at her brother's hand, ducking to avoid his mother hen behavior.

"He ain't got nothin' t' do cause he's too busy hoverin'." Crutchie snorts from where he sits on the front steps of the lodging house. Jack throws a half-hearted glare at Crutchie, which gives Y/N enough time to sneak past Jack and hurry down the street towards Newsies Square.

"Hey, where d'ya think yer goin'?" Jack calls. Y/N huffs and shakes her head before looking over her shoulder. As soon as she does, she takes off sprinting down the street, Jack chasing her down. Y/N squeezes past some of the guys that are making their way down the street, successfully managing to not completely shove Jojo into a walk on accident.

It's not unusual for Jack to be so overbearing, specifically with Y/N. Sure, he's oddly protective over all the Newsies, but he practically turns into a bear with Y/N. Jack says it's because she's his "baby sista' 'nd nothin's ever gonna happen to no sister o' mine."

Y/N understands to an extent, of course, but it makes some things, well, difficult. Specifically hanging out with friends. Or maybe someone who's more than a friend.

"Someone's rushin' this mornin'." Racetrack Higgins snorts as Y/N hurries to duck behind him and Buttons. Both wait outside the gates for Weasel to come open them. Albert leans on the gate opposite of Race, raising an amused eyebrow at Y/N. She playfully narrows her eyes at him before breathing a sigh.

"Just my parasite of a brotha'. Again." Y/N grumbles. Jack treats her like she's still a kid, when really she's just a year and a half younger than him. To some folks, that's a lot, but when you're forced to grow up on the streets of New York, it's just numbers.

"Ain't like he's doin' it for nothin'." Race scoffs a laugh, sharing a knowing look with Buttons before glancing between Albert and Y/N where she's still hiding behind the two smirking boys.

"Oh, shuddup. Jack ain't gotta worry about what he don't know about." Y/N glares pointedly at both Race and Buttons.

"Don't worry, I've kept Racer from hawkin' yer secret t' all of Manhattan." Buttons shoves Race's shoulder. Race squawks in protest and he starts arguing with Buttons. Y/N laughs, knowing Race would keep her secret no matter what. It's just funny to see Buttons get a rise out of Race.

"Could be worse. Buttons could'a taken his cigar." Albert chuckles, although he absentmindedly rubs his upper arm. He's learned the hard way not to take the blond boy's comfort object. However, that doesn't keep him from occasionally stealing it.

"You'd know how that turns out." Y/N sneaks behind Race as he argued with Buttons and stands next to Albert. She doesn't stand too close, especially since Jack is probably on his way with the rest of the fellas.

The last thing Y/N needs is for Jack to get suspicious of her and her relationships.

So Y/N just leans on the gate near Albert, both laughing as Race and Buttons start on a tangent. Eventually the others gather around, Jack and Crutchie being the last to actually show up. As soon as he's at the gate, Jack starts fussing over Y/N's hat again. She smacks his hand away and glares at him, receiving a horribly hidden laugh from Albert.

"Would you stop swattin', I'm tryin' t' make ya not look like a hooligan." Jack huffs.

"You know we're a bunch'a kids that sell papes for a livin', right? Hooligan is the nicest thing folks can call us." Y/N rolls her eyes. Jack opens his mouth to respond, but he doesn't get the chance. Instead, the sound of the gates rattling and snarky comments fills the air. Y/N turns to see none other than Oscar and Morris Delancey hesitantly opening the gates.

"What, no hello?"

"Wake up on the wrong side'a the cave this mornin'?"

"Aw, did'ya not have someone t' tuck ya in last night?"

The jabs make Y/N's face go red to hide her laughs. The dramatic eye rolls and frowns on the Delancey Brothers' faces are pure gold. Y/N doesn't doubt that either brother would go after any Newsie if it wouldn't get them in some trouble. After all, good ol' Mr. Pulitzer needs someone to make money for him.

As some of the guys keeps teasing the brothers, Y/N sneaks past them with Buttons, Albert following not too far behind. The three line up to get their papers, waiting for Weasel to slither his way to the distribution stand.

"Alright, line it up!" As if hearing his name, the Weasel himself stands grumpily behind his money box.

"Mornin' Weasel! Long time, no see!" Y/N grins brightly. The annoyed twitch under Weasel's left eye is enough to make Y/N snort.

"Not long enough." He grumbles.

"Aw, don't be such'a grump." Y/N mock pouts. She pulls a dime from her pocket and flips it onto the money box before moving down to take a stack of papers. She's grateful when Morris hands her the stack, although he does it with a sneer. Nice to know he's not specifically angry at her, at least not angry enough to throw her papers at her like he'll likely do to Jack and definitely to Race.

Y/N waits by the gates for her selling partner, aka the one and only Albert DaSilva. Thankfully Jack hasn't picked up on the Y/N and Albert almost always being partners. They switched it up once and a while to throw off any suspicion, but they're usually selling together. After all, it's one of the only times they can be together without the worry of Jack seeing.

"Ain'tcha sweet for waitin' for me?" Albert teases as he reaches the gate, his head down as he organizes his stack of papers in his bag.

"We both know you'd get lost if I let'cha go alone." Y/N snorts a laugh. She successfully ducks a playful swat from Albert before she looks over his shoulder. She sees Jack taunting Weasel and she knows she has a few seconds to leave before her brother chases her down. "C'mon, best we get a head start on Jack."

"Well stop screwin' around then." Albert grins and hurries out of the square, Y/N right on his heels.

They hurry through the streets of Manhattan towards the Brooklyn bridge. They usually take up selling along the waterfront, sometimes a few blocks around the bridge. They mostly sell at the bridge because it's one of the furthest spots from where Jack sells. Meaning they can hang out once they finish selling morning papers in peace.

"Bet I can sell all my papes b'fore you can even hawk a headline." Albert elbows Y/N's arm as they reach the bridge, the area slowly coming to life as people hurry to get to work.

"You're on." Y/N smirks before hurrying across the street to start selling.

The two spend most of the morning selling, taking a few small breaks to hide in the shade of an alleyway from the July sun. Y/N manages to finish selling her last paper just a few minutes after Albert. The red head is all smirks when he notices Y/N finish after him.

"Don't come smirkin' at me, you bet that you could sell out before I even started. You didn't say nothin' about finishin' first." Y/N points a finger at Albert as they turn down one of the alleyways behind the produce market. Y/N holds an apple in hand and Albert has a pear.

"Should'a bet I'd win first, that way I'da got a free lunch." Albert sighs dramatically and takes a bite of his pear. Y/N rolls her eyes for what feels like the millionth time today before eating her apple.

"I still don't see how ya eat those things." Y/N mumbles.

"I don't see how you can't!" Albert scoffs before finishing his pear.

"Too sweet. And soft, they make a mess." Y/N shrugs and takes another bite of her apple.

"You just can't handle how sweet pears are cause you're so bitter." Albert laughs. Y/N's mouth drops open and she doesn't hesitate to throw the core of her apple at Albert, effectively hitting his neck. Albert gapes, although there's a slight upturn at the corner of his lips. "Low blow, Kelly!"

"Aw, did I hurt the your ego on accident?" Y/N can't hold back the laugh the bubbles up from deep in her stomach. Albert gives her a "seriously?" look before he jumps at her. Y/N accidentally let's out a panicked squeak before turning. She gets a few steps before Albert wraps his arms around her and squeezes her into a hug from behind. "No fair!"

"I think you should apologize." Albert hums, his chin on top of Y/N's head. She's not short, but the way she's standing makes it easy for Albert to rest his chin in top of her head.

"Do you realize how awkward this is?" Y/N squirms. Her feet are in front of her and she's practically leaning against Albert, it's almost like she's trying to sit down. "Seriously, I think you're gonna break my back."

"Apologize 'nd I'll let go." Albert starts swaying back and forth, making Y/N grip his arms and shuffle her feet to keep from completely slipping to the ground.

"Ain't got nothin' t' apologize for." Y/N finished the sentence in time for Albert to sway further and nearly drop Y/N on her bottom. She squeaks again, making the obnoxious red head laugh and try to keep a firm grip on her so she won't fall.

"You're ridiculous." Albert shuffles back and helps Y/N stand up, laughing when she huffs in annoyance. Albert moves around to stand in front of Y/N, his arms crossed as he meets her faux annoyed expression. "I still think you owe me 'n apology."

"I don't see no reason why." Y/N shrugs, although the corners of her mouth twitch up into a horribly suppressed smile.

"That's a lousy thing t' say." Albert pouts, receiving a raised eyebrow from Y/N. The girl takes a small step closer to Albert and shrugs her shoulders slightly.

"Lousy ain't always bad." Y/N jokingly winks. Albert shakes his head with a laugh before naturally gravitating closer to Y/N. She follows until her nose bumps Albert's, the two of them getting closer until Y/N closes her eyes and feels Albert's mouth lightly touch hers.

Y/N hums into the kiss as Albert reaches up and rests his hand on the side of her neck. She follows, her hand gently wrapping around Albert's wrist and her thumb rubbing the soft skin. She can't help but smile as she moves her mouth againsr Albert's. This is far from the first time they've kissed, but with how little time they get to spend together, every kiss feels like the first.

Y/N still gets butterflies in her stomach. She still gets that happy high afterwards.

But even the happy high can end in a snap.

"Oh, hell no." Y/N's eyes snap open and she quickly pulls away from Albert. Her wide eyes meet Jack's furious frown as he stands near the mouth of the alleyway. Behind him, Race stands with an apologetic expression, Crutchie next to him with a hand over his mouth like he's holding in a laugh.

"Oh boy." Y/N whispers. Albert turns around, his expression matching Y/N's.

"Hey, Jack..." Albert awkwardly waves at the fuming boy.

"You're dead, DaSilva." And that's all it takes for Albert to bolt down the other end of the alleyway, Jack right on his heels. Y/N just stares in shocked silence, hardly noticing Race and Crutchie come to a stop next to her.

"I swear, I tried to distract him." Race rushes, although Y/N doesn't seem to hear as she opens and closes her mouth in shock.

"You are so in for it." Crutchie busts out laughing.

I'm so dead, Y/N thinks.

***

"Jack, you need t' calm down!"

"Calm down?! He was suckin' my sista's face!"

"Oh, no, gross, that's definitely not what we were doin'."

"You stay out of this!"

"Okay, everyone shuddup!" Y/N yells from one corner of the rooftop of the lodging house. Crutchie leans against the fire escape, watching and occasionally throwing in a comment or two. Jack paces around the roof, eyes narrowed in on Albert. The red head stands near the edge of the roof, as if he's ready to make a break for it if need be. Y/N stands somewhat between Albert and her fuming brother, sort of like a last resort for a barrier between the two. Y/N faces her brother, her arms crossed under her chest and her mouth set in a thin line. "Jack, it was just'a kiss 'nd I like Albert. S'nothin' wrong with that."

"Nothin' wrong with that? Everything's wrong with that! You're my sista', Albert's s'posed t' be my pal! Seein you two lockin' lips is just-" Jack wiggles around and gags, his nose scrunching up.

"Oh, we are not having this conversation because the thought of your sister kissin' a boy makes ya uncomfy." Y/N rolls her eyes before planting her hands in her hips.

"She has a point." Crutchie comments. Jack whines and shuffles around like he's about ready to throw himself off the rooftop.

"That don't change the fact that it's gross and weird and just wrong. She's my sister." Jack stares down Albert and points at Y/N.

"Yeah, 'nd it just so happens I was kissin' someone you know and trust! S'not like I was kissin' a Delancey or nothin'." Y/N's comment makes the other three on the roof gag and squirm uncomfortably. "Oh, we all know it's true!"

"Doesn't mean we wanna hear it." Albert shivers in disgust.

"Alright alright alright." Jack exhales heavily. He paces a few more times, shakes his head and pursing his lips. Y/N waits in silence with Albert and Crutchie, all three knowing Jack needs a second. When he finally stops pacing, all the attention trains in on him. "Fine, okay, s'not the worst thing ever, I'm gonna set some ground rules."

"What?!"

"Seriously?" Y/N whines, something she unfortunately shares with her older parasite- um, brother.

"Yes. Now I d'know how long this has been goin' on, but I'm sayin' right now that we will not be havin' any littles-"

"I'm gonna be sick." Y/N gags, and it's unfortunately a legitimate gag that makes bile sting the back of her mouth. Albert must inhale sharply and start choking on his spit because he starts coughing obnoxiously. Even Crutchie, who had found the whole situation so hilarious, looks like he's going to be sick.

"Oh, quit it ya pansies." Jack huffs. He angles towards Albert, his eyes narrowed again. "'Nd you. If you hurt my sista' in any way, I swear you'll find yourself swimmin' in the East River in no time."

"I'm definitely not planning on it." Albert manages to say before coughing and clearing his throat, his eyes watery from coughing.

"Good." Jack nods in satisfaction. He looks at the sky and seems to ponder before signing. "Get'a move in, gonna have evenin' papes out soon."

Albert throws an anxious look at Y/N before hurrying to the fire escape. He disappears, Crutchie quickly following and leaving the Kelly siblings alone.

"Y'know, ya could'a told me." Jack's shoulders sag. Y/N kicks her foot awkwardly, her eyes trained in the ground.

"Not if it risked ya reactin' the way ya did t'day." Y/N mutters. She looks up to see Jack sigh and move closer to her.

"I can definitely tell ya I wouldn't have chased him down." Jack snorts.

"I guess that would've been a perk." Y/N hums. She meets Jack's gaze and suddenly the two start laughing. Jack reaches over and playfully shives Y/N's shoulder.

"C'mon, weirdo. We got papes t' sell." Jack shakes his head.

Y/N smiles and follows him off the roof.

That's one crisis averted.

Granted, they still have the rest if the day left.

[caffeinated-yearning]

Nice Things

Yeah baby I’m always late to my birthday, but I bring Dick Gets A Raise Because It’s My Birthday And I Can Ask For Nice Things For My Friends

Word Count: ~1800 Warnings: None 

"You're allowed to have nice things, pal." "Sir?" Gumshoe smiled down at his companion. "You should let yourself have nice things! I saw the way you were looking at that bookstore window- why don't you go get yourself something nice?" "Uh. Not today." "You say that every time I tell you that you should enjoy yourself, pal. Why don't you just let yourself live a little?" "Just." It shrugged, a noncommittal gesture with its hands, and looked up at warm eyes overcast with confusion. Today was not a day that wanted gifts to itself. But, wait- "hey, what about you? You should live by your own advice, Mr. Gumshoe. Detective, sorry." "Eh... I don't exactly have the money to be spending on stuff that's not rent or dinner, you know?" Sheepish, his grin; it wasn't exactly news to hear about his low pay, but he still acted like it was embarrassing. Mark looked back at the ground then- or rather, at the thread between its fingers. "I'm sorry." "Sorry for what, pal?" "Sorry that they get away with paying you peanuts when you work as hard as you do. That you have to want for things because of it." "Hey-, hey, don't worry about it, pal. It's not like I don't deserve it-." "You don't deserve it." Bitter, voice that tasted like burnt coffee grounds and lemon rinds. Gumshoe looked at him with surprise. It looked back, and his eyes were full of that same bitterness. "I'm going to make sure you don't have to suffer that any more. Tonight, even, it's as good a night as any- better than most, perhaps. I'll do something about it tonight." "What- now hang on a minute, pal, you don't gotta do anything like that for me!" It was as though Detective Gumshoe was... worried? Concerned about the response. Was he worried that Miles would think Gumshoe had put Mark up to the task? Absurd! The other possibility was not one Mark wanted to imagine. "But why not?" The taste of his emotions was vile, the taste of this day had always been vile. It had to be dealt with, that awfulness- every year it demanded something to satiate its miserable temper. A dreadful day. "Why not? There is no justice in a man who needs to so carefully avoid spending for pleasure, so that he may eat and have a roof." "Well, yeah, but-!" "There is nothing fair about it. So I'll fix it, if I can. I think, today, I can." As unusual as it was, to see Mark stand tall, to wear an aura of self-assuredness and adamancy, there he was. Back straight, and his pace suddenly driving Gumshoe to trot if he wanted to keep up; but since they’d have to split, one to go to the precinct and one to the chief prosecutor’s office, Gumshoe didn’t have to run alongside him for long.

---

"Mr. Edgeworth, sir?" "Mann." He looked up, briefly, from the case files he was studying just then- and back, down into the depths of the files. Inscrutable, from Mark's position, and far too packed to be easily torn apart. "Yes? What do you want." "You don't happen to know the date, do you?" "Hmm. Why do you ask?" Mark swallowed. Confidence was a mask that he could wear; he would wear the mask of a man who was confident. "I just... I wanted to make a request." "And it's important that today is today?" "It's relevant, but only if you decide that my appeals to logic and ethics are not enough." "And you think that an appeal to something other than logic or ethics will sway me, if those should fail?" There was a smirking lilt to his tone- chilling, how easily he could root Mark to the ground. "... Very well then." He settled in his seat, closing the file altogether; hands folded under his chin, same smirking grin as he turned his attention to Mark. "State your case."

---

"... And so, whether you trust in my logic, or you strive toward justice, and from there the ethical resolution of all issues that may arise, I think you will appreciate that it is necessary to give Detective Gumshoe a more reasonable salary." Breathe, and pull himself from that state of fearful almost-combat- "I have made my case, and if you find it lacking, you may cross-examine me. But I know I'm right." "Is that so?" He hadn't moved much in the past... Had it really been over a half hour? Mark felt his skin crawling at the idea of taking up so much time- of *talking* for that long. "I know I'm right, and if you have questions, I can fight on each counterpoint you might have." *Please don't have counterpoints.* "I do have one question." Mark held its breath. The tone, the posture; as though Miles had some ace up his sleeve. Some secret knowledge of ethos or logos which would allow him to upturn the whole thing. *Impossible, impossible*. Not that impossible; Edgeworth could likely find logical loopholes in anything, if previous sparring was anything to go by. "Why was the date an important precursor to your argument? It would seem irrelevant." "Ah." That. Right. The date. "If it's irrelevant, then why are you asking?" "It was a curious thing to bring up, so I want to know how it would sway me one way or another." Piss. "Erm. It's just my birthday. I. It was a dumb thing to bring up. Ignore it. Put it out of mind. It is, indeed, quite irrelevant." "Oh." Mark felt the anxious chill in fingers and toes; the fear response drawing his blood away. So much for the fire that had possessed him before. "Please give him a raise." "That's your request for your birthday?" *Oh don't sound so surprised.* "Yes. I'm doing just fine as I am; I've got any number of cheap hobbies and recipes to fall back on. If you need to cut someone else's pay to feel better about Gumshoe getting a well-deserved raise, I volunteer myself as sacrifice." "Don't- no. Don't say something as absurd as that. That is not necessary in the slightest." "Well either way. Dick- Detective Gumshoe deserves to eat more than instant ramen."

Miles watched the other carefully. He was not a creature that often let himself experience emotions- neither of them was, but Mark was always just a little closer to his emotions than he would have liked to believe. Miles was well aware of that- he'd seen it a few times before, the way he stood, stubborn and hard-headed, to defend anyone that he decided needed the defense. What was most impressive was how little awareness Mark had about his own expressions- he had described himself as 'poorly emoting' before, which was not a trait Miles believed accurate. Right now though, he'd gone from a state of loud and justified passion to... something almost embarrassed, in the span of five seconds. Understandably so- given his last-ditch effort was genuinely meant to be a *birthday request*. "Was that all?" "Er. Yes. Have you made your decision?" "I have, yes." "May I... May I hear it?" "In due time." "Tonight?" "In due time." Mark nodded, obscuring his expression with downturned face and hair that always seemed to get in his face. "Shall I leave, then?" His voice was so much softer than Miles had realized it would be, and there was almost guilt- almost, but then, Miles was better at keeping his emotions in check. It was with a neutral tone and neutral expression, then, that he dismissed Mark; "you may leave, yes." He held himself impassive as he watched Mark turn, walk towards the door- "and, Mr. Mann?" Entirely silent, Mark turned a fraction of the way back; listening, but not speaking. "I hope you have enjoyed your birthday so far." Nod, either a thank you, or a yes, sir; Miles sighed as the door closed behind Mark. Perhaps he ought to have expected that Mark would be taken by his silence after his being so unforthcoming with the fate of the detective; a worrywart was he. Still, he bit his tongue, and stayed in his office; it wouldn't be much of a surprise if he gave the answer right away. That... That was something people liked, was it not? Birthday surprises?

-

Well. That was not a particularly hopeful thing to end on. Hand on throat and breathing as slow as he could, Mark pulled himself to calmness, a thing he had practiced before and would practice until the end of his days. There was no promise, there was no promise, but was it harmful to hope? No. And whether the arrow struck the mark wouldn't matter, really. If Edgeworth did not relent, then Dick- then Detective Gumshoe would probably hardly remember the conversation from that morning. If Edgeworth did relent, then perhaps luck did follow it still. Perhaps. Mark was a very lucky person, but good and bad luck are both still luck. It wasn't something to worry about. It wasn't something that it needed to focus on. And it could drag itself from the swirling thoughts if it needed to. So it would drag itself out of its own mind, nails clinging to stone and scraping against dirt, it would pull itself out of its mind. Fixing the bowtie it wore, it headed downstairs; emptiness was calm, and it had emptied itself so that it could get back to its job.

---

"Mark!" Oh, a familiar voice- a familiar clap of a hand on its shoulder. "Detective Gumshoe, what's up?" "I don't know what you did, or how, but thanks so much pal!" His eyes shone, bright- wet? "Did... what?" "Wasn't it you?" He looked confused, then; warm eyes that so often ended up clouded with confusion over Mark's own forgetfulness, or else its strange behaviors besides. "I mean I guess Edgeworth really didn't mention you by name, but I just assumed, since you said..." "Oh. OH. Oh, that." Based on the tone this is a good thing, based on previous encounters it's... "So it *was* you!" "I guess so. Did he..?" "Yeah, I don't know how you did it, but he seems to have listened to you, whatever you said to him." His face was always so open, so ready to admit of his joy or pain; and now it was luminous, it was sunlight. Contagious in the best of ways. "Thank you, thank you so much pal!" "Holy fuck he gave you a raise?" "He sure did!" And both were bouncing- enthusiasm excitement joy joy joy! "Oh my god I can't believe it- I was so afraid he wasn't gonna listen to me at all- Detective, holy shit this is fantastic!"

In a room adjacent, Miles' expression softened. "Surprise," he said into empty space. “Good to know that birthday surprises are still enjoyable, after all.”

[thebestpersonherelovesbucky]

Perchance to Dream

For @whumptober2020

No 8. WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO? “Don’t Say Goodbye” | Abandoned | Isolation

No 30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? Wound Reveal | Ignoring an Injury | Internal Organ Injury

Summary: Steve knows something is very wrong. An outbreak of some sort. Something out of Hollywood’s worst nightmare.

Read on Ao3 

Week One

“What’s going on up there?”

Traffic is one thing. Perfectly commonplace in Brooklyn especially, but this is utterly ridiculous, even Steve agrees. This bumper to bumper, stop and go madness is just out of control. 

“I dunno,” he answers Bucky’s question. “It looks like they’re making everyone turn back around.”

“But why?” Bucky asks. “Is there something going on today? A parade or something?”

Steve chuckles as he inches the car forward. “You know as much as I do, babe.” 

It's unusual but it has happened before. Something big going on that redirects traffic that the neighborhood isn't made aware of. Rare. But then, The City of New York isn't always known for its efficiency. 

When the pull up to where traffic is being turned, however, it's not normal traffic cops. It's not even the NYPD. It's the military. National Guard, Steve thinks.

"Turn back that way!" yells the man in front of them. Dressed in full riot gear. "Just follow the detour!"

Rolling down the window, Steve doesn’t intend on giving them a hard time. He’s just curious about whatever’s happening. As a former captain of the army, Steve is familiar with military procedure and now that he’s a paramedic, maybe he can help. He’s sure Bucky, the former sergeant of the 107th, won’t mind lending a hand either, if they need it. 

“Is there any way we can help, private?” Steve asks after he explains who they are. “Is anyone hurt?”

Before answering, either to turn them away like everyone else or wave them in through the barricade, he looks over his shoulder. When he glances back at Steve again, he looks rather dismayed. Both Steve and Bucky know damn well that whatever he’s about to say, even if it’s virtually nothing, it’ll be against protocol. He’s supposed to be directing traffic away from the area. Not answering anything. 

“We’re not entirely sure,” he says. “We’ve just been told to clear the area. If I were you, I’d get home and get in touch with any officers you might still have an in with.”

That’s all he says on the matter before straightening back up again and waving them along like everyone else. It’s enough for Steve, though. If a soldier, trained not to divulge anything, gave them just that nugget of information, it means something big is about to happen. 

They follow the soldier’s advice as soon as they get home. Steve immediately tries calling his contacts. He starts with Peggy who confirms that something really is happening. 

“I don’t have the details yet,” she says. “But we’re mobilizing all over the country.”

On the television, Bucky’s turned on the news. There’s nothing out of the ordinary on it right now. The typical stories. The weather. Some crimes. Financial changes. Only a few reports about a possible rabies outbreak throughout a few major cities. 

“Do you have any idea what it is?”

“Just that the CDC and WHO have been flooded with calls and reports about an outbreak of some unknown virus.” There are a lot of things happening on Peggy’s end and she lowers her voice. “Keep watching the news,” she says, “but they’re not getting the full report. I’ll call you when I have more information.”

The call goes dead then, and Peggy’s never ended a call so abruptly before. Even when in a rush, she always says her farewell. Just a simple, “Good bye, darling,” and a kissy noise. 

The way she hurried now, the stress and worry in her voice, it makes Steve’s stomach flatten. 

“What’d she say?” 

Bucky, who left the room to grab himself an apple, tosses one to Steve as he plops down on the couch. 

“Um…” Steve shakes his head. “I��”

The lack of response has Bucky paying closer attention to him now. The worry is clear on his face.

“What is it?” he asks. “Is it serious?”

“I…dunno. She couldn’t say.”

“Well…that doesn’t sound good.” He glances at the television. Just a story about a woman being found with multiple animal bites this afternoon in Connecticut. “Did you call Rhodey?”

“Um, no. I was about to do that now.”

Steve’s already scrolling through his contacts for the right one. When he gets to the right one, he hits send and lets it ring and ring and ring until he gets the voicemail. Normally, no one bothers with voicemails -- a simple text will suffice -- but things feel off enough that he does.

“H-hey, Rhodes, it’s Steve. I…um, just…call me. When you can.” 

But Rhodey doesn’t call back.

And he doesn’t answer when Steve tries again an hour later. Or when he calls again an hour after that. Or the three times after that. 

In fact, it’s a little after three in the morning when they hear from anyone. 

Both Steve and Bucky are asleep on the couch. They passed out together watching the news. Looking for anything that might clue them in to what’s happening. Nothing helped.

But the phone ringing startles Steve awake, and since Bucky’s lying on top of him, it jerks him awake as well. It takes Steve a moment to realize what’s happening and when he sees who’s calling, his eyes go wide.

“Rhodey?” he answers, hoping to keep the panic from his voice. “Rhodey, is that--”    

“Steve, I need you to listen to me and listen closely,” Rhodey says, hurried and low. “Do not interrupt. I can only say this once. Containment didn’t work. This thing is going to spread like a fucking brush fire. You and Bucky pack up bags right now, only what you need, and have them by the door. They’re gonna quarantine in quadrants first and when…if that fails, they’ll try to evacuate the cities. When that happens, just go. Do not wait. Whatever you do, do not let them bite you. I’ll be in touch if I can.” 

“Wait, wh…Rhodey…” 

“One more thing,” Rhodey says. “Go for the head.” 

The line goes dead then and Steve’s heart begins to pound. All that urgency, the god-awful fear in Rhodey’s voice, it makes Steve’s blood run cold. 

“Steve?” Bucky places a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong? What is it? What’d he say?”

Steve looks at the phone still clenched in his hand before flicking his gaze to meet Bucky’s. 

“He said,” Steve whispers, “we have to pack.” 

Week Two

There are two bags by the front door, packed and ready to be grabbed at a moment’s notice. Just like Rhodey said, they’ve been quarantined in a four block radius since two days after they spoke. Steve hasn’t heard a word from either Rhodey or Peggy since. 

Martial law has been declared for two weeks now and the military is patrolling in full force. Always in riot gear. On foot or in tanks. Always armed. There’s a strict curfew being enforced. Each zone has been sectioned off with barbed wire blockades that are manned around the clock. There are snipers on every other rooftop. Sirens blare all day and night. 

Of course, people are coming up with their own reasons for what happened. Obviously, it has to be terrorism. The number one excuse for more racism. Even with absolutely no evidence to support their claims. 

Lots of theories have been floating around. Everything from bioterrorism to some sort of super bug to the start of World War Three. It’s hard to keep track of facts versus conspiracies since the internet keeps crashing. The phone lines keep going in and out as well. Steve doesn’t know if that’s being done in order to cut off communication or if it’s just a side effect of whatever’s happening. He assumes it’s the former and can only hope it’s the latter. 

Restrictions are even tighter come sundown. No exceptions. Nobody is even permitted to sit outside on their stoops or in their yards. Once the sun sets, everybody is ordered indoors. Helicopters pointing spotlights down over everything circle all night.

The news is only somewhat helpful and, Steve’s sure, being censored as well. Every hour on the hour there’s an emergency broadcast. All other stations are not in service. Steve keeps in mind what Peggy told him. To keep watching but to remember that they don’t have all the information.

And what little information they’ve been providing is sketchy at best. 

“This is Elizabeth Brandt.” Steve can hear the television from the kitchen where he’s making lunch for Bucky and himself. Canned soup. “Coming to you live to bring you this important news bulletin.” 

“Hey, Steve!” Bucky calls from the living room. “News is back on!”

“I’m coming,” Steve murmurs as he heads back into the living room where Bucky’s waiting on the couch. “Anything new?”

“Mm-mm.” Bucky gets up to offer Steve help. Takes one of the bowls. “Just something about the hospitals being filled to capacity.” 

Every news report that comes on has information scrolling at the bottom of the screen. Today, it’s about insurance rates expecting to spike over seventy-five percent in the next coming weeks. 

“We are receiving unconfirmed reports right now,” the newscaster says, “of seemingly random acts of violences and mass murder that have occurred in some major cities. We will continue to bring you live updates as this story unfolds.” 

“Jesus,” Bucky whispers. “Mass murder? How did we go from rabies to mass murder?” 

“People are scared,” Steve offers. “They might be panicking.”

“The violence I can understand. I mean, I’m fucking scared and we have a little more information.” A tremble flies up Steve’s spine. That’s the first time Bucky’s said anything about being scared. At least Steve’s not the only one. “But mass murder? People being violent because they’re scared and mass murder are two different things. Don’t you think?”  

Steve, taking a spoonful of soup and burning his tongue in the process, nods. He knows Bucky’s right, but despite his fear and worry, he’s still trying to stay positive. 

“It’s the media,” Steve says. “Maybe they’re exaggerating.” 

The look Bucky gives him, slightly amused but also doubtful, makes Steve smile. He knows that Bucky knows he’s just reaching for answers or excuses. 

“You’re adorable, Rogers,” he murmurs and presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “I hope you know that.”

Steve chuckles. “Why?”

Head against Steve’s shoulder, Bucky uses his free hand to caress Steve’s thigh. 

“Because even during the apocalypse you look for the bright side.” Bucky hums softly. “I love you for that.”

“Well, I think that’s a compliment, so I’ll take it.” Steve grins softly. “And I love you, too.”

If anyone could make Steve smile during this, it’d be Bucky. At least they have each other. 

Week Three

The only time either Steve or Bucky sleep in their bed anymore is when they take quick naps during the day. When at least one of them is awake. Always ready to watch the news when the television comes back on the air. If it’s not, there’s just a Please Stand By screen. Sometimes colorbars and a high-pitched ringing. 

At night, they sleep on the couch together. When they can both sleep. Which is not that often.

Right now, Bucky is sleeping with his head in Steve’s lap. Steve has been dozing a little, but he can’t fall into a deep slumber. Not with Bucky out like a light. He deserves some sleep and Steve enjoys this little moment of peace when he can just run his hair over Bucky’s head and pretend like nothing else is happening in the world.

Steve’s actually nodding off a bit when Elizabeth Brandt is on the screen again. 

“Good evening,” she says, “for those of you who are just tuning in…” Steve wonders if she really needs to say that every time they come back on. He can’t imagine there’s anyone who isn’t at least paying a little attention. “We are going to try to remain on the air for the remainder of this crisis.”

Across the screen, as usual, are mini-stories scrolling by. Steve tries to follow along as they do.

A family of five has been found dead in Jacksonville, Florida. Police have described the victims as having been…”torn apart” by their attackers. 

“There have been wide-spread attacks,” Ms. Brandt continues, “all across the country, by what are being described “rabid people” in a “trance-like state”. 

Military forces have deployed to every major city to cope with the drastic increase in crime and violence. 

“Now, whatever this is, the phenomenon does not appear to be limited to the United States. We’re receiving reports of similar cases coming in from cities all around the world. We still have no specific answers as to why this is happening. Reports range from a germ or a virus with a mind altering effect or possibly some sort of chemical spill causing or a behavioral disorder causing mass hysteria.”

Over a dozen bodies have been found in what police are calling a ‘mass grave’ were found with severe ‘bite marks’ in various parts of the body.

“The president has issued a statement urging all people to stay in their homes and lock their doors until the situation is handled.”

The station reverts back to the stand-by screen and Steve’s stomach hurts. He’s somehow both too hot and too cold at the same time. He briefly considers waking Bucky to tell him these updates, but decides against it. 

“Sleep, my love,” he whispers. “We’ll deal with this in the morning.”

Bucky shifts a bit, his nose wiggling and fingers scratching at something on his cheek. 

Steve smiles and then checks his phone. All the unanswered messages. He hasn’t heard from Peggy or Rhodey in almost two weeks and what he did get was a few words at most. 

Reminders to be ready. 

To be alert.

Pay attention. 

Sighing, Steve puts the phone down and rests his head on the back of the couch, hoping to get a little rest.

Week Four

Steve jerks awake to a high-pitched ringing. Sun is streaming in through the bedroom windows, the curtains pushed open. It takes him a few moments to realize what the noise is and that he’s actually slept through the night. 

Steve flings the blankets away and hurries out of the bedroom to see Bucky seated at the very edge of the couch just staring at the television. There’s no one there. It’s just a message. A message from the Emergency Broadcast System. And it says nothing about this being just a test. 

We interrupt our program at the request of local authorities. This is the Emergency Broadcast System. All normal broadcasting has been discontinued during this emergency. This station will continue broadcasting, furnishing news, official information and instructions, as soon as possible for the Extended Operational area. 

As Steve approaches the couch, he notices that Bucky’s breaths are hitched. He’s chewing on his nails -- an old nervous habit of his -- and bouncing his knee. There’s a tear rolling down his cheek. 

When Steve slips a hand over Bucky’s shoulder, Bucky gasps and spins his way. He clearly tries to wipe those tears away before Steve cans them and fakes a smile.

“Hey,” Steve murmurs. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“N-no. You didn’t. I just…” Bucky shakes his head and huffs a chuckle. “I just didn’t hear you.” 

“What time is it?”

“Almost noon.” 

Steve nearly topples over at that. He had no idea how late it was. He hasn’t slept that much in weeks. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

Bucky offers a soft grin. This one, Steve believes, is genuine, and that gives him a sense of peace, however small. 

“Why don’t you ever wake me?” he asks. “Probably for the same reason.” 

Nodding, because Steve can’t really argue with that logic, he comes around to sit with Bucky. As soon as he sits, Bucky scoots a little closer. Steve takes his hand. Bucky squeezes. 

“What’s happened?” Steve asks. “Something new?”

“No. They went out about an hour ago.” He gestures to the television. “It’s been like that since.”

Both their cellphones are on the coffee table. Steve reaches for his but figures he already knows the answer to this one.

“They’re still out, too,” Bucky says as Steve clears his screen. They’ve been keeping them charged, of course. Just in case. But the cell service has been out since last week. “Internet, too.”

The no service icon on Steve’s phone still gives him chills. The last time he spoke to someone on it was two weeks ago. When Rhodey called to say that things are going downhill. 

That’s when Steve agreed to take out their weapons. While both he and Bucky agree that gun control needs to be better enforced, they’re still armed. A leftover effect from combat, maybe. The need to feel protected and able to protect each other. 

They don’t have a militia worth of weapons or anything. Just the standard, really. Things for survival. Dehydrated food. Bottled water. First Aid kits. Really, the two of them can survive for a few months completely off the grid. It’s just that…well, they don’t really want to. 

“Hey,” Steve whispers when Bucky starts staring at the television again. “You okay?”

“Mhm.” When Steve covers the top of Bucky’s hand with his, Bucky sighs and shakes his head. “I’m, uh…I’m starting to get really scared.” 

“I know.” Steve nods. “So am I.”

“I don’t fuckin’ like this, Steve. They fucking roll up in their armored cars and tanks and start patrolling the streets, claiming it’s for our safety, but they won’t tell us what’s wrong. No wonder people are pissed.” 

Pissed is actually a kind way of putting it. More like fucking infuriated. And, honestly, Steve can’t blame people. He’s not exactly overly thrilled that the government, here in this country and clearly in others around the world, are not telling them anything. 

Instead, they just send the freaking military into civilian areas and expect everyone to fall in line. 

In fact, when Steve lets himself think about it, he’s fucking infuriated as well. If not for having friends in high places, the two of them probably would have split from here a while ago. Possibly when this first started.

It’s too late for that, though. 

There’s no way they can get over the bridges to get to the mainland and it’s not as though mass transit is still running. Hell, there isn’t even any cell service or internet. There’s been rolling blackouts and the news keeps going out, but, they’re still expected to just sit in their homes and wait to be told it’s all clear. 

Steve has no idea how the fuck they’re expected to trust in…shit, he’s not even sure who anymore. 

Week Five

“Widespread panic continues across the country.” Elizabeth Brandt no longer wears make-up. Her hair isn’t done. Every now and then there’s a tremble in her voice. “Many communities are without telephone. Most without power. Some without water.”

Steve wrings his hands together. They still have some power left but it comes in and out. Right now, the only light they have is that of the T.V. Nighttime, they’ve been instructed to keep the lights off and the shades drawn. They haven’t had any way to contact anyone for over a week now. Water went off yesterday. 

“Scientists at the CDC have released the following statement,” she says. “This virus is passed through bodily fluid such as blood and saliva. It is most often passed through bites but can be contracted if contaminated blood is absorbed into the body.”

“What the hell?” Bucky breathes, leaning forward and resting his arms over his knees. “What the fuck is this shit?”

Hand on Bucky’s back, Steve rubs it in soft circles trying to offer whatever comfort he can. Hard, that, when he’s just as confused and concerned and afraid.

“The infected exhibit rabid-like symptoms within five to thirty minutes of infection including skin inflammation, flu-like symptoms such a headache, violent coughing, and sore throats, and nausea and vomiting. At two hours, mild paralysis sets in leading to locking of the joints but does not lead to immobility. Finally, severe confusion and aggression.”  Ms. Brandt pauses before she continues. “We have some…some footage here of some people who have contracted the virus but we must advise you this may be difficult to watch.”

On the screen now is video footage clearly taken on a cellphone. Somewhere in Europe, Steve thinks, based on the license plates. When they hear people start talking, rushed and panicked, Bucky murmurs that they’re speaking Romanian. 

A moment later, screaming. Running. Gunshots. Sheer chaos and pandemonium. Only Steve can’t see what they’re running from. The phone’s camera is shaking violently as its owner runs.

Until a person next to them tumbles and falls to the ground. Whoever’s filming stops to try to help and drops the phone in the process. But the camera is still rolling. 

And within seconds, someone…or something comes into view. 

A man, or at least what used to be a man. His head is bent nearly all the way to the left and his jaw is clearly broken. He’s dragging his right leg but that doesn’t seem to impede his speed. His right arm is twisted and locked against the side of his body. There’s blood everywhere. Around his mouth. Dripping from his eyes and nose and ears. He lunges for one of the two people there. They both scream.

The video ends there.

When the screen goes back to Elizabeth Brandt, she’s staring blankly. Not at the camera. Just staring out at nothing. Trembling. Until someone off-camera clears their throat. 

Her gaze slowly lifts and focuses back on the camera facing her. She sucks in a deep breath and nods.

“The military is mobilizing,” she murmurs, very quiet. Little emotion other than the fear that’s permeating through this living room, “in an attempt to evacuate all major cities.” Ms. Brandt’s breath staggers. “We’re providing a list of rescue stations.” Scrolling on the bottom of the screen. “Please, make your way to the rescue station closest to you. If you are watching this broadcast at this time, please, get to a rescue station immediately.”

The screen starts cutting in and out, and Ms. Brandt is still speaking when it cuts off completely and goes dead. Colorbars with a high-pitched ringing is all that’s left.

“Steve…” Bucky whispers. “Did you…did you…this can’t be happening.”

All Steve can think about is Rhodey’s first call to him. 

They’ll try to evacuate the cities, he’d said. When that happens, don’t wait. Go.  

“We have to go.” 

Steve is already on his feet. First thing he does is grab two of their handguns. Both loaded. The only time Steve’s ever considered bringing a gun outside is when they go to the gun range and they’re always stored in locked cases. 

“Where are we going, Steve?” Bucky asks. “It cut out before the list even reached Brooklyn.” 

“I don’t care,” Steve replies, shoving one of the guns into Bucky’s hands. “But we need to get out of here. We’ll figure it out.” 

Bucky doesn’t question any more than that. Seems he’s already caught up with Steve’s thinking and wants to get the fuck out of there as much as he does. Even more so when they hear gunshots from not all that far away. 

They both freeze on the way to the door and stare at each other for a second. They’re leaving everything behind, Steve knows that. The bags they packed a few weeks ago are useless now. 

“I love you, Bucky,” Steve says and pulls him in for a kiss. “We’re gonna get through this.” 

Strange and horrifying as all this is, Bucky still manages a smile and grabs Steve’s hand. Tight. Unwilling to let go.

“I know.” He nods and adds his own kiss. “I love you, too.”

Steve takes one last, long look at Bucky before he wretches open the door and they dash outside. 

It’s already chaotic. People are doing the same as them. Running. With no sense of direction, they just fucking run. Steve runs with Bucky’s hand still tucked securely in his. 

The military there is trying to give out instructions. No one’s listening, of course, and even if Steve wanted to, he can’t understand them anyway. 

There are people everywhere. Parents carrying children. Lovers clinging to each other. Friends desperate to help each other. Some people trip and fall, and Steve and Bucky do what they can to help them back to their feet. Others aren’t so lucky and are trampled. 

Horns are blasting and metal twists around metal and glass shatters. There’re fires. More gunshots. Looting. 

They’ve only gone a few blocks when the screaming changes. The panic shifts to outright horror and fear. One glance over his shoulder confirms Steve’s worst fears.

They’re being chased by the infected. Several of them. Lots of them. So many… 

“Where the fuck did they come from?!” Bucky shouts as he pulls out his gun. “They’re everywhere.” 

Behind them, there’s snarling and growling. Squelching sounds and crunching bones. 

Steve is suddenly very aware of the sound of his own breathing. It’s all he can hear over the screams and cries for help. His heart is pounding like it’s never done. 

This is all wrong. 

Nothing makes sense.

These people need his help and he’s just running. That’s not what he does. That’s not what either of them do. But Steve doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how to help these people. To save them. All he can do is run until his legs feel like jelly and his chest hurts and his head is spinning. 

They get a bit of luck when they have a chance to duck into an alleyway that’s not far from a school. The list that had the rescue spots listed a lot of schools and churches in the other boros. Can’t be too different for them. 

When they reach the end of the alley, there’s a fence that they need to climb over. A few people, not infected from what Steve can tell, have followed. Them, Steve helps as best he can by assisting them up and over the fence. 

Bucky, already on the other side of the fence, helps them over and down. Some of these people seem to know each other. Possibly a family. Three children. Four adults. 

They say something about trying to get to the rendezvous point. That they’re evacuating people in trucks and buses and vans not that far from here. 

One of the adults climbs over the fence and runs without waiting for anyone else. Steve hopes that means they’re not associated with the rest of them. Another climbs over and waits as Steve and the other two help the three children. 

They’ve just made it over, Bucky helping the last one and handing her off to the person next to him, when his eyes go wide.

“Steve…” He’s gone very rigid, staring at something behind Steve. “Hurry.”

Steve glances over his shoulder. Sees what Bucky does. Three people. Growling. Drooling. Their bodies all contorted, and bones cracking when they take a few steps in Steve’s direction. 

“Holy shit,” Steve breathes and then whirls back to the last person on this side of the fence with him. He grabs him and shoves him at the fence. “Go! Go, now! Hurry!” 

“Steve!” Bucky yells. “Steve, hurry! Come on, please!”

In his rush, Steve slips a time or two as he clambers to the top of the fence. The entire thing shakes and trembles. The young man next to him nearly loses his grip and falls. Steve grabs him by the wrist and keeps a hand on his back to help him.

“God damn it, Steve!” Bucky shouts. “Come on! You need to run!”

They’re at the fence now. Grabbing at Steve and his companions legs. Tearing at their clothes. Trying to pull them back down. 

When Steve makes it to the top, he swings one leg over, and just as he goes to bring the other, a sharp, unimaginable pain radiates at his ankle and shoots up his entire leg. He screams as he jerks his knee up and grabs his ankle. 

The pain is so agonizing that Steve lets go of the fence and falls the rest of the way, landing with a hard thud on the concrete. Something might break, he isn’t sure. It’s the pain in his ankle that has his attention. 

“Steve!” Bucky is at his side the second he hits the ground. “Steve, what happened? Are you all right? Can you get--oh fuck.”

Steve snaps his gaze back to the fence. Where the infected are climbing up it. To make matters worse, there are three coming into this side of the alley on the other end.

“Bucky…” Steve pants and coughs. His ankle throbs and that fall knocked the wind out of him. “Get the…the kids…” 

They’re all trapped. If they’re going to get the rest of these people out of here, Steve knows what needs to be done. He and Bucky need to separate. 

Gun at the ready, Bucky nods and shoots back up to his feet, stepping in front of the group of people with his weapon aimed. Steve reaches into his holster and pulls out his own gun. 

They start shooting. 

Steve knows he hits them. One in the arm. One in the leg. One in the chest. But they keep coming. He fires again. Foot. Shoulder. Back. And they still keep coming. 

“The heads!” Bucky suddenly yells. “Steve, go for their heads!” 

Vision blurry and ears ringing, Steve takes several shots before finally getting one in the head. He manages to get another but the third, right before she’d lunge at Steve, is taken down by Bucky. She falls in a heap right next to Steve. 

Once again, Bucky drops by his side. At the same time, he’s waving at the rest of the people there to run. They do, but not before thanking them. 

“Come on, Steve,” Bucky says. “You gotta get up.” 

That fall did a lot more to him than Steve realized. It shouldn’t be all that surprising. He just fell at least ten feet. His head hurting isn’t very shocking. The sore throat is a little unusual, but Steve figures that’s from all the screaming. 

Still, he’s so dazed and disoriented, that when Bucky once again tries to pull him back to his feet, he tries to push him off.

“Just go,” Steve grunts, “get outta here.”

“No,” Bucky growls between his teeth. “Not without you. Now c’mon, Steve. Get. The fuck. Up. Now.” 

If they weren’t in the middle of a zombie-like apocalypse, Steve would laugh. That tone, it’s not one to be reckoned with. 

Steve nods and accepts Bucky’s help as he brings him back to his feet. The strain makes Steve grunt and he teeters a bit off balance. 

“You okay?” Bucky asks. “You with me?”

“Always.”

Even in the midst of a waking, walking nightmare, Bucky scoffs a laugh and, fuck, that smile is worth walking through fire for. 

“Don’t get all sappy on me now, Rogers.”

Steve is limping a bit, but after just half a block, he’s able to at least sprint without needing to lean all of his weight against Bucky. 

The coughing starts a few minutes later. Uncontrollable fits that have Steve doubled over. His head hurts so bad that he almost wants to bash it against a wall. 

That fucking fall. He’s taken hits worse than that, he’s sure of it, yet one tiny fall off a tall fence has him ready to keel over. He can’t, though. He needs to suck it up and keep running to get Bucky out of here. 

“Steve?” Bucky asks when Steve is bent over coughing again. “Baby, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He nods and tries to straighten again. “I think…I think I broke a rib or something.” 

“Okay. Okay, you’re gonna be okay,” Bucky assures him. “We’re not far now. When we get there, they’ll help you.”

Spitting some blood from his mouth, Steve wipes his arm across his and clears his throat, wincing from the pain of it. He exhales sharply and then lets Bucky wrap his arm around his waist to assist him again. 

Only this time, when Steve takes a step with his right foot, white light flashes in front of his eyes and he shrieks as his weight falls out from under him.

“Steve!” Bucky goes down with him. “What is it? What happened?”

Steve shivers from head to toe. It’s too hot out. He has no idea when it got so freaking hot out. It’s only April for god’s sake. 

“Stevie…” 

Steve can just make out Bucky’s voice through clogged ears. Then it disappears altogether and all Steve can see is Bucky’s lips moving. It’s hard to make out what he’s saying, but Steve can venture a guess. So he nods, assuming Bucky’s asking if he’s all right, and lets Bucky help him back up. 

“Come on, baby, we’re almost there.”

Bucky’s right. 

They’re not far. 

Just another two blocks sees them at the blockade. There are swarms of people being ushered in a few groups at a time. 

As Bucky leads Steve there so they can wait their turn, Steve takes a glimpse down at his ankle. It’s covered in blood. He knows it’s his. It’s seeped into his jeans and down into his sock. That's why, he realizes, his foot squishes every time he walks. That’s why it hurts when he walks. That’s why… 

Eyes filling with tears, Steve coughs again, his breaths shuddering. Bucky readjusts his grip on him. Helps him as best he can because that’s what they do. They help each other. They save each other. They love each other. 

Steve just watches him now. His Bucky. His best friend. The man he’s loved since they were a couple of punk kids running around the streets of Brooklyn. Life had taken them in different directions after middle school but they still found their way back to each other. 

“What?” Bucky asks when he notices Steve staring at him. “Are you okay? Do you need to sit?”

“No.” A sense of peace and calm washes over Steve. “I just love you.” 

The corners of Bucky’s mouth twitches. Almost a smile. Hard to smile with all this, but it’s almost there. 

“I love you, too, Steve.” 

Steve coughs more. His throat is on fire. His stomach turns, nausea creeping through. 

When they finally reach the entrance through the barricade, Steve hands Bucky his gun just as he walks through. 

“Steve, what’re you doing?”

“Take it,” Steve whispers. “You’ll need all the protection you can get.”

“I have my own,” Bucky says. “You need it.”

Steve shakes his head and ignores the officers trying to move them along. 

“Just take it. And go.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?! Come on, Steve! Don’t fuck around!”

Those tears almost get the better of Steve, but he manages to hold them back. For now. 

He looks down at his ankle and lifts up the bottom of his jeans. Shows Bucky what Steve already knows is there. 

A bite.

A big chunk of his skin all red and black and blue and swollen. 

It pulses. Throbs. It’s almost unbearable.

“No…” Bucky whimpers. “No, no, no. We can…you’re gonna be fine. You…”

“Go, Bucky.”

“No! No, I’m not leaving you!” Abruptly frantic, like he can’t figure out what’s happening or what to do, Bucky starts to shake all over. “No. No, I’m staying. I’m staying with you. I’m not leaving you!”

The tears finally break through, mirroring those rolling down Bucky’s cheeks. But Steve won’t give in. He won’t be selfish. He’ll save Bucky. Even if that means taking himself out of the picture. 

“I’m bitten,” Steve says to the soldiers there. “Take him out of here.”  

They don’t wait.

Steve’s actually surprised he and Bucky got this last bit of time together. That doesn’t stop Bucky from screaming. From struggling with all his might against the soldiers dragging him away. 

“No! No, Steve! Steve, please! God, no! No, this can’t…you can’t leave me! You can’t!”

Bucky’s reaching over the soldiers. Trying desperately to get back to Steve. Even for just one last touch. 

And Steve is selfish enough for that.

He reaches once.

Their fingers graze.

Stomach lurching just as they load Bucky in the back of a military truck and it drives away, taking Steve’s whole life with it, Steve claps a hand over his mouth and pushes out of the crowd. Right at the fringe of it, he leans over to be ill. 

Steve doesn’t know what’s going to happen to him now, but he does know that he’s going to be a danger to all these people soon. No matter how much it hurts -- and it does, inside and out, like a red-hot poker shoved between his ribs -- he pushes onward. Gets himself out of there. As far away as possible before his legs give out from under him and he collapses in a gutter not far from where he and Bucky met. 

Week ???

The sun beats down on the empty city streets. Sizzles and burns Steve’s skin. He knows it is happening. Feels it happening. Can do nothing about it. 

He cannot remember how. 

Sometimes, he cannot even remember his own name. He knows he has one. Or did have one. It is not that important. 

The ankle that was bit still throbs. It always does. Now, that foot is all twisted. He can’t really bend his right knee and his right arm is clenched to his chest. He has been unable to move it for the longest time. 

Sometimes Steve sees people. Real people. The way he used to be. If they see him, they scream and run. If they have weapons, they try to kill him. 

He wants to tell them that he does not want to hurt them. And that much is true. Steve doesn’t want to hurt them. But he will. He can’t stop it. The guilt is overwhelming, the screams of the people he has hunted down echoing through his ears. 

He is just so very hungry. Always hungry. Or maybe he is thirsty. His tongue and mouth and throat are on fire. The taste of iron has not left his mouth since the first meal he had. 

The only other thing he wants to do is sleep. Nothing ever stops, though. Steve can’t sleep. All he ever does is wander. 

There is a building he passes from time to time that feels right. Familiar. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows there’s a word for it. It sits at the tip of his tongue. Not that it matters. He cannot speak anything more than grunts and moans and growls. 

That’s because of the pain. So much pain that ravages through his entire body, day and night. 

Steve can’t stop crying. It is different now. He doesn’t think he is doing it right, but he still cries. Wordless and soundless. 

Maybe he has lost something. It feels like that. Very much so. Like he is looking for someone. Someone that left him here. Right? Or…no, that is not right. The others did. They left Steve and the rest of the Wanders to rot. 

Things do not make sense so much anymore. They haven’t in a long time. 

He hates them. Steve doesn’t know who but he does and he wants to hurt them until they feel as much pain as he does. If he gets the chance he’ll bite into their flesh and tear into through skin and gnaw down to their bones just to hear their screams.  

No.

No, no, no, no, no…no.

Why does he want that?

Steve can’t remember. 

If he finds them…them…him…then maybe it will be better. The pain won’t go away but that smile. Yes, that smile. 

Bucky.

The name pulses through him and for one single second, Steve’s existence makes sense again. That second passes quickly. 

Something is behind him. Steve can hear it. Smell it. Fresh meat. Warm. Alive. 

Head stuck tilted to the right, Steve turns, his bones creaking and cracking along with the movements. The living. Three of them. From the smell of them, two males and one female. 

Steve is hungry. It does not matter that they carry weapons, Steve will try to get food. He opens his mouth. Jaw popping, drool leaking over his teeth. Steve hisses. Tries to warn them. Threaten them. Demand they do not move so he can have his meal. 

“I hate it when they make that noise,” one of the males says. “Fucking creepy.” 

“Oh, c’mon, Sam,” the female answers, “you’re not losing your nerve, are you?” 

Steve runs toward them now. If they do not shoot him first and set him free, he will catch them and he will eat them and for just a few moments he will not be hungry. 

“No, Nat, not losing my nerve,” Sam says. “Doesn’t stop that noise from being any less creepy.” 

“Yeah.” Nat nods. “I’ll give you that.”

“Stark, what’re you waiting for?” Sam asks the second male. “You wanna be his happy meal?”

“Not today,” Stark replies and Steve is only a few steps away when he raises his weapon and it discharges. 

Hits him in the chest. Steve does not stop. A puny weapon as that will not come between him and his food. Except when a new pain spreads from that spot and sparks throughout his entire body, Steve drops to his knees and gasps for air. 

They have hurt him more. More pain. 

So much more pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

“All right,” Stark says when Steve falls forward, unable to move. “Tag ‘im and bag ‘im.”

Nat crouches down in front of Steve and turns his head so that he’s facing her. She lifts his eyelid up and clicks her tongue. 

“You’re right, Stark,” she says. “He’s one of the firsts.”

Sam comes close. Take a good look as well. Must agree because he nods but why will they not kill Steve? It will be better for them…for him… 

“Eyes are totally bloodshot,” Sam says. “Poor guy.”

“Well, let’s get ‘im back to the lab,” Stark tells them. “Bruce and Helen will wanna have a look.” 

A lab.

Steve cannot remember this word but it makes his insides feel wrong. Afraid. Maybe that is it. 

***

Steve feels quite weightless. 

Floaty.

No, not floaty. Actually floating. 

Perhaps that means he’s finally died. If that’s that case, he’s not sure if he’d feel this good. After everything he’s done as a Wanderer, he deserves damnation, not salvation. 

There should be no reward. No easing of his pain. And this dull ache in the back of his head, the heat in his throat, and the aches in his body is the most relief he’s had since…well, it feels like a lifetime ago. 

Although, if by some miracle, he’s been let into an eternal paradise, maybe that means he’ll reunite with Bucky someday. 

Oh. 

Oh, his Bucky.

A tremble flies up his spine. 

The last time Steve saw Bucky, he was crying and scared and screaming for him. He could still feel the spot where their fingers last touched. 

But it was the right thing to do, it was. If Bucky had stayed with him, he’d’ve died. All this guilt topped with the idea of taking Bucky’s life as well? No, Steve couldn’t handle that. 

It occurs to Steve then that he hasn’t fully been able to recall Bucky in quite some time. Now, he’s all Steve can think about. 

The pain in his ankle feels so much better. 

His head isn’t tilted. 

His arm isn’t pinned against his chest. 

Steve finally gains enough coherency to open his eyes. When he does, he gasps and thrashes about. 

He’s submerged in water. In a vertical tube. There are wires hooked to his naked body and tubes in his mouth and nose. Steve bangs on the glass. He can breathe and he can hear but he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on and he needs to get out of this thing.

“Whoa, whoa! Hey, it’s okay!” 

Someone’s voice comes through the thick water and Steve turns that way. He doesn’t know this person but he recognizes him. The man who shot him. With someone. Not a bullet. 

Now that Steve’s thinking a bit clearer, he thinks it may have been some type of taser. 

“My name is Tony,” he says, pushing closer to Steve on a wheelie chair. “Tony Stark. You’re gonna be okay now.”

Too busy trying to figure out what’s happening and how he got here, Steve looks around at all he can see. It’s a lab, just like they said. They must’ve brought him back here. Brought him…back.

“I know, you’re probably confused, that’s normal,” Tony explains. “The process is a bit disorienting. Is this getting through? Can you nod or something, big guy?”

Tony, Steve realizes, is asking him a question. He’s actually talking to him. Not running and screaming, but talking. Steve can’t talk with the tubs in his mouth so he nods. 

“Good, good. Here, I’m gonna pull up a virtual keyboard.” Whatever he does out there makes letters appear on the glass in front of Steve. “Can you type your name in?” 

Steve might be achy but he’d also be fucking thrilled to do this. He lifts the arm he hasn’t controlled in so long and types his name.

S-T-E-V-E 

R-O-G-E-R-S

When Steve sees his name displayed on the screen, he smiles. For so long, he couldn’t even be sure if that’s who he was and now he knows. He’s him. He’s Steve Rogers. 

But Tony just blinks at the name a few times. His mouth opens not once, but twice before he finally answers. 

“Steve Rogers?” He says that as if he’s familiar with it. “You…do you know a Bucky Barnes?”

Eyes going wide, Steve would gasp if he wasn’t breathing through a tube and underwater. This guy knows Bucky. He’ll be able to tell Steve if he’s okay. If he’s near. If he’s safe. 

“I guess that’s a yes,” Tony mumbles. “Well…shit. He was right. You were too stubborn to die.” He snickers before pushing back over to the lab table he’d been at before Steve started banging on the tube. He picks up the phone and only dials one digit. “Hey, I need you two to bring Barnes down.”

Bring him down. That means Bucky’s here. Oh, god, please, please let this be real. 

“Uh…let’s just say he’s been right this whole time,” Tony says. “He always said he was still out there.” 

Tony continues with a brief conversation with whoever’s on the phone but Steve doesn’t pay any attention. All he cares about is the fact that Bucky is here. Bucky’s here and they’re bringing him to see Steve. 

While he waits, Tony explains a bit of what’s happened and why Steve is in this thing. It’s a bit hard to follow along; not everything is entirely clear yet and Steve’s mind is still a little fuzzy. 

Apparently, the weightless environment helps the Wanderers’ limbs to unlock. That, combined with the antibodies speeds up the recovery process. The recovery process that Bucky’s been helping with.

According to Tony, Bucky’s part of some vigilante group. A group that rallied together to go out and look for survivors. Killing Wanderers when they needed. When they could.

“It was your man who thought he saw something in one of them one day,” Tony says. “Saw…what could be. And instead of killing…”  

They started bringing Wanderers back to the lab. To their base of operations. Found something of a cure. 

“You’ll probably have to stay in there for another forty-eight hours or so and then go through a ton of physical therapy, but, based on our other subjects, you should make a--”

The door swings open, and without even pausing to check the room, Bucky comes running in and right up to the tube where Steve is. 

“Steve!” There’re tears streaming down his face. “Oh, god, baby, I knew it. I knew you’d be alive. I did. I told you. I told you, you’d be okay. Oh, fuck, baby, I miss you so much. I love you. I love you, Steve.”

Steve still isn’t entirely sure if this is really happening. It feels real. Maybe not what he deserves but…if he’s allowed a few moments of peace, he’ll gladly accept it. 

If it is real, well, they did it again. Somehow, against all odds, they found their way back to each other. 

He smiles around the tubes in his mouth and traces a heart along the glass. Still crying, Bucky lets loose a wet laugh and traces a heart over it. 

It’s the last thing Steve sees before his eyes close again.

He’s tired. 

He’d very much like to sleep. 

And maybe dream. 

[trainsinanime]

I think in retrospect, my post bitching about Ladrien was a mistake. It was written out of frustration, in response to a post that I perceived as trying to push Ladrien as morally superior to Marichat. That was probably not the right way to read this post. And even if it had been, the correct response would certainly not have been to vague-tumble (sub-tumble?) about it. I should just delete it.

…or I can double down and post more controversial Miraculous Ladybug shipping hot takes. Which one of these would be more fun? Difficult, difficult…

Adrigami vs Lukanette

I have seen more than one post argue that people prefer Lukanette over Adrigami because of racism, or because Kagami is too pushy, or similar. Now, for the record, I prefer anything above Lukanette and I personally love to ship Adrigaminette (specifically the version where everyone involved is really stupid about it). But I don’t think the moralistic argument can explain all of why Lukanette is so popular.

The problem is that we all love our point of view character Marinette and want good things to happen to her. Yes, there are exceptions in the fandom, but those are a small minority, no matter how loud they are. Adrigami is fun, interesting, engaging, they have both common points and interesting conflicts, and I’d absolutely love to watch a show about it… but Adrigami has one key drawback: It makes Marinette sad. And nobody wants that.

Lukanette, on the other hand, doesn’t make anyone (in universe) sad. Adrien and Kagami are okay with it, and it doesn't seem to affect Marinette's emotional state at all. (Yeah, sorry, not a fan of Luka, but I'll try not to dwell on it because my reasons for not liking him are not interesting, much like he is.)

Lukanette also works really well if you want to be salty about stuff but aren’t willing to go full Batman. The main salt objection to Adrien is that Chat Noir can be too pushy with his romantic feelings, which is arguably true, and that this means he is a horrible person, which I don’t exactly agree with. That cannot be said about Luka, who has no flaws, wishes, character motivation or similar nasty things that could get in the way.

All of these factors have nothing to do with Kagami whatsoever. Now, if you’re wondering why Lukanette is more popular than Kagaminette, then we’re getting somewhere.

Next up, more controversial opinions about other pairings:

Adrienette

Horrible, awful. Adrinette is king.

Marichat

Just to reiterate: I love Marichat moments. I don’t think regular Marichat dates, whether that is romantic dates or friend dates, works at all. Marichat lives from the fact that they’re both friends, yes, but also from the low-key spy vs spy antics where they try to convince each other that they’re not actually best friends yet. (Ladrien could do the same but they’re too busy awkwardly blushing at each other to get any sustained antics going)

Ladynoir

These two do not go on patrols in canon. I know every fan claims so, but there’s no canon evidence, except for Dark Owl/Hibou Noir, where the regular patrols are clearly established as something unusual that both of them want to end soon. Yes, I know there’s one instagram post, and supposedly one tweet (not that I’ve ever seen it), but it’s not in the show. And let’s be real, why would they go on patrols? Hawkmoth canonically creates Akumas whenever, including frequently during school hours. Patrols can’t help against that. That’s why our heroes canonically use alerting apps.

The reason why people love patrols is because it gets Ladynoir together without having to invent an Akuma. I can see the appeal behind that… but honestly, isn’t that just lazy? The show generally makes sure to show us the tail end of the adventure that brought them together this time, and I think that is more fun. Alternatively, sometimes, the show just doesn’t bother to explain why they’re together in costume at all (e.g. the end of Chat Blanc), and it turns out that this is also a thing you can do and nobody will hate you for it.

Adrinette

This may be my most controversial opinion yet, but I want these two crazy kids to kiss and hold hands and grow old together.

Adrigaminette

Yes, I know it'll never be canon. But I refuse to believe that they didn't realise people would ship it when they wrote the beginning of Heart Hunter. That whole sequence seems like it was designed to get me to ship it, and you know what? It succeeded.

Maribat aka Daminette

Kill it with fire.

Alyanette

We don’t have enough of this.

Alyadrien

People, including Zag, are sleeping on what a great platonic friendship pairing this could be. Just those two geeking out about how great Ladybug, Marinette, Nino and Carapace are.

Kagaminette

I have nothing but love for this pairing; I'm just including it here for completeness.

GabeNath

The problem with that ship is that I don’t want good things to happen to either of these people. Which means I'm perfectly okay with the canon version of this ship, where it's clear that both of them are emotionally stunted, callous and immoral and are never going to find happiness. The fact that it’s technically cheating only adds to that. I am not fond of fan versions where these two and Adrien are one happy family, though.

DJWifi

The pairing is perfect, but I have to say: Lady WiFi is cooler and fits better for Alya than Rena Rouge. Who ever thought to give the journalist the Miraculous that is all about lying and deception?

I’m very okay with Nino not being the Bubbler, though.

JuleRose

Come on Zag, they deserve to be unambiguously canon.

MarcNath

See JuleRose. Actually, I think when directly compared to JuleRose, they could really do with some more development, some more scenes of them together. I do ship it, but they seemed to have gotten the “official unacknowledged gay boys couple” almost out of nowhere.

MarcNath where Nath means Nathalie

I don’t think it would be a good idea at all, but the troll part in me (which is responsible for this post existing in the first place) thinks it might be worth exploring.

MariLila

We need more of this ultimate crack ship.

Adrigamilukanette

Get rid of Luka and then we’re talking.

Chloegami

I used to think it was a stupid idea but I’ve read a number of very well written slow-burn stories about them, so now I ship it.

Felinette

I don’t get it at all. I feel like I should write more about it in a post like this, but I'm mostly just baffled by its existence.

Lukagami

Kagami deserves better.

Juleka/Lila

I just saw that this tag exists, on a "here are my drabbles" fic that was last updated in 2018, before it got to the Juleka/Lila part, and now I’m both intrigued and frustrated.

Adrichat

Hah, you had almost forgotten about that, hadn’t you?

[bibliocratic]

Jonmartin prompt: Jon wants to cuddle Martin very badly and is also super awkward about it, like "how do I touch you without my elbows crushing something"

(post 160, jonmartin)(this is… well, it’s sort of what you were after? hope it’s ok!)

It’s not easy, the slapdash and imprecise art of communication. Martin’s never been particularly adept. His words trip over footholds of his own making on their way out of his mouth. He has a stammer he’s never quite rid himself of, his words too earnest or too anxious to showcase any finesse at the skill.

And Jon…

Well. Jon.

It wasn’t simple before, twisting the tape back to the start of all this, Jon talking like a car trying to jump start when things felt too personal, his indelicate sincerity that struck with all the tenderness of an anvil. And Martin likes to think they were both getting better, before. They had three weeks of stumbling, artless practise, their amateur declarations witnessed by no-one but the wind and evening-dappled fields that stretched like lazy days for miles around.

And now.

Martin wouldn’t say Jon’s up to managing much talking now.

Oh, he’s not silent. Chatty in his own way, and the conversations they have are tug-of-wars, teasing, testing to find the edges their pieces slot into.

Easy isn’t the word for it though. Martin supposes, it was never going to be.

They’ve stopped for a few days to gather themselves. They’ve made it as far south as Melrose on the borders, and it would have been a pretty market town, antique fairs and village fetes and a eye-catching ruin of a fourteenth century monastery, if the Hunt hadn’t passed this way, maybe the Spiral too. There isn’t much left here in the way of civilisation, and little to nothing in the way of humanity. There are shadows like the imprints on wall after the outpouring shock of a bomb, but their limbs do not concede to the shape of limbs. They sway as leaves on a branch, like they’re hanging from where their feet are stuck to the ground, and Martin tugs them clear of their gathering places.

They’ve managed to let themselves into the half-unhinged door of a little high street shop that used to sell fancy card and stationary. They had tried an art gallery further up the road, but the Dark had started to take root there like black mould, and it’d eaten away the ground floor to yawning inky nothing.

Martin asks Jon if they’ll be safe here, and Jon rallies himself  wearily, Looks. He replies that nothing will come for them, and that’s as much as they can ask for these days.

Above the shop, accessed via a back-room still plugged up and packed with unopened boxes, up carpeted stairs on which bundles of unopened notebooks and special occasion cards balance committedly against the will of gravity, there’s a small flat.  The decoration in the flat is… interesting. It’s more something one of Tim’s friends would have had, the few times Tim got Martin to go out with him for one of his ‘de-stress Friday’ sessions.  Martin would laugh at the wall-hangings like indoor curtains, the posters of the zodiac and some tie-dye hippy representation of chakras, the bong even still on the coffee table in the poky living room, except his attention is slightly more taken up by Jon at the moment. Leant against him like a downed tree, his eyes drooping closed and his legs fast failing him, shuddering from the effort of taking the stairs.

The way here was treacherous. There’s a town further north about forty miles swallowed by the Vast.  Jon tries to avoid Seeing as much as possible, of course he does, and Martin will never ask that of him outright, never, but they’ve had to check if the way is safe a number of times. And each time he opens the door or whatever metaphor Jon uses to understand it, it drains something from him it takes a long time to claw back.

Martin drops his backpack by the entrance. Divests Jon of his. Jon sways and blinks with lidded eyes, and his gestures are sloppy, poorly formed. Martin ends up carrying him to single bed off to the right of the staircase, the room still wreathed in the old stale smell of tobacco and weed.

Once Jon’s out for the count, Martin checks the doors, the windows, their rations and supplies with the religious militancy of a man who knows what happens when they don’t. He counts out rations, makes careful notations in his notebook with a stubby pencil sharpened by his pen-knife. The cupboards of the flat are mostly a bust, but there’s a few cans of baked beans, tinned peaches, and the delight of finding a single can of tinned custard, which Martin stashes to surprise Jon with later.

There’s a billy bookcase next to the non-functioning TV, crowded full of precarious piles of console game boxes and disordered books and back issues of the Fortean Times. Martin peruses through a number of books on mysticism, the paranormal and how one can access their inner self before he finds a glossy hardback on origami to entertain himself.

The sky outside is dark and scratched with an ugly bruising colour,  but it’s likely to be only mid afternoon. Martin ventures back down the staircase and grabs some coloured card before he settles back into the spring-less corner of a battered settee draped with a brightly adorned throw blanket. There’s another, equally obnoxiously shaded blanket of clashing colours, and he places it over himself and gets comfortable.

It’s a few hours later when he hears the bed squeak.  A clearing of a throat, the unsteady padded steps of someone who hasn’t found their equilibrium just yet.

Jon pushes the door open with a sighing squeak and peers blearily around.

The nap hasn’t helped at all by the look of it. Martin turns mid-fold and gets to see a crime scene of disturbed sleep evidenced on Jon’s body. One of Martin’s long-sleeve t-shirts rucked up, the under arms and ring around his neck patched damp. His skin rippled with a thick sweat, hair coming wildly and carelessly from the band he’d tied it back in. He’s rocking on the balls of his feet like he’s still following the motion of running, and his eyes as he stares at Martin are unnaturally dilated, unnervingly steady even as he scrubs his face with his hand.  

“Hey,” Martin says carefully. Knowing to keep his voice pitched low, calmer than Jon feels right now. “Are you… everything ok?”

Jon pauses, blinks just too slowly to seem natural, and shakes his head.

“What’s wrong?” Martin asks. “If you can… if you want to say, that it.”

Jon pauses. It’s habit now. A nervous tic. Mulling over what he wants to say and how he’ll say it.

He has to be so careful with how he says things.

Martin’s expecting a truncated gesture or two. A stumbling sign that Martin will have to parse, backed up by a thousand other signifiers of meaning in their home-spun language. But unusually, Jon clears his throat, bites his top lip anxiously before he opens his mouth.

Like tuning in a radio station mid-programme, someone else’s words ring out.

“I allowed myself some brief hope,” Jon’s voice sloshes out of his mouth with a South American cadence. “that maybe he’d just left me, maybe he’d escaped with just a divorce. But no. One call to the housing association confirmed that, as far as they were concerned, I’d always lived alone.”

Most of the statements Martin doesn’t recognise. He’s not been cursed with an encyclopaedic knowledge of them after all, a forced and unwilling archive now capable of speaking in every voice but his own. They’re all the same anyway. The recycling of other people’s tragedies and miseries, their worst days committed for posterity and recited dutifully by the archive Jonah Magnus created to house them.

Jon usually doesn’t share the content of his dreams.

“Nightmare?” Martin says, deliberately lightly. He puts down his truly butchered attempt to make a swan and watches as Jon swallows, brings a hand to his mouth to gnaw at a nail.

He wonders if that’s the right word, knows in his heart it isn’t, not really. Because nightmares are a twisting of things that both are and aren’t, a plaited deceitful recollection of an unkind brain. Jon’s dreams are a hideous witnessing, with no hope of challenge of change.

Jon jerkily nods, before he says in that awful ventriloquism:

“… regarding a series of misplaced objects lost over the course of three months.”

Jon’s started to rub his arms. His lips firmly closed again, as though embarrassed he’s shared the history he’s been watching in his dreams. But he did share it. And that’s notable.

Martin holds up a corner of the blanket on the settee, and chides “Get in here, or you’ll catch your death”, and Jon’s crossing the distance as though he was waiting for the signal.

They don’t say anything for the while. Jon folds himself up against Martin’s side like a gangly greetings card, like one of his obviously failed origami projects. Martin puts an arm around his shoulder and consigns himself to the rather shocking robbery of body heat that’s rapidly occurring. Jon accepts the arm, but the tension is still wound through his marrow, and he doesn’t calm like he usually does.

“This one really bothered you, didn’t it?” Martin says.

A twitchy up-down motion.

“How come?” Martin asks, before:  “If you want to talk about it. If not, well, I can tell you all about my grand adventures in paper folding. A wild ride, I can promise.”

Jon raises an eyebrow at the truly dazzling menagerie of wobbly animals, and huffs a stale laugh.

He brings out his hands from where he’d buried them in the furnace of Martin’s space, and makes a sign, a twisting hooked hand motion  - Spiral. And then, shakier, flatter, his fingers closed like shutters – Lonely.

“As far as they were concerned,” he repeats with a mournful and stolen tongue, “I’d always lived alone.”

He makes a sign again, and meets Martin’s eye like he’s been trying not to – Lonely.

Jon reaches out, and like setting fingers to the board of a violin, delicately fits his hand against Martin’s. Like he’s memorised exactly the places where they go, the coves and shorelines where their islands can align.

Martin’s grip has never been as careful. His fingers engulf Jon’s smaller size, cushioning them in a sturdy grip.

“You’ve not lost me,” Martin says, reading in between the lines of Jon’s gestures. “I’m here, yeah? Alright. And we’re together. I’m not lost.”

Jon makes a grunt of acknowledgement, inclining his head in agreement, impatiently, as though he knows all this, like he begrudges being reminded. But clearly this knowledge hasn’t stained every part of his waking yet, because there are tears slipping unwanted from his eyes and his hand grips Martin harder.

His gaze flickers like a camera shutter from the floor and its foot-scuffed rug to Martin, back and forth. Martin wishes, not for the first time, that Jon could just ask for what he wants. Could stop feeling like he needs to justify every out-reaching motion to himself, approaching physical affection like he’s trying to do the cryptic bloody crossword.

He’s learning. They both are.

“What do you want me to do?” Martin asks instead.

Jon’s eyes finally linger on him. Cheeks damp, eyes red. He removes his hand from Martin’s grip like he’s unmooring a ship from port. His next movements being planned behind his eyes. A methodical consideration of angle, of intent, of reciprocation that’s as much caution as it is overthinking. Martin wonders sometimes whether this is the Jon he always was, or the Jon that’s been made by this world and all that’s been laid against him. Maybe it’s one or the other or both, or maybe it doesn’t matter much any more. This is Martin’s Jon, the Jon that is, the one that is thinking about how he’s going to place his limbs as though there’s a wrong way to it, who will steady himself before he’ll reach out. But who always does, eventually, in his own time.

His arms encircle Martin’s neck now. A pause, a release of air, before he’s pulling back, fretting like something hasn’t worked. But he clearly wants something, enough to push through his dissatisfaction, face folded in on itself unhappily before it sets in determination and then he goes for around Martin’s chest, fingers steadying, finding their own bony handholds in the material of Martin’s jumper. The right angles of his elbows, the washboard of his ribs felt under his shirt, they don’t have any give and Martin shifts a little to ease the hard sensation of it, try and reorient them better. Jon picks up on this, already trying to shift again or perhaps even move away, and if his tongue could still form apologies, he’d be making them.

Martin’s arms come round decisively, closing the circuit of them.

“Stop fussing,” he murmurs, and Jon quietens. Face against the round of Martin’s chest, the hand that’s not still gripped vice-like carefully combining through his damp hair.

“This ok?” Martin says finally, wanting to know, wanting Jon to feel like he can tell him.

Jon lifts his head. Nods, brings their lips together for a skimming kiss, like he’s sealing the sentiment.

He shuffles his body so he’s wedged next to Martin, taking up any crevice he finds. After a moment, pulling and positioning Martin’s arm back over his shoulder, so it drapes heavy and solid and present. A lightness on his face that sleep couldn’t achieve but a victory Martin likes to claim as his own every time.

It is no hardship for Martin to understand every one of these expressions just fine.

[notyetneedcoffee]

Got Your Number

Follow up to “Wrong Number” - but can be stand alone.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, +18, graphic smut

* * * 

You may have let out a little groan as you lowered the heavy file box to the ground, but it didn’t cover the deep, sexy hum that came from the doorway. It took effort to bite back the grin and school your features into a rye scowl. Standing up slowly, you turned with a sigh.

“You going to just stand there, or give me a hand?” One eyebrow arched.

Bucky closed the distance in three long strides, grabbing your ass cheek in a firm grip. “I’ll give you a hand.”

You shivered when he growled in your ear, voice low and just loud enough for your ears alone. Playing tough only lasted as long as he didn’t drop into that tone. He quickly learned your personal kryptonite existed within the low register of his voice, especially when laden with sinful promise and filthy words.  

He chuckled when your fingers fisted in his Henley and your head lolled back to stare into his eyes.  

“You need me?”    

“Seems to be a regular occurrence.” You sighed in mock disappointment.  

Metal fingers cupped your face, drawing you up for a kiss. His teeth nipped at your lower lip. Lifting onto your toes you fought for more contact, tongue sweeping against his mouth. He pulled back just enough to block your efforts. You whined, trying again. He smiled against your lips, but didn’t grant you the depth of kiss you desired. When he tried to pull away a third time, you grabbed two handfuls of hair, pulling him forward hard.

“Asshole.” You smiled against his lips.

Bucky growled and devoured your mouth thoroughly, wet and messy. His arms held you flush against him, lifting you to the tips of your toes. His arms did not lessen their hold even when his mouth trailed to the sensitive spot below your ear. “Any chance I could lay you across that desk and fuck you ‘til you scream?”    

“Not right now, Buck. People are working.” You laughed.

“So, later?” He pulled back enough for you to see the mischievous sparkle in his blue eyes.

He drank down your laughter in another kiss.

“You know, he has a room upstairs.” The dry voice of Tony Stark interrupted you. “I’m not putting a murphy bed in here and the cleaning crew will only do so much.”

Bucky reluctantly let you go. He almost managed to not glare at the intrusion, to which Tony only beamed all the brighter. Buck shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans to hide his cockblocked erection and leaned against your desk.  

“So, getting all moved in?” Tony picked up a photo of your mom and put it back in the box where he found it, flipped open a binder on the latest W.H.O. status report, and finally ended up unscrewing the cap to a fountain pen that had been on the desk. “Oh, nice.”

“Careful, she tends to get stabby with that one.” Bucky muttered.  

You laughed, barely believing he remembered some of the first word you ever spoke to him.  

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Tony put it down. “So, seriously, is there anything you need, doc?”

“No, not now. The office is bigger that my first apartment. The lab is amazing. I’m just getting settled in right now, so,” You smiled. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” Stark grinned back. “Welcome aboard.” He stopped at the door, looking back with a smirk. “I mean it about the cleaning crew. They won’t do biological messes.”

“Piss off.” Bucky growled.

You could hear Stark as he walked down the hall, “Not the fluids I was talking about!”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth ticked up. After a moment, he pulled his hands free and grabbed your hips. You leaned into him as he nuzzled your neck. “You done for the day?”

“There’s still lots to do,” you sighed. “But, yeah, it’s quitting time.”

Stark had made true to his word and called you with a job offer. Actually, he sent a currier with furniture catalogs and paint samples. Then he followed up with a phone call with the offer. Even though you knew the work you did for the CDC was important, working for Stark Industries and therefore with the Avengers could have even bigger impacts. Plus, the wages and fringe benefits couldn’t be beat.

You insisted on giving a four-week notice before coming to work for Stark in order to appropriately hand off the research project under your guidance. During that time Bucky would call you to see if you’d left the office, teasing about the long hours, promising that once you were within his reach he would make certain you never worked overtime.

Here it was your first day, and he was staying true to his word.

“You want to grab some dinner, Doll?”  

“Would we have to go anywhere?” You leaned into his chest, head resting upon his flesh shoulder. He generated so much heat. Melting into him, feeling the solidity of chest against yours, you really didn’t want to go out. You wanted the contact.  

“Just upstairs.” He breathed into your hair.

“That,” You purred, lips nipped his stubble covered jaw, “I'm all over that.”

He chuckled.  

“What?”

“Everything you say, Doll,” His voice dropped an octave, and he breathed in your ear, “just goes straight to my cock.”

You rubbed into him, feeling just how true it was. He groaned.

“Stop that,” he held your hips still. “Upstairs. Now.”

He pushed you away. You grabbed your purse and locked your office with a touch of your hand. The few people on your floor, the new team you would be working with, shot glances your way but didn’t really say much. Not everyone on staff got a personal visit from Stark. None of them got a personal escort from the Winter Soldier.  

At the elevator you caught the hard look on Bucky’s face.  

You leaned into him a little, wrapping your hands around his bicep. “No scaring the staff.”

“What?” His brows rose.

“You were giving them the eye.”

“They were staring.”

“Well, you’re hot as hell. Get over it.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but a grin broke though the scowl. “You’re so full of shit.”

“They’re a bunch of researchers. They don’t go upstairs. Seeing one of you is rare, even working in the same building.” You chuckled. “They’re probably thinking I’ve slept my way into the job.”

His back went stiff, face hard. “If anyone so much as...”

“Hey,” You started but the elevator came. Pulling his royal angriness inside, you started over. “I meant they are undoubtedly wondering about the situation. It's human nature. Don’t worry. I can handle it. I wouldn’t have taken the job if I couldn’t.”

Bucky still looked murderous. “Still, if anyone dares to accuse you of anything like that...”

“Then I will be the one to rip their balls of and shove them down their throat.”

He went blank.

“I’ve been standing up for myself, especially in the professional arena, for a long time. I’m good at it. I know when to push back, and I know when to let people hang themselves.” You put your hands flat on his chest. “Buck, I appreciate you wanting to come to my defense, but in this situation you need to leave it to me. You saying anything, or Stark saying anything, will make me look weaker. Believe me.”

He covered your hands with his, “Hang themselves, huh?”

The elevator doors opened to the residential floor that you’d gotten to know so well in the last month. You turned towards Bucky’s suite. “Yep, nothing like watching an egotistical idiot fall on their face when they trip on their own bullshit. It's a thing of beauty.”

“Amen to that sister.” A voice came from the common room a few feet away. Natasha head popped over the edge of the sofa. “Hey, Y/N. How was the first day?”

“Overwhelming.” You paused. “It’s going to take a day or two to absorb everything. It’s all good though.”

“Well, welcome to the crew.” She turned back to whatever was on her laptop.

The shared kitchen was empty. You paused by the entrance but Bucky took your hand in his. Giving him a quizzical look, you followed. Upon entering his suite, you paused. A small ‘aw’ may have slipped out.

Bucky cleaned up the normal stack of books and mission papers from the table. It now held two place settings with covered plates, wine glasses, candles, and a single rose. The room smelled amazing. Dim lights and mellow old music completed the scene.  

“What is all this?”  

His strong arms wrapped around you from behind. “You seemed really interested in that fancy place Pepper was talking about last weekend. I appreciate that you know it’s not my kind of place. So I thought, I could bring some of the place to you instead.”

You looked over your shoulder in surprise.  

“I just, um, Pepper may have helped out with arranging for the delivery. I just wanted to do something special for your first day here, working, I mean.” Bucky pressed his forehead into your hair, holding you tight.  

It took effort to loosen his grip enough to let you turn around. A moment passed before his blue eyes lifted to your face. You beamed. Taking his face in your hands, you kissed him, slow, wet, full of gratitude. “You’re amazing.”

“You like it.”

“I’m going suck your dick so hard.” You smirked. He laughed. “After dinner.” You amended. He laughed harder.

The meal wrapped up with a decadent dark chocolate and white chocolate mousse. Midway through your beef bourguignon your shoes hit the corner, freeing your toes to rub on his legs. By the time you were eating the mousse, you were curled on the sofa, half in his lap and tasting the chocolate on each other’s lips.

Bucky trailed sweet, sticky, open mouth kisses down your neck. His hand massaged your inner thigh, slowly inching upward. “I want you to stay the night, Doll.”

You hummed, losing yourself to the sated feeling of a great meal, good wine, and the wonderful things Bucky did to your body. His mouth caught yours, drinking in your kiss, tongues dancing, pulling a moan from you. Shifting up to straddle his waist, you tugged at his shirt, throwing it aside to expose his power chest.

“You gonna stay?” He asked again.

“Yeah, Buck. I’ll stay tonight.” You smiled, silently wondering at his odd tone. It wasn’t unusual for you to stay the night at one or the other’s place. You’d done it plenty of times in your short six week relationship.  

“You know,” he began unbuttoning your blouse. “You can stay here whenever you want, Doll. Even if I’m not here.”

“Wha-,” You leaned back to get a better look at his face. “What do you mean by that?”

He sighed, soft eyes studying your face. His fingertips ghosted over your neck, pushed the blouse off your shoulders, and traced circles on you skin. “I’ve got to leave out tomorrow. If we don’t want the mission to get bloody it may take a while. Couple weeks. Maybe more.” His thumb traced over your bottom lip. “If you want to stay here, maybe, while I’m gone… you’re welcome to. I’ve already told FRIDAY to grant you access. You can come up anytime. Especially if you’re working late. I don’t want you having go all the way home by yourself. I mean, if you want to. It would make me feel better knowing you’re somewhere safe. There’s space. You could keep some things here.”

He was rambling. Bucky Barnes did not ramble. He couldn’t stop himself. Nerves just kept pushing words out.

You covered his lips with your finger. Excitement bubbled through your chest, but it couldn’t come out. It lodged there, stuck. You chest too tight with emotion. This man, this fiercely independent and private man, just offered you the digital equivalent to a key to his home. This sanctuary of his, he protected so vehemently that Stark wasn’t allowed surveillance. He’d even told you once Steve, his best friend, never came in without permission.  

Swallowing hard, you kissed him, pouring all the emotion you could into it. “Thank you.” You whispered.  

Bucky knew then. You understood. He smiled.  

You rolled your hips into him. “Tomorrow, huh?”

“Yeah, we’ve only got,” he glanced at the clock. “Nine hours and twenty six minutes before I have to report.”

Biting his earlobe, you murmured, “Is that enough time?”

A squeal escaped your lips when he stood, hold you up. Your legs went around his waist. Still not used to his super-soldier strength, being manhandled by brought butterflies to your stomach. Bucky stalked into the bedroom, tossing you down on the mattress with a playful bounce.  

“Best hurry out of those clothes, Doll. Clock’s ticking.” He shed clothes, smiling at you with a wicked grin all the while. You didn’t quite have your pants kicked off, so he yanked them free and tossed them at the wall over his shoulder.  

Your laugh melted into something deeper as Bucky’s hands slid up your legs. His mouth ran a wet trail along your right leg. He lifted it to rest on his shoulder as he nipped his way across your inner thighs. Hot wet tongue, rough beard, along smooth sensitive skin had you soon panting. His fingers brushed against your folds, pushing you open and laying you bare for him. Slick, pink and swollen, Bucky’s eyes went dark at the sight.

First his breath washed over you, searing and feather light. The sight of his eyes looking back at you, desire blown, seared into your brain. His mouth fell upon you, lapping and rubbing, tongue heavy and soft then firm and demanding. Lips suckling at your clit until the tension pooled and moans poured from your mouth. 

He danced you right to the edge, only to pull away, kissing your thigh and stroking your body. You whined. “Fuck, that’s not fair.”

“What do you,” he ran his tongue across ultra sensitive flesh, “want?”

“I want your fingers to fuck my cunt. Uh, god. I want that gorgeous mouth on me until I come all over your face.”

Bucky growled, hips involuntarily rubbing into the mattress. He loved the dirty words that fell from your mouth. The sound of your lust filled breath drove him mad. His mouth closed over you again, he hummed with pleasure at your cry of “Oh, fucking hell, that’s it!”

Fingers pumping in you clenching cunt, mouth and tongue attacking your clit, you pulled at his hair. Words spilled from your mouth without thought. “Shit. Oh fuck. Bucky, you’re so fucking good.”  

He pulled away again.  

“No! Fucking hell, please, Bucky!”

The most sinful, wicked chuckle rumbled from his mouth across your sex just as he attacked you with enthusiasm. Vulgar slurps and lapping. Delighted moans and hums. Fingers curling and drawing at your g-spot.  

“Bucky!” You orgasm crashed into you, shaking your body, whiting out your mind, flooding Bucky’s face.  

Feeling him crawl up your body, you tried to focus. An amused chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Gonna live, Doll?”

“Fuck me, yes.” You smiled, but still couldn’t move.  

“Gladly,” He strong hands flipped you over, pulling your ass up to him. His cock slipped in, stretching and filling you balls deep, with one powerful thrust. “Goddamn, you feel good.”

He moaned, panting, as his pumped in to you, hands digging into your hips. Flipping hair to the side, you looked back at him, strong and powerful. His hair fell in his eyes. Mouth dropped open. He watched himself slide in and out.  

“So funking sexy,” you breathed.

Bucky’s eyes rose to meet yours, heavy and intense. He quickly flipped you over, draping your knees over his forearms and pulled your hips up to meet his. He thrust into you with strong, hard strokes. His metal thumb skimmed over your clit.  

Watching every move, every flush and quiver of your body, he memorized every erotic detail. Massaging your own tits, pulling at your nipples, he groaned. “Fuck, Doll, so beautiful. Feels so, ah, good.”  

Your hips tilted and the drag of Bucky’s cock pushed you to the edge again. He knew, watched your chest flush, felt your legs twitch. “Come for me, Doll. Ah, fuck baby, come with me.”

You did. He slammed into with a curse. Your body flooded with intensity, sensations overwhelming. Bucky fell forward and kissed you, messy and lazy.  

He nuzzled your neck. “Mmm, that’s a good start to the night.”

You laughed, not letting him pull away just yet. “You plan on fucking me into a coma?”

“Hm” He agreed, already stirring again. God bless his enhancements.

“You really don’t mind if I’m here when you’re gone?” You had to admit sleeping in a bed that smelled like him would be a wonderful thing.

“Really.” He kissed a line down your neck and across your shoulder.

“Am I going to find any weird kinky porn and sex toys?” You teased.

He laughed, taking your arms and pining you down. “Do you want to?”

You only arched a brow at him.

* * *

You phone rang making you jump. Answering it right away, “Hey.”

“Hey, back” Bucky’s smooth voice rumbled across the line. “Did I wake you?”

“No, just, um, getting ready.” You bit your lip.

“Ready for what, Doll?” You silence stretched. “Y/N, what are you doing?”

“I’m at your place.”

“Okay.”

“I miss you.”

“Miss you, too.” It’d been six days since he’d left. “What are you doing?”

He could hear it in your voice, you knew it. “I haven’t changed the pillow cases. They still smell like you.”

“M-hmm”

“And, I kind of stole one of your black tee shirts.”

“You wearing it now, Doll?”

“Yeah.”

“Anything else?” He breathed.

“No. Nothing.” Your purred.

“Okay, your in my bed, wearing just my tee shirt. You miss me. Baby, is your pussy dripping for me?”

“Yes.”  

“You touching yourself?” Bucky leaned back against the headboard in his crappy hotel, hand cupping his balls and rubbing the tip of his hardening cock. “Tell me.”

“Once I got up here, I couldn’t stop thinking about how you make me feel. You mouth on my body. Your hand on me, in me. It was so strong. I used the shower, washed myself with everything that smelled like you. The shower head wasn’t enough. I was aching. I was thinking about the time you fucked me up against the bathroom counter. I could see you, the look on your face while fucking me hard. God, Baby, I was so worked up.”

“What’d you do about it, Doll?” His hand now stroked himself more firmly.

“I, ah,” You breathed, touching yourself again despite your recent release. “I had to touch myself, had to pump my fingers into my cunt, thinking of you. I’m so wet.”

“Now?”

“Now. I laid here and thought about you. How I want to run my tongue over your abs. Want take your heavy cock in my mouth, taste you, feel your hands in my hair. Want you to fuck my mouth like you did before you left.” He panted as you spoke. “I want you to turn me over and slam your cock into me. Rough and hard, making my scream.” He growled. The fingers between your legs sped up. “Want to feel your mouth on my neck, on my tits. God, when you fucking suck my tits, my cunt just soaks.”

“Doll, when I get home, I’m going to spank your perky ass for this.”

“Fuck, yes.” You moaned. He’d given your as a smack, but the idea of more made you insides clench. “You going to punish me for teasing you? For telling you I’m laid out on your bed, legs open and fingers deep in my cunt. Are you, ah, going to spank me for coming without you?”

“Holy shit, Doll.” Bucky could see it. “Are you about to come, baby?”

“Yes,” You panted. “So, un, so fucking close.”

“I’m going to bend you over and fuck you hard, ah, squeeze those gorgeous tits, and play with that yummy little clit until you’re screaming. Uh, when you come, fuck, it’s, ah, amazing.” He moaned. You knew the sound. He was there. He was coming.

You moaned over the receiver as the quivered of another orgasm took over your body.

Bucky hummed into the phone. “Fuck, Doll. I was just calling to say ‘hey’ but this was so much better.”  

Laughing you rolled over, head on Bucky’s pillow, cradling the cell phone. “Anytime. You’ve got my number.”    

[dragonstoravens]

Babylon Vol. 1: Thawing, Camaraderie, It Grows On You

[ID: a blue patterned banner with text reading “BABYLON.” End ID.]

(Considering the length of chapters 2, 3, and 4 compared to 1, Kit and I have decided to post them together. They go together in terms of plot as well, so it works best this way. Enjoy!)

READ ON WATTPAD HERE, HERE, AND HERE!

2. Thawing

[Unknown] Here are the blueprints for that idea I was talking about, with some existing externals for reference. Hopefully they can be of some use. T. Jericho.

That message had been sitting at the top of Trinity’s holoscreen for a couple of days now. It wasn’t as if he’d expected a response from this one-time mechanic whose friends most likely wanted him dead or maimed, but perhaps it spoke to the sad state of his social life that his work messages were overflowing with unread correspondence while his most recent personal message besides this one consisted of a single “here” from his sister a week ago. Trinity sighed, and switched over to his eyecam. Might as well get something done.

“Aw damn, missed one.” Azure glanced at her once-neglected messaging screen. Messages from Crim, Indigo, a few video links from Smalls and Perry, Turq asking about when ship-wide family dinner was so he could bake biscuits and an unusual number she hadn't seen before.  She squinted at the unfamiliar sequence of numbers, trying to think who she had given her access number to that she didn’t remember. She opened the message and found herself grateful that businessmen were so formal to start with. It was eye-dude, following up on some small talk they’d had about her ideas for external monitors for people who were weird about doctor’s visits. 

She glanced at the externals he sent and found herself typing wherever her console had space, recording a stream of consciousness. She hadn’t intended to treat his chatbox like a memo application on a personal holopad, but that’s exactly what she did. She thought out loud, drawing conclusions and asking questions all in the same long, uninterrupted paragraph, and hit send thinking it was a save button. Her thoughts were done, and she had already moved to begin work on a prototype, now that she had it all written out.

She was a little embarrassed and sent an apology a few moments later, once she realized what she’d done. 

[Azure] sorry about the essay. lots to think on, not a lot of paper this side of a spaceship. thanks for the schematics.

[Azure] have a nice day!

 She didn’t bother to sign it, seeing as he already knew who she was. He sent it first, after all.

Trinity was left with a note to self to disconnect messaging from his eye functions, technical words flickering in and out of his vision like sunspots, and a low level headache that somehow felt like a portent of things to come. One thing seemed certain, despite the little information he had to go on-- he was going to be hearing from Azure again. Often.

3. Camaraderie

Azure snickered as she sent the image off. It was a rare image of Trinity off of some trashy tabloid site, that she had edited to highlight the triangle he crook of his arm made with his body. The filename was “jericho_illuminati.img”, and she was proud of how shitty and outdated the joke was.

[Azure] So when were you going to tell me you decided the fate of galaxy politics centuries in advance?

And now it was a matter of time before his exasperated response. 

[Jericho] You know it’s not polite to make fun of my boss. 

It had only taken him a minute to answer. She’d caught him at a good time, then. Her smile widened. 

[Azure] Consider, your boss is terrible. The worst.

She thought back to calling him a ladder climber upon their first meeting, and found herself grateful he didn’t think she was an asshole for being honest. It was nice to talk to someone above the books, who wasn’t on the run for whatever reason. The ship got lonely, with how closed off people were about some things. His companionship was becoming more valuable by the day.

[Jericho] Interesting opinion. But do you know what else is the worst?

Trinity followed this message with a picture of a model from the same tabloid, one they put on the same spread as Trinity, but with what looked like cargo pants shakily drawn over the swimsuit. The hair was scribbled over in bright red. It looked ridiculous.

[Jericho] Observe.

She smirked, muttering to herself. 

[Azure] Asshole. My hair ain’t even that shade of red, and I’d never be caught dead in cargo pants.

[Jericho] It’s not as if I’ve seen you recently to confirm that. I’ll stick with the artist’s interpretation. 

There was a beat, his icon indicating that he was still typing.

[Jericho] Heh. Azzhole.

[Azure] VERY original. Did you get that one from my brother when we were eight, or are you just very creative?

She found herself giggling quietly in her lab. It was so nice to just goof off. Turq poked his head in to make sure she hadn’t lost her mind. She waved him off. 

[Azure] I gotta get back to actually working. Send me more stupid closeups from your eye, I wanna see how well the zoom extension is holding up in terms of image quality. Get real up close to something, I wanna see electrons.

[Jericho] Nerd. I will.

She was halfway through a message to call him an even bigger nerd, but decided that progress on the little pet project that his eye had become mattered a little more. 

[Azure] The more unsuspecting the subject, the funnier

[Jericho] I’ll keep it in mind. Go do your work, I’m busy.

And with that, the blip marking him as active in the chat disappeared from the screen. She stuck her tongue out at it. That was one way to force her to get back to work, but she didn’t have to like it.

4. It Grows On You

“-I’m just sayin’, I think reroutin’ the sensors through a shorter path would make the energy consumption so much lower, it’d be worth the time cost to adjust.” Azzy was leaning on one arm of her chair, one leg over the back and the other leg over the opposite arm, looking up at a screen with some soundwaves wiggling around on it. Normally she’d have moved it to a vidcall, but Trinity had said he was busy, and like hell was she going to be TOO much of a distraction. He had shit to do, and technically so did she, but what was a half hour of downtime in the grand scheme of things when you lived at work?

“Yes, but if we’re thinking on a universal manufacturing scale, that’s adjustments in every prototype that would have to be done the exact same way. In the long term, the mechanic can’t oversee everything herself. Delegating is a bigger time cost than a simple design change.” Trinity was clearly in business mode, vague typing noises audible from his end even as he spoke.

“But you’re sacrificin’ a lot of power that way on the prototype itself. I thought the whole point was to be the best around.” She laughed and sat up a little bit, headset long discarded in favor of turning on her room’s soundproofing so she could hear more clearly. He didn’t say anything for a moment, his focus clearly on whatever it was he was working on and not her attempts to goad him into banter. “You always this overly focused on whatever the hell? Or are you usin’ it as an excuse to half ignore me? Bein’ a hotshot sounds like a lotta work if it’s the first one.” The word ‘hotshot’ stuck to her for some reason, and she changed his name in her messages. No one needed to know.

Taglist (ask to be added or removed!): @glitterandstarshine @rainbowcoloreddays @the-starlight-chills @erased-in-stone @charlottedotexe

General: @elywritesbydarkness @residentofthedisc @humour-and-hyperfocus @skyfirewrites

[dansnaturepictures]

My 10 wildlife/photography highlights of 2020 posts: Blog 2-Seeing some of my favourite birds this year-Part 1: A general look

As always in these thread of posts I shall now take a look back over times that stood out when seeing some of my 30 favourite birds this year. This highlights blog comes in two parts this year due to length, with part 1 tonight and part 2 tomorrow. This one a general look and the second part a detailed look into some favourite birds I saw very close to home at Lakeside and around the house whilst working from home in response to the pandemic. The number of favourite birds I have increased from 28 to 30 as I added two species that were previously on my B list of favourite birds the Short-eared Owl and Great White Egret. I saw 24 of the 30 this year which I was really happy with as with the pandemic etc. a lot of them it just didn’t look possible I’d see and for the other six it was either really rare/elusive ones or I just didn’t go anywhere where I could see one. I got off to a great start for favourite birds of mine in 2020 as I mentioned in my highlights blog yesterday over the opening days off I had of the year. Five of the year ticks I got on New Year’s Day were highlighted in red on my spreadsheet for my year list to denote they are favourite birds of mine, Great Crested Grebe a fitting first favourite bird of the year for me and not for the first time over Lakeside on the walk it would perhaps as I mention in tomorrow’s part of this post have the biggest role of all my favourite birds this year at Lakeside. I took the first picture in this photoset of one at Hayling Island in March. I then saw Buzzard and Little Egret on the way to Portland from the car on New Year’s Day on the motorway in Hampshire and as I said yesterday got spectacular Gannet and Short-eared Owl views there. The first three species were actually consecutive year ticks on my chronologically ordered list so this made it look distinctive on the list.

It was nice to tick off a good few more of my favourite birds at home on trips over the rest of those opening days, with the owls the last tick of mine on my highest ever New Year’s Day bird haul Brent Goose was the very next at Farlington Marshes on 2nd January, I also saw my first Shelducks of the year there. 3rd January just like New Year’s Day over Lakeside in 2019 was a woodpecker double as I saw my first Great Spotted Woodpecker of the year at Denny Wood in the New Forest and my first Green Woodpecker of 2020 on a quick sunny second Lakeside walk of the year that afternoon. On the way back from Denny Wood I saw my first this year of my other new favourite bird the Great White Egret in a field from the motorway at Broadlands. This year tick the one directly before Green Woodpecker so another double. Pochard and Jay were year ticks the next day at Blashford Lakes. I enjoyed some great times seeing these birds.

It has been a strong year for me for seeing Great Spotted Woodpeckers, I’ve seen many and its often been the bird to pop up when I’ve seen or photographed something else memorable to make it into a truly special day. Examples of when this has happened have been along the Titchfield Canal path on that classic day seeing Barn Owls, Fox and Roe Deers that I mentioned last night where I saw one fly over and at Blashford Lakes where I first fell for these birds on more than one occasion. I took the second picture in this photoset of one here on 1st March. It’s really reminded me why I adore this species with its striking appearance, sound and colours and the aura around it.

Back to the first days of the year and like last year on the way to Gloucestershire for Slimbridge for my birthday we stopped off at Red Kite stronghold Oxfordshire, having a look at some at Benson and like last year Watlington on the way there and back home. Especially on the way and particularly at Benson we enjoyed phenomenal views of this iconic and precious species. At Benson we saw dozens flying in the air at a time over a lane and some flew over very closely. Even though it was against grey skies it proved a perfect chance to test the flying shot ability I was unsure of on my new camera to begin this trip away. I took pictures I was so proud of including the third of mine in this photoset and most importantly enjoyed an exceptional wildlife experience with one of our greatest birds. It topped the same stop off last year. Red Kites continued to be more and more common at home building on last year where I noted this a lot as I saw some on the way to work from the train and during working days in Winchester quite often which was great, as well as a few at home which I talk about in part 2 of this highlights post tomorrow. I got a great view of a Red Kite flying low over our head at Noar Hill in mid-May which I took the fourth picture in this photoset of. At and on the way on the motorway to Fleet Pond I got great views of Red Kite and Buzzard on 27th September. At Slimbridge I took the fifth of one of the stars of the place a lovely Shelduck.

When back home and back to work in January attention of course turned to another of my favourite birds of prey the Peregrine Falcon, particularly Winnie and Chester the Winchester pair. I picked up where I left off in 2019 really what had been an amazing year for them seeing the adults and chicks so many times and taking so many photos on days I took my spare bridge camera to work with me. I got Peregrine as a year tick on 9th January with a view of one on the north tower at Winchester Cathedral. I then continued to monthly or twice monthly bring my bridge camera to work to try for pictures of these beautiful birds as they continued to fly between the cathedral and St. Thomas Church. In February I photographed both birds at both locations during the course of the month which felt fantastic, I took the sixth picture in this photoset during my February cathedral with-camera-visit. In April this picture and one I took of a hyacinth in the cathedral grounds taken in March both appeared in the Hampshire Chronicle newspaper in the camera club section a proud moment for me and this Peregrine picture appeared with an article they did on the family too. I got so many of my wildlife, landscape and minority subject pictures in the chronicle this year especially local ones whilst working at home which really stood out I loved putting my pictures on Facebook groups this year during lockdown and working from home. My photos of the Peregrines seemed to get better and better if I say so myself and I could just not get enough of seeing these birds. It sort of began to feel normal seeing them up until I had to work from home which brought other benefits a key theme in all of these highlights blogs but as I remarked when watching them at St. Thomas in February it sort of still feels surreal to be seeing this bird fairly close up at times and just so easily see one. I got stunning views of these birds regularly across this year again.

In February also it was ramping up towards their breeding season with the webcam being switched back on with a second camera this year too making their journey so accessible at more than one angle to all and by March eggs were laid. I found myself feeling the same feelings as last year when I first started to observe these birds around that time and I could look on the webcam before I left the office each lunch to see if they were about then go and see them. So it made me feel good in terms of my connections with these birds. When I was working from home due to the Coronavirus in late April I was thrilled to get little glimpses on the webcams on the cathedral website of the very little chicks as the eggs began hatching. Such an amazing moment. I was a lot more on the ball with reading updates this year than last of knowing when the chicks would hatch, hence I enjoyed seeing the eventual five chicks on the webcam in their early stages a lot more with great views of them being fed and things. As all five fledged successfully a big theme for me became watching them and Peregrine families from other local cities’ cathedrals a great thing to do whilst working from home which a lot of people did too in these isolating times. On 10th August I got a precious chance to go and watch the Peregrines again when I had to go into the office for a morning. My Mum dropped me off and picked me up at Winchester and during my lunch break I saw a noisy Peregrine fly over St. Thomas Church where I spoke at a safe social distance to a kind person about them, one flying at the cathedral and one adult on the Winchester Cathedral north ledge which looked fantastic in the sun of a summer’s day during a heatwave. It felt surreal being back seeing and photographing one with my bridge camera here after five months away whilst it was a one-off thing. Seeing them in the flesh and indeed just seeing Peregrines I didn’t see one on walks at any stages of the restrictions in between elsewhere I don’t think felt quite surreal. It did give me a valuable chance to connect with this bird once more, a chance to reminisce on my times with the families in previous years and the successful year for them this year again with the five chicks fledged unusual for the species I learned to fledge that many and it was bringing something I do so much whilst working in the office at lunch breaks at Winchester into what the days in my life were like at that time which was very different. A very warm and satisfying feeling being so in aw of them and watching one I could not take my eyes off it when there. I also got fantastic views of a Peregrine flying at Lymington-Keyhaven nature reserve again the Lymington end towards the start of the year where I had seen one on Christmas Day 2019 and I saw one there in October.

Winchester really confirmed itself as the raptor haven I’ve portrayed it as this year with one of my non-favourites Sparrowhawk a regular sighting for me here but also great Buzzard views often with quite a few in the sky at times. A great chance to enjoy a bird that’s been one of my favourites for a long time as I have at a lot of places this year. I enjoyed Buzzards immediately locally in lockdown a lot as I mention loads in my next highlights post. But on days we did other local walks in lockdown it was nice to appreciate different common members of my list of favourite birds and get excited to see and hear them a lot. Notable instances seeing Little Egrets and Red Kite flying over at the river Itchen, Bishopstoke, many Jays and a Great Spotted Woodpecker heard at Stoke Park Wood and another Jay and a few Buzzards flying over at Magdalen Hill after I’d seen two of the latter at home that morning also. Shelduck alongside favourite birds of mine I’d more regularly seen seeing during lockdown Great Crested Grebe and Little Egret was a delight to see at Lymington on 23rd May when we did our first trip there and to the sea in just over two months as I took pleasure and had a surreal feeling at seeing common species of that habitat which I hadn’t seen for months so this felt great. When at Pennington a couple of weeks later it was lovely to see Shelducks with adorable ducklings among many other baby birds that day as well as many Little Egrets and Great Crested Grebe. When back at Pennington in early September I very much enjoyed seeing older young Shelducks, Little Egrets with a few flying right by us which was nice and it was almost weird seeing Great Crested Grebes on the sea somewhere other than Lakeside with my journey with them there this year detailed in my next highlights post.

On a January day at the Lymington end of the Lymington-Keyhaven nature reserve I marvelled at Kingfishers again with some great views as they were a year tick that day for a third year running here. A memorable time again. I’ve also had such a good year for Brent Geese another speciality bird  here with many seen and heard at different locations. One weekend that sticks in the mind is a February one where I saw lots and photographed some at Hayling Island on the Saturday and then I saw many more and photographed one at Pennington on the Sunday the seventh picture in this photoset. When seeing Brent Geese at Farlington Marshes in early October at the point in the reserve I had my first amazing experience as a boy with them when hundreds flew over my head noisily I reflected on why this made me fall in love with them. Farlington Marshes as I’ve said so often is one of if not the best place in the country for Brent Geese there are so many around in the season and it’s so good for them. I read a bit that day about how important the Brent Geese are to the local area as their presence has stopped a lot of development proposals in Portsmouth over the year including Portsmouth Football Club’s desire to leave their Fratton Park home to build a new stadium at a site at Farlington near to the marshes. Which we could have a huge debate about but there is no denying this is helping the environment. So it reminded me something I am passionate about just what a special place this reserve is and what a special bird this really is in Hampshire as a whole. That October afternoon was a special one for favourite birds of mine at Farlington with Shelduck seen well and lots and lots of Little Egrets, Great Crested and four Buzzards one on a light three flying together seen on the M27 on the journey there. It was also a memorable goose day as I enjoyed close views of the odd Barnacle and Snow Goose that goes to Farlington that I had seen before here and at Baffins Pond where they fly between really intimate views that day and I got pictures. On 31st October I enjoyed seeing lots of lovely Brent Geese at Lymington there in numbers by that point as well as Great Crested Grebes out to sea and great Little Egret views I took a photo of one of the latter.

On a daily exercising walk on 2nd May I made it a tenth spring in a row that I’ve heard a Cuckoo in since I saw my first in 2011 when I heard a faint one calling at Bentley Wood which was magical as always. Hearing one of these birds is almost as good as seeing one especially my first in a spring it’s that exciting and amazing it’s the sound of spring for me. I heard Cuckoos really well on a visit to Martin Down in mid-May when restrictions had lifted a little so we could go there it was nice pure belts of it to hear very clearly it does feel me with such joy hearing it. That day I got smashing Buzzard views too of one at the reserve, one flying along the lane as we exited and two closely on posts on the way back. When back in late July I got a brilliant view of a wet Buzzard on a rainy day on a pylon on the way home. The next day after that I got a nice view of a Buzzard flying over at Stockbridge Down. I was so happy to see my first Cuckoo of 2020 and make it my fourth consecutive year seeing them at stronghold for them Fritham in the New Forest where we were very lucky to see two and hear the call again throughout the walk on a nice sunny and hot second May bank holiday Sunday. What a top experience! The next day I heard another Cuckoo at Bentley Wood much more clearly the sound was than the last time here, it’s certainly different hearing them after seeing one there’s no pressure of I’ve heard it now I need to see it but it’s just amazing hearing them on their own as I’ve said before anyway. That day I also saw Jay and Buzzard flying through. I got a brilliant view of Buzzard on another visit here the following Saturday a paler looking one over the path against a blue sky. Cuckoo, Buzzard and Jay were stars of another Martin Down visit to close May, hearing the former and seeing Jay at the beginning of a hot and sunny walk. On that walk we got brilliant close Buzzard views flying against a bright blue sky so nice to feel spoiled by this coming so soon after similar at Lakeside again and again in weeks one particular Lakeside Buzzard moment from the spring I mention in part 2 of this blog tomorrow. On 13th September we got as we often do a nice view of a Buzzard on a telegraph pole on the way home from Martin Down. A place that September day when we walked around the reserve we also got some great moments watching Red Kites watching one mobbed by a Jackdaw a lot not a sight I’ve often seen so that was very intriguing to see on a great afternoon of birds.

On 13th June at Common Marsh I got a brief view and then cracking prolonged binocular views as it moved around the reeds of my first Sedge Warbler of the year. I took the eighth picture in this photoset of this bird. I really did see what a beautiful, well-marked and striking bird it is that day and it reminded me why I love it. A key moment in one of my best general and packed Saturdays this year where at Stockbridge Down where we went first we saw two Buzzards and Red Kite and Little Egret seen at Common Marsh as part of an impressive array of birds by the river. I had a quite honestly rare in years for me now second encounter with a Sedge Warbler on a scorching Saturday 8th August at Farlington Marshes getting a great view of one in and around the reedbeds. It felt amazing. I also saw a Buzzard sat on a post for our whole walk that day as well as Little Egret and Shelducks including young on a generally brilliant day of birdwatching with many other top species seen too. On 18th July whilst dog sitting I took Missy on a walk at Fleming Park in Eastleigh I’d not been for years over the old golf course. I knew from when we used to go there loads that it’s good for Green Woodpeckers and sure enough I got two great views of them on this walk really brilliant to see I enjoyed it on a generally great local Saturday of wildlife and photos for me so much seen and so many taken a very hot and sunny day a true part of summer, it was a brilliant welcome back to the old golf course area of the park for me. On 1st August at Emer Bog and Baddesley Common nature reserve it was great to hear a Buzzard calling closely a lot and see a Jay a memorable afternoon generally for me. I saw another Buzzard really well the next day at Magdalen Hill flying over my head which was fantastic not for the first time at this near to Winchester reserve this year with Kestrels seen well that day also as they often can be there.

‪On 16th August at Hayling Island oysterbeds we were treated to glorious views of two young Buzzards flying around and in trees. They looked so creamy and lovely in plumage. Their wingspans looked massive as they flew over it really was quite a sight to behold and I loved seeming them in the sunshine. Quite a moment. That day I also saw Great Crested Grebes out to sea and a Great Spotted Woodpecker during rain at Earnley Triangle on Hayling Island where we went first.

I had a great August bank holiday Sunday walk at Thursley Common in Surrey seeing a few Dartford Warblers near to the car park in an area here we never had before possibly relocated from the area we see loads behind the lakes on the heath that had been badly burnt by the heath fire in the spring so this was encouraging and great. That day on a day Hobby and Kestrel views starred too I liked seeing a Red Kite an ever present here on our visits and the area generally in a glorious weekend of raptors with five species seen and a woodpecker double with great particularly flying views of Green and Great Spotted making out their lovely markings I heard the or a green nicely too. I saw another Dartford Warbler very well at Ashley Walk in the New Forest on 17th October on a generally brilliant afternoon I wrote more about that in my third of these posts going out next Thursday about my visits to the New Forest this year I saw a Buzzard well that day too.

I wrote about experiences with more of and some I’ve mentioned here and part 2 of this blog already my favourite birds a lot in my fifth of these posts about my week off in June, when I saw my first Dartford Warbler of the year at Arne and another at Thursley Common, my first Guillemot, Razorbill and Fulmar of the year at Durlston and then again at Portland the next I took the ninth picture in this photoset of a Fulmar from the cliff flying that day and my first Osprey of 2020 at Fishlake Meadows. In my seventh of these posts about my autumn some get a mention. In my eighth of these posts about visiting Devon and Cornwall for a weekend in August I wrote about seeing my first Dipper of the year at Fingle Bridge and first Choughs of the year at Cape Cornwall and Botallack, and some favourite birds of mine get a mention in my ninth of these posts about our week in Norfolk too where at the nature reserve Sculthorpe Moor I took the tenth and final picture in this photoset of a Kingfisher. In my bonus eleventh highlights post this year about my November and December I also wrote about favourite birds of mine.