#I haven’t seen any other trees in the show coloured blue. but it has the swirls like Luz’s log

[puppyeared]

Remember how they pointed out that Palistrom wood was becoming rarer? Because Belos kept over harvesting it and not giving it time to grow back?

The University’s tree is blue. Its a big ass Palistrom tree

[shadowed-dancer]

How the anime enhanced the Touya mystery

Season 5 of MHA just finished adapting the Endeavour Agency Arc. While everyone has their own opinion on how the anime adaptation is doing, I wanted to take a moment to praise something that (I think) they handled really well: The Touya Mystery. Today we’re going to walk through how the anime handled this plot point, and why it worked so well.

Proud to say this post is free of manga spoilers! Today we’re ONLY talking about the anime.

Intro: What is the Touya Mystery?

The Touya mystery is the ongoing mystery of what happened to the third Todoroki son. It is foreshadowed in seasons 2 and 4, but it exists in earnest throughout season 5. It is never explicitly stated, but is instead referenced in passing by the characters, allowing the audience to try and piece everything together until it is eventually confirmed.

Disclaimer

Obviously the manga has this mystery as well, but anime as a medium has certain factors that the manga simply doesn’t have. OPs and EDs are a good example, but there’s also the way hiatuses affect the way we consume the story, as well as how the breakdown of seasons clump certain storylines closer together then they were in the manga (compare 6 months to get through Joint Training in the manga, compared to 2.5 months for the anime).

I am also aware of the theories surrounding Touya’s potential connection to a previously established character. You’ve probably seen the theory at some point, but I won’t name names just incase some of you haven’t. Either way, this post isn’t about that theory.

Finally, I’m very well aware that most viewers may not have picked up on some of the stuff I’m saying. A lot of these points are minor details, and I don’t fault anyone for missing out on that. In fact, I’m sure there are some fans out there who never even realized there was a 4th Todoroki sibling because they just... didn’t care or pay attention. I’m going at this with the mindset of someone who is very, VERY analytical, not your average viewer who’s just here to enjoy the show.

The Set Up: Season 2

We are first introduced to the Todoroki siblings way back in Season 2, Episode 10 (Todoroki’s fight with Deku in the Sports Festival). During Shoto’s flashback, we are given this frame to introduce his siblings...

We have the white-haired brother, the red-haired brother, and the sister. In this scene, the red-haired brother fumbles his soccer move and ends up falling, causing his siblings to laugh. This added movement (which was never in the manga) causes the red-haired brother to stand out slightly more than his siblings.

Now, granted, I’ve seen quite a few people who didn’t realize these were Shoto’s siblings at first. They just thought he was watching his neighbours. That’s why, if their hair colours weren’t enough to clue you in on their relationship to Shoto, we meet the sister a few episodes later (Season 2, Episode 12).

She refers to Endeavour as “dad” which informs the audience that she is also Endeavour’s child, and is therefore Shoto’s sister. It then stands to reason that the two boys she was playing with (both of whom share their hair colour with her and Shoto) would be her brothers.

The Set Up: Shout Baby

Season 4, Episode 15 gives us a new ending sequence, Shout Baby, in which we see this...

Todoroki Family photos. On the left is a photo of Shoto on his first day of school (I double checked and the sign behind him indicates some sort of entrance ceremony). On the right, we are given a photo of the sister and white-haired brother as adults.

(Despite it not being explicit, you can tell that’s the white haired brother based on context clues. He looks so similar to the kid in the flashback that it doesn’t make sense for him to be anyone else. This is of course confirmed later in the season).

However, the red-haired brother is missing, which now launches the mystery of why. Why is he not in any of the photos? And then, as the frame pans down, we get this...

A torn, burnt corner of a photograph. For a while, I had some trouble making out what that blue stuff was in the corner, but a comment on Youtube helped point out that it is the exact same Sakura tree as the one in Shoto’s photo. You can even see the branch in the same spot.

So what does this tell us? Well, it’s the same place Shoto went to school, but the photo is burnt. Is it just a burned up copy of the same photo to symbolize how Endeavour ruined Shoto’s childhood? Or is it a photo of one of the other kids attending the same school, burned for mysterious reasons?

The actual answer is that it’s an Easter egg for manga readers who already know about the red haired brother but shhhhh we’re only talking about the anime right now.

The point is, we now have intrigue.

The Set Up: Season 4

Season 4, Episode 25 gives us our first full look at the Todoroki Family, with the siblings (sans Shoto) on a visit to their mom.

We get confirmation that the man in the photo from the ED is the white haired brother, and we learn their names as well, with the sister being named Fuyumi and the white-haired brother being named Natsuo! But, just like the ending sequence, the red-haired brother is missing.

His absence is never brought up, but this is only highlighted by the fact that Fuyumi teases Natsuo for not calling often ever since going away for college. His response ISN’T “aw come on, why do you only pick on me?” or “hey, at least I’m here! Unlike [red-haired brother]”. Instead he says, “aww come on, sis, I call you guys!”

No one calls attention to the fact that one of the siblings is missing. The red-haired brother is never even mentioned, which tell us as the audience that the characters know something we don't. Whatever reason they aren’t mentioning the 3rd brother is common knowledge amongst them, so there’s no need to bring him up.

But the anime ensures we remember that, yes, there IS in fact another brother. They replay the soccer flashback as Natsuo and Fuyumi watch Endeavour’s fight from their laptop, but we are also given this...

... Our second look at the red haired brother (played when Endeavour reminisces about his family). From this, we notice that the brother is significantly shorter than his siblings. It’s also worth noting that his bangs are in front of his face, meaning we never get a clear idea of his appearance (I’ll bring this up again later).

This episode also serves as the season finale, meaning fans were treated to an entire year of hiatus to theorize on the red-haired brother.

The Mystery Starts: His Name

Season 5, Episode 2 begins the mystery-of-the-missing-brother in earnest by providing us with this quote...

“Mom’s screams, Shoto’s crying, and what happened to our big brother, Touya”

Not only is this quote the first time the red-haired brother is being directly spoken about, but it also provides us with 3 pieces of information.

FIRST: His name is Touya. We now have something to call him besides “the red-haired brother”.

SECOND: He’s Natsuo’s big brother. At this point in the series, the age order for Natsuo and Fuyumi had not been confirmed in the anime, but we now knew Natsuo is either the second oldest child, or third oldest.

Touya being Natsuo’s “big brother” means Touya is either the oldest child, or the second oldest. But the fact that Natsuo says “our big brother” does seem to indicate Touya is the big brother to all of them.

This seems to be contradictory to the fact that Touya is just so small compared to his siblings in the 2nd flashback, but it’s certainly not impossible for younger siblings to outgrow the oldest.

(Yes I know technically their age order is revealed in episode 17 but I’m trying to walk through the experience live)

THIRD: We learn something happened to Touya. We don’t know what, but it’s implied to be bad. At the very least, it implies that whatever happened led to Touya no longer seeing his family.

The Mystery Continues: Quirk Singularity

In Season 5, Episode 3, the anime adds a fun visual while Deku explains the Quirk Singularity Doomsday Theory (the theory that, as quirks combine through generations, kids will end up with stronger and stronger quirks with bodies that cannot control them).

In the manga, this is just Deku talking to All Might, but the anime adds the same flashbacks Endeavour had during his Nomu fight for some visual intrigue. Not only does this flashback remind us that the Todoroki siblings exist, but it implies that they are somehow connected to the Quirk Singularity Theory (Shoto is shown as an example of how quirks combine to create stronger quirks, but perhaps we’ll learn some more about Touya to connect him to the theory as well).

The Mystery Continues: Touya’s Quirk

Season 5, Episode 7 gives us another flashback to Shoto’s childhood. Here, Endeavour comments on some very interesting details of Touya’s quirk...

“Touya was close. He had more firepower than me, but he had Rei’s weak constitution. He... was close”

It’s also worth noting that the English Dub of this scene has Endeavour end this line with, “He was close, until...”

So what does this teach us?

FIRST: The English Dub implies he was doing well UNTIL something happened. Was it the incident that Natsuo was referring to? Either way, it has once again created intrigue.

SECOND: Touya had a fire quirk, and it was even stronger than Endeavour’s (hey, look at that, kind of like quirk singularity, right? How the next generation gets stronger than their parents?).

Viewers may have been able to theorize that Touya had a fire quirk based purely on his hair colour (think of how Shoto’s hair represents which side produces which quirk) but this line gives us solid confirmation on his quirk.

THIRD: Touya “had Rei’s weak constitution”. Now, it’s debatable on what exactly a “weak constitution” means. Is this referring to his resolve? Was he too passive? Or is this referring to something else? (Perhaps Rei’s physical constitution?)

Well, wouldn’t you know it, but all the way back in Season 5, Episode 2 (the same one where we learn Touya’s name, go figure) we hear this exact phrase used in reference to the original OFA user... but ONLY in the English Dub.

Here’s what AFO says in the sub...

“My brother is frail”

...vs the dub

“My little brother has a weak constitution”

This gives us a direct reference point that a “weak constitution” in this series can be another way of saying someone is frail (and even if you don’t want to cross reference the dub and sub, OFA is portrayed as weak no matter what). This seems to tie in well with the fact that Touya was so much smaller and appeared weaker than his supposed younger siblings.

The Through Line: Arc Rearrangement

If you didn’t know, I’m here to tell you that the anime pulled a little sneaky on us manga readers by rearranging the arcs.

The manga originally went from Joint Training to (the upcoming arc) to Endeavour Agency, and while the anime has kept these events in the same chronological order, it changed the way they were presented to us. Endeavour Agency has been put first, which means we get more Touya information a heck of a lot closer to the rest of his reveals, compared to the manga.

Regardless of how you personally feel about the arc rearrangement, it works wonders for Touya’s mystery. Endeavour is sprinkled throughout many episodes of the Joint Training Arc in the anime, so it feels rather natural to go straight to the Agency Arc because Endeavour is acting as our narrative through line. He’s been a reoccurring presence, so it doesn’t feel as if he’s coming out of nowhere. 

The Reward: The Photo

If you’ve been paying attention to the clues the series has left regarding the missing Todoroki child, you are rewarded in Season 5, Episode 17.

The episode is rather... flashback heavy, but it does a good job reminding us of all the Todoroki drama before we head to the dinner. And at the end of the episode (literally the last thing we see before the ED), observant viewers who have been keeping track of Touya are rewarded when we finally get to see...

... Touya’s face. The first instance where it’s unobstructed. There he is. The missing Todoroki son. He’s so cute!

(Also yes yes I know his hair is now white and I’m sure that was very confusing for anime onlies. However, I promise it is the same kid.)

But, perhaps more importantly, we learn the implication that Touya is dead. His photo is on a shrine where Endeavour is praying, and the shrine seems to be set up in a child’s room that has remain unchanged (small shoes, a soccer ball, and toys on the bookshelf, all of which seem to be too young for any of the living Todoroki siblings). Suddenly it becomes all too clear why the family didn’t bring him up that often, and why Natsuo was so upset about “what happened to our big brother, Touya”.

The Tease: What Comes Next?

Season 5, Episode 18 leaves us with a teaser for the future of Keeping Up With The Todoroki's.

Touya’s death is confirmed, and we even learn a bit more on the circumstances surrounding it, as we learn Endeavour feels responsible for whatever happened. We also learned that Natsuo blames Endeavour, hinting that he certainly played some part in it.

However, all of these hints lead to a story for another time (more likely Season 6, to be precise). I won’t spoil what exactly happens, but I can confirm that we eventually see Touya’s death and the events leading up to it through flashback, and I’m honestly so excited.

Perhaps I’ll make a part 2 to this post when the anime gets to that point.

Hope you enjoyed!

[akiraink-no]

Empires SMP-Spirts/Fae AU

Hey! So I was watching Shubble’s stream(right after her first episode and as she was playing, I got some ideas for the Empires SMP!  Note: I haven’t watched everyone’s episodes on Empires, but I highly suggest that you check them all out. Pearl and Gem’s videos on Empires are some of my favorites, but I also love Shubble, Scott, fWhip, and Pixlriffs.

Initial World-building:  I like to think that the Empires SMP is a story of spirits/fae/royal courts. For example some of the players would be spirits or fae creatures. (Think Scott, Shubble, Jimmy?? And maybe Pixl), and the rest would be normal, human players that are royals. (Again, fWhip, Mythical, Pearl, Katherine, Joey, Gem, etc…)  I’ll start with the fae creatures first and if I’m up to it, I’ll post my ideas for the others. 

Scott Smajor: Ice/Wind

So in my head, I like to think that Scott is a fae creature from the court of ice and wind. (Mostly because ice powers are cool and because he’s in a mountain). He has explicitly stated that he’s building in an elven sort of style, which can still match with him being from a fae court. 

Personality: 

I would like to say he’s cold, calculating, and even ruthless or cruel at times (He murdered Gem after she died, guys, come on). He sees the people around him as assets that can help him, but he doesn’t form a real connection with any of them just yet. Everything is very strict and formal around him

I like to think that because wind spirits are pretty mischievous and free spirited, he has a softer side to him as well. He likes to pull pranks, but doesn’t know when too far is too far. His pranks can border on cruel and sometimes insensitive, but it’s because wind/ice spirits are probably the most detached from the other spirits

Appearance:

As for his appearance, I’m taking his skin as part of my inspiration. I like the idea of him in whites, blues, golds, and silvers. He has a crown of diamond shards that mimic ice and is held together with silver and gold that mimic branches. His robes are mostly white(representing snow) and there would be a trim of blue for the skies above his lands. He might have either arm bands, bracelets, or rings that are made of silver or gold(representing the times when the sun or moon hits the snow). 

Powers(?)

Because Scott is an ice/wind spirit, I think it would be cool if parts of him would reflect that. Maybe his skin is super pale and cold to the touch. Maybe he doesn’t wear furry coats because he doesn’t get cold. 

The air around him gets colder when he’s angry or stressed, and if he gets really pissed, he could make it start to snow around him. When he’s sad, ice starts to freeze the ground under his feet or plants around him. Maybe it gets windy when he’s happy or dies down when something shocks him

I also think it’d be cool if he had like… frost walker(?) on his feet. Like the water freezes should he get too close and he doesn’t even realize it until someone points it out. It makes travel easy for him, but also an annoyance when he is doing a build or getting a bucket of water

Shubble: Nature/Decay

So Shubble’s kingdom/empire is called the Undergrowth. When I think of that, I think of mushrooms, soil, roots, and trees. It’s pretty close to what she’s planning right now. Her style of building gives me very cottage core vibes that’s very overgrown. I like to think that she’s a nature spirit because she has said that nature provides and that just seems like a very spirit thing to say. 

So I know I said decay, but when it comes to decay, it has an interesting look to everyone. Sometimes it’s bleached bones and withered grass, sometimes it’s spongy soil and mushrooms. I like to think that Shubble is the kinder side to decay(That’s saved for someone else). Something that must happen for the cycle of life to continue, she isn’t ruthless or cruel, she’s just trying to help the earth along.

Personality: 

Shubble would be very kind, sweet, and overall very trusting. That doesn’t mean she’s stupid or naive, it just means she’s willing to be kind to people first and give them chances to show their kindness. (I spent a long time in her chat during her streams and… yeah, wholesome energy). 

She doesn’t see the people around her as assets and rather hopes to make friends rather than enemies. I won’t say she forms connections quickly(mostly because I haven’t seen her interact with others just yet). But she is very trusting. (remember fWhips potatoes and Pearl’s shovel). During her stream after her first episode aired, she talked about hoping to be friends with Katherine from House Blossom and is aiming to stay as peaceful as possible during the time of the server. 

Appearance: 

So I haven’t seen her skin yet(mostly because this is coming out before we see it.) But she’s using a lot of browns, yellows, greens, and reds. I would like to say that her outfit would sort of reflect that. Instead of a crown of precious gems and metals, it’s maybe a crown of twigs, branches, leaves, and maybe some smaller mushrooms. (Antlers would be cool, so… ) 

I don’t think a dress would work, since she does a lot of work around her base. (Her stream was having her working with trees, leaves, and mining), so I think maybe a pair of overalls (maybe a brown?), a yellow/red undershirt and maybe a dark green jacket. Her outfit would be perfect for her to get on her hands and knees and dig into the earth(Gardener! Shubble). 

Powers:

I feel like because Shubble has this overall sweet and kind energy, I think mushrooms would grow from around her feet. Maybe she can sense when things are about to pass on and tries to make them as comfortable as possible. She can communicate with the earth below her(again, nature provides), and can speak with the animals to some degree

I would like to see spore blossoms react to her. Since spores are also the seeds for mushrooms, it’d just make sense in my head. Maybe she can coax plants to bloom or grow slightly faster around her if she’s happy. Maybe when she’s sad, things start to wilt or shrivel up. Her anger makes things die or age rapidly around her. Her touch can either harm or heal. Knitting the body’s wounds or it could tear into them, causing them agony. 

Jimmy: Ghosts/Decay

I like to think that maybe Jimmy started out human. Or maybe he’s half human. Like one of his parents was human and the other was a fae. (It would certainly explain his skin) 

Personality:

So I haven’t watched a lot of Jimmy, but I wanted to get this off my chest because it’s been in my head for a while now. I think Jimmy, like Shubble, is trusting. Not as much as Shubble, but he does aim for friendship first and then enemy second. So, maybe he’s an opportunist instead. 

Another thing that he might be is petty or spiteful(see his and Sausage’s argument over a music disc). Another ruler might negotiate or bargain their way to what they want, but I think that either Jimmy is pretty young(for fae standards) or his mixed bloodline makes it hard for him to act with a clearer head. It’s pretty clear that he wants others to take him seriously, but at the same time, he can act very impulsive and rashly(See all of 3rd life). 

Appearance: 

It’s pretty clear that Jimmy has that green tinge to his skin. But I think he would have colours such as green(for obvious reasons), browns, and maybe some greys(for clay in the swamp). He wouldn’t have a crown, instead, he’d have a set of gills on each side of his neck. Since I like to think that he swims around in the swamp to talk to the cod in his kingdom. 

For more formal events, he might have a brown cloak and pants with a rich green tunic. He doesn’t look the most royal, but maybe that’s okay because he doesn’t want to be seen as super royal to the rest of his kingdom. Maybe he feels like if he appears to be too royal, the people of his kingdom wouldn’t approach him. 

Powers: 

So Jimmy’s was pretty difficult. Swamps aren’t like ice and wind or nature. But he is a spirit of decay. A less kind version of decay, but not overall cruel. Maybe his decay strikes faster than Shubbles. Where she is understanding and aims to help those along, Jimmy is buried with memories, sunken bodies, and ghostly apparitions. 

So maybe he can see the dead, ghosts who haven’t passed on and simply wander his empire. His eyes glow a faint green whenever he talks to them and tries to aid them to move on to the afterlife.When he’s happy, he shines in the dark backdrop of the swamp, drawing more of the dead, eager to pass on. 

Maybe his anger results in ghostly wails or being dragged into the soft earth around his home. His sadness draws more of the dead to his area, even if they didn’t die there. His pain and grief is like a blackhole, pulling souls in and forcing them to stick around, stuck in his orbit. Maybe a certain few stayed because he was the first one who spoke to them, who reached out to them, who made an effort. 

Pixlriffs:Time/Death

So Pixlriffs has said that he wants to watch over the others deaths with his vigil and he lives in a desert, so I thought they would work with each other. When you think of time, you think of hourglasses, they have sand so that’s the connection I made. 

Personality: 

So Pix has shown an unhinged side to his overall calm and collected composure.(Example, Episode Ten, I think?) His: I sent five people to their deaths and they granted me wings(paraphrased) line is both chilling and is also perfect for a spirit of time/death. 

He, like Scott, is a bit disconnected from the others. Not by accident or nature, but by choice. As a spirit of time and death, he sees the clocks above everyone’s heads, knowing when their last breaths will be taken and when those clocks finally stop. 

It’s not that he’s apathetic to his fellow kings and queens, but rather he is scared. He doesn’t want to form connections only to see them disappear like a drop of sand in a desert. He wishes to honour the people who have weaseled their way into his heart. So he keeps the vigil to count their deaths and remind them that they will not be forgotten. Pixl is a watcher, an overseer that is afraid of the day his friends will pass on and leave him alone. 

Appearance:

The man calls himself the copper king, so I have to have those shades of copper in his outfits somewhere. Teal, brown(for bronze), and those shades between (for copper)are very good(both in builds and on clothes). I also think that pale yellow(representing the sand) is also a nice touch and green for his lush gardens is also a wonderful tone. 

He has a cape that is mostly teal(I’m thinking the shift between the third to final stage) with a bronze belt. The pale yellow would be his shirt and his pants would be a darker brown. Matching his boots. 

I think he would have a crown with pale yellow crystals(yellow zircon or topaz) with bronze wires making up the rest of the crown. Maybe there are pieces of turquoise or aquamarine, that would be cool too. 

Powers: 

The man is basically a watcher. He has wings and can see through time. Like I said before, he can see the clocks ticking above the other players’ heads. Seeing how long they have until their last breath. Pixl is equal parts chaotic and calm. So I think he has a good control over his emotions. 

When he’s stressed things start to wilt under his feet(another reason he lives in a desert), in his anger, he can cause death. Maybe he’s just an omen or something that draws in death. (See his end raiding attempts one and two). I like to think that maybe he has the ability to hold flames or make small ones(just for his candles), he isn’t violent or uses them to hurt others. He simply just uses them to light his candles. 

He’s more than capable with his other abilities. 

This is all I have for now. If I decide to do the others, I’ll add a link to this post. I’d appreciate some information or ideas for the other players since I haven’t had the chance to touch down on all of them. If you have any ideas, feel free to send them to me too!

[wisewidow]

Cloudy With A Chance Of Assassination

PAIRING: Yelena Belova x Reader

SUMMARY: My new girlfriend takes meeting the relatives to a whole new level.

It's cloudy up ahead, but patches of sunlight leak through certain gaps like chinks in the sky's armour, and a warm silver lines the clouds as the sun sets behind them. There are no pink or orange hues in the sunset this cloudy evening, just tinted blue and cream with grey mountains in the distance and muted coloured trees at their bases. I have one hand on the wheel of the car Yelena and I just bought together, a sleek black Fiesta, and the other on my partner in crime's thigh. She has her window rolled down, the high speed we're going at blowing her golden hair everywhere. I drum my fingertips along the wheel as an upbeat song starts to play.

She's lost in the clouds, I can tell. I ask her if she's imagining pictures out of the white puffs, but either the roaring wind at one ear or the song at her other is blocking her from hearing my words.

I squeeze her thigh. She smacks my hand and glances sideways at me, mossy green eyes playful. I allow myself a single glance before looking back at the road. "I asked what you're seeing in the clouds."

She turns the radio dial down. "What?"

I snort. "Nevermind."

"You wanted attention?"

I flip her the bird, earning a boisterous laugh from her. "You were!"

I mimic her accent in a high-pitched voice. "You were totally like, give me attention! Because I'm Yelena Belova and I'm so special!"

"I don't sound like that," she objects. "You once said, and I quote, 'your voice is deep and sexy, like if a dressage horse could speak.'"

I frown. "I don't remember that. Was I drunk?"

"You were trying to outdrink me."

"Oh. Were you cheating? I don't black out that easily."

"No, I wasn't. And yes, you do."

I grumble and turn the radio up again. She hums along to the song, Snap Out Of It by the Arctic Monkeys. We drive until the sun goes down, or at least until I notice her energetic nature die down like a used battery. I search up the nearest motel on my phone and by the time I've pulled in, she's asleep.

I switch the engine off and relax into my seat. I allow myself a few seconds to admire the girl beside me.

I met her through a friend of mine, who lived in the apartment beside hers. I'd visit frequently, and she noticed and eventually grew tired of me oggling her everytime I passed her on the way out. So she coerced me into drinking too much red wine and then sent me over to her door, drunk and giggling.

I didn't know much about her past. She's from Russia, and she sometimes jokes that she's actually a trained assassin. She grew up in a foster home, got close with a girl named Natalia, who ended up living in the Big Apple as a high school teacher with a husband who renovates houses. She calls her every other week before bed, I think, when I spend the night and she thinks I'm asleep. I never hear what they're saying, but I enjoy falling into slumber listening to the soft hum of her voice through the plaster walls.

I admire her small, round, button nose, the even slope of her jawline, her long lashes that brush against her subtly tanned skin. We've only been dating for two months, but I'm positive I'm im love with her. We haven't exchanged those words yet, though. The car is actually our first and only big step.

I gently shake her shoulders to wake her up, and she grumbles sleepily as she shifts and peeks up at me. "Where are we?"

"Motel. Didn't feel like driving home. Come on, lazy bones, let's get you a pillow."

Once we're settled in a room, stripped of jeans and bras so we're just wearing shirts and underwear, I drift off with my head on her shoulder and my hand wrapped around her stomach.

When I wake up, the first thing I notice is the dried drool in the corner of my mouth. I don't think much of it other than the teasing I'd endure in the morning when Yelena finds out I drooled on her.

I pull her closer and then frown.

I am holding a pillow.

My girlfriend is not said pillow.

I rub my eyes and sit up. It's still dark outside, and the clock on my phone reads three in the morning. I scan the room for her figure, but I can't see her silhouette lingering in any of the shadowed corners. I frown and push the duvet off of my body, shivering slightly as I maneuver around the bed and into the bathroom.

No sign of her.

I'm starting to get worried.

Quickly, I grab my jeans — at least I think they're mine — and force my legs through them. I slip my phone in my pocket and head to the door.

It's locked, which doesn't make sense, because my current assumption that Yelena had gone out for a quick smoke would mean that she wouldn't have gone far enough to warrant locking the door.

I swallow down the bad feeling in my gut and step outside.

The upper wrap-a-round level of the motel showed no people in sight. I head to the stairs and down to the front desk, where a young man with purple streaks in his hair sits, droopy-eyed and scrolling mindlessly through his phone.

"Um, excuse me, sir?" I ask tentatively, rubbing the goosebumps off my arms. I hadn't brought my jacket.

His eyes flick up to meet mine. "Sir? You're friendlier than your girlfriend."

"I'm assuming you mean the blonde, very pretty, homicidal-looking woman I came in with?"

He sighs, turning his phone down. "Look, this is a motel. Things like this happen a lot. My advice is to run before the wife sees you."

I stare at him blankly.

He stares back.

"Uh, what?"

"A tall redheaded woman came by, stole your girl for a talk. They were squabbling about you. I assumed . . . oh. You didn't know. Well, who knows, could be a relative or something."

My heart hammers against my ribcage wildly. I have to keep reminding myself that Yelena loves me, that she wouldn't cheat on me, or cheat on anyone else with me, or . . . I feel myself becoming pale. Her scars, I'd never thought much of them, but with her mysterious past, and this mysterious paramour? She was running away from the woman who had now found her.

"Where did they go?" I demand, anger rushing through my veins.

He shakes his head, looking sympathetic. "I've seen this play out before, trust me when I say you don't want to confront—"

"Tell me where they went or I will make you swallow your own fist."

He recoils. "Christ, fine, they're in the parking lot. For the record, I hope you get a good slappin'!"

I speed walk out of the motel and around the back, adrenaline rushing. I stop when I spot two figures under a streetlight by my car, one taller and waving her arms around as she speaks and the other, unmistakably my Yelena, glaring up with her arms crossed.

I march over to them. Their heads snap in my direction almost immediately. The redheaded woman pulls out a gun and aims it at me.

I yelp and freeze, hands up in surrender. Yelena yells something in Russian and smacks the weapon out of her hands before rushing towards me. "(Y/N), what are you doing?"

"We're leaving," I say, completely freaked out. "Right now. You run, tell the guy in the office to call 911. I'll fight her off."

"What? No! (Y/N), this is my sister! She's just paranoid."

I gape at her. "I thought she was a science teacher!"

"I told you we should have met somewhere else," the redhead hisses.

Yelena spits back in Russian.

"No, no Russian! Explanation, now!" I turn to the woman. "You're Natalia?"

"Natasha."

"Okay, Natasha the science teacher who owns a gun, what are you doing here?"

Her lips tighten into a fine line. "I'm not a science teacher, I'm an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., and I wasn't expecting Yelena to have company when I came here to drag her back home."

Yelena starts spurting more angry Russian words that mean nothing to me as I try to process what's happening. The two sisters argue for a solid two minutes while I decide I must be dreaming.

The lies. The scars. The mystery. The jokes about being an assassin.

This is a living nightmare.

I turn and walk away.

Yelena calls out, "(Y/N)! Wait!"

I don't stop until I've reached our room, where I promptly grab my jacket and bra and shove them in my bag.

"(Y/N), don't leave," Yelena begs when she catches up, blocking the doorway with her body. "Let me explain, love, please."

"Get out of my way," I snap.

She doesn't flinch, doesn't turn around as she closes the door and backs up against it as if to provide another barrier between me and the world she's trying to hide.

"Yelena," I warn.

"Let me explain," she pleads.

I stare her down, but she doesn't seem to be budging any time soon. I drop my bag on the floor and sit on the bed with my arms crossed, glaring at her. "Fine. Enlighten me."

She slowly eases away from the door. "I didn't lie to you about everything. I'm one hundred percent Russian, and I consider Natalia to be my sister, and we did grow up together. But we were trained together, too. As assassins."

"Fuck," I mutter.

She kneels down in front of me. "I got away from that life, I swear. And I met you and everything after that was the realist thing I'd ever had. I really love video games, and I really love your pancakes, and I really, really love you."

My glare softens.

"Even if you can't cook," she says.

I give her a semi-playful, semi-annoyed shove.

"You said be honest, don't hit me!"

I stand up and pace the room nervously. This time, she sits down on the bed. I mutter under my breath, gnawing on my thumbnail, until, finally, I sit down beside her.

"Okay, deal breaker. Do you know Captain America?"

[jangmi-latte]

Hiiiii may i order a Leona Oneshot please? Where NRC holds a party, a ball perhaps, and the s/o is ready and all but her insecurity gets the best of her and instead of going straight to the party, she wanders around school grounds,,crying and leona comes around looking for her? THANK YOUUU

❞ 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 ❝

➻ content: a jar of flowers and an expensive gown

➻ warnings: none

➻ comments: ballroom...leona...comfort...anonie...pardon me but..i got carried away and wrote this in first pov. hope you don’t mind! and if any of you are familiar with the setting of the story, my my, cogratulations ;)

I could hear the music playing in the distance. It’s so calming, yet I knew inside that room probably holds one of the best parties NRC has ever thrown. Probably not formality wise, but maybe because it’s open for guests outside of the school. There are celebrities, some friends fellow classmates invited, and beautiful people walking around the grounds.

Everyone is so...breathtaking. 

The way they casually held their head up high, the smile they effortlessly show their smiles and still look beautiful. Am I jealous? No... Maybe?

I looked in front of the mirror. There stood just a casual looking girl. This gorgeous gown is best off wrapped around someone else’s body. Not mine. Y/n, stop it. You were invited to this ball for a reason...

What reason exactly...?

I sighed. My hand grazed on the mirror gently, like it would break just by a simple touch. To think the prince of the Afterglow Savannah would bring me here when he doesn’t like gatherings himself. Why? I just want answers. It’s already 6 in the evening and I haven’t left my room. “Y/n?” 

I looked over at the door. There stood Ruggie who looked at me in surprise. That’s right, I’m still in one of Savanclaw’s guest rooms. “The party’s already started. Let’s go. Don’t wanna let you get lost, now would we?” He gave one of his signature chuckles while I just smiled.

“I’m coming.”

The walk to the venue was...long to say the least. The sun was starting to set. The sky was painted in deep colours of violet, magenta, and blue. The sun being a small ball of yellow and red as it slowly slept for the night. Staying out here is much better, yes? I looked back in front of me, Ruggie’s already holding the door open to the room. Inside, I could see, was the men and women that joyfully danced around. Chattering and dancing with each other. 

I barely know anyone in here. I can see Vil Schoenheit being surrounded by people, probably wanting a photograph or anything. I see Sir Draconia by the corner of the room talking to a shorter man that I can’t make out who. Doesn’t he enjoy the party, perhaps? 

“Are you coming?” I blinked and looked back at Ruggie. I can’t. I really can’t be in a room full of these mind-blowing, drop-dead gorgeous and possibly rich people. I cleared my throat and smiled at Ruggie. “I-It’s okay, Ruggie. You can go on without me.” I rubbed my hands together and looked around. Where can I go besides here? “I’ll come inside later. I think I forgot something in the room,” I lied.

Ruggie arched an eyebrow, looked inside, and back at me. “Okay then. But if you got lost just call me or Leona.” I always expected him to keep a lookout for me. Probably Leona’s orders. I nodded as I watched him head inside. I haven’t seen Leona ever since I arrived at this college. Of course, he must be inside that event having to talk to pretty women.

My legs brought me anywhere far from that place. I can’t see myself standing near any of those people. Let alone walk on the same ground and breathe the same air as them. I’m merely a commoner, not that beautiful, and just someone. At least, I am someone. I was about to head inside this botanical garden when I heard a giggle of another girl inside. Yikes, this place is taken. I turned somewhere else and once I was quite far from the garden, I saw Sir Draconia with that small man heading to the garden. 

How lucky that girl is to have the Malleus Draconia talk to her. Couldn’t be me. Why am I assuming things?

I shook my head and wandered elsewhere. I don’t know where I am anymore. I could still hear the orchestra from the event but I was in front of the woods now. I think I’m lost. How stupid of me.

I took a deep breath and just sat on a log that was near a small pond. This gown has been a waste now. Why am I wearing it? Who am I to wear it? Why, I just wasted the makeup and an expensive gown. Cruel of me. I’m sorry. I removed the pins and ties that was holding my hair up. I want this night to be over. The moon is now shining brightly above me as I looked down at the reflection of myself on the pond. 

Is this face supposed to be in a crowd of beautiful people? Disgrace. I know I’m not pretty. I’m not worth admiring. Yet why am I here? The pond rippled under me. Was it going to rain?

Oh wait, that’s just me.

My hand went up to touch my cheek as I sniffled. Pathetic little girl, are you? No one can see me, good. Let this place be a secret where a stupid girl cried all alone. Why? Because she’s ugly. That’s the truth.

“I don’t like the fact you made me walk around the school just to look for you.”

I snapped my head over to look at whoever talked behind me. To my surprise, there, I see the second prince of the Afterglow Savannah looking at me. The moon illuminated his features beautifully. The suit he’s wearing isn’t exactly as prim as it should be. Three unbuttoned top buttons, the black blazer he wore doesn’t look ironed to me, his hair tied into a side ponytail and a hand in his pocket. Handsome, yes. 

I looked away and wiped my tears. Damn it, y/n. Do you know how miserable you look in front of a prince? “Glad to see you’re not inside that stupid party. Spared me the noise,” he continued as I heard him coming closer to me. I kept my head down, keeping my sniffles low as I wondered. Did he really make an effort to look for me?

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice sounding unintentionally shaky as I feel the tears starting to prick  my eyes again. It was quiet. I never looked up from gazing on my lap. It feels wrong having to look at Leona when I look this pathetic. I heard him ‘tsk’ before I sensed his presence in front of me. 

His fingers went under my chin, pushing it upwards so I would face him. Ugh, the embarrassment. My nose and eyes are probably red by now. I couldn’t stop myself from crying. I couldn’t accept the fact that I feel so... I don’t know...

“Why are you crying? You look miserable,” he remarked.

“I know...” I mumbled. I can’t look at his face. My eyes are closed and yet I could feel his gaze at me. 

“Damn, you’re a pain in the neck,” he grumbled and flicked my forehead making me wince. Not really painful, just made me rub my forehead as I looked at him with scrunched eyebrows. He was just looking at me as if not knowing what to do. 

“Why aren’t you at the party?” I sparked a conversation, still wanting answers unto why he’s here in front of me instead of being with the others. I know he hates gathering but he could’ve just went back to the dorm. “It’s unsightly if I let a guest I invited be left alone. Didn’t you think of that, herbivore?” he commented.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“You didn’t ask anything...” I trailed off as he rolled his eyes and sat on the log next to me. “Why were you crying out here all alone?” he grumbled and crossed his arms, laying his back on the tree behind us with his arms crossed. “Nothing...” I mumbled.

“I’m being serious here.” His sharp emerald eyes glared at me. I know he’s trying to help without having to look like a big softy. I’m glad to have him around, however, I can’t help but just be bothered by these thoughts that kept swallowing me whole. I ended up not speaking as I looked back down.

“Y/n.”

I hummed, still not looking at him. How do I exactly respond to that? Blurting out and just saying I’m insecure is awkward, isn’t it? I rubbed my hands together, letting my fingers intertwined with each other as I felt the atmosphere frow intense. He must be asleep now. 

How wrong was I when I looked over at him. Please don’t just stare at me and say something, Leona. “What...?” I stuttered out. He gave me no response. I hate this atmosphere. I pushed on his shoulder, making him yelp in surprise before I scooted over to the edge of the log and turned my back against him.

“You blasted herbivore,” he huffed as I looked over my shoulder. He’s not mad at all. I’ve known this bastard for years. “You suck at comforting!” I said and glared at him. He rolled his eyes and stretched his legs, commenting, “I’m not here to comfort you, idiot.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To get away from the party.”

“Then go back to your dorm.”

“It’s boring.”

“You just it’s unsightly for you to leave me alone.”

“Are you always this talkative?”

Damn you, Leona Kingscholar! I exhaled through my nose and stood up from the log. Fine then. I’m leaving your ass out here. I marched around him, making sure my gown hits his face before I felt his hand grip my arm and pull me down. The hell does he want now?!

“You were just crying minutes ago. Why are you smiling now?” he smirked. I folded my lips after realizing and feeling the edge of my lips stretch out. Y/n, what’s wrong with you? 

“Either way. You’re not leaving me here. You only get to leave after I’ve taken my nap.” He yawned while I frowned. 

“I’m not gonna sit here and let you sleep.”

“Then tell me why you were crying.”

“Because I didn’t feel pretty, dumbass,” I blurted out and sucked my lower lip. His beautiful green eyes somehow softened, or am I hallucinating? If this is the only way I could open up about myself, then so be it. Not like he would even care right? At least I have him to be with me.

“And who told you that?” he grumbled, his arm just laying limp around my waist while he laid his head back on the tree. “Me.”

“That’s just your opinion.”

“Better start judging myself rather than have other people whisper about me...” I sighed. I really am talkative.

“Have other people even seen you? No. I don’t think so. You didn’t even go inside. How can you guarantee they would call you ugly?” 

“Because I am. All of them are pretty. Men and women alike.”

“Pretty on the outside, a bastard on the inside,” Leona remarked and closed his eyes. “If only you...” he yawned and continued, “...heard how chatty they are. All they care about are gossips.”

“Oh?” My eyebrows raised in surprise. 

“Do you think I would come to you if you’re the same? No. Now shut up and let me sleep.” he grumbled as I laid my back on his chest. His words processed deeply in my mind. Sure it wasn’t direct. He might’ve had a different meaning to what he was saying. Leona Kingscholar isn’t one to comfort you after all, but he could give one of the greatest words your mind can process.

He came to me instead of staying in that party. He looked for me. He didn’t let me leave. Kingscholar, you surely are something else. This time, I didn’t stop the smile to stretch on my lips as I looked up at the slumbering lion. You truly are something else. I’m glad to have you by my side.

I guess this night isn’t a waste after all. I stretched my neck and looked back at the pound. There, in my reflection, is a woman who may not see herself as beautiful. But is still reminded as beautiful in the inside. It’s not the looks, it’s the personality, y/n.

Remember that.

[panda-noosh]

Enemies by Association {Draco Malfoy x Reader}

Words: 7.6k

Summary: Sometimes you don’t really know what you and Draco are meant to be. 

Genre: angst (?)

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - what the FUCK is this, Aticus?! 

----

  “What the bloody hell are you doing here? 

   The voice strikes you almost immediately like a blow to the back of the skull. Already in a gruesome mood, the shrill tones of Draco Malfoy does nothing to make this night any better.

    Slowly, you turn to face the pale-haired boy now standing before you. It was only seconds before the forest was completely empty, nothing more than you and it’s usual spooky atmosphere, and where once you craved the comfort of another human being suffering alongside you, you now wish for nothing more than a tree to scoop you up and devour you.

    Draco, as per usual, stands tall and bold, even in the most embarrassing of circumstances. He’s wearing his Hogwarts robes, the Slytherin crest unavoidable upon his chest alongside his very undeserved Prefect badge. His basically-white hair still manages to glisten even in the pitch black of night, and that stupid scowl of his is, of course, still very prominent on his features.

    “What does it look like?” is your response to his dumb question. “I got a detention.”

    Draco raises a brow, visible only beneath the torchlight cast upon his lower jaw. “Y/N Weasley getting a detention? Colour me surprised.”

   You scowl and swivel back to face the path you had previously been staring into; still dark, still scary, still very unappealing, but it’s better than dealing with Draco’s sarcasm.

    He steps up beside you, folding wiry arms over a flat chest. “Are you not even gonna ask why I’m here?”

  “I can genuinely say I don’t give a shit.”

   “Watch your mouth, Weasley, or I’ll give you another detention.”

    You roll your eyes. “Fine then. What are you doing here, Malfoy?”

    He’s quiet for only a moment, and during that moment, you can feel his ice-like eyes burning into the side of your head; you want to punch him, desperately and with the force of a thousand waves, you want to punch that smirk off his stupid face.

    “Apparently part of the job of being a Prefect is overlooking detentions.”

    You gasp over dramatically, clapping your hands to your face. “You’re a Prefect? Why didn’t you say?!”

   “Oh, ha ha.” He nudges your arm, nods into the darkness ahead. “Get walking, then. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

   “An hour,” you correct, walking forward with him following close behind; you have to admit, he’s grown an awful lot since the last time you had been cursed with a shared detention with him. That was way back in first year after the two of you had been too loud during an argument in the hallways - hallways you were not supposed to be in that late at night. Filch had come sprinting down the corridors, and it was an instant sentence to the forest. Back then, Draco had basically been trembling in fear as Hagrid led the two of you through the trees, giving his usual promises that everything would be okay. You love Hagrid, would trust him with your life, but you’ve never been able to take his word on what he deems as okay.

    Now, however, Draco walks with his spine straight and his eyes narrowed, looking for the dangers you suspect he thinks he can fend away. 

    “You haven’t even got your fucking wand in your hand,” you point out.

   “Language, Weasley. I won’t tell you again. Even that twin brother of yours doesn’t use such foul language.”

   “Such foul language. Alright, Umbridge, I don’t remember asking.”

    Draco purses his lips. “It’s like you want a second detention.”

  “If it means having to walk through this bleeding forest with you again, I’ll pass.”

    The conversation dips after that. Draco keeps his wand in his hand, seems utterly concentrated on the path ahead; neither of you know where you’re going, but that doesn’t seem like such a bad thing when the tension is so high. 

     And the thing is, you don’t even think you dislike him.

   Draco just has the kind of personality you’re meant to clash with. He’s Slytherin, you’re Gryffindor. You’re a Weasley, he’s a Malfoy. You’re best friends with Harry Potter, and he’s got some kind of vendetta against him, so hating him is just kind of expected.

    But you talk to him a lot more than the others do.

    It’s mainly arguing, yes, but you’re still communicating, and you still go out of your way to sneer at him, and he goes out of his way to sneer right back. You insult him, but you spend ages coming up with those insults and you get excited when you see him and can finally hurl them at him from across the hallway, and you get excited when he throws his own set of insults right back at you. It’s been like that from day one, and you’re not sure what your day would look like without it.

     These thoughts never settle well with you, of course. You take one look at Ron and immediately feel like a traitor, because if he was to hear what was running through your head, he would be most incredibly displeased - and rightly so. The way him and Malfoy get on, it wouldn’t surprise you if Ron turned and ripped your head off for ever expressing even a single hint of fondness for the blonde boy currently strolling alongside you.

     “What are you in detention for this time, then, Weasley?”

   His voice breaks you from your reverie. You glance at him; he’s still looking dead ahead, tracing those ice blue eyes along the ground in search of danger. Part of you is surprised; the fact that Malfoy even showed up tonight is a big deal, considering you wouldn’t be surprised if he simply left you for dead in the Forbidden Forest.

    “McGonagall got mad at me,” you mumble in response. 

   Draco raises a brow. “For what?”

    “For nothing.” You fold your arms over your chest, letting your wand peek from your sleeve to keep the light illuminated on the track ahead. “In my defense, it was entirely Ron’s fault - if he had just let me get on with the Vanishing spell, that table would still be in her classroom and I wouldn’t be here.”

    Draco nods like he understands. “I always said two Weasleys in the same classroom would be dangerous.”

    “Ha.”

    “So why didn’t Ronald get a detention?”

   You scowl. “I bloody covered for him.”

   Draco almost seems to stumble. Your head snaps round to look at him at the exact same time he whirls around to look at you, eyes wide beneath his wand light, his footsteps a little heavier.

   “What’s wrong with you?” you demand, struggling to hide your laughter.

    “You covered for him?” 

   You raise a brow, grin spreading slow across your face. “Of course I did. He covered for me during Snape’s last class, and Snape is ten times worse than McGonagall - I owed him one.”

    Draco continues to stare at you in puzzlement.

   “Malfoy, close your mouth before you attract flies.” You glance into the darkness and shudder. “Or something worse.”

     Draco shakes his head, fumbling to return to his previous pristine posture. “You’re an idiot.”

   “Would you rather be walking through this hell-hole with Ron? Because I’m sure he’d be flattered to hear it.”

   “Absolutely not,” Draco snaps. “I just. . . I don’t understand why you’d get yourself in trouble for the sake of somebody else. Surely you have better things to be doing than a late-night detention with me.”

    “Aw, give yourself more credit, Malfoy.”

   He raises a brow.

   You grin. “Although, to be fair, I would much rather be chewing on leather shoes than walking beside you right now.”

    Draco rolls his eyes, nudges your arm in his attempts to make you speed up. “Say that again and you’ll be back here tomorrow night.”

    And that is enough to shut you up immediately.

   ----

    Professor Dolores Umbridge.

    The new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, a small woman doused in pink, ruffled with feathers and other fluffy accessories. A woman with a smile and a sweet voice. A woman hiding behind a mask that almost everybody has seen past at this point.

    She’s only been at Hogwarts a handful of months, and already she’s decided she owns the place. You, Ron and Harry scowl when you walk into her classroom to see she has yet to fall into the Hippogriff dens. As per usual, written upon the board in white chalk is the next chapter the class will be forced to read in utter silence whilst their wands are stowed away in their backpacks.

    “I hate her,” you whisper to Ron as the two of you take your seats at the back of the classroom. “Hate. Her.”

  “Keep your voice down,” Hermoine hisses, leaning back so she can talk to you. “You’ve seen what she did to Harry when he spoke out of turn - she won’t let you away with it either, Y/N.”

    You scowl, glaring at the back of her head. “She’s just got something against Harry.”

  “Exactly,” Harry whispers. “And you guys are my best mates, so she has something against you lot, too. By association.”

   “To hell with that. McGonagall surely won’t let her give us a detention just for being your friend.”

   Harry raises a brow; he’s already been through this once with you, but you were too busy arguing with Fred and George about their Nosebleed Nougat to really listen. Nonetheless, you’re aware that Harry went to McGonagall in his attempts to weasel out of his last week of detentions with Umbridge and was told - plain and simple - that she could and would do absolutely nothing to help him out.

    The lesson starts as per usual - with Umbridge reminding the class which chapter they left off at, ordering everyone to open up to the page beginning the next one, and reading everyone that they did not - under any circumstances - need to talk.

    You lower your head to your textbook, skimming the same sentence over and over again. It’s so easy to lose concentration when even just sitting in this room - in silence or not - makes you angry. You don’t want to read, don’t want to learn, don’t want to listen to her stupid, squeaky little voice. You just want to-

     The seat beside you is pulled from beneath the desk. Your head shoots up, eyes widening when you see Draco Malfoy sitting down, pulling his textbook from his bag without so much as a glance in your direction.

   You look up; Umbridge has spotted the latecomer, but merely gives Malfoy a smile that tells you she is in close cahoots with the blonde demons father. You look back up at Malfoy and narrow your eyes.

    “You don’t sit there,” you whisper.

   Draco glances at your textbook, nudging his arm with your own. “What page are we looking at?”

  “Not my problem you were late, Malfoy.”

  He tugs your textbook closer, leans a little further forward to read the page number, and it’s when he does that that you can feel his breath on your lower arm, can feel the warmth of his skin as he gets so close. Your eyes widen for a fraction of a second - you never once believed Malfoy would have warmth. The boy looks too much like a corpse for you to think he has any kind of body heat whatsoever.

   But it’s nice, and he’s very close to you, and you don’t think you like it that much.

   You don’t move away.

    “Half these bleeding chapters don’t even make sense,” Draco mumbles, eyes still scanning the glossy page of your textbook. “I’ve learned nothing since she got the teaching job.”

    You raise a brow. “I could have sworn Umbridge was one of those teachers your head was shoved up.”

    “What made you think that?”

  “Well, she’s a bit of a bitch, isn’t she?” you reply, motioning to the woman sat at her desk, too busy humming away to herself to hear you and Malfoy conversing in the back of her classroom. “I just assumed you liked all the bitchy teachers.”

    “You really do have a foul mouth, don’t you?”

   “You’re avoiding the subject.”

   Malfoy purses his lips and glances at you through the corner of his eye; you, on the other hand, shamelessly stare right back at him, tracing your eyes along his sharp side profile. He really is a pretty boy to look at; the sharp jawline and pointed nose. You always thought he was fairly attractive, despite the amount of times you called him a weasel in your lifetime.

     “I think she’s a lousy teacher,” Draco concludes. “Her policies aren’t too bad-”

  You grunt.

    Draco rolls his eyes. “You only don’t like her because she yells at you all the time.”

   “All teachers yell at me all the time - but at least I deserve it in their classes. She just yells at me because I’m friends with Harry.”

    Draco shifts. “Don’t really blame her.”

  You yank your textbook back to your side of the table, fury suddenly building in your chest. “Oh, go to hell, Malfoy.” 

    This is how it always goes with him - things will be going so well, so smoothly. For a short period of time, you convince yourself he’s a good guy and maybe - just maybe - you’ll be able to get on with him. But then he goes and says something like that, so unnecessary and unjustified that it reminds you how much of a rat he really is. 

     Draco is quiet for the remainder of the lesson, one hand tucked against his cheek as he scans the pages of his own textbook - one he miraculously found just a few minutes after you downright refused to share yours. Although the whole class is silent, it feels a bit more tense where you and Malfoy are sat. He shifts every now and then, and the constant glances shared between you are enough to drive you insane.

    Sometimes you just want him to speak to you, which is weird considering you were the one who shut down the conversation in the first place. Arguing with him, throwing insults back and forth is better than sitting here in this anger-infused silence.

    Class finishes with no slip-up’s between you and Umbridge. She tries to claim you were too noisy when standing up, but whatever punishment she was about to fish out to you is washed away by the crowd of students happily making their way out of her classroom.

     “What did Malfoy want?” is the first thing Ron asks when you finally find each other in the crowded hallways. 

    “Nothing,” you reply. “He was just late and needed a seat.”

   Ron scowls, shooting a glance over his shoulder to where Malfoy and his cronies are standing. “He better not have been causing you any trouble.”

    “No trouble at all.”

   “He wasn’t insulting our parents or anything, was he?”

  “I said he was no trouble at all.” You aren’t sure why you’re snapping; you’re mad at Malfoy, for crying out loud. 

    Ron hauls his bag a little further up his back, still scowling even as he turns away from them. “He winds me up. He’s constantly staring at you. Makes me want to punch him right in his ugly little-”

    “Okay, Ron. I get it. You and Malfoy are sworn enemies.”

    Ron glances at you. “You better be on my side or I swear to god-”

   “Of course I am.” But you’re talking so fast, and Ron knows you better than anybody else. His steps falter, letting you know immediately that he’s picked up on the rush of your tone, the heat in your cheeks, the uncertain lilt to your statement.

    You glance at him through the corner of your eye and quickly mumble, “I’m on your side, Ron.”

    Ron pauses. And then, “Wait till I tell Harry about this. He’s gonna crack up.”

   You grab Ron’s arm when he quickens his pace. “What are you talking about? Ron, stop. Stop right now or I swear to-”

   “You fancy Malfoy!”

    You wince, heart dropping. You nearly stumble over your own two feet in your attempts to slap your hand over Ron’s big mouth, his grin widening beneath your hand. “Shut the hell up, Ronald Weasley!”

    He pries your hand away. “How long has this been happening? And why him? Of all bloody people!”

  “I don’t - I don’t fancy Malfoy!” you hiss, trying your hardest to keep your voice down - Fred and George have a habit of appearing out of nowhere, and this is the absolute last thing you want them to overhear.

    Ron raises a brow, still grinning manically. “Your face right now tells me differently.”

   “He’s a rat. I’ve hated him since first year. Just because I can’t be bothered listening to you rant about him every few minutes doesn’t mean I have a bleeding crush on him!”

    “And here I was thinking you didn’t have feelings.”

    You close your eyes, running your hands through your hair. “Oh, please be quiet, Ron. Don’t make this into a big deal.”

  “It is a big deal. If he tries anything-”

  “He won’t.”

  Ron pauses, clearly unconvinced but too smart to continue his teasing. You open your eyes, shoot him a pleading look to which he simply rolls his eyes and continues walking down the corridor towards his next class. You take a moment to recompose yourself before jogging to keep up with him.

   “I’d rather you didn’t tell Harry or Hermoine,” you mutter.

   “Of course not.”

  “You’re going to tell them, aren’t you?”

   Ron shrugs. “I won’t for a while, but if anything happens between you two, they deserve to know.”

   “Deserve?”

    “They both hate him as much as I do. Just because I’m supporting you doesn’t mean they will.”

    You purse your lips; he has a point, whether you want to openly admit it or not. Your feelings for Draco Malfoy have never been crystal clear to you, and even now as you refuse to deny them in front of Ron, they’re still not crystal clear. He’s attractive, and you enjoy talking to him, teasing him, but saying you have genuine feelings for him does nothing but make you anxious.

    But at the end of the day, nothing can happen anyway. Draco Malfoy is one person who is completely out of bounds to you, too different from you to even think about anything beyond a friendship.

     --- 

   That night, you can’t sleep.

   Your head hurts. Attempts to tackle your mountain of homework failed immensely, giving you nothing but a migraine and a sense of frustration that teachers are still insisting on giving you piles upon piles of work to do after class hours.

    So you do as you always do, and break the rules by getting out of bed and parading the hallways.

    You’ve gotten good at hiding from Filch throughout the years; with the help of the Marauders Map, it’s not difficult to keep tabs on where the little man is. With the help of your older brothers, you’ve also been able to pinpoint all the decent hiding places, one for each corridor, so you’re safe for now.

     You walk, clutching the map in one hand and your wand in the other. In the distance, you can hear Peeves singing to himself, but you don’t worry too much about him - he likes you, says you’re more like Fred and George than Ron is, so he’ll let you off with a lot more things.

     The corridors are always a little spooky at night; already spooky enough during the day, the cloak of darkness and the eerie silence that comes during the night makes it even worse, but you’ve found yourself enjoying it. The feeling of the unknown has always intrigued you; you get it from your father, you think. He’s forever looking into random little things, things he knows nothing about it, risking it all just to gain a little extra knowledge on a topic nobody else cares about.

    You saunter through the halls tonight, running your fingertips along the bumpy wallpaper. You sigh when you turn the corner, eyes nearly closed with the migraine pumping through your skull, hands gripping-

    “Lower your wand right now.”

   You nearly scream. If not for the shock that takes over your body in an instant, you would have bellowed out for help. But you’re left frozen, mouth open in shock, knuckles turning white with your suddenly enhanced grip on your wand.

   Standing in front of you is Professor Dolores Umbridge, a pink dressing gown wrapped round her shoulders, a beady glare on her face. All that is left to top the ensemble is a set of curlers upon her head.

    “What are you doing out of bed?”

  It seems like the most obvious question, but you struggle to find a response. All you can do is stare at the short woman with your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. She raises a brow, tilts her head and motions to your wand.

    “Do you plan on using that against me, Weasley, or will you put it down before I’m forced to take lethal measures?”

    You quickly stow your wand beneath your bed robes, giving her an uneasy smile. “Sorry, Professor.”

   “No, I don’t think you are.” She shakes her head, tutting as she looks to the ground for a reason you cannot pinpoint. “Again, Weasley, with the misbehaviour. Has my message not gotten through to you a thousand times by now?”

    “I have a migraine,” you reply. “I was going to the infirmary-”

    “You should have a note,” she says quickly, not giving you a chance to properly explain your situation; and yes, your explanation would be sprinkled with little lies, but she wouldn’t need to know that. “I’ve gone so easy on you since the start of term, Y/N, and it seems like you’re taking it for granted now. Being out past curfew is just a step too far.”

     You blink. “Uhhhh…”

    “A week of detentions with me it is,” she says, and your heart drops. “I’ll see you-”

    “There you are! Did you get that thing I asked you to get?”

    You spin around. Approaching is no other than Draco Malfoy, and you silently curse whatever deity is looking over you right now.

    He’s got a grin on his face unlike anything you’ve ever seen from him. Usually adorned with a grimace or a scowl, seeing Draco genuinely smile is like seeing light for the first time. Although unusual, it fits his face perfectly and you very nearly have to grab Umbridge’s fluffy arm to stop your knees from giving out beneath you.

    “Malfoy!” Umbridge gasps. “And what are you-”

  “Oh, you got caught,” says Malfoy, sidling up to your side. “Bloody hell, Y/N - I give you one job.”

  Umbridge blinks. “What are you talking about, Mr Malfoy? Y/N here was parading round the hallways of their own-”

  “I asked her to get me something from the Ravenclaw common room,” Draco says. Your eye twitches, mouth opening, but Draco oh-so-subtly pinches your palm before you can speak up and ruin whatever little deception he’s got going on right now. “You’re not giving Y/N the detention, are you? I asked them to get it for me, and I’ll gladly do the detention with you, Professor.” He beams even brighter. You bite your lip, glancing at Umbridge who seems to be growing more and more shocked as the conversation progresses. 

    “This behaviour is - is - it’s ludicrous!” Umbridge exclaims, stamping her foot on the last word to really drive her point home. “Mr Malfoy, what on earth possessed you to think doing such a thing would be wise? You’re usually such a well-behaved student!”

  You snicker. Again, Draco pinches your palm.

    He looks down in faux shame. “I know, Professor. I deserve a detention.”

    You subtly raise a brow, glancing at Malfoy through the corner of your eye; he’s not even looking at you. He’s got his eyes to the floor, a little frown on his face. He’s being awfully convincing.

    Umbridge sniffs, clearly torn at the idea of giving a Slytherin a detention - not her precious Slytherin. You want to draw back and punch her.

     “Very well, Mr Malfoy,” she says. “I’m afraid that’s a week of detention for you. I’ll see you in my room at ten o clock tomorrow night.”

    Malfoy just nods, the two of you watching as Umbridge turns on her heel and starts marching back up the hallway, too flustered to even bother telling the two of you to head back to your dormitories.

    You whirl on Draco as soon as Umbridge is out of ear shot. He’s already grinning at you, putting his hands up in mock surrender as you slap his arm.

    “A thank you, Draco would do the bloody trick,” he hisses, stumbling back at the force of your abuse.

    “What the hell did you do that for?” you bark. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

    “Again, a simple thank you, Draco would do-”

    You groan, whirling on your heel. A noise escapes the back of Draco’s throat as he leaps forward and grabs your hand, forcing you to turn back and look at him. His blue eyes bore into yours, a stampede of butterflies erupting in your stomach; you try your hardest to ignore those, but it’s difficult. Getting more and more difficult with each passing day.

    “So you’re not even gonna tell me what you’re doing out of bed at this time of night?” he asks, raising a brow. 

    “How did you even know I was awake?”

  “It’s my job as Prefect-”

  “You’re a Prefect?”

   “Shut up! It’s my job as Prefect to make sure nobody is out of bed past hours - technically I should be giving you a detention right now.”

  “Oh, look how that’s turned out.”

    “You owe me one.”

  “I owe you fuck all.” You pry your arm from his grip, but instead of walking away, you fold your arms over your chest. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

     Draco rolls his eyes. “You’ve always been such a stubborn one, haven’t you?”

    “And I’ve also always been able to hold my own.” 

    “I never said you couldn’t.”

  You narrow your eyes. Draco narrows his right back at you; there’s so much going unspoken right now, and it makes you uneasy. There’s a tension that you both clearly feel but neither of you want to address because neither of you are completely sure why it’s there in the first place. 

    Draco breaks first. With a huff of air through his nose, he turns on his heel, though he doesn’t start walking until he says, “Get back to bed, Weasley, or else you will get a detention off me.” Then he’s gone, and you’re too tired and too flustered to call after him, to give back some kind of insult.

    So instead you do as he said, heading back to the girls dormitories. Hermoine is still awake in the common room, hunched over a desk with her homework spread out before her; she looks content, smiling down at a book on Hippogriffs with multiple quills laid beside her. You give her a tiny smile as you walk past,  but her bleary eyes and lack of acknowledgement tells you she isn’t really paying too much attention to the fact you’ve just walked in from the hallways past hours.

    You tuck yourself up into bed and sigh into the air; Draco Malfoy will truly, utterly be the death of you.

     ----

    The next time you see him is at lunch three days later.

   He’d disappeared. You tried to keep yourself calm. You pretended you didn’t even notice his absense, laughing along to jokes at the Gryffindor table, joining Fred and George in even more michief just to get your mind off the fact that Draco wasn’t sitting at the Slytherin table, and he wasn’t insulting you, and he wasn’t making you feel special.

    But three days pass, and you finally corner him.

    He’s got his back turned when you approach, but Ron, Harry and Hermoine went down to visit Hagrid, leaving you on your own; if there’s any time to talk to Draco, it’s now. So you take your chance, moving across the hallway with swift steps before you reach out, tap his shoulder, and-

    He whirls around, eyes wild. His hair is sticking up on end, and as soon as he sees you, he stumbles back into the wall and tries to make a break for it.

    Panic erupts in your system for a reason you can’t pinpoint. Your hands snap out, wrap around his arm and tug him back before he can escape.

   He groans, throwing his head back. “Weasley.”

   “Let’s not do this today,” you hiss under your breath. “Where have you been, Malfoy?”

   “Why do you care?”

  “Because-” You falter; you hadn’t planned a response to that question. You shake your head instead, tightening your grip on his arm. “Just tell me where you were. Have you been going to Umbridge’s detentions?”

    Draco’s arm tenses. You glance down, raise a brow. He tugs his arm back. “Yes, I’ve been going to Umbridge’s detentions. No thanks to you.”

   “I never asked you-”

  “You’ve said.” He turns, grabbing his bag as he does so. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting in Professor Snape’s office in regards to-”

    Your eyes drift down. You’re not sure why; maybe the mention of Professor Snape immediately switched your attention span off and the sight of Draco’s hands curling round the strap of his bag was more exciting. But it’s this simple action that helps you see what Draco is clearly trying to hide.

    A small gasp escapes your lips, and he freezes because he knows. He knows you’ve seen them, knows there’s no way to hide it any more. His eyes squeeze closed, his teeth biting together as he whispers, “Please don’t make a fuss.”     Scribed on the back of Draco’s hand are the words I must not break rules. 

   Your mouth runs dry in an instant. Anger claws at your throat. You slowly reach down and grab his wrist, bringing his hand up to your eyes, and he doesn’t even try fighting you off because he knows there’s no point, it’s too late now, you’ve seen the damage.

    “Draco.” Your voice is a whisper, hoarse and clogged with emotion. “Draco, what did she do?”

  He looks to the floor and says nothing. For the first time in the five years you have known Draco Malfoy, he does not have words. No insult, no snide remark, no cocky little statement to make himself feel better in times when the world is ganging up on him - he’s completely silent, mouth open as if the response is hovering on the brink but not quite reaching the surface just yet.

     You flick your eyes up to his face. “Draco, tell me what she did. Please.”

   “It’s my punishment,” he mumbles. “That’s all.”

  My punishment. His. Like he was the one roaming the hallways when he wasn’t supposed to be, like he’s the one who always thinks he can get away with things, like he’s the one who genuinely deserved the punishment. 

    You drop his wrist and spin on your heel. “I’ll kill her.”

    Draco grabs you round the waist and drags you backwards. You grunt, anger flooding your system, released after months of torment from Professor Umbridge. “Let go of me, Draco. Let go!”

     “Stop,” he hisses in your ear. “Look, the damage has been done, alright? There’s nothing either of us can do now-”

    “I’m telling Dumbledore,” you exclaim. “He can’t just let this continue. Malfoy, let go of me!”

    He tugs you even closer to his chest. “You’re acting out.”

    “Oh, I’ll show you what acting out looks like-”

    “Please.”

  It’s that word coming from his mouth that floors you. Your body goes limp. You collapse against his chest, your head dropping, like all the energy you once possessed has been sapped from your bones all because of Draco’s voice whispering that oh-so-fragile word in your ear.

    He gently spins you around to look at him, taking you by surprise when he cups your face and tilts your head back and forth, giving you a little smile that does not reach his eyes but makes your heart clench nonetheless. 

   “Don’t ask me to ignore this,” you mumble. “This is . . . This is just. . . “

    His thumb traces your lower lip; it’s no longer just a casual gesture between friends. Even you - in all your denial - are able to notice this; the way he’s looking at you, the affectionate way he trails his circular nail against your lower lip. There’s no way it’s friendly.

    “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he replies softly. “I know what kind of temper you’ve got on you, Weasley. It’s much better if I take Umbridge’s punishment than you, or else god knows what’ll end up happening to that poor woman.”

    “Poor woman.” You reach down, winding your fingers through his. “How many more detentions have you got with her?”

    “One,” he replies, running his thumb along the back of your hand. At the raise of your brow, he rolls his eyes and says, “It’s not too bad, Y/N, honestly. I’m braver than you seem to think I am.”

  “You’re a wimp, Malfoy. You probably go back to your dorm and cry after every single one.”

    He scowls. “I’m always so close to giving you a detention.” He leans forward, lowers his voice. “Detention in the library, Weasley.”

    His tone of voice startles you. It’s reflex when you jump back, taking your hand from his and stuffing it inside the deep pockets of your robe, awkwardly coughing into your shoulder. Draco continues to stare, one eyebrow raised, a tiny hint of a smile playing on his face. It’s that same smile that, once upon a time, would have made you want to draw back and punch him, but now does nothing more than make your stomach erupt into butterflies.

     “I have to go,” you say hastily. “I was meant to call Bill a few minutes ago to let him know about all that family drama - you know the stuff with Percy? What a git. Still very mad at him.” You glance over your shoulder. “Uh, so I’ll see you around, yeah? Nice talking.”

    Draco simply nods. You spin on your heel and dart in the opposite direction, heart hammering at a million miles per hour.

   And you’re not bloody stupid - you can recognise flirting when it’s shoved in your face like that. The hand-holding was innocent at first - at least, you thought it was. Yes, it gave you butterflies to feel his skin pressed against your own, and yes, his eyes make your heart melt every time you look into them, but none of that truly means anything at the end of the day.

    However, his tone of voice when giving you a detention was - quite simply - past the point of dishing out a simple punishment, and those are boundaries breached that have been up between you and Malfoy for as long as you can remember.

    You’re not sure whether you want them breached or not.

    ---- 

     Once again, you can’t sleep that night.

   It’s not a migraine keeping you awake this time. It’s not the stress of homework, the dread of seeing an disliked teacher the next day; tonight, sleep evades you because you can’t stop thinking of Draco Malfoy sitting gloomily in Umbridge’s classroom right this very moment, being tormented with a pain he does not deserve, a pain inflicted upon him because he took the fall for a rule you broke.

     You tell yourself that’s the reason you’re getting out of bed; you want to make things right. You’ll go down to Umbridge’s classroom and you’ll tell her the truth, and then you and Malfoy can pretend none of this ever happened. You can go back to insulting each other. You can go back to disliking each other.

     You pull your dressing gown on, quickly check the Marauders Map and head out, ignoring Hermione’s exhausted grunt of “Goodnight” when you pass her in the common room. You double check for Filch or Umbridge herself before heading straight to her classroom, not caring about the noise, or Peeves souring about you, crying out, “Where’s the fire? Where’s the fire?” 

     You reach Umbridge’s door and wrack your knuckles against it. It only takes seconds for the door to swing open and for Umbridge herself to be stood in front of you, her eyes widening.

    “Weasley,” she says, voice high with surprise. “What on earth are you doing here?”

    Malfoy’s own voice drifts from behind Umbridge. “Weasley? Please tell me it’s one of the twins, o-or-”

    “You shouldn’t be out of bed at this time, Y/N,” Umbridge exclaims. “I’m holding a detention right now. Whatever you want to inquire about can surely wait until-”

    “You are one evil little toad, aren’t you?”

    You don’t even know where it came from.

     That wasn’t what you planned on saying at all. You’d approached her door tonight with the intention of telling her it was you roaming the hallways of your own accord the other night; Malfoy had nothing to do with that decision and he has no reason to be sat in her grubby little classroom right now.

    But looking down at her, hearing Malfoy’s voice, knowing what she was doing to him behind closed doors - something just erupts, and you can’t hold it back, and suddenly you’re pushing past her into the classroom where Malfoy sits, straight backed and gaping.

     “Y/N-”

  You march towards him. “Let me see your hand.”

   “What do you-” 

   You snatch his hand up and gaze at the fresh cut scored into the back of it. A fresh surge of anger spears itself through your chest, and suddenly you don’t care about expulsion, or Umbridge’s wrath, or prison - you just want her to pay. You want her to feel pain like the kind she is inflicting upon Malfoy right now. You want her to feel shame for what she’s-

    Draco flips his hand around in your own, grabbing your fingers before you can whirl around and jinx the teacher standing dumbfounded behind you. Your eyes snap to his own, breath leaving you in one clean swoop when you see that foggy essence covering his irises; a silent warning for you to not do anything stupid right now.

    “Draco…,” you whisper.

   He just nods. You don’t know what he’s nodding at, what he means by it, don’t even know if he really knows why he’s doing it, but it creates a sense of calm in your system. You bite your lower lip, trembling slightly as you turn back to Umbridge and say, “Draco didn’t make me leave the Gryffindor dorms the other night.”

  His grip tightens on your hand. “Professor, they’re lying. I told them-”

    “I had a migraine,” you reply. “I leave the dorms all the time to go roaming the hallway - Draco just came across me that night and took the blame. Why, I have no idea.” You shoot him a glare. He glares right back. “But it should be me in here getting them words carved into the back of my hand. Not him.”

    Umbridge’s nostrils flare, truly angry right now, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Draco is running his thumb along the inside of your wrist, this small reminder of his presence being enough to keep you from pulling your wand out and pointing it at Umbridge right this second.

    She flicks her eyes between you and Draco, clearly trying to calm her breathing. You’ve never seen her so angry; part of Umbridge’s “charm” is her ability to say the most hurtful, terrible things in a completely sweet and innocent tone. It’s one of the reasons you hate her so deeply.

    “This is. . . This is . . . unbelievable.” She pulls her wand out. Draco freezes. You closely follow her movements. “Never in my thirteen years of teaching have I come across a Prefect who would lie to clearly to my face.”

    “He was lying for me,” you bark, stepping in front of Draco. “I’m the one who deserves the punishment, okay? Keep him out of this.”

    “DON’T talk to me like that, Weasley, do you understand me?” She thrusts her wand towards you, gritting her teeth. “This is unacceptable. You must think you can get away with everything, do you? Well, not whilst I’m here.”

     She marches past you, snatches the pen from Draco’s hand and flicks her wand; she says nothing, but you can clearly see something shift within the pen. It sparkles a little differently, and when she presses it against the page and starts writing, it’s not her own hand that feels the effects of the spell - it’s yours.

    A sharp pain suddenly sinks into the back of your hand. You gasp, more from surprise than the pain, but the pain sinks in shortly after. Draco stands up immediately, head flicking back and forth as he tries to figure out what’s happening.

     And then he growls, pulls his wand out and yells, “Expellirmus!”

    “Draco, no!”

    Umbridge’s hand snaps backwards so fast you’re almost certain her shoulder has dislocated. She cries out, stumbling back as the pen goes flying through the air, crashes into the wall behind her and splits right down the middle. Ink dribbles down the wall, burning a trail in the paint.

     Draco pants. “Touch Weasley again, Professor, and I’ll have my father in here quicker than you can blink.”

    Umbridge stares. No words. No retort. No decree to pass. She simply stares, and as if the mention of Lucius Malfoy has paralysed her, she does not make a single move. You stand behind Draco, watching the unusual scene unfold until Draco finally snaps, stows his wand back beneath his cloak and grabs your hand instead. He drags you from the classroom, still breathing heavily, cheeks still flushed with adrenaline.

    As soon as you’re both far enough away from Umbridge’s classroom, he pushes you into a side alley and lifts your hand to his face. “Does it hurt?”     “What just happened?”

   “Y/N, does it hurt?”

  “It’s okay.” You glance down at the words carved there: Blood traitor. “She could have been a bit more original.”

    Draco groans, and before you can register what he’s going to do, he’s leaned forward and is pressing his lips to yours. 

    You’re confused and your hand hurts and you still have no idea what you have just witnessed, but there’s something in the way Draco’s mouth fits perfectly against your own that stops you caring for a second. You melt into him, wanting to cry and scream at the same time as the exhaustion and the nights events overtake you, but Draco’s arms around you keep you from completely buckling.

     He pulls away and presses his forehead against your own. “You are the stupidest git I have ever had the pleasure of interacting with, Y/N Weasley.”

    You close your eyes. “Go to hell, Malfoy.” And then you kiss him again, because you can.

   ----

    “I am in love with Y/N.”

    Ron blinks. You keep a close eye on him, one hand placed in Draco’s, the other gripping your wand in case you have to zap Ron backwards last minute.

    Despite Draco’s previous insistance that he doesn’t care what Ron thinks, his palm is sweaty and his cheeks are bright red. He stands straight backed, as if he’s addressing some member of the Ministry, and he’s talking with a formal little lilt that makes you want to laugh.

    Ron’s eyes flick between you and Draco, waiting for a punchline he will not be receiving.

    Carefully, you say, “And I am in love with Draco.”

   Ron’s shoulders slump forward. “So that’s it then? I owe Ginny a fiver?”   It takes a minute for his words to settle. When they do, you reel back like you’ve been slapped. “What?”

   “You two couldn’t have held it off for a little bit longer, could you? At least till after Christmas, for Christs sake.” He shakes his head, stands up and fishes five galleons from his back pocket. “That’s my lunch completely ruined. I’ve only got enough for three chocolate frogs out of the vending machine, and they won’t keep me full through Divination, will they?”

   Draco tilts his head. “Is this serious?”

    Ron points a finger in Draco’s direction. “Whilst we’re on the topic, yeah, you don’t mess about with Y/N, alright? I don’t want to have to comfort another one of my family members; Mum’s enough as it is.”

    “So you’re alright with it?” you say, stepping a little closer to Malfoy; despite having claimed that nothing between you and Draco will change if Ron has a sour attitude, you still stood a little bit away from him just to give Ron the chance to ease into the news. 

     Ron shrugs. “Obviously I’d prefer someone else for you, but I’ve seen how happy this git makes you.” He points in Draco’s direction. “I don’t get it, personally, but that’s none of my business.”

     “You’re right there,” you say, before softening your voice and giving Ron a smile. “Thanks, Ron. I appreciate it.”

    Ron scoffs. “If you really appreciated it, you’d buy me lunch.”

   “No. Get some sweets off Fred and George.”

  Ron looks at you like you have two heads. “And risk suffocating? I don’t think so. I’ll starve, thank you very much.”

[birdwonder]

headcanon the joestars on how they would react to an artist s/o like always painting, drawing and giving them like a painting of them they worked on?? thank u 💕

|| I don’t do part 5 or further requests yet, and I’m taking Joestars as in the Jojo’s, but I think I know Giorno somewhat enough to throw him in ! Also, cuuute request.

Part 1-5 Jojo’s | Artist S/O Headcanons 

Jonathan Joestar

- As one would expect, he is incredibly supportive of your talent! All of your family/couple portraits are hung up in the hallways and even a few landscape ones too to keep things looking lively. His favourite above all favourites would go above the fire place however, which is probably a painting of the two of you that you had gifted him on your anniversary.

- He cherishes it more than most possessions he owns, and when he’s warming up by the crackling flames, he can’t help but smile at it. That’s your hard work and your effort up there, and any house guests will know it as soon as he shows it to them. 

- Honestly, he doesn’t want to request anything from you as he feels as though anything that you gift him that comes from your mind and heart alone is far more valuable to him. Besides, he wouldn’t really know what to ask for aside from another portrait of you to hang somewhere that wasn’t taken up.

- During the spring and summer seasons, you take the time to set up an easel, canvas and paint set in the garden to have some fresh air and gather new inspiration. Even if you haven’t even gotten far into the piece, Jonathan will eventually come out the house with two cups of tea and stand behind you, bending down to lightly kiss your temple as he’s afraid anything more passionate would interrupt your creative process or cause your finger to slip. He would then ask for you to take a break and sit with him at a table to enjoy the view together, so the two of you can talk about your future painting plans and how his studies in archeology are going. Mutual respect for each other’s interests is an essential ingredient in any relationship.

- “Oh, look at your hands! No matter, we’ll just have to wash them once we’re inside,” is something he says before you realise that a tea cup you were holding had been smudged with a variety of green’s and blue’s from your fingertips. You apologise profusely in which he shakes his head at with a chuckle. “It’s alright, my love. I think it makes them look far more unique now! No china set in the world could look like this.”

- Skip 100 years into the future and your paintings may be in a gallery with a small “to Jonathan” written in the corner.

Joseph Joestar

- Definition of “Paint me like one of your french girls.~”

- Definitely suggests a nude painting of him. Or you. Or the two of you together, whether it be a joke or he’s somewhat serious.

- He’s amazed by your talent! Including your patience. He probably wouldn’t be able to sit still for long enough to even paint an abstract tree, so he has nothing but respect for your artistry. 

-If you were to ever gift him a drawing, he’d be stunned. Does he even deserve to own one of your pieces? Was this a declaration of love? Because he’s accepting it with a hard kiss to your lips and a string of ‘thank you’’s and compliments.

- One day, you had a serious artist block and had no idea what to paint leaving you stumped and staring at a blank canvas in despair. The lack of spark in your eyes that you usually had when painting hurt Joseph, so as a foolish attempt to help, he grabbed a bottle of one of your haunts and squirted it all over his hand.

- You gasped in response, about to scold him on the price of the paints when he suddenly slapped it smack middle of the canvas. “Joseph! Those cost a lot!”

- “Yeah but it’s fun! C’mon try it! Get your creative juices flowing or whatever you art folk say!” Taking your hand, he squirted a different colour onto it which made you giggle cutely as the cold sensation. He then guided it next to his bright hand print, pressing your palm down.

- It looked adorable and gave you an idea.

- With a smile, and a promise from Joseph that he’d buy you more paint later, the two of began to spread more paints onto your hands and continued to cover the canvas mindlessly with your prints.

- By the end of it, the two of who are laughing and even smearing paint on each other’s faces, leading to some squeals and hilarious facial features. 

- Sure, it wasn’t want you had initially wanted to go for, but with a carefully painted on “Joseph and [F/N]” written underneath the first two handprints that were made, you knew that the sentimental value of the piece was far greater than anything else you could have made.

Jotaro Kujo

- He has no reason to be against your talent and doesn’t have enough words and facial expressions to his name to show how impressed he is with you.

- Though that slightly changes when you hand him your sketch book one day, a bashful look on your face as you fear for the worst reaction from him.

- Inside are a multitude of sketches and even fine lined pieces of him, some with and without Star Platinum if you can see him, all carefully and accurately drawn in your own style. You even remembered to add the pin on his hat and his earrings...

- Jotaro could only blush brightly and cough into his hand to compose himself. “It’s good... I like it.” An understatement really, because if you let him keep even a page, he’ll be sure to keep it safe somewhere but no where obvious so his mother or grandfather don’t tease him for it. 

- If you ask him to pose for anything, he’ll want to decline and might even do so the first few times, though with some begging he may do some poses in your home, with the assurance that no one will barge in. Only casual ones though, so he doesn’t have to strain or embarrass himself.

- Buying presents for you is considerably easy as there’s always some sort of pen or paint set he can get to add to your wide range of media, all of which you are grateful for and gush over even though you tell him that buying them is unnecessary.

- “Have you considered doing an art major?” If you say yes, he supports you completely but warns you of the stresses and the harsh reality of the art world when it came to work.

Josuke Higashikata

- Ooh, is he going to show you off.

- “Yo Rohan Sensei! Sure you can draw that manga of your’s but can you draw THIS?”

- He might get killed or have his destiny rewritten by a certain stand user, but he knows it’s worth it when it comes to you. Have you seen your own art? It’s incredible !

- Most likely, he finds out by seeing you doodle in class and his jaw completely drops that your maths work sheet was instead covered in drawings of amazing bodies and plant life. If you insist that they’re nothing and “they’re just sketches,” he will personally shake you senseless and talk your ear off telling you that they are amazing. 

- Gifting him any kind of artistic media makes him overjoyed. Josuke shoves it in Okuyasu’s face, much to the delinquent’s dismay, and hugs you to death for the gift. “Aw babe, you really didn’t have to!”

- If you’re ever stressing over the quality of your work, he reminds you that you are amazing at what you do and that everyone has their own style, so that comparing yourself to others just wasn’t fair on you. 

- He plays a personal game where each day he tries to guess how much pen or paint you have your hand by the end of the day. Usually on weekends, it’s a lot more.

Giorno Giovanna 

- There’s a good chance that you met because of your work.

- You’re in a particularly beautiful Italian city, either sitting on a stool or ledge with a canvas or book in front of you, your hand working away at the landscape before you.

- While he was on a relaxing stroll, Giorno stopped behind you and peered over your shoulder, his breath taken away by how accurate your piece was to every exact detail.

- “Bellissimo...” He whispered, causing you to jolt a little and quickly turn around to look at him, a flushed or embarrassed look on your face. Oh, you’re cute.

- Right after he apologised for startling you and praises you for your work, which only flusters you more that such a handsome boy was complimenting you, you offered for him to sit next to you. Perhaps for you to even draw him?

- He doesn’t refuse.

- Once you’re dating, he takes you wherever you want whenever he can so you can draw the scenery, and shows you more gorgeous places to draw and even suggests what sort of people to draw. He also supports you doing something out of your comfort zone, for example if you typically liked to only sketch, he’d suggest for you to paint or use chalk in another style to see if it improves your skill as a whole.

- When he’s a don, he asks for you to paint or draw him so that he can hang it somewhere in an expensive frame to make his work place appear more serious and clear that he was the boss.

- If you do so, he thanks you a hundred times and buys you anything you want and as much as you want. Giorno also makes sure to repay you physically with a night out and kisses with a goodnight cuddle. 

- He might keep a small sketch of the two of you in his inside jacket pocket or draw so that every time he took it out during work, he’d be reminded of you and how you met, which motivated him to get the job done quick so he could go home to see you.

[sussex-nature-lover]

Saturday 26 February 2022

I don’t think I need to say any more on that score do I, except perhaps a gentle reminder to only believe or circulate news of conflict if you’ve verified the source, and to offer support, if you can, to charities which work right at the heart of suffering.

At home, after last week’s storms it’s so peaceful here, which in itself is something to be massively grateful for, and our resident garden-guest, Inspector Pritchard, is certainly enjoying himself showing off his new adult plumage. 

I’ve said it before, he’s such a handsome chap and even on the dullest days his presence and his jewelled colours bring a warm smile to my face.

People say what a noisy nuisance peacocks can be, but he’s a quiet one. We heard him one day this week and it took us a bit by surprise as he’s usually silent, even when he approaches us for a bit of company and the chance of a treat.

My treat this week has been to pick a few flowers which had been dashed by the heavy rains. The narcissus is, I think, a variety called ‘Fortune’ 

Snowdrop

The beautiful Galanthus Flore Pleno is the double flowering form of nivalis.

Gardeners’ World Link

Umbrella shaped little white flowers, full of intricate green patterns on the underside.

Ours are set into the lawn down in the wild patch and I absolutely love them. I’d like to have some in the beds as well.

My other late winter/very early spring flower favourite is the gorgeous Hellebore. Thinking back, I actually had some in my wedding bouquet, the charmingly named Stinking Hellebore - fortunately its fragrance is only released when the leaves are crushed! The wedding flowers were white, cream and very delicate yellow with lots of greenery and these added a little note of something very different.

The leaves of my garden plant aren’t doing too well this year, but it’s a good size. flowering abundantly and the blooms are just beautiful.

Helleborus Orientalis White Spotted from the garden

I suppose my only criticism of the one I have is that the heavy flower heads face downwards. I’d love a collection of different varieties, some of them standing proud. The whites, creams, dusky pinks through to dark aubergine colours fit my scheme perfectly and the greens, soft lemon and bright, bright yellows would go beautifully in a hot themed flower bed.

We’ve kept looking after our garden birds all through the bad weather and been rewarded with high numbers of visitors, including more and more long tailed tits - which are always a welcome sight. There’ve been some challenges amongst the male robins and blackbirds and I’ve noticed that the woodpeckers have been drumming at trees in the woods and visiting the feeders in a pair. Here’s one from this morning, seen through the kitchen window.

Great Spotted Woodpecker

acrobatics at the feeder

As I type, Pritchard is one the prowl, we have three squirrels set to demolish the ground seed trays, two female pheasants, two collared doves, two magpies, a few blue and great tits , a couple of robins, a single dunnock, loads of sparrows and quite a number of wood pigeons at the end of the garden. They’ve all come to feed because we were outside trying to tidy up earlier and I did a little bit of digging too, I think that put them off spending too much time around the feeders even though I didn’t pay them any attention. 

There’s still so much more to do in the garden, but steady and surely should make a difference.

NOTES FROM THE KITCHEN:

I haven’t done this for ages, tonight we’re having cottage pie, carrots and green beans. Yum.

Here’s to better times for those caught up in violence and conflict

[elliestormfound]

A force of nature

read on ao3

Geralt looked up from his dinner to Jaskier, who had just sprung up from the chair, “leaving already? You haven’t even finished your dinner.”

“Ah, you know me,” the bard replied, fumbling with the buttons of his light blue doublet. A moment ago they heard the subtle rumbling of thunder from far away. 

“Still afraid of thunderstorms,” the witcher concluded with a smirk, head tilted. 

They had arrived half an hour ago in the little village and had been glad to find an inn, which wasn’t a given for a settlement this small. Because of a successful contract for Geralt a few days ago and Jasikier playing in front of a generous crowd in the last town, they had enough coin between them for two separate rooms. 

Geralt wanted initially to camp a few hours outside of the village but Jaskier insisted on continuing because of the coming rain he could feel in his bones. The witcher, who had been on the path way longer, had been sure that there would be no rain tonight but to his surprise the first drops started falling as they entered the outskirts of the village as the last light of the day died.  

“Oh yes,” the bard replied, “terribly afraid, I’m going to hide in my bed.”

He turned around and made his way up the stairs towards his room. Geralt shook his head and finished both his and Jaskier’s stew, stowing away the bread as provisions for tomorrow.

He had always found it odd that Jasker, an adult man that had not been afraid to chat up a full grown witcher in a dirty tavern in Posada and followed him, watching him fight monsters normal humans had nightmares about, was afraid of thunderstorms. But always when they found themselves in hearing distance of one the bard hid away in his room, not to be seen again till the morning. 

Half an hour and an ale later Geralt also went up to his room. From the increased volume of the thunder he could tell that the storm was rapidly approaching - the rhythmic beating of the raindrops on the roof growing louder and louder. He thought about checking up on Jaskier, but shook his head, not wanting to embarrass the younger man by showing concern. 

He set down in front of the small fireplace, finding a comfortable position and let himself slip into a meditative state. He had felt too restless to go to bed already and sometimes meditation could calm his mind. 

After a while Geralt felt relaxed and warm. His thoughts drifted by, without him dwelling on them, like water on a mill, the soft clacking of the mill wheel quiet in the background, the sound of dripping water and crackling fire wrapping around him like a warm blanket. His mind expanded from his body and became pleasantly empty, spreading it’s wings and flying over the silent landscape as if it was flying home. 

From time to time more thoughts came, Jaskier singing his newest song, the worn straps on Roach’s saddle needed replacing… but he guided them to the water mill so he could stay a while longer in this warm and soft place…

But the clacking of the mill grew louder and… irregular. Geralt drifted up to full conscience again, back to the hard wooden floor he was kneeling on and shook his head. He could still hear the clacking, but it was not a watermill. He stood up and turned his head slowly. It sounded like window shutters came loose in the storm. 

And it seemed to come from Jaskier’s room. He furrowed his brows. Why didn’t Jaskier fasten the shutters?

-----

Geralt was outside the inn in an instant, throwing on his armour and swords and a few potions in his pockets after he had found Jaskier’s room vacated. The windows had been blown open and it was raining on the empty bed. 

He ran to the other side of the building where their windows were facing. The barmaid had shook her head at his barked question if she had seen the bard walking out. 

Jaskier wouldn’t leave his room during the thunderstorm and even though he was prone to the occasional stupidity, Geralt was sure Jaskier would not jump out of a window in the middle of one. There wasn’t a brothel or really anything else that could have lured him out in this weather. Could someone or something have kidnapped him - right under Geralt’s nose and snatched him through the window?

Geralt was shaking his head. By now it was raining hard and the ground was wet and muddy. Despite his heightened senses he couldn’t make out any footprints. Remembering the innkeeper telling him that the occasional foglets roamed their woods, small humanoid creatures with razor sharp claws and the ability to cloak themselves in fog, his heart started to beat faster with concern. The ugly little fuckers loved thunderstorms but he had never heard of them kidnapping bards.

“Jaskier?” he shouted, “Jaskier, where are you?” The rain had washed away any trace of scent so he frantically looked around for any other clues.

Something light blue caught his eyes further away through the trees and he ran towards it. It was a piece of Jaskier’s doublet, caught on a low hanging branch. Geralt ripped the piece of cloth off and started to run further into the forest. Now he was sure that Jaskier was not out here of his own free will and his heart started hammering even faster.

The storm was right overhead by now and he could feel the charge in the air. The rain was beating down mercilessly and he flinched when a lighting bolt shot down just a few dozen meters before him with a loud bang and a blinding flash of light. He had to stop and shake his head and after a moment picked up running again. 

Geralt could see another shimmer of blue between the trees and this time it was the rest of Jaskier’s doublet. Geralt pressed it to his face, inhaling his friend's scent. To his surprise and relief he could smell no fear but there was… something else, something like hot summer air and a cold fireplace. He started running again. 

And then there was something...someone? between the trees ahead of him. A white shadow and it looked like it was...dancing? Geralt stopped and silently approached the tree line to a clearing and in the middle of it stood a person with their back to Geralt, surrounded by waving clouds of fog, swaying as if to music Geralt couldn’t hear. 

Geralt tried to focus his eyes but he had a hard time to get a clear picture. The air was charged and crackling as if the next lighting strike wasn’t far off. He could see other humanoid forms drifting in the mist - foglets. They were moving around the person in the middle like a grotesque caricature of maidens dancing around a maypole. 

Geralt felt the crackling in the air increase and silently sneaked closer to the person. 

Weirdly Geralt was troubled about the detail that he couldn’t make out the colour of the shirt the person was wearing. It seemed to change from dark to light, but that was not possible.

When he was only a few meters away he could hear a rumbling noise. And then a thunderbolt leaped from the sky right down towards them. Geralt’s heart stopped and he stumbled backwards. But the person stretched their hands up in the air. And with a movement so quick even Geralt had difficulties tracing it, grabbed the searing light, knelt down and pressed their hands to the ground, guiding the lighting into the muddy soil. A loud thunder crashed like a wave toward the witcher and made him trip and fall on is butt.

He shook his head again, the air clearer now. It was still raining and the mist hung in the air. But before he could get up the person turned around and leaped at him, pinning the witcher down to the muddy floor. Geralt’s breath caught in his throat. 

It was Jaskier.

And somehow at the same time he didn’t look like himself. He was sopping wet, rain dripping from his hair onto Geralt’s face. And his eyes...the blue of his eyes, normally a rich cornflower shade, were so bright that they were nearly white, shining in the darkness. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt asked and the bard inhaled sharply, the wild expression in his eyes slowly turning to recognition.

Deliberately slow Geralt lifted his right hand to the bard’s face.

“Jaskier, it’s me, Geralt,” he said in a calm voice.

Before his hand touched Jaskier’s face, the bard said in a voice as deep as thunder, “careful.” It didn’t sound like a thread and when Geralt’s hand finally touched the wet but warm cheek he felt a prickling that vanished quickly.

Jaskier didn’t look tired or scared. He looked alive, brimming with energy and there was a powerful aura around him. 

“Jaskier, how...what was that...are you…” Geralt stumbled.

“Okay?” the bard asked, his voice still deeper than usual but a bit more...human?..., “yes, I’m okay.” He tilted his head slightly and watched the witcher with his uncanny bright eyes. Then he leaned back and stood up, watching the witcher for a moment longer before he made a few steps back, giving Geralt room to stand up. 

“What just happened?” Geralt asked, “Jaskier, who...what are you? Have you been cursed?”

Geralt had now a clearer view on the bard. He was paler than usual, hair wet and disheveled, his fingers were back with soot and earth and he had smeared a bit on his face and lips, staining them black. The bard grinned wickedly, bowed low and said, “I am and will always be Jaskier, your humble bard.”

Geralt stayed silent and Jaskier sighed as he stood upright once more, “I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he gestured vaguely to his face and body.

“What are you?” Geralt repeated through his teeth, “have you been cursed?”

The bard laughed again, low and rumbling, “no, this is just some part of me I have never shown you, my dear witcher, but it has always been there.” Jaskier smiled sheepishly as he looked at him.

“My medallion,” Geralt said, grabbing the wolf medallion sitting on his chest, “why did it never hum in your presence? You even touched it and it stayed silent.”

Jaskier raised his eyebrows and said thoughtfully, “because I am not magic, Geralt, you could say that I am a...force of nature.”

“Hmmm,” the witcher replied, “so you were never actually afraid of thunderstorms?” 

Jaskier smiled once more and shook his head.

“Are you,” Geralt said slowly, “some kind of minor god?”

“Oh my dear witcher,” Jaskier said with a laugh, “don’t let my father hear that. He always said I was a freak, a monstrosity brought to him as punishment for his sins.”

The witcher whirled around suddenly as he heard a splash in the distance and with a smooth practised movement drew out his sword, “what was that? Another foglet?”

“No,” Jaskier said from behind him, “they hid from the lightning and won’t come out for a while.”

Geralt started to move around, trying to locate whatever had made the sound.

“Why didn’t the foglets attack you earlier?” he asked. 

“To be honest,” Jaskier said, “I don’t know. They never attacked, they just like to...hmmm...dance with me.” Geralt turned around to look at him again, “so I actually did see you dance?”

He heard Jaskier laugh his rumbling thunder laugh and at the same moment muddy water flew towards him, but he could duck out of the way at the last moment.

“Shit, this is a water hag, do they like you too?” Geralt called to the bard. 

“No, no friendly bond with these foul creatures!”

“Any more lightning coming soon?” Geralt asked, slowly stepping towards Jaskier, sword still in hand. 

“No, not enough...charge in the air for a full bolt,” he replied. Geralt grabbed a vial of cat potion and downed it. With the clouds covering the moon and and the rain beating down it had gotten very dark and he needed every advantage to combat the hag. After a moment his pupils had blown wide, the golden irises nearly invisible, turning his eyes black. 

“Get behind me,” Geralt called, but Jaskier laughed and said, “I am not defenceless, dear witcher.” He heard Jaskier stepping behind him and felt his back softly press against his. “Close your eyes when I tell you to,” Jaskier said quietly. A moment later a large humanoid form came running towards them, screaming a high pitched screech. Geralt made the aard sign and sent a wall of air towards it, but the hag sidestepped it.

“Let it come near,” Jaskier shouted, “trap it with yrden.” When the hag was just a few meters away, Geralt did as he was asked and when Jaskier shouted, “eyes!” Geralt closed his eyes. He heard Jaskier step forward, heard a zap and he could see a flash of bright light behind his eyelids. A splash made him open his eyes and Geralt saw the hag’s lifeless body laying in the mud, Jaskier standing above it, panting. 

“Is it dead?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier carefully tipped his foot against the limp body of the hag and nodded to Geralt. A moment later he trembled, stumbling back into the witcher, who caught him around the waist. 

“Jaskier, everything okay?”

He felt the bard’s labored breathing and rapid heartbeat. “I’m just...a bit drained,” he said, voice sounding hollow, “took more energy than I thought...gotta lay down for a while.” 

Jaskier slumped forward, so Geralt turned him around, grip tightening and threw him over his shoulder. He could hear a quiet huff from the bard but nothing more. 

So they made their way back to the inn.

Because the bard’s bed had been drenched from the rain coming through the open window, Geralt took him to his own room. He stripped him of his wet clothes, laid him on the bed and wrapped the warm blanket around him. After he himself had changed from wet to dry clothes he placed the wooden chair next to the bed, sat down and looked at his bard. His cheeks had gained back a bit more color and he looked less...otherworldly, more like himself again. A moment later Jaskier blinked his eyes open and they stared at each other in silence.

“Do you feel better?” Geralt finally asked.

Jaskier nodded and said, “but I am a bit cold.”

Geralt stood up, saying, “I can throw a few more logs on the fire.”

Jaskier’s hand shot out from under the blanket and grabbed Geralt’s, “no,” his voice sounded thin and tired, unusually unsure, “will you lay in bed with me, keep me warm?” 

Geralt blinked, nodded and stood up. He undressed down to his undergarments, Jaskier made room so Geralt could slip under the cover. The shivering bard moved closer, till he was pressed to the witcher’s warm body, laying his head on Geralt’s chest. The witcher wrapped his right arm loosely around him. 

They lay like this for a while and as Geralt started to drift off to sleep he heard Jaskier whisper, “you aren’t afraid of me?” 

Geralt shook his head but asked, “should I be?”

“No,” the bard whispered. 

“You will not...zap me with a lightning strike in my sleep?” Geralt asked with a grin. 

Jaskier pressed his face in his chest, smiling, “no, you oaf.”

“Good,” the witcher replied, “sleep now, we will talk tomorrow.” He could feel Jaskier exhale slowly and after a while drifting off to sleep. Geralt had so many questions, but they could wait for tomorrow. Tonight he was just glad to have his bard back by his side and placed a careful kiss on the top of Jaskier’s head.

--------

@innocentcinnamonpun was so wonderful to ask me if I wanted to write a fic based off of this breathtaking artwork of @phoenixandjacob (Here, here and here) (look at the art, it is just beautiful!)

So this fic is dedicated to @innocentcinnamonpun and @phoenixandjacob !

It was challenging for me to actually write something inspired by these beautiful pictures, but in a positive way! Getting requests/prompts challenge me to write something I would never have come up with all on my own! I hope you like this fic! Let me know what you think! Thank you again for the request!

Footnote one: We have this old folk song in germany about a water mill clacking and a miller grinding his corn (Es klappert die Mühle am rauschenden Bach), so for a lot of german speakers the image of a water mill would probably come to mind in association with rhythmic clacking sounds. That is why I used this image in Geralt’s meditation, but was not sure if english speakers could be confused by this, so here is the explanation :D adding @katzensachen for another Ohrwurm of Es klappert die Mühle.... :D and @jaskierswolf for her thoughts on this (thanks again!)

Footnote two: Also in the meditation, I wrote “His mind expanded from his body and became pleasantly empty, spreading it’s wings and flying over the silent landscape as if it was flying home” which is loosely based on the last verse of the german poem “Mondnacht” from Joseph von Eichendorff, here is a link to it.

@norationalthoughtrequired I managed to include a tender touch to the cheek and a kiss to the head :D

[smalltragedy]

* natalia dyer, nonbinary + she/they | you know philomena carmichael, right? they’re twenty-one, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, a day? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to oo-de-lally by roger miller like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole wind whipping around your hair, the gentleness of decomposition, a naked blur dancing around the flames of an everlasting fire thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is april 20th, so they’re a taurus, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( james, 22, est, they/them )

hiii im back ... tentatively .. looks at u all ominously

CANCER, TRAUMA, DEPERSONALIZATION / DEREALIZATION, DEATH, GRAPHIC MENTION OF DECAY, INSECTS MENTION TW.

mini playlist.

oo-de-lally / roger miller, wonderfully bizarre / bendigo fletcher, dust in your pocket / glass animals, gecgecgec / 100 gecs, nantes / beirut, cherry-coloured funk / cocteau twins, not allowed / tv girl, space song / beach house, dog food / 100 gecs.

statistics.

full name: philomena brontë carmichael

nickname(s): philly, phil, mena, etc.

birthday: april 20th, 2000.

zodiac: taurus sun, scorpio moon, aries ascending.

temperament: improvisor / phlegmatic.

label: the halycon.

sexuality: demisexual.

pinterest.

biography.

a middle child belonging to christopher and imogen carmichael - two stanford professors. christopher specialized in british literature whilst imogen specialized in the classics. hence the name.

the order of siblings goes as such: lysander, elektra, juno, philomena, and twins orion & valora. the deal was that everybody had a greek (or in juno’s case, roman) first name and a middle name inspired by a piece of british literature circa 1800s and under. a family of nerds, if you will.

so, clearly - right off the bat, their parents are … eccentric. they’re both in love with their respected topic, and with each other, and with their kids. the carmichael family is a happy family.

they each have their own quirks and whatnot - though philly’s always been particularly dreamy - even as a child, she’d spend hours watching clouds or caterpillars or the leaves blow in the wind rather than play with other kids. she wasn’t a shy kid - she just had her own interests.

hardship doesn’t hit the family until philomena is five and starts having splitting headaches. they’re slow at first - but as soon as she’s seeing spots and unable to walk in a straight line, doctor appointments are made.

cancer tw // it doesn’t take long for them to discover the tumor, though the official diagnosis of malignant ependymoma comes a month later.

it’s grade ii but slow-moving, small enough to not be as much of a threat as worried, but big enough where removal is necessary. philomena earns a scar and brings it in for show-and-tell. for two months afterwards, philly’s at radiotherapy monday through friday.

they’re lucky - philomena’s considered cancer-free by the next year. she’s babied at first - handled delicately, as if she could break if touched - but with five other children … it doesn’t last for too long. end of cancer tw //

and life continues as normal.

her personality doesn’t shift much over the next few years - she’s awfully independent for a kid, and awfully quiet - when she speaks it’s about faeries and bigfoot, about how the sky is so blue and if you listen quietly, you can hear the leaves whisper their secrets to each other. this is not odd.

she’s close to all her siblings, but she idolizes her older sister - elektra. elektra’s six years older and dyes her hair whatever colors she wants. elektra bought a knife off a seedy guy downtown. elektra threw away all of her heels and renounced god. elektra is god. her music is loud but it’s not heavy - it’s florence and the machine.

they’re opposites - elektra’s boisterous and feels loudly, philomena’s softer and feels…less. when elektra sneaks out, philomena keeps watch. they are a duo.

philomena is smart - but she’s fifteen and hates school. hates sitting inside all day. hates the same routine - day after day - it’s all the same. her parents’ routine is the same, philly feels contained and she wants to live.

elektra’s twenty-one and just bought a brand new spanking (used but not falling apart) 19-something volkswagen … van - using her entire savings account. she says she’s tired of routine, she’s leaving the next day.

naturally, philomena stows away in the back and isn’t discovered until they’re two states away and she’s got to pee. elektra nearly crashes the van in shock.

it’s an argument - philomena vs. elektra, then them vs. their parents, then their parents vs. the school, the state - it’s an ordeal. philomena switches to an online program in the end.

it hurts christopher and imogen - lysander’s not having any of their nonsense, juno’s betrayed and alone - the twins are twins. in the end, it’s alright. the carmichael family is a happy family.

philomena and elektra take their time - it’s not a road trip, it’s their new life, permanently on the road. they stop and explore often - they do odd jobs in whatever town they settle in. they dine-n-dash, they shoplift. they survive in their own way.

during particularly desperate times, they two resorted to identity theft & credit fraud - getting away with it only by ditching the cards once they’ve made it out of state.

she drops out of high school officially when she’s seventeen - they have to drive all the way back to california to deal with the wrath of their parents and to deal with paperwork, but it’s done. philomena doesn’t know what path she wants in life - but it’s not that.

depersonalization / derealization tw // it’s during this time that the episodes occur - philomena’s outside her body, philomena’s wrapped in cotton, her memories are not her own. she’s looking in the mirror and she doesn’t recognize herself. they take shelter in a city for six months, long enough for her brand spankin’ new therapist to figure out what’s wrong with her. she’s diagnosed with depersonalization / derealization disorder - they think it’s stress. philomena doesn’t get stressed. they think it’s trauma. she laughs - she never laughs. depersonalization / derealization end of tw //

death, decay. maggots tw // there is trauma though, deep-rooted but somewhere inside - you just have to look for it.

you. just. have. to. look. for. it. look for it. look for it. look for it look for it look -

you were ten and she was thirteen, an off-trail hike in familiar woods in a familiar town, safe and familiar. it was your idea, to stray from the carved out paths, down creeks and up hills and round, and round again. you’re the one who spotted the scarf first, sticking up from the dirt and dancing in the wind like the beginning of reincarnation. it was not reincarnation, it was discovery. it was ruin. with curiosity drawn, you skidded down - with compliance, followed juno, followed your sister - clumsy in her steps and tumbling down quicker than you. you saw the corpse, but juno felt it. decaying flesh and maggot. end of death, decay, maggots tw //

and she left juno, just like that - just five years later, when juno had finally gone to the end of her wits. philly up and left. abandoned her.

philomena and elektra leave the city after that therapy session. they do not return. she’s always been good at hiding her secrets.

after ending up with warrants from their arrest in florida (after running from the law in texas), philly and elektra have wound up at irving <3 partially hiding from the law and partially bcos their trusty van’s broken down and they haven’t got the money to fix her up yet.

personality & facts.

she’s quiet but she’s confident - her voice sounds like rustling leaves, if leaves smoked a pack of cigarettes a day.

often underestimated - philly’s petite and looks like she’d fall over if a plastic bag blew too close to her. she’s independent - for the most part. elektra is the only person philly takes orders from.

has always been considered odd - weird, strange. still talks about the trees as if they’re listening, as if they’re old friends. she’s vague and doesn’t elaborate on the things she says.

believes in pretty much any superstition you throw her way. luck is very important to her. if you ask her if the earth is flat, she’ll say probably. believes strongly in bigfoot and the lochness monster. has personally seen aliens, and loves ghosts almost more than herself.

she can be amusing - whether you ‘get’ her or not, her outlook is often bright - she talks about the negatives the same way she talks about the positives. can be seen as naive or gullible, but she’s plenty smart. even if half of her education has come directly from google.

philly doesn’t laugh. a smile, yes - often, in fact - not always reaching her ears, or bearing teeth - but these are not indicators of her happiness. philly is consistently content. she thinks many things are funny - she still will not laugh.

her voice is often monotonous - she doesn’t sound dreary, she sounds far-away. her voice carries. her emotions are often unknown to others.

is apathetic in most situations. she’s hard to bother - she’s incredibly patient and enjoys the company of most - tolerates them at the very least. it’s hard for her to express her emotions, because she feels them so little that it’s very nearly not worth it. her affection is not verbal - it’s small touches and gestures of kindness, love in her own way.

is a fan of knock-knock jokes and bad puns. she won’t crack a smile while telling you them, nor does she expect you to laugh. she just enjoys them.

she owns a motorola razr covered in puffy stickers - hasn’t ever had a smartphone. she’s a fan of emoticons. her favorite is :o)

has a lot of bruises and scratches and scars - she’s often getting herself into pickles. there are always, at the very minimum, three bandaids on each hand.

she has insomnia, so she’s awake often. is often seen wandering town - even when she shouldn’t be, even when it might be dangerous. her intuition is delayed. when she does sleep - her dreams are vivid and fantastical.

keeps a box of memories - sentimental bits and pieces she’s picked up over the last few years. there are a lot of buttons and postcards, but any teeny tiny object will do.

her style changes every week - most, if not all, of her clothes are thrifted. one week she’s baby spice and the next she’s lydia deetz. she combines pieces from different styles often - she looks like a barbie clothed by a child. she feels most comfortable like this.

will either patch-up the clothes that get too worn or reuse them in some way. sometimes donates the clothes she gets tired off - isn’t minimalistic, but she’s learned to keep only a small amount of possessions.

the only consistency is her lucky ribbon - it’s pastel yellow and silky and as thin as a shoelace. she ties it onto her outfit of the day, everyday. if she loses it, she’s lost. elektra has a matching ribbon.

has no problem with minor theft - she only takes bare minimum, puts herself and elektra first and that’s how it’s always been.

currently living in florence, their van, with her sister elektra <3 currently residing in lilac ridge.

they used to live in motels on the occasion, the cheapest room, and more often than not they’d both go home with strangers for a comfier bed and a hotter shower.

it was a common occurrence - she didn’t sleep with them - but somehow, she weaseled her way into their homes anyway. has come out mostly unscathed, on most occasions. this has been a practice ever since they’ve been on the road.

really, truly - has not slept with anybody, had her first kiss at thirteen with a frog. this doesn’t bother her. (smirks at leo)

will consume anything you put in front of her - isn’t picky.

listens to whatever they’ve picked up along the way but she likes instrumentals the best. her second favorite genre is 1990′s and 2000′s top hits. they’re nostalgic for her. third favorites? florence, of course. fleetwood mac. the bird and the bee.

loves storms - will go out in the rain and will risk her life for it.

owns a pair of roller-skates and is often skating rather than walking. unless she’s on grass - then she’s walking barefoot.

has many hobbies, and gets bored of them often. her favorite hobby is welding. she’s not certified.

also, juggling.

also, accordion.

the kind of girl who’ll do any job you give her. odd jobs are her favorite jobs. babysitting is her least favorite - but she does it anyway. has lost children before. have they ever been found? not by philly.

dyes her hair blonde often and cuts her own hair - bangs included - finds it cathartic, likes the itchiness of bleach.

everything she does is often in pursuit of feeling free, alive, and meaningful.

( like her frequent visits to the woods, late at night when the moon is high and full. it’s freeing to dance around a fire, stark naked in the cold. builds immunity )

comes and goes wherever she pleases, nothing & nobody can stop her (besides elektra).

has a certain knack for getting animals to like her. has too many ‘pet’ rats that reside with her, alongside a baby raccoon & a few crow pals. has a new animal companion everyday, but she doesn’t contain them or force them to stay.

wanted plots.

speaking through my third eye ... ;; philly is new in town n shes very strange. constantly lives in a state in which she does not exist (at least on the same plane). this is her harassing the locals. this is her slipping thru their fingertips as they attempt 2 understand her. they get close smtms bt philly jst. whisks herself away.

hollows of our eyelids ... ;; perhaps there is smbdy jst as strange as philly. i’m out here calling fr all the weirdos. lets be friends. lets hv philly n co go on adventures n discover horrible sites n uncover ancient secrets tht lie deep below irving. mayb nt tht. bt im jst saying. this is fr the dreamers. da weirdos. the jugheads. LHKDSHFSADLKGFHLSKADG fr those who also feel as if they r not real.

bills n aches n blues... ;; ya this is my call fr all negative plots. bills (catching philly be a thief and a fraud), aches (mayb heartache? unrecruited feelings or w/e theyre called?), n blues (ooooh so sad... so sad ... angst ...) obviously i am a genius. i wldnt say tht philly is here 2 make enemies bc philly doesnt care much abt ppl bt perhaps tht cld b an issue. tht she doesnt care much abt others. mayb ur muse is jst like. cn u pls care. n philly is like. i am incapable. sry. sucks.

n also ,, ;; like. anything i’ll. take anything. philly is weird lets come up w surreal plots tht verge on the edge of like. nt being correct fr this verse. suddenly theres vampires? or so they think ... smirks. anyways. shes been 2 jail n been in the circus n dances naked in the woods n hoards animals n treasures. we hv a lot to work with here obv.

[the-delta-42]

Cody & Frankie

Cody & Frankie

Cody watched as Blaster lifted a barrel off of a car. Ever since Blaster had joined their team, he’d been left behind at the Firehouse with Cody, as he was a Communications Officer, which left him paired with Cody.

“Why am I completing training exercises when I’m never going to be out in the field?” Asked Blaster, as Chase observed him.

“In the event of Cody being in danger.” Said Chase, getting stares from Blaster and Cody.

“No offense,” Started Blaster, “but Autobot City is practically a fortress, any Decepticon that is stupid enough to get too close to here is scrap.”

“You mean like the ones of the Alchemor?” Asked Chase, making Blaster go silent.

“Well, if you guys are busy,” Said Cody, getting up, “I’m going to meet Frankie.”

“Cody, I must ask you to postpone your date with Francine,” Said Chase, making Cody blush, “you may be required for the training scenarios.”

“RiGht,” Cody’s voice cracked, “First thing, I’m not dating Frankie, we’re just friends, second, you have that training dummy that can stand in for me.”

Chase and Blaster both stared at Cody, “Need we remind you of the Velgrox incident?”

“That scenario doesn’t count,” Protested Chase, “You and Francine instigated that incident.”

“Yeah, but it showed that Blaster doesn’t need to go through any more scenarios,” Said Cody, folding his arms, “He protected me just fine.”

Chase remained silent, which Cody took as his que to leave. The two Autobots watch Cody limp away.

“I think he’s still upset about Prowl.” Said Blaster, frowning.

“I thought it was just me.” Agreed Chase, as Cody disappeared from view.

C&F

Cody parked his bike outside the park, the lock activating automatically, before heading off to find Frankie. He’d usually be able to find her at the memorial statue that had been erected in the middle of the park after the Decepticon Attack two and a half years ago. Cody remembered the attack, because it was when he, truly, first met Starscream.

“Cody, over here!” Called Frankie, waving at him.

Cody smiled and started towards her, she was sitting on a bench in front of Prowl and Quickshadow’s legs. The two statues’ shadows casting a shadow of the area, Brawn and Windcharger’s Statues stood over by the lake, while Huffer, Hound and Beachcomber stood in a field of trees, bushes and flowers. The seven Autobots had been killed when Starscream led his Decepticon ‘loyalists’ against the city, it was because of those seven that no humans were harmed in the attack.

“CeCe got her first Science Fair prize,” Said Frankie, showing Cody a hologram of the nine-year-old, braces and all, holding a ribbon and her project, “It collects glitter from all surfaces, Daddy wants to see if more can be made, since, well, you know glitter.”

“Small, sticks to everything and almost impossible to remove.” Said Cody, sitting next to Frankie as Fixit rolled past, “Blurr’s gotten a new paint job.”

“Yeah, blue really suits him.” Said Frankie, as Cody pulled a hologram out of his bag, “Nearly three years.”

Cody looked up at Prowl’s statue, he couldn’t get the sight of smoke pouring out of his optics and mouth as his body slowly greyed, the resulting explosion revealed that his internals had all but melted. Prowl’s corpse had landed on Cody’s leg, resulting in the limb being amputated. The only bright thing that came from that day, in Cody’s opinion, was Arcee taking Starscream’s head off.

Cody quickly looked to the ground, before placing hologram emitter at the feet of the statues. A small Autobot symbol appeared, Ratchet had told them that placing a hologram with the faction’s symbol was the Cybertronian equivalent of placing flowers on a grave.

“Jolt’s been working with Daddy on something,” Said Frankie, from her spot next to Cody, “I think it’s related to the power spikes.”

Cody hummed, before Frankie took his hand and said, “Let’s go get something to eat.”

“Anything to keep me from Chase’s scenarios.” Said Cody, walking with Frankie, their hands still entwined.

“I’m not sure if we can keep this up,” Said Frankie, her grip on Cody’s hand tightening, “Dad only not questioning why we’re meeting up so often because he’s working with Jolt, I don’t know how he’ll react to us, you know, dating.”

“Chase came close to finding out as well,” Said Cody, sighing, “he said our date would have to be postponed. I think he and Blaster are trying a little too hard to make up for Prowl.”

“HA! I knew it!” Cried Blades, making Cody and Frankie jump, “I knew you two were dating!”

“Blades!” Hissed Cody, as everyone stared at them.

“What?” Asked Blades, before looking around, “Oh…right, sorry.”

“Blades, why are you here?” Asked Cody, his face red.

“Oh, press conference, you know, live broadcasts, Q&A, that sort of thing.” Said Blades, as Cody spotted Huxley Prescott filming them.

“Y-you said ‘live broadcast’,” Said Cody, colour slowly draining from his face, “So, everyone watching heard your outburst?”

“Yup.” Said Blades, as Frankie caught on.

“Okay, maybe they’re not watching tv?” Suggested Frankie, just as their phones went off, “Oooh, it’s my Dad.”

“Kade.” Said Cody, confused, “Hello?”

Cody suddenly pulled the phone away from his ear and winced, “Dani, why are you using Kade’s phone? Oh, that noise was you, Kade.”

Frankie nervously answered her phone, as Cody’s face went beet red, “Hi, Daddy…”

Frankie was stiff for a moment, before relaxing, “Right, thank, Dad. Love you too.” Frankie hung up, before looking at Cody, who almost seem purple.

“Kade…I don’t need you to give me the Talk again,” Said Cody, “The first time was traumatising enough. No, don’t put Dad on the phone… hey, Dad. Yes, I do know how that stuff works. No, I don’t need Chase to make a diagram. I, I don’t think that’s an appropriate question Dad. Yeah, sure. Love you too. No, don’t break out the pictures!”

Cody lowered his phone and stared at the screen, “Dad’s going to break out the baby pictures.”

“Please, as if I haven’t already seen them.” Smirked Frankie, before looking up at Blades, “Where’s Dani?”

“With Taylor,” Sighed Blades, looking dejected, before looking down at Cody and Frankie, “Wanna go flying?”

“Is energon blue?” Was Frankie’s response, before Blades Transformed and Cody and Frankie climbed into his cockpit.

“Any requests?” Asked Blades, waiting for their input.

“Somewhere private.” Said Cody, immediately.

“Somewhere private coming up.” Said Blades, as he took off.

“I’m sure that could’ve gone better.” Said Frankie, as soon as Blades arrived at a waterfall that was difficult to access from the ground.

“Yeah, Kade tried giving me the Talk, again and Dad wanted to know if we were physical and if we were protection.”

“What is it with parents and thinking their kids are interfacing?” Asked Blades, making Cody and Frankie look up at him, confused, “You know, how humans make sparklings.”

Cody and Frankie blushed and looked at the ground, “Sooo, what now?” Asked Frankie, looking at Cody.

“We wait up here for a couple of hours and then head back,” Said Cody, sitting at the water’s edge, “I don’t think Kade’s going to let up on the Talk.”

Frankie smirked playfully, “Well, you know what we could do to fill that time up?”

“Oh, what?” Grinned Cody, before Frankie pushed him in the water, only to be dragged in herself when Cody grabbed her wrist.

Both teens were laughing as they threw water at each other, Frankie tackled Cody, making the young man fall on his back with Frankie on top of him. The young woman giggled and kissed Cody, resting her forehead against his.

“I love you.” Whispered Frankie, getting comfortable on Cody’s chest.

Cody returned the kiss, “I love you too.”

Frankie buried her head in the crook of Cody’s neck, getting comfortable as the pair drifted off into sleep.

C&F

Blades glanced over at the two humans, both cuddling each other in their sleep, and checked his internal chronometer before deciding to wake the pair up.

“Guys?” Said Blades, his voice soft, “It’s time to go.”

The two teens groaned, but started to get up, both shivering as the cold started to set in.

“Next time we’re up here,” Said Frankie, looking at Cody, “We bring a change of clothes.”

Cody smiled, before climbing into Blades with Frankie. Blades took off and took them back to Autobot City, landing on top of the Firehouse. The pair were greeted by their families, Doc Greene and Chief Burns holding a set of dry clothes.

“Blades said you’d need them.” Said Chief, as the pair took the dry clothes, “But, we need to talk about you running off.”

“I’m partially to blame, Chief,” Said Blades, crouching, “I suggested that we go flying and the fact I kind of outed their relationship on live TV.”

Chief sighed, before looking at the pair again, “Come on, you’re probably hungry, but, please, get changed first.”

Cody and Frankie nodded and headed off to dry off and change, leaving their parents on the landing pad.

“They do grow up fast, don’t they?” Asked Doc Greene, as Charlie frowned.

“I just wish that Cody didn’t grow up so fast.” Said Chief, as he watched Cody and Frankie messing around with each other.

“I just hope I win the next bet.” Said Doc Greene with a small smile.

C&F

Cody fiddled with the guitar strings, as Miko showed him how to play a chord.

“You’re doing great, Cody.” Said Miko, getting Cody to smile. Frankie was discussing some science stuff with Raf, while Jack was flicking through some paperwork given to him by Fowler, “I’d say we’re almost finished with the lessons.”

“It’s nice to be with you guys,” Said Cody, leaning back in his chair, “It’s almost as if things are as, they were before the Omega Lock incident.”

“Yeah, there are times I half expect Ratchet or Arcee to walk in and ask what we’re doing.” Sighed Miko, looking out the window, “I mean it’s nice having the Autobots here, I think I speak for everyone when I say we miss our partners.”

Cody’s smile turned sad, “I remember the time Prowl walked into that power line, I don’t I ever saw anyone move so fast.”

“Or that time Bulkhead screamed his head off when we showed him that mouse.” Grinned Miko, looking over at Jack.

“That’s nothing compared to Arcee calling an exhaust a ‘dowhicky’.” Said Jack, abandoning the paperwork.

“How about Bumblebee sneaking out of the base to go racing?” Asked Raf, as he joined the three.

“How about Kup’s cy-gar trick?” Asked Frankie, remembering the old bot.

“You mean the one where he turned it into a bullet?” Responded Miko, looking at Frankie.

“Yeah, that one!” Laughed Frankie, as Cody went to stand up, only for his prosthetic to buckle under his weight, “Cody!”

Jack caught Cody before he hit the ground, helping him back to the chair.

“It’s fine, it’s been acting up for a while.” Said Cody, as he rested the prosthetic on his other leg and pulled his trouser leg up. The light blue glow from the power cell flickered as the group observed it.

“I could get my dad to look at it.” Frankie offered, making Cody smile.

“I probably forgot to charge it properly.” Said Cody, getting back to his feet. Frankie held his arm, in case the leg gave out again, “You’re just looking for an excuse to steal me away, aren’t you?”

“How could you tell?” Smirked Frankie, as Jack sighed.

“Just remember to use protection,” Smirked Miko, making Cody and Frankie blush, “I’m too young to be an aunt.”

The two eighteen-year-olds quickly left the room to escape twenty-one-year-old, as Jack levelled her with an unimpressed stare.

“Old enough to be a mother, but too young to be an aunt.” Said Jack, folding his arms.

“Shut up.” Giggled Miko, as Raf decided to go back to his computer.

C&F

Cody winced as Doc Greene removed the power cell from his leg.

“Hmm, it seems that the power cells developed a fault.” Said Doc Greene, rubbing his chin, “I don’t know what could’ve cause it, unless you went for a sudden swim.”

Cody and Frankie froze and glanced at each other, thinking back to the week before and their dip in the pool of water.

“I know that look.” Said Doc Greene, folding his arms, “I’ll see about making your next prosthetic waterproof, Cody.”

“Thanks, Doc.” Said Cody, as Doc Greene reinserted the power cell.

“Frankie,” Said Doc Greene as the pair were leaving, “do try to be home at a reasonable hour tonight, your mother and I heard you knock the planter over.”

“Daddy!” Exclaimed Frankie, her face going red with embarrassment.

“I’m glad that no one heard me knock an entire shelving unit over.” Muttered Cody, as Blurr shot past.

“Higuys,byeguys,I’dlovetostopandchatbut,I’mbusybusybusy!” Said Blurr, speaking a mile a minute.

“That red energon must be some really strong stuff.” Said Frankie, as Blurr turned a corner.

“Apparently, Blurr’s body was built to use it,” Said Cody, shrugging, “Something about Velocitron and speed?”

A red and black semi with a yellow cab pulled to a stop in front of the pair.

“There you guys are,” Said Blaster, opening his door for them, “Chief has an announcement down at the Firehouse.”

“What is it?” Asked Cody, as he and Frankie climbed in.

“I don’t know,” Said Blaster, driving off, “Blurr was supposed to pick you up, but then he got called away by Bumblebee for something. Oh, and be warned, I think Chase’s sister is visiting.”

“Chase has a sister?” Asked Cody, cocking an eyebrow.

“The way Strongarm acts?” Snorted Blaster, “She might as well be!”

Blaster pulled to a stop outside the Firehouse, allowing Frankie and Cody to climb out. Blaster transformed and followed them inside, joining the joint crowd of Humans and Cybertronians. Cody and Frankie made their way through the crowd of Autobots with ease and then weaved through the humans.

“Graham, what’s going on?” Asked Cody, as soon as he spotted his brother.

“Dad has an announcement to make,” Said Graham, frowning as he looked at his notes, “Something about work.”

Cody noticed pink glittery ink on the paper, “Sarah’s really learning how to draw, huh?”

“Yeah, she’s either drawing or running Amy and I into the ground.” Said Graham, yawning.

“I heard Kassie’s been a nightmare for Kade and Hayley.” Said Frankie, folding her arms.

“Yeah, even I can hear her temper tantrums.” Groaned Graham, shaking his head.

Everyone went silent as Chief Burns walked/shuffled onto the stage.

“Okay, I’m going to keep this short and sweet,” Said Chief Burns, looking around, “I’m retiring. I spent a good 45 years serving on the police forces and, frankly, I’d love to spend more. However, I’m not getting any younger and the resident doctors, thank you Doctor Darby, have told me that my body can’t keep up with the rescue anymore. I’ll be making the official announcement tomorrow. That is all.”

Cody watched as his father left the stage, wincing as he stumbled a bit when he reached the steps. Carin helped Charlie with the last few steps. Cody felt a tug on his trouser leg, drawing his attention to the twins, Kyle and Maggie. Kyle and Maggie were Cody’s younger half-siblings, born shortly after his dad married Carin when they first moved to Autobot City.

“What’s daddy we-tyre ring?” Asked Kyle, looking up at Cody.

“Retiring?” Asked Cody, getting a nod from Kyle, “It means he’s going to stop working because he’s starting to get too old.”

“Why?” Asked Maggie, her teddy trailing behind her.

“Because he’s a grown up,” Said Cody, crouching down to their level, “and, eventually we grow up so much that we can’t work anymore.”

“Then what happens?” Asked Kyle, making Cody freeze.

“Uh, well, then we, er,um…” Cody was saved from explaining death to the twins by Carin walking towards them.

“Come on,” Said Carin, hoisting Maggie onto her hip, “time for your nap.”

Cody picked up Kyle and followed his stepmother, Frankie following behind them, leaving Graham with his work. Getting the twins in bed and a sleep was fairly easy, Maggie and Kyle were quick to nod off. Soon the family, plus their significant others, were sitting in the living room.

“I know it’s short notice,” Said Charlie, looking at his children, “but, I think it’s time to face the music, I’m not the man I was.”

“It’s fine, Dad.” Said Dani, resting her feet on Taylor’s lap, “You’ve earned it, more than any of us at this rate.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Demanded Kade, crossing his arms.

“I don’t think Dani was looking to start a fight, Kade.” Said Cody, from his place curled up with Frankie.

“I saw you explaining retirement to the twins, Cody.” Said Carin, smiling softly as he flushed red, “I also saw how you tried to avoid explaining the concept of death to them.”

“They’ll probably have to be told sooner or later.” Mumbled Cody, his grip on Frankie’s hand tightening softly.

“We will when the time comes.” Promised Carin, her smile turning sad.

Shortly after Prowl’s death, Cody had vanished, along with some weapons Wheeljack had been working on. Cody was later found next to the remains of a Decepticon known as Thundercracker. Thundercracker’s optics had been torn out and parts of his body had been subjected to small explosives. What killed Thundercracker, however, was a small vial of cosmic rust that had been poured into the remains of his optics. Just shy of where Cody was found was the burnt out remains of a Decepticon energon mine, with the melted remains of MECH agents. Ultra Magnus had said that he’d assumed some humans were working with the Decepticons, he just didn’t expect them to be wiped out in one strike.

“How’s your studying coming along?” Asked Charlie, swiftly changing the subject.

“Doctor Darby thinks I’m progressing well,” Said Cody, his frame relaxing, “if I keep at my current level, I’ll be able to continue on and become a doctor by the time I’m 25.”

“Know you,” Smirked Dani, her hands cradling her bump, “You’ll probably find a way to become a doctor before then.”

Cody let out a laugh, before the robotic lion that was Steeljaw tumbled into the room. Everyone watched Steeljaw chase something that looked like a ball of light, before he vanished down the stairs.

Kade smirked as Hayley adjusted Kassie on her chest, “So, Cody, what are your and Frankie’s plans for the future?”

“Decent paying jobs before getting married and having kids.” Said the pair, simultaneously.

“Why do I get the feeling you two rehearse that?” Asked Dani, as Sarah toddled up to her parents and presented them with a picture.

“Ta-Da!” Sang Sarah, as Amy took the picture.

“Oh, Graham, look at this,” Gushed Amy, showing Graham the picture, “it’s another work of art.”

“A Masterpiece.” Agreed Graham, picking the toddler up.

C&F (Time skip)

Cody rocked back and forth on his heels, the weight of the small box in his pocket was impossibly heavy. He’d been waiting for Frankie to turn up for nearly an hour and was beginning to think she wasn’t going to show. The sounds of a fight caught his attention, Cody spotted a guy that worked with Frankie having his ass handed to him. The guy, Matt, Cody thought, had been flirting with Frankie, despite her saying she wasn’t interested. Cody caught sight of the person knocking sense into Matt. Frankie was dressed up nicely, despite still having her lab coat on, while hitting Matt with her handbag. Cody winced as Matt hit the doorframe and slid, before walking over to Frankie. It was only as Cody got closer, did he see that Frankie’s hair was dishevelled, as if someone had pulled on it, there was a bruise forming on her neck and the necklace Cody had given her for her 21st Birthday was missing.

Cody reached and touch Frankie’s shoulder, making her whip around with a snarl on her face. Frankie completely relaxed at the sight of Cody, while Matt struggled to get up off the floor.

“What…happened?” Asked Cody, frowning.

Frankie threw a disgusted look at Matt, “He didn’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“Are you alright?” Questioned Cody, looking into Frankie’s eyes.

Frankie sighed, “Yeah, he only turned violent when I entered the restaurant, but he only followed me here from work.”

Cody’s gaze turned to Matt, before it fell to Matt’s right hand, “Aren’t you going to give that back?”

Matt froze at Cody’s cold tone, something Cody had picked up from Prowl. Matt looked at the necklace in his grip, before throwing it into the restaurant and trying to run off. Cody grabbed the necklace from the air and looked at the damage. Cody sighed when he found only the clasp was broken.

“Your mum’s necklace.” Gasped Frankie, upon seeing the damaged necklace.

“It’s an easy fix.” Said Cody, carefully putting the necklace with the ring box, “Do you want to go home?”

Frankie took a deep breath, before nodding. Cody gave her a small smile, before going to the manager to cancel the reservation. The two twenty-six-year-olds drove home in silence, Frankie closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat.

“What did you want to talk about?” Asked Frankie, almost making Cody jump.

“Let’s, let’s deal with that when we get home.” Said Cody, suddenly remembering the box.

“Right.” Said Frankie, her tone despondent.

“Don’t worry, it’s a good thing,” Said Cody, before frowning, “well, I think it’s a good thing, I mean the others said it’s a good thing and, I’m rambling again, aren’t I?”

Frankie giggled, Frankie had been terrified that Cody was going to break up with her, after she found that ring in the draw. Cody had been giving her gifts recently, when she brought it up with Priscilla and a couple other friends, came to the conclusion that they were breakup gifts, something to help with the actual blow of the breakup. Frankie knew that Cody didn’t class breaking up as a good thing, unless he took a heavy blow to the head.

Cody pulled into his usual parking space and went inside the home with Frankie, both taking a seat on the sofa.

“Are you okay? Really, okay?” Asked Cody, looking into Frankie’s eyes.

Frankie averted her gaze and sighed, “I was scared, the entire time he was following me, I was scared he was going to do something. I took the longest possible route to try and get away from him, but when I arrived at the restaurant, I found he was already there. I thought if I ignored him, he’d leave me alone.”

“Then he decided to grab you.” Said Cody, making Frankie nod.

“He was fired today because he damaged something that the Autobots are keeping top secret,” Explained Frankie, as Cody wrapped an arm around her, “we don’t know how he got hold of it, but Hardhead found it in Matt’s locker and demanded an explanation from him. He didn’t give one.”

Cody pulled Frankie closer to him, rubbing comforting circles on her arm, “It’s like something in him snapped. I wasn’t expecting but, I kinda was? It’s difficult to explain.”

“I doubt he’ll hurt you now,” Said Cody, pulling Frankie close and allowing her to rest her head in the crook of his neck, “I saw Streetwise picking him up.”

Frankie smiled, before looking at Cody, “What is it you wanted to talk about?”

Cody swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, “Right, er, yes, well…screw it.”

Cody got off the sofa and got down on one knee, taking the ring box out of his pocket, “Frankie, you’ve made me incredibly happy in the time we’ve been together and, frankly, I don’t want that to end. Will you marry me?”

Frankie’s eyed danced between the ring and Cody’s face. The next thing Cody knew, he was on his back with Frankie laying on top of him and kissing him.

“I’ll…take that as a, yes?” Asked Cody, as Frankie grinned and nodded her head.

Cody grinned as well and slipped the ring on Frankie’s finger.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Long Way From Home: Chapter 5

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Friendship Characters: Scott, Tracy Family

Some of you predicted this was coming... although I hardly tried to hide it.  This is the longest chapter so far because once you get the fish going, he never shuts up.  Most of you know I adore Scott; some of you probably know my favourite brother relationship is Scott&Gordon.  If you didn’t, this fic is probably going to make that very obvious.  I have plans for these two...

Also, trying to sort out TAG’s timeline is a headache and I ended up fudging a lot of it.  Please just roll with it because I spent far too long agonising over this before giving up and throwing this out into the void.  It’s fiction.  It doesn’t have to make sense.

<<<Chapter 4

The problem with plans was their tendency to go wrong. Finding his way back to the infirmary was no challenge – the white building made for a clear target, and the trail was clear enough to Scott’s eye.  Getting back inside was no issue, either.  The window was left ajar, simple enough to silently pull open and slip through.

Finding Other-Gordon perched on one of the chairs, one of Scott’s bracers in his hands, was not part of the plan, and he mentally cursed himself. He’d escaped from the infirmary, so it would be obvious to anyone with a brain cell that he’d return that way, too, especially with his gear there.  Gordon had many brain cells, which he frequently used in unorthodox ways, and Other-John had even warned him that Other-Gordon was crafty.

“Welcome back,” the ginger greeted him calmly.  “The others are on a mission.”  Scott swiped the gear from him, carefully running his hands over the remote control units to make sure they were still intact.  He didn’t know their range, and doubted that even Brains had managed to make something that could get signals through multiple universes – especially as his comm unit failed to do so – but he was still cautious about activating them.  Just in case.

“I saw.”  Technically he’d only seen One’s launch, Two’s runway presumably out of sight from Other-Scott’s hiding place.  “Power plant meltdown.”  Other-Gordon’s gazed briefly flicked to his wrist, where Other-Scott’s watch still sat.

“Has John found your brothers?” he asked, and Scott shook his head.  “Ah well, no news is good news, right?  If John can’t find them, they’re still safe at home.”

Unwilling to engage in further conversation, he scooped up the rest of his uniform, tempted for a moment to put it on for comfort’s sake but discarding the notion, before glancing at the map in the watch face and heading out of the room.

“You’re not going to put that back on, are you?” Other-Gordon asked him, following.  Scott ignored him, following the hallway almost to the kitchen, where Other-Kyrano was doing something with the odd contraption in the middle of the floor, before making the right turn towards the stairs.  “Father’s in the lounge.”  For someone who had been almost silent the entire time up until then, Other-Gordon was suddenly making a lot of noise.

“I’m not going there,” he told him firmly.

“You’re stealing Scott’s clothes.”  Other-Gordon didn’t bat an eyelid.  “I’ll help.”  Scott wished he was surprised, but it was a Gordon thing to do.  “Here, this way.”  Unlike his father, Other-Gordon had a preference for the stairs, which suited Scott just fine.  He had no issues with elevators, but the one at the end of the hallway was another example of the different technology.  Stairs were far more trustworthy.

Last time, Not-Dad had guided him quickly and firmly into the lounge, but Other-Gordon strode ahead after reaching the top of the stairs, away from the door to the lounge, and turned into an extended corridor with six doors all set into the right-hand side.  These, according to the map in his watch, were six equally-sized rooms, all with smaller rooms set into them.  The second one from the far end contained the flashing blue light indicating that it was Other-Scott’s room.  Presumably, that put the rest of them as the other four brothers’ rooms, and probably Not-Dad’s room.

“My room,” Other-Gordon waved vaguely to the door immediately in front of the branch of hallway they’d just left.  “John’s is that one.”  He indicated the door next to his, at the end of the corridor, before continuing to walk.  “Alan’s, Virgil’s, and here we are!  Scott’s.” He pushed open the door with no hesitation and strode inside.  Scott checked the watch face again.  It agreed with Other-Gordon, so he followed.

Even without either guides, he wouldn’t have had any problems identifying the room’s owner.  Images of various, fast, planes decorated the walls – many unrecognisable to him, but unmistakable in their theme regardless.  Blue was the prominent colour, edging its way around the room and various screens and alcoves set into the walls.  The bed linen was also blue.  Towards the far wall, the en suite took out a reasonably small chunk of the room.

Other-Gordon didn’t wait for him to adjust to the reality that yes, this room felt like a room he could see himself having, heading over to a closet door and throwing it open.

“Clothes,” he announced.  Scott was slightly concerned at just how nonchalantly the younger man was rummaging through his older brother’s room, although, he was a Gordon. His Gordon was probably just as likely to do that.  Well, that was one of the hazards of younger brothers, he supposed.  Thoughts like that just made him remember just how far away from his own younger brothers he was, and he stepped forwards to the closet to look at Other-Scott’s wardrobe before he started dwelling over things he currently couldn’t change.

Clearly, his counterpart liked rollnecks and shirts. There was quite a collection of them, ranging from simple mono-coloured designs to rather louder, patterned, offerings. Scott dismissed the rollnecks immediately, hunting through the shirts until he found a mono-coloured one that felt like it might be some sort of cotton, rather than silk.  Silk was for special occasions – business meetings, and formal events he attended only because he had to.  The selected shirt was some sort of yellow-brown colour, not his first choice but apparently the only blue Other-Scott owned was in the forms of rollnecks and cardigans.

Ignoring Other-Gordon’s presence in the room, he shrugged off the by now muddy pyjama top he’d woken in and pulled the shirt on, leaving the top buttons undone and rolling the sleeves up until it mimicked his preferred style at home.  There were no jeans in sight, so with some reluctance he found the least-smart pair of pants, which were at least dark blue, and in concession to company retreated into the en suite long enough to shed the pyjama bottoms and pull them on.

“How long have you been wearing those underpants?” Other-Gordon asked him when he emerged, and Scott rolled his eyes.

“There is a line,” he said firmly.  “Unless there are some new, unworn ones lying around, I’ll stick with what I’m wearing, thanks.  Now, shoes?” Other-Gordon pointed to the next door over, sitting himself down on the bed and letting his feet rest on the headrest. Scott paused, the position familiar.

“Your back bothering you?” he asked.  Amber eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“How do you know about my back?” Other-Gordon asked slowly. Scott yanked open the indicated door and glanced over the various shoes in a growing state of despair.  No sneakers.  How could there be a Scott who didn’t own any sneakers?

“Hydrofoil accident,” he said.  “Four months in hospital.”

Other-Gordon let out a noise that sounded almost like a hiss, which Scott ignored as he poked at the shoes dubiously.  What was with all the smart shoes or sandals?  Did Other-Scott have nothing in between?

“Scott wouldn’t have told you,” Other-Gordon mused out loud. “Nor would John.  You haven’t spoken to anyone else.”  He sighed.  “Your Gordon, too?”

“When he was sixteen,” Scott confirmed.  “Finished his career in W.A.S.P. before it even started. They said he’d never walk again.” Other-Gordon made a noise of agreement.

“They said that about me, too,” he said as Scott finally accepted that a pair of sneakers were not about to materialise and, as with the pants, grabbed the least-smart pair of shoes and a random pair of what felt like cotton socks.  “I guess they were wrong.”

Scott let himself smile.  “Gordon’s got the gold medal to prove it.”  Remembering the accident, and the months of pain after it, hurt. Remembering the moment Gordon stood on the first place podium, gold medal around his neck and American national anthem blaring out all around them barely two years later filled him with pride.

“So do I,” Other-Gordon said, watching him pull on the shoes and tie the laces firmly.  “Father’s going to have a fit if he sees you looking like that, you know.” Scott glanced down at himself, light brown shirt still unbuttoned at the top and sleeves rolled up to three-quarter length, untucked over dark blue slacks and a pair of black shoes.  It was almost just like home.

“I don’t see the problem,” he retorted.  Other-Gordon eyed him dubiously.

“Well, it’s your funeral,” he conceded, stretching out and shifting into a sitting position.  “I’ll show you the guest rooms.”  Scott gathered up his uniform and waited for him to stand, leading the way out of the room and closing the door behind them.  “Dad’s room.”  Other-Gordon gestured to the last door on that stretch of the corridor, and then headed down the hallway opposite, stopping at the first door.  “Kyrano got this room ready for you.”

Right by Not-Dad’s room.  Scott sighed but entered the room.  It was a nice enough room, the same size as Other-Scott’s with a queen-size bed, en suite, and even a veranda he could step out onto.  The view was impressive, with palm trees and craggy rocks co-existing harmoniously, and the shimmering ocean behind.  No view of the pool, he noticed, not quite sure how he felt about that.  Sure, his room at home didn’t directly overlook the pool, but he could at least see if he looked in the right direction.

He located a closet and placed his uniform inside, out of immediate sight of curious individuals.  No doubt Other-Brains would want to examine it in detail at some point, and if Scott wanted the best chance of getting home, he would have to allow that, but that would be happening under his supervision.  Just in case the remote controls were still active.

“Do you want the rest of the house tour now or later?” Other-Gordon asked him.

“Now works for me,” he said, glancing at the watch on his wrist. It still showed the map, a flashing blue light signifying Other-Scott’s room.  How did he turn that off?  It had served its purpose now, and Scott was used to maps being easily dismissed if they didn’t automatically vanish.

“Third dial,” Other-Gordon said, gesturing to the same knob on his own watch.  “That’s basically the ‘stop’ button.”  Scott glanced at him, wondering if he was really that easy to read, before pressing the end transmission button Other-Scott had shown him.  Sure enough, the map vanished and the analogue clock face stared back at him instead.  “Thunderbird Two won’t be far short of the danger zone now, so Dad’ll be busy in the lounge for a while yet.”

That sounded like a perfect time to explore the rest of the house, and the hangars, too, if he could wrangle it.  Thunderbird One had appeared to be reasonably close to his own; he was curious about the other Thunderbirds.

“So what else do you have here?” he asked, heading for the door, and Other-Gordon was quick to catch up.

“Well, you know the bedrooms and the lounge,” he said.  “If we keep going round there’s another guest room next to yours.”  He nodded at another door, set further down the hallway.  “And that is Brains’ main lab opposite.”  That drew Scott’s attention.  Somewhere in there, the scientist was looking for a way to get him home.  If Other-Gordon hadn’t been with him, he wouldn’t have been able to resist entering, Other-John’s caution to not interrupt him discarded.  As it was, he had company and Other-Gordon wasn’t showing any inclination to enter it.  Indeed, he was already carrying on down the hallway, past the other guest room. Scott jogged to keep up.

Another door marked the end of the hallway.  Other-Gordon pushed it open.

“Rather a narrow hallway, this one, but it has a gorgeous view of the ocean,” he said, stepping through and turning a corner to reveal a corridor – narrow, just as Other-Gordon had warned – and lined with windows.  The view was indeed beautiful, but Scott’s attention was caught by the runway protruding from the beach much further below them.  He could just about see the end of what looked like a row of palm trees on either side.

Other-Gordon stepped closer to him, following his line of sight before making a noise of amusement.

“See something familiar?” he asked.  Scott nodded.

“Seems like there’s more similarities than differences between Thunderbirds One and Two so far,” he commented.  It was easy to visualise the trees bowing backwards as a green behemoth travelled between them.

At least, he was assuming Thunderbird Two was green in this universe.  Thunderbird One’s colourings had been identical, anyway.

“It’s not just for Thunderbird Two,” Other-Gordon told him. “The domestic jets use that one, too. It’s where I launch Thunderbird Four if Virgil isn’t giving us a lift, too.”

“Thunderbird Four?” Scott asked.  “You don’t have an underwater tunnel for your island launch?”

Amber eyes flickered with interest.

“Underwater tunnel?” Other-Gordon returned.  “You have an underwater tunnel?  How do you get Four there from the Pod?”

Scott mentally translated pod to module.  Different yet similar terminology was a nuisance, but it was a nuisance he was going to have to get used to if he wanted to get home. He refused to consider the idea that he’d be stuck here forever.

“Magnetic grabs and pulleys,” he said.  It was a rather over-simplification of the complex mechanism Brains had set up in order to get the submarine quickly and efficiently between Module Four and the nicknamed ‘squid tank’ she otherwise settled in by Thunderbird One, but with the difference in technology – and the fact that Scott didn’t fully understand the nuances of that particular A to B journey anyway – he saw no point in explaining further.  After a moment or two of silence, Other-Gordon clearly hoping for a little more detail, the ginger man sighed.

“Well, this is what I think you’re really after,” he said, turning away from the sea and heading further along the corridor.  What he was really after?  Scott followed, intrigued as Other-Gordon rotated a large vase ninety degrees only for a section of wall to slide back.

Okay, so yes, this was what Scott was really after.  Thunderbird One’s hangar looked different without the ‘bird inside, a large square hole where she normally sat.  Trailing off down beneath the walkway they were stood on – the same one as earlier, Scott could see the lamps in the wall further along – was a slope.  Scott assumed that headed in the direction of the pool.

The fact that their Thunderbird One was literally stored in the villa still felt odd to him, especially with no sign of any of her sisters nearby.  Where was Thunderbird Three, towering above them?  The landing pad for the space elevator, sharing One’s gantry?  Thunderbird Four’s little tank, the little yellow sub bobbing happily beside her larger sisters?

It felt wrong, his Thunderbird stored all alone – even if she wasn’t his Thunderbird, strictly speaking.  Other-Gordon fell back, letting him walk over to the lamps.  The route was partially blocked by a large metal tube snaking down and away, and it took some manoeuvring to pass it.  He couldn’t see where it led, but he could probably make an educated guess.

“What about the others?” he asked, and Other-Gordon raised an eyebrow at him.

“You want to see the other hangars?” he asked, in a voice that told Scott that Other-Gordon had no intentions of being his guide there. In fact, with the ginger man between him and the door they’d come through, Scott realised he’d been cornered. Even though he was closer to the other exit, Other-Scott’s own access point, that lead to the lounge and Not-Dad, and a situation he was not interested in facing just yet.  He scowled.

“What do you want from me?”

“Answers,” Other-Gordon said, at least having the grace not to deny the trap now that Scott was aware of it.  He really needed to get his head in the game; he couldn’t afford to be making slip-ups.

“Well I want those, too,” he retorted, crossing his arms and fixing the shorter man with a hard look.  “Particularly about how I’m getting home.”

“John’s given you all the answers we have on that front,” Other-Gordon said calmly.  Scott knew that, but it didn’t do much for the frustration that he was stuck away from his family, with no way of letting them know where he was – or even that he was still alive.  “I want to know about you.”

Scott’s brain screeched to a halt.  Him?  He’d been expecting a grilling on his home, his family, his own International Rescue.  Other-John had already done some probing, and Other-Brains would doubtless be after every scrap of information that could help him solve the puzzle, but information on him?

“Why?” he asked, back-footed, cornered, and hating every moment he wasn’t in control.

“Because I want to know exactly who we’ve got living with us until we can get you home,” Other-Gordon said bluntly.  “You’re like Scott, which was apparently enough to have you two trying to punch each other’s lights out once already, but you’re also not like Scott.”

“That’s not what your John said.”  On the one hand, Scott was glad he wasn’t the only one who thought there were some differences – cowering from his father being the immediate one that sprang to mind, never mind fashion sense, although from Other-Gordon’s attire, it might just be that fashion was different in general – but on the other, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be micro-analysed by a too-sharp ginger.

“I’m not John,” Other-Gordon pointed out.  “I also don’t have the luxury of hiding in space while a stranger with my brother’s face appears and throws my family for a loop.”

“Throws your family-” Scott started, fully prepared to remind him that his family would be out of their minds, but Other-Gordon talked over him as though he wasn’t talking.

“You’ve already punched my brother, broken my Dad’s nose, and then also got into a shouting match with my Dad,” he reminded him.  “I don’t know what your family’s like, but here, Dad’s word is law.  No-one talks back to him like that.  Not us, not Kyrano, not his friends.  So where do you get off disrespecting him in his own home?”

It wasn’t rage Scott saw in amber eyes glaring up at him, not budging an inch despite the height difference putting him at a natural disadvantage.  Not entirely. There was curiosity there, and a healthy dose of suspicion.  Annoyance, and maybe even a hint of compassion, buried right at the back. Scott was reminded of his own outburst, sometime earlier, in that very same hangar, and knew he wasn’t the only one thinking about it.

Other-Gordon didn’t mention it, however, remaining stock still and pinning Scott with the intensity of his gaze.  Behind him was the escape to the lounge, and the very man he was determined to avoid.  Other-Gordon blocked the other way out, and Scott wasn’t naïve enough to think he’d be able to get past him.  Gordon could match him just fine – Other-Gordon looked to be older, a little wiser.  Almost certainly stronger.

Besides, Scott was tired of running away.  In order to get home, he knew he needed to co-operate, and while Not-Dad was high on his list of individuals to avoid as much as possible because Other-Gordon was right, he would keep clashing with the man as long as he tried to act as Scott’s superior, he wasn’t a coward and had no intentions of starting to be one now.

“You heard what I said earlier,” he started.  “My father’s gone.  You’re not an idiot, work it out.  What would you do if yours vanished without a trace?”  He didn’t want to talk about it.  He could barely talk about their Dad and the Zero-X with his own brothers, let alone strangers who knew nothing.  It was easier to fall into the tried and true big brother mode of making them reach the answers by themselves, even if the man standing in front of him wasn’t one of his brothers.

From the sharp look Other-Gordon sent him, he’d seen through the façade.

“Scott would take full command.”  It seemed like he’d be humoured anyway.  “And he’d be terrible at it.”  Wait, what? Scott squinted, trying to work out who the insult was aimed at and why.  “How long ago?”

That was unexpected.

“Why?”

“Because I’ve seen Scott when he’s been left entirely in charge,” Other-Gordon said.  “Dad tore into every decision he made when he got back. Didn’t agree with any of it, even though Scott was trying to follow what he thought Dad would have done.  You aren’t fumbling for approval, but I bet you were to start with.”

What would Dad do? It was an instinctive mantra at this point.  Other-Gordon was wrong; he still wanted Dad’s approval, he wanted to know he was doing things right.  Should he have pulled Alan from school?  Should he have let Alan join the team so young?  Were the changes he’d made in the eight damn years since the Zero-X the best things he could have done?

If Dad came back, would he be proud of him?  Or would he be like Not-Dad, and tear into all his decisions?

It was that line of thought again, and he trampled it down firmly.  He couldn’t think like that.  Not now, not ever.  If he started to doubt, if he started second-guessing himself…  No.  He had to look forwards.  Always look forwards, never back.

Other-Gordon was watching him like a hawk, and Scott wondered how much of what he’d been thinking had been visible on his face.  The ginger didn’t give him any clues, simply standing and waiting for him to talk.

“Too long,” he admitted. “Eight years.”

Other-Gordon’s poker face broke for just a moment, shock flitting across his expression before he slammed the walls back up.

“Geez,” he muttered under his breath, before he frowned.  “Your International Rescue’s been operating for eight years?”

“IR did their first rescue just over eight years ago,” Scott confirmed.  Six months Before, with Dad, Kyrano and Uncle Lee doing the heavy lifting while Scott and then John assisted around college.  Five years out of operation, until they were all old enough – except Alan, who was too young but snuck in anyway.  Three years since they’d taken up the reins again, with him at the helm.

Other-Gordon looked like he had several questions.  Scott didn’t want him asking any of them.

“What about here?” he asked, challenging Other-Gordon to try and turn it back into a one-sided interrogation.

“Three years,” the man admitted, but the calculating look was still in his eyes and Scott wasn’t sure he liked it.  Something along those lines must have shown in his face, because all at once, tension leaked from the other man’s shoulders.  “You do realise we’re on the same side, here?”

“You’re the one that started interrogating me,” Scott snapped back, and Other-Gordon raised his hands in mock-surrender, just like Other-John had done earlier.

“Were you going to tell me anything if I didn’t?” he asked, and Scott had to admit that no, he wouldn’t.  A thought struck him and he glared at the shorter man.

“You’d better not tell anyone.”  The only thing worse than telling them himself would be having them gossiping about him behind his back, putting together bits and pieces with no guarantee of finding the right answers.

“Tell them what?” Other-Gordon challenged.  “That the reason you’re so snappy is because you’ve been single-handedly looking after your family for eight years and being separated from them has you on edge?  Or that Dad’s got you off-kilter because secretly you still want approval from yours but know you can’t get it?”

For the second time that day, Scott’s knuckles found the wall of the hangar, and protested loudly at the treatment.  He’d realised Other-Gordon was getting something more than he’d outright said, but hearing the thoughts he’d been determinedly burying even from himself thrown in his face by a stranger with his brother’s eyes was more than he could take.

“Geez,” Other-Gordon muttered, stepping closer and taking hold of his outstretched fist.  “Are you always this self-destructive?”  Scott tried to pull his hand back, but the other man’s grip was strong.  “You’ve gone and wrecked Tin-Tin’s bandaging; she won’t be happy about that.”  Scott scowled and tugged again; Other-Gordon let him pull free that time.  “Scott.” It was the first time the man had referred to him by name and he met his eyes.  “We’re going to help you.  Remember, we’re International Rescue, too.”

Scott glanced sideways, at the empty hangar that usually housed Thunderbird One – not his Thunderbird One, but Thunderbird One regardless.  Earlier, he’d been too overwhelmed by everything to properly appreciate what that meant.  Two conversations later, it was starting to sink in.

“I guess that’s true,” he admitted.

“You guess?” Other-Gordon demanded, but there was a grin on his face and a sparkle in his eyes that stole Scott’s breath all over again.  He’d known he was this universe’s Gordon, but with the serious face and wrong colour hair, it hadn’t really hit.

With his face lit up like that, he wondered how he could have ever looked at the unknown ginger man sitting between him and Other-Scott in the kitchen what felt like hours earlier and dismissed the niggling familiarity.  This man, ginger hair and older age aside, was definitely Gordon.

“You okay?” Other-Gordon asked, and Scott’s shoulders slumped.

“I miss them,” he admitted.

“Of course you do,” Other-Gordon said, putting a hand on his shoulder.  “If there’s one thing I bet you and my Scott are definitely identical in, it’s being a ridiculous smother hen.”  Despite everything, Scott had to grin ruefully at that.  “Come on, let’s get something done about that hand of yours before Tin-Tin spots it.”

Other-Gordon turned and climbed around the large metal pipe without waiting to see if Scott was following. Scott watched him go, noticing that he was just as nimble as his Gordon, and frowned.  Should he not be letting Gordon go out on missions after all?  Or was Other-Gordon actually perfectly fit for duty, and Not-Dad was grounding him for no good reason?

“If you had the choice,” he started, mouth running ahead of his brain, “would you go on more rescues?”

Other-Gordon stopped and turned to face him again, amber eyes searching.

“Why?” he asked. Scott met his gaze evenly and waited. Other-Gordon grumbled something under his breath about there being two of them now.  “I’d go on all of them, if Dad let me.”  The bitterness that crept in told Scott everything he needed to know.

“No reason,” he shrugged, casting one last look at the empty space where Thunderbird One lived before heading for the door himself.  Other-Gordon made a noise of protest, a little brother’s my big brother is being annoying again noise that made something go tight in his chest, but he didn’t let it show.

“Seriously?” Other-Gordon grumbled a little louder.  “You don’t think I believe that, do you?”  Scott shrugged at him, and amber eyes narrowed.  “Just because you look like my big brother doesn’t mean you get to act like it!”

“I’m acting like me, not him,” Scott informed him airily, falling into the familiarity of brotherly banter, even if this wasn’t his brother.

“Well just because I look like your brother doesn’t mean you get to act like I am,” Other-Gordon continued, not at all deterred.  Just short of the door, Scott stopped suddenly.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Other-Gordon insisted, although there was something ever so slightly different in his voice, a note of uncertainty as though he’d realised he’d said something wrong but wasn’t sure what.  “Just because I look like-”

“You don’t,” Scott cut him off, turning round to face him.  Other-Gordon blinked, mouth half-open a little like a fish before he closed it again.

“I… don’t?” he asked. “But… you and Scott are near enough identical, and you said Dad looked like-”  He cut himself off before he could finish that sentence; Scott was grateful for it.

“You don’t,” he admitted. “I can tell you’re him, but you don’t look like him.”  No, that was a lie.  He had the same high cheekbones, the same angled jaw, the same eyes.  It was just the hair and the fact that there was no question he was a man, not a teenager just crossing into adulthood, that made him look different.

If it was just Other-Gordon, he’d wonder if the man had dyed his hair – Other-Scott was also older than him, although he didn’t want to ponder on what that meant for timeline continuity – but Other-John and Other-Virgil also had the wrong colour hair. Other-Brains, Other-Kyrano and Mrs Tracy also looked notably different, and Tin-Tin was not only visually different but had a different name as well.

“That’s strange,” Other-Gordon mused.  “Is it just me?”  Scott shook his head.

“More like it’s only me and your Scott,” he said.  “And your father.  Everyone else is different.”

“So if someone other than Scott had come in, you might not have attacked them?” Other-Gordon asked, almost dryly.  Scott shrugged.

“Who knows,” he replied, although privately he doubted it.  It didn’t matter what the other party looked like if his brothers were at stake.  Other-Gordon sent him a small grin, before brushing past him and opening the door.

“Still, you’ll have to tell the others that,” he said, strolling back along the narrow corridor. Scott followed, ignoring the pain shooting through his knuckles.  “I know the fellas are keeping an eye out for anyone else that looks like us while they’re off base just in case, but if they don’t know what they’re looking for they might miss something.”

He was right, and Scott nodded.  He hadn’t realised they were all looking, not just Thunderbird Five, but it made sense and there was a rush of gratitude at their efforts.

“Talk to Virg once he’s back,” Other-Gordon continued.  “That’ll be the easiest way to make sure we get it right.”  They skirted the lounge door with Not-Dad’s voice emitting from it, interspersed with Other-Scott’s tinny speaker-voice reports and traipsed down the stairs again – a route that was rapidly becoming familiar as they once again headed for the infirmary.  “But come on, what does your Gordon look like?  He’s gotta be handsome, right?”  There was that grin – that Gordon grin – again, and Scott rolled his eyes.

“I’m the wrong person to ask about that,” he scoffed, watching Other-Gordon pull a disgruntled face, and managing a small grin of his own.  “His hair’s blond, and…” he trailed off, not sure how to put it into words. As far as basic descriptions went, there wasn’t any other big differences, just lots of small things Scott couldn’t even put his finger on exactly.

“And..?” Other-Gordon prompted, although he was tugging at his bangs – falling in front of his forehead, rather than swept back like his Gordon’s – and trying to look at them, no doubt trying to figure out how he’d look blond.  Scott shrugged helplessly.

“I’m a pilot, not a novelist,” he pointed out.  “It’s not the big things, it’s the little ones.”  He frowned.  “How old are you?”

“How old are you?” Other-Gordon shot back, releasing his hair in favour of pushing the infirmary door open and pointing towards a chair.  “I’d say you’re younger than Scott, except he’s not going grey yet.” Scott scowled and resisted the urge to touch his temples, where he knew the accused hairs were most prominent.

“I asked first,” he pointed out, and Other-Gordon rolled his eyes.

“Twenty-three, now sit down or I’ll get Tin-Tin to redress your hand.”  Tin-Tin had seemed like a sweet enough young woman, but if she was being used as a threat – and Scott knew a threat from a sibling when he heard it – then she was no doubt more Kayo-like than first impressions betrayed. Scott sat.  “Why?”

“That would probably explain the rest,” Scott muttered, trying to work out what his Gordon would look like in four years’ time.  The same age as Virgil, which meant Other-Scott, and probably Other-John as well were older than him.  He consoled himself with the fact that with Not-Dad around, they were probably under less stress, hence the lack of greys.  “Gordon – my Gordon – is nineteen.”

“So I look different because I’m older?” Other-Gordon surmised, unwrapping the old bandages and pouring something that stung like disinfectant on his swollen and once again bleeding knuckles.  “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m twenty-seven,” Scott admitted, and Other-Gordon blinked.

“Not twenty-six?”

“Why would I be twenty-six?” Scott asked, taken aback.  Other-Gordon frowned and opened a fresh roll of bandages, carefully but efficiently rewrapping his hand.

“Well if your Gordon is four years younger than me, you should be four years younger than Scott, right? Scott’s thirty.”  It was Scott’s turn to frown.  Clearly there were more differences than just technology, and his gut coiled unpleasantly, not sure it liked the implications.  “What are your other brothers’ ages?”

“What are yours’?” he retorted, and Other-Gordon raised an eyebrow at him as he tied off the bandage.

“I asked first.” Typical younger brother, turning his earlier words against him.

“John’s twenty-five, Virgil’s twenty-three and Alan’s fifteen,” he said.  “Yours?”

“Your Alan’s-”

“Yours?” he repeated firmly, cutting off any comments about his youngest brother and International Rescue.  He knew fifteen was too young; he didn’t need to hear that from an alternate universe’s version of one of his own brothers.  Other-Gordon gave him a look that said the topic was not dropped, but answered anyway.

“John’s twenty-eight, Virg’s twenty-six and Alan’s twenty.  Seems like the difference is me and Alan,” he observed.  Scott didn’t miss the intent in his voice when he said the youngest’s name, but ignored it.

“Seems like it,” he agreed instead, checking over the bandaging despite knowing it was professionally done.  Other-Gordon was sharp, too sharp, and once again their conversation was veering into territory Scott would rather it didn’t.  “That seems like something Brains should know about,” he said, and once again ignored the look the younger man sent him.  Other-Gordon knew exactly what he was doing, and Scott got the uncomfortable feeling he was once again being humoured.

His dislike of being humoured didn’t outweigh his determination not to talk about things like Alan’s young age or Dad’s crash, though, so he suffered through it with a glare.

“We’ll tell Brains when he comes looking for more information,” Other-Gordon said out loud. “Surely your Brains hates being interrupted mid-flow, too?”  He did, but that had never stopped Scott from doing it when it was an emergency, and anything relating to getting him home qualified in his books.

A hand landed on his shoulder, Other-Gordon leaning down slightly to meet his eyes firmly.

“I know you want to get home, but don’t take it out on Brains,” he said, his grip tight. “Brains will find you once he’s finished processing the data he got from your arrival.”  Scott scowled, glancing away, and the other man sighed.  “I can stop asking questions if that helps.”

That would help. He met Other-Gordon’s eyes again and relaxed at the sincerity he saw in them, nodding.  Other-Gordon scrutinised him, although what he was looking for, Scott didn’t know, before letting go and taking a step back.

“Normally I sit in on the mission,” he informed him.  “We can go to the lounge if you want, or there’s the games room if billiards or chess is more your speed right now.”  The offer to continue evading Not-Dad was clear.

“And if I want to be alone?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“If you want to be alone, I’ve shown you your room,” Other-Gordon began.  “But I don’t think you do.”  Didn’t he?  Scott wanted time to let it all sink in, mull over all the information Other-John and Other-Gordon had bombarded him with and figure out what it all meant for him and his chances of getting home.

He caught sight of his useless communicator, still on his wrist, and remembered curling up against a boulder, begging and screaming for it to connect with another universe. Maybe Other-Gordon was right; if he was alone again he’d go back to focusing on what had happened.  Dwelling, his brothers called it immediately before they did something outrageous to get him to stop staring into nothing, brain stuck in a loop of past events.

Looking back, letting himself think about what had happened always threatened to drive him crazy. It had been that way since the Zero-X, and held true even now.  Especially now, when events defied all probabilities.  He sighed.

“It’s been a while since I last played chess,” he said by way of an answer, and Other-Gordon cracked a grin.  Chess would keep his mind focused, especially if Other-Gordon was half as good as Gordon or John; if he was, Scott was in for an inevitable thrashing.

Other-Gordon at least had the grace not to say ‘I told you so’, simply straightening up and offering him a hand, which he accepted, pulling himself to his feet.

“The games room’s this way,” he gestured, leading the way out of the infirmary and then further along the hallway, to a brightly lit room dominated by a billiards table.  Various chairs and small tables dotted one side of the room – spectators for the game, or perfectly positioned for a quiet game of chess in the corner, as Other-Gordon withdrew a chess set and placed it on the table.

“White or black?” he offered as Scott stared at it.  A proper, wooden chessboard with real, hand-carved pieces.  He picked up a white knight and stroked its mane, feeling the indents of the carved hair with the pad of his finger.

“White,” he replied after a moment.  Other-Gordon watched him closely, but as promised didn’t ask.  Scott shrugged, folding himself into the comfortable chair and placing the piece back where it belonged.  “It’s been a long time since I last used a wooden set,” he volunteered.  “Gordon’s the only one that owns one and no-one’s allowed to use it until they beat him.”

“You haven’t?” Other-Gordon asked – despite his promise otherwise, but Scott knew he had opened himself up for that one.  Talking about something as mundane as chess didn’t hurt as much as their previous conversation had.

“Not since he got that board,” he admitted.  “John and-” he caught himself, not wanting to mention EOS and open that can of worms for debate.  “John’s the only one that has; they play whenever he’s down from Five.” Other-Gordon’s eyes flickered in interest, catching the slip, but to his credit he didn’t ask.

“White goes first,” he reminded him needlessly, and Scott picked up the knight again, leaping it over the row of pawns.  Other-Gordon hummed in interest before nudging a pawn forward.  Scott recalled that particular opening as Gordon’s favourite to use, a win in five moves unless their opponent knew the counter. It might have been a while since he’d last had the time to play – and the inclination to probably lose to Gordon – but Scott still remembered the counter, moving his knight into position.

Other-Gordon laughed, seeing his experiment foiled, and switched tactics.  Scott got the feeling he’d just passed some sort of test.

The game went much as he suspected it would – while he wasn’t bad at chess, he was out of practice and Other-Gordon was very, very good.  He held out for a while, half an hour maybe, but eventually the inevitable conclusion of his King toppling occurred and he bit back a laugh, laying down the piece with good grace.

“You’re not too terrible,” Other-Gordon commented, collecting up the mass of white captured pieces and handing them over.  “Some practice and you might even be a challenge.”  He winked, and Scott groaned good-naturedly, trying hard not to think about why he didn’t get much practice before that ruined his mood.  “Again?”  What were his other options?  Billiards, or sitting in on a mission with Not-Dad.  It wasn’t exactly a difficult decision.

In answer, Scott pulled his King upright and set up his forces again.

Chapter 6>>>

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Empires on the Horizon I

Jason is a CEO: Part I

Here’s my masterlist for the next part and my other stuff

i fear it might break me

then break

break

let spirit crack you open

-a letter to the king

There was something almost sinister in the whiskey-induced haze of a Manhattan skyline. The buildings nothing but dark blocks, uneven stairs.

There was something lonely about the haze too.

But Jason Grace couldn't give two shits about the blackening playground of buildings, couldn't give two shits about the incredible view from his twenty-second story window, couldn't give two shits about anything except his whiskey bottle and the burn because today could only be described as hell. Worse than hell maybe.

His son of a bitch ex-boyfriend and his son of a bitch new girlfriend, well ex-girlfriend now, had decided to christen his office. The deal he'd been working on for months didn't get legal approval, which meant everything had to be redrafted. And on top of everything his sister called to tell him she’s setting him up on a date with a quote, unquote ‘lovely girl who seems just right for him.’ He wanted to slam his phone across the room, and he would have if he didn't believe she had the supernatural abilities to know when he was pissy.

The shrill ring of said phone interrupted his anger.

"Talk to me"

"Hello Grace, you sound like shit."

"I'd sound better if you didn't fucking call me, you ass."

A laugh echoed down the phone.

"What do you want Valdez?" A smile played at Jason's lips, despite his day.

"Just wanted to check in and see how you were doing," Leo Valdez sighed, "I heard what happened with bimbo and brainless today."

He winced, "I don't know if I want to burn my office or throw them in an unmarked swamp to swim with the crocs."

"We can do both." His friend replied, conviction lacing his words.

He chuckled darkly shaking his head, "I think I'm just gonna drown myself in the good stuff tonight. I'll face the world tomorrow."

"Okay, I've sent over a tub of your favourite ice-cream. Sorry I can't be there; The lady has been raving about this theatre show for months. I'll be dead if I bail now."

"No worries Firefly, thanks for the ice-cream. Let's meet tomorrow for dinner?"

"Sure bro. I'll book us at the Labyrinth."

"Great and bring your better half!"

A laugh was the only reply before the call ended.

Jason collapsed onto the couch, folding his body into the corner of the seat and taking a large swig from the whiskey. Every time his mind wandered to the horrors of the day he drank. It took a horrifyingly short time to see the bottom of the bottle. The world blurred and tilted, swayed like young trees fighting against the wind. Tears spilled hot and fresh down his cheeks- he didn’t bother to wipe them away. Today he was allowed to cry, today he was allowed to break. It was okay, okay...

“OKAY!” He yelled, trying to untangle his legs from the blanket and wipe the drool on his mouth.

The banging at the door started up again and he cursed a blue streak. With a growl he yanked the door open, “What?”

“Well good morning to you too Mr. Grace,” A cheery-faced Hazel Levesque greeted.

“Hazel,” He sighed “Hi, sorry I- come in,”

“Everything okay Boss?”

“Had a bit of a rough day yesterday, I’m sure I smell like the inside of a whiskey bottle,”

“Uh-I don’t know if I should say anything to that,”

“Good call, I might burst into tears if you do.”

She gave him a wide-eyed look but he waved a dismissive hand, picking up the pillows he had flung in rage and the bottle he had discarded just before he crashed on his couch.

“I’m going to go shower; I’ll update you over some breakfast.”

She gave him a long look before nodding and taking up a set at the kitchen counter. He thought about explaining or offering her something to drink but his soul was exhausted; at the very least he could help himself to a shower before he had to face the world.

The water scorched his back, his forehead pressed to the cool tile. He considered himself lucky for having eaten before he got drunk, otherwise he would have spent the morning with his head in a toilet bowl. His brain pounded against his skull but the alcohol was only half to blame; crying for two hours had its fair contribution.

“Okay you can do this. You’ve gotten through a lot of shit, you can get through this.” He stared himself down in his mirror, fixed the clasp on his watch and shouldered his suit jacket.

With a deep breath he stepped out of his room, his business face firmly in place.

“Shall we grab coffee at Reedpipes, you can update me on my schedule on the way.”

“Sounds good Boss let’s go,”

And within a matter of moments they were stepping into their favourite café. Flowers bloomed in the middle of every table and ivy wrapped around the industrial fixtures above them. A bright hello sounded from the barista’s station.

“Good Morning Grover,” He smiled, at the bearded man already frantically working on their orders.

“How’s it going? I haven’t seen you in a hot minute.” Warm eyes twinkled up at him. It took immense self-control not to burst into tears.

Grover, oblivious to his turmoil prattled on, “Hazel how’s the strawberry pot coming along? Did the compos-“

Jason zoned out, the world becoming a blur of sound and moving colours. His mind hurtled him back to yesterday when he had walked into his office– oh gods it hurt to think about. The evidence of them had been everywhere. Clothes strewn on the floor, his papers and trinkets thrown like a hurricane had swept through. And they had just grinned, like they were waiting, like they planned for it. His stomach flipped, ache and regret flooding him.

“Mr Grace!” A small hand shook his shoulders.

He startled back to the present, “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s okay” Hazel gave him a weird look, “I’ve got our coffees let’s grab a seat.”

He nodded letting her lead them to a little wooden table in the corner of the shop. Sun was just starting to filter in, and the beams caught on the subtle gold accents rimming each table. Once they had settled in across from each other she handed him his cappuccino and took a long slurp of her iced coffee before setting her intimidating golden eyes on him.

“Spill Boss.”

He sighed, running a hand down his face.

“Yesterday I went back to my office after the meeting with Titan Industries, we need to do a redraft for that by the way,”

She nodded, already tapping on her phone to diarise an appointment with the legal team.

“So I get the office and Piper and Luke–“ He gulped, steeling himself, “They decided to use my office as their playground.”

He didn’t know how to put it delicately and little Hazel shouldn’t have to hear his real thoughts on the matter which mostly sounded like ‘fucking fucks, stupid dumbass wankers’ and various other curse words

“Oh Jason,” She gasped softly, reaching out a hand to squeeze his, “I am so sorry. Why are you even coming in to work today? You should have taken the day to yourself.”

“I still have a business to run Hazel, and besides I can’t let their selfishness stop me.”

“You are allowed to be hurt Jason.”

“I know, I know. But I can be hurt this weekend, right now we need to redraft that stupid contract and I need to make some calls about the new buildings starting this week,”

“Right will add that, don’t forget we need to get your suit for the alumni dinner on Friday,”

“Ugh I forgot about that, okay just pencil that in for some time today and maybe call Drew or Silena to find out if they can have a few ready for me to try on. Also I have dinner with Valdez tonight so no calls after six thirty.”

“You got it Boss, and hey­–“ She tugged at his sleeve making sure he looked at her, “If at any point you need to stop, you let me know. And if I see you neglecting yourself like you did last time, I will book a trip to the smallest island in the middle of the damn ocean and throw you on a plane myself,”

He laughed at his fiery assistant, and gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder, “Yes ma’am.”

***

Jason’s day wasn’t going great, but it was at least fifty times better than yesterday. All his belongings had been moved to the floor above and his tainted office was being cleaned out. He didn’t know if he wanted to go back there ever again but maybe he could convert it into a room for his employees. At least they won’t be haunted by the events that occurred. His call with Miss Arellano had gone surprisingly well even if the drafting of this stupid Titan Industries project was proving to be a real pain in the ass. He didn’t even know if it was worth it to do this much readjusting.

“Hey boss,” Hazel knocked at his door, “Frank is here to take you to your suit appointment,”

“Damn is it already four?” He frowned at his watch, “Alright give me two minutes to finish this email and then I’ll be ready. You should go home for the day.”

She snorted, “Thanks, but I got some admin to catch up on. You mind if Frank comes back to drop me off at home afterwards though?”

“No problem, you know he would be happy to do it.”

And maybe if Jason hadn’t been so distracted, he would have caught the blush his assistant was trying so hard to stop.

“Right well, let me know if you pick out a suit or if I need to reschedule. Also Mr Valdez called to confirm your reservation at the Labyrinth for seven thirty.”

“Thank you,” He gave her a brief smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes before turning his attention back to his blinking cursor.

***

“Hello ladies,” He entered the open, marbled boutique that was Aphrodite’s Armour.

“Jason!” A sweet voice squealed, coming towards him for a hug.

“Hello Silena, how are you?”

“Much better now that my favourite customer is here,”

“Aww,” Another voice pouted, “I thought I was your favourite customer?”

“Babe you don’t count,” Silena laughed, booping her fiancé on the nose.

“Well if it makes you feel any better Drew, I know she’s lying because she says that to all the customers.”

Silena gasped, smacking his arm, “I DO not.”

“Yes you do hun,” Drew laughed, “You here for your suit Mr Grace?”

“Yea it’s for the alumni dinner at SPQR University this Friday,”

“Oh yes we’ve heard a lot about this dinner. We’ve had all manner of folks come in these last few days.” Silena nodded, already making her way to the back of the store.

“I’m sure. It’s the big charity dinner where they get all the ‘successful’ alumni together and then milk us for all we’re worth.” He shook his head with a smile.

“Ah you rich people can afford it,” Drew scoffed, smirking at him over her shoulder.

“Yes I do agree,” He nodded, “Where’s my favourite of you lot?”

“Oh Charlie isn’t in. It’s Wednesday so he has to go to his sites.”

“He’ll be sad he missed you though, I think he has some project he wants to pitch.”

“Tell him to give me a call, I’m always happy to talk business.”

“Yes, although I’m sure he’ll be much happier to get down to business with you,” Drew cackled.

“And how would his two fiancées feel about that?” He raised a blonde brow.

“Quite excited,” Silena bubbled, a glitter in her eyes.

Jason let out a real laugh for the first time all day, “Sorry darlings but I don’t think I’d be much fun right now.”

Drew gave him a kiss on the cheek “Well, we’ll be here when you do.”

“Much appreciated,” He grinned.

“Okay, I think I have the perfect one!” Silena moved from behind the racks shoving a black bag into his hands, “Go try it on.”

He stumbled into the changing room and pulled out a gorgeous maroon suit. The lining was a deep blue and the detailing on the seams matched it perfectly. He knew immediately this would be a favourite of his and got confirmation when two minutes later he stepped out to gasps and applause.

“Mr Grace,” Drew’s eyes were wide.

“This is the best one yet,” Silena sighed, assessing him.

“Thank you ladies, it really is beautiful.”

“I think the wearer may be more so,” A low voice from behind them said.

Jason’s head shot up only for his gaze to land on the most exquisite person he had ever had the privilege of laying his eyes on. The beautiful stranger stood with their hands tucked in their pocket and an appreciative look on their face.

“Oh Mr Jackson we didn’t think you’d be here so early.” Silena jumped into action, ushering him through the door and out of site.

Jason was standing stock-still unable to get the image of sparkling green eyes and molten brown skin out of his head.

“Who was that?” He breathed.

Drew was pulling at his suit, synching it and marking the fabric with needles.

“Oh that was Mr Jackson, he comes in here fairly often too. It’s a wonder you haven’t met before, I’m sure you run around the same social circles, what with your fancy parties and all that,” She was mumbling around a mouth full of measuring tape.

“I’ve never seen him before in my life. Trust me I would remember a face like that.”

That got the seamstress’ attention, “Oh someone has a crush,”

“How could you not? We did see the same person, right? Tall, wonderful curly black hair, unbelievable sea green eyes, a voice like crashing waves and earth and-“

He was cut off by her laughing.

“What?” He frowned.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone fall so hard from a five second interaction.”

He blushed, looking away from her all-knowing gaze, “I’m just saying what I saw.”

“Well I’m pretty sure he’s going to the dinner on Friday so maybe you can talk to him there.”

‘He’s what?” He whipped around to look at her, eyes comically wide.

“Yea, he was telling us all about it when he came in earlier this week.”

“Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods, oh gods,” He muttered, heart racing.

“Oh don’t panic, he’s honestly one of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet.” She shrugged before pulling at his arm to take the measurement, “Alright, all set to go. You can pick up the suit tomorrow afternoon or we can send it tomorrow evening?’

“Uh yea, send it.” He said distractedly, already pulling on his clothes.

Drew gave him a cheeky smile, “Goodbye Mr Grace,”

“Bye Drew, tell Silena I said bye, and tell Charlie to call me.”

He stepped into the entrance of the shop, but the beautiful man was nowhere to be found. With a final glance around he made his way into the street, ready for dinner with his friends.

“Hello Grace, glad to see you haven’t gone full hermit,”

“Hello Leo,” He snorted, “It was the ice-cream you sent last night. It gave me hope.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” His friend laughed, “How are you though, seriously?”

“I’ve seen better days, but I’ve seen worse too. I’ll get over it.”

“There is no doubt in my mind Jason Grace,” A soft reassurance floated towards them.

He smiled, pushing out of his seat, “Hello Annabeth,” He enveloped her in a hug.

“Hello my darling,” She gave him a gentle smile.

He let her go and she moved around him to give Leo a quick peck. He smiled at her with overflowing adoration and muttered a soft, “Hello love,”

“Tell us what happened?” She sat down next to her boyfriend and reached out to squeeze Jason’s hand.

So he took a deep breath and relayed the story of his nightmare yesterday. By the time he was finished the couple looked like they were ready to storm the castle and beat Luke and Piper with sledgehammers and drawing compasses.

Annabeth’s grey eyes were hard and stormy with anger, “I’m going to kill them,”

“Don’t worry babe I’m there to help.” Leo said vehemently.

Jason couldn’t help but smile at the protectiveness of his friends, “Thank you guys but I’m fine. Really.”

They gave him a dubious look, their expressions so similar it was comical. He gave them another, hopefully, reassuring smile before they launched into a discussion about work.

Both were engineers with too many degrees to count and an abundance of knowledge circling between them. It was almost scary how exquisitely their minds worked. Jason had recruited them time again for his projects– from designing the education center to building the water systems and electricity grids in the downtown area. His work helping small businesses and improving ‘run-down’ neighbourhoods would be a thousand times harder if he didn’t have them to help him in design and implementation. Annabeth, as the civil engineer, often went to sites with him and over saw a fair few of his community projects. Leo was a mechanical engineering professor at the university they all attended but he was always willing to help if need be. Jason was eternally grateful for that because he didn’t trust many others to oversee his works.

When dessert had been cleared away sometime later the three were laughing and ribbing each other like they were back in college and not big-time owners of various companies.

“Okay, okay,” Leo gasped, “No more of your stories man. Annabeth doesn’t need to know all my secrets.”

The lady in question snorted, digging her elbow into his side, “You wish you had secrets. If you can’t recall I was there for ninety percent of your dumbassery in varsity and I’m here for one hundred percent of it now.”

“You don’t know what happened on our guys nights,” Leo narrowed his cassiterite eyes at her.

“Keep telling yourself that honey,” She smirked.

Jason watched on in amusement as Leo’s face morphed into panic.

“Tell me she’s lying Grace?”

Annabeth’s smirk was wicked, “Oh yes Valdez I know about the ‘pants on fire’ situation, and the ‘jumped off a Ferris wheel situation’ and the–“

“Okay stop. How did you ever choose to date me knowing all these things?” He looked at her with some mixture of horror and wonder.

She shrugged, “I figured if you were smart enough to get a PhD and a Masters you were smart enough to know when I’ll kill you for doing something stupid.”

Jason burst out laughing, “She may be taking your space at the top of my favourite’s list Firefly.”

His friend gave him a look of disgust, “That’s just rude, we’ll see who takes your phone away next time you’re drunk on vodka,”

They all dissolved into fits of giggles after that and Jason felt his heart grow a hundred times lighter.

“Are you guys going to the dinner?”

Annabeth nodded, “I heard the university has a proposition for us this year.”

“I’m mostly excited for the mini tacos,” Leo grinned.

“You’re always excited for the tacos,” She rolled her eyes playfully.

“I can’t help it, there’s just something about them, you know?”

Jason couldn’t help but agree. They really were delicious.

“I guess I’ll see you guys there.”

“You can count on it,” Annabeth gave another of her dazzling smiles, reaching forward to rest a hand on his arm.

“And don’t worry bro I know for a fact Luke isn’t going to be there.”

“Yea I know,” He sighed, “I asked Hazel to check this morning.” They stepped into the chilly night.

“Call us if you need anything,” Leo gave him a look before pulling him in for a hug. Annabeth echoed the sentiment and gave him a kiss on the cheek. 

He watched them walk towards their car, fingers intertwined, Annabeth’s blonde curls resting against Leo’s shoulder. A flutter of ache washed through him at their closeness, their easiness. He had had that once. Until Luke had gotten greedy with his ambition. And he may have had that with Piper if she hadn’t decided to screw his ex.

His life was a mess.

Yet when he crashed into bed that night he felt more hopeful and loved than he had in a long time. He slipped into sleep with a soft smile playing on his lips.

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

Okay what are we saying? How do we feel? GIVE ME THOUGHTS!

Tags (if you want to be added to/ taken off the tag list just let me know, all my channels of communication are open):

@lesbian-peanuts​ @leydiangelo​​ @queen-of-demons-and-hell​ @msdrpreist​ @sparkythunderstorm​ @nishlicious-01​

[flamehairedwritings]

The Fiancé: Chapter Six

Characters: Steve Rogers x Female Plus-Size Reader

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY

Summary: A lie about your best friend at a Christmas party spirals into world news, but a previously unknown threat leaves you having to now live the lie of Steve Rogers being your fiancé.

Originally based on the prompt ‘Character A’s ex will be at the Christmas Party A is attending. Character B poses as A’s fiancé,’ by @alloftheprompts.

A/N: The whole series will include swearing, alcohol, threat, violence, apartment sharing, protected sex, and more tags to be added!

The title has been taken from the Ella Fitzgerald song of the same name.

The Fiancé Masterlist

All Works Masterlist

Read on AO3

Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites; credit does not count.

It’s Only A Paper Moon

WEDNESDAY

“I am in heaven.”

“Doll’, this is Y/N’s wedding, not yours.”

“We have the whole place to ourselves, I can try on one thing, right?” 

Well, the first part of that is true. Sitting on a couch not designed for sitting on, you play with your hands in your lap as your gaze travels the room. Nat had, she’d told you before you’d left that morning, bought the whole place out, for the sake of sensationalism, security and it just seemed like something a very famous person would do.

‘Sensationalism’ is so far so successful; there is a crowd of people similar in size to the one at the cake shop outside, trying to look through the French windows, though you’re located at the back of the shop. As for security, it means Nat doesn’t have to plant people inside and you won’t get crowded and overwhelmed by people coming up to you, and for seeming like something a famous person would do? Yeah, probably, you don’t know.

“Just have some fun,” Nat had said as you’d gone down in the elevator. “It’s just trying on some dresses and having a fun time with your friends.”

Fun.

You’d nearly laughed. But, you’d just smiled and nodded, because that’s what you do now, smile and nod and go along with things. If you don’t, that leads to conversations, and conversations lead to you having to admit to things, like the panic attack you’d had that morning as you’d dressed or the fact you have feelings for your best friend and every moment of this week is both wonderful and torturous. 

Speaking of... you haven’t seen Steve today.

Last night, after you’d woken up from your nap, you’d showered, masturbated while in there, ‘cause, hey, things had only gotten more stressful, and changed and wandered downstairs, but Steve was nowhere to be seen. Then you’d heard sounds of machines in the gym room and realised he was working out. He’d left a note for you on the island, though, saying there were leftovers in the oven of what he’d cooked. You’d eaten alone, watching TV.

You did that for about two hours, and Steve didn’t emerge once, still working out. You hadn’t thought anything of it, though, he is super-human. So, you’d gone to bed, leaving him a note in return saying thank you, you hadn’t wanted to disturb him and that you were going to bed, with a little drawn smiley face.

There’d been no note when you’d come down after calming yourself and pulling your shoes on, not wanting to be caught out like yesterday morning, just Nat.

But space is good for you two.

Even if you never usually go this long without at least messaging each other.

But this isn’t a ‘usually’ time.

“Y/N?”

The Christmas jazz music filters back into your hearing as your head snaps up to look at Dolly, sat on a gorgeous pale pink shell chair, her big eyes wider than usual.

“Yeah, sorry?”

Her smile is wide and her eyes seem to be only getting wider. “I can try on one thing, right?”

You nod as you smile. “Uh, yeah. As bridesmaids, you probably actually should try something.”

She releases a sound akin to a squeal and claps her hands together. “Great! What colour do you want for us?”

“Uh...” Oh, you know this, you talked about it with Nat in the car... “... Red.”

Bridget looks at you, then exhales a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God, I thought you were gonna carry on and say ‘white and blue’.”

Your lips twitch as you tilt your head. “Come on, we’re not gonna be that on the nose.”

Bridget raises their eyebrows but before they can retort a woman, Sally, appears with an ice bucket, a bottle of champagne inside, and three glasses. All three of you give some kind of very grateful sound before thanking her as she sets them down on the glass table before you. You also all cheer as she pops the champagne, (God, who are we... desperate for free alcohol, that’s who), and thank her again as she fills the glasses and hands one to you each.

Beaming, she stands back, her hands clasped together. “Can I get anything else for y’all?”

You hum as you quickly swallow your mouthful. “Mmh. Yes, please. Do you have any dresses in red, for these two?”

She glances at them, her gaze sweeping over them and you realise she’s expertly measuring them, and nods. “Absolutely. What style would you like?”

“Uh, any, we’ve got time.”

Her beam grows as she nods. “Wonderful, I’ll be five minutes.”

You take another sip as she trots off to the back room. Much like at the cake shop, you’d said to the shop attendants assisting you, all five of them now having nothing to do but assist you, that you will try everything and anything. Like Damilola, they’d looked delighted, probably used to, as you’d seen on reality shows, people coming in with very specific requests.

And, boy, do you all have the time to try every damn thing on. Dolly and Bridget have the day off, Yvette being very understanding at the short notice, officially, though unofficially she probably isn’t too pleased to not have her best receptionist and the Head of IT on the same day.

Who am I kidding, she never breaks a sweat. Probably a good time to get those interns trained up, too.

You also have the time as you were meant to be visiting two places today, though the first hadn’t exactly gone to plan. In other words, you’d walked out.

“Oh, our, uhm, our plus-size section isn’t very large.”

You fold your arms as Bridget raises their eyebrows and Dolly narrows her eyes.

“Oh? And why not?”

The woman, Candace, looks between you, her cheeks pink. “Oh, because we, uhm...”

You raise your eyebrows, placing your hands on the counter. “I’m about to blow your mind, Candace, but bigger people get married, too. And you’ve just lost my custom.”

You’d walked out seconds after, a smug smile hinting on your lips as Candace had called after you, practically begging for you to return, that they could order whatever you wanted in, but you’d just kept walking, Bridget telling Candace to save it as Dolly looped her arm through yours.

Nat had apologised profusely once you’d gotten into the SUV she was going to spend the day ferrying you three around in, saying it hadn’t occurred to her to check, as Dolly and Bridget had stared at her, still unused to being in her presence.

Of course it hadn’t occurred to her.

This place, though, The Pearl... It’s gorgeous. Despite not having felt offended at the last place, just angry and exasperated, you couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated. What if this was going to be your whole day? Going from place to place just because they were dumb and exclusionary? You’d felt welcomed the moment you walked in, though, all five assistants and Sally smiling as they greeted each of you in turn, and all Sally, obviously the senior member from how she led the conversation, had done was ask you your usual dress size and that had been it.

You look at the interior again, taking in the pale pink and white walls, framed photos on them of dresses or models in them, or real people on their wedding days in them, the plush cream carpet, the crystal chandeliers, the gorgeously decorated Christmas trees in each corner, the fairy lights adorning the counter by the front door.

Yeah... I can have fun here. And why the fuck not? Trying on dresses is always fun, no matter what, and there’s free champagne and I’m here with Dolly and Bridge’.

Sitting back on the pale pink couch, the tightening in your chest easing, you sip your champagne with a smile.

Am I a champagne person now? This week’s telling me yes.

Bridget stretches their legs out as they sigh contentedly. Looking at you, they smile softly. “How are you feeling about the interview?”

You pull a face as you hold the glass between both hands. “You know about that?”

“Uh, it’s been trending on Twitter for the last two days is all anyone’s talking about.”

You groan as you take another, longer sip.

“So how do you feel?” Dolly gently repeats the question.

You smile lightly, looking between them with raised brows. “How do you think?”

She smiles softly, endearing assurance in her tone. “You’re gonna be fine, Y/N.”

 You open your mouth, then close it. Then again... you can talk about it freely with these two, they’ll understand without feeling guilty or worrying too much or treating you like a breakable vase.

You exhale a breath, one you feel like you’ve been holding for days. “I don’t know, it’s live and we haven’t been able to get an idea of what they’re gonna ask yet and... I just don’t want to think about it too much, really.”

Bridget rests their arm on the back of the couch, turning their body to you. “That’s not like you. I’ve watched you spend months preparing for one meeting.”

“That’s different.”

“No, it’s not.” They point a finger at you. “This is a meeting, and you’re pitching your marriage.”

You have no idea how close to the truth that is.

You take a breath. “Can I practise on you two, then?”

Both of them perk up, smiles wide.

“Absolutely!” Dolly enthuses. “We’ve been dying for you to tell us all the details, we’ve been so patient.”

“And a little bit offended,” Bridget adds good-naturedly with an arched brow.

“I know, I know,” you smile, even as your chest twinges.

“It’s fine, two birds, one stone, you can make up for it now and practise,” Bridget says, holding their glass on their knee and fixing you with an expectant gaze and adopting a stereotypical news reader voice. “So, how did this happen, when was the first kiss, the first fondle, the engagement, I want every dirty detail, and the romantic details, too.”

“Okay,” you say through your laughter as Dolly giggles. “All right, all right... God, I’m gonna need more champagne.”

—

He could see the headline now; Cap Goes To Seek Former Flame’s Approval!

At least it would be better than the one’s that had been written when he’d gone on two dates with Sharon. Had that been why they’d both ended it? The media pressure, the questions, the constant hounding? No, but maybe that had been a factor in it. Sharon is great, but... He hadn’t felt a real connection, and neither had she.

He’d only felt that connection a few times in his life, so he knew when something was worth fighting for.

"Engaged, hm?” Peggy Carter fixes him with her gaze, an eyebrow arched, and, God, nothing ever passes her by, not even now.

A smile pulling at his lips, he raises his own eyebrows a little. “Peg—”

She exhales a laugh. “You can’t tell me, I understand.” Lacing her fingers together on her stomach, she smiles. “I do like her.”

“You’ve never met her,” he reminds her gently.

“I know,” she adjusts her head on her pillow, “but the way you talk about her makes me like her. How is she doing with all of this?”

He nods, his own hands clasped together. “Okay, I think. She’s tough.”

Peggy looks at him, her jaw moving minutely. “Hm.”

“What?”

Her lips lift a little, her features soft. “People called me tough. Said I handled things okay. But I can’t tell you how many times I cried in my office, then pulled myself together. I don’t mind crying, it’s very therapeutic, but I would have hated them to see me do it, hated what they would have twisted it into. Or even some of my friends, how they might have gently told me to maybe cut back my hours or something like that, to take on less. But just because I cried it didn’t mean I couldn’t handle matters.”

Steve opens his mouth when she continues, “Did you know that after you went into the ice our relationship is all anyone wanted to talk to me about? Interview me about? Even when I became Director of SHIELD the same questions followed me around, ‘What do you think Steve would think? Would he be proud? Do you still miss him?’”

Something in him twists as he looks at her. “I’m sorry, Peg.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Lord, I’m not saying it to make you feel bad, Steve, still so dramatic...” Her features soften again, but her gaze fixes on his. “I’m just trying to give a little perspective, having been in the position she is. It’s not easy.”

He exhales a long breath, his shoulders dropping a little. “That’s what I’m afraid of, actually.”

Her brow dips. “What do you mean?”

“Like you just said, it’s not easy being with me.”

“Steve Rogers...” His gaze, having lowered, meets hers again, and he finds it faintly incredulous. “... It’s the easiest thing in the world being with you. You are easy to be with. It’s the rest of the world that’s the problem.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “I liked where that was goin’ but that last part doesn’t make me feel any better.”

She huffs out a laugh, tilting her head. “But the rest of the world doesn’t matter, though, does it? Not if you’re with someone you love, hm?”

He looks at her, his lips lifting a little higher. “No, it doesn’t.”

—

“... So, it was only a couple of weeks ago... We were out at the park we like to walk in, you know the one, I go on about it all the time, the trees are always on my Instagram ‘cause it’s just so pretty, ‘nd it’s quiet, y’know, we’re in the middle of winter, and it’s dark, no one wants to really be out walking, except us...”

 You’ve had a bit more champagne than you probably should, but, hey, go away, morals, this is a nice story.

“... so we’re walking, and we’re just talking, and then we stop, and we’re looking up at the stars...”

Dolly, Bridget, Sally, and the other five shop assistants, Donna, Nicole, Max, Jamie and Priya all sigh together at the imagery, and your eyebrows raise and you nod in an expression of, ‘I know’.

“... and then he just gets down on one knee and asks me to marry him.”

They all sigh again, a couple of them putting their hands to their chests and ‘aww’ing and you nod as you sip your champagne because, yeah, that is very cute.

Good one, me.

“What did he say? How did he ask you?” Max asks, all the assistants bunched together on a long couch they’d dragged over.

You take another, longer sip of champagne because what did he say...

“... Oh, well, that’s just between me and him,” you say with a coy smile and they all boo good-naturedly.

Nice one.

“That’s such a lovely story,” Sally smiles warmly and you return it before raising your eyebrows.

“Shall we carry on trying these gorgeous dresses?”

They all cheer and the assistants get to their feet and scurry off to the back to find more for you and Dolly and Bridget. You look at your two friends, Dolly in a yellow ballgown, Bridget in a multi-coloured floral suit, and beam. You are wearing an ivory lace number that hugs your figure and then flows out just below your hips, and are trying very hard not to spill champagne on it.

The session had quickly escalated into Dolly and Bridget trying on whatever they wanted between red dresses, and you just putting on whatever was brought out. You’d told Sally you were here to get an idea of what you wanted, but that you’d be returning very soon. Nat has scheduled in another dress shopping day for Friday and you’d quickly messaged her about half an hour ago while you were changing to cancel wherever that was and make it here. She hadn’t argued.

You’re also giving little bits of details here and there to practise for the interview, your first kiss (at your place after watching a film), when you’d said I love you, (at his place after having dinner and watching a film together), and the story of how he proposed. You’re going to have to remember all this to tell Steve, though, so you keep making notes on your phone as you get changed.

You’ve also sent him a message because you still haven’t spoken.

You know he’s with Peggy, though, so he absolutely won’t be checking his phone, but... 

It just feels strange.

“Right...” Your attention comes back into the room as Sally and Jamie appear with an armful of dresses each, “... We have a vintage style one here that we think y’all are gonna love.”

Dolly claps her hands together as Bridget gasps dramatically.

“Vintage? Oh, he’s absolutely gonna love that.”

You don’t know why that makes you feel warm. It’s not like he’s actually going to see you in it... Unless...

—

“... Thank you so much! ... We will! We’ll see you Friday!”

You have to practically drag Dolly out of the back doors of The Pearl, the three of you giggling as you wave at the assistants. Who knew you could become such firm friends with people in the space of in five hours? Well, two bottles of champagne will do that.

You’re on the higher end of tipsy, in a lovely, warm, chatty way, and you have lined your stomach and soaked some of it up, Sally having ordered you all food so you wouldn’t have to leave and 1) Face the crowd, and 2) You couldn’t be bothered to leave, really.

The crowd is also the reason you’re leaving out the back doors, none of you wanting to face the horde outside. It has grown throughout the day, people desperate to get even the tiniest glimpse of you and what you’re wearing. Priya had closed the curtains after an hour, though, and they’d had two of their security guards stationed outside the front doors and it was just bliss. You’d had the chance to forget all about the outside world and just have some fun. Moving across the staff parking lot for The Pearl and a couple of surrounding shops, people haven’t had the chance to get in because it’s guarded, and the man whose job that is looks up from his newspaper in his little station, then looks back down.

Bliss.

Nat waits for you in the SUV, those sunglasses on, one hand leaning against the steering wheel.

“Such a ‘top’ pose,” Bridget stage-whispers and you’re all falling into giggles again.

You’re still gigging as you climb into the car, you in the passenger seat, Dolly and Bridget behind you. Nat’s lips twitch as she raises an eyebrow.

“Did we all have a fun time?”

“So fun.” Dolly, who is usually the most intimidated by Nat, which isn’t surprising considering she has a crush on her and they’ve both only met her three times before, including today, launches into a glowing review of the shop and day, “Everyone was so nice and the dresses and suits and jumpsuits and shoes are gorgeous, I can’t wait until we go back, oh my God, it’s all I’m gonna think about tomorrow...”

Nat’s smile lingers on her lips as she heads towards Dolly’s apartment, Dolly carrying on for the whole journey with Bridget occasionally butting in to add a comment. You laugh the whole way, your cheeks almost hurting from how much you’ve been grinning.

Nat parks up outside Dolly’s building, and turns in her seat, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head and meeting Dolly’s gaze, which provokes a pink blush to rise on her cheeks.

“Sounds like a really good day, then.”

Dolly just nods now, swallowing lightly. “Yep.”

Glancing from her to Bridget, Nat smiles and you think you hear Bridget let out the quietest of sounds. Wanting to save them both, or maybe they don’t want to be saved, they could be loving gazing into her eyes, who knows at this point, you turn to them, too.

“Oke doke, we’ll see you later, Doll’, I’ll text you when Sam and I are on the way.”

Bridget’s eyes whip to you, their mouth dropping open. “Sam’s picking us up?!”

You can’t stop your smile from widening, your eyebrows rising. “Yeah.”

“Oh my God, right, I need to go home and get ready now, Doll’ get out, I only have three hours, oh my God...”

Dolly is laughing so hard she nearly trips out of the SUV, and one hand is on your chest as the other wipes at your eyes as you laugh. Dolly waves from the pavement as she grins before she trots into the building, and all feelings of intimidation have left Bridget as they point ahead.

“Step on it, Nat, this is a national emergency, go...”

Nat just shakes her head as she turns back around, but she’s still smiling and you’re still laughing. “All right, all right, don’t worry, hold on...”

And, boy, does she mean it.

How does she drive this fast and this safely.

—

There’s just something about getting ready for a night-out while you’re tipsy. 

Sometimes, if you haven’t had a chance to pre-drink, you have a few moments of ‘ugh, do I really want to go out, I can’t be bothered, there’s that new show out, I’m so tired, oh my God, what if I do something embarrassing...’ but now, the champagne having only worn off a little from what you made yourself for dinner, and, okay, it probably didn’t help that you also made yourself an alcoholic beverage to have with it, you’re still quite buzzed.

Steve hadn’t been home yet and Nat had left a few minutes after making sure you were inside the penthouse so you’d been able to play your music and yell along to it. You’d been able to take your time getting ready, trying on a few outfits before settling on a true classic number that makes a lot of appearances on nights out because 1) you look amazing in it, and 2) you look really damn amazing in it.

You’d even, Nat having requested it, taken a selfie once you were ready and uploaded it to your Instagram story, along with a few gifs of glasses clinking together and someone dancing.

Job done, you’d returned to the group chat you have with Dolly and Bridget and sent them the picture, accompanied with, ‘time to fuckin party’. You could send them a picture of you in a bin bag and they’d still reply with the same thing they do for every photo, and you would for them.

Bridge’ 🌟: Y E S

Dolly ✨: WHO IS SHE???

Bridge’ 🌟: INCREDIBLE, SHOW STOPPING, AMAZING, ICONIC, LIFE CHANGING

Dolly ✨: I LOVE IT

They swiftly send their own photos.

You: LOOK AT US

Bridge’ 🌟: WHO ARE WE

God, they’re great.

You ignored the slight, unpleasant flip in your stomach at seeing Steve’s message, that he sent an hour ago and you haven’t replied to yet.

I hope you had a good day, have fun tonight x

You message each other every day so you never send ‘kisses’, so this just makes you think he’s done it to soften the blow of a slightly blunt message. Is it blunt? Or are you reading too much in to it? He has had a busy day based on what Nat told you when she’d driven you to the penthouse. He was seeing Peggy all day and then going over to Bucky’s to see him, and then they are going to have their own night out.

That’s busy, right.

Whatever, he doesn’t have to reply all the time, it’s fine.

You reply:

Thanks, you too! :-) x 

Which is the kind of reply you’d give to someone at work.

You’d ignored your phone vibrating as people, strangers, react to your Instagram story, slipped it into your bag and headed downstairs.

If you were an ego-maniac, Sam’s reaction on top of your friends would just make your head explode.

“Well, hello, ma’am!”

“Oh, stop it.”

“Nu-uh, let me look at you... Wo-ow. You look amazing.”

“Stop it... but thank you, I know.”

The moment you got into his SUV, (does everyone get one the moment they join SHIELD?) he has music playing that you can both sing along and dance in your seats to. Bridget had told you to pick them up last to give them more time so you swing by Dolly’s place first and she looks gorgeous as always in a short, glittery pink dress with matching eyeshadow and lipstick, her blonde hair curled and bouncing.

You give little squeals as you see each other, despite having only seen each other a few hours ago, and she’s definitely still buzzed, too. Sam gives her the same reaction he gave you and, God, you love him.

As you pull up outside Bridget’s building, you can’t stop meeting Dolly’s gaze in the rear-view mirror, your lips twitching. She’s doing a worst job than you at hiding her smile, her hand in front of her mouth, and you’re both trying so hard to stop a laugh.

It escapes when he gets out of the car and closes the door and you’re both turning in your seats to stare at Bridget as they walk out, gorgeous as always in a buttoned up, black blazer with no shirt underneath and matching black shorts, one side of their head freshly shaved. Dolly’s hand darts out and grips your arm as Sam approaches them and kisses their cheek and they’re both smiling but you can’t hear what they’re saying and you hate SUVs, are these things sound-proof, I’ll ask Nat...

As they climb into the car, you and Dolly are staring at Bridget, smiling. They just raise their eyebrows, grinning and say, “Hey, girls.”

“Well, hello.”

“Hi.”

You have to once again stop a laugh as Sam starts to drive, turning the music up, and you were all soon yelling along to the songs.

Now here you are, at a roof-top bar, being escorted to a table that had been reserved for you. Usually, you’d go to your favourite bar opposite work but Sam had gently insisted that you move it to another place he was more familiar with and where he could have better access to an exit and eyes on you. For a place simply titled The Venue, it’s very nice up here; it’s large, fire pits and heaters dotted around so you can’t feel the cold, a stunning view of the city, low, sultry tunes playing, a dance-floor in one corner, everything either purple, red, or gold. There’s even table service, and you recognise a few people dotted around.

“Is that—”

“Oh my God, yes...” Bridget whispers back to Dolly’s question as they stare at a table a little way away.

Your lips twitch as you each take a seat at a wooden table with a candle on it, the chairs red and plush. Your server informs you that a tab has already been set up for you, so you each grab a menu and debate for a good few minutes about what to get, the server standing patiently. Settling on cocktails, the server leaves with a beam, promising to be back in a few minutes.

“God, this place is fancy,” Bridget says, turning in their seat to get another look at everything. 

“And we actually have a table!” Dolly sighs delightedly.

“Perks of being Mrs America, huh?” Bridget turns back around to look at you, their eyebrows raising with a smirk.

You snort, your cheeks heating. “Not quite yet.”

Bridget opens their mouth but Dolly gets in first, gasping suddenly. “Did you see the news by the way?”

You pull a slight face. “No, I don’t tend to look at it anymore.”

She beams, her eyes sparkling. “Well, what happened at the dress shop, at the first place, everyone’s talking about it. People are so happy you said something and brought attention to it, there’s so many discussions being had about the wedding dress industry and the fashion industry in general when it comes to plus size clothing.”

The server returns before you can reply, and as she sets your drinks down you feel heat rise on your face again as you bite at your lower lip, pride spreading through you.

Well... Great power, great responsibility... I could get all kinds of stuff to be talked about... Note to self, change world tomorrow.

The three of you take long sips of your chosen drinks, humming in delight at the taste. As you lick your lips and set your glass down, Bridget places their arms on the table and leans forward.

“Now, come on, Y/N...”

Your eyebrows raise. “... What?”

Bridget tilts their head. “What’s he like in bed.”

You give your best scandalised gasp as Dolly laughs and Bridget smirks, continuing, “He’s kinky, isn’t he? It’s always the quiet ones...”

“Bridget Sanderson,” you gasp again, even as you grin, Dolly’s laugh infectious, “A lady never tells.”

“Well, you ain’t no lady so spill.”

You take a long sip of your drink to buy some time.

Could you? Should you?

Well, I’m in this far... And they won’t let it slide...

Licking your lips, you lean forward and lower your voice. “All the details?”

Dolly giggles and claps her hands together as Bridget grins. “All of them, you saucy bitch.”

—

Who knew you were so imaginative. Who knew you could remember every detail of every fantasy you have ever had about your best friend. Who knew you could think up such filthy, delightful things. Who knew you’d start comparing these imaginings with actual things you’ve done in your life, and that Dolly and Bridget have done with their sexual partners.

Who knew all three of you could drink so much.

Sorry to whoever’s paying the tab. The government? Shit, sorry, government, no wait, no I’m not, another round!

As the server, Melanie, you found out is her name while ordering the second drink, brings you your fourth drinks, you’re currently in the middle of laughing so hard it hurts at a story Dolly is telling of a sexual encounter, tears streaming from your eyes.

“... and then...” She dissolves into laughter herself, leaning over. “... and then her cat came in and it just, it just sat on the bedside table and made eye contact with me and...” God, you bloody love her laugh. “... she was doin’ such great things and sayin’ such good dirty talk but all I could do was stare at this cat and I just felt like apologising to it... and then it just started licking itself!”

Bridget is practically curled up in their chair as they laugh and you’re having to wipe at your cheeks, practically crying. Once you’ve all calmed down, you blow out a breath and massage your stomach.

“Oh my God, Doll’, I can’t believe you never told us that story...”

“I’m gonna wanna hear it again every day,” Bridget says, running a hand through their hair as they grin.

Dolly beams, sipping her drink. “I’d forgotten ‘bout it, think I repressed it.”

“So Steve’s into dirty talk, too, huh?” Bridget asks, sipping their own drink.

You nod several times, because part of you had always just thought, with him being such a great commander and leader, that he would be... and you’ve already told them that he is. “Mmhm, he’s made me come by jus’ his words alone.”

“No.”

“Get th’ fuck outta here.”

You nod smugly, your tongue catching your straw and you take a long sip. Not a total lie, you’ve imagined his voice in your ear several times... with a vibrator helping you along. And, hey, you won’t feel guilty about any of this ‘cause this is boosting his image... to your friends.

Dolly’s eye are wide and she and Bridget lean in, wanting more sordid details. You grin, happy to oblige and divulge more of your fantasies.

“So, it was when he was away one time ‘nd he called me ‘nd—”

“Excuse me?”

All three of you pause and turn to look at a woman, close to your age, smiling as she pushes her brown straight hair over her shoulder.

“Hi.”

“H’llo.”

“Hiya.”

“Hey,” she says, holding a phone in her hands as she looks at you. “I’m sorry to bother you, but can my friends and I get a photo with you?”

You blink, and look at her. Did... Yeah, you heard it right. Photo? With you?

You nod quickly, realising you’re just staring and silent. “Oh, yeah, sure, absolutely.”

What the fuck is happening. I hope I don’t sound as drunk as I feel. Or look it, oh my God, are my eyes open properly?

You push yourself up and, oh, fuck, yep, you’re drunk, and step around your chair as the woman beams and beckons her five friends over.

“Thank you so much!”

Bridget offers to take the photo, the woman very grateful, and she and her friends introduce themselves, a little tipsy and giddy with nerves and being with a celebrity, oh my God, I’m a celebrity, this is hilarious...

You stand in the middle, your arms around the girls either side of you, and you smile, making sure your eyes are open properly, as they pose. Bridget takes a few photos before smiling and handing the phone back to the first woman as they break away from you.

“Oh my God, thank you so much!”

“You’re so pretty!”

“We’re so jealous of you!”

You just smile and nod, trying to appear a little more sober.

“Thank you, have a nice night!” you call as they wander off, still giddy with excitement and all wanting to look at the photo.

Sitting back down, blinking, you look at Bridget and Dolly. They’re looking at you, blinking, too. It’s Bridget who finally speaks.

“... So, as you were sayin’ ‘bout gettin’ absolutely railed by America’s Finest?”

The three of you dissolve into giggles again, Dolly throwing her head back as Bridget leans over the table and your hands cover your mouth.

“Hey!”

Oh my God, I really am a celebrity.

Your wide smile lingering, you lower your hands and look up at the woman. You hear a chair scrape back on the stone floor somewhere as you pause. Hang on, you know this woman—

“You worthless bitch!”

Dolly screams as the woman throws some kind of small can at you and you’re suddenly drenched in a thick, liquid, your eyes closing just in time. Someone else screams as you hear Bridget shove their chair back and yell obscenities at the woman, lunging for her, but suddenly other voices are there, and they must be pulling the woman away because her own screams are coming from further and further away.

You’re frozen in your seat, hands half-raised. People are shouting around you but you barely listen. Dazed, your hands continue moving up, as they had been doing to protect yourself, and you wipe the liquid away from your eyes, and slowly open them.

You can feel the cold now, the heaters and fire-pits worthless, the liquid sticking to your skin and clothes. Or maybe you’re just shaking because you’re in shock.

You suddenly realise someone has been talking to you. Your head moving, you meet Sam’s gaze, suddenly feeling his hand on your back. His features are soft and his voice is gentle, but you can see the rage in his eyes.

“I got you, it’s all right. Can you get up? And we’ll get you out of here?”

You nod and lower your gaze, going to reach for your bag.

“It’s all right, I got it,” he says and your eyes move to his other hand, confirming that he does.

Getting to your feet, Sam’s arm goes around your shoulders and your feet are moving. People are still shouting, some trying to take photos, but there are people pushing them away, giving you and Sam space to head towards a door he’s leading you to.

It’s paint, you realise suddenly. Blue paint. You look back down at yourself again, watching it stain your skin and clothes.

“Where’s Bridge’ and Dolly?” you hear yourself ask.

“Another agent’s got ‘em, don’t worry, she’s gonna take ‘em home.”

Sam shoves the door open and you step into a stairwell, two men stood inside it. One of them moves to your left and you see an elevator, which the man opens by typing in a code on a keypad. Sam’s hand is still on your back, gently guiding you into it. The doors shut as the man types in another code, and Sam drops his hand from you and presses a button marked ‘B’. The elevator starts to descend and you stare at the doors.

“We’re gonna get you home, all right?” Sam says quietly, and you just nod, not caring to ask if he means home home, or the penthouse.

You hear him unzip his jacket. Yeah, it is hot in here. Your skin is warm all over and your throat feels tight, and you can’t quite take in a deep enough breath. Then you hear the sound of something ripping. Your gaze darting to Sam, he holds a section of his polo shirt in his hand and offers it to you. You stare at it, your brain putting the pieces together, and then you take it. You wipe at your eyes, mouth and face, and Sam zips his jacket back up and looks at you.

“You okay?” His voice is quiet again and you’re grateful for it because even the sound of his shirt tearing has made your heart beat faster.

“That was the woman from my work, who got in, wasn’t it?” you ask blankly, your volume matching his.

He shifts a little, scratching at his jaw as you hear him release a breath. “Yeah.”

You nod, swallowing hard and you wish the lump in your throat would go away. “Right.” He opens his mouth when you continue, finally meeting his gaze, “Why did you do that, Sam? You’ve blown your cover, surely, or they’ll know I’m being watched.”

He gives a light smile. “People will expect you to be watched, it would’ve been suspicious if no one stepped in.”

“Ah.” You start to wipe at your hands.

Sam tilts his head slightly, his smile softening. “And I wanted to get you out of there.”

You meet his gaze again, but you don’t have the energy to smile, despite the sentiment being touching, and just nod. His eyes linger on you as you look back down at your hands, concern swiftly replacing his smile. 

The elevator slows then comes to a halt, the doors sliding open a moment later, and the cold night air washes over you as you both step out into the underground parking garage, yet another one, Sam’s hand returning to your back. The place is silent, and you spot Sam’s SUV amongst a few other cars, both of you heading towards it. He gestures to someone in another car but you don’t care to look, assuming it’s another agent.

He moves a step ahead of you to open the passenger side door and you stop abruptly.

“What?” he says instantly, tensing.

“The paint. It’s gonna ruin the seat.”

He looks at you for a moment, his features relaxing into a smile. “Ah, that’s all right. That can be taken care of.”

You get in after he nods, and he places your bag on your lap. Closing the door, he jogs around to the driver’s side as you buckle your seatbelt then settle your hands over your bag, gripping it along with the piece of his shirt. Your eyes focus and stay on the dashboard as he secures his own seatbelt and puts the car into ‘drive’.

The barrier is more guarded than the other parking garages you’d been in this week but that hasn’t stopped paparazzi and occupants of the building from gathering, assuming that’s how you’d leave the area. You keep your eyes on the dashboard as lights flash and people shout.

Shouting, always shouting.

Sam doesn’t drive as fast as Nat, but he’s goes at some speed when you’re out on the main road. “Steve’s gonna meet us at the apartment,” he says after a couple of minutes, keeping his eyes on the road, “He was out with Barnes.”

“Okay.” Your voice sounds small to your own ears, distant.

Neither of you talk.

You look at your hands, the paint dry and barely having come off from when you’d rubbed at them in the elevator.

You start rubbing at them again, then use your nail, trying to scrape what you can off.

“Shit...” Sam murmurs suddenly.

Glancing up at him, you find him looking in the rear-view mirror every few moments.

“What is it?”

“Someone’s followin’ us.”

Your stomach drops, and exhaustion hits you like a fucking freight train. From his reaction, you guess it’s not a news van.

Sam presses a button on the steering wheel and the sound of dialling fills the interior.

Nat answers on the first ring.

"Where are you?”

“Nat, we’re bein’ followed.”

“Shit. All right, there’s a car on the way. Change your route.”

“Okay.” He takes the next left, and you know your heart should be pounding but you’re just so tired.

“How far away are you?”

“About fifteen minutes,” Sam replies, glancing up at the rear-view mirror. “We’re definitely bein’ followed, Nat.”

“The car will be there in three minutes. Keep taking turns, it’ll follow behind them.”

“Don’t worry, Y/N, nearly home,” Sam murmurs.

“Mhm.”

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Nat asks, her voice a little softer.

“Mhm.”

Sam glances at you as he pulls up at a red light, his lips pressing together. “Not long now.”

“Mhm—”

The sound twists into a gasp as you’re thrown forward slightly, the seatbelt catching you. Sucking in a breath through your teeth, you lift your head and look in the wing mirror as Sam spits out a curse.

A car, its bonnet dented, is reversing... then it speeds towards you again.

“Sam—”

“I see it.”

“Sam, what’s going on?” Nat demands to know as Sam pushes his foot down on the accelerator, the SUV lurching forward.

“We just got hit, they’re tryna ram us.”

“Are you both okay?”

Sam’s expertly weaving through the traffic, leaving horns blaring in your wake, but he just keeps going.

“Y/N, you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” It’s an automatic response, but you think you are. Physically, at least. Whiplash will properly rear its head soon, though.

A faint memory comes to you, however, of Sam telling you all the SHIELD cars have been built to absorb the impact of things like this, it having happened a fair few times, leaving the occupants with minimal damage, if none, so maybe not.

“Are they still following?”

“Nah, I don’t think so. Think we lost ‘em.” He only slows his speed a little, though.

“You’re right, the agents are following them now, just get back here as quick as you can.”

“All right.”

The call ends and Sam glances at you.

“Y/N, you gotta tell me if you’re not okay, are you hu—”

“I’m fine, Sam, thank you.” You swallow hard, the lump still in your throat.

He falls silent, leaving you be, and you’re grateful for it because you’re so fucking tired.

Several minutes later, he pulls up at the penthouse building and he makes you wait, sliding out of his seat and jogging round to open your door. People stare as he ushers you across the main foyer to the elevator that’ll take you up to your floor but you just look ahead. Thankfully, Sam doesn’t say a word as the elevator ascends and you just look at the doors. When they slide open at the penthouse floor and you step out into the tiny circular foyer, you let Sam get his keycard out, opening the door.

And then the noise washes over you.

People talking, to each other, over each other, on phones, demanding, ordering, snapping. You hear the door close and feel Sam behind you as you slowly walk down the short hallway, then into the living room area.

There are agents everywhere, maybe about twenty, all stood around, talking. Loudly.

They don’t look up at you as they continue on with whatever they’re doing, typing on tablets, staring at tablets, standing over a hologram of what you realise is the floor-plan of the penthouse.

“Y/N.” Your eyes dart up to Nat as she approaches, striding across the carpet. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Tired.”

“Okay.” Her gaze scans you, assessing, and you’re too drained to care that she knows you’re lying. Her hand settles on your arm gently and she holds your gaze, her voice lowering. “We analysed what this is, okay, we got the can of it from the woman, and it’s just paint—”

“Who is she?”

Nat pauses at your abrupt question, and you know she’s weighing up what to tell you. Her hand doesn’t move from your arm as she speaks, “Her name’s Marise Daniels. She’s one of Steve’s stalkers, we’ve been aware of her for a while.”

Stalkers. One of.

“Oh.”

“She...” Sam starts to say, choosing his own words carefully. “... She isn’t meant to be out, especially after what happened at your work.”

“Apparently there was a system error. Someone’s seriously fucked up,” Nat continues, the information new to you both considering Sam’s hissed release of a breath.

“Is that why these people are all here.” You don’t think you’ve ever heard your own voice sound so lifeless.

Nat pauses again, weighing her words again and, God, just tell me. ���Someone tried to break in. They got into the elevator and overrode it, got up here but they couldn’t get in. The tampering alerted our systems but by the time we got here they’d gone. We’re checking CCTV footage now and asking people if they saw anything.”

You look at her, her words barely feeling like they reach you. “So why are all these people in here.”

Her hand is gently rubbing your arm now, and it’s faintly starting to ground you. “They’re checking the security systems in place here, making sure they’re secure or reinforced.”

“Okay.”

“They’ll be gone in thirty minutes, I promise.”

“Okay.”

She takes in a breath and smiles lightly. “How about we—”

“Agent Romanoff?”

A muscle in her jaw ticks slightly but she turns to the agent, her eyebrows raising. “Yeah?”

The agent lowers her phone from her ear. “Captain Rogers has helped to apprehend the suspect. He’s on his way over. Agents Moore and Lane are taking the suspect back to HQ.”

“All right, tell them to...”

Nat’s voice drops out of your hearing, and your gaze drifts to the stairs. Sam’s hand settles on your back, rubbing gently, and you remember that he’s there.

“I’m gonna... gonna go upstairs and wash this off,” you mumble to him, and you don’t hear if he replies as you move forward.

People don’t look at you, continuing with their business, talking, talking, talking. You reach the top of the stairs before you know it, opening your bedroom door. You close it behind you, muffling the sounds of the people downstairs.

Removing your shoes, you drop your bag to join them on the floor as you head to the bathroom. You pull your outfit off, letting it drop to the floor, too, you can deal with it later, hopefully the washing machine will get it out.

You turn the shower on and step under the water. Head down, you watch some of the blue paint start to wash off, swirling and whirling in the water and disappearing down the drain. Only a little, though.

You have to use your hands and the body-wash to get it off. Scrubbing at your skin. Scraping at it.

You’re in there for twenty minutes. Scrubbing. Scraping.

When you finally make yourself get out your skin feels raw. There’s still a faint stain in some parts, though. You grab a towel and use it to continue rubbing at your skin, blue now staining the cream softness of it. The rest of your skin is dry by the time you make yourself stop and you pull the robe on.

Then you look at yourself in the mirror.

The lump returns to your throat and tears fill your eyes. You look... drained. And you fucking feel it. You’re exhausted. So exhausted, in every single way. You’ve spent all week fighting so hard to stay up-beat, to stay positive, to make this work, to see the good sides, but the world isn’t allowing that. You’d just wanted to yell at the woman, Marise, that you are doing this to keep him safe, that he is in danger, and you are just doing this to keep your fucking best friend safe.

The fact there’s still some blue paint staining your cheeks and neck is what makes the tears finally spill down your face. Sniffing, you swallow hard and grab a hand towel, wetting it and scrubbing at your skin once more.

It’s not moving.

You inhale a quiet, shuddering breath, almost a sob, as you stare at your reflection, scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing.

Three gentle knocks sound on your bedroom door.

“Come in,” you say automatically, your voice cracking, and you wipe at your eyes.

You look up as the door opens and see in the reflection... Steve.

He pauses, the door nearly closed behind him. You sniff again as you look at him, his eyes assessing you.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey,” you answer. You shrug then, your features crumbling. “... It’s not coming off.”

The door closes and he’s moving towards you.

“Come here, it’s okay...”

As you turn from the mirror, you’re then enveloped in his embrace, your cheek pressed against his chest as he holds you. A jagged sob escapes you as your arms go around him, holding onto his shirt, gripping it.

“It’s okay...” he murmurs again, and you feel his voice rumbling in his chest, his chin resting on your head.

You’ve tried so hard to stave off tears all week that now that you can, now you don’t care anymore, now that you’re so tired, they’re not stopping. The front of his grey shirt must be damp, now, and your throat hurts and your chest is heaving but you just let the tears come and come, and he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t say anything, just holds you, his hands occasionally stroking your back and arms gently.

It’s not until you start to draw back that he does, guiding you to the sit on the rim of the bath.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, wiping at your cheeks with one hand. “Still a bit drunk, I think.”

A corner of his mouth lifts a little as he crouches down before you and takes the hand towel. “You don’t need to apologise. You can cry as much as you like.”

Your own lips lift for a moment as you sniff, and then you want to cry all over again as he starts to gently dab at the stains on your face and neck. You watch him, your eyes tracing his nose and mouth, the small, concerned lines on his forehead. If he got into a fight with the suspect earlier, there’s no sign of it. His hair doesn’t even look tussled.

Your eyes continue moving and meet his. He lowers his hand and inhales a quiet breath.

“I’m sorry, about all of this, Y/N.”

You’re shaking your head before he’s even finished his sentence. “Steve, it’s not your fault.”

He looks almost pained at that, shaking his own head. “I could’ve prevented you being in this situation, though, I knew the risks of—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt sharply, surprising you both, but you continue on, “I already know what you’re going to say, and I will take it all, all of this, if it means I get to be your friend. Like we’ve said, we’re a team in this. I really wouldn’t want anyone else as my fake fiancé or as my friend.”

A smile pulls at his lips, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You shouldn’t have to take all this, though, you shouldn’t—”

“No, I shouldn’t. But I will.” Your hand has found his free one, and grips it gently.

He turns his hand over instantly, curling his fingers around your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His smile softens.

“I think the world’s finally gonna see the stubborn pain in the ass I have to deal with.”

You exhale a laugh, and his smile widens at seeing yours.

“Well, it’s only fair others should have to suffer,” you say, shrugging a shoulder.

“You’re right there.” He resumes dabbing at your skin as you look at him.

“How was your day?” you ask quietly after a few silent moments, knowing he’ll just ask how you are if it stretches any longer.

“It was okay.” He’s dabbing at your chin now. “Peg says hi, and that she understands what you’re going through.”

God, you just want to cry all over again.

Your chest warms as you smile. “Really? Maybe I should go on your next visit.”

“I think she’d really like that.” His thumb is still brushing over your knuckles, and you wonder if he realises he’s still doing it. “She knows this isn’t real, though, think she figured it out.”

“Well, I wouldn’t expect anything less. How was Bucky?”

“Fine. He says hello, too.”

“Wow, everyone’s being so kind to me today.”

He arches an eyebrow at you as you laugh, trying to stop himself from doing the same. “I don’t know whether it’s a good sign or not that you’re already joking about this.”

“Humour’s a great coping mechanism, you know that.”

He’s still smiling, but you can see the concern returning, so you quickly continue, taking your hand from his so you can raise a finger, raising your eyebrows, “Well, Doll’ and Bridge’ told me to tell you, by the way, well done, on having me as a fiancée.”

The corners of his mouth lift higher, now reaching his eyes. "Yeah, I know how lucky I am.”

“Oh, and, you proposed to me in our park, by the way.”

He tilts his head as you smile somewhat smugly. “Did I, now?”

“Yeah, under the stars.”

His eyebrows raise as he smiles widely. “Wow, you’re also very lucky, then.”

You wave your hand slightly. “I said a lot of stuff today, I’ll have to fill you in. I made notes.”

He chuckles as he lowers the towel from your face and rises to his feet. “You can show me my homework tomorrow.”

You watch him as he moves to the sink, dropping the towel into it, then raise your hand suddenly. “Oh, there was a dress I actually really liked there, too.”

 “The one you sent me a picture of?”

You freeze, staring at him as he turns to you.

“... What?”

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he moves back towards you, unlocking it, then taps on a couple of things before turning it towards you.

Ohp.

And there you are.

In the vintage style dress, cascading flutter sleeves stopping just below your elbows, tight on your breasts and with a v-neckline, satin gold, your hand on your waist, beaming at your reflection in the gold mirror at The Pearl. 

Ah, now you remember sending it...

“... Yeah, that’s the one.”

“It’s really nice,” he says, sliding his phone back into his pocket as he offers you a hand to get to your feet. “You look great in it.”

Your face heats as you take his hand and get up, shrugging a shoulder and smiling. “Oh, well, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Your hands drop, yours going to your side, his going into the pocket of his jeans. Looking up at him, you give a light smile, which he returns.

“You okay?” he asks softly, and you nod after a moment.

“Yeah. Just so fucking tired,” you say with a slight laugh. “Think I’m just gonna sleep now.”

He nods, his teeth grazing over his lower lip. “That sounds like a good idea. What a fuckin’ day, huh?”

You snort, your eyebrows raising. “Yeah, for both of us.”

He sighs, as if remembering that, oh, yeah, someone had tried to break in, too. “The agents have all gone, now. The place is even more secure, it’s like a fortress.”

“Well, that’s good.”

You head into the bedroom, and he follows you out, moving to the door. He opens it, turning to you, and you share another smile.

“Sure you’re okay?” he asks again, and you bite at your lower lip.

Stay.

You widen your smile. “Yeah. Just very ready for sleep.”

He nods, taps his fingers against the door and smiles. “All right. Goodnight. I’m just down the hall if you need me.”

“Yeah. Goodnight.”

Your smile lingers for a moment as the door closes, then fades as you hear him walk away.

—

Halfway down the stairs, Steve pauses, his hand on the railing.

He considers turning around.

Going back up the stairs.

Opening your door.

Taking you in his arms again.

After a minute, he carries on down.

—

In your pyjamas, phone in your hand, you climb into bed, sinking into the soft safeness of it.

You unlock it, finding several messages in the group chat from Dolly and Bridget, asking how you are, saying they’re home safe, that Sam had filled Bridget in and they’d filled Dolly in, that they both hope you’re okay.

You send a message back saying that you are okay, you’re tired, and that you’ll speak to them tomorrow, and you hope they’re okay.

There’s a message from someone else, too.

I’ve just seen what happened on the news, I really hope you’re okay x

I’d have a normal life with Aaron.

Where the fuck did that come from?

But you can’t help thinking it.

He’d slipped into your mind when you’d masturbated that morning. You hadn’t wanted to think about it. You’d just imagined him, out of curiosity at first, as he’d posted a photo on Instagram of him at the gym again, just to imagine what he’d be like, you do it with most people to pass the time... and then he’d stayed in your mind.

It had seemed... more real than when you’d imagine Steve. Probably because Steve is your best friend and you shouldn’t be thinking of him that way and you don’t want to ruin what you have, you really don’t, and Aaron... Aaron is the kind of person you could take a chance on.

You feel tears start to prick at your eyes because this is fucked, this is all so fucked, and you love your best friend and you can only think that in it’s entirety without your brain shutting down when you’re drunk or tipsy because it’s the only time your mind is free and you love him, you love him, you love him, you love him...

But there is no fucking way you will ever risk losing him as a friend.

—

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[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #410

“oh baby, baby, does she take a piece of lime for the drink that i’ma buy her, do you know just what she likes?

Do you put candy canes on your Christmas tree? Ye. Have you ever written/drawn/painted random stuff on your bedroom wall? No. What do you currently hear? A slowed w/ reverb version of "If U Seek Amy" by Britney Spears. Yes, I have a serious thing for these edits of childhood songs, ha ha. Actually, no shame, I still love Britney lmao. What's your favorite flavor of Doritos? Cool Ranch. Do you like bagels? Yep. Do you ever worry about what the world will be like when you have kids? I ain't having any of those, so I don't have to worry about that. Have you ever seen a hippo in person? At a zoo, yes. Are you any good at HTML? Noooo. When was the last time you did something you knew was wrong? Recently, because I'm awful about downloading things illegally. What was the last thing you downloaded on your computer? A picture. Do you ever cry just to get your way? Hi, I'm 25. I at least have SOME adult traits. Have you ever been to any professional sports games? Yes. What's the most boring sport to watch? The only sport I enjoy watching is dance, so. I think golf has to take the cake for the absolute worst, though. Do you like lip rings on the opposite sex? UGH I just love lip rings on anybody. Do you have good or bad vision? Literally awful. Have you ever parked in a handicapped spot when you weren't supposed to? Hell no. That is so fucking inconsiderate and lazy. Have you ever been to a different country? No. When was the last time you finger-painted? Nooo idea. Probably not since I was a little kid. Do you say car-mel or car-A-mel? "Care-uh-mel." When you get out of the shower, do you use one or two towels? One. Are you uncomfortable with changing clothes in front of others? Absolutely yes. Hell, I don't think I ever really changed in front of Jason back in the day, so that says something about how self-conscious I was with a FIT body. Never mind this catastrophe I own now. Which is worse: Runny nose or stuffy nose? Both suck, but stuffy drives me absolutely INSANE. Who's been the most influential person in your life? My mom. Do you have any tan lines? Ha, yeah, no. How many different schools have you gone to? Six. Do you know how to slow dance? I mean, yes? It's not complicated. Have you ever taken The Impossible Quiz? (If not, you should Google it. :D) No, and I'll never waste my time doing that shit. I've watched people play and beat it, but it seems like such frustrating, pointless madness with zero rhyme or reason behind it. Has someone that you liked told you that you are a waste of their time? No. Who is the last person you were in a car with? Mom. In the next 6 months, what are you looking forward to most? Ummmm Christmas, maybe? That's always exciting. Is there anyone who hates you? Probably. Who were you with the last time you went out for food? Mom. If your boyfriend or girlfriend smoked pot, would you care? Eh... I guess if it was for medicinal purposes, I would be okay with it. I'm not keen on dating a smoker of anything. Do you want to start over with anyone? Just Jason, at least sometimes. It'd be really, really nice if we could be friends again and just forget about who we were all those years ago, but I genuinely doubt my ability to be "just friends" with him. Even though I haven't spoken to this dude in over FOUR YEARS, and I'm sure he's changed a lot, just like I have. We might not even be compatible anymore. As much as I may want it, I think it's probably for the better we remain unassociated. Do you eat the crust of your sandwiches? It's what I eat first. Are you completely over your last relationship? Not "completely," no. I still love her, but I'm in a headspace of accepting that now is not the right time with unfit conditions. What hoodie did you wear last? My Pikachu one, which is the one I pretty much always wear. Do you listen to Incubus? Probably surprisingly, no. I don't know if I've even heard a song. Do you wear flip-flops during the winter? More like always. Do you like the smell of Axe? If you don't use an obnoxious amount, yeah. What do you think of feminists? Absolutely necessary as pilots for change. HOWEVER, I do believe some can take the concept waaaay too far. Who was the last person to smoke a cigarette in your presence? Dad, probably. When was the last time you ate a cupcake? Oh my god, GUYS. It was my niece's birthday last month, and she did the CUTEST shit. She used to be very, very opposed to getting even slightly dirty (I mean like a speck of dirt on her would make her cry), and this kid decided to just C H O M P into her cupcake and get the frosting ALL over her face. She had two and got so messy, and that angel was just laughing hysterically about it. That girl is such a damn gift. Safe to say she was bouncing off the walls that night. Did you hug one of your parents today? No. Do you tan in the nude? I don't tan, period. Have you ever put a lot of thought and effort into a gift for somebody, only for them to act like it didn’t really matter to them? Oh god, no. That would really, really hurt, because I genuinely do try to be very thoughtful with my gifts. Do you follow the ‘five second rule’ when you drop food on the ground? NOOOOOOO. It's just a bullshit myth. I am NOT eating food that's been on the floor for a millisecond. If you had to describe yourself using a colour, which colour would you be? Maybe like... navy blue? Kinda dark and somber, but also has a calmness to it. Have you ever had to use another person’s toothbrush before? What were the circumstances? I WOULD FUCKING NEVER. Omg that is so gross. Have you ever crashed a car? No. Do you have a garden? Does it have flowers, vegetables, or both? No. Where do you want to raise your kids? I don't want kids, but if I did, absolutely surrounded by nature and animals. Have you ever been to Cracker Barrel? Yeah, I love it there. Damn, now I want some, lol. Have you ever seen a ghost? I sure as fuck saw something. As soon as you find out you are pregnant, who will you first tell? Who says I'm ever going to BE pregnant? 'Cuz it sure isn't in my plans. But hypothetically, the dad. Have you ever won a game of Minesweeper? Like ever? I've never played it. Who is your best guy friend(s)? Girt. I really should chat with him soon, it's been too long. If you had a tiny scar on your face, would you get it removed or just keep it? I'd keep it. Make me look more badass. ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ What is your hair naturally like? Brown and kinda-sorta wavy. Have you ever stared at a stranger and they said something to you about it? No; I don't stare at people. Is your father very protective of you? I wouldn't say "very protective," no. What would you do if your hero died? ffffffUCK THIS QUESTION HOW ABOUT NO HE'S NOT ALLOWED THAT'S VERY ILLEGAL Where was your first date at with your current lover? I don't have one currently. Are you friendly in the morning, or are you barely awake? Depends on how much sleep I got, but I'm generally in my best mood in the morning. Did your parents force you to go to church? Mom did. What made you pick up the last book you started reading? It was the next book in the series I'm reading, Wings of Fire. When was the last time you went somewhere for the first time? Hm. I dunno. Hypothetically and generally speaking, how would you go about breaking up with someone? Is there anything you would make sure to say, or perhaps not say? I mean it would really depend on WHY I was breaking up with them, but I guess in most situations I'd try to meet them face-to-face and explain why I wanted to cut things off. I think it'd be important for them to hear my tone of voice, and I think physically meeting somewhere would show that I care enough for them to cut time out of my day to see them and try to hurt them as least as possible, given the situation. What do you find particularly offensive? Would you say you’re easy or difficult to offend? DO NOT in even a minor way ridicule mental illness or belittle victims as "weak" or pull the "it's just in their head" bullshit. The misuse of the term "retard(ed)" also genuinely offends me. I wouldn't say I'm easy to offend, either. What was the last chore you completed? Changing my cat's litter. When was the last time someone saw you naked? It's been a loooong time, and it would've only been my mom when I was like, going into a shower or something. If you could bring someone back from the dead and spend an hour with them, who would it be and what would you do/say? Probably Steve Irwin. I'd go on and on about how his family has carried his legacy so brilliantly, and show him aaaaaall the public pictures of Bindi and Grace, especially. God, that man would be so proud of them all. What is the greatest lost you’ve endured? My first "real" boyfriend. How would you describe your current mood? A mix of tired and anxious. I don't feel like going to bed yet, and the storm we've got passing through has me nervous about tornadoes 'n shit. Do you ever drink or get high alone? I've had some light drinks alone. What is the “worst” drug you’ve done? Are there any you will never try, or any you want to try? I've never done any illicit drugs, and I don't want to. What is the most personal thing you’re willing to reveal? Probably that I've had a pilonidal cyst. It's awkward to explain, but I'll share it anyway if there's a good reason to/I'm asked or something. What made you stop talking to the last person you cut out of your life? Her just being the most toxic, drama-filled person with the biggest victim complex of any human I've ever met. Who was the last person to yell at you? Did you yell back? Mom, and my voice was raised. Where do you like to be kissed? This depends on how serious we are. Can go from just the cheek to a lot of places. Which season is your least favorite and why? Summer, because it's too goddamn hot and humid. Who, if anyone, do you compare yourself to most? Probably my little sister. She's on such a successful path, and then there's like... me lmao. Do you have a night-light in your bedroom? If so, what does it look like? No. What is your favorite breakfast food? How often do you get to eat it? Cinnamon rollssssss. I have 'em very rarely, though. I'll eat too many of them, which I definitely don't need. What is your favorite thing about autumn? What about your least favorite thing? AHHHHHH EVERYTHING. I love Halloween and the decorations that come with it, the changing leaves, the crisp air... just all of it. :') Who was the last person you asked for help? Mom, I'm sure.

[tamorasky]

Mistress Anna Chapter 16

Summary: It wasn’t uncommon for the women to be eventually cast aside, Anna was just naive enough to believe it would never happen to her.

Rating: M

Relationship: Anna/Kristoff, Anna/Hans (ew)

Words: 3672

Canadian Frontier AU

AO3

Masterlist

Anna wiggles her toes against the sand as she stands on the riverbank, waiting patiently for anything to catch on her line. With a sigh, she looks up at the sky, finding this more unbearable than Eliza’s screaming back at the cabin.

The toddler was in the middle of a fit when Elsa suggested Anna take the afternoon to go fishing; The younger sister had agreed quickly, wanting a little break from being a mother. She loved Eliza, but would not pass up this opportunity for some peace.

She had forgotten how much she hated fishing by herself. it is quite funny to her, fishing had always seemed to be a part of Anna’s favourite childhood memories, but as she stands on the riverbank, Anna can’t recall what she loved about it.

The sun beats down on her, the long sleeves of her blouse, not helping her temperature. Wiping the sweat that beads down her forehead Anna huffs, growing more uncomfortable by the minute. She places her cane pole on the boulder next to her, steadying it the best she can against the uneven stone.

Without a second thought, Anna begins to unbutton her blouse, shrugging the garment off her shoulders and untucking it from her spruce coloured skirt. Anna throws the blouse onto the stone, sighing in relief as she stands in only her skirt and chemise.

Picking up her fishing cane Anna comes to stand under a tree, preventing herself from getting a sunburn. Casting her line back into the water, Anna rolls her eyes, starting to think that dealing Eliza’s temper tantrum of the day would be better than this.

Anna looks over her shoulder quickly as she hears someone approaching from behind, the snapping of branches and dried pine needles announcing the presence of another person. Her heart pounds in her ears as the steps come closer towards the riverbank.

Elsa had warned her not to go too far away from the property, warning about the influx of white traders, merchants and missionaries coming through Ahtohallan. But Anna silently insisted that she would be fine, knowing the fishing is better nearly a mile away from their property.

Now she feels like a fool, standing alone a mile away from any other living soul scantily clad with nothing to defend herself.

Relief overtakes her as Kristoff steps through the bush, confusion crossing his features as he takes in Anna’s form standing close to the river.

“Oh…Anna, I didn’t realize you would be here.” He finally says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his brown trousers.

“Elsa sent me fishing for dinner tonight.” Anna comments, looking down at her bare feet in the sand. “She was going to send me to gather, but…we both know how that would go.”

Kristoff can’t help but chuckle in response, knowing that the young woman before him had no talent in gathering food. Recalling the time an eight-year-old Anna had collected nearly every winterberry that she could reach, only to be informed by both her mother and Bulda that they were poisonous to humans. The young girl had spent the afternoon spreading the berries along the side of the road for the birds.

He clears his throat, looking down at his buckskin boots. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll leave you to it then.”

“Kristoff, wait!” Anna exclaims, surprising herself at her outburst. She folds her hands in front of her in an attempt to make herself small. “It’s getting boring out here; it’d be nice to have some company.”

“Are you certain?” He inquires, not wanting to make the young woman uncomfortable with his presence. He shakes his head, chuckling as he notices Anna’s state. “You seem like you’re getting quite comfortable.”

Anna furrows his brows, not understanding the meaning of his teasing. She can’t help but feel self-conscious at his comment, looking down at herself to see what he is referring to. A blush spreading across her cheeks as she notices her state of impropriety.

“O-oh.” She breathes, striding across the riverbank towards the stone where her blouse sat. “I’m sorry, I thought I’d be alone.”

“Anna, it’s fine.” Kristoff insists as she grabs her blouse, the cotton hot from lying in the sun. “It isn’t anything I haven’t seen before.”

Shocked, Anna allows the garment to fall from her hands as she gapes at the man standing across from her. Kristoff’s eyes go wide in realization as it occurs to him what he had said to his former friend.

“I didn’t mean like that.” He sputters. “I just meant that we went swimming together often as teenagers. It’s just I’ve seen you in your under…clothes before.”

“R-right.” Anna nods, squatting to grab her blouse from the ground. She shakes the minerals from the garment before placing it back on the stone. “It’s just so hot today, and I thought since I was alone, it wouldn’t hurt…”

“Anna, it’s fine.” He insists, walking past her to stand beside the river. Anna watches as the muscles in his shoulders tense through his thin linen shirt as he casts his line. Quickly glancing away as Anna realizes her gawking at her childhood friend.  

Her gaze goes to her shirt, her hand still resting on top of the fabric. With a sigh, Anna pulls away from the stone, coming to stand next to Kristoff in the shade. Despite the hot air enveloping her body, goosepimples prickle across her skin as she stands only inches away from him.

The couple stand in silence as Anna casts her line out into the river. She gazes up at the man beside her, offering him a smile when he glances down at her, returning the gesture.

“This used to be more fun as children.” Anna comments, finally breaking the silence between them.

Kristoff raises a brow questioningly, unsure what the young woman meant. “You mean fishing?”

“Yes, I mean as children we used to have so much fun fishing, but now it’s…yeesh. So tedious, not the mention hot; I don’t ever remember it being so hot.” She rambles, rubbing her fingers against the polished wood of her fishing cane.

“Yeah, well, I mean…” He trails off with a chuckle, shaking his head. “You used to complain about fishing when we were kids too.”

“No, I didn’t,” Anna says, her brows knitting in denial as she looks up at Kristoff, her free hand coming to rest on her hip.

Kristoff’s laugh resonates through the trees at her response. “You absolutely did. You used to whine that you didn’t want to go fishing because it was too hot or boring, or you were sewing. You always made some sort of excuse to weasel your way out of it.”

“I did not!” Anna exclaims, trying to hide the smile, crossing her features as her gaze goes back to the river. “We used to swim after catching fish. I remember when I was 13, I was all dressed up to prepare for papa’s arrival and you splashed me with water!”

“We only went swimming after so that you would stop complaining about the heat, and if I recall, correctly, you splashed me first.”  

“Only because you were an ass.” Anna retorts with a giggle. “I showed up all dressed up in a new dress mama made, and you made fun of me, I recall you saying that ‘I nearly looked like a lady’ and then laughed.”

Kristoff shrugs, his face dropping as she brings back the memory. He clears his throat, taking a step away from her. “I never liked it when you dressed like that.”

“Like what?” Anna inquires, unable to even glance at the young man. In the corner of her eye, she can see him turn to look at her, regarding her for a moment before looking in front of him again.

“Like a lady, …like an English lady.”

“Why did that bother you?” She asks, glancing down at the wood in her hand.

“Because it was never suited you. I always hated it when your father came to Ahtohallan because I knew I’d lose the Anna I knew.”

Anna looks back at him, biting the inside of her lip as guilt overtakes her. He is right, of course, anytime Agnarr visited Ahtohallan, she had always put on a part to play; the perfect lady. Always putting on her best dresses and making sure every hair was in place so her father would finally see that she could be more than his savage daughter. She had gotten what she wished for.

She studies Kristoff’s features, noting the way his nose curves and the roundness of his strong jaw. Her gaze comes back to rest on his eyes, still focusing on the river before him; she had always loved the flecks of dark brown in his honey-coloured eyes. Her mother used to say Kristoff’s had the eyes of an old soul, something which Anna never understood as a child, but she does now.

“I’m sorry, Kristoff.” He meets her gaze, his eyes searching her sky-blue ones. “Not only for how I acted then but recently as well. I shouldn’t have lied about Hans, and I shouldn’t have lashed out at you during the hunt and I-”

“Anna, it’s fine. You don’t need to do this.” Kristoff raises his hands slightly at his sides, not up to her as Hans would in order to silence her.

“I do!” Anna exclaims, her fishing cane slipping from her fingers and falling to the ground softly. “The way I acted was childish. You were my closest friend, and I shouldn’t…” She trails off, looking to where her cane has fallen.

“You’re not that girl anymore.” Kristoff shrugs. “You’re not as naïve as you were then, and you have a child now, a wonderful little girl.”

“Thank you.” She responds, her mouth curving into a smile as she continues to stare at him. Anna raises a brow at him questioningly. “You really think I was naïve?”

“Well, I mean.” He chuckles, pulling in his fishing line with some struggle. “You did agree to marry a man you just met.”

“I mean honestly Kristoff no man in any surrounding community would’ve married me. The Legarde boys made that very clear when I tried to give François a peck on the cheek; I wasn’t even trying to be romantic; I just wanted to thank him.”

“I would’ve.” Kristoff shrugs nonchalantly, but his gaze remains on her for a few moments before turning back to the river, giving his pole one final tug out of the water, a large jackfish dangling from the hook.

Anna stares at him as he sticks his finger into the fish’s mouth, disconnecting it from his hook. Anna had always entertained the thought of marrying Kristoff; she had no clue that he had similar thoughts about her.

Hesitantly she takes a step closer to him, peering up at him from under the fringe of her bangs. “Kristoff.” She croaks, causing the man to look down at the young woman; her eyes wide, her mouth slightly agape as she thinks about her next words carefully. “Why did you keep my sash?”

She had to know.

With a sigh, Kristoff runs a hand through his hair, the jackfish still dangling from his fingers as he glances at her. “I nearly left it in Montreal, but…It was the last thing you ever gave me. I couldn’t leave it behind…”

“So, you kept it?” Anna urges him to continue as he trails off. He nods instead, placing the fish into his bucket. “Well…I’m glad you kept it, I worked hard on that sash, and I would’ve been offended if you had left it behind.”

“I would not have expected anything less from you feisty,” Kristoff smirks at her, casting his line back out into the river. The two stand together, fishing in silence for a moment. “So, what do you say whoever catches more owes the other a new pair of moccasins?”

Anna grins up at him, beaming with excitement. “I would not have it any other way.”

“Good,” Kristoff responds. In the corner of her eye, Anna can’t help but notice the way his eyes dart to her from time to time as they fish, lingering with each look.

.................... Kristoff wins, of course, he always won during their fishing competitions. But Anna can’t find it in herself to care, elated that some sort of normal is returning to her life.

“Just stay for dinner.” Anna insists as they walk through the wood, Kristoff now carrying the fish and the fishing canes.

“I do not want to impose on Elsa.” He defends, readjusting Anna’s poles, so it does not fall to the earth.

“Impose on Elsa? Do you really think she does the cooking? It’s all me, and I say it is not imposing, so you have to stay, no buts.” She jabs him in the side with her forefinger, causing him to squirm uncomfortably.

“Don’t do that.” He states, frowning down at her as Anna smirks up at him, a mischievous glint in her eye as they approach closer to her lot.

“Besides! It’ll be easier for you to stay. As opposed to splitting the fish between us.” She shrugs, stepping over a fallen branch.  

“Fine, if your so insistent on it, I’ll stay. Besides, sharing one fish between three people would be difficult, considering I caught most of these.”

“You cheated!” She exclaims, turning her body slightly to look at him.

“How does someone cheat in fishing?”

Anna thinks for a moment, ducking to avoid a spruce branch. “I don’t know, but you figured out a way. You smell like worms.”

“I think you’re just bad at fishing.” Kristoff laughs, staring down at the auburn-haired woman beside him; her face scrunching up as she feigns annoyance and anger, her sky-blue eyes fixating on him as they walk.

Anna stops as the step through the bush onto the property, noticing a man standing on their river lot alone.

The man stands by the riverbank, his fingers clutching to the strap of his buckskin quiver. He wears European clothing, a white linen shirt and buckskin trousers; his brown hair is long, braided into one plait down his back, indicating to her that he is most probably Cree.

Her heart pounds in her chest as he looks over at them; panicking, she tries to comfort herself that Kristoff is standing next to her and wouldn’t allow any harm to come to her. Anna looks up as Kristoff moves forward, holding up his hand to greet the young man.

“Taanishi, Otêhtapiw.” He greets with a smile as the stranger moves towards Kristoff.

“Tanisi.” The other man greets, clapping Kristoff on the arm with a grin. Anna watches as the two men exchange words, unable to understand anything they were saying between the two of them switching back and forth between Michif and Cree.

The other man’s eyes come to rest on Anna, offering her a kind smile. Kristoff looks over his shoulder, dropping the fishing canes as he waves her over. The young woman steps forward, making her way to stand by Kristoff’s side.

“Anna, this is Otêhtapiw. He is a close friend of mine and trading partner.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Anna.” Otêhtapiw reaches out, grabbing her hand to shake it. She can’t help but giggle at the man’s forwardness; he is younger than she had initially thought.

“It is very nice to meet you too…” She trails off, realizing she hadn’t paid any attention in pronouncing the young man’s name.

“It’s alright. Most people just call me Ryder.” He chuckles.  

“I apologize, I haven’t spoken Cree in quite some time.” Anna defends, unable to help but feel self-conscious at her stumbling.

“It’s really no issue.” Ryder insists. “I’ve heard Metis men butcher my name worse than you, it’s really nothing to apologize about.”

Anna nods, giving him a small smile before turning to Kristoff. “I should go find Elsa and gut these. It was nice meeting you, Ryder.”

“You too.” The young man responds as Anna takes the bucket from Kristoff.

She walks away from the men without another word, glancing over her shoulder to see them meander to the river. Ryder begins to pull out various furs from the canoe, handing them over to Kristoff to inspect as he sorts them into two piles.

Smiling to herself, Anna ascends the porch stairs, mentally preparing herself for Eliza’s tantrum that was inevitably happening on the other side of the door. With a sigh, she pushes open the door, surprised to find no crying or screaming echoing through the small room.

Instead, Eliza sits happily on a woman’s lap, sucking on a wooden object. Elsa sits beside this woman, wiggling her niece’s feet while the other woman bounces the toddler slightly. Staring at the strange woman, Anna can’t help but feel that she has met her before, her brows knitting together as she tries to recall.

At Anna’s entrance, Eliza’s attention is taken away from the two women, focusing instead on her mother. The wooden toy falls away, forgotten as the young girl reaches her chubby arms to Anna.

“Mama!” She shrieks, her voice echoing through the small room almost painfully. Anna smiles as she removes herself from the door, making her way to the other women.

“Hello, darling.” Anna greets, picking Eliza up from the brunette woman’s lap, pressing a kiss to her temple as the toddler wraps her arms around Anna’s neck to hold herself close. “Was she much more trouble?”

Elsa shakes her head as she picks up the toy, carved as a doe. “No, I put her down for a nap shortly after you left, and she woke up just fine.”

“Good, I’m glad she didn’t give you two much trouble.” Anna sighs, running her hand over Eliza’s hair.

“She’s been nothing but sweet.” The woman states, wiggling Eliza’s hanging leg. Anna’s attention goes back to the woman; her warm brown eyes gazing into Anna’s own.

“Anna, this is my friend Honeymaren.” Elsa says, finally introducing the two women. “Honey, this is my little sister Anna.”

“We’ve met before,” Honeymaren states, smiling up at Anna. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“You too.” She responds, shifting Eliza to her hip. “So, are you and Ryder…?”

Honeymaren giggles, shaking her head. “He’s my brother.”

“Oh. I’m sorry I just assumed that you two were married.” Anna blinks, feeling slightly embarrassed at her incorrect assumption.

“It’s alright. It’s not every day you see siblings successfully working with one another.”

“Speaking of your brother.” Elsa stands from her chair, placing her hand on the table to steady herself. “I should go help him and Kristoff with the furs. Are you coming, Honey?”

“Yeah, I am.” Honeymaren sighs, standing from the table. “God know those two don’t know how to pick a good pelt.” Elsa giggles at this as she makes her way to the front door, Honeymaren following close behind her.

As the women exit the cabin, Anna places the bucket of fish onto the table, removing the jackfish to be scaled and gutted. Anna sets Eliza on the floor, handing her the discarded toy to entertain herself while she prepares dinner.

Anna grabs the knife sitting on the table as she stands in silence. Cutting open the jackfish to remove the intestines and organs and throwing them into the bucket in front of her as she watches the others sort through furs, wishing she could be with them instead.

..............

Their laughter echoes through the property later that night as Anna sputters, the burning sensation travelling down her throat, making a pit in her stomach.

“I told you it’s horrible!” Ryder howls, taking back the bottle of liquor from the young woman.

“That’s awful.” Anna coughs. “What is it?”

“The American traders called it ‘Firewater’ it’s whiskey, tobacco, molasses and…. I’m not sure what else.” Ryder places the bottle next to him on the ground, sliding it under his chair with his foot.

“I still think you wasted your money,” Kristoff comments before his attention is drawn back to the toddler on his lap, who sucks on her toy and watching the fire intently. With a smile, Elsa hands Anna another bottle.

“Oh God, what is this?” Anna asks, taking the bottle hesitantly.

“Good whiskey.” Honeymaren laughs, taking a sip of the whiskey that had been poured into her mug. With a sigh, Anna pours herself a small amount, offering some to Kristoff who refuses. She hands the bottle back to Elsa, who places it between herself and Honeymaren.

Anna leans back in the chair, readjusting the blanket around her hips as she sips the whiskey, trying to ignore the burning sensation down her throat. Ryder’s arms swing wildly as he discusses his last voyageur trip, Honeymaren intercepting from time to time to correct him on his facts.

Eliza’s whine pulls Anna’s attention away from the story, seeing her daughter reach for the ground. Looking beside her, Anna sees that Elisa had dropped the wooden deer on the grass. She reaches her hand down to grab the toy, but instead her hand brushes against Kristoff’s.

Anna looks up to see Kristoff staring at her, his cheeks slightly pink as their fingers intertwine for a moment as they hover above the toy, Anna stares deeply into his eyes as they touch.

Abruptly Anna jolts her hand away from his as laughter erupts again, resting it on her lap while Kristoff grabs the toy, brushing it off on his pant leg before handing it back to Eliza.

She tries not to linger on the brief contact between them, finding it more difficult as she recalls the way his calloused fingers felt against her skin. Her neck becoming flush as she tries to push ideas of how his hands would feel against her body. She takes a deep breath and taking another sip of her whiskey, convincing herself it was the alcohol.  

Notes: 

Otêhtapiw means Rider in Cree, specifically Horse Rider.