#and there’s also someone who makes art out of dried flowers so if I ever need that I know where to go

[squirrel-here]

I love supporting artists I love buying local I love going through the local market and finding things I didn’t know existed, and keeping an eye on things I might want later so I know where to spend my money

[alreadyblondenow]

I loved you first, but you’re not the last

“....You’re special so it requires extra effort. Happy Valentines and happy first day of being a couple,”

Pairing: Mark Lee x female!reader

Genre: Angst, SMUT, fluff, childhood best friends to lovers

WC: 4,588k

Warnings: Fake dating, break up,swearing, mentions or other idol, reader x Taeyong in the end, Taeyong as Mark’s brother, unprotected sex, virginity loss, a lot of making out, mentions of making out, touching, a small amount of dirty talking, oral sex (female receiving), overstimulation

A/N: NOT PROOFREAD. I’ll fix it once I get my internet connection back. Gosh I hope this posts. Part of Request Party

It was in the middle of the night when you received a call that did not just woke you up, but also woke your whole being. Body, mind and soul.

“You’re back?” crankily you sat up from bed, scratching your heavy eyes and about to get out of bed because the person on the other line is right outside your house, waiting for you.

He has been away and gone for too long because of college... and you should be excited as you go downstairs to meet him, but you know why he’s here and it’s no good news. Let’s face it, this night will not end nice.

“Here goes nothing,” you murmured. Wrapping yourself with your thick jacket before you finally step outside.

And the moment you opened the door, snow was falling and you didn’t miss how the snow landed peacefully on Mark’s eyelashes. Eyes looking straight to you, those sad eyes that can’t hide the pain that he’s holding. A pain that you caused.

You wanted to finally reunite first with a hug, but he got ahead of you and took your chance to show him how much you missed him.

“How could you?” he started, eyes still locked on yours. “I thought we were going to wait and do it right- how could you date my brother while I was away?”

Even you find it cruel. What you did to Mark was cruel, selfish, and unforgivable. And truth be told, you don’t have the right words now. You wanted to explain of course, but you’re scared it might break him even more. “I love your brother,” you said softly. Not even brave enough to look him in the eye because you feel bad.

“You loved me first,” he bite back. And you can’t help but be weak in front of him and cry. Usually whenever you cry, he will walk towards you and remind you how much you mean to him. But you guess not tonight, maybe you don’t deserve love tonight.

“You left me, remember?” you dried your tears and tried being brave even just for a short period. Just until you have the guts to walk away.

“Whatever. It’s not yet too late. Choose me. Marry me. Let me make you happy,”

He finally said his true purpose tonight. This was his last chance and the only to win you back. But even though he has never been more honest in his whole life except tonight, he feels like not even telling you his feelings can bring you back to him. Mark was so frustrated that he has tears in his eyes already that you wanted to dry so bad. But if you really want him to respect the relationship you have with his brother, then this is the perfect time.

“I may have loved you first, but your brother is the last man I’ll love. I’m sorry Mark,”

And just as you finish saying those hurtful words, you finally have the bravery to turn your back on him and ignore his shouting that you’re sure your parents and neighbors heard. This is you throwing a decade of good friendship because of unrequited love.

FOUR YEARS AGO

The day before Valentines day, you don’t know what’s up with your mood or with you in general, because you’ve been so envy with the people around you, couples to be exact. As you admire happy couples in school who celebrates Valentines as early as now, you can’t help but to imagine someone.... someone that will give you flowers, chocolates... kisses, or whatever you’ll accept in whole heartedly.

Valentines is like Christmas, it’s a day of giving and receiving. But that only applies if you have someone special whom you can spend the day with and exchange shiny, glittery, and sparkling Valentine cards with.

“I can be your fake boyfriend, come on it will be fun,” he raises his seagull eyebrows and smirked. Come to think of it, it’s not a bad idea. You’ve been best friends even before kindergarten, you watch each other grow and went through puberty together until the next thing you know, you’re printing college applications together in your room because his printer broke down.

“Let’s not go to college without having the experience of high school love... you know, let’s have fun before we graduate with flying colors. Let’s go to parties, participate in Valentine-gram tomorrow, go to prom together. What do you say?” he added.

“But everything’s fake? What’s the point of fake dating if we already look like were dating ever since we started being friends?” You whine and flop on your bed, Mark did the same thing.

“Don’t think about it too much, just say yes,” for a moment you both just stared at the ceiling, wondering what could go wrong if you started fake dating. “Anyway, you don’t have a choice. I need to get home and answer these- Bye, you’re my girlfriend now!”

“W-what? Mark-“

And just before you could reason out with him, he’s gone with his college applications and you’re left with your thoughts and excitement. You don’t know why but Mark’s crazy idea made your heart jump, it’s like a good electricity that made you look for your art materials and spend the whole evening making your fake boyfriend a blue shiny, glittery, and sparkling Valentine card.

Even if the motive was fake, the effort was real and it felt good and right at that very moment.

But little did you know that his idea of fake dating was only his way to not shock you when he finally confess his feelings to you.

That’s right, your best friend is in love with you.

If she wears blue tomorrow I will confess to her. He tells himself as he stares in his ceiling, feeling the same excitement and electricity in his heart. Trying so hard to sleep but he kept on thinking about you and can’t help but feel the excitement for tomorrow again.

“You and Y/n started dating? Since when?” Mark’s mother exclaimed happily while driving. Looking at his son admire the roses he got you from the flower shop downtown.

“We’re just starting mom. Thanks for helping me pick these up by the way,”

“Oh there she is! Wearing blue! Oh I never realized how you two grew such good looking kids until now,”

Mark breathed in and let it out with a smile, thankful that you wore his favorite color, because he can’t continue to hide his feelings for you. Maybe you and him are really bound to happen.

As you wave goodbye to Mrs. Lee with a bright smile, there you see Mark carrying a unique bouquet of roses and your eyes immediately went big and sparkled because. Not to mention your heart beats so hard and fast because he looked so handsome even in his casual clothes.

“Wow- I’m speechless, these are beautiful. Where did you get these?” you accept the bouquet as he hands it to you with a smile. Engraving the look of your face in his mind and heart, swearing to himself that from now on he will make you happy like this everyday.

“It’s a secret. You’re special so it requires extra effort. Happy Valentines and happy first day of being a couple,” he said and planted a kiss on your forehead. Something so natural for you and him, but today is different. Nonetheless, you believe that today will be a beautiful and eventful day.

In the see of people wearing red and white in your school’s hallway, you and Mark are happy wearing blue. Such a sad color but you wearing it makes him the happiest guy today. Everywhere you look has a dash of red and pink, hearts are hanged here and there and almost everyone has red roses on their hand... except you.

Because you’re holding a bouquet of rainbow roses.

This year’s Valentines wasn’t like any other Valentine’s you usually have. Today you have Mark.

You have Mark to hold your hand while you walk on the school’s hallway. You have Mark to look at you so lovingly that your heart melts whenever you catch him looking. You have Mark to take you out on a date after school and take cute photos in a photo booth. You have Mark to share a big drink with two straws.

And most especially, you have Mark to kiss you under the dark sky full of stars in front of your house.

His lips were soft as expected. And the way his tongue swipes on your lip in the most subtle way just makes you want him to kiss more. He smiled in between kissing when you pulled him closer and kiss him more when he was about to pull away. And oh! You did not miss the way he softly moans, such music to your ears but sad to say you can only hear them tonight.

“Did you liked my Valentine card? I left it in your locker,”

You finally pulled away and surprised him. Wiping away the spit from your mouth, you wiped Mark’s as well. He only smiled to you and you wish he would stop doing it because you’re growing a little crush on him already.

“It’s full of glitters, it’s blue and it has watermelons. Of course I love it” he said then did it again, melted your heart with that damn handsome smile.

“Good,” you said softly, fixing his hoodie and finally giving him a bear hug that he deserves. “I don’t want this night to end,” you finally admitted it.

“Then let’s not end it,”

“Wait, you’re not faking anymore aren’t you-“

And just like that Mark cut you off with a deep kiss. Nothing like how he kissed you earlier. This time he was holding you tight that you’re almost out if breath and you feel like he’s about to crush you anytime. But the way he kissed you... it’s his way of confessing his love to you.

On the following days, everything changed between you and Mark. Though it’s clear that what you feel for him is only just a crush now and he knows it, still the guy is hopeful that you will love him like how he loves you.

Mark is the perfect definition of consistent. He showed you how he feels for you each day, and each day he became better than the day before, sweeter and bolder. He was putting everything on the line for you, showering you the love he has always kept in him. That’s why, in a matter of months you finally made it official with him and you can’t wait what the future has in store for the both of you.

“What do you love about me?” you asked out of nowhere while he was in the middle of playing his guitar. It wasn’t a hard question, but it made him stop and think for a second.

“I love how you give me constant reasons to love you even more each day,” the first line was enough, but Mark has more to say. “The way you kiss my cheek in the most friendly way but it always meant something to me, how you accepted me to be your friend and now boyfriend. I love how you love me, because being loved back by you is something so special that only us can understand”

What he said moved you of course. You didn’t know that he loves you deeply even before you started the fake dating thing. And knowing that Mark is just crazy and madly in love with you, you can’t help but wish that you are too. For now all you can do is accept his love, and give back however you can. You love him of course, but you can’t keep up with his love yet.

Days passed by and your relationship grew sweeter. More sweet words were exchanged and more kisses were given. Way more. Until you find yourselves making out whenever you two are alone.

“Aw!” you express your pain when Mark accidentally bit your lip. Something so sexy but it hurt and it made you both stop what you’re doing.

“Oops. Sorry, I got carried away” he says and took a look at your lips. “You’re fine right?”

“Mhmm” You answered, but just before he was about to start kissing you again, you stopped him by pulling away. “And it’s getting late, I think you should go home,”

“But I want to stay for more,” he said with a sly smile. Caressing your shoulders and soothing your back. If course you did not miss what he was talking about for more. You and Mark are young, and being new to this relationship thing just makes you both want to explore and feed each other’s curiosity.

“When I’m ready. I promise it will be worth the wait, for now it’s getting late and you need to go home... And work with some homework,” you gave him a final kiss and thankfully he did not pry.

The relationship you have with Mark was nothing like the friendship you used to have. The friendship was still there, of course, but friends don’t kiss your neck while you’re busy reading a book or slam you to the nearest wall and kiss you wildly. Friends don’t taste your favorite ice cream flavor through your tongue in the middle of a Netflix movie, and friends don’t get affected when they see you in your thin shirt and panties only whenever they give you a surprise visit.

“It’s the weekend, why are you here?” You whine as you try to go back to sleep. Clinging to your pillow and thick blanket but your boyfriend is currently losing his mind. Nonetheless, he remained a gentleman and covered your exposed leg and butt, covering you completely and keeping you warm. “Come to bed with me. Cuddle with me instead”

The young man’s eyes brightened and quickly joined you in bed. Swinging his arm around your waist from behind and nuzzling your neck to tickle you.

“I got into my dream college,” he whispered excitedly beside your ears which made you quickly turn to him and hug him.

“That’s why you’re here! Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t realized” you planted kisses on his cheek the ones he loved receiving other than your slow and deep ones. “You used to talk about this ever since we were just kids. Ugh, I’m so proud of you”

“Promise to support me no matter what?” This time it’s him who went closer and planted kisses on your face. Of course you said yes, it has been his dream, but now that you knew you’ll miss him everyday and you know that the image of him walking away from you at the airport will truly hurt you, so you can’t help but fake it.

You rolled on top of him and his eyes immediately went big, wondering why and how are you like this. You have never been this bold and confident even in your wildest times, it’s like he’s seeing a totally different side of you and he loves it.

“Want to claim your early graduation gift?” you completely surprised him and started kissing his neck, while Mark is actually enjoying the moment by caressing your ass cheeks and teasing you by tugging your panties. You wish you have the same level of confidence with Mark, because you well know that between the two of you he is the one experienced with sexual activities, so now you try your best.

“Mmm” a loud pop surrounds your room as Mark sucks your nipples through your thin shirt. Taking turns with your left boob and right boob until your shirt is partly wet because of him and he can finally see your nipples. The sight of it gave him the feeling like no other. Of course this is not his first time seeing boobs, but this is different because it’s you.

The mere sight of your boobs just made him lose his mind and not to mention hard in no time. You watch him roll his head back while you slowly grind of top of him with a ruined shirt, looking so hot than ever so he quickly switched places with you. Putting you underneath him, looking down on you with hungry and lustful eyes.

“Do you wanna touch my boobs?” You asked him so innocently,reaching for his hand that’s placed on your waist. You put your hand and his hand inside your shirt, slowly lifting the wet shirt just above your chest to expose your boobs to him.

“I wish you were my first,” he said and immediately kissing your right boob while his hand kneads the other, pinching you or teasing you, or whatever he just wanted to hear something from you. And when he stopped making your nipples swollen, Mark just kept on kissing you softly and saying ‘i love yous’ over and over again. making you smile through his lips and soft touches, it is as if he’s taking away all your shyness and making you comfortable with the situation. The situation where your boobs are expose to him, your legs spread wide and Mark is in between your legs, grinding his clothed cock on your ruined and wet panties.

You were just kissing passionately but now you felt his hands hooked on your panties and the next thing you know he’s pulling it down without breaking the kiss until it reaches your thigh and eventually remove it but the shyness crept in again, making you close your legs and bite your lips in hesitation.

“Can I? Open your legs?” He asks, kissing your neck and calming you through the way he kisses you and touch you. And when he felt that you’re ready, he tried opening your legs again and this time you let him. Letting him place his body in between your legs, smiling through the kiss as if he’s telling you ‘good job’.

Mark spread kisses around your body, kissing every inch of your being, earning a giggle from you and with that he’s happy you’re not nervous anymore.

And when Mark pull away to discard his clothes, and release his cock, you were speechless when you saw it that you removed your own ruined shirt just to be fair ask him to get back in between your legs this instant.

“Lets do this right,” he said and immediately placed a finger on your wet slit that took your breath away. Up and down, you feel his finger nothing else, and when the moment comes and Mark put a finger in, your hand reached for his hand and tried to stop him because the pleasure was too much. But your handsome boyfriend was just smiling at you, smirking because you looked so ruined right now all you can do is smile back at him. And when he insert two fingers, he kissed you deeply and caught every moan you let out, every cry of his name, every groan, or whine.

And the next thing you know you’re closing your legs as you shiver and curl your body. Trying to get away from Mark because you’re sensitive already but your boyfriend is not stopping.

“First of many,” he says and stopped to pull out his fingers. But he is not yet done. He only gave you a few seconds to catch your breath and went back kneeling in between your legs again.

“Are you going to fuck me now?” you asked with ragged breaths and tired expression.

Mark did not answer you verbally, but he did physically. Licking your pussy juices and spreading your pussy lips while his eyes are completely locked on yours.

You said ‘no’, but you didn’t mean it and the moment his tongue swipes on your cunt you grabbed hold on your headboard and hold on for your dear life. Clenching and unclenching as Mark eats you out, trying so hard to close your legs but you can’t until your second orgasm drowned you quickly and all you can do is breathe in and out heavily.

“I hate you” you said but you’re clinging to Mark and sharing your warmth to him.

“I love you,” he said and intertwined his fingers with his, kissing your knuckles before he place both your hands above your head. You voluntarily spread your legs wider for him, and with his free hand he lines his cock finally.

“I didn’t know you’re big,”

What you said made him smirk and proved your discovery even more by pulling out entirely and slamming his cock back in your wet hole. “Now you know,” he said small grunts and went in deeper. He knew what he’s doing to you is too much pleasure because it’s your first time and also he can tell by the way you hold on to his hand.

“Planning to crush my hand?” he let out a cut giggle like he isn’t fucking you deep right now. How can he do that? Be insanely cute while doing something filthy to you.

“Y/n, I’m close can I go faster?” and you can only nod.

Fucking you faster and harder than earlier, you watch Mark become someone sinful when he started focusing on his own release, kissing your boobs while he fucks you, give your ass a tight squeeze, lick your neck like you’re a fucking ice cream and whisper dirty words or word that make you shy that you didn’t know you would love hearing. Like,

“Let me fuck you again,”

“You like it deep huh?”

“Y/n, you’re worth wait, you’re mine forever”

“This is the last pussy I’ll fuck,”

And in the end he pulled out and jerked in front of you, letting his cum fall on your lower abdomen and watch his cum drip to your sheets. It’s a shame that he can’t cum inside you, it would have felt great.

“Fucking shit- that sex was great,”

He rests his head on top of your boobs, but went back to kissing you again on the lips. Apologizing for his mess, aplogizing for his words and saying ‘i love you’ over and over again.

That morning, you stayed naked with Mark in bed for a few hours just talking and laughing, flirting and kissing. It felt great having a huge progress with your relationship, especially that it’s Mark who took your virginity.

“Hey, you okay?” he was talking about your pussy because even though he didn’t went hard earlier, he did fucked you a little bit harder knowing that it’s your first time. “I meant what I said earlier. Please be my last, I don’t want to give my love to anyone but you. It’s too early to talk about marriage but, I know it’s you. I’ll love you better each day, I promise”

Comfort, warmth and safety. That’s what you felt hearing those beautiful words from him that you became speechless and crashed your lips to him.

His promise was kept every day until you both finished high school together, enjoy the summer before he leaves and make unforgettable memories as many as you can.

But knowing that he’s going away to follow his dreams and fulfil his goals, Mark worried too much about long distance relationship and how it never worked.

“Are we really together now? I’m not dreaming right?”

Your sleep was disturbed when Mark called you in the middle of the night. Today, you taught him how to bake and had a couple of rounds during Netflix and chill, so to be honest you’re really exhausted and tired.

“Mark, we kiss, we date, we have sex almost everyday. Yes baby, we’re together for almost four months already. Now can we please go back to sleep-“

“Go down open your door. I’m outside”

And the moment you opened the door for him, you gave him a ‘shh’ sign, telling him that your parents are already asleep. You came closer to him for a kiss, and told him, “it’s real. I’m real. Can you please promise me to stop overthinking, you’re making me worry,”

He didn’t answer you but lowered his head. You knew he’s sorry and he’s just doing this for you,

“I love you, Mark. I’m yours forever,” you said and kissed him again. Deeply this time, to the point that it put you both in the mood and the next thing you know Mark is fucking you while he’s covering your mouth with his hand.

When Mark left you for college your relationship went downhill and you’re both getting hurt already. Fighting is part of the relationship, yes, but the fight you have with Mark almost everyday was becoming the reason why you want to distance yourself from him. You feel caged with how he love you, you feel like he’s strangling you with all these rules you need to follow to maintain trust in your relationship but nothing is working.

Until he finally realized what he’s doing to you.

So during his vacation, he visited you and you were so excited to the core that you welcomed him with a tight hug and the biggest smile. Only to find out that he wanted to break up.

But

“It’s just until we finish college. Let’s wait and do it right. I don’t want to fight for you while hurting you at the same time. Please understand. I’m not breaking up because I don’t love you. This time off will heal us both,”

The breakup did you no good. You were sad every day and to be honest you would rather want him to nag you than miss him like this and you can believe that between the two of you, he’s the one doing great in life. It makes you want to believe that he doesn’t love you anymore. Like the man you fell in love to, wasn’t there anymore.

“Still crazy about my stupid brother huh? Come here and help feed my fishes,”

His brother, Lee Taeyong, disturbed you and your ugly thoughts while you finish the drink their mom gave you during one of your visits.

“Well, college was good to you. I see you’re back and finally opening a bakeshop downtown” he hands you the fish food as you wait for him to talk and feed the fishes generously.

“I’m very much excited to open my bakery. Want to make cookies later instead of being broken hearted?”

And as days, weeks, and months pass by, not only Lee Taeyong making you forget about Mark, he also healed your heart and won it fair and square.

It started how he makes your heart flutter whenever he holds your hand while teaching you how to bake, how praises you and tell you that you look beautiful everyday, how he makes his kitchen your own little world during closing time and you’re sitting on the kitchen counter with Taeyong in between your legs and taking your breath away with a heated kiss.

When you and taeyong started dating, you experienced true love. You didn’t want to hurt Mark but what you have with Taeyong is real and you had to hide this from him for years and years and years, until you finally graduated in college.

And Tayong proposed to you. It was the only time you couldn’t hide your relationship from Mark anymore because Taeyong was the one who confessed to him.

*this is the part where you read the first part again JEJEHEH

[spencesglasses]

sweet creature (spencer reid x f! reader) pt 5

a/n: to anyone still reading after 2 months of silence... here’s a new chapter. as always, ignore any errors and feedback is always appreciated. enjoy <3

part one | part four

The sun brought its wrath on Y/N’s skin as she lies on the red and white quilt blanket beneath her. She extends her hand to the edge, twisting the grass in between her fingers. Letting her hand linger to the patch of Zinnia flowers. She sits up on her forearms and crosses a leg over the other. Reds, pinks, and yellows bloom in the field, and Y/N stared in awe. A noise from her right causes her to jolt up from her spot, clenching her fists tightly. The wind coos in her ear, leaving the hair at the nape of her neck stand. She slowly brought her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knee, and tries to calm her breath. It’s fine, she’ll be here any minute now, Y/N thought. She released her hold on her legs and let out an exasperated sigh, shifting to the lonely picnic basket that sat at the base of the blanket. She flipped the basket open and let her hand search until she felt the smooth cover of a book. Y/N smiled to herself, bringing it into her lap. She opens the book to find a stray note taped to the back of the cover. Meet me in a field of wildflowers where the sun falls in love with the earth and the moon falls in love with the stars, it read. Her fingers gently trace over the letters as she admired the note, trailing down to the signed “E”.

Y/N closed the book, tossing it to her side, and she felt the corners of her mouth rise when she saw the familiar strands of raven hair. “Hey, you.” Y/N said, holding out her hand for the girl to hold. “You finally made it.”

-

“Hey,” a voice takes her away from the memory. “Are you okay?”

Y/N looked up from the book that was splayed across her lap to meet the owner of the voice and locked eyes with Spencer from across the round table. She nodded softly, the tip of her finger ghosts over the letters of the cover. What was so special about this book? She turned over the cover just as she did years ago, to find the same mysterious note. Her eyes linger on the inscribed “E”, and she huffs in frustration. “Why can’t I remember you?” she mumbled.

“What was that?” JJ asked from beside her.

Y/N closed the book, setting it next to the case file in front of her. She moved her attention to JJ and shook her head. “Nothing.”

JJ and Spencer met eyes, then both looked at the book quizzically. JJ shrugged her shoulders when Spencer tilted his head in wonder. He glanced at Y/N, who was attentively listening to Garcia as she promptly showcased yet another case to solve.

“Last night, this girl, Gina Bryant, flagged down a police car in St. Louis,” Garcia said. “She was wearing nothing but a dirty nightgown, and she was barefoot. And she told them she was kidnapped when she was 8.”

“That girl’s gotta be 19 or 20 years old.” Morgan said.

“18,” Garcia corrected. “And they confirmed her identity. She was a foster kid who disappeared 10 years ago.”

Y/N shuffled through the photos the file contained. “She’s been in captivity this whole time?” she asked, looking up to Garcia, who was nodding her head.

“Long-term hostage. That’s rare. We got another Ariel Castro here?” said Rossi.

“Funny you say that. Not funny ha ha. Funny weird. She told the police that she was held captive with this girl,” she explained. “Sheila Woods, 15 years old, who disappeared from Nashville 7 years ago. Also, she said there was another girl, too, but all she knows about her is that her name is Violet and she was older.”

Y/N brought her eyes to the board of the missing girls from Garcia and bit the inside of her cheek. “You’ve checked the missing children’s database, correct?”

“Affirmative. There’s no Violet anywhere.”

“Did Gina say anything about her captor?” Spencer questioned.

“Just that his name was Tom, and he was an older white dude.”

JJ spoke up. “And where were they being held?”

“This house,” Garcia brought up a photo of the home to the screen. “Gina took the cops there. They brought Sheila to the hospital, very ill with something yet to be determined. Violet nowhere to be found.”

“It’s probably safe to assume that she’s with the unsub.” Hotch said.

Y/N nodded in agreement. “Who owns the house?”

“Oh! That’s where it gets even weirder. This woman, Clara Riggins,” she displayed a photo of the woman. “She’s MIA, but her checking account is active. She pays her bills on time, and if my math is correct, she’s 108 years old.”

“I might be going out on a limb here, but I’m gonna bet she had nothing to do with the kidnapping.”

“The real question is, where’s the unsub and this other girl Violet?” Morgan says.

“That’s what we’re going to find out. Lewis is on a research assignment. Wheels up in 30.” Hotch finalized . He gathered his file and promptly made his way out of the room, leaving the team to follow his lead.

Y/N stood from her seat, gathering her own file and the book that sat by its side. Her feet swiftly brought her to her desk in the bullpen and she opened one of the many draws in search of her go bag. Double checking if she had everything prepared for the trip, she carefully tucked her book between a few belongings, but noticed something peculiar peeking out of it. Y/N furrowed her brows. Never did she notice this. She had found the book a few days ago while searching through her closet for an extra jacket for Garcia. Instead, she found a box labeled with an unfamiliar date. In it, she found the book. It seemed familiar, but she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. Y/N didn’t think much about it until she’s noticed the the note. The signed note. Why couldn’t she remember anything? And why can’t she remember who “E” is?

She groaned, slipping the item that was nestled between the pages into her fingers. And to her surprise, it was a photo. A photo of her and… the photo was torn in half. Someone else was in the photo, but who? Perhaps it was this “E” person. Though her memory was hazy, she could recall very little of the note and the book itself. She remembered this girl. That must be E, she thought. But who exactly is she, and why can’t I remember her face?

Y/N’s thoughts were cut short when she felt a hand grasp at her waist. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she quickly spins on her heel to face the person behind her.

“Woah, there!” JJ exclaimed, placing her other hand to Y/N’s waist to steady her. “You alright?”

Y/N visibly relaxed, letting out an exhale. “All good,” She placed her hand atop JJ’s and offered her a small smile. “Just surprised me, that's all.”

JJ quirked up a brow, and her eyes trailed over Y/N’s features. “I’ve been calling out to you… you didn’t hear me?”

Y/N inwardly frowned. “Guess not,”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” JJ brought her hand up to Y/N’s face, cupping her jaw.

Y/N covered JJ’s hand with hers once again. This is what made her feel more at home when joining the team. Before she had joined, she had known about the team. Spencer would mention them every now and then when he would stop by to visit her at the shop. He would tell her various stories about the cases they’ve solved, about the people they’ve, along with stories about each member of the team. And she admired them. They were like a little family and at first, Y/N was scared to intrude. She pat JJ’s hand, giving her a tight-lipped smile. “I’m fine, Jayge,” she took JJ’s hands in her own. “Now, we have people to save, don’t we?”

Y/N released her hold on her hand, grabbing hold of her bag. She looked over the bullpen and noticed Spencer awkwardly standing over his desk with his go bag halfway off his shoulder, and a smile formed. She took a step forward, turning to JJ, and offered her arm for her to take. “Join me.” Y/N said.

JJ linked her arm with hers, letting Y/N lead the way to Spencer’s desk, and his head perked up when he saw her. “Y/N…”

“Hey, you,” she held out her arm just as she did to JJ. “You ready to go?”

To Y/N’s surprise, Spencer grasped her hand in his instead. She glanced over to JJ, and she looked as shocked as she was as her eyes went back and forth between the pair and their locked hands. Y/N’s heart sped up a bit when she felt Spencer squeeze at her hand. She had grown used to the feeling of his hand in hers. Every once in a while, they would grab hold of each other's hands if something in a case hit too close to home. It was a comfort for them, though it was something that went unspoken. But each time, she would feel her heart speed up ever so slightly. She shook her head and gave Spencer’s hand a light squeeze back.

-

Morgan, Rossi, and Y/N walked in silence as they surveyed the basement of the home. Y/N’s eyes wander over the room, noticing various arts and crafts that littered the murky walls and blankets and stuffed animals that sat on the abandoned mattresses. She took a step closer to one mattresses when she saw a deep red peeking out from underneath a blanket. Nudging Rossi with her shoulder, she gestured down to the atrocity. He lifted the blanket with his gloved hand, uncovering a large patch of dried blood. The two glanced up at each other and shook their heads, continuing on after Morgan.

They parted ways to investigate different areas of the house, and Y/N found herself in a bedroom. It was tidy, the bed perfectly made, and not a speck of dust in sight. She opened the draws of the dresser, noting the clothes that were neatly folded. Y/N heard footsteps enter the room, and she looked over her shoulder to see Morgan opening the doors of the closet. Just as she had expected. The closet was just as neat and orderly as the rest of the room.

“Look what I found in the kitchen,” Rossi’s voice broke the silence as stepped into the room. He sat the box he held on the bed and Morgan stood beside him.

“Bondage and torture porn.” he reported.

“Also found another tool box in there, that makes three.”

“Well, you saw that guy's woodwork. He’s obviously good with his hands.”

“He must be a carpenter. Maybe a handyman of some sort, but,” Y/N said, keeping her eyes fixed on the closet. “Look at this.”

She beckoned the two to peer inside the closet. “He must have OCD. The closet, the clothes, even the bed… perfectly organized.”

“He wants total control over every aspect of his life.” Rossi stated.

“Makes sense for a sadist.”

“He’s not gonna like it on the run,” Morgan said. “He’s gonna feel powerless.’

Rossi spoke. “And that’s why he took Violet with him. Sheila Woods was probably too sick to travel.”

“You know, Violet was the oldest and helped with the abductions. She was probably his first victim.”

“Perhaps. Or maybe his daughter?”

“Well, either way, she was important to him.”

“You know. I also wonder, what happened to Clara Riggins?” Rossi asked, rounding the bed.

Morgan answered. “The bedroom down the hall is untouched. Looks like it’s been that way for a while.”

Y/N walked around the bed, to the door frame, and peeked her head to briefly view the rest of the house. “He looked after the house. It’s well cared for. Maybe that’s how he found this place,” she turned on her heel to face the two men. “Elderly woman, no family. She must’ve hired someone to fix things now and then. She thought he was a nice guy, does good work, and they build a relationship,”

“You think he took advantage of Clara Riggins?”

“That’s what it seems like. Though he doesn’t profile as a killer, I think he made a spot in her life and waited until she died.”

“And he made sure that she came to depend on him for survival. Just like his victims.”

-

The three of them hurried to the location the unsub’s vehicle was spotted. Y/N sat in the back seat of the van, fastening the FBI vest over her torso. Morgan and Rossi occupied the driver’s and the passenger’s seat. Police cars trailed behind them as they came to a stop and they hurriedly made their way out of the car. Y/N pulled her gun from her holster that sat at her hip and stealthy surveyed the blue van as Morgan ventured to the driver’s side. “Michael Clark Thompson, FBI!” Morgan’s voice booms when he approaches the man. “Show me your hands! Show me your hands! Now very slowly use your right hand to open the driver’s side door. Slowly.”

Y/N and Rossi stayed outside the back of the van with their guns pointed forward. A small voice of a woman was heard, and Y/N gestured for the surrounding officers to be prepared to open the car doors. “Get out the van nice and slow. Keep your hands where I can see them.” Morgan ordered.

She heard Morgan groan in frustration, along with a figure whizzing past him. “Ah, you gotta be kidding me. This guy!” he quickly took off after him and with that, Y/N signaled the police officers to open the back of the van.

She stepped quickly, looking over the inside of the van, and locked eyes with a girl. With her knees to her chest, she scurried backward in fright, heaving with each breath. Y/N returned her gun to her holster and extended her arm towards her. “It’s okay, It’s alright,” she cooed. “We got you.”

-

“Nothing to hide, my ass. He’s full of it.” Rossi scoffed as Hotch informed the team about Thompson’s defence claims. The team occupied the sitting space of the hospital the girls were admitted to, along with Thompson, who was kept contained in a spare room. According to Hotch, Thompson “saved” the girls from their parents and claimed that he had nothing to hide when it came to Clara Higgins. The entire ordeal made Y/N’s blood boil. The man was a pig, and he deserved to rot for his crimes.

“The preliminary M.E. report does suggest that Clara Riggins died of natural causes.” Spencer said.

“I think he’s telling the truth about that. He didn’t kill her.”

Y/N moved from her spot next to JJ and settled on the empty seat next to Spencer. She snuck a glance his way, noticing the wrinkle in between his brows from them being furrowed. She thought it was cute, not that she would ever tell him that, of course. Y/N scrunched her nose and nudged him, signaling for him to pass her to M.E. reports.

“I’m sorry, guys. I can’t stop thinking about Violet,” says JJ. “She could not wait to get out of here. Like, it was urgent. It’s all she could talk about.”

“Well, she’d been held captive most of her life. All this has to be a tremendous shock.” Rossi said.

“No question about that, but that wasn’t it. It’s like she had somewhere specific in mind and she needed Thompson to go with her.”

“Well, he’s conditioned her to depend on him for everything.” Hotch said curtly.

“Exactly. You condition someone by doing something over and over again. Now, we know he repeatedly abused them. I don’t think she was itching to get out of here to go do that.”

Y/N flipped over the documents absentmindedly and tossed her leg over the other. “Perhaps he did something to reward her somehow,” she starts. “What if she has a child? Where else would she want to go so badly…”

JJ gave her a nod of agreement. “Sheila Woods did have a miscarriage. Maybe Violet brought one to term.”

“We did profile that he might be trying to fill some kind of void since he didn’t have a family.” said Spencer.

“Yeah, but Gina Bryant never mentioned any baby.” Rossi pointed out.”

“Violet could have had the baby before Gina was abducted. Gina wouldn’t even know about it.”

“Well, if we’re right about any of this, that means there’s another kid somewhere out there.”

-

Y/N walked behind Rossi and Hotch as they led Thompson to the room Violet occupied. Passing through the halls of the building, seeing the parents of these girls, made her heart break for them. For Violet’s parents, most of all. They’ve spent so many years mourning the loss, just for this sick man to step in and claim their girl as his own. Y/N clenched her jaw tightly, picking up her steps to meet their destination.

“Daddy,” Violet says with a smile.

“Hi, Vi.” Thompson replied.

The interaction made Y/N’s stomach churn, and she let out a deep exhale. “Have a seat,” she spat.

“No, I want to be close to her.”

“Not part of the deal,”

The man turned to her with a deep frown on his face. “Then give us some privacy.”

“No,” she deadpanned. “Sit.”

Hotch pulled out a chair behind Thompson and he reluctantly claimed his spot. Violet’s eyes darted between the agents and the man, gasping when she noticed his arm sling. “You’re hurt…”

“Don’t worry about that. It’s nothing.”

Violet fiddled with her fingers, trying to settle her breaths. “I’m really sorry?”

“About what?” he asked.

“My sisters,” she answered, afraid to meet his eyes. “I had to tell them. Please don’t be mad. I had to…”

“Now, listen, it’s alright, Vi. Okay? It really is okay.” he said sincerely.

“Did you get the groceries yet?” she asked him.

The question made the agent’s ears perk up.

“No, honey,” Thompson says. “I’ve been here the whole time just like you.”

“But can we go now?” she urged.

“I have some bad news,” he lamented. “We- We can’t go there ever again.”

“What? We have to go today! It’s by the disappearing place, we can be fast.”

“You’re right, Violet, but I can’t. These police,” he said, nodding towards the agents. “They don’t think we should be together. They’re going to break apart our family, just like I told you they would. I just wanted to come and say goodbye before they took me away.”

“No! Wait. When will you be back?!”

“Not for a very long time. I would give you a hug goodbye, but they won’t let me.”

“No! I- Please…” she pleaded, inching closer to the edge of the bed. “Please, can I just hug him?”

Y/N shared a look with Hotch, and he gave her a curt nod. She arched a brow at him, brining her attention back to the pair. “Okay.” she said.

She grimaced and looked away as the two embraced. Y/N felt bad for this girl. All the awful things she had to endure… at the hands of someone who claimed to care for her? This poor girl was so stuck in their ways.

“Oh, Violet, I’m gonna miss you,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m gonna miss you.”

He placed a kiss to her cheek as he pulled away, his hand cupping her face in affection. “My beautiful Violet.”

Y/N’s attention shifted back to them when she heard Violet’s footsteps. She was backing away from him… she must have remembered something. Rossi gestured for JJ to bring in the girl’s parents from outside of the room.

“What is- What is this? Who are these people?!” Thompson demanded when he saw the couple.

“These are her parents,” Y/N said sternly.

“And that gentleman right there is her real daddy.” Rossi continued.

“Huh? She knows who her real daddy is. Daddy is the only one who loves you. Isn’t that right, Violet?”

The girl sat there in a silent war with herself. Her eyes flicker between the couple and Thompson for a moment, her face scrunching up in displeasure. “No… my name… is... Amelia.”

“Amelia…” she repeated. “Amelia. Amelia!” The man’s face paled, and he stiffened in posture before she charged at him. Her fists hit his chest in a fit of rage, and the man was trapped between Amelia and the wall. The agents made haste. Hotch and Rossi were on either side of Thompson, and JJ and Y/N wrapped their arms around Amelia’s waist in efforts to pull her back.

“Get off of me!” he shouted.

But regardless of the agent's restraints, Amelia was feverish in her movements. Y/N couldn’t blame her. He was going to get exactly what he deserved. “My name is Amelia!”

Her and JJ were able to pry her off of him and Hotch and Rossi escorted him out of the room. “There is no deal! You hear me?! There’s no deal!”

Y/N wrapped her arm around Amelia’s shoulders and rubbed languid circles as she tried to steady her breath. “You’re okay… you’re okay,” she soothed.

-

The case came to a close, and the four girls were saved. All was well, with the exception of the situation with Thompson. He was brought to his demise when the mother of Sheila Woods shot him. Y/N thought he deserved it. If she were to be honest, she probably would have done the same if she were in her shoes.

Now, Y/n found herself snuggled on the couch of the jet with the same book from earlier that day in her lap. Though the case took her mind off the note, the lack of familiarity was making her frustrated. Not to mention the memory… her mind was hazy, but she couldn’t let it go. Why was this so important to her?

A new weight at the end of the couch made the cushions dip, and Y/N caught Spencer lazily fumbling with a small blanket. The dark circles under his eyes didn’t go unnoticed by her. She watched as he hopelessly tried to make himself comfortable in the small proximity.

“Spencer…” she finally called out to him.

He turns his gaze to her and hums in response. Y/N turned her body to dangle her legs over the couch, placing the pillow on top of her thighs. She tapped the pillow on her lap as an invitation. “Sleep, Spence,”

Spencer hesitated, his eyes flickering between the pillow and her eyes. “It’s fine,” she says. “Consider it as an apology for making you sleep on the floor.”

Spencer smiles and shuffles to his side, resting his head on the soft pillow. “Of course,”

Y/N mirrored his smile, holding in a snicker. The two sat in comfortable silence for a moment, and Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut. “You still owe me another movie night,” he whispered, not bothering to open his eyes. “You know… as an apology.”

She looked down to her lap and saw the corners of his lips curl upwards. “Why, of course,” Y/N poked his cheek. “But now, you need to rest.”

He nodded, nuzzling further into the pillow. The sound of Spencer’s soft snores reached her ears, and Y/N closed her own eyes. She draped her arm over his form and let her head lull back, allowing herself to be engulfed by sleep.

-

a/n: honestly i never intended to ship y/n and jj, but look at me. shipping y/n and jj.

taglist: @measure-in-pain @ceeellewrites @eevee0722

[blackvelvetwriteson]

𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐘𝐔𝐊𝐈

                                                 (  ~ Kaminari Denki x Gender Neutral                                               Black Reader Insert ~ )

GENRE: Fluffy Fluff!                                                                  

FANDOM: Boku No Hero Academia (My Hero Academia)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: NONE! Today is a fluffy day!

SUMMARY: Kaminari helps out Reader-Chan with their hair for a wash day after they both get off of work! This is a Black!reader insert and trust and believe I’m going to be doing MORE of these types of things as well. I have Kirishima x Black Male reader insert to come soon! I hope you enjoy!

WORD COUNT: 3940

(Headers are mine, but the art inside of them are not! Please don’t steal or repost without credit!)

You and Denki had been together for awhile and everything was everything you thought it’d be and more. He was always so energetic and happy to see you each and every single time you ‘left’ and then came back to him. I swear it was like he was even more in love with you every single time you blinked. And that beautiful smile of his as he looked you over taking in your beautiful auburn skin, almond-y eyes, your wide nose, and your hair. He was oh so infatuated with your hair every single time he saw a style you put your hair into; he had never even seen braids until he got with you. You both had gotten an apartment together- even after going through high school and the UA experience with you, he was still in love with you possibly even more than he was before.

    You both had separate closets; your closer mostly full of head scarfs, durags, and the special hair products that you used at like max 1 time a month. Oftentimes you found your boyfriend sifting through everything and trying to name what things were and at this point he was getting pretty good. All of it sounded weird coming from his mouth, but it was the thought that counted. He also looked through all of the products and he had accidentally tried some just to see if his hair would benefit from it.

                                          Needless to say it didn’t.

    He also loved looking at your accessories that you’d put in your hair- mostly when they were in braids- all of your brushes and heat protectants and your piks. He LOVED your piks. He would ask you about them all the time and he’d even ask to use them from time to time even though he and you both knew they weren’t for him. You’d gotten him a custom one though- it was yellow with metal rounded tip spokes and the body had his signature lightning bolt with his hero name “Chargebolt” underneath it with pretty letters. You were never too fond of sharing things like that with anyone- even him- and he respected that.

    He’d been with you long enough to distinguish between your music as well and at the end of the week he’d always come back home to hear a mix between James Brown, SZA, Jhene Aiko, Summer Walker, and others. When you let him sit in on your study sessions and listen to your music he’d always been so surprised with 1) how diverse your music taste was and 2) that there was so many different kinds of music and he’d never heard YOURS prior to getting with you. He absolutely loved it, Drake being one of his favorites though he’d mindlessly mumble some Kendrick lyrics when he heard a familiar beat. Nevertheless, today was no different. He’d gotten home from his patrol to hear SZA playing, the scent of the mix of products in the air bringing a small inkling of pink to his cheeks. He walked in a little more and slicked back his dandelion yellow hair and he walked to the bathroom where he, once again, saw the familiar sight of you hunched over the sink mumbling lyrics while your skilled fingers worked shampoo out of your hair.     “This may be the night that my dreams might let me know…” you mumbled under your breath before you jumped feeling Denki’s strong arms wrapping around your waist, his tender lips pressed into the nape of your neck. “BABY!” You feel a surge of happiness run through you before your fingers get caught on a knot and you grumble lowly. “D-Don’t scare me like that,” you whine out softly before you settle on ripping the knot out of your from irritation before you feel his warm hand against yours.     “I-I’m sorry,” he said with a soft laugh. “Hey don’t tug at it like that… You’ll hurt your hair,” he said softly before swiftly taking his gloves off and setting them next to the sink, humming softly as he helped you work the knot out of your hair SAFELY.         “I’m… Surprised you remember,” you said quietly as he dried his hands off and rested them on your waist, swaying to the music behind you.     “Of course I remember! I couldn’t forget something like that…. Uhm.. So can I help with… Conditioning? Please? Pretty please?! I just… I want to learn more so that I can help you! A-And I know you’re gonna braid it! C-Can I watch you do that o-or um… Something? I won’t ask to help because we both know I can’t do that!” He started to laugh softly as he rubbed the back of his neck, scared again that he had talked too much. “S-Sorry..” He mumbled quietly. At this point, you were done with washing your hair so you used your hips to push him back and you threw your head back, the water in your hair flicking all over Denki, who just laughed like usual, before he walked up behind you and took you by the waist again with his head rested on your shoulder not even caring that your hair was dripping on his or his face. He carried that handsome smile as he used one of his slender fingers to trail over your jawline gently with a small laugh.     “What’s so funny,” you rose your eyebrow and quirked your lips some as your brown eyes carried a soft golden glow to them. He thought that was the coolest thing ever how your eyes seemed so amazingly dark but could still carry a glow to them, especially one that brought out your features even more. “N-Nothing! You’re just… So damn beautiful,” he said softly as he practically melted looking at your reflection in the mirror. “And all mine… I get to have you and nobody else,” he said softly as he bit his lip and nuzzled into your neck before he caught a whiff of food in the air. His patrol had zapped him (ha! get it?) and he was in the mood for you and food and cuddles. His mouth started to water as he let his hands wash over your hips, duck under your shirt, gently tapping his fingertips against your soft satiny brown skin. “What’s for dinner, love,” he asked quietly as he sniffed your hair and closed his eyes, his heart pounding hard against his rib cage as his flush travelled through his body. He loved how homey anywhere felt with you. Instead of living off of takeout, he was graced with your cooking skills. Instead of sitting around doing nothing, he took a keen interest whenever you did your hair and sometimes when he was gaming you’d lay on top of him and practice different styles in his hair so you could get ideas for your own and honestly he was just fine with that. He had someone like you; and it wasn’t that you were ‘exotic’ looking; as a matter of fact he’d get so pissed off when someone said that about you or your family because it seemed… Out of place to him. Of course, when he laid eyes on you for the first time, he couldn’t think of anything else except how different you looked from anybody he’d ever seen before. How your wider nose brought out your thin dark eyes, how curly your hair was and how it just seemed to define gravity- but in a mere hour and a half would be sleek and braided against your head and stay that way until you took it out. How your white teeth glistened and brightened your nebulous brown eyes with that golden glow that acted as a highlight and how perfectly it fit you. He even noticed how your hips curved a little more, how your shoulders were a little broader, how you always managed to shine and he loved that. Everybody did- but he did more. He always protected you, and you’d let him. After all it was hard moving from one place where everyone seemed to hate you and people that looked just like you to a different place where there was NOBODY that looked like you… No place to get things to care for yourself properly unless you paid a million and half dollars for all of the products that you deemed as necessary. He didn’t mind paying, he didn’t mind protecting you and letting you not be the strong one, he didn’t mind putting people in his place; sometimes he got overzealous with it and you had to explain why certain things were okay and why certain things were. He listened, always, and he seemed to have a grasp on it, however, he forgot sometimes just wanting to protect you and make his home your home as much as he could. He always gifted you with small presents and everything as well, always eager to buy you flowers and call you beautiful and make sure you knew that you weren’t alone even in this new place you called home and the attempt is exactly what you loved about him. All of his questions and asking for certain clarifications. He didn’t make you feel weak when you just couldn’t be strong anymore. He was curious, but he didn’t try to force your boundaries with touching your hair without permission or using your products and wasting them, or complaining about how much you had, or complaining and mocking how you were different from him and people like him, and on the flip side, he didn’t try to take your lingo that you carried over from where you were in America. He didn’t try to copy you because he knew that some things he just shouldn’t say and he just accepted the explanation with a smile and a nod and he made sure he never slipped up again, all while making sure other people didn’t make mistakes either.

     “Well… I went to the store today since I had morning shift,” you said quietly as you moved your hair to one side and gently let your fingers glide through his hair. “So I picked up a few things… It’s pretty cold outside so I made chili and cornbread,” you said softly as you look in the mirror at his widened eyes staring at your reflection. “I hope that’s not a… Bad thing?” “No no no no, of course not! It’s a great way to start the weekend… Besides I LOVE your cornbread- it’s like super spongey and stuff and it’s just really good! Thank you,” he said as he nuzzled into your damp neck and you admired him, turning to gently place a kiss on the top of his head. “You’re welcome, my little prince,” you said softly as you grabbed a towel. “You said you wanted to help me with conditioning right? Well come on before my hair gets dry,” you said softly and he followed happily, listening to the chili simmer in the pan, the small ticks of the timer taunting him as he waited for the cornbread to finish. Your guys’s fireplace crackled and added another touch of homeyness to your guys’s den. You sat on the couch and he sat behind you with his legs on either side of you. You giggled softly and handed him the leave in conditioner and tilted your head back. “Okay so, that’s leave in conditioner. It’s different from *shower* conditioner; I don’t have to wash it out. Try and get as close to my scalp as you can,” you say softly as you hear the bottle open. “And don’t use too much at one time! A little goes a long way,” you say softly as a smile broods over your face. He nods with a soft and determined hum and he parted your hair down the middle with his pinkies. You turned on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and giggled softly as he gently pressed his fingertips along the part, slowly but surely spreading the conditioner through your hair.     “Jeez, it smells so good,” he said in a soft murmur, grunting softly as he felt your hands on his legs for support.     “Your hands are so… Gentle,” you say as more of a soft hum, already almost asleep, your back leaning against his chest.     “Well duh,” he hummed back to you quietly as he worked your curly hair through his fingers, taking out any tangle he could gently and quickly, watching how the product weighed your hair down a little bit.     “You’re so cute,” you said softly as you tried not to sleep and he noticed so he gently pushed your back and nibbled at your neck.     “I finished with the leave in… What’s next?” He whispered softly into your ear causing a flush of your own to blossom and spread over your body as he nibbled your ear.     “D-Don’t do things like that,” you whined softly as you gently sifted through your bottles and handed him one of them. “This is to moisturize my hair even more. Focus more on my scalp and the ends of my hair than yknow… The rest of my hair,” you say softly as you close your eyes. Immediately your eyes close and you feel your skin burn as his strong hands go immediately to massaging your scalp. A shudder ripples down your spine and you lean your head back into Kaminari’s hands as you let out soft whines. He blushes a little and clicks his tongue. “Mm? You like that?” He teased you, palming your head as his fingers knead the product into your scalp.     “Y-Yeah,” you whine softly as you try harder not to pass out. “J-Just keep going like that,” you whisper under your breath. He let out his soft giggles that sounded just a little squeaky, moving your hair a little so he could kiss the nape of your neck, his plush lips pressed against your soft skin making your eyes flutter a little. “K-Kami,” you whisper softly as you close your eyes and let your body relax completely. He pulled you back into him and gently kissed the side of your neck.     “I’m sorry, yuri,” he said softly with a soft smile. “You know I get carried away sometimes,” he said as he gently massaged your shoulders and then you picked up one of your piks and handed it to him after showing him how to hold it.     “Here… Hold it from the underside like this… You’ll get a better grip that way,” you say softly as you tilt your head to one side as you felt him gently nibbling and tugging at your skin with his teeth. You let out quiet whimpers and bit your lip before pushing him back a little. “J-Just take the damn pik and do my hair before it dries dummy,” you said as you covered your mouth. He mumbled softly as he started to run his fingers through your hair and pik it out, his eyes glistening as he stretched your curls and let them fluff up and coil again.     “You’re so sensitive and it’s so cute,” he said softly as he gasped softly. “Jeez your hair babe… It’s amazing! It’s like… Soft but it still has its like… Texture? Would that be the right word? It’s really cool… It’s different from mine… I honestly love it,” he said softly as he continued to easily pik through your hair. “I don’t know how to braid, but I DO remember how to twist! C-Can I do that? I wa-wanna tie your d-durag today,” he said softly, his voice almost a pleading whine that you found adorable. You reached back and gently tangled your fingers with his hair causing him to whine softly. “Please,” he asked again, almost begging. If he was pleading like this, who were you to say no?     “Baby, since it’s the weekend, I will let you… BUT only if you let me teach you again,” you say quietly. You lean back and look up at him and his eyes, as usual, were glittery and beautiful as he held his smile.     “Wait REALLY?? Hell yeah!” He pumped his fist and you sat up as you, again, showed him a rat-tailed comb and you flipped it between your fingers. “Watch how I part this, and try to mimic it as best you can, okay?” You whisper quietly as you start to part it from the front of your head. He just watched attentively with pure astonishment as your coils parted and showed your scalp with ease. It was like watching a hot knife cut through butter.     “Woah….” He whispered out softly as he watched with his hands on your hips. You laughed quietly and gently pushed the loose hair to one side. Usually you’d be able to move fast, but you were slow just because it felt good when you felt his fingers in your hair. He bit his lip as you twirled the hair skillfully in your fingers, then added a rubber band to the end of your hair to keep the twist in place. “You’re so good at this yuki!” He smiled and gently kissed the side of your neck.      “Well I sorta have to be,” you mumble as you hand him the comb. “Now you be sure to be gentle, okay? And… What does yuki mean?”

    He took the comb in his hands and gently started to part your hair- admittedly much better than you ever thought he could. They were straight, uniform, clean parts, and that little hum to the music he did when he was focused made it that much better. “Yuki? O-Oh! It means lily in Japanese…. Yknow… Japanese is my native language I just thought it’d be cute to give you a Japanese nickname… I-If you don’t like it I can change it or just say it i-in English,” he said nervously as he tilted your head back and started to twist slowly, making sure that it was tight and secure, but not too tight.     “No no no, you’re okay my little prince,” you hum softly as you rub your hands against his legs causing him to chitter and whine softly. “Actually I think it’s quite cute… And it suits you well…” you muse softly to him as he moves on to the next twist, both of you humming to the song, the smell of the chili in the air blanketing the both of you. By the time he got finished with the last twist, dinner was done, the cornbread still in the oven.     “Hey…” He said softly as you moved to your closet to grab your durag.     “Shhhh I have a surprise for you,” you say quietly as your eyes let off that same golden glow as before. He cocked his head to one side and rose an eyebrow as you emerged with an electric yellow durag in hand, on one side was his signature lightning bolt and on the other was an embroidered icon of him in his signature point-and-shoot pose his glasses carrying a glint to them and by it was his hero name in fancy letters, underneath it was his kanji for his legal name. His eye sparkled even more and his hands quickly became slapped over his mouth.     “Yuki,” he whispered softly from behind his hands, his eyes tearing up. You looked it over and then smirked a little as you looked at him.     “You like? I figured you would considering how you’re always telling me that I look good in yellow… What better yellow than my husband’s, right?” You crawl back to the bed and in between his legs, gently gifting him with a proper kiss, your hands resting against his face, the durag placed messily atop your head as the strings laid at the sides. He eagerly kissed you back, his body practically trembling as he let a couple of tears fall. “Awww baby,” you say with a soft smile as you gently use your thumbs to swipe his tears away. He gripped your hands and kissed at your palms gently.     “That is… Probably one of the most meaningful gifts I have ever seen in my… Entire life… I mean look at it! It looks absolutely AMAZING on you and like… Just… It’s so badass! Like… It’s a little unbelievable actually… It’s ME… I’m a hero now… And I have an amazing little lily at my side to call my own… This is more than I ever could have DREAMED of!” You laugh quietly as he rambles, your eyes gazing lovingly into his as you spread the strings to be completely flat and you gently wrap them around the back of your head and then looked up at him with a soft smile. “This is… More suppose than I could have ever even hoped to have,” he said with his soft vulnerable giggle, gently pressing a kiss into your forehead  before taking the strings in his hands, whispering to himself trying to recall how to tie the strings flat. “D-Don’t tell me! I got it… ‘kay.. So I think you…” he trailed off as his breathing deepened and he bit his lip slowly trying to work through the steps.     “Okay… So you tied it in the back… So I just need to…” He let one of the strings go and he made the string in his hand flat, guiding it above your ear, wrapping it around your forehead. “And then… Bring it around town,” he whispered softly, causing you to giggle and cover your mouth. You noticed his face flush as he watched the design come to life and he bit his lip to contain his squeals. “So… Then…. Around town,” he said softly as he repeated the same steps on the opposite side. You smiled as he rose himself up a little and you buried your face in his chest with a soft sigh as he gently bound both strings in a bow behind your head before leaning back and giggling with jazz hands. “Ah! It looks so good!” He giggled before gently straightening it out and making sure everything was flat and centered. He did, surprisingly well, taking a picture of you and showing you after setting it as his home screen. “God… I could look at you all day,” he said in a breathy whisper before being tackled into the couch by you, you cuddling him close, burying your face into his neck, his muscular arms wrapping around you and holding you close.      “That little ‘around town’ thing was cute, y’know,” you giggled softly as you made him look up at you. His arms rested around your hips as he gave you this beaming grin as the oven alerted the both of you again.     “I-It’s how you taught me… It’s the only way I’ll remember it,” he whined quietly as he leaned up and nipped your neck. You giggled softly and pushed him back down on the couch before sliding off of him again. “Wait! I wanna make plates,” he pouted at you and crossed his arms peeking at you from just over the back of the couch.     “Aht, lay it back down. I’M taking care of it tonight,” you say quietly as you pop your lips at him and he abides, throwing one of his feet over the back of the couch as he continues to watch the show you put on with a soft smile, occasionally taking peeks at you from the couch with a blush washing over his face.      “I could never get tired of this,” he whispered softly to himself.

[zkfanworkweek]

ZFAW Content Creator Interviews: OwedBetter

Hey everyone! We hope you’re all excited for ZFAW, and to honor (ha!) ZFAW’s commitment to supporting and celebrating fan content creators in the Zutara fandom, we’re going to be rolling out a series of interviews with well-known and widely-beloved content creators over the next few weeks. We’ve got artists and fanfiction authors, some names you recognize as well as a few phenomenal up-and-coming talents, and we can’t wait for you to meet them all!

I’m super excited about this one! For the sixth (incredibly delayed, I’M SORRY) interview in the cycle, we have Jo, aka @owedbetter. Best known for the absolutely iconic Zutara fanfiction “I’m Still Here,” Jo’s works can be found at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12312357/chapters/27990618

Tell us about how you came to ship Zutara. What does this ship mean to you?

To use one of my favourite lines from Jane Austen, "I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun." I started watching Avatar: The Last Airbender when I was just a tiny little baby child at 10 turning 11 years old. I do know for a fact, however, that Zutara had simply always been it for me from the very beginning. I believe it was during "The Storm" that I just knew that there was more to Zuko than what was at surface level. As a brown girl trying to make her way into positions of leadership as a child, Katara's strength, rage, and bravery paved the way for me to survive in the way I have. As a survivor of child abuse myself, Zuko remaining kind and gentle and good was of paramount importance. Together, they were the joining of two souls that met in conflict and chaos but through merit, equal standing, and forgiveness, they were exactly what each other needed. They are not opposites nor two halves of a whole; they are the sky and between them is only the world. Everyone has the need to feel truly seen and understood as they are by another, and Zuko and Katara do exactly that. Other stories come and go, but they're the story I come back to and will continue to call home every single time. I will never tire of them.

2. What inspires you to create Zutara fanworks?

 I've been a professional writer for the last ten years. It's my job to imagine and create stories. I also love consuming stories through every medium possible. The well never dries when you keep it full to the brim. When you do the work I do and you consume as many stories as I do and you've lived a long enough life and paid attention to the life around you as I have trained to do, to be inspired is second nature. For Zutara, however, these are voices that have lived in my brain for fifteen years. When I get an idea for a story, literally any story, it's like my subconscious is naturally attuned to their dynamic that every prompt I come up with is automatically a Zutara prompt. Such is the way. If I ever publish a novel and/or lead my own show/movie, you can bet that it's probably Zutara if you squint.

3. Be selfish - if you could request one fanwork based on your own art/fanfic, what would it be? What would you absolutely love to see someone create? 

To this day, "i'm still here" is probably the single greatest thing I've ever done in my whole stupid life. It would be the greatest honour to see my work interpreted visually. Genuinely, I'd love to see certain scenes as comic panels or something. Katara's realisation at the beach over who she is and she thinks about Yue, her mother, and her grandmother. Zuko and Katara's mutual understanding. The scene that started it all: baby Zuko taking care of baby Azula at the beach. Katara and Iroh talking in Chapter 7. Toph meeting fear for the first time. The entire ending of Chapter 6. As of writing this, I haven't updated the sequel yet but I would love to see visual interpretations of incoming Original Characters because they've been fun to create. I don't even know. If anyone wants to draw something from "i'm still here", I would like to see it. Please let me see it. I will cry. But also, I would like to see visual interpretation of Zutara in my modern quarantine pandemic AU because I would like to see long haired 28 year old Zuko wearing autumn-wear in a public park filled with flowers with 26 year old Katara basically wearing anything I wear because I am projecting in that story for a reason. 

4. Any words for people who are new to the fandom and/or nervous about sharing their work for the first time?Buddy, we're all just a bunch of nerds who are creating things for our enjoyment and the enjoyment of likeminded individuals. Do things for you and because they bring you joy, first and foremost. Everything else can be ignored if you want to ignore it. You're doing great. 

5. What is your favorite Zutara-related thing you’ve made and why is it special to you?

 Again, "i'm still here" is literally the greatest thing I've ever done in my life. Something I get commended for a fair amount with ISH is how I handled Zuko being a child abuse survivor, and his conflicting emotions with his violent abusers because he's still a child who wants his family to love him. That comes from an extremely personal place for me and it means the world to know that other survivors out there resonated so well with it. Also, Masterchef Zuko with that chicken adobo meant me getting a LOT of people saying they tried out the recipe themselves and I can feel my grandmother radiate with pride over knowing I'm so great a cook that I can convince people to want my dish just by writing about it. I'm so proud of everything I did with ISH. I worked really hard on it and I'm so happy to know it means a lot to other people too. 

6. What’s an idea for a fanwork that you have but haven’t gotten around to making?

I have this one modern AU involving dogs that I've put on the backburner since 2017. One day... one day!!! I'm a bit of a workaholic, though, so most of the things I want to do, I just do 'em. 

7. Are you participating in ZFAW? If so, want to give us a hint as to your plans? 👀

I am! I have a draft ready based on one of Hayley Foster's animatics and I'm very excited. Tumblr user hayleynfoster, I owe you my entire life. 

[thebeautifulmoonlight]

Basic Questions

First name? Emily

Surname? Loreley

Middle names? Rose

Date of birth? February 28, 1891

Age? 130

Physical / Appearance

Other distinguishing features?

Multiple spots where she has sewn wounds back together and put body parts back on.

Physical handicaps?

Due to her being dead, she has a few issues physically. First, her skin is very fragile and does not mend itself. Her nerve endings and taste buds are also extremely dulled, requiring stronger touches and tastes to be recognized. She cannot get drunk and does not require food or air to survive. She also cannot have children.

Type of clothes? She     still prefers older style, vintage-inspired clothing that calls back to     the styles from when she was alive.

What are their feet     like? (type of shoes, state of shoes, socks, feet, pristine, dirty, worn,     etc) Pretty shoes but loose to not loosen her toes from her foot.

Are they in good health?     …. I don’t even know how to answer this

Personality

What words or phrases do     they overuse? Far too many old school sayings

Are they more optimistic     or pessimistic?

Emily is very optimistic. She believes that everything works out in the end – even facing the darkness of her past, she looks for the silver lining she is sure will come out of it.

Are they introverted or     extroverted? Extroverted

Do they ever put on     airs? Never ever – there is no room for that sort of thing in a civil     society.

What bad habits do they     have? She is far too trusting of people.

What makes them laugh     out loud? She’s pretty soft spoken, but she is humored easily. She might     not laugh out loud but a decent corny joke and you’ll get her chuckling.

How do they display     affection? Showering the person with her attention and smiles.

How do they want to be     seen by others?

She wants people to see her as kind, as loving, fun, a person that will always have your back.

Strongest character     trait?

Her strongest character trait is her ability to raise up people regardless of where she is in her life and in the moment.

Weakest character trait?

There are moments, topics, goals that she has, where she is willing to sacrifice the greater good to fill those holes in her own life.

How competitive are     they? Not even a little – but the games are fun to play still.

Do they make snap     judgements or take time to consider? Take the time to consider.

How do they react to     praise?

Emily does not handle praise well. It makes her blush, she can’t make eye contact after… but she does appreciate it. Please don’t stop saying nice things about her.

How do they react to     criticism?

The idea that she let someone down would be crushing.

What is their greatest     fear?

I think her biggest fear is also something she knows will be her reality – I think she would desperately love to have children, a husband, a family, that quaint little life, but it’s impossible, meaning she has to live with the truth to her fear every day.

What are their biggest     secrets? I mean… that she’s dead.

What is their philosophy     of life?

You really never know how much time you have left in this world. Don’t waste it. Laugh. Dance. Love. Enjoy the people beside you while they are still there.

When was the last time     they cried? Probably just earlier that day.

What haunts them?

The fact that she was murdered by the person she thought loved her and not letting that color the way she views the people in her life now.

What are their political     views?

Okay – let me write this now to be updated later! I think, just because she is new to this world, she would lean more conservative, but as she grows and learns and educates herself, she will swing to a liberal view of the world.

What will they stand up     for? Herself, the people she loves.

Who do they quote? Her     father.

Are they indoorsy or     outdoorsy? Outdoorsy.

What sense do they most     rely on?

Because most of her senses are very dulled, she can only really rely on sight and hearing.

What quality do they     most value in a friend?

People who are accepting and loyal.

What do they consider an     overrated virtue? Obeying rules.

If they could change one     thing about themselves, what would it be?

Emily has a lot of anger inside her that rears its head and shows the worst of her. She wishes she had more control over that.

What is their obsession?     Finding love.

What are their pet     peeves? People who don’t listen to her.

Friends and Family

Is their family big or     small? Who does it consist of?

Small, it was only herself and her parents.

What is their perception     of family?

Family was something very important to her and she misses them insanely. Family are people who love you, support you, and build up you and your dreams.

Ideal best friend?

This is a person that she has fun with and always has her back. They accept her for all her flaws and would probably not murder her once they have her trust.

Describe their other     friends.

Past and Future

What was your character     like as a baby? As a child?

Emily was a curious child, always enjoying learning new things and having adventures. It was not uncommon for her parents to have to go hunting the village to find where her day had taken her. She was not a troublemaker but her ability to wander gave them plenty of heartache.

Did they grow up rich or     poor?

Her father owned most of the town as she grew up and allowed her to have some of the best things in life. They were the first in the town to have their own car.

Did they grow up     nurtured or neglected? Nurtured.

What was their first     kiss like?

Their first kiss was with Barkis. It was very soft and lovely – and a total lie.

What is the worst thing     they did to someone they loved?

While her feelings on Victor as love is debatable, she tried to force him to be with her and also force his true love to stay away from him – the aftershocks of that event and the depths she was willing to take to make them do what she wanted is why she ran off and found herself here.

What are their     ambitions?

To find a husband… stay tuned for growth.

What advice would they     give their younger self?

Listen to your parents. They want what is best for you, and Barkis is not what is best.

What smells remind them     of their childhood?

Baked bread.

What was their childhood     ambition?

To run her own restaurant.

What is their best     childhood memory?

She loves to think back on the evenings with her family. They would gather around, talking with each other, playing the piano. Her parents talked to each other as equals and challenged each other in their love – she would sit and watch and adore them.

When was the last time     they were crushed with disappointment?

When Victor didn’t want her.

What past act are they     most ashamed of?

Her verbal and physical assault of Victor’s love.

Has anyone ever saved     their life? She wishes.

Love

Do they believe in love     at first sight? One billion percent.

How do they behave in a     relationship?

She is someone who will totally devoted and loyal in a relationship. When she is with you, her eyes are totally on you and no one else.

When did you character     last have sex? Never.

Has your character ever     been in love? No………………

Have they ever had their     heart broken?

People can take a number to break her heart.

Conflict

How do they respond to a     threat?

She does not back away from a threat and is not afraid to face it head on. She will put you in your place if she must.

Are they most likely to     fight with their fists or their tongue? Tongue.

What is your character’s     kryptonite?

She is extremely gullible. For all her backbone, she can be manipulated into giving you her trust and allowed to be mistreated.

How do they perceive     strangers?

To Emily, you are a friend until you prove that you aren’t.

What do they love to     hate? She finds that whole idea troubling.

What is their choice of     weapon?

Swords. Very dramatic.

Have they ever been     bullied or teased? Is murder bullying?

Work, Education and Hobbies

What are some of their     past jobs?

She ran her father’s speakeasy for him before her death.

What are their hobbies?

Playing piano, traveling, getting lost and finding adventures.

Educational background?

She went to a girl’s school, able to get a high school education thanks to her father being well off.

Intelligence level? Just     average intelligence.

Do they have a natural     talent for something? She’s musically gifted.

Do they play a sport?     Are they any good?

She does not play a sport but because it was not an option to her. If she had had an opportunity, she would have probably enjoyed it and be athletic.

What is their     socioeconomic status?

She is currently quite poor and living in a shelter until she gets a job and money to support herself.

Favorites

What is their favorite     animal? Hummingbirds.

Which animal do they     dislike the most? Snakes.

What place would they     most like to visit?

She would love to go to Paris. Emily thinks of it as the epitome of sophistication and romance.

What is the most     beautiful thing they’ve ever seen?

A full moon shining through the tree.

Music, art, reading     preferred? Music

What is their favorite     color? Purple

What is their password? EmilyL     – its bad, I know, she’ll learn lol

Favorite food: Anything     with lots of garlic so she can taste it

Possessions

What is in their fridge?

Nothing, because she doesn’t have to eat.

What is on their bedside     table?

Dried flowers and a candle

What is in their bin?

Paper scraps scribbled with Emily Van Dort

What is in their     pockets? A lot of change

Spirituality

Who or what is your     character’s guardian angel?

She misses the worm that helped her with advice when she was dead.

Do they believe in the     afterlife? Um… yes.

Are they superstitious? Very.

What would they like to     be reincarnated as?

She would be happy just being a whole person and not a dead one.

How would they like to     die? Not murder by someone she trusted, that’s for sure.

What is your character’s     spirit animal? A rabbit.

What is their zodiac     sign? Pisces

Values

What do they think is     the worst thing that can be done to a person? Murder.

What is their view of     ‘freedom’?

Freedom is the ability to make your own choices, live your life by your own rules, out in the world and surrounded by nature.

When did they last lie?     A couple days ago.

What’s their view of     lying?

As long as you aren’t hurting someone, she does not see the issue with it.

When did they last make     a promise? Earlier today. She makes them often.

Did they keep or break     their last promise? Always keep your promises.

Daily life

What are their eating     habits?

Because she is dead, she doesn’t have any need for nourishment or eating. She eats for appearances sometimes, or to feel normal, but she has to eat and drink very strong flavors in order for her dulled taste buds to notice it.

Are they minimalist or a     clutter hoarder? Clutter is comfy.

What do they do first     thing on a weekday morning?

She hasn’t slept so she probably goes back to wherever she is staying to change into new clothes and wash the old.

What is their alcoholic     drink of choice?

She loves old timey drinks that remind her of home and her life before death.

Miscellaneous

What or who would your     character dress up as for Halloween?

She is going to enjoy some Halloween. She’d probably just paint her face slightly green and reveal all her real stitchings, and go as a zombie.

Are they comfortable     with technology? Hahaha, no.

If they could save one     person, who would it be? Victor.

If they could call one     person for help, who would it be? Orion.

What is their greatest     regret?

Any act of violence she perpetuated.

What would they do if     they won the lottery?

Pay for a trip to Europe for herself and her friends.

What is their favourite     fairytale? Cinderella

What fairytale do they     hate? Hansel and Gretel

Do they believe in happy     endings? Absolutely.

What is their idea of     perfect happiness?

A house lit by candlelight with a husband and children running around.

What would they ask a     fortune teller?

Does she find someone who love her?

If your character could     travel through time, where would they go?

Home.

If they could have a     superpower, what would they choose? Flying.

[suntrastar]

abstract: chapter 1

chapter 2!!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word count: 7k (i am insane i know this!! you can also find this fic on ao3 !!)

Author’s note: hello! attempting to upload a fic on here for the first time ever! do i understand this website’s format. perhaps not. but am i going to try? perhaps yes! anyways hope you all like it :) likes and reblogs are very much appreciated!!! umm idk how this works if you wanna follow me you can?? do follows exist on tumblr dot com i think they do. hope they do. love you all. this is a long chapter buckle up (BUCKle up lmao i am not funny)!! enjoy ;o

“Hey, can you come look at this?”

You teach three classes a week- Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. The latter two are enjoyable in their own right, but Mondays are definitely your favorite. Instead of teaching kids, who are funny and creative but so messy, and so loud, you get to teach adults. People your own age or usually older, putting you in a position of authority, valuing your opinion, wanting you to come look at things.

It’s a delightful power trip.

You turn away from the window to see who’s speaking.

It’s Steve.

Of course it’s Steve, your star student, staring at you with a worn, weary intensity, wiping a paintbrush on a paper towel. He’s already pushed his sheet of paper across the table, bumpy with water and watercolor paint, cream-colored edges starting to curl. He leans away from it, reclining in a seat that’s adult-sized but dwarfed by his frame, looking so forlorn, like the paper just abandoned him, moved to the opposite side of the table by itself.

You stifle a laugh.

“Sure,” you say, and make your way over to his table.

Steve fidgets in his seat as you look at his painting. You try to keep your jaw in check.

It drops anyway.

As always, it’s beautiful. He’s painted a sky, swirling with purples and pinks, and careful clouds, flickering in and out between layers of paint, elegant and pale yellow-orange. And the sun- it’s off-center, and you’re sure it was unintentional, but that adds to the effect, because it’s hot red, and dazzling, and slowly seeping into the still-wet sky. Tendrils of red like real sunbeams, pushing through the clouds like a real sunset.

You don’t know why Steve even takes this class. Half the time, you feel like he should be the one teaching.

“It’s gorgeous,” you say eventually, once your words come back to you. “I love how you painted the sun- the red, oh my god. You’re seriously a natural.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, and you push the paper back towards him. He looks down at it, still tense, brow furrowed, and you almost laugh again, until he looks back up at you. “I wanted to know what you thought about it.”

Power trip.

“I love it,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile, which he hesitantly returns. You might be laying it on a little thick, but Steve still looks distressed, and you genuinely like the guy enough to try to help him.

When he walked in with his friend for the first class, you were floored. People like Steve don’t attend classes like this- classes like this are attended by regular people. Not people that walk like dancers, all grace and light steps, not people that are extraordinarily jacked, with jutting shoulders and rippling muscles, not people that have a weirdly authoritarian air around them, like a politician, but less shrewd.

Still, you welcomed them and made awkward small-talk and tried not to stare at their arms and hoped you came across as a somewhat decent person. It’s your first time teaching adults, you explained, and Steve gave you a smile so sincere and reassured you that you would do great, boosting your confidence to the point where you actually did.

Steve is lovely. He’s passionate about art and has a good eye, a better eye than you, really, and he always tries so hard with whatever he does, and he’s funny in a dorky way, and completely unaware of it. He always wears a baseball hat and tucks his shirts into his pants and called you ma’am once, and looked so surprised when you burst out laughing and told him to call you by your first name. With him, two classes have flown by, and now, during the third, he’s warmed up to you enough to talk to you like a friend.

The friend he brings with him, though?

A total douchebag.

The night to Steve’s day, the rain to his sunshine. It’s obvious that Steve brings him along as some sort of moral support, to make himself look less out of place, which is fine, except the guy always treats you like you’ve perpetually offended him.

And maybe you have, maybe one time you did something that’s worthy of his eternal dislike, but you wouldn’t know what it is, because he’s never brought it up, because he barely fucking talks.

You don’t think he’s a naturally quiet guy. He definitely looks like he has a lot to say, but no matter what, he only ever talks in single-syllable bursts, quiet enough that half the time you miss what he’s saying.

He doesn’t ignore you, either- he listens to everything you say and lets his judgement flicker over his face- which is way worse. A glare is a slight misstep, a shake of his head means that you’ve just said something that he finds stupid, a scowl is a catastrophe.

You don’t even know his name. He’s never introduced himself, and always writes his name in a shaky, illegible scrawl on the sign-in sheet, and by now you don’t care enough to look it up.

Still, you’re nice to him, polite. It’s okay if he doesn’t like you. You don’t need to be liked- being noticed is enough.

You shift away from Steve to his friend, sitting next to him at the table. He’s staring at you in a way that you can only describe as violent, and you flinch, and then plaster your smile back on.

“How’s it going?” You ask, expecting no response, stealing a glance at his paper. He’s painted the entire sheet a watered-down blue, and you want to congratulate him, for actually participating this time, but you don’t say anything. “The watercolors working out for you?”

Your heart goes out to the poor paintbrush in his hand. It’s barely been used, is steadily dripping water, and is being throttled in his gloved grip. He always wears one glove- it’s weird, but you’re not going to pry.

He catches you looking and a whole myriad of emotion plays over his face; irritation and shame, a creased brow and a scowl. You have the feeling that you’ve taken a massive overstep, even though you haven’t said anything else, even though you’re not looking at his hand anymore, just at him.

His hair hangs over his eyes, glossy and carelessly wavy, which you would find pretty, maybe, if he wasn’t looking at you the way he is. Like you’ve just done something terrible.

“Sure,” he says, and that’s it.

Even when you turn away, he’s glaring.

You hate it, so you pretend it’s not happening.

Steve gives you a sympathetic glance before you head back. You wave it off.

“Shonna,” you call, to the fiftysomething woman hunched over her painting a few tables down, “how’re the flowers looking?”

***

Thirty minutes before your fourth Monday class starts, you arrive at the studio to find Rina washing paintbrushes in the sink.

“Hey,” you call.

She turns to you and gives you a surprised grin. “Oh, hey! You’re here early- come help with these brushes.”

You set your bag on the counter by the wall and join her at the sink. You’ve known Rina for ages- ever since you were roommates in college. The class before yours is taught before, some advanced painting thing that she is extremely overqualified to teach.

She’s kind of famous. And kind of self-absorbed, and a little bit pretentious, but maybe that’s just what happens when you’re as successful in your field as she is. No matter what it is, you can’t complain- she’s the one that helped get you this job in the first place.

“A couple of people in my class like to get here early, so I just try to arrive before them,” you say. She passes you a clean paintbrush. You reach around her and tear off a paper towel from the dispenser. “Did you dye your hair? It looks so pretty.”

“Yes!” She shakes her head, letting her hair sway. Last time you met her, she had dyed it pink. Now it’s mahogany red, straight and sleek and falling just past her shoulders. She looks a little unreal. “How’s your class going? Are the people okay?”

“Yeah, most of them are pretty nice.”

She passes you another paintbrush to dry. You consider bringing up Steve’s friend, but decide against it.

“That’s good- and you’re welcome, by the way. But okay, listen. Do you remember that one guy I told you about a while back, Dustin? So yesterday I was just sitting at home, and then he texted me…”

With the formalities out of the way, she launches into a story about someone you definitely don’t remember. Still, you humor her, listen to what she has to say, chime in at the right parts and say “really?” and “no way!” too many times. The minutes tick by.

When all of the brushes are washed and dried, you take them, since you’re going to be the one using them next, and start setting up for the class. Rina walks away and grabs her stuff from the counter. She lingers by the doorway, door already propped open, aimlessly scrolling through something on her phone, hesitant to leave for a reason you don’t know. Maybe she has more to say- if that’s even, like, possible.

You set the brushes in a container at the center table, and head over to the shelves on the far wall to pull out more supplies. Unfortunately, today’s class is revolving around watercolor again. It’s drudgery, such a boring medium- dull, unsaturated, painstaking when it comes to detail. You bring out a stack of paper, the least-depressing palettes, and then mason jars for holding water.

You’re setting the last jar on the table when Rina shrieks.

It startles you, making your hand slip.

The jar wobbles over the edge of the table and then falls, shattering into cloudy glass pieces at your feet.

“Shit,” you curse, and look over at her. “Rina, what the hell?”

Standing across from her in the doorway, having arrived early for class as usual, are Steve and his friends, two shades more flustered than usual. Rina is gawking at them.

Okay, they’re attractive, but not that attractive.

Not shriek-worthy attractive.

You sigh loudly and carefully step over the glass, making your way over to them. “Hi, Steve,” you say, and he jolts, like a scared cat. He’s blushing, stepping back into the hallway, hands awkwardly dangling at his sides. His friend is staring at Rina like he’s about to murder her, and you’re staring at him like you’re about to ask him to pass you the broom behind the door.

Because you are.

“Sorry about… that. There’s a broom behind the door, could you pass it to me?”

He opens his mouth to say something, and you are desperate to hear him, even if he’s only going to utter a simple yes, but Rina buts in.

“You did not just ask the Winter Soldier to pass you a broom.”

Who?

“Girl, what?”

All three of you turn to her, cornering back into the wall. She looks even more unreal, eyes blown wide, red creeping up her neck, giving her hair a run for its money, still gawking. You resist the urge to reach out and pull her chin back up, to close her mouth.

She alternates between looking at Steve and at…  

“That’s the Winter Soldier,” she says slowly, like she’s trying to convince herself, or you, and then steps closer to Steve, who instinctively takes a step back. He’s fully in the hallway, now. “And you’re Captain America.”

Steve’s jaw clenches. He stays silent, and you feel bad for him, that’s all you can feel, really- you are confused beyond reason, halfway convinced that Rina is losing her shit, still awaiting the broom, still awaiting Steve’s friend’s words, racking your brain for any image of Captain America or the Winter Soldier that you might have- and coming up completely empty.

You don’t watch the news, like, ever.

Little details float back to you. Steve’s dressing sense, his manners, his muscles…

The baseball caps that both of them are always wearing...

His friend’s glove…

Oh, fuck.

“Are you?” You ask dumbly. The question is meant for both of them, but you only look at one of them while speaking. A glare meets you back- a slight misstep.

You can’t even see your feet, in this situation. You’re walking blind.

Steve crosses his arms and looks at you sternly. He doesn’t look angry, but as close as he can get. “Yes,” he says, completely guarded and unfriendly and not lovely at all. “I thought you knew that.”

You are so stupid- how did you not know that?

“I didn’t,” you say, and you don’t sound convincing at all. Not much fazes you, but you are absolutely, positively fazed right now, and starting to spiral out. “I had no idea- I thought you guys could have been, like, bodyguards, or something, not actual Avengers, oh my god. I’m so sorry, shit, thank you for your service?”

You’re going to end it all- this is so embarrassing.

Steve’s mouth twitches. Rina is scarlet-faced. The Winter Soldier, god, looks so tense, like he might shatter, too, into silent, grumpy pieces all over the floor.

“You’re welcome,” Steve says, and marginally relaxes. He stays in the hallway, the Winter Soldier by the door- you should have paid more attention in your tenth grade history class, what is the guy’s name?

Rina peels herself off the wall, and you start to get nervous. There’s a painful silence, with lots of staring, where you’re still trying to coax a few rational thoughts out of your brain, and only coming up with one- Rina needs to leave.  

You try to tell her that with your eyes, with a pointed look, but you’re not great at this whole communication-through-expressions thing, so she doesn’t get the hint, or does and just ignores it.

“So, let me get this straight,” she says, tearing the silence like a plastic seal, voice starting to rise, from wonder to excitement, from painless curiosity to danger, “there’s two Avengers taking your class? And you didn’t even recognize them?”

“Nope,” you say, looking away, at a stain on the wall, at the distant glass shards still unswept away on the floor.

“That’s…”

She trails off before she has the chance to call you stupid, because the Winter Soldier gives her a pointed look of his own. Low brows and dark eyelashes, blazing blue eyes- she has no choice but to listen. Your staring was irritating, but his is intimidating.

She scampers away, mumbling something you can’t catch and brushing against Steve as she leaves.

This whole thing is so unprofessional, but at least you can breathe again-

“Here,” the Winter Soldier says, and a broom handle comes into your view.

Just one word, but you’ll take it with open arms. You take the broom from him, give an unreturned, unfamiliarly sheepish smile and head back to the broken glass on the floor.

The broken glass is swept up and tossed in the trash. You avoid looking at the doorway, focusing on other useless tasks instead. Rearranging the supplies on the table, fiddling with the window blinds, chatting with the rest of the class attendees as they start to file in.

Then the class starts and you’re swept back into your demonstration, talking and teaching and showing off different techniques that can be done with different types of brushes. You only look in their direction once, right after showing off some technique you barely remember from art school with a fan brush- they sit at their table near the back, Steve paying attention as usual, his friend silently reacting, as usual.

So they decided to stay- that’s good. Great, even.

Until the next part of the class starts, when everyone gets to work on their own paintings, when you have to stop talking.

You mill around the room, searching for a conversation to join in on or a comment to make, but find none. Then you take a sheet of paper and hopelessly try to draw- search for a distraction and a spark up of an idea, something, anything, and come up completely empty. It’s just...

How famous are they? Like, A-list celebrity famous? Are they offended that you didn’t recognize them- should you start treating them differently? You don’t keep up with this stuff. You have an impossibly long list of other things to worry about- you don’t have the time to worry about this stuff. The Avengers aren’t something you think about ever, because why should you?

If you opened any newspaper or magazine you would find something about them- a charity gala they attended, some recent threat they neutralized, the latest gossip surrounding their personal lives. But those lives are so far detached from your own that you’ve never bothered to look.

You simply don’t care. You’re not a native New Yorker- it’s not like these people are your hometown heroes, that you grew up idolizing them. They save the world time and time again and society is forever indebted to them and all of that, but what are you supposed to do about it?

And most importantly, what is the Winter Soldier’s fucking name?

Enough of this chaos goes on in your mind to make your head hurt. Fuck it, you decide- you’ll face it. You straighten your shoulders as you stand, trying your best to look purposeful as you walk to their table, like you have reason to go over there. Yeah, they’re strong. Genetically enhanced and all of that, and they’re important: they’re Avengers.

But they’re taking your class.

You slide into the chair across from the Soldier without taking the time to gauge their reactions.

“Do other people here know?” You ask.

Steve startles, eyes widening, and then considers the question while swirling his brush in green paint. He’s working on a landscape today, you think. “Shonna might,” he says, not rudely. “But nobody else.”

So maybe not that famous. Or maybe the people here are just like you and don’t care.

But it still doesn’t make sense. “Then why did you think that I knew?”

“Because you talk a lot,” Steve says, like it’s the most obvious thing ever.

“Well, yeah, that’s part of the job-”

Steve cuts you off, and fuck, you hate getting interrupted. But he’s smiling, and you can’t bring yourself to get upset over it. “You talk a lot to us.”

Us?  

More like to him.

You take it in stride, don’t let your confidence slip. You’ve purposely angled your head away, and you know the Winter Soldier is staring at you- you can feel it on your cheek, on your shoulder, on every nerve in your face. You don’t look back at him. This revelation hasn’t made him any less unpleasant.

“Yeah,” you say, like it’s just as obvious, “because you’re a nice guy, Steve.”

Steve raises his eyebrows so high that they disappear under the brim of his hat. You smile at him as nicely as you can, sugar-sweet, until he can’t take anymore and drops his gaze back to his painting. You turn back to the nameless man across from you.

Winter Soldier.

“Hi,” you say, only to him, and prop your elbows up on the table, resting your face in your hands. “I love the little pattern you have going on with your painting.”

It’s random splotches of black paint- calling it a pattern is an exaggeration. But you carry on.

“This is probably a bad time to ask, and it’s kind of a dumb question, but, like, what’s your name?”

He just barely raises an eyebrow, allowing for a fraction of surprise, before schooling his expression back into his usual mix of anger and boredom, a casual glare and slight frown. For a moment, you wonder what he looks like when he’s happy.

“You don’t know his name?” Steve is in disbelief, and then he winces, and you think he’s been kicked under the table. Abruptly, you laugh.

It rings out. A few people turn and stare, but you brush it all off with another smile.

He’s still staring. You don’t mind it.

The paintbrush in his hand is suddenly unsteady.

“My name is Bucky,” he says, slowly and loudly enough for you to make out the sound of his voice, for the first time ever.

He is definitely bothered by you asking, his mouth drawn tight, and you can’t even take the time to appreciate how cutesy his name is compared to his demeanor, because oh hell. It’s going to be difficult to keep up this whole dislike thing, if his voice sounds like this, low and rough and gritty like sandpaper, pleasantly grating over you and your skin…

You have to consciously remind yourself to keep on smiling.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

Things should feel different, but they don’t. Nobody really reacts- everything resumes as normal. Steve focuses on his panting, adding delicate brushstrokes to the branches of a tree. You linger for a moment, and then get up from the table and flutter off to someone else.

For every class, you wear this kitschy apron, paint-stained, with strings tied in a hasty bow against your back that Bucky always aches to even out. Someone tells you something, and you respond eagerly, fully phased out of the past incident.

He stares until he realizes he’s staring, and then drops his eyes back down to his paper.

Steve wanted to attend this class for a number of reasons- he was bored and wanted something to occupy his time, he wanted to revisit an old hobby, he wanted to learn from you- some hip, emerging artist he’s a fan of, whose work he’s been following for a while now, who is seriously talented, although you have yet to prove it. He wanted to go do something separated from the events of his regular life.

So much wanting. Bucky wants to know why you’re so indifferent.

He doesn’t know if it’s a good thing that you didn’t know his name, or that you didn’t flinch or gasp or accuse him of something, or pointedly look at his left arm. Should he be thankful? Steve is clearly thankful, already loosening up, freed of any lasting tension.

Bucky just feels wary. You’re unsettling.

You come back over to their table one more time. The sleeves of your shirt are pushed up, and there’s a smear of something dark on your forearm, ink or paint. On one wrist you’re wearing a  bracelet made of braided leather. On the other you wear a bulky digital watch.

Practical.

“Everything okay?” You ask, as if something not okay could potentially have happened, in your forty-five minute absence.

Steve fixes you with a friendly smile. Bucky can’t ever bring himself to do the same.

“Yep,” Steve says, and you nod your head, clearly relieved.

“Great!” You glance at him for a spare second, and turn away again.

Everyone he knows is so guarded, walls built high and doors barred shut. Except for you, if Bucky can say that he knows you, the perky art instructor, Steve’s favorite artist. You’re confident and flippant, and that should be a bad pairing, but somehow you can carry yourself within it just fine. Always purposeful in the space you occupy, not reacting to the knowledge of his and Steve’s major, momentous identities.

Bucky wonders, idly, as he blots water over what you so generously called a pattern, why you didn’t.

It’s not like he wants you to acknowledge it, wants you to call him a war criminal or a Rusisan spy. He just wants you to-

He doesn’t know.

The class goes on. An older couple sitting a few tables away have caught your attention, chattering on and on about their personal lives.They have a pet cat that their landlord doesn’t know about, and when they retire they want to move to the seaside in Italy, and in May their son is going to graduate high school.

“High school?” You gasp, loud for no reason. “I hated high school.”

Before the class ends, you take your position at the front of the studio, and talk some more. He knows it’s part of your job, but you are excessive.

There’s an art exhibition going on at some museum, and one of the featured artists is an acquaintance of yours, and on Saturday the admission fee is discounted, and if anybody is interested, you have a stack of flyers on the center table. And you hope that everyone has a good week.

You look at Bucky while finishing up your little monologue, giving a half-smile that’s for the whole class, but seemingly only directed at him. He blinks slowly, and when he opens his eyes again, you’re looking somewhere else.

***

“Morning, pal, you ready to go?”

Steve gives him a hopeful smile as he peels an orange.

Bucky’s hair is still wet from his shower, dripping water onto his shirt. It’s early, too early to go anywhere. He doesn’t even know why he’s awake- usually after his wake-of-dawn runs, he falls back asleep, or lies down and just stares at his ceiling, thinking, until he grows restless enough to get up and do something. But today, the restlessness came much sooner, so he got up much sooner, and it might already be a mistake.

He takes a seat at the kitchen island, next to Sam, trying to think of something that Steve might have had planned for today, and coming up completely empty. “Go where?”

Steve looks hurt, for a brief second. “The exhibition at the museum, remember?”

Oh.

That.

“I’m not going to that,” Bucky says, harshly enough for it to be dropped.

Steve does not drop it. “Hey, come on. Just look at it.”

From his back pocket, Steve pulls out a flyer, one of the flyers you had out on Monday, folded up in a neat square- when did Steve pick one of those up? He holds it out, and Bucky, wishing he was asleep again, takes it.

He unfolds it, and the words are written in tiny letters, and the few photos on the paper are in color but too grainy to make out, and it gives him a slight headache, but he pretends to look it over. Sam leans into him to see it, loudly crunching cereal in Bucky’s ear.

“Looks cool, Rogers,” Sam says, and Steve grins, and now Bucky is the bad guy in the situation, for not wanting to go, even though Sam isn’t going either.

Bucky passes the flyer back without reading a single word.

“I’m not going,” he says, again.

But Steve is relentless. He sets the orange peels aside and gives him a look, and Bucky can already feel his resolve starting to crumble, and it’s kind of pathetic, really. Does he not understand that Bucky is already doing as much as he can?

“Why not?”

He picks the easiest answer.

“I don’t want to.”

Steve’s brow furrows as he splits the orange into two, giving half to Bucky. Sam slurps the milk from his cereal bowl.

They’re all blissfully silent.

“Come on, Bucky,” Steve says suddenly, almost begging. “I really want to see it.”

“I don’t-” He falters, he’s losing the battle. “How many people are there gonna be?”

Steve lights up. Bucky tries to stay indignant, tries to keep his face twisted in dislike, but it’s difficult with Steve. He’s always so full of optimism, has so much of it that it spills out through the seams, rubs off onto whoever’s closest.

“Not that many,” Steve says, like a promise, shaking his head. “That’s why we should go now.”

“Will she be there?”

Sam perks up.

Steve frowns. “No? Or wait, maybe. It’s a public place- I don’t know. She could be.”

It’s miles off from the answer he wants, but again, for Steve, he’ll take it. Bucky ignores Sam leaning across the counter like an idiot and asking “who’s she?” and eats his orange slices in silence.

***

Huge, bulbous heads, and beady little eyes. The limbs are long and wavy and contorted in the weirdest positions, seas of arms and legs and joints, women twisted over each other in gnarled embraces, a man with his arms twirling over and over again around his own torso. And the colors- a complete eclectic mess of everything- blue, red, yellow, green, purple. Everything.

You walk through the museum floor one, two, three times. The paintings on display are unsettling and ugly, and you’re on the verge of tears.

They’re gorgeous. Pain thrown on a canvas, told through canvas. It’s overwhelming- you’re overwhelmed, and you can’t do anything else about it. The museum just opened and there’s barely any people around- you can wallow in your sadness as much as you want to, for now.

Or maybe you’ll wallow in your frustration, instead.

This… you want to create like this.  

But you don’t have it.  

It being an impossible, nearly unattainable type of pain, or misery or anger or any other emotion so strong and visceral that you could translate it into something like this, something that evokes something else from other people. From an audience.

You might have had something like that once, but that’s all too far behind you now. Forgettable. What you need right now is an idea, a spark of inspiration, a single coherent thought. A confirmation that you aren’t completely lost.

You wander back to a painting in a far corner, all alone in a small alcove. A red woman, with her head nestled in green grass and legs wrapping around the sun, quite literally head over heels for it. Her mouth is wide open, gaping, calling, wailing, maybe. She has a hooked nose and a mole on one of her arms, and her white dress has fallen down to pool on the grass, and her legs are lithe and unshaven, prickly like the grass, just like the yellow spikes of the sun, drawn almost comically.

How do you even- how do you even come up with things like this?

By living an interesting life, probably. Through not being boring.

You stay there for a while. Long enough that more people start to file in, pretentious art students wearing all black, eccentric people with awesome haircuts, tourists. They peer over your shoulders, awkwardly, waiting for you to move. When you don’t, they leave you to be, giving you a rude look or two that you pay no mind to. There’s space on either side of you, if they’re so desperate to see. Sidling up right against you is kind of weird, but you’ll excuse it, for this painting.

Eventually, you realize that you should probably get going.

You’ve been standing so long that your legs are starting to ache, and there’s countless other Saturday errands you have to run- doing your laundry, buying groceries, calling up your mom- boring Saturday things to do.

You leave the red woman, regrettably. The fabric of your sleeve comes back dry when you wipe your eyes, even though you feel fully washed away, feel like you’re floating as you drift over to the elevator.

The doors slide open and a few people file out, and then it’s empty, thankfully. You step inside, press the button for the ground floor, wait for the doors to fully close-

“Wait,” a voice calls.

You’re not rude- you press the button to hold open the door.

When it fully opens, Steve steps inside, followed by Bucky.

You’re still out of it. You don’t even realize who they are, not until the doors have slid shut and the floor jolts as the elevator starts its descent and they’ve been staring at you for a solid five seconds.

“Oh, hi,” you say, after too much silence. You need to get yourself together. “You guys came!”

Put a little pep in your step! And more joy in your voice- nobody wants to listen to someone so drained.

Steve shrugs. “I wanted to see it.”

Bucky just smolders, clearly saying with his silence, “I didn’t.”

“Did you like it?”

Steve considers your question. The elevator stops at another floor and the doors slide open, but there’s nobody waiting to step inside. You wait for Steve to gather his words together, sure that he’s trying to come up with a nice way to voice whatever he’s thinking, which is definitely not nice. There’s no way that he liked the art, not one chance.

“It was… intriguing,” he says, at last. Neither of them are wearing hats today, because the museum doesn’t allow it. Even in this artificial light, his hair shines, golden-blond. “Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you say, without wasting a second. “The one of the red woman- it’s probably the best thing I’ve seen all year.”

“It’s only January,” Bucky grumbles.

His voice shocks you, sends an ice-cold jolt up your spine that you definitely dislike.

Steve turns to him, peering over your shoulder, surprised and disappointed. The two of them have a silent conversation with their eyes and you stand in the midst of it, waiting for the goosebumps to settle back down, waiting for the chill to go away.

It’s difficult- he clearly doesn’t like you, either- and even if he has his own troubling little backstory, which you don’t care enough about to google, it’s not justified.

But…

It almost makes his aggression... amusing.

“It is January,” you say politely, dismissing him. “Great observation.”

The elevator reaches the ground floor and the doors side open. You exit in step with Steve, with Bucky right on your heels.

You all stand around in the museum lobby, a wide hallway down from the giftshop and a small cafe.

“Are you headed out?” Steve asks. He puts his hands in his pockets, feet planted wide.

Bucky crosses his arms. He’s wearing all black. If it were anyone else, you would make a joke- he could almost pass off as a pretentious art student, if the outlines of his body weren’t so visible through his clothes, all taut muscle and sharp angles. His hair curls over his shoulders, prettier than anything you’ve seen on any girl.

These guys are Avengers, you think, and proceed to push the thought away.

They look so… un-Avenger-y.

“Um.” You press a hand against your forehead, trying to formulate a response. Chores suddenly seem miles away, the last thing you should be doing. You have all of Sunday to complete them, anyway.

“I was going to get something to eat from the cafe first,” you say, nodding over in its direction. “You guys wanna join me?”

You don't know why you look at Bucky when you say it

“Sure!” Steve says, all cheery, still standing alongside you. He smiles and his teeth are pearly white.

Of course his teeth are pearly white. Dentists everywhere are probably cowering, clutching their little metal instruments for dear life.

Then he hesitates, and turns to Bucky. “If you have nothing else to do, I mean.”

Bucky pauses. You and Steve both stare him down.

“They have these raspberry-almond muffins that are to die for,” you say, like it’ll convince him.

He rolls his eyes. Bored and still gorgeous- if only.

“I’m free,” he says, and you don’t know why he looks at you when he says it.

You pay the bored teenager working the cash register with cash. He gives you your change, and when he turns away to prepare your order, you shove half of the bills and all of your coins into the tip jar.

Bucky sits at the farthest table with Steve. His knees can barely fit underneath it, and the tabletop is sticky, and he’s now willingly spending more time here, and with no disguise there is no way that he isn’t going to be recognized by someone, and he doesn’t know why he hasn’t fully booked it yet.

Because…

He doesn’t know.

Maybe because you’re not asking for anything from him, aren’t minding that he’s sullen or unapproachable or anything else- his presence seems to be enough for you, which is bothersome, and at the same time, mildly exciting.

“Are you having fun?” Steve asks, while you smile at the teenager handing you plates of muffins, little glasses of some milky-espresso-coffee drink.

“What do you think?” Bucky asks, while you start your journey back to the table, and Steve opens his mouth to respond, already bothered, and Bucky’s already guilty, but then Steve hops up to help you carry everything back.

You sit down laughing. Steve is laughing, too. The corners of your eyes crease and he can see all of your teeth, and you look at him for a split second, and then turn away before he can get a read on your expression.

He sits in silence, while you and Steve trade jokes and stories and easy banter, talking about art and local politics and all types of things he can’t bring himself to care about, things that Steve is relishing in. You’re witty, apparently, or at least quick enough to get a few quick laughs out of Steve, and Bucky would never say it, he’s barely thinking it, but he appreciates you for it.

And the muffin isn’t quite to die for, but it’s okay.

During a lull in the conversation, you break your attention away from Steve and turn back to Bucky. You look concerned, almost, still smiling but without showing all of your teeth, leaning towards him like you’re about to tell him a secret.

“I never apologized for before,” you say, and Bucky immediately sits up on edge.

Even Steve goes wary, eyes narrowing.

You suddenly give a long, weary sigh, and press a hand against the back of your neck, like whatever you’re about to say is going to be so tedious. “For my friend flipping out when she saw you guys- she’s literally crazy, she’s always doing too much- but on her behalf, I’m sorry.”

The silence following afterwards is deafening.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, after a long moment, while you’re still looking at Bucky- your eyes make his skin itch, and he doesn’t say anything else. “She’s not the worst that we’ve gotten.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, great,” you say, and you slump back in your seat, looking away, back to your half-eaten muffin. You pick off an almond from the top and eat it. “Glad we got that out of the way. I just thought it would be weird if I didn’t say anything.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, so polite, even though you’ve done nothing to deserve his thanks. “Have you known her for a long time?”

“Yes, oh my god,” you say, and readjust yourself in your chair again, accidentally bumping your knee against Bucky’s, but not apologizing for it. He glances underneath the table, at your entire bare knee, visible through a rip in your jeans. “Rina- her name is Rina- was my college roommate for a while.”

“You went to college?” Steve asks.

“I have an art degree,” you say dryly, “which was… an okay decision, I guess. Sometimes I think I should have just dropped out and done, like, stand-up or something.”

You clearly don’t want to discuss it, leaving the last part as some sort of rhetorical joke. Steve takes the hint and nods, already closing the chapter, and you take a sip from your little glass, finally silent. The foam on the top of the drink sticks to your mouth until you lick it off. Bucky replies to it anyway.

“Why stand-up?”

You turn to him so fast that he almost misses you faltering, and give him a dazzling smile. He thinks of your bare knee under the table, and tries not to sweat. “Because I’m funny, Bucky.”

He doesn’t like how his name sounds when you say it. “Tell me a joke.”

“Oh, okay,” you say, and clasp your hands together. Steve is watching, rapt at attention. “Let me think real quick- oh, I have one. Which beverage has a black belt in karate?”

Bucky waits.

You wait, expecting something from him.

It’s Steve that has to say, “I don’t know, which beverage?”

“Fruit punch,” you say, exaggerating the last part, and Bucky just keeps on waiting.

Steve cracks a small smile.

“Let me tell you another,” you say. “What type of phone does a piece of fruit carry?”

Steve takes a few wild guesses. He’s enjoying this, and you are too, both of you feeding off of each other. “A phone-fruit. A fruit-phone. A frone?”

You shake your head. “A blackberry.”

Bucky doesn’t tell you that he has no idea what you’re talking about.

“Tough crowd,” you say, when he doesn’t react. “Don’t worry, I have more. Where do you go on red and stop on green?”

“Where?’ Steve asks, waiting, leaning forward in anticipation.

“When you’re eating a watermelon!”

It is not funny, it’s painfully unfunny, and maybe that’s why you and Steve burst out laughing. Bucky steals a glance at your watch, since he doesn’t wear one of his own. It’s nearing noon- how has so much time passed? Why is he still even here when he doesn’t even like you?

“Why are all of them about fruit?”

You look at him like his question is the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard. “What food is the best listener?”

Bucky just sits. All the foam in his little espresso thing has dissolved, having been left untouched. He doesn’t like the taste of coffee- too bitter, and caffeine doesn’t work on him, anyway. Maybe he should drink it, because you paid for it, and because you didn’t make a comment about old-fashioned manners or chivalry when Steve offered to at first, just shrugged and got in line.

He knows that you won’t care.

The drink sits on its own, glass beading with condensation.

“Corn is the best listener,” you say, without waiting for Steve to throw his questions or guesses at you, without waiting for Bucky to spit out another sentence. “Because it’s all ears.”

“That wasn’t funny,” he says, and glares at the spot beside your head.

You nod sympathetically, and he thinks again of the rips in your jeans. “I know. But it was about a vegetable.”

Oh.

You stare at him straight-faced, crossing your arms over your chest. Steve does the same, and then he realizes- the two of you are a bunch of kids, punks, juveniles- mocking his stature, pretending to be serious, somehow not offending him.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky says. “You’re…”

He can’t even help it. He looks back at you  and his face works on its own. He gives a single, dry chuckle, but he’s smiling, and dragging his hand over his face, scrubbing it off just as fast, but you still see it, and smile back and gently nudge his knee again underneath the table, and then turn back away again, and he’s still staring at your hair while you take big bite out of your to-die-for raspberry-almond muffin, already back in conversation with Steve.

[haknew]

pls talk about your thoughts about chanhee and also the other concepts!! I always have such a hard time interpreting music and videos but i love to read about it

“bestie pls share ur thoughts on make your own concepts specifically chanhee’s but any others that are ur fave too 🎤- mar”

omg mar thank you for enabling me all day today 😭🥺🧡 thenks bestie ily :,)) and thank you too anon ! i should preface that T-T i have not read any other theories or analyses so these are just my opinions / impressions but i hope it’s entertaining to read about haha :p ! (feel free @ anyone to add on or share your thoughts too ! :,))

HYUNJAE - okay so audio cues... if you listen to the beginning there’s a sound of a bomb going off before the music starts ? and that ties into the dystopian / cyborg aesthetics that jump out at me of course, but what i immediately thought of was their no air perfo ? like we know hyunjae in the no air mv got that shot where he’s laying in the bathtub filled with water but also their kingdom performance with it also had those underwater shots ! so i think it ties into that... i feel like we saw in gen z, he’s a very straightforward person he says things on his mind which can come off as blunt but he thinks it’s better than not saying it ? which is interesting bc i think that speaks to his self- determined personality, he’s much more inclined to do whatever it takes to get something done, which i think falls perfectly in line with the “make your own air” phrase that he gets, if it’s something he needs he makes it himself, in a situational sense methinks u.u 

 JUYEON - JUYEON’S DJSKHDG i’m waiting for dri’s essay but in essence we see the gen z “juyeon is not such a good boy” shot and these text bubbles that pop up that say “sexy” “you so hot” “such a bad boy” and tbh i like this ‘concept’ ? for him better than his gen z one ? it’s not bc of the concept itself but i like the idea that he can “make your own character” as in he has the capability and power to be whoever he wants to ! you see him throwing white paint at the gen z canvas and i think ?! that’s symbolic of like a fresh canvas ! of remaking himself to whatever he wants bc the canvas is now blank again thanks to the white paint and flowers usually indicate spring ? so renewal and stuff like that ! i really like his, it’s also fun word play on “character” which has been juyeon’s intro in tbz (bc his name sounds like main character in korean) but yea :o ! i really love his the idea he can just repaint / paint over a literal image of him gives it the possibility of becoming smth new and that’s so so cool

CHANGMIN - SCREEEEECH okie um oh boy um *windows shutting down noises* this was so so so very different from his gen z stuff but i actually think BOTH are equally perfect for him ? the way that he set up the sparklers and neon lights on this very obviously trashy and kind of rundown rooftop with the cityline behind him is so ?!?!? LITERALLY making his own stage as his tagline goes, sort of like how the physical stage itself does not matter but rather it’s changmin himself that makes the stage special ! i talked about this in gabi’s set that i rbed ;-;/ but changmin puts a lot A LOT of stake in his position as a dancer it means almost everything to him as a form of expression from what i can see ? so he’s always trying his best to put forward the best performance possible and seeing this segment makes me feel like he’s doing just that ! pouring himself into it to make his stage pls i care him 

HAKNYEON - god i’m a jusadan but just u.u rest in peace me, i’ll ... T_T be kind of honest this one confuses me a little ? i have assumptions and i feel like i know ... quite a bit about haknyeon (LMAO) my best guess is it has smth to do with self assurance ...? the way he’s framed and the fact that he’s sitting on a bed in the middle of a church surrounded by candles gives me christ figure symbolism (where my ap english takers at :/) and the light that perfectly frames him in a halo gives me angel vibes too, but the tagline of “make your own romance” paired with him kissing his reflection makes me think it’s about self love ;;;; from what i can tell haknyeon has always been someone who really likes feeling validated and praised for the stuff he does well, which he does for himself a lot of the times too ! but sometimes i think the self assurances he compliments himself with is more for reassuring himself rather than bragging (which i think people misinterpret) so it’s more about becoming the person he wants to fully love and being happie with himself which *tears* i might be reading too much into who knows i just love him ok ... U.U 

KEBINNN - i know !!! dri mentioned this in my gifset tags but ! kev on kpop daebak (? was it) or smth mentioned how he strives to keep a childlike wonderment for the world around him, which is a reason why i think he loves drawing and sound / music production, he talked in a fancafe post once about an artist who turned mediocre everyday objects into art and he said he really loves that sense of wonderment so peter pan who “never grows up” is actually perfect for his worldview ahhhh T^T also kev really likes disney lmao, the way he’s doing this outside in this “neverland” garden on a balcony which is a part of this very typical apartment backed by a typical city bg also i believe ties into this turning a mediocre everyday thing into smth wonderful through his sense of childlike wonderment and his tagline of “make your own fantasy” (i also care him a lot this concept >>>>>>) and keeps to his referencing movie plotlines like he did in gen z jddkfj

SUNWOO - i also mentioned this in my tags on sunu’s set but this gives me 100 degrees vibes which i still to this day think is one of the most “sunwoo” vibe things ever, it’s a lot of him having fun and doing his own thing, and mixes both more mature and youthful aspects together in a way that i’d only ever describe as sunwoo vibes LMAO like the roller skating around and all the soap bubbles ! cute and youthful ! the crop top and celine wasitband (don’t laugh at me we all noticed) more mature and a callback to his gen z look methinks U.u, think sunwoo has always been a more go-with-the-flow or do whatever he feels like doing sort of person and so “make your own vibe” fits well with him in that sense to me 

SANGYEON - .... *silence* *more windows shutting down noises* *jess.exe has stopped working* OKAY i feel like ! sangyeon’s is also more self explanatory :p i love the juxtaposition of boxing AND the arcade type fighter games ?? like both require very different sets of skills i feel like one is more physical the other is more mental ? but both require adapting to changes whether in the game or the boxing ring which as leader sangyeon would know a lot about, esp being flexible and quick to respond to different situations, and the “make your own glory” i feel is maybe more on the nose, but tbz are this man’s pride and joy you can see it literally anywhere and for him, as leader, to have made it this far with tbz, winning rtk and building their popularity through their hard work and efforts really is building his own glory and i just HHHHHHHHHH

YES EYYSFDHSHF CHANHEE YES - i said it in the tags of my srb before deleting it so i’ll just repeat it here but CHOI CHANHEE !!!!! this detail i didn’t quite process first watch was the continuous flashing of lights in all his scenes, like ... from the shots and the set it looks REALLY empty ?? but the flashing seems to indicate cameras and photos being taken of him despite there being no people we can really see in any of the shots ? WHICH IS SO COOL i think the implication is like “all eyes on him” type which SO TRU i love that idea, like i said the walking past the wedding dresses ? v heavily implies fashion designer which i think you mentioned mar :o ! and i see it in the sense of his tagline “make your own stereotype” bc white wedding dresses are the very traditional / typical choice and obviously feminine in stereotypes, whereas chanhee is wearing a SUIT which is all black in a very clean b/w set with no color which i feel is very stereotypically MASCULINE and the glasses too, it’s such an interesting contrast of his “stereotypically feminine” features (in my view) with very masculine symbols, like glasses we usually associate with more soft hearted / meek stereotypes ? but the geometric shape of the windows and again his suit seems to indicate the very opposite ? it’s a mixing of stereotypes which i think is the point, by putting those together he quite literally makes his own stereotype and puts on the crown while the cameras continue flashing while pointed at him AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

YOUNGHOON - okie might have less to say about this one :o i feel like both hak’s and younghoon’s i don’t see the connections quite as readily but ! i think it’s interesting that his tagline is “make your own classic” but then in the scenes itself he has a flip phone ??? with an antenna (okay boomer /j JDHFKFG JK PLS) and a teddy bear while in PERIOD stylized clothing and setting where those two things are more modern / contemporary in origin (but also not modern enough bc ,,, it’s a flip phone LOL) like 90s kid vibes ? you know but as an emperor in the joseon era haha :p while eating shrimp chips and reading a (comic ?) book, like idk too much of what it means but it’s a cool dichotomy LOL, think it might also tie into actor ! hoon bc it’s make your own classic and i think acting has become a very important aspect to him :o after seeing what he’s capable of in love revolution and his atbz video so it’s interesting u.u (need help w/ this one)

JACOB - think my explanation in han’s set’s tags didn’t really make sense so lemme ... reexplain LOL,,, so ! similar to his gen z video ? like he’s talked about how difficult it is to open up about his own feelings etc. and he said it’s less bc he realizes he needs to but rather just to make other people feel more comfortable when it comes to understanding him, and like the whole breaking the mirror with his reflection in the wanna be angry jacob, it’s about freeing himself to the point he can express the emotions he wants to ! in gen z it was about being able to be angry when he felt that way instead of being tied by his image of being just nice ? and in the video with his pilot uniform not only does he control the ride but he also rides on it himself ! quite literally making his own freedom (symbolically), a sort of realizing he can free himself ? from what’s been tying him down and i think the really big smile he has while riding it just comes to show how he wants to feel :,))) (jacob bae i care you) 

ERIC - last one :p AHHH this is one of my favs too, the quite literal “make your own pride” I LOVE IT ! sooo i think the biggest takeaway i got was that of course in this video his “pride” is symbolized by the hot pink car (that he’s going to pick up his christmassy date in of course u.u if he has a license which he does n- his driver’s license in this was literally his aaa / boy version of reveal photo which in no dmv anywhere would a license picture be allowed to look that good-) and LITERALLY when he finished and takes it for a joy ride while sitting on the roof he’s STILL covered in the dirt and grime stains ! from working on it ! which i think is so symbolic ! it’s my favorite detail actually, he literally put sweat into this car which is his pride and now that he’s finally riding around in it, it feels accomplishing ! his pride ! love that, also when he’s grabbing a stub from that flyer i noticed he chose “youth” over the others (which was like .... ca$h, beauty, ice cream, hamburger...) which i think also just indicates that despite all this hard work he put in he still cherishes his youth and still lets that be a huge part of who he is (i mean pink car so of course) so idk i think it’s very neat go bestie mwah

[adoregoldenharry]

Eating at the Stars

A/N: I wanted to take a different approach and write a fantasy piece. We’ll see how this goes. Let me know what you think and send me some more ideas to write about because I am dry. Also could this become a series, maybe depends on how this goes. Vampire!Harry x Reader (not my edit)

Winter had drifted through the air quick enough for people not to realize. The coldness of the wind blowing leaving rose stains on my puffed out cheeks. I watched the fog begin to subside through my open bedside window. Closing it shut once too many chills slid down my arms raising small goosebumps. I rubbed up and down my arms hoping to treat the chill. 

My brown fluffy slippers littered around the foot of my bed waiting for a foot to fill them. I decided wearing them was the smartest thing to do instead of walking bare footed against the hardwood floor. I grabbed a small green cardigan from my desk chair on the left side of my room, slipping my arms through the sleeves and tugging around my chest. The smell of pancakes and bacon drifting up the stairs into my room. With one quick whiff I was booking it down the stairs. 

“Morning Moon.” I smiled and took a seat at the dining table next to my little brother. His face falling into his cereal. I could hear him playing a game online with his friends unit the early hours of the morning. I laughed at him trying to keep his eyes open. My mom placed a plate of food in front of us both. “Not fair Y/N got one more piece of bacon than me,” I stuck my tongue out at him and snapped a piece off with my teeth. He made a face at me and stuck his fork into the yolk of his egg.

I listened to the back and forth between my brother and mom while basically inhaling my breakfast. Clearing my plate wasn’t so hard because of my lack of eating dinner last night, due to studying for a really important physics test I had today. Which is what also led me to hurry back upstairs and change to be able to get on the road and avoid any traffic. The snow would definitely be one of the causes of that. It happens every time I have something important to do. Not that everyday of school wasn't important its just I really need to pass this test or I could kiss the annual mountain trip goodbye. “Alright mom I have to head out.” I checked my appearance out one last time in the mirror. Straight leg cuffed jeans with a turtle neck under. I made sure to wear rain boots and a hefty jacket to cover me in the rain. Umbrellas scared me due to all of the horror stories of the lighting catching the metal. I would not like to experiment with such a thing. 

“Alright be careful.” My mom shouted from the kitchen. I grabbed my keys from the side table near the door and adjusted the backpack on my shoulder. 

My car started right up and I reminded myself to thank my neighbor for shoveling our driveway early this morning. Looking over my shoulder for any oncoming traffic I pulled out and started on my icy route. The redwoods were thriving in the rain and dark in pigment. Usually the rain was sufficed around things that were dampened and gloomy. I saw the rain in a way that brought everything back to life. The dried grass that needed hydration. The trees that chipped and branches fallen. The flowers and foliage that started to burn and become brown. Although, in a town line this that only ever saw rain we rarely saw anything die. Well anything that wasn't a person. But I don’t really want to talk about that. 

Finding parking at school was always an issue. Everyone and their mother needed to drive to school even when they lived two minutes away by foot. It was the least appealing thing about this place. 

I found a space in the far end of the lot and reached over my center console trying to pull out my bag. I finally got a hold of it snatching up and slamming my door shut. I was out of breath and had developed a head ache the moment I drove into the parking lot. An alarm blurted from my phone that was in my side pocket. “Oh shit.” 

I stuffed it back away locking my car with the small black remote on my keys. I searched for any cars coming my was and started rushing to the front entrance. I was going to be late and I hoped that Mr Barden wouldn’t send me out in attempt to keep his authority in tact. In short words he was an ass. I needed to get in that classroom with five minutes to go. It was on the third floor of all places for it to be. 

With all of the worries and thoughts running through my head I failed to realize that anything around me truly existed. All up until I made heavy contact with another body. “Watch it short stack.” Words spilling out of his mouth in slow motion. His heavy green tinted hazel eyes piercing into mine waiting for some grouped words in return. I didn't answer but took the time to check him out. Black jean jacket on top of a white basic tee shirt. Black jeans adorning his waist and intimidatingly long legs. His hair fallen down against his forehead slightly. A chiseled jaw that could cut the air in half. While his skin was almost as pale as the shirt that hid his chest. Yet, it was perfect and looked as smooth as porcelain. 

He waited a couple more seconds before a scoffed fell from his mouth. “Oh, sorry.” I stuttered and backed up from his presence. He turned away walking to the front doors of the school waving me off. Harry Styles. 

God he was the most enticing person to walk the halls of Daywalk High. All of the girls falling at his feet although he wasn’t every paying much attention to them. The only time I can remember anyone being involved with him romantically was when he dated a girl who used to be a student at Daywalk. Her name was Sierra and she was always under his arm. Until she disappeared about a year ago. Not sure what happened to her and the school wouldn’t say much even if they knew just so they could keep a crystal clear reputation. Nothing new in the world of education. 

I stood frozen after bumping into Harry, blocking a bit of the way. My eyes glued to his backside and then moving to the cigarette dangling between his middle and ring finger on his right hand. His left hand coming up to ruffle his own hair while he talked to one of his friends. 

A smack of reality hit me when I felt people hitting my shoulders trying to pass by me as if there was no other space on the path to walk. Shaking my thoughts to nothing I remembered that I was supposed to be in class in what was now two minutes. The panic settled in and I told myself that running was my best bet. Letting my feet take off I excused myself over and over trying to make my way up the stairs. 

Through three people filled staircases I set foot through the door right as the bell sounded and a sigh of relief was made evident through my movements. Mr Barden eyed me and his gaze following me take my seat. I looked at him when I sat and then away wanting him to do the same. A glance over my shoulder lead me to see him again. Harry sitting with his legs crossed out open side of his desk. Talking with a smirk to his friend Aiden. 

The way he laughed was a form of art. I couldn't help but watch. The indents on the side of his cheeks carving his face. Such white teeth lining the inside of his mouth and almost too perfect to be real. Harry’s lips were a pretty blush color that fell into the shade range of the inside of a watermelon. 

Stuck in my daydream my heart suddenly stopped when his head whipped to me and our eyes met a second time today. Heat staining my cheeks when his lips molded into a dashing smirk. I looked away quickly and down onto my desk when Barden passed out the tests. I hoped that Harry didn’t notice how long I was staring. How long was I staring? Not even I can remember. I got lost in him so easily. 

The whole class period was dedicated to our test and I thanked the spirits around for that. I really needed as much time as I could get. Barden collected the tests at the bell and reminded us about our assignment due tomorrow. I collected my materials shoving them into the pockets of my bag. I felt someone come up behind me hovering over. “You know,” Harry’s voice resonated, “It is not very polite to stare Doll face.”

I looked up at him, being well around a foot shorter than he. I shook my head knitting my hands together. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

He restrained a chuckle by the look of his face. Twisting the rings on his fingers and getting closer to me with each step. I looked around to see that Barden was no longer in sight. Aiden standing in the door frame waiting for his friend to finish his shenanigans. I gulped visibly at our faces being a mere few inches apart. A grin laid out on his blissful face before it was quickly dropped into a serious one. “Don’t do it anymore.” 

Harry backed away and walked over to Aiden. One backpack strap slung over his shoulder. He is almost out the door before spinning on his feet to look at me once more. “Oh and keep your thoughts to yourself. They’re quite loud.” Loud? What does that even mean?

Again he turns on his heel walking out of the class with Aiden at his side rolling his eyes at his friend’s antics. Leaving me at my desk with my backpack still unzipped and my remaining supplies left distributed on the wooden table. Not only that but I stood dumbfounded and unsure if this little scene was because of accidentally bumping him in the parking lot. “What the fuck” 

It was only first period.

[rainbirdsky]

Sanctuary B(r)each

LONG POST - This is a chapter of my headcanon story in which a Krill attacks the Sanctuary Islands.

Characters: Rainbird, Reef, Candle, Carillon, Red/Kwan

Rainbird swept the broad edge of their paint-laden thumb in a small arch before switching to paint the manta’s tail with their pinky finger in the inner curve. This bean-shaped simplification of the manta was something they had learned from the wall-art of their ancestors before them, and over time they had worked out the best way to mimic each character with the least amount of strokes. Mantas weren’t the only animals they’d learned to finger-paint with light. Butterflies were a simple ‘x’ with a pinky finger, and birds were a slightly larger drooping ‘x’ with a horizontal line at the base attaching the two bottom points and forming the body. 

Rainbird sat back to admire their work. On the cave wall they had painted a vast mural of the Sanctuary and its inhabitants, including their friends Reef and Candle sitting on the beach and holding hands.

“That’s incredible, Rainbird.” Reef whispered appreciatively, resting her hand on the enby’s shoulder and admiring the mural. Candle looked up from where she sat mending an ancient tapestry and grinned. The trio were resting in a small cave in the Sanctuary Islands, or to Reef and Candle, ‘home.’

Many of the caves in Sanctuary hummed with sea breezes, however this little hollow stayed relatively still - enough so that the many candles lighting the room stayed lit at all times. Shelves had been carved into the walls and were decorated with seashells and coral and the floor of the cave was carpeted with tattered flags from the Wasteland or tapestries from the Valley of Triumph. Driftwood had been carved into simple furniture, pillows stuffed with dried grass and sweetly-scented flowers. With the addition of Rainbirds’ mural the cave had become even brighter, filled with the warm orange glow of candles and golden light.

“The paint reacts to flame.” Rainbird said, “That’s why hidden murals seem to come to life when you light a candle near them. The paint will fade a little in time, but with this many candles in here it shouldn’t go out.”

“So that’s how that works.” Candle mumbled as she stitched her tapestry, “I always chalked it up to magic.”

“It can be both.” Reef chuckled and moved to kiss Candle on the forehead, “Understanding the spell doesn’t make it less magical.”

From outside the cave came the ringing of many small bells, soon followed by several distressed voices crying out.

“KRILL! THERE’S A KRILL IN THE SANCTUARY!” came a scream from outside, and soon a chibi with a jester cap came running in, the many bells on their outfit chiming. Their eyes were wide as they looked to Reef. Rainbird knew this chibi was Carillon, a non-verbal child who played the (usually simple) role of guard in the Sanctuary. Their hands were a blur as they signed something only Reef could understand.

“Thank you Carillon,” the turtle-masked woman nodded, “Get as many into the jellyfish caves as possible.”

Candle was on her feet, pulling on her dark cloak and tall pointed hat and grabbing Carillon’s cape before they left. Rainbird sat frozen, looking to Reef for guidance.

“Are there any Krill-Riders in the Sanctuary?” Candle asked Carillon, to which the little jester shook their head ‘no’. Candle cursed softly and dismissed Carillon, the latter quickly rushing out into the tunnels with the ringing of their many silver bells.

“We will have to deal with this.” Reef said gently, pulling Rainbird to their feet.

Rainbird nodded and the trio made their way out of the caves.

The screams were so much louder outside, but they could see Carillon was herding the younger Sky Kids toward the jellyfish caves. The miniature mantas followed the Sky Kids as they fled, cooing softly and fluttering between them to try to keep the children calm as they headed to safety. The mid-sized mantas were scooping up Sky Kids and bringing them too, seemingly making a game of seeing how many kids each could collect.

Rainbird looked toward the Sanctuary entrance in the clouds to see the Dark Dragon twisting in the air like a massive black kite. Its eye was solid red, enraged and without a specific target. 

“It’s been enraged by something.” Rainbird looked past it at the many small islands clustered about the cloud gate.

“There’s someone up there.” Candle pointed toward the larger of the floating islands, “Near the Timid Bookworm spirit.”

Rainbird and Reef saw it too, a figure with a red cape stood looking down at the Sanctuary, ignoring the enraged beast that descended upon them.

“It’s the kid from the forest.” Rainbird frowned, “The one with the staff.”

“We can deal with them after we deal with the Krill.” Reef replied, “One thing at a time. Can we trap it in the caves?”

��No.” Candle shook her head, “We don’t know which caves the Sky Kids may be hiding in.”

There was a booming call as the giant manta above Sanctuary spotted the descending Dark Dragon.

“Will she be okay?” Rainbird asked, watching the manta fly at the Krill with more purpose than they had ever seen.

“For a while, but she’ll need help.” Candle muttered, “Look, I think we can wedge the Krill into the narrow passage through the top of the mountain. Sky Kids don’t go in there much and it’s unlikely any are hiding in there.”

“Reef,” Candle took her girlfriend’s hands, “I love you, but you aren’t the quickest flyer...”

“I’m aware. So what should I do?”

“Head up the crevasse. Make sure there’s no one in there, and when we have tired the Krill, get ready to draw it in. Even if you lose your wings you’ll be able to run through the mountain.”

Reef kissed Candle, nodded and started hiking up the mountain. 

“Have you ever rode a Krill, Rainbird?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Find the edges of the plates in the exoskeleton and dig your fingers in. They’re surprisingly squishy if you can get under their armour.”

Rainbird winced. That didn’t sound pleasant, “How long does it take to tire a Krill?”

“Depends on the type of Krill, but this is a smaller one which means it will be fast. Try to aim for a geyser if you fall to half your wings.. Any other questions?”

”No.”

The giant manta let out another booming call as it rammed the Krill, and the Krill clawed at it while making its eerie crackling.

Candle grabbed Rainbirds’ hand and crouched on one knee. One of the stars on the back of Candles’ cape sparked like fireworks and went out as a huge swirling gust centred on the jackal-masked woman rocketed the pair into the air with surprising speed. Rainbird almost got whiplash but quickly opened their wings and felt the zephyr hurtling them upward. At the top of the updraft Candle beat her wings, gaining considerable height and speed.

“Remember, get between the plates.” Candle shouted over the rushing wind and releasing Rainbirds’ hand. Candle beat her wings again to reorient and launching herself toward the Krill’s face and the screaming manta.

Rainbird dipped their left wing and swung left to approach the Krill from behind. Thanks to Candles’ launch they still had all their wing charges - if they fell they were going to need them.

Candle swept around and over the giant manta, coming down on the Krills’ head and dropping an elbow directly on the dark creatures’ eye. The Krill screamed and reared back, releasing the manta.

Avoiding the Krill’s tail as it flailed Rainbird landed lightly on the beasts’ back and started clambering up toward the bucking dragon’s head. They climbed slowly but surely, making sure they had a good grip with each hand before moving the other. The Krill’s armour was thickest on their back behind their head, but that was also where the gaps in their exoskeleton were large enough for Rainbird to squeeze their fingers between.

The Krill flapped its tail and started to turn, feeling something on its back. Candle flew around the beast’s head in a tight spiral to keep its attention. The giant manta flew alongside her close enough to recharge her wings and the jackal-masked girl laughed.

“You’re in trouble now, shrimpy!” she grinned, flying circles around the Krill as it tried to keep its eye on her. Candle flew directly at it head-on, dipped and came up beneath its head, bringing her knee up into its bottom jaw. She fell back into a backflip and disappeared beneath the Dark Dragon.

Rainbird reached the krill’s ‘neck’ and dug their fingers into the spongy skin between the chitinous plates while the Krill reeled from Candle’s attack. Rainbird sat astride the Dark Dragon as it bucked, but they clung on, gripping the beasts’ neck between their thighs.

The giant manta cooed and flew above Rainbird, lightly touching them in passing. Candle hung beneath the manta like a living hang-glider and dropped down onto the krill behind Rainbird.

“Good grip.” Candle remarked, sitting behind Rainbird.

“Thanks? So now what?”

“I am going to run over its face and fly toward the trap. Once it starts after me, I want you to open your umbrella over its eye and blind it.”

“How will it chase you blinded?”

“I will be just ahead of it, and I’ll give it a slap or something when it turns the wrong way.” Candle chuckled.

“But if you get hit-”

“I won’t.” Candle cut them off and took the umbrella from Rainbird’s back, threading it between the enby’s arms and their body, “Raise a knee to hold this tight, and make sure whatever hand you’re gonna hold on with has a damn good grip.”

That was the last instruction she gave before hopping up and skipping over the krill with apparent ease. Rainbird watched as Candle leapt from the Krill, kicking off their face like a springboard. She was laughing as the Krill lit her up in red.

Rainbird leaned down to press their body against the Krill and brought their umbrella up alongside its’ face. They waited for the Krill to freeze as it targeted Candle, and when it was still enough Rainbird brought up their other hand to quickly open the umbrella right over the Krill’s eye. Rainbird brought their hand back and dug their fingers in as their umbrella lit up scarlet.

Too slow to throw its rider the Krill bucked, lashing its head left and right to try and shake the blindfold. Candle laughed again and the Krill’s head turned to face the source of the sound right before she brought her knee up under its head once more. The Dark Dragon recovered quicker this time and locked onto the sound of Candle’s laughter.

Candle whirled and dipped, each time letting the Krill get within feet of her before beating her wings and skipping just out of reach. When it slowed she darted in to slap it, keeping its attention as she said she would but getting tired quickly. Soon she was panting too hard to laugh, and she dipped toward the trap.

Reef stood at the edge of the trap and steeled herself, watching Candle dart through the crevasse and out the other side. Reef could see the sheen of sweat on Candle’s skin and the darkened stars on her cape, showing she had no wings left.

She looked to the Krill, which had lost track of Candle when she’d fallen silent. Rainbird clung to its back and looked panicked as the Dark Dragon seemed to lose interest in its chase, turning its head as though trying to look back at Rainbird.

Reef forced a laugh, loud and confident and as close to Candles’ as she could muster. The Dark Dragon spun back, focusing on the laughter as though it was being mocked.

Reef laughed louder, backing into the mountain where her laughter echoed off the stone walls and the Krill charged with blind fury.

The dragon’s head easily fit into the crevasse, but its’ thicker neck and body did not and its exoskeleton scraped against stone with a whining screech. It had flung itself with far too much force to stop itself in time. It wedged itself into the mountain chasing the echoes of laughter, cracks forming in sections of its plating. It could still thrash its head and tail but it was perfectly pinched like a prawn clutched in chopsticks, suspended above the ground.

Rainbird’s hands were cramping with the sustained grip, but the body was much easier to hold onto now it was stuck. They stayed, keeping their umbrella over the Krill’s eye until they heard a gentle voice beside them.

“Are you okay?” Reef asked, resting a hand on Rainbirds’ shoulder. Candle stepped over Rainbird from behind them with one of her tapestries, which she wound around the Krill’s head beneath the unbrella and tied the new blindfold in place. The Krill bucked weakly, slowly starting to calm down.

“Let’s not do that again.” Rainbird coughed, prying their fingers loose and closing the umbrella now it was safe to do so. Their arms and thighs ached, “I am... quite tired suddenly.”

Reef caught Rainbird as they fell sideways and looped her arm under Rainbirds’. Candle took the other side and they lowered Rainbird to the ground. Rainbird lay on their back and looked up at the full length of the Dark Dragon suspended above them about twenty feet up, parallel to Rainbirds’ body. Reef sat beside them, lacing her fingers with Rainbirds’ and giving their hand a little squeeze.

“I will send for some Krill-Riders to come get this big guy.” Candle said as she wrapped a second tapestry around the krill’s head and wound a rope around it to keep it secure, “You guys can tell the Sky Kids to stop hiding, but tell them to steer clear of the mountain until the Krill-Riders come.”

“There’s something else.” Reef sighed, “We lost track of the kid in red, but it seems the Krill was a distraction.”

“Distraction for what?” Rainbird asked weakly. They were so tired.

“The whale is dead. I think the kid in red killed it. Its body is tumbling in the surf on the far side of the island.”

Rainbird had no words. They looked up at the Krill, their eyes hot with tears.

[chimtaera]

imagine prince jungkook.

adventure time! 

jungkook isn’t the crown prince so outside of his princely duties he can go questing! exploring! adventuring!

of course his family doesn’t really approve of his activities, but they’ve basically struck up a bargain that he’ll attend court and such without making a fuss, as long as he gets to run around when he isn’t needed.

of course he has protection with him, the court approved putting together a little adventure party, which is basically just all his best knight friends, i’m sure you can guess who.

these guys have been together most of their lives, always getting in trouble as kids, climbing what they shouldn’t be climbing, fighting what they shouldn’t be fighting, eating what they- ok you get my point.

imagine a seamstress running frantically around after jungkook before an event because he always tears his clothing somehow.

or being chased out the kitchen before a big banquet with flour in his hair.

everyone loves him though.

he’s the baby of the palace, everyone dotes on him and lets him get away with mischief, ‘cause it’s cute.

and the people down in the villages love him too.

they’re always excited to see him ride out on an adventure, or to see him coming back form a quest.

and he’s often invited in for a drink at the taverns, to tell stories from one of his quests.

and if there’s any loot he shares it, because he doesn’t actually need any of the gold and jewellery. 

boy is more likely to like, take a hedgehog he rescued with him as a pet, or like, keep a really round rock he found in a river when he stopped for water, than he is to hang onto any of the valuable stuff.

people in the tavern be like “ooh, look at all that gold.” and jungkook will be like “ok sure but guys this rock is so smooth, u gotta feel it.”

probably has separate room in the palace just for his adventure keepsakes, and he keeps it very organised and tidy.

oh and people write songs and poetry about jungkook and his brave knights’ many adventures, but the best songs are of course his own.

because, like any royal, jungkook is highly educated.

in everything from politic and war, to the arts.

and, like any good royal, he’s also a brilliant poet.

so how did you two meet? ok story time

you live in the woods somewhere far away, at the bottom of a mountain, just u and ur doggo.

you have a little cottage that’s been with your family in generations, it’s where you’ve grown up and you didn’t really know much else so you stayed. 

you travel to the nearest villages if you need something, about a day’s journey, but you’ve never felt very welcome. 

they’re not mean, it’s just- you’re an outsider, and an outsider you shall remain.

so your doggo wakes you up one morning and you’re like?? what is it

it’s clear the doggo has found something outside and desperately needs you to come see.

you’re like, did you find another baby bird that’s fallen out of its nest?? do i gotta raise a NOTHEr baby bird ?? istg

the answer is no, but also yes.

jungkook looks to be fast asleep in the moss and soft heather, he’s got a few scratches, but he’s got lovely pink nose and lips and seems quite healthy.

you gently prod him awake like, u ok my guy ?? you’re gonna catch a cold come have some tea.

he’s a little spooked at first, with his big round eyes snapping open to stare at you, rendering you a little speechless at first. 

but eventually you explain that you live here at the bottom of the mountain and that your dog just have smelled him because they woke you up to come find him.

doggo takes the opportunity to introduce themselves, you know, the way dogs do, and that’d the first time you hear jungkook giggle, and suddenly you understand what your grandma was warning you about when she said to stay away from the pretty boys.

you invite him to come warm himself in your cottage, you just put a log on the fire before going out, so it should be warming up by now.

he’s like umm uh sure

and you’re not sure why he’s so hesitant, you’re not a very intimidating figure even though you live in the woods by yourself.

but then as the two of you start making your way back to your cottage you start to realise he has some difficulty keeping up with you.

it’s dark, but you still se him grimace when you turn to look for him.

“oh no, you must be hurt!” how silly of you, why else would he be sleeping in the woods behind your house.

“ah, no it’s- i’m just, uh... yeah. okay, yes.”

turns out he’s twisted his ankle falling from his horse, and the way down the mountain in the night has only made it worse.

you help support him the rest of the way back, much to his embarrassment.

as you sit him by the fire and make tea and a little breakfast he explains that he was on his way back home from his quest when he lost his companions, and later his horse when it got spooked. 

when he finally got to the bottom of the mountain, which had taken him almost all night, he was exhausted and fell asleep as soon as he sat down to rest a little.

he seems a little embarrassed, so you tell him it’s the sort of thing that could happen to anyone, and maybe you tell him that story about how you fell down the mountain as a child and almost scared your grandmother to death, but by some miracle you survived with barely a scratch. 

anyway, he’s lucky you found him.

jungkook asks how far the nearest village is. his friends will be looking for him and perhaps he can find a horse there, or send word of his whereabouts.

you tell him it’s about a day’s walk and he’s not going anywhere on his ankle, it needs at least a few days rest, but he’s welcome to stay with you in the meanwhile.

in that case his friends will probably go back home, and gather a party to come search for him, it might take a few days.

again, he’s embarrassed but very thankful, and you find it adorable.

he is very cute actually.

like super handsome, he’s tall and seems strong, he’s so well-spoken and well-mannered he seems almost otherworldly to you, but he has a shyness to him, and a playfulness, and the way he takes everything in with his wide, enthusiastic eyes really adds to his boyish charm.

as the sun comes up you get some water so he can wash up, and help clean the scratches on his face and neck.

he’s actually?? so pretty ?? it’s very distracting, you’ve never seen anyone that looks like this and especially when he blushes wow

you think it’s just because he’s embarrassed, but in actuality it’s because you’re really close and kinda very cute and you smell so nice?? like earthy and warm and dried flowers and herbs.

you spend your day like you usually would, but with jungkook helping out where he can, like chopping wood because he can do that seated.

and it’s so nice to have his company tbh, you two talk about everything and nothing, and in the evening you make dinner, and sit by the fire in the dark.

and that’s when he starts humming.

and you’re like?? omg what is this

you’ve only ever heard your grandmother sing, or like drunk people in taverns, and you only know a handful of songs so this is new!!!

you ask him to sing for you, and he’s a little flustered but he does so gladly.

and it’s a m a z i n g omg let me tell you

imagine sitting by the fire? in a little cottage miles away from anything? cozied up with your doggo and a cup of tea? and jungkook? singing? songs about epic battles and tragic romances and awesome adventures?

you make him sing every song he knows and eventually you ask to hear some of them again, and you two sit up sooo late sharing songs and stories.

jungkook never mentions he’s a prince though.

you let him have the bed and sleep in a chair by the fire that night, although it takes a while to convince him.

another day goes by like that, and you’ve come to really enjoy his company.

you know he has to leave, but you know it’s going to be strange to be so alone again when he does, and you find yourself wishing he could stay forever.

you were never discontent with your life, but you realise you like sharing it with someone.

that night he insists you sleep in the bed, and after a little arguing you agree, but only if he'll sleep in it too.

and he’s very flustered but he agrees and you pretend you’re not flustered too.

you two sat up until late again, talking and singing, but it’s hard to fall asleep with all the butterflies in your stomach, and he smells so nice??

like, you don’t know what expensive smells like. 

but that’s what he smells like. 

just the lingering remains of exotic spices and perfumed oils.

it’s really nice to wake up next to jungkook.

like, really, really nice. 

like, your heart swells with warmth and fluff and it feels like it’s gonna burst or do a dance or something so you have to get out of bed, and only watch him sleep for a very brief minute.

at breakfast you notice that one of the scratches on his forehead looks a little inflamed, so you go out and pick some healing herbs while he chops more wood.

you’re both very quiet as you apply the paste you’ve made of the herbs to the cut.

he’s sitting in the chair, you standing over him, and watches you so closely with his shiny rounds eyes that it gets very hard to focus.

as you finish up you meet his gaze and find it impossible to pull away like you had intended to do.

without a word, like magnets, the two of you are drawn to one another and meet in a kiss.

carefully, he wraps his arms around you and scoops you into his lap, and you in turn wrap your arms around his shoulders and deepen the kiss.

and then the doggo barks.

you pull away from each other but can’t look away, just smiling shyly at one another for a moment before the dog barks again, and you decide you should probably check it out.

outside, you call the doggo and they appear through the trees, followed by jungkook’s search party.

you feel a little forlorn as they greet one another as old friends and you realise you will have to say goodbye to jungkook already. 

but you knew it would happen eventually, so you suck it up.

“are you ready to leave, your majesty?”

“your majesty?” because of course he is, i mean, look at him.

cat’s outta the bag.

jungkook realises all too late that he has to leave you too, and makes a hurried excuse that he has to fetch something inside, to get you alone.

once you’re alone he kisses you passionately and tells you in a rush that he’s a prince, that you are the most enchanting person he has ever met and that he will return to you as soon as he can, that while he is gone he leaves with heart with you.

and then he leaves.

and you don’t know this but when he comes home he writes many sonnets and sings many songs about you, and your little cottage in the woods, by the foot of the mountain.

so much so that he begins a whole new movement in literature, a genre idealising the simple life, chopping wood, gathering herbs in the woods and raising baby birds, all with the one you love, miles away from anyone or anything.

and when he comes back to see you he brings you a horse, so you can come and see him whenever you want.

[thesvenqueen]

With All My Love

Rating: M Pairing: Kristanna (as if it would be anything else) Also on AO3

Previous Chapters: (Prologue One Two)

{Chapter 3}

Hours could’ve passed, Anna isn’t sure nor does she care. 

All she knows is the sun has set, on the day and on her future. 

She hasn’t moved from her spot on the bed, curled up on her side as she stares at the wall. Gerda had come by at some point, announcing dinner, but still she didn’t move. Her stomach was in knots, the thought of food made her queasy. More than anything, she wouldn’t be able to sit across from her sister after this. To look at her after what she had done, what she had deemed a necessary deal. 

Her tears have dried now, eyes swollen and puffy from the time spent sobbing into her pillow. The pain still sits deep in her chest, rests heavy on her heart. 

Two months.

Two months and she would no longer be Anna of Arendelle. 

Her identity and life would be stripped away, taken in favor of bettering ties with another kingdom. It may seem to benefit everyone; Arendelle, the Southern Isles, Prince Hans, but not her.

No, this was from a benefit for Anna. This was a robbery.

Robbery of her life, her being, her own self. Everyone else’s opinions had been considered, down to the prince she was set to marry, but not hers. Oh no, her own thoughts were not worthy of such consideration. 

She squeezes her eyes close, no tears left to spare but the memory of “You get no say” makes her ache. 

Queen or not, Elsa had no right to make such an important decision without consulting her, without even asking if she wanted this. 

For months she’d let the decision sit, only giving Anna weeks to prepare for her betroval. Once again, Anna had been deemed unworthy and was last to know of what the future held for her now. 

Sick twist of fate to be born a princess, part of a royal family but be seen as hardly anything at all. Not even family, not even a sister.

Nothing more than a pawn, nothing more than a spare used to benefit the kingdom.

But she was more than that, more than just a spare and a princess to be auctioned away.

She was Anna. 

Though no one seemed to care about that. No one ever did. Even when she was younger, her thoughts and feelings were never considered, always pushed away in favor of others instead. It was always what others deemed best and though her parents claimed to have her best interests at heart, they had a funny way of showing it.

Anna hated history, and had for many years now. She could not despise anything more than having to read over battles from hundreds years past, of political moves made to better kingdoms that no longer existed. What she did want to learn more about was gardening. Wanted to become familiar with the different types of flowers, how and where they grew. Even how to manage growing crops as well, a little dream to grow her own garden some day if not help Gerda in the castle’s own garden. 

She’d voiced her feelings once, only once, as her Father had huffed a laugh at her, giving a speech how she’d benefit more from knowing our past then such commoner things. 

Then there were the languages. French, Latin, all of them really, she never could grasp. They were interesting, sure, but Anna never could manage to master any. Struggling still to even hold a comprehensible conversation with her tutor. Cooking was more of what she wanted to master. The art of making bread, learn how to make tarts with her favorite jam. Create the perfect roast that she could be so ever proud of. 

There had been a time she’d tried to sit with Gerda, to learn with her while she could, but someone had found out about such things. Her parents had been sure to fill her day from beginning to end to make sure she wouldn’t have the time. 

She wanted to read more stories, hear the adventures that were being told across the land, not ones of great war battles. She wanted to ride her horse more for fun and less pointless council meetings that never included her. She wanted so many things, she wanted to be her own self. 

She wanted to be Anna, but she never could be. 

Never would be now. 

Her future was set to continue to be molded and bent into someone she wasn’t, to live as someone else entirely for everyone else’s benefit. Forever told what to do, directed on how and what way, without ever being asked “What is it you want?”. 

This wasn’t living. 

Not even close. 

~.~

What do you want?

~.~

Anna opens her eyes slowly, once more staring blankly at the wall before her. 

There had been one person, only one, to ever ask what she wanted.

Had asked her what she dreamed of, on her thoughts and ideas of everything. Took the time to know her, to question her on her favorite things. Asked why she loved sunflowers so much, where she watched the Northern Lights from, why she loved fairy tales so much. 

Only one person ever truly, really, wanted to hear who Anna was, what she wanted. 

~.~

I don’t know.

You have so many opinions of chocolate, and yet, you can’t tell me what you want?

That’s different.

How? 

I get a say in that. I don’t get a say in what my future will hold. It’s complicated

Nothing complicated about it. It’s your future, you should hold as much say as anyone else.

If only it was that simple.

It is. What is it you want for your future? 

~.~

Dread fills her as she glances to her writing desk, an unanswered letter waiting for her response. 

K had never met her, didn’t even know her name, but took the time and letters to know her, to truly know who Anna was. 

He loved her. Not the molded princess she was for everyone else, but just her. Just Anna. 

Now he would never get to know Anna truly. Never get the chance to meet her, see who she was behind the words on the page. 

They’d never get the chance to meet. 

It was over, finished before it could even begin. 

She sits up then, her stomach twisting at the thought of having to respond to K. To tell him what is to become of her. 

How was she to tell him, the man she loved, that she was destined to another? One that she did not love, did not care for as much as him, and had to leave him behind completely. That this bond was to be broken, never to grow and blossom as Anna had dreamed it could. 

Still wrapped in her comforter, she slides off the bed, slowly making her way to her desk. 

The thought of asking to be friends, to continue to write even with her departure comes to mind but is shaken away. In her heart, Anna knows she could never be just friends with him, that her heart would be with him for the rest of her life. 

Writing to him, countries away, married to another man that wasn’t him would be painful. More so than breaking it all together. A gentle reminder with every letter of what they had, of what they could have been. 

Anna sits in her chair, hands shaking as she looks over the familiar handwriting. 

The Gods were cruel for this, for giving her such a glimmer of happiness to simply snatch it away. She was almost thankful for never seeing K’s face, for now she wouldn’t have to imagine the hurt that would come across it as he read her next letter. 

Her heart clenches at the thought of his pain, matching her own if not more so. The thought of him being completely devastated, hurt over these twisted turn of events brings a sob. 

Truly, she didn’t know what would have happened if they met. Only the idea of finally being able to see who K was, to be able to say to him in person how much he meant to her. Now though, now that chance to see where they could’ve gone is snatched away. 

Anna can’t leave him the dark, knows that what she is about to write will break them both, but it must be done. 

With shaky hands, she grabs her quill and blank parchment, looks down at the blank paper and can’t even think of where to start. The words do not seem to come.

It will be a long letter, she is sure of that. Apologizing over and over of how she regrets this more than anything, how she should have fought harder, been stronger as he told her she was. She thinks she has failed him now. 

She wonders if she should still offer to meet before it all falls apart. If they should have one final moment together face to face before life draws them in separate ways. It will hurt, she knows this, but they still owe it to each other to know who they both truly are. 

To know the face and name behind the years of letters shared. 

That goodbye would be cherished more than one final letter. 

Anna leans her head to her desk, another sob escaping her as she does so. Such a cruel twist of fate this has become. 

If only she’d met him sooner, if only she’d gotten the bravery to do it years before. Who knows where they would be now, if they would be together now formally, this betroval forgotten all together.

If only she had taken that chance. 

A thought comes to Anna then, an idea that seems far out of reach and yet within grasps. She sits up, quill still in hand, but she taps it upon her desk as she thinks.

Yes, yes there was a chance. A chance now that she could take to make amends for what has come. It would be risky, but as Anna thinks it over, the plan coming together so clearly, so vividly now, she sees the risks becoming lower and less so.

She’d need a few days, if that. Gather the essentials to assist in her plan, to make sure to douse any suspiciouns before she went through with it. Play the part just a bit longer.

Yes, Anna thinks, a small smile forming on her face, this could work. 

She looks back to the parchment, taking a breath. 

She’ll do it, she will risk it to be with him. To take that chance of being herself, of taking control of her life. The words come then, confident and sure, and she writes with haste:

K,

I have been informed by my sister that I have been betrothed to another, against my own wishes and desires. I tried to be strong, to fight for myself as you have so often encouraged me to do but she would not budge. It has been decided and agreed upon that in two months time, I shall be married off to another.

You asked me before what I wanted, what I saw for my future. This is not it. I want my own life, a house for myself to cook, to bake, to tend to a garden in the back filled with flowers and all the crops we could manage. Maybe some animals, chickens or ducks as well. I want to be myself and not a person everyone else wants me to be.

More importantly, I see you. I see you in every aspect of my future and I want it. I want that future with you and nothing else. To be able to sit beside you up in the mountains, finally able to see the views you’ve talked so much about. To aid you in your business, make friends with the villagers you know, sit close by the fire in your cabin under a fur blanket.

I want you. 

More than anything, I want to have the chance to have a life with you and I’m willing to risk so much to have that with you. 

I have a plan, one that would only take a few days to set and create but one that I am sure will get me away from here and into your arms. 

All I need, all I ask, is for you to say yes. 

It is a chance, a risk I know but I am willing to do it. I love you more than anything else, more than this life I have here. 

She hesitates, then, Anna sitting back for only a moment to consider her next words carefully. 

If you do not feel the same, if you do not wish to take this chance I would understand. If this letter is the end, if I never hear from you again, I will respect your decision. Just know that these three years, these letters have brought me more comfort than anything or anyone else. You, K, have been the only bright spot in my life and for that, I am forever grateful. 

You have made me better through just your comforting words. 

I will await your response before going further. I love you, more than anything, I love you with all my heart.

With all my love,

A

There is no time to reread the letter, so Anna quickly folds and stuffs the letter into the envelope. She seals, quickly scratches a K onto the front and for a moment just stares.

This was it.

She was giving him a chance, laying her heart on the line for him. Pulling the letter to her chance, she closes her eyes and hopes to God to get the response she yearns for. 

Anna makes quick work getting dressed. She chooses a dark purple day dress, grabbing her black cloak for good measure. She braids her hair, tucks them inside and draws the hood over her head. It is late in the evening now, no one set to be up this hour yet she still moves slowly down the halls to the kitchen. 

She pauses outside the door, listens for any sign of movement just on the other side. But it is still, all quiet in the night and Anna gently turns the knob and pushes the door open. 

It’s empty.

Quickly, she moves to the back door, opening and closing it as softly as she can.

The night air is cool and brisk, sending a chill up her spine. She looks around, checking to be sure that no one was out on the grounds, no guards patrolling the walls. 

Seeing nothing, she darts towards the familiar back corner. 

She slips over the wall, crickets replacing the birds from the day before to greet her as she moves into the forest. 

It’s haunting at first, the darkness within the forest is overwhelming but Anna knows the way. Could walk it blindfolded if needed so she makes it to the familiar Oak in no time. 

She comes up to the trunk, the hole within it’s base just at eye level and stops for a moment. 

Anna looks back to the letter gripped tightly in her hand, then back to the hole. It was high time she took control of her life, she thinks, starting with this. She furrows her brows as she steps forward and places the letter inside.

[vore-scientist]

Cookie Jar (M/f platonic safe/soft sfw vore)

A Tale of the Mystic Woods

Sophia see’s an opportunity to prank her half-giant wizard, by getting him to eat her. Also some Gardening! (sadly no actual cookies or jars feature in this story)

Princess Sophia and Yonah the Wizard are my OCs, they are both adults, and part of my Mystic Woods series. I commissioned art for this chapter! So that’s in there too!

Warnings: While this story is all about safe, soft, willing, silliness there are uhhhh some really strange references/discussion about fa.tal. None occurs. King Ben just is a bit... creepy and uncaring. 

----

“So, what’s the plan for today?”

The Princess Sophia asked as she and her half-giant wizard ate breakfast. Toast with a citrus marmalade and eggs scrambled with spinach, onions, and mushrooms. They always had eggs. Yonah was a really amazing cook, and eggs were his favorite food. Well. Second favorite food. Sophia had to admit, the wizard made the best eggs she’d ever had, and she grew up with royal cooks! Yonah took one more giant mouthful of his own portion of eggs, and a drink of water flavored with a few slices of magic melon, before answering. 

“Not much,” he took another bite. Clearly not in a hurry. “Was thinking we could garden this morning, then I’ve got some translations to complete. Maybe there will be time for a dusk patrol.”

No way. 

Sophia’s forkful of egg was frozen halfway to her mouth. 

There was no way he had forgotten. Right? Someone so smart organized and all. It wasn’t possible Not in her wildest dreams. 

“That’s it? Nothing else?” she risked jogging his memory just to be sure.

Yonah was looking at her funny, so she finished her bite of food to keep a straight face. 

“Nope. That’s it. Unless… Is there something you wanted to do?” He asked. 

She took such a big drink of water she nearly choked. 

“Ah- um.” 

“I could try to put together a lesson, but I didn't plan on one today. Im still waiting on a few potion ingredients, which should be here soon.” 

“The plan sounds good!” She said, her voice squeaking a bit. 

He’d definitely forgotten. And if Sophia was a good friend she would have told him. Thankfully Sophia wasn’t a good friend. She was a great friend. His Best Friend. And as the best friend to an evil giant wizard she got an evil idea. All she had to do was not raise suspicion. 

“Ok…” Yonah didn’t sound convinced. “Would you like me to clear your dishes?”

Sophia nodded and placed them delicately unto his palm, but finishing her water first. Then she zipped off, climbing down the ladder attached to the table, sprinting to the staircase, and leaping down the stairs to the bedroom. By the time Yonah caught up to her she was in her gardening outfit. Waiting for him, on top of his dresser, upon which was her magic wardrobe. 

“What’s the rush princess?” Yonah said with a smile as he took his time changing into a sturdy button up and overalls that matched Sophia’s. “I don’t have any plants that will get up and walk away if we don’t water them.”

He adjusted the shoulder straps on his overalls and held out a hand to Sophia. She scampered across his arm and dropped into his front pocket. 

“Ok then,” he said, smiling as he got out his sandals, gloves, and straw-wizard’s hat. 

“I’m just excited to garden!” Sophia said. 

“Glad to hear it,” he gently pat the pocket over his midsection to jostle the princess, and then with a finger ruffled her hair. Or tried, since it was in it’s pretty-permanently tight braid. He did nearly knock off her tiara but she held it in place. Then she held onto the lip of the pocket as Yonah went up the stairs, and she bounced happily. 

She had to hold on tighter when he leapt from the tower window. That was never not exhilarating  and so frightening she screeched like a banshee as, with an earth-shaking THUD, Yonah landed in the garden. 

“Out you come from there!” Yonah said cheerfully as he plucked Sophia out of the pocket and set her on the edge of a flower bed. 

Then from a side pocket he took out a pouch of power that he dipped a finger into. He dabbed a bit of the powder and recited a spell in giant. With a puff of grey smoke Yonah now stood 7.5ft. About a third his original height. 

There was a lot to do as it turned out. A lot of beds had weeds! Those damn seeds must just manifest out of thin air. The pair spent an entire hour weeding the flower beds. A few weeds happened to be spell ingredients, which Sophia Then wondered why they were considered weeds. 

Regardless she attacked them with extreme ferociousness, getting right to their roots. Which was good because the roots of this particular weed were what they wanted. They were placed in a bag to be dried out over a magical smoke that night. 

They didn’t take a break. Not really. When moving onto the Apple trees and other fruits the pair took random small breaks to sample the ripening bounty, but worked steadily to trim branches and check for sickness and fungus. 

Some fungus was of course wanted! Yonah had recently planted a patch of moaning bamboo that was bred to be vulnerable to infection by void fungus; used to make magical ink to enchant scrolls and book pages. It was a slow growing bamboo but it was finally large enough that if infected would produce a decent amount of magic ink, enough to make the investment in the bamboo worth the money. 

Sophia took a tuning fork and tapped the green-yellow rods. No void fungus to be found. But cuttings of the bamboo were taken. When the current batch caught the bug they would have healthy ones to replace them. Void Fungus was not kind to it’s hosts. Thankfully it wasn’t harmful to animals or people. 

She started to worry that, after all this work, Yonah would insist they have lunch, and she would have to tell him. 

And then she nearly ruined it by cheering when he suggested he get a little translating done before lunch. He was just feeling very motivated for some reason. She didn’t mind waiting a little to eat right?

“Don’t mind at all! In fact, you wanna eat me?” she couldn’t risk waiting any longer or it would be too late. She tried not to look at the clock. 

It wasn’t really a silence, since Yonah continued to gather supplies around the room, until he stopped listening to himself and processed Sophia’s words. Then he stood up, holding a bunch of scrolls, looking at her as if he may have imagined her talking at all.  

“You haven’t had lunch yet, so you must be hungry,” she added. /don’t push it too much he’ll get suspicious!/ “and watching you translate is boring.”

But then she heard his stomach growl and his cheeks grew red. “I- yeah!” he came over to the desk. His face was still a bit flushed but he was smiling as he leaned over, arms folded and he put his head eye level with Sophia. “A pre-lunch snack is exactly what I need!” 

He reached out a hand to poke her, which tickled. “And I couldn’t refuse my favorite snack.”

Without hesitation Sophia got out her vial of glass paste and applied a small dab to her forehead and recited the words. Yonah closed his eyes as there was an explosion of sparkling purple dust. He felt the heavy glass form of the princess sit on his arm. He stood back up, taking the princess with him, keeping her at his face. He opened his mouth in a wide smile that revealed large white fangs glittering with drool and anticipation. She took hold of his bottom teeth, hoisting herself inside. It was a tight fit, which always made her wonder how he managed to eat people larger than herself. And she was petit. 

Air wooshed by her as he took a deep breath and tipped his head back so that she slid to his throat. With perfect timing he swallowed. Once. Twice. Three times. 

The princess’s feet passed over his lips, and he kept swallowing. It hurt considerably. Stretching his throat and putting pressure on his windpipe, but it was worth it. With a strong gulp she was down past his airways and he could breathe again. He could already feel her hands in his stomach, soon joined by the rest of her. Filling him up so nicely, he smiled and sighed. 

“Mr HaEsh?”

It was like his blood turned to ice and then instantly into steam; the pressure threatening to make him explode.  

He remembered. 

Dare he open his eyes? He had to. It was too late now. 

Yonah HaEsh looked down at the magic mirror on his desk. But instead of his reflection framed by the fancy gold filigree, the King of the Mystic Woods looked back at him, arms crossed. It was like the entire damn forest was looking at him. And the forest didn’t exactly have feelings like normal people. 

/Had he seen?/

“Ah- Y-Your Majesty-” 

Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. Because at that moment Sophia started laughing hysterically, with her whole body. Normally that would feel GREAT; now it was distracting at best, visible and audible to her father at worst. Her father who spoke over the stuttering giant. 

[art by @pythonpie​ @art_python on twitter]

“We had a meeting today, or did you forget?” The King’s expression. Well it wasn’t neutral but it wasn’t full of vengeful rage, which it surely would have if he had seen his daughter get swallowed whole. It still wasn’t happy. 

“No-I mean yes- I mean no, Your Majesty.”

“Then where, Mr. HaEsh, is my daughter?” The King’s emerald green eyes pulsed and narrowed, his face hardening like petrified wood. 

Yonah resisted putting a hand to his stomach to try and cover up Sophia’s movement, or get her to stop! Her laughter was penetrating his brain! But that would be too obvious. 

“The princess! She!” Yonah realized he had a bit of drool running down his chin, but he dare not wipe it away. “Is asleep.”

“In the afternoon?” asked The King, raising an eyebrow, “Surely she didn’t forget the meeting?”

Yonah gritted his teeth as Sophia screeched inside him. 

He hissed out “No sire, she did not.”

“Speak up Mr. HaEsh,” the King Ordered. 

“Ah- well, I don’t know, she was very tired after working so hard in the garden I thought she deserved a nap,” and he thought he deserved a freaking medal for coming up with that excuse and saying it as convincingly as possible with a princess thrashing in his belly. 

“I don’t appreciate her sleep schedule being dysregulated this way,” said The King, his voice rising enough to make Yonah’s skin crawl. 

It was so eerie, and so absolutely horrifying to see The King get mad in the mirror, while outside the trees rustled with the rhythm of Ben’s words, his breaths, his huffs, and his grunts. Yonah swore the vines around his tower were constricting, causing the stone to crack a bit. Could Ben collapse the tower just like that?

“I didn’t mean-” but once again The King spoke. 

“And,” the king pointed at him. Though it wasn’t exactly precise through the mirror it was clearly at his stoamch very full of struggling human, “Who was that you were eating?”

“Sire?” Yonah didn’t think he could really hide it. 

“Don’t play dumb with me, wizard,” The King spat, “When the mirrors resolved I saw feet disappearing down your massive throat. And they’re still alive by the look of-”

“A thief!” Yonah said a bit too quickly, “It was, is, a thief!”

Now he felt comfortable enough to rub at his stomach, “Tasty too, your majesty,” he smiled a big embarrassed grin, “In the excitement of the chase I forgot it was nearly time for our call.”

The King didn’t look convinced and Yonah felt his heart sink. 

“A thief? In the middle of the day?”

“Yes Sire! That happens, not common but not-” was he gesticulating too much? Was he gesticulating to little? Should he just stop using his hands?

“And that doesn’t sound like screaming, it sounds more like laughter.”

/Oh GODS he could hear it!/ Yonah’s heart lifted but only so it could start racing 

“Nope! Not laughter” Yonah poked his middle and Sophia obliged by screaming a little less happily, “It’s terror! Because I ate them! And I am very scary. Just like you hired me to be!”

“Very well, I suppose you should go wake Sophia,” The King examined his fingernails. Thanks to the mirror enhancing the King’s size, Yonah could see they were painted with black runes. What for? Yonah couldn’t think about that right now. 

“And the thief?”

The king looked up, “Oh right, the thief.” the king eye’d Yonah’s middle like one would a disappointing servant  “Are they not dead yet?” Sophia had stopped laughing so hard, guess Ben couldn’t hear it now. 

“N-No sire,” Yonah poked his middle again and was relieved when Sophia moved sharply and screamed at like she really was in danger. 

“Not in the mood for a free meal today?” Ben asked, completely serious. “Less money out of my pocket. It costs a lot to... feed you.” There was a weird tick in Ben’s right cheek. Like he had been about to mention the fact that Yonah gives adventurers gold when he lets them live, which was most of the time, and that money was technically King Ben’s, even if most of it was deducted from Yonah’s salary. 

“Not with you watching, my liege,” Yonah said, trying to sound like he cared as little for the thieves’ lives as Ben did. 

“It’s not as if I can see whatever horrorshow is going on in there,” he said. 

With Sophia being the one in there, that was the last thing Yonah wanted to think about.  

“Fine, spit them out.” 

Gods those gem-like eyes were so bright yet so hollow. Yonah wouldn’t be surprised if Ben COULD see though mere barriers like flesh, but also was thankful he couldn’t.

Yonah bowed, unable to enjoy Sophia being squished inside him.

“Where are you going?” Ben said as Yonah turned to the stairwell. 

“To- spit out the thief and wake-”

“You cannot do that here? I’ve seen it before”

He had. Once. When interrogating a prisoner of war, Ben supervised Yonah swallowing, threatening, and spitting up fairy. That had been a feat. Fairies were larger than humans. Even thinking about it briefly made his throat sore. 

Yonah’s face turned so red it was like a tomato. If he spat Sophia out that would be it. In the moment he could not fathom what Ben might do to him if Sophia slid out of his mouth. Could he somehow cast a disguise spell on her? No Ben would see the cast. 

Thankfully Ben heaved a huge sigh, “I don’t see why you’re so self-conscious, go ahead.” He waved him off and Yonah disappeared down the trap door. 

---

PERFECT TIMING! 

Sophia couldn’t see what had gone on outside, but as Yonah stiffened, everything around her going tense, the pulse around her accelerating and his quavering voice say “Your majesty,” she knew she had done it. 

While she had wanted to try and hear what her father was saying she could not help but burst into laughter as soon as she imagined the look on Yonah’s face. Probably guilty, smiling, bewilderment. Oh she wished she could see! But if she could have done that, this would be a very different prank. 

It wasn’t hard to guess her father’s words based on Yonah’s responses. 

Deciding to help her poor giant she switched from laughter to just yelling when Yonah poked at her and insisted the sound coming from his middle was terror. That should be pretty convincing, though it was hard to sound scared when riding the high of such a brilliant prank. 

Eventually she calmed down to hear her father. She loved her dad. She really did. But 30 years ruling two kingdoms; 30 years being joined magically to The Mystic Woods, a mind as far from human as one could get, he tended to be a bit heartless. Ben’s body, mind, and spirit were part of a vast ecosystem that had things living and dying in it every day. So why would random adventurers dying, even eaten by one of his employees, be of much concern to him? 

Still, she felt proud of Yonah for managing to get away to “wake her up” and “spit out the thief”. She did not resist when Yonah threw up into his bathroom sink. 

“That was ! A dirty trick!” 

He coughed out a bit more fluid and did not bother to aim away from Sophia. He didn’t speak again until he regained his breath. By then Sophia had washed and dried off, and returned to flesh of her own accord. She sat on the towel and looked at him with big innocent brown eyes. 

Ok not innocent, but definitely not guilty or regretful. He reached out to grab her but she grabbed him back, wrapping her arms around his fingers. He wriggled his fingers and she laughed, not at him, but with him. He did pull her to the edge of the counter and kissed her side. She tried to get away from his scratchy facial hair but failed. 

“How long were you planning that?” he asked, his chin in her lab. 

“Since this morning,” she said, shoving him away.  

He obliged but left one arm on the counter for her to climb across to his shoulder. She lay into his hair. The dark curls so fluffy and soft. 

“Couldn’t believe my luck. Something like our monthly meetings slipping through that big wizard brain of yours!” She scratched his head, making one side of his hair stick up funny. Then she sat down and he put on his hat. 

“Let’s not keep my father-” she paused. 

“The King-” Yonah smiled. 

She laughed “Let’s not keep him waiting.”

Ben had not moved a muscle as far as Yonah could tell, when he sat at his desk and tried to smile without conveying that he had in fact, not eaten a thief, but the king’s daughter. Sophia scrawled down from his shoulder and leapt onto the desk. 

“Hi dad!” she said. 

“Hello Sophia”

And no, it wasn’t really comforting to see kind emotions in the face of The Mystical Majesty, if anything it made him more eerie. He was capable of human feelings, or at least he remembered what they were enough to mimic them. 

It never really bothered Yonah before but. He barely noticed. Oh sure Ben unnerved him greatly. Yet he hadn’t registered just how detached The King was. 

Not until he had figured out that Sophia was already chosen as the next Mystic King. Would she slowly turn into an unfeeling vessel for the forest? Would he lose her? He was to train her, prepare her to be King. Maybe that meant she could avoid this fate. 

Shit Ben was asking him a question! 

Shit Sophia was answering for him!

“-unconscious when they came out. We put washed them off and put them in a box.”

Ben was back to his normal, detached irritation. But there was a flicker of amusement. Still not comforting. 

“You woke her before spitting the thief up?”

He had to nod; Sophia was in charge of the narrative now. 

“Cutting it a bit close weren’t we?”

/why did he care? Ben was just fine with letting this hypothetical thief die while they had a not-so-pleasant chat/

“No sir, fainted from fright. Happens all the time. They were kicking and screaming until-”

“I don’t actually want the details Mr HaEsh.” 

Yonah wasn’t so sure about that. King Ben seemed to have some morbid fascinations. Maybe when one’s mind is so expanded you need some really extreme diversions to peak your interest. 

With so much time wasted the talk was very brief. Ben was actually legitimately pleased with Sophia’s progress. In the last month she’d met with several insular communities in the woods. One in particular was hardly more than a rumor. The fact that she’d made contact was a significant achievement. Not that she knew why, but she was glad to go on about the new spell she’d learned, none the wiser about her growing connection to The Woods. 

Still, Yonah didn’t breathe easy until Ben’s face faded from the mirror. 

Sophia sighed and turned to look up at him. 

“Im going to get you back for this,” he said, “especially since you were this close” he held his thumb and pointer finger about an inch apart, “To Ben seeing you eaten. He saw you feet.”

“Ah!” She finally looked guilty, “Well- I couldn’t resist”

No. She wouldn’t be Sophia if she’d done anything else. He even suspected that his mirror had delayed establishing the link and made a mental note to be kinder to it. 

“-if you want to eat me again.”

Yonah scooped her up, cradling her in his arms. “You’ve certainly earned the honor of being my dessert tonight,” he cooed. “And I’d better get some belly rubs. But that doesn’t count as payback.”

“You’re going to eat me now too?”

He chuckled and shook his head, “No. We should have actual lunch; like we normally do after talking with your father-”

“The King!” she declared, standing up unsteady and pulling herself onto his shoulder. 

He laughed so hard she almost fell back into his arms.  

And they went downstairs. 

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[vampiregirl1797]

Hopeless: Chapter Eight

Klaus Mikaelson x OC 

Warning: SMUT in this chapter so 18+ ONLY

GIF Not Mine

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The day after I was bitten was spent with me in bed, re-gathering my strength. I spent most of the day sleeping and drinking the cups of blood Klaus had bought up for me. I assumed he had compelled the staff to bleed into them for me, but I didn’t say anything, grateful that he was being so thoughtful. I was even more surprised every time I opened my eyes, because Klaus was there without fail. I don’t know if he ever actually left the room, and part of me was afraid to ask because if he hadn’t I didn’t want to consider what that meant. Or rather, what I hoped it could mean. I refused to focus on the fact that my stomach had filled with butterflies, and my heart had squeezed whenever his blue eyes had greeted me when I woke up from my slumber. That day passed by quickly and before I knew it night had fallen and I was dozing off yet again.

When I woke the next morning, I jolted up with a start when I heard something banging from the floor below. It sounded like someone had just been thrown into a wall. I listened for a moment longer and realised it was Klaus having a spat with one of his men. With that I relaxed, knowing the wolf in him assured he asserted his dominance over those who worked for him as often as possible. I threw the covers off me and tentatively asked the maids to bring the bath in—I was desperate to wash off the dried sweat and blood that had gathered on my skin all of yesterday and a few hours of the day before. When I slipped into the pleasantly warm bath I realised that Katherine would be arriving in two days.

 It’s fine. She’ll be here for three days and probably won’t be anywhere near you during that time. You just need to lay low and keep an eye on her to assure she doesn’t escape.

 The scents that had been added to the bath helped soothe me as well as the temperature. I felt like I was lying in a meadow with the smell of roses, lilies and jasmine that were emanating from the water. I took my time, lying there until the water ran cold and then I quickly washed my hair before getting out. After dressing in a loose red dress I tied my hair up with the hair tie that had thankfully been around my wrist when I had gotten here. Once it was secure I decided to make my way out of the room to find out what everyone else was up to, and maybe convince Klaus to do something fun—Katherine would be here soon and I wanted to make the most of her absence. Elijah was nowhere to be found, but after focusing my hearing I managed to locate Klaus in the room next door to his chambers. I tentatively knocked on the door, wondering what he could have been doing.

 ‘Come in,’ his voice was soft and I wondered if it was because he knew it was me knocking. I shook that thought away and opened the door before stepping inside.

 ‘Wow.’ I breathed, I don’t know what I had been expecting but this definitely wasn’t it.

 The room was full of paintings. Some were of landscapes, others of people and objects. A few were still unfinished and on easels but even I, a complete art novice, could tell they were going to be wonderful when they were finished.

 ‘Not the reaction my presence usually gets but I’ll take it,’ he teased, drawing my attention back to him. I could read the shyness in his eyes; I assumed allowing me to see his artwork was something that made him feel vulnerable.

 ‘Did you paint all of these?’ I asked quietly, my feet carrying me over to the landscape painting on the far wall. It was a picture of a meadow illuminated by moonlight. I couldn’t explain it but I felt like I could step into that painting and feel as calm and serene as I did looking at it.

 ‘I did.’ He murmured, coming to stand beside me.

 ‘They’re incredible. I had a feeling that the paintings around the house were yours.’ I admitted, not taking my eyes off the painting.

 ‘You’d be the first.’ I could hear the surprise in his voice, but I didn’t comment on it.

 ‘You have a gift, Klaus.’ My hand came up to touch the painting, following the bumps of the paint that detailed the flowers and the grass, ‘you should have galleries of your own all over the world. Why don’t you?’

 I looked over to him when I was met with silence and saw that he was frowning and deep in thought, probably thinking over whether he could tell me something. I didn’t say a word, wanting him to think it over on his own and by the looks of it; he was thinking it over very thoroughly.

 ‘You’ve shared so much with me since you’ve been here.’ He murmured and for a moment I wondered if he’d spoken aloud without realising it, ‘the least I can do is tell you about The Destroyer.’

 ‘I have been wanting to ask, but I sensed that you’d rather I didn’t.’ I admitted with a sheepish smile.

 ‘You sensed correctly. The Destroyer is also known as Mikael or rather, my father.’ My draw dropped open in shock from his words.

 ‘Your father is hunting you?’ I continued when he offered a grim nod, ‘why?’ I remembered Elijah telling us about how his mother was unfaithful and that was why Klaus was half werewolf, but I couldn’t recall all the details, I’d mainly retained the details of the ritual.

 ‘Well, that’s a long complicated story.’ He smiled as he repeated my words from a few days ago.

 ‘If you want to tell me, I’d love to hear it.’ I murmured back.

 So he did. He told me about how his mother had cheated on Mikael and the result had been him. No one had known of his true lineage, no one except Ester, until they had been turned into vampires and Klaus had triggered his werewolf gene with his first kill. He told me how his mother had preformed a ritual to supress his wolf side in an effort to make her discretion up to Mikael, he told me how he had tore his mothers heart out afterwards—a fit of rage had overcome him when she had called him her “greatest shame”. At that my hand had found his in a way of offering comfort; no mother should be anything less than proud of her son. He told me how his siblings believed Mikael had killed her and how Mikael had vowed to kill Klaus in a bid to rid the world of the “abomination” that he was. He told me how they had spent their immortal lives running from him, never able to settle down due to the fear of him finding them.

 Just like he had a few days ago, I had to take a moment to digest everything he told me and honestly I was disgusted. Disgusted in his parents for failing all of their children, especially Klaus. He deserved better, how could Mikael be mad at Klaus for something that was beyond his control—Ester had been the one who had the affair, shouldn’t she be held responsible?  As for him killing her, I couldn’t deny that I understood where he was coming from. He had told me he couldn’t understand the pain from losing a parent and now I understood why, because his parents hadn’t been parents. I understood why his paintings weren’t in galleries and being talked about by everyone, because he and his siblings couldn’t draw attention to themselves. They weren’t living.

 ‘I’m sorry.’ I said after a while, breaking the silence that we had lapsed into when he had finished his story.

 ‘For what, love?’ he frowned, confused.

 ‘For the miserable excuses for parents you got stuck with. You deserve better.’ I told him honestly, squeezing the hand I was still holding.

 ‘Thank you,’ he whispered so quietly that I almost didn’t dear him.

 It hit me then; no one else knew of what he had done to Ester, and so he hadn’t had acceptance from someone that had all the facts in a long time. I realised that he needed to hear that; he needed to know that he wasn’t completely at fault for the events that had been thrown upon him and his family.

 He cleared his throat and released my hand to move over to the painting he had been working on when I walked in. He had barely started on it yet, so there was no telling what it was going to be.

 ‘Was there something you wanted?’ he asked, clearly trying to lead the conversation into a much more unemotional topic.

 ‘Actually yes.’ I smiled, walking over to him with my hands behind my back, ‘I was wondering if you could do me a favour.’

 ‘Consider me intrigued. What can I do for you?’ He smirked, his eyes dancing with amusement.

 ‘Well seeing as tomorrow will be spent preparing for Katherine and she will be here the day after that, I was hoping you could give me today.’ I held my hands out as if that would convince him.

 He looked up from his painting to fix me with his stare; it was both amused and surprised. But for whatever reason, he was also hesitating.

 ‘Come on, show this twenty first century girl the best things that the fifteenth century has to offer.’ I tried to pout to get him to cave, but his laughter implied I wasn’t successful, ‘Klaus!’

 ‘Alright.’ He managed to contain his laughter after a few attempts, though my irritated look almost caused his effort to wain, ‘I’d be more than happy to show you everything that the world has to offer, Evangeline, but I suppose for now we’ll have to settle for fifteenth century England.’

 I felt my heart skip a beat at the implication, but I managed to gather myself and take his offered arm. I couldn’t contain my excitement as I followed him out of the house; I was getting the opportunity to experience the way life was lived before I was born and I was looking forward to it. When he led me to the carriage the caskets had travelled in I smiled in bemusement.

 ‘Where are we going?’ I asked after I tried and failed to overhear his words with the man leading the horses.

 ‘We’re not that far outside London. I thought you’d like to see it.’ He commented casually, but he smiled when I couldn’t contain my excited squeal.

 ‘It’s going to be weird going back to my time.’ I mused, staring at the passing scenery, ‘I’m getting used to life here.’

 ‘When do you have to go back?’ I looked over to him when I heard his melancholic tone.

 ‘After the ritual.’ I smiled sadly when he frowned, ‘can I admit something to you without you thinking I’m completely selfish?’

 ‘Of course.’ He smiled a little and expectantly waited for me to elaborate.

 ‘Part of me doesn’t want to go back.’ I looked back out of the window, not wanting to see the disappointment in his eyes, ‘for the first time I’m not waking up everyday thinking about what I need to do for everyone else. Well aside from planning for the ritual, but it’s not the same. It doesn’t consume the whole day, and I’m doing stuff for me, I’m doing what I want to do for the first time in the longest time. Does that make me selfish?’

 His hand reached into my lap to entwine our hands together. I felt the familiar warmth from his touch spread up my arm and it caused me to look over to him. When I looked into his eyes I didn’t see the disappointment or disgust I thought would be present after my confession. His expression was soft, affectionate even.

 ‘It doesn’t make you selfish to want to do what makes you happy. If those in your life truly care about you and love you like I think they do, your happiness will matter to them, Evangeline. You do not need to sacrifice that for others—they wouldn’t want you to and most importantly, living for everyone else isn’t living.’

 ‘Thank you,’ my voice was barely above a whisper, because I didn’t trust it not to break with emotion at a louder volume.

 ‘Of course.’ He flashed his dimpled smile and leaned forward to place a kiss to my cheek.

 He lingered and all I could think about was how the skin he had kissed was tingling pleasantly. Klaus pulled back a little, but only far enough to allow him to stare into my eyes. I didn’t know what he was looking for, but he must have found it through the lust I could feel on my face as his gaze flickered to my lips before he leant forward, closing the gap so that there was a mere inch between us. Knowing he was waiting for me to make the final move, I didn’t waste any time and pressed my lips to his. This kiss was different from the last one we shared. That was inspired by lust and an animalistic hunger. This was softer and more emotional; the affection we had for one another was clear, an aspect that had been absent in the woods. We didn’t know each other well then; both of us had been looking for a release. But now I could feel the way he cared for me from the gentleness of his lips moving against mine, from the way he caressed the side of my face while his other hand was tightly grasping mine. I had never been kissed this way before and it was overwhelming in the best possible way. It felt like he was worshipping me, treating me is if I were the most important thing in the world to him. I knew that couldn’t possibly be true, but I couldn’t deny how cared for he was making me feel in that moment.

 I don’t know how long we were kissing for, but eventually we pulled apart, both of us a little breathless. We shared a look before he placed a kiss to my forehead and we resumed the journey in comfortable silence. It was in that moment that the feelings I had been repressing, or rather ignoring, for the hybrid came back full force and I realised… I was in love with him. That was definitely not a part of the plan.

 Xxx

 It didn’t take much longer for us to reach London and when we did I was practically vibrating with excitement. Klaus chuckled at me as he helped me down from the carriage, linking my arm with his as he started leading me through the streets. The cobbled streets were incredibly narrow, so much so that I wondered how carriages managed to fit through them. The buildings were built of brick and wood and I couldn’t help but stare in fascination at how different they were to the buildings in the twenty first century. My eyes greedily drunk in every detail, the bread, cloths, jewellery and fruits that were being sold on different carriages. The sounds of horses’ hooves against the cobbled roads, the sounds of men shouting in a bid to entice customers, the sounds of people merrily chatting amongst themselves.

 ‘You know, I’ve been to London many times over the centuries and each time I find myself amazed by the culture,’ Klaus mused from beside me. I looked over to him only to find his gaze already fixed on me.

 ‘Is it one of your favourite destinations?’ I wondered, curious—a man who had been alive for so long must have seen everything; I wanted to know what his favourite was.

 ‘Before we came back to England, Paris was my favourite place to visit,’ his stare turned affectionate, ‘but recent developments have me changing my mind.’

 I blushed and glanced down, unable to hold his stare due to the intensity behind it. His thumb brushed over the knuckles of the hand that rested in the crook of his arm. I smiled a little and looked back up at him.

 ‘I’ve never really travelled anywhere, but I think England is always going to be my favourite.’ And I honestly did; I would always cherish that moment with him.

 He smiled softly and placed a kiss to my forehead before leading me further down the street as he continued to talk.

 ‘I’ll take you,’ his dimpled smile greeted me when I looked over to him in surprise, ‘anywhere you wanna go.’

 My heart leaped in my chest and my stomach filled with butterflies, but I forced it down. I shook my head as a light laugh tumbled from my lips, ‘as enticing as that sounds, you know you’re going to forget about me as soon as I leave.’

 I started when he pulled me to a stop in the middle of the street, his hand came up to caress the side of my face and I couldn’t help but lean into his touch.

 ‘Evangeline—,’ I couldn’t help my irritated frown when whatever he had been about so say was cut off by me being shoved from behind. I was pushed into his chest and the intense stare that had been on his face a moment before fell into anger. His eyes tried to find the culprit over my shoulder, but they were long lost in the bustling crowds.

 ‘I’ve seen London,’ I murmured, drawing his attention back to me, ‘what else is there to see, Lord Klaus?’ I smiled when he smirked at my teasing.

 ‘Not so much of what to see, but more what to do.’ He said ominously, leading me back to the carriage that had bought us here.

 Xxx

 ‘Okay, I might have been good at the sword fighting activity…’ I trailed off as my eyes flickered between the crossbow and the smirking hybrid a few feet from me, ‘but there is no way I’m gonna be able to do this.’

 ‘Patience, love.’ I didn’t need to look at him to know he was smirking at me.

 I took the stance he had shown me again, my right foot forward, with my left hand holding the crossbow. I made the arrow match up with the apple Klaus had nailed to the tree in front of me earlier—it was my target. I growled when I missed it again. It didn’t even hit the tree!

 ‘I refuse to let archery beat me!’ I muttered, picking up another arrow but when it missed I looked over to Klaus, arching my brow at his amusement, ‘what am I doing wrong?’

 ‘Don’t close one eye when you take your aim, use both eyes to line up the arrow with the target.’ He stepped over to me and placed his hand on the arm that was holding the crossbow, ‘and your arm isn’t straight, it needs to be lower.’ He moved it into the correct position before standing back and nodding for me to give it a shot.

 I took a second to let the tingles that lingered on my arm from his touch to fade. After I took a deep breath, I was ready and I lined up the shot and released the arrow. When it went straight through the apple I couldn’t have stopped my grin if I tried.

 ‘Just call me a professional archer.’ I cracked my knuckles after placing the bow down.

 Klaus chuckled and shook his head fondly, which made my cheeks darken with colour. I cleared my throat and offered him a bright smile when he looked over to me, his dimpled smile still playing on his lips and I couldn’t help but be hypnotised by them for a second before my eyes flickered up to his.

 ‘Now I’ve mastered archery,’ I smiled a little when he chuckled at my exaggeration, ‘what else should I try?’

 He just sent me a devilish smirk.

 Xxx

 ‘You’re joking,’ I sent him a look that was a mixture of amused and unsurprised.

 ‘Of course not, this is a tradition around these parts, love.’ He grinned and started stripping off his clothes.

 ‘Right. And seeing me naked is of no interest to you.’ I raised a brow.

 He simply kept his grin in place and continued stripping. I turned my back when he started to remove his pants and shook my head when he chuckled. Apparently something to do in the fifteenth century was “strip and swim” in the river close to the Mikaelson property. I personally thought he had other motives.

 ‘You don’t need to turn around, love.’ A small gasp escaped when I felt him directly behind me, his hands rested on my waist and pulled me against his chest, ‘I don’t mind.’

 ‘For someone who singlehandedly took on a werewolf, I would have thought you’d be braver.’ He commented and I spun around to retort against my better judgement, only he wasn’t behind me when I did.

 I heard the unmistakable splash of water and looked over to see him sending me a mocking wave. I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest.

 ‘Give me one reason as to why this is a good idea.’ I murmured, fighting down the insecurity that was trying to claw its way to the surface. I expected him to give me a funny answer, but he must have read the reluctance on my expression, because his next words were serious and soft.

 ‘Because we only have today, Evangeline,’ his expression was forlorn, ‘and I’d like to make the most of it while we still can, as we both know when you fix what you came here to fix, you’re never going to want to see me again.’

 I looked away from his gaze for a second before turning back to him and gesturing, ‘turn around.’ His expression became amused before he complied with my instruction.

 In that moment I was grateful for my vampire speed as I stripped off my clothes and added them to his pile. I flashed into the water and came to a stop behind him. With a hand on his shoulder, I turned him around and lowered my guard so he could read the sincerity behind my next words.

 ‘What you said isn’t true.’ I smiled sadly, ‘I told you before, a part of me doesn’t want to go back to my time and that isn’t because I prefer this century. It’s because of you. It’s because you make me happy and you make me feel alive. It’s not that I won’t want to see you again, it’s that you’re going to forget about me when I’m gone. And why wouldn’t you? You’ve lived for four hundred years already and in another six hundred you’re not going to remember my name, never mind my face. And I don’t expect you to. But I’m grateful that I got to know you now and… I’ll never forget my time here and I definitely won’t forget you.’

 I took a deep breath to stop the tears in my eyes from falling and forced a smile to my face. I nodded, pleased that I’d finally said what I wanted to say, well aside from the fact that I was in love with him. But that could wait until the last day, so I didn’t have to feel my heart break when he didn’t say it back. His index finger came to my chin and gently forced me to meet his gaze. The expression that greeted me was softer than I had ever seen it, and his eyes were also shining with tears.

 ‘I will never forget you, Evangeline. You’re unlike anyone I have ever known. You’re brave, smart, empathetic, kind, compassionate, determined and beautiful. You came here to destroy me and rather than sending yourself home when your plan failed, you stayed and offered an alternative idea to save your family and friends and to rid me of a curse that I have had to live with for almost five hundred years. Despite what I have done to you, you’ve not treated Elijah or I with disdain or hatred, which we most likely rightfully deserve. I don’t want you to go, but I know you have to.’ His thumb ran along my bottom lip before his hand came to caress the side of my face, ‘I can’t promise you that we will find each other in the future, but I give you my word that if we do… I will never let you go again.’

 The tears I had fought so hard to keep at bay were streaming uncontrollably down my face. Klaus’ other hand came up to my free cheek and his thumbs wiped the moisture away. His forehead rested against mine and I once again found myself hypnotised by his tantalising red lips.

 I could feel his gaze on me, warming me from the inside out and my eyes met his for a moment, both of us sharing a look of lust and affection before we moved towards each other at the same time. Our kiss was charged with promise and passion that made me want to stay in this moment forever, in the stream in the middle of the woods where none of our problems could reach us. It was just me and him being consumed by each other. My hands slid from his shoulders and up to his shoulder length hair, tangling in the curls and bringing pressing his mouth harder against mine. Neither of us broke from the kiss when his hands went to my waist and lifted my legs to wind around his hips. He walked us out of the water and laid me on the bank not far from where our clothes rested.

 I removed my hands from his hair and allowed them to feel the skin of his shoulders, his arms, and his back. My own skin burned under his touch as he caressed my waist, stomach and legs. I moaned when his touch moved to my breasts, kneading them gently. His lips moved from my lips to the crook of my neck, nipping and sucking. When he found the spot behind my ear, my back arched without my consent. I felt his grin against my skin, but I couldn’t find it in myself to be annoyed by his arrogance in that moment, if anything it made me hotter.

 When his hand moved in the direction of my core I stopped him by grabbing his wrist. Klaus’ eyes met mine and I could see the uncertainty in them, but I reassured him with a soft smile. I knew my eyes were burning with my desire for him.

 ‘I need you, Klaus.’ I murmured, hoping he understood that in that moment I didn’t want to take our time, I wanted him; I needed him then and there.

 His hesitation disappeared and the smile that lit up his face was a mixture of desire and pleasure. When he took position and prepared himself to enter me, my hands returned to his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin as he slid inside at a pace slow enough to make me moan. We paused when he completely filled me, both of us appreciating the feeling of us being joined together, of us finally taking this step with one another, before he started to move. The pace was slow and I can honestly say I have never felt such a strong connection like I felt as we moved together, staring into each other’s eyes with our bodies working as one. It was as if we had been intimate a hundred times before. I’ve never known such chemistry, such compatibility with anyone. It was both terrifying and exhilarating. We reached the end together, my nails scraped down Klaus’ back hard enough to break the skin. His hands gripped my waist hard enough to bruise. His forehead fell to my chest and my head fell to the grass underneath me. My hands went to his hair and his wrapped around me as we both collected our composure and waited for our breathing to return to normal.

 I found myself hoping as I lay there, surrounded by Klaus’ comforting scent and warmth that we would cross paths in the future. Because I was certain if we found each other, I wouldn’t want him to let me go either.

 Xxx

 ‘Niklaus, there you are!’ Elijah’s voice caused the both of us to look over to him. I ignored his arched brow when he noticed our joined hands.

 ‘Well, brother, you found me.’ Klaus smirked, his eyes glittering with mischief.

 ‘We have things to prepare—,’ the elder Mikaelson was cut off by Klaus raising his free hand.

 ‘Please, Elijah, not today. We have all of tomorrow to make preparations for the doppelgänger’s arrival.’ Klaus waved him off and stepped around Elijah, pulling me with him.

 I pretended not to notice Elijah’s apparent suspicion with Klaus brushing off what he usually treated as an important matter. To diffuse the tension I could feel growing in the room I decided to leave the brothers for a moment, using the excuse of needing to get ready for dinner. Neither bought it, but they didn’t say anything. Before I could completely leave them in the living area, Klaus pulled me back to him and placed a chaste kiss on my lips that caught me by surprise. By the time I recovered, Klaus had a smug grin on his lips and I just left them both after I rolled my eyes and desperately tried to suppress my own smile.

 As I closed the door to my chambers I couldn’t shake the foreboding feeling that threatened to overcome me. It reminded me that the closer I got to Klaus, the harder it was going to be to potentially lose him when everything was over. I knew what he said in the water, but the insecure neurotic side of me was telling me that while he may mean his words now, six hundred years could change a lot. He could be with someone else, he could never find me again, and as much as he denied the possibility, he could forget me.

 I shook away my depressing thoughts and comforted myself with the fact that we had right now. I had these moments, these memories to treasure forever even if he never found me again, even if he forgot me, the way if felt for him… it was worth it.

 Klaus’ POV

 I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face. Evangeline was exquisite, but it wasn’t the new level of intimate that we had reached that was responsible for my good mood, though that was certainly a part of it. It was her confession, when she said that I made her happy and made her feel alive. She didn’t want to go home because of me. As I sat at her bedside when she was recovering from her wolf bite, I suspected then that my affection for her was more than me fancying her, but the elation I had felt this afternoon after her admission made me certain. I was in love with her.

 ‘You seem to be in a particularly good mood.’ Elijah’s comment pulled me out of my thoughts. When I realised what he said, my grin only grew.

 ‘Do I?’ I wondered over to the alcohol and poured myself a cup, hiding my smirk behind it.

 ‘Yes. And it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.’ Elijah mused, his eyes flickering to the door Evangeline had left through and back up to me, ‘you care for her quite a bit don’t you?’

 ‘I don’t believe that’s any of your business, brother.’ The happiness disappeared from my expression to be replaced with anger and warning.

 ‘You definitely care for her. I would even say you love her.’ Elijah wasn’t one to be deterred by my anger. I knew he was baiting me, carefully selecting his words and observing my reaction.

 After five hundred years together, Elijah knew me better than anyone. It was both a blessing and a curse. When I didn’t say anything in response to his words, I could tell that he had figured it out before he even spoke.

 ‘You do love her.’ He realised, his eyes flickering over the tight grip I had on my cup and the annoyance in my eyes, ‘while I’m happy for you, brother, I must warn you about the danger of losing sight of your goal.’

 His confusion was clear when I laughed. I subdued my amusement when his puzzlement transformed into frustration.

 ‘Trust me brother, Evangeline is the last person who will distract me from my goal.’ I smiled knowingly but I refused to elaborate. Evangeline had told me that he didn’t betray me, but I didn’t want anyone to know where she truly came from.

 Evangeline and I being the only ones who knew, it gave us power over what could be changed. If Elijah knew, he would want to save Katarina and he would want to make sure that she didn’t have to be on the run for the next five hundred years.

 However, I had a plan to make sure that Katarina followed the same path that she took to bring her into Evangeline’s life. The doppelgänger needed to run from me in order to meet the Salvatore brothers, because one of them was responsible for keeping her sister alive. And Katarina needed to go to Evangeline’s town to assure that she turned her. I would of course have eyes and ears on her at all times and when she had fulfilled her purpose I would grant her her freedom. Apparently Elijah would take a liking to her, and I wouldn’t stand in his way longer than necessary. Provided my brother wasn’t getting on my nerves at that point in time.

 I idly registered that Elijah left the room as I finished my drink and poured another—he knew better than anyone that if I didn’t want to reveal information, trying to get it would be a waste of time. It appeared whatever he had needed to tell me about the doppelgänger wasn’t important after all. I drank what was left in my glass with one gulp and quickly poured myself another. After focusing for a moment, I could hear Evangeline was in her chambers and the sounds assured me she was getting ready for dinner. I hoped she hadn’t been listening to our conversation.

 It wasn’t that I didn’t want her to know, it was that I was afraid of what would happen if she did. I hadn’t been in love with anyone for a long time. The first girl I had been interested in was Tatia. She had been beautiful, seductive and manipulative. She had played my brother and I against each other successfully for a long time, but in the end we recognised the sacred bond of family. Giving her up hadn’t been that difficult because I hadn’t been in love with her.

 Then we became vampires.

 After ten years constantly running we decided to settle for a while in a castle in England. We had taken the place of those we had killed. It was there that I met her. Aurora. At first I had been consumed by her beauty and it had blinded me from her faults. She was selfish, cruel and vindictive. But I didn’t realise that until it was time for us to leave, when Mikael found us again. I had asked her to flee with us and she laughed in my face and told me that now she had what she wanted, she wasn’t going to live her immortal life on the run. And as soon as the words had left her mouth, I saw her time together but through eyes that weren’t blinded with love and infatuation. Thanks to my epiphany, I was able to cut ties with her and that is the only time I’ve ever been grateful that Mikael forced us to flee.

 Since then, women had been nothing more to me than food and pleasure. At least until a week and a half ago, when I came across Evangeline in the woods. When I found out that she had come here to kill me, I should have ended her life then and there. But I didn’t. I still couldn’t say why. Something about her bravery and defiance intrigued me. She had known who I was and what I was capable of and yet even when she tried to run from me, she refused to let an ounce of fear show on her face. From there my interest had grown into affection and love. And I was absolutely terrified.

[suntrastar]

abstract: chapter 3

 chapter 2!! you can also read it on ao3 :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word Count: 9520. i am deranged. someone euthanize me i beg you.

Author’s note: jesus fucking christ. this is so long for no reason. probably kind of poorly written. that is okay though. i really really appreciate the support you guys have given me for the last 2 chapters!! i was a bit iffy about joining tumblr but i’m glad to be here now :) please comment and reblog!! i appreciate it so much!!! ily all ok now enjoy this mess!!!

“You want to paint me?”

Rina looks at you, shocked, mouth agape, lone cherry tomato speared on her fork.

“Yeah,” you say, and smile with your straw still in between your teeth. “You in a field of flowers.”

“You want to paint me in a field of flowers?”

“Yes- that’s literally what I just said.”

The bustle of the restaurant is loud enough to drown out the rising volume of her voice. Thankfully. She’s being excessive, again- as if this is the first time she’s ever been the center of attention- but you’re fine with it today. You almost like it.

Today, her enthusiasm is almost contagious.

“I know,” Rina says “Duh. But, like, it’s just so crazy to me that you want to put me in your second solo show ever- I mean, why me?”

“Because,” you say, and almost leave it at that, just to mess with her. “Because you’re my best friend, and the whole thing is focused on people I know. And your hair would look so good with poppies, and-”

“I’m your best friend?”

“Obviously,” you say, even though to her, it might not be that obvious. “Who else?”

“That is so sweet,” she says, and leans back in her seat, dramatically clutching her hands over her heart. Rings sit on each of her fingers, gold and heavy stone. “You are too nice to me.”

She’s really milking it. But you’ll let it slide.

Rina gives you a self-satisfied smile, which you return without too much trouble. She’s so overwrought and showy with how she sits, limbs sprawled all over, like they’ve been blown into disarray by the wind. Her hair, still glossy red, is parted down the middle and made up in two French braids, tips just barely brushing her shoulders. The hair ties don’t match.

She has no best friend. She probably has, like, five other people just like you, who she calls on when she feels like it, whenever she wants company, when she feels like humoring someone. Or when she wants someone to listen to her talk.

It comes as part of the lifestyle- can you really blame her?

“I know,” you say, veering back on topic. “Bucky gave me the idea.”

You do it on purpose.

Her eyes go wide.

“Bucky?” She says, incredulously. Like she doesn’t believe you.

The feeling of being incompetent comes quick in a flash, and it takes too much to put it away.

You’re not incompetent- his number is in your phone, after all, isn’t it?

“The Winter Soldier, I mean,” you say, and the words feel all wrong in your mouth.

“No . Shut up. You are not on first-name basis with the fucking Winter Soldier.”

“Oops,” you say.

Her jaw drops.

You’re grinning too hard. She didn’t expect this from you- you didn’t expect this from you! You take a bite of your food, some garlicky chicken thing you can’t pronounce the name of, to delay your response. It gives you time to think of what to say next.

Rina waits, stunned into silence.

“We’re… talking, I think,” you say. “I asked him for his number.”

“And he gave it to you?”

“Yep.”

There’s a story there, that you won’t tell her.

You texted him a day after class, on Tuesday. Was that too soon? You didn’t care, your mind was too muddled with so many other things- icy blue eyes and different techniques for drawing wrinkles and this week’s shopping list and the best color that went with orange-red, and the laundry that you still hadn’t done.

You were too giddy to get smart with it- all you sent was a simple Hey.

All he sent back was a simple Hi.

Then, once you had read over his message too many times, you turned your phone off and pretended it never happened.

It’s too nerve-wracking. And pointless. You’re going to see him on Monday again, anyway! There’s plenty of time to text him- everything doesn’t have to be so immediate- you’ll get around to it before then, for sure.

You just have to stop thinking so much.

“I cannot believe you,” Rina gushes, and from her expression, you believe her. “You’re all grown up! I am so proud of you. That man is delicious, I cannot-”

“Do not describe him as delicious, oh my god.”

You burst out laughing as Rina raises one eyebrow, filled in dark. Her eye makeup always kills. “Am I wrong?”

“Well… no, but…”

***

Steve leaves, but Bucky stays back at the end of class to help you clean up. Acrylics again, and it’s the second-to-last class, so you had finally brought out the canvas.

Canvas means more fun, but more mess. More paint splatters on the tables, more brushes with clogged-up bristles.

Bucky doesn’t smile as he says bye to Steve, and it makes you feel a certain type of way , but you stick to business. Cleaning supplies are pulled out, paper towels are ripped from the dispenser. Bucky starts on the tables while you roll up your sleeves and start the sink, preparing to start on the brushes.

God- these brushes.

If these brushes were washed incorrectly, you would cry. They’re new, and high-quality, and the bristles are still soft and not yet frayed or discolored, and the handles are made of thick, clear plastic, and they come in different sizes and styles, and you can barely believe it, but they all even have rubber grips.

They’re really nice brushes.

“You didn’t text me back,” Bucky says.

You wish the sink was loud enough to swallow all sound, swallow you up within it.

Still, you look over your shoulder, giving him a pained smile while he scrubs at a spot of dried paint. He looks back at you, but you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

Of course you didn’t text back- thinking less is way harder than it seems.

“I wanted to,” you say, “but I got nervous. Sorry.”

You turn back to the sink. It’s a little easier to breathe without having to look at him.

“You got nervous,” he repeats, voice still so unreadable.

Is he mad? He always looks mad, always sounds mad- you can’t ever tell if there’s anything behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, and shrug, like it’s no big deal at all, like you chicken out of things all the time, like texting is always such a cause for concern. “I didn’t know what to say. What was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.”

Ugh.

The sink water slowly circles the drain. You don’t look past it, only keeping your eyes on the sink and the remaining brushes- it helps calm your heart, a little. Bucky is probably on the last few tables. All of the paintings have been neatly propped up on the drying racks.

Bucky painted his entire canvas yellow.

You are so dumb.

“Um, okay” you say, shutting off the sink. The really nice brushes are all neatly piled up on the counter on top of a folded paper towel, washed and drying. “What if I was like, ‘hey, Bucky, after this class ends and I’m not your art instructor anymore, would you want to meet up sometime?’”

You turn back around and lean against the sink. It’s an effort that deserves applause- you look so collected, while your heart is beating way too fast, and Bucky, its forever opposite, just stands behind a table, spray bottle in hand.

Your hands are sweaty.

He nods slowly, and it’s a victory in and of itself- the action nearly has you weak at the knees.

“Meet up,” he repeats, voice low, like a halfhearted growl. Disdainful, kind of. “Like a date.”

You wipe your hands on your apron. It’s a totally normal, totally relaxed movement. But then you’re wishing that you wore something cuter- was this sweatshirt really the only thing you had? Do you not own, like, a blouse, or something? Didn’t you just do your laundry?

Fuck, you’re being annoying.

“We don’t have to call it that,” you say. “We can just… hang out. Eat something. Go on a walk.”

You say it casually, but honestly, you like nice dates. Dates at art museums, dates at fusion restaurants, dates at movie theaters showing indie films in foreign languages. Anything eccentric, haphazard. Spontaneous.

But you also like seeing him smile, and you like to talk, and you like to be listened to- and he is giving you that.

This is a different type of everything. It’s all upside down, inside out, twisted over in itself. You have to approach it all differently, maybe it’s because he’s too quiet or too famous or too dangerous or whatever the hell, but none of it matters.

What matters is that you want it.

You’ll realign your compass.

“Okay,” he says. “I like walks.”

“Great,” you say, and go on without hesitating, because long nights have you tired and hesitation is for the weak, “I like you.”

Bucky Barnes, real, unfitting name James, clutching dirty paper towels and a spray bottle, smiles at you.

It’s wrong, but you could just bite him.

A sudden, unprompted thought hurls through your mind- you want to paint him.

***

The last art class.

It was once long-awaited, but now, you’re actually sad to see everyone go.

You buy a tray of cookies. It’s the least you can do- everyone has been so nice to you, so respectful and cooperative. Everyone has made things fun. You don’t know if you were doing anything right, but it sure as hell has been enjoyable.

Crumbs might get in the paint, but’s a small price to pay.

“Knock yourself out,” you announce.

The tray is set out on the middle table. You forgot the package of napkins back at your studio, so you gesture to the paper towel dispenser.

Then you long for the kids in your Wednesday and Thursday classes, because unlike these people, they wouldn’t be looking so dead at the prospect of free cookies.

You shake your head and return to your perch, tucking your feet behind the legs of the stool.

Eventually the conversations trickle out, slowly turning the room warm and lovely and bright. You listen in, a little, savor it, and hop back up. There’s nothing to do- might as well make some idle chitchat, one last time.

Shonna uses a small brush to add purple highlights to the feathers of a pigeon. It’s gorgeous- and you don’t even like pigeons- but you like her painting style and the jewel tones she’s adding amidst the grey, and the orange beak, and the washed-out yellow background she’s painting over.

“Wow,” you say, and she adds another purple highlight with a flick of her hand. “I cannot stop looking at this pigeon.”

“Thank you, honey,” she says, without looking up.

She’s too focused for you to stay for too long- you have to leave the pigeon for others. Marcie waves you down and gives you the latest update about her son, abandoning her half-painted rose while she launches into a bit of a tirade- her son wants to pierce his nose, isn’t that ridiculous?

“Hey, I wanted to pierce my nose when I was his age, too,” you say, and spout something about self-expression that makes her frown.

Ahmed chimes in. You have no idea what the blob he’s painting is supposed to be, but you like it. “I’ve been trying to tell her the same thing! These kids are modern now- these are just the things they do!”

“These are just the things we do,” you echo.

Marcie heaves a heavy sigh.

***

You head over to a few more tables, and it goes by too fast and too slow, but then you’re suddenly there in the back, with your star student, and your…

With Bucky.

“I really like how this is turning out,” Steve says proudly, as you approach them.

Then, he adds, almost childishly, “Don’t look until I’m done.”

He has a half-eaten sugar cookie sitting by his paint water.

“I won’t look” you promise, and all at once, you’re almost emotional- he is such a nice guy. He’s like the human embodiment of a golden retriever. “Don’t worry.”

Steve nods, pleased and nervous at the same time. You pointedly look away from the painting as you slide into a seat, across from Bucky and his yellow canvas.

Yellow and black canvas. He’s hunched over with a fat-bristled paintbrush in hand, adding black stripes, blobby and unevenly spaced, but still unbelievably straight.  

It is all so cute.

“Very bumblebee-esque,” you say, and his forehead creases. “I like it.”

Steve smiles.

Bucky adds another line. He didn’t take a cookie. He should’ve- the chocolate-chip is so good.

“Thanks,” he says.

And Steve just smiles wider, and you almost kick him under the table, and Bucky gives you an unsmiling look that turns you to jelly.

Hat aside, he is looking exceptionally pretty today. All hair and eyes and bone structure- it makes you want to do something, like reaching out and grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. Like running a hand over his jaw. Catching his stubble under your fingertips.

Parting his hair down the middle and French braiding it.

Taking a picture- it'll last longer.

“I'm going to miss seeing you guys around.”

Steve gives you a surprised look and shakes his head. He has one arm protectively curled around his canvas, even though you’re still not looking.

“Oh, I’m sure one of us will be seeing you around,” he says, and grins.

You glare at him.

Bucky laughs.

***

The goodbyes aren’t as bad as you thought they would be.

People leave with a simple goodbye and a brief thank you, shrugging on their coats and gingerly clinging to their still-damp artwork. Marcie makes you promise her that you won’t pierce your nose. One woman who would always come to the class with a huge coffee cup sets her painting aside to sweep you into a hug.

It’s very gratifying.

Steve and Bucky linger.

Shonna does, too, but for a completely different reason.

You want to give her Rina’s contact. She probably has some painting class available, if Shonna’s interested in that sort of thing, if she’s okay with being around so much personality.

And you also want to give her your contact- so she can keep on sending you pictures of those  birds.

“One sec,” you tell her, and reach for your purse, sitting on the counter.

Bucky is standing closeby, remarkably closeby, and you accidentally brush against him.

He goes rigid.

But you’re busy pulling out a pen and a scrap piece of paper, and then you’re using the counter as a hard surface to write against, shoulders angled away from him, and you’re talking all the while- you don’t have the spare second to be concerned.

“This is my email,” you say, adding a smiley face after the address. “Send me your art. And, like, talk to me. Send me your grocery lists, if you want- I don’t care. Here.”

Shonna takes it and gives you a smile. There’s a glimmer of something in it, a knowing.

“Thank you,” she says, and laughs a little, and you suddenly fiercely miss your mother. “I’ll keep the last bit in mind.”

She looks past you. Steve, standing a few feet away, holding the canvas he still hasn’t shown you, nods respectfully. And Bucky, standing near the counter, still near you, even though he’s looking at you like you’ve scalded him.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says.

You almost ask, “to what?” But she’s already left- Shonna and her pigeons are gone.

Steve steps up fast to take her place.

You still have no time to think.

“So, this is the finished product,” Steve says with no preamble, and with a great flourish that makes you laugh in delight, he turns the canvas around.

Oh.

Wow.

You’re not dizzy.

But you will be, if you keep on looking at this- a tangle of vines on a wall, with blooming flowers in what should be the wrong colors, dappled in light from a window you can’t see, drawn from a strange perspective. The leaves are really big and the vines are really small, and then it’s flip-flopped, and he has a hot-pink underpainting that he didn’t fully cover, so there’s pink in the leaves, pink on the wall. Pink in the un-pink flowers.

“Fuck,” you say, and then go quiet.

Steve tenses.

Now you have two very strong men looking at you weird.

You should probably fix that.

“I don’t- I don’t know what to say,” you say, stumbling over your words, feeling cotton-mouthed. “There are no coherent thoughts going on in my head right now. I’m just- where did this even- how did you even come up with this?”

“I tried to do that thing you said,” Steve says, sounding uncertain. He shifts and the painting moves with him, sending pink flickering over your eyesight. “No empty space. Because it’s boring.”

What is this called, again? Artists supporting artists?

“It is boring,” you say in agreement, and your voice comes back to you, all at once. “And holy shit, you pulled it off so well. I’m obsessed with the pink underpainting- it’s everything. You literally invented pink. And can we talk about these vines? How long did it take you to draw them all tangled up like that? And the flowers- you even gave them little stems, ugh.  And all the colors! And this lighting- I’m sorry, I have too much to say.”

Like watching a flower bloom, Steve unfurls at your praise, blush deepening with each compliment. It’s so wonderfully endearing, and internally, you sigh in relief.

“Thank you,” he says, and bursts into the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. “Also, we have one more question.”

“We?” You ask, and Bucky clears his throat.

You turn to him.

Already, you have a whole slew of problems- you have to sketch out an emerging idea and place an order for new brushes, ones with rubber grips, and you have to cook dinner when you get home because lately you’ve been ordering too much takeout, and you have to organize your closet, and you have to give an adequate and peppy response to whatever Steve is about to say-

You’re bursting at the seams.

There isn’t much room for anything else. Any concern.

“You have something to say, Bucky?” You ask, and waggle your eyebrows.

He doesn’t crack a smile- just how you like it.

“I do,” he says, smugly, and then says your name in a way that ties your stomach up in knots, that has you thinking of flowers and chiffon.

“We were wondering if you’re free tomorrow,” Steve says, and then invites you out for drinks, for tomorrow evening.

So you’ve passed the initial threshold of friendship, and now you’re onto group drinking! That’s exciting- and you’ll get to see Bucky, and you’ll get to postpone that tedious process of planning out a date- a hang-out, and you’ll have an opportunity to show up in something besides jeans and sad sweatshirts.

There hasn’t been a chance to show it off to him, yet, but you can dress.

Steve mentions another friend named Sam, who might join, too, if that’s okay with you.

“I’m cool with it,” you say. “The more the merrier, right?”

He has to be a decent guy, if Steve associates with him, and you like new people.

But doesn’t Steve also associate with, like, Tony Stark?

That man is oh-so problematic. He rolls out with a new scandal every month. He’s had enough scandals that he could release a line of red-and-gold-themed calendars- with the dates of each scandal marked in. Each month could have its own photo, too, coinciding with the dates.

Tony Stark, making peace signs at a court hearing. Tony Stark, wasted on a yacht. Tony Stark, in the middle of an interview where he bashes people who have absolutely nothing to do with him.

“That sounds like fun,” you say, and Steve lets out a breath of relief, “but I have to ask, about Sam? Is he, like, a…”

An Avenger? A genetically-altered individual? A prominent public figure with a stupid amount of money?

“He’s a really nice guy,” Steve quickly says.

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Bucky says, immediately after him.

***

As it turns out, Sam Wilson is not a pain in the ass.

He is really nice, but more importantly, he is funny.

Bucky texted you the address a few hours ago. You walk into the bar and at once, you’re assaulted by an excess of dark- dark floors, dark lighting, dark accents on the decor. None of it is dingy, just low-lit. It’s a nice place.

It might be a little too nice- nothing like the sticky-floored, rowdy sports-themed bars you usually hit when you’re in the mood to get hammered.

You catch the back of a head, wavy brown hair and thick shoulders, in a booth tucked into the corner. Steve, sitting opposite him, against the wall, catches your eye and waves you over.

Next to Bucky is a guy you’ve never seen before, Sam. Black skin, close-cropped hair, looking over his shoulder to flash a grin at you. Even in a simple shirt, you can tell that he is built.

He’s an Avenger, then. Maybe.

You’ve just barely slid in beside Steve, and you’re grinning and making some dumb comment about the disaster that is the New York subway system, when Sam fixes you with a gleeful look and leans forward.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says, casting a side-eye at Bucky. “I’m not joking when I say this- I was starting to think that Barnes made you up. He’s always doing crazy shit like that. Anyways, you will not believe why I’m actually here.”

You humor him, because why the hell not? “Why are you actually here?”

Already, you can tell that he has that vaguely-ironic, purposely-stupid sense of humor, which you always find absolutely hilarious. And you want to know what he means by crazy shit.

Bucky looks up at you for a few charged seconds, telling you something you can’t decipher, and then ducks his hand back down to stare intensely at his drink. Something amber, with ice cubes.

“I’m here to make sure that you don’t feel bad. Because these two fossils,” Sam says, and Steve winces, “can’t get drunk. But I can! So if you wanna get trashed, I’m game.”

Under the dimmed lights, Sam’s teeth shine perfectly white. All of Steve’s friends seem to have perfectly white teeth.

“It’s because of the serum,” Steve says, and you just gawk.

They both can’t get drunk?  

Because of their fucking superhero vaccine?

“What the hell,” you say, and rest your elbows on the tabletop. Bucky’s gaze follows your arms, starting at the hems of the sleeves, trailing up to your shoulders. “That’s so… Steve, if you can’t get drunk, then why are you torturing yourself with that beer?”

“It’s for the feeling,” Steve says quietly, blushing pink, and Bucky is still quiet, and you have a feeling that this has something to do with nostalgia, or World War II, or something. The good old days.

Sam catches it too, so he buts in, quickly bringing the conversation back to something less layered, less wired.

He’s a man with nothing to hide. He tells you who he is with no hesitation, without trying to skip over or disguise anything- he’s open. He’s a war vet, too, and now an Avenger- he’s the Falcon. He has, he says, a pair of fancy-ass wings. And the coolest outfit.

“Wait,” you say, and you’re suddenly dying to know, “what does it feel like to fly?”

His eyes light up.

“You know when you’re trying to sleep, and then you randomly get that feeling that you’re falling, and your stomach does that thing?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like that, but you can control it. It’s fucking amazing.”

He launches into a whole spiel, talking your ear off about the feeling of high-altitude wind on his skin and aerodynamics and some science-y things you don’t understand, and you get your own beer and enjoy the sweet feeling of getting buzzed on a weeknight, and as the edge you constantly have on yourself shifts, the seats shift, too.

You don’t know how, but you end up next to Bucky, in between him and the wall. Not touching, but close. Sam is across from you and Steve is next to him, and all of a sudden they’re talking about Chex Mix.

“If the Avengers were Chex Mix pieces,” Sam says, throwing the word Avenger around casually enough to make Steve’s hesitations seem horrendously uptight, “I would be the garlic chip. The best part of the whole damn bag. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, those chips are definitely the best part,” you say, adopting a mock-seriousness. “And Tony Stark would be one of those knobby-ass, crunchy little mini breadsticks.”

Sam mirrors your expression, nodding gravely, like what you’re both evaluating is a highly intellectual subject. “I completely agree. And for Rogers- man, you’re a pretzel.”

You narrow your eyes. “Square or circle?”

“Uh,” Sam says, turning to survey poor, unprepared Steve, looking equal parts bewildered and embarrassed. “Square.”

“Great choice. And Bucky?”

“Bucky…” Sam hesitates, and the briefest smile flashes over his face before he schools his expression back into objectivity, “Bucky is one of those original Chex squares. Sorry.”

“That’s cold,” you say, and Sam smiles again, and leans all the way back in his seat, bringing his hands behind his head.

“He’s not one of the yellow squares, though- those are actually good,” Sam starts, grin growing wider by the second, and you can’t tell if it would be rude to laugh. “He’s not one of those squares with extra seasoning, either. Bucky is just one of the plain brown squares. The wheat squares, or whatever the hell. Have you ever, like- have you ever wondered what the sole of a shoe tastes like? Or the eraser on top of a pencil? That’s what those taste like- that’s what he is. Just one of the plain Chex squares.”

Your jaw drops.

A roast like that from a halfway drunk man is absolutely scathing.

Bucky just levels a glare.

He’s used to this, you think. Is that his crazy shit? That he never reacts to anything?

You’re definitely a little tipsy- this is obviously no time to get wasted, but the edge has certainly been taken off, the corners of your world having gone hazy. In a lull, you watch a well-dressed man standing by the vestibule doors lean past your field of vision and receive what you think is a kiss on the cheek.

Without thinking, you lean close to Bucky and cup a hand over his ear.

Maybe he won’t react, maybe he will, but you’re not going to give him the time for either.

“I think that you’re the garlic chip,” you whisper loudly, and you’ll probably cringe yourself into oblivion over it when you're sober, but you think he shivers- and then he snorts.

“Thank you,” he says, and Sam putters out, giving you an amazed look.

***

“Heyyy,” you say later, turning to Bucky, when time has passed and you’re no longer on the subject of Chex Mix and he’s still a little too quiet. “What’s up?”

He’s quiet and troubled, drinking what might be whiskey like it’s water. Is it whiskey? You didn’t think that people actually drank whiskey- just kept it around in crystal decanters and silver flasks to look cool, like they’re main characters in a movie.

“The sky,” he says dryly, like you didn’t say that same exact shit when you were in middle school, hopelessly thinking that it was the slickest comeback.

“Very funny, James,” you say, and he huffs, and you feel a brief flash of panic, and then you’re almost apologizing, when he grins.

You know maybe three whole things about him, but you’ll press yourself up against him right here and now, under the low light of a fancy bar, with rain sliding down outside the window panes, with his friends right across the table. You don’t care.

His friends can tell.

“We’ll be right back,” Steve says suddenly, making a very showy display of getting up with Sam. Both of them send you obnoxious grins and suggestively raised eyebrows.

Bucky glares. You can’t stop smiling.

“You kids have fun,” Sam calls, and you laugh.

Just you and him, then. The mood shifts fast, turning from one thing to… another. Bucky’s eyes reflect the window outside, falling dark and darker, and you’re slipping, too.

“You look really nice,” Bucky says, and his eyes dip down in the slyest fucking move- you’re almost proud of him for it, for having such game.

A spark of heat flashes through you, as he takes you in slowly, like he’s trying to savor it.

You opted for a slightly tighter shirt, and a pair of jeans, but they’re your nice jeans. The ones without any weird streaks of paint on the thighs. And you wear a beaded necklace, and in your ears, a pair of fun, delicate hoop earrings, dangling with charms in the shape of crescent moons.

“Thanks,” you  lean back, into the wall, letting your voice drop to match the tone of his. “You do, too.”

He just stares at you, unamused. Still dark, and dangerous.

Purple chiffon, you think, and marigolds. The flower was meant for another friend, but she’ll have to manage, because now, you can only see Bucky with marigolds, with no room for anyone else.

“So,” you say, before the silence carries on and makes you do something stupid, “Done anything fun lately?”

He tenses. Again.

There’s all these things that you know you can’t ask him, things about his job and his hobbies and his metal fucking arm, which you still haven’t seen- which you’re fine with, but, like. It’s the fact that he has a metal arm in the first place- he is so detached from everything you know, and you aren’t sure if you know how to navigate it all. You don’t think he knows how to navigate it, either.

He’s hesitant, you think. But not unwilling.

You’re just going to roll with it.

”I watched a movie today,” he says, sounding so smooth that your clutch on your drink wavers. His eyes are raking you over, cold.

Red marigolds. Not the orange ones. Red marigolds with the little golden borders on the edges of each petal.

“Which movie?”

He shakes his head. “I forgot the name”

“Okay, well, what was it about?”

“Talking dogs.”

You laugh and he smiles, and then you feel light enough to float. “Talking dogs?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and he takes a sip. His mouth is very pink. Layers, you think, layers and overlapping, to make the fabric look hazy. Washed-out. “They talk when their owners aren’t home.”

“That sounds right up your alley,” you say, and you’re giggly and he’s all smiley and maybe you’re being embarrassing, but whatever, because he’s looking at you like he’s never been smiley with anyone else before, and you really, really want to lean in.

You’ll wait.

***

Sam comes back with Steve a little bit later, but it isn't until you’re getting ready to leave when he brings it up.

“You’re good for him,” Sam says, while Bucky and Steve have gone to pay. Your drinks are on him- how chivalrous. “Honestly, you’re probably too good for him.”

You laugh as you shrug on your jacket. “Doubt it.”

“No, I’m serious,” he says, voice dropping to an urgent whisper. You realize at once that he’s about to say something heavy, something concerning. “He has been through some fucked-up shit. It’s not his fault, obviously, but it’s always there. He’s never going to get over it. Sometimes he doesn’t sleep. He just stays awake, for like, three whole days at a time. Sometimes he just disappears. He never tells anyone where he goes. Sometimes he does this thing where he-”

“I get it,” you say quickly, and he must be able to see your sudden dread, because his face softens.

“I’m not trying to scare you. I just want you to know- that that’s what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Thanks,” you say, and zip up your coat, and then pat your pockets even though you know you have everything, just so you have an excuse to not say anything. Sam gives you a long look, before sighing and pulling out his phone.

Obviously, Sam is trying to tell you that Bucky is damaged.

You’re not in the business of fixing things, but you’ll take him as he is anyway, because...

“Sam?” you say, and he looks up from his phone.

“Sometimes,” you start, and swallow down whatever anxiety is starting to surface, “Sometimes he’s being all quiet and moody and angsty and whatever, I get that same feeling that you’re telling me. But then, like, he just does something. Like, he’ll make a joke, or say something, and then it’s like-”

You struggle with your words- it’s like everything you want to say is there, but you can’t reach it. Sam slides his phone into his pocket, and Bucky is coming back, with Steve in tow, moon and sun, peas in a pod. You wonder if Sam makes their duo a trio, if he’s the third invitee to their slumber party, or if he’s just on the fringes.

“It’s like- It’s like, okay. Like, I know who he is and it’s all okay.”

He nods, and smiles at you, and you sincerely hope that he isn’t just on the fringes.

***

The paintings of your parents are finished- and they are good. So good. Every detail is there, every color. Every line. The wrinkles and the flowers and the lace neckline of your mother’s dress. Looking at them makes you feel so proud- it’s been forever since you were able to properly convey your thoughts onto canvas.

They’re big, too. Larger than life. You’ll have to rent one of those orange U-Haul trailers to transport them.

On a new canvas is Rina, only halfway painted. She looks good too, even though right now she’s just a head and a torso and two floating feet, because getting the colors on her legs right is harder than you thought. It’s tricky to paint the shadows and contours without her legs just looking bruised- there’s so many flower stems overlapping with the skin, so you don’t have a lot of room to work with.

You’ll figure it out.

You might be a little in over your head, actually. Confident- a little too confident. You don’t even have this painting done, and you’re itching to start on another. A possible recipe for disaster, but every time you have a spare second, in the shower or on the subway or when you’re trying to fall asleep, you find yourself thinking about it.

Not in bits and pieces the way most of your thoughts are, but a fully formed concept; a real, true image brimming with fullness, already starting to spill over into everything you do.

You have it all figured out. You know what techniques you’ll use. What composition, what colors.

You text Bucky.

Nothing crazy. You know you could scare him off, or maybe not, not anymore- by the end of the night at the bar last week, you sat next to him and bumped up against him and whispered in his ear, and right before you left he flicked the charm on your earring, watched it sway, and then he smirked- and you almost died.

You text him Hey, and then set your phone on the farthest surface you can find, pointedly avoiding it. Rina’s calves need attention- you have paint to mix.

Ten minutes later, your phone rings.

You can’t help it, you’re weak-hearted- you drop everything and dash to your phone, dodging your carts of supplies and hopping over a stack of toppled canvases that you never bothered to pick up, and pick up on the third ring.

“Hi,” you say into the receiver, slightly out of breath.

“Hi,” he says, and he sounds slightly out of breath, too.

“Um,” you say, and laugh a little, with the heady rush of nerves flooding in, “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

“I called because I’m a slow texter,” Bucky says.

You feel so fluttery. When was the last time you felt this fluttery?

“Oh. That’s okay. I was just wondering if you... wanted to meet up sometime soon? Tomorrow, maybe?”

Tomorrow is Saturday, a day off. For you, at least- do Avengers get days off?

“Okay,” he says, and you swear he sounds pleased. You want to cut straight to something else. Skip, jump, leap over all of these steps, so you can get to what you really want to tell him. “I think I can do that. Where are we meeting?”

“There’s this little cafe we can… we can head there first, I’ll text you the address, but I have this idea,” you say, and wait for his invitation to continue, with your heart beating dangerously fast, thrumming like it might just burst through your ribs.

“What’s your idea?”

Thank you, you almost say, but don’t.

The steps are skipped, formalities disregarded- you just tell him.

It’s the perfect time- there’s that currently rare, pretty daylight that grows with each passing day streaming in through your windows unfiltered, blocked by no blinds or curtains. You pace a little, at first, right in the sun, and then sit down on a stool, toeing the smooth wood floors beneath, cradling the phone.

You start it off simple, with the marigolds.

Red marigolds, you specify, because you feel like you have to. Then you delve deeper, into chiffon and lighting and this thing you want to try out with layering, where two elements that overlap go by a completely different color scheme. Like, you say, like the flowers are red and the clothes are black, but the places where they meet are electric pink or orange or blue or something else unusual and distracting.

Save for the sound of his breathing, Bucky is quiet. You can tell that he’s really listening, probably sitting down somewhere and focusing on you, not doing some other task with your voice as background noise. He doesn’t interrupt when you go off on a tangent about the importance of natural lighting or contradict yourself with opposing statements on color choice, or when your words start to deteriorate, when they start pouring out so fast that they slur together and become less than coherent.

Your mind is going even faster- you can see the image even when you blink.

Something at the back of your thoughts tells you to stop, to slow down. You need to chill out.  

But the idea is so vivid, so you can’t- you don’t, not until the idea is totally exhausted and you give a final sigh and go quiet, not until after giving what could count as an entire fucking speech.

When Bucky speaks again, he sounds tentative.

“I… like it,” he says, and maybe he’s holding his phone at a bad angle, because his voice is quiet.

“You do?” You say, instead of asking something else, with a sudden bad feeling in your gut.

“Yeah. But…”

You know what he says without him having to say it.

It feels like you’ve been punched.

The picture behind your eyelids burns brighter.

“That’s okay,” you say in response to his unsaid words, speaking too late, so that it's obvious that it’s not okay.

Your heart is sinking, as if it has any right to, as if he’s in the wrong. How did you go from high to low so fast?

You scared him. You put too much pressure on him too fast- it’s exactly what Sam said, that he’s all levels of wary and weird, and little things can set him off, because of everything that he’s been through-

Even if he was someone else, though, even if he was normal, he would still say no- anyone would say no to being given such a request out of nowhere.

Well, Rina didn’t, but she doesn’t count in this situation, does she?

“Sorry,” he says.

That hurts worse.

“Don’t apologize,” you say quickly. “It’s not like it’s not going to work now- I mean, it’ll be fine. Are you still down to meet, though?”

“Sure,” he says, too late.

***

Bucky Barnes does not like anything in his coffee.

He takes it black, black like his clothes, black like his soul, black like whatever other emo shit you can come up with.

It’s not that funny anymore.

Still, you keep up with it- you’re funny and talkative and charming and everything else, because you don’t know what else to do. The subject will be broached, it’s inevitable- you’ll broach it, even, but you still have to figure out how.

He’s subdued. And wearing his stupid hat, again, and you would give anything to knock it off so you could really see him, and he’s cautiously cradling his mug in a way that makes you ache everywhere.

The cafe is busy and decorated with a specific aesthetic, one that you would call manufactured bohemian. Potted plants and quirky photographs and drinks that all have fancy and ridiculous names. The baristas wear yellow aprons, and if you have a membership card, every tenth purchase gets you a free sugar cookie iced with a smiling sun.

Your cappuccino foam is dissolving. Sometimes, even though it’s mostly tasteless, you swipe it up and eat it with a spoon. Today, it seems like a bad idea- frivolous in the face of his silence and your unmotivated charisma and this stupid idea lingering between you two, like a friend that’s overstayed their welcome.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, and wonder why you feel so jumpy for saying it. “For bringing that thing up yesterday.”

To your own credit, you still sound confident.

He looks at you so darkly that you wonder if you should be afraid. Have there ever been others in your seat, afraid?

You’re not afraid.

“It’s fine,” he says, and continues staring at you like it’s not fine.

“I’m just- I was just thinking out loud,” you say. You feel like you have to explain yourself, prove something to him, so that you won’t wilt. “It was just an idea that I thought could be cool. I told you because, no , wait. I mean, I know that I- fuck. I’m sorry that it made you uncomfortable. That was really dumb of me.”

He tilts his head, eyes sliding over, and you shiver.

He looks bored.

Which is unnerving and terrifying as hell, because you have this carefully hand-crafted, precisely-cut image of who you are supposed to be, and it is not meant to be boring in the slightest, but he's bored, and you’re going to lose it.

“I said it’s fine,” he says, monotonously, giving the sudden impression that he’s about to leave. But he’s just sitting in his seat, unwrapping his hands from his mug and setting them on the table, while your hands are on the verge of shaking. “It didn't make me uncomfortable.”

If that was true, then you wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place. You wouldn’t be stumbling over yourself to say something so simple.

It takes considerable effort to keep your gaze steady. “Okay. But I still- I just want to say a thing really quick.”

“Say it.”

He’s being mean.

But this thing has been eating at you for a while now, so you don’t care.

“Um, so, we’re really different people,” you start, and before you second-guess it, you adopt your speaker voice, the teaching voice, the smart one. He has to know this about you- you’re smart. “And you obviously have all of your own things going on in your life that I can’t even imagine, and if you ever want to, like, talk about it, I’m here, but I also don’t care.”

He raises an eyebrow.

You push on.

“Like, it’s not important to me. If you want it to be, then it’ll be, but if not, then it’s whatever. I'm not- when I see you, I just see you. Does that make sense? Like, I don’t really think of any of that other stuff? If I’m supposed to, though, I’m sorry. I… I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

You don’t get nervous often, but you let out a small, nervous laugh.

It’s like your heart and head and lungs are suspended, frozen in ice while he takes your words in. The door to the cafe chimes and a large group of people step in. Middle aged women, all wearing athletic clothes. Devil’s ivy grows on the wall farthest from you- how chic- with vines snaking forward in your direction, reaching for you in green and streaky white.

He smiles.

All you see is teeth and creased eyes and a low, uncreased brow- you want to kiss him.

“Tell me the idea again,” he says, and leans back in his seat. He crosses his arms, and you watch his forearms shift and strain against his shirt, and then you clear your throat and look away and try to focus.

You inhale and gather everything, hoping that this time, you’ll be able to make it make sense.

***

One thing spirals into another. Your words were building and building, rising like a crescendo, overwhelming you to the point where you just said it outright, and-

He’s now in your apartment.

He is literally in your apartment.

You watch him survey the area- the clutter, the mismatched furniture, the crooked posters and photos and artwork hung up on the walls. The subpar paint on the walls that you didn’t choose, the cabinets made of old wood with newly replaced handles.

The entire place is creaking, becoming worse for the wear with each passing day. You could probably afford nicer, but it doesn’t matter, because you love it here- you’ve formed an emotional attachment that goes beyond sad paint and constant repairs. Your home is cozy.

But right now, with Bucky in here, it’s suddenly cramped.

“I want you to sit over here,” you say, and facing a great window, rounded on top with those gorgeous little decorative swirls, which is your favorite part of the whole place, is an armchair. It’s a steal you found at an antique store, with little tassels lining the back of the seat, upholstered with the tackiest floral print you’ve ever seen, but it’s perfect for what you’re trying to do.

The sun is shining strong and unfiltered- he’ll be lit up.

Bucky sits. He looks on edge, and beautiful.

You want to make this easy for him. But you might be too swept away in him to make any efforts- you’re still in shock that he agreed to this in the first place, so disoriented with him being here, in your place, that your trains of thought keep on derailing.

You’re closer than you wish you were, closer to losing it.

“Perfect. Give me one second.”

You go to your room, which isn’t really a room but a sectioned-off alcove with a bit of wall blocking it from view, no door- weird architecture, but whatever, to retrieve your supplies. Tape and the neatly folded swatches of fabric and your camera.

Photography isn’t your thing, but you need reference material.

When you return, he’s looking pensive, and dazzling. His arms fall tensely on the sides of the chair, but his hands dangle so gracefully, and the light catches his face and colors it golden- you are going to lose it when it comes to painting his eyes. They’re blue, but you see them as suns.

“You look great,” you say, and he blushes. You’re ready to pounce, right now.

The fabric is a little bit awkward. It has to be draped upon him- Bucky bristles at your actions in a way that tells you he’s never done anything even remotely like this before, but you persist, and he lets you.

“Get out of the chair really quick.”

“Okay.”

Bucky gets out of the chair. You hop up on it, to tape the corners of the fabric to the ceiling. It’s a flimsy attempt, but they hold and flutter just fine.

He takes you by the hand to bring you back down.

“Careful,” he says, as you make the daunting two-and-a-half-foot descent, and he squeezes your hand in his gloved one before you make him sit down again.

You are buzzing with electricity. Another point to him- that was smooth.

The loose ends of the fabric are tricky, You try at first to tape them to the back of the chair, moving back behind him to reach. Bucky’s head stays perfectly still, and the chiffon looks wrong. It looks weirdly stiff.

So you drape one on him like planned, sort of dripping down his shoulder in a bunched-up purple river, and let the other hang freely, swaying a little from the fragility of the tape.

You move back around to face him.

“This is perfect,” you say, and grin, because this is finally happening. “You look perfect.”

He’s staring all intensely again. You want to come close to him, tell him how lovely he looks, straight out of a dream. You’re so pretty, you almost say, but you have some semblance of rational thought left in you- and so you stay quiet.

The camera dangles from its strap around your neck. You take it in your hands and power it on. The settings are adjusted, and you fiddle with the shutter speed and focus and everything else before bringing it close to your eye, expecting this dream-

He’s all tense, again.

It’s the lens, you immediately think, even though that doesn’t really make sense. You look like- you look like him when he does his things. Lenses and targets and crosshairs. How is this thought so immediate?

You’re just trying to take a picture.

“Relax,” you say, and it does absolutely nothing.

“I am relaxed,” he bites out.

He’s really not. There’s something shifting in his face, something discontented, a brewing storm. His hands are starting to harshly curl into the armrests, digging at the upholstery, distorting the flowers.

The chiffon looms.

“Fix your hands. Like, move them- no, turn them back,”

You’re stooping over to fully capture him, almost ready to take a knee.

His hands flex and stay as they are, stressed and taut and not right, and the rest of him is still so-

You bring the camera down.

***

He’s in this ugly chair, surrounded by fabric, and you’re pretty and wearing a pale pink sweater, and you’re aiming a camera at him, for a picture, but he feels like a target.

White-hot adrenaline and cold and dark dread pull at both sides of him. He feels like a total mess.

Is this they all felt- how they all feel, when he is aiming at them? He tries to do things differently, now, but the tragedy still takes place, the trigger is still fired- the deed is still done. Karma, he thinks, retracing its path, coming back to bite him through you.

You’re frowning. He wants to apologize.

You take the camera down and let it dangle from the strap at your neck. He just had your hands in his- he wants them back and wants to get as far away from you as possible.

“This isn’t working,” you say, and straighten back up, placing your hands on your hips. You look powerful, and he might be trembling from clenching his jaw so hard. “You are not relaxed.”

“I’m not,” he agrees, and you sigh and fix him with a look that isn’t pity- he’d bolt if it were pity, but steely resolve.

You take the camera off your neck, and gently bend over to set it on the floor. Then you sit down beside it, wincing as your knee makes a noise, and giving him a bemused little smile that he wants to just-

Your head level with his knees as you sit, cross-legged. Hands splayed over your lower thighs, careless and carefree. Your posture slouches a bit, relaxing the way he is not, and it's relieving.

His hands grip the chair like a lifeline.

“Why isn’t this working?” You ask, more yourself than him. “You were so- nevermind. Or, Let’s… um, wait. Maybe- Can I?”

He’s always thought of you as so put-together, a born speaker, but now you’ve been stammering and stuttering all over his heart, and he doesn’t know what to do.

You reach out with your hand, hesitantly, wavering. The scar smiles pink.

He nods- his head nods, his body is moving outside of itself, and he feels sheltered and exposed, nearly covered in purple fabric and vulnerable and sitting above you, all of him bared for you to see. Hot and cold.

Your hand goes on his knee.

He’s so alarmed that he almost lashes out- he wants to think, but you’re giving him no time to-

Your other hand is reaching out, tugging at his own, and you bring yourself up to your knees and lean back on the balls of your feet, balancing. Your head is still below his chest and tilted so he can’t see your eyes, and you’re holding his hand like it’ll break.

There’s a dry-erase board fastened on the opposite wall, next to all of the other eclectic clutter. It’s filled in with a to-do list- the words COOK SOMETHING are scrawled at the top in angry red marker. He focuses on the words as you play with his fingers.

You gently trace a thumb over the ridges of his knuckles; he’s suddenly so ticklish that he flinches and chokes on a word that he doesn’t know how to say.

You nudge his hand over to the side, drape the fingers down, and your other hand is still burning his knee, setting him alight-

You’re molding him. Setting him to look how you want, manhandling him in the softest way possible. Should this feel violating? Rude? It feels good- purposeful. He’s letting you do this, and his heart is beating hard, but he can still hear your breathing and his breathing and the white noise of the traffic on the street below, stories away.

You take your hand off his knee, and nudge at his left hand, and he thinks now, how fucking stupid this is- if it’s his fucking hand, why does he wear this stupid fucking glove?

He goes to work it off and you understand, and if he wasn’t wanting so badly to be still for you, stay here as you take your picture, he would grab you by the necklace you’re wearing and drag you closer.

The glove is pulled off and dropped to the floor and the silver of his hand winks in the sunlight.

“Oh,” you say softly, and there’s a crack in your voice, and his voice would crack too, if you asked him to speak.

There’s this look on your face. He doesn’t know if you want to hold his hand or kiss it or put his fingers in your mouth, it looks like all three and he is all unfurled, too, because he is sitting back in this ugly armchair and you’re holding his hands again, and you’re backlit by the sun- like a vision sent straight from the sky.

You fix his hands.

This feels intimate- more intimate than kissing, or anything else. This feels like skipping steps.

After a moment, you pry your hands off of his, and lean back.

Wordlessly, you take the camera and stand up, and you fiddle it and back up, back to where you were at first, far away. Then you’re bringing it close to your eye, looking at him through a lens, and the shutter clicks once, twice.

You bring it back down.

“You got it?” He says, and his voice sounds rough- he sounds parched.

You look at its little screen and bite your lip. “Yeah.”

“Can you come here for a second?”

You look up at him and he’s glad that he couldn’t see your eyes before- they’re dark. “Yeah.”

The camera is tossed to the side, again, and you walk like you’re floating. The steps have been skipped, but Bucky will have to go back to them anyway- he doesn’t like to leave any stones unturned-

And so he waits until you’re close enough, and then tugs you down by your sweater- he doesn’t want to hurt you, and he’s reaching and reaching-

You laugh or smile or do something else sweet, but he’s too caught up to tell. He pulls you down to him, and surrounded by you and sunlight and fluttering purple chiffon, he kisses you.

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

What My Thoughts On Morrissey Today

In response to my writing idea someone gave me I picked this.

So basically, Morrissey’s nationalism in recent years has gotten in the way of me being able to appreciate much that he comes out with. This is wild because a few short years ago, I stood up for Morrissey and actually still feel very moved by a portion of his music. It got me through some really rough patches in my twenties.

I realize he’s human and has faults and I don’t know him completely but just eh, living in Portland and having seen the stuff going on I’m kind of not in the place in my life right now where I want to even try to dissect him. It’s not just a fact that he’s wrong, but that it seems altogether very much in rejection of the things that made his music so special. It was difficult for me to come to terms with it or fully make sense of why someone who’s unashamed expression of witty despair in the 80’s and 90’s, someone who was outcasted from the overall closed mindedness lower working class post ww2 world of northern England, unafraid to be gay and completely the antithesis of some Tory ideal could be bought by some tired nationalist agenda. It’s even more difficult to realize where his alegianced lie in a world that is starting to reject democracy, embrace anti intellectualism in the guise of some form of selective politically motivated skeptism, and I see the world move farther and farther into fascism.

Margaret Thatcher attacked The Smiths. Morrissey was taken in for questioning more than once out of fear for what he represented. Morrissey and The Smiths has some subversive element that really did threaten the establishment and cultural norms, in a way that I feel was a little more multidimensional than even a lot of bands in the English punk scene. I guess for me, even though I grew up in the Inland northwest of the US, I felt there was a lot of parallels in common. I too detest a culture based around animal consumption, was really not a part of the world I grew up in and didn’t want to work in the factories, I liked art and music and nobody around me was really into that stuff.

I still like the Smiths and most of Morrisseys old music. I read his autobiography. I know he is a dramatic self involved individual but I did feel that up till somewhat recently his heart was in the right place and he just liked to be controversial, which is somewhat true still, but now I think there was more to it, some nationalistic self preservation instinct kicking in. Its actually more prevelant than I even realized and I honestly think it’s getting the best of anyone with money or power, even those who once stood for something counter culture. It’s hard to think of him as racist in the traditional sense with his adoration for Latin America, but he might just be so self involved that his popularity in those regions gave him a bias. He probably separates the racism from the nationalism, blindly not wanting to see how the two concepts are quite inseparable. Falling right into it.

Him saying “everyone prefers their own race”, is kind of wild to me. I genuinely even try to entertain this as a possibility like a philosophical thought experiment or a deep dive of some kind into my own subconscious part of me I am avoiding somehow, and it’s not true for me or a lot of people. Who the fuck is he to say who prefers who, and how backwards and dehumanizing. It’s pretty repulsive, and being he is bisexual and felt the discrimination of homophobia growing up, I’m inclined to think he’s not able to see that he’s become the enemy he once represented the antithesis of.

The guy I’ve kinda been with is Mexican. I totally love him. I look into people’s eyes and I talk to and open up to people and if I connect with them I connect with them. Not like I’m trying to play the I gotta friend who is this or that as some kind of example of much, or that I don’t see color or some faulty implication, but I have been in situations where I’m the only white person at a party and I prefer them because they are my friends and I love them, and the idea of classifying who I prefer is to imply that the white race should be my main concern as they are the same as me and therefore superior and they aren’t. There is nothing inherently special to me or a kinship felt with other white people for either their appearance or cultural background. It’s nice to compare notes of pop culture but a lot of stuff people go through is universal. I don’t take too much issue with multiculturalism. My white skin is meaningless to me. I can’t imagine being so inept as a person that the color of my skin actually defines my identity rather than my autonomy or ideas or relationships and what I stand for and my ability to appreciate and connect with other people.

What gets me is that in his support of the far right is not even in line with his hatred of police, or the hatred he had a few years ago. I mean, he has always gone on and on about police brutality, he’s been harassed by them on multiple occasions. He shows them on giant projectors at his shows. Police are a very important staple for fascism and nationalism, and he is now on their side after all this time? What changed? The lost young man he once was in 1981 feels very very different from who he has become and piecing together that transformation has been something I’ve been trying to do for awhile. I try to embrace both but they seem like similar but different people at odds with one another, like an uncle and nephew.

Here is what I imagine happened, and I could be wrong about that but I was a Morrissey fangirl for quite awhile. I literally had his signed autograph above my bed with dried flowers around it like a shrine for a few years, and got a grasp of Morrisseys personality in some ways.

To start off, Morrissey is a very poetic and sharp guy but he’s very miopic about his interests and has always had the tendency to see the world in a black and white framework. This in and of itself is not necessarily bad, but it’s the core framework of who he is as a person. When he was young it was very much more a reflection of his hatred for authoritarianism and deceitful people and phony artists. It’s not bad and it contributed to his music and lyrics and became the thing he was loved/hated for. The way he goes about it really has always been the double edged sword of his charm and vileness all in one and something people have mocked time and time again. He likes to be the guy in the corner that looks fine and smug and believes he sees the virtues/dispicable attributes of everyone in the room and there have been times in his life where he was, and though he won’t ever attack anyone face to face he’s quick to speak his mind about it.

Morrissey is also a very vain person. It’s subtle but he is very singular on certain aesthetics. At times it made him brilliant and poetic and a visionary. The Smiths album covers are beautiful. His look is both elegant and absurd in its grasp for purity. It also makes him seem like a twat and a pretentious prince. The fact that he seems to be these two things at once is what gave him that kind of controversial star quality at times.

Those are just two natural traits he has always been obvious with. And he struggled with it and focused on his passions and dealt with depression in the 80’s. Then fame happened and the smiths ended. He kept to himself more or less in the 80’s and 90’s aside from his disdain for Margaret Thatcher, but he kinda lost his mind a bit when his drummer took him to court in the nineties. Right or wrong he fought for two years and lost a good chunk of his money from The Smiths and when that happened he kind of was forced to start again. He lost his home. He developed that early personalized sense of self preservation and victimhood. I think he lost faith in many of his more naive ideals when he was younger. When you read his autobiography and know what happened it’s like he had to step out of his old life and into something else.

Then, he’s always been a vegetarian superiority type. I liked that he calls it as he sees it but because of his need to black and white think everything he came off as deluded and smug. I mean, to be fair you can’t seem to win with people who want to eat meat and I agreed with a portion of his message, but he never questioned himself. He’s not good at that, or doesn’t appear to be. My personal interpretation of him was to agree with part of it and give him the cred for being not afraid to be a dick and say it, but to see also that he was so dramatic and self absorbed about it to also laugh at him and the way he said it.

Now to go into fascism and why it grew on Morrissey. I see the world as kind of falling into polarization and flux because of the failures of neoliberalism. It’s a long political explanation, but essentially the systems that are in place do not provide answers to a lot of catestrophic issues. Democracy, though the best thing we have, is flawed. I really like philosophy and have studied this and the various arguments that are made, and I don’t have the answer either but fuck if I will ever side with nazis.

People are seaking solace in new ideas that are actually quite old, namely socialism and fascism that provide answers that democracy fails to. Capitalism eats itself and created monopolies and unfair wealth distribution, technology is making human labor obsolete and therefore not a stable means to base our economic system on, those with wealth are hoarding it and trying to separate themselves from the world they helped ruin. We are destroying the planet, running out of natural resources, many of our leaders in the last three or for decades have been flawed, there isn’t a universal safety net for things like natural disasters and pandemics and there are still places stripped of their natural resources where human slavery is prevalent and children starve to death. Neoliberalism has promised some great answer but has actually been the contributor to this entire mess.

We are seeing the beginning of the end now, and I am sure Morrissey isn’t going to waste that without putting himself in the victim shoes, the white traditional quintessentially Englishman of wit, who sees his beautiful world he grew up in disappearing in multiculturalism and seeing himself and the culture of old England as a dying breed, that needs to be preserved at any cost. He probably was on the fence about it for some time, weighing out his disdain for authoritarianism, having a bougouis experience with the seemingly left leaning media that he never managed to win over and called him out for his every misstep. I bet he had a friend who opened him up to the idea that we don’t know about who changed his mind. I bet cuts in taxes for the rich helped him preserve his wealth that he definitely feels entitled to after losing the first portion of it in the court case. He’s rich, famous and old and often times that leads to being quite out of touch, even to the best intellectuals. He lost his mother who was dear to him and I can imagine, even though it’s not political, it created a deep sense of emptiness and dis ease. Nationalism often times gives people a sense of security and identity and purpose. And the idea of having an unpopular opinion excited him just as it always has, gave him the opportunity to be the smug poet in the corner of the party, and he sold out. Hard. And he’s probably proud of it.

He’s irrelevant now. Honestly his latest album wasn’t good, and I like later Morrissey. He doesn’t have the same energy. I just feel like he’s grasping at something that he never fully ever had. What’s weird to me is that I’m writing about him like this when honestly, I could also easily write about how beautiful and meaningful the Smiths and Morrissey has been to me. I can’t explain how it cut through the extreme isolation I’ve been in, not to mention how the Smiths really changed music for the better. There’s always going to be a part of me that wants to defend him. I’m not saying we cancel him. I kinda think he canceled himself. I’m not going to try to not enjoy the smiths or morrissey when I hear him, and I will still hear it and enjoy it but I’m not ever going to spend my own money on filling his pockets. I still nostalgically enjoy the person he was a very long time ago and what he used to represent. I realize at the end of the day he’s just a flawed person. But also fuck fascism, and fuck Morrissey for caving into it.

I mean, at the end of the day the hardest part is that I made him a part of my identity and I just had to stop doing that in a simplistic way. I tossed out a morrissey shirt I had (it’s was a cheesy shirt anyway), and I found new genres of music and while I still love the smiths it’s not like I can’t do without them every day. I break down and listen to them sometimes. I know the songs so well. I listen to Xiu Xiu which is a modern day similar equivalent in some ways but is absolutely better and the singer Jamie Stewart is fucking gold.