#apparently the name means a field of beans

[moon932]

here’s an au that has been living in my head rent free yes yes

[runningupthatvecna]

the law of seat partners

alrighty so ya gurl had a dream about eddie last night and here i am trying to use that to base the following something off of.

part 2

cw/tw: eddie munson being a slightly touchy precious bean. a slight bit of angst. feeling left out/mentions of feeling unwanted if you squint. otherwise, none that i could think of, just my silly brain fluff. if you find something else, please let me know yaaa. no mentions of y/n.

summary: you're going on a high school field trip with your friends. and thankfully, a long haired metalhead is also there to keep you company and ease the pain of being around obnoxious children.

side note: this is literally the first fic thing i've written in literal YEARS (also in English) and first ever time writing for Eddie, so bare with me here, i've gotten quite rusty i guess so i truly apologise if it's rather bad. don't mind me and please reblog/leave me comments if you did enjoy this pure fluff something!

------

It was the sunniest May morning the town of Hawkins had ever seen. The bluest sky above the forests and fields, downtown, the infamous trailer park and the parking lot of Hawkins High.

You sighed as you placed your car in parking mode before opening the door and sliding out, just so you could grab your belongings - a rather big bag filled with all sorts of items that you were certain you were going to need for surviving the next week - out from the backseat.

A field trip with students with an age range from bloody twelve to the wise years of nineteen, well, twenty to be specific, was on your agenda in the almost last month of your last year of high school, and thankfully you were not gonna be stuck in some forest next to Lake Superior alone by yourself.

Being forced to exist around screaming twelve year olds who were about to enter puberty was your least favourite part of the whole expedition, which made the presence of your group of best friends so much more valuable.

There was one person whose attendance you'd specifically been hoping for. And yes, of course you and your friends had been talking about the trip months ago so it would be clear who would join in the fun, but with Eddie's tendency to be flaky when it came to decisions like this, one could never be fully sure.

I mean yeah, certainly you were looking forward to spending this week by the lakeside with Steve, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan and the younger kids in freshmen year, but nothing could make the thought of being stuck with a group of middle schoolers and teachers more bearable than being stuck there with the one guy who you - to put it frankly - had a thing for.

You couldn't really say that you were as close with him as you were with Steve or Robin, you never really spent time with him outside of the group hangouts. But that didn't mean that there was any weird distance between the two of you when the lucky occasion of hanging out did come around.

Eddie Munson was a metalhead. Through and through. Tough exterior, soft baby cow personality but could turn stone cold when necessary. When people tried to shame him for being different, for example.

You were also very certain that his love language was touch, based on the times he would throw his arm around you when casually walking you to your next class or the way he would playfully wrestle Dustin or Lucas in the cafeteria during lunch break to show he didn't hate them.

"Oh my god, I'm so glad you're here!"

Max had spotted you in line and apparently didn't feel too much guilt for cutting it just so she could hop on the bus together with you.

You mumbled the same thing back to her, wondering if you were the first or last ones of your party to go through Miss Kelley's check-in.

She greeted the both of you with a toothy smile before she turned her focus onto the sheet with students' names. Your eyes wandered over the rows of seat pairs, and since you had arrived at the parking lot, let's say not late but also not early either, most of them were already filled with loudly chatting kids.

"Hopefully the others saved us a seat", you heard Max say from in front of you. Unlike you, she already had a pre-determined seat buddy. "Oh please, it's obvious that Sinclair kept one for you", you quipped back, silently hoping you could potentially be sitting next to Steve or at least Robin.

And even if Eddie was going to join you, he'd probably be sitting with Chrissy. Or Gareth.

"That might be true, but I'm sure you'll be just fine with where you'll end up."

Max stepped further into the bus after she gave you a wink and a slight grin.

Did she know more than you?

Good boy Steve was rather easy for you to spot. With that amount of hair peeking out above the sea of headrests? No wonder. In fact, most of your friends were already seated further in the back of the one-story bus.

A slight hint of disappointment clouded your brain at the sight of Steve and Robin sharing a seat pair, with Nancy and Jonathan right behind them. Your fear of being the one left out and behind was creeping out from the back of your mind, acting up.

People had always been kind enough to endure you, but no one ever really chose you. Or at least made you feel like you belonged.

Lucas indeed had the seat next to him reserved for Max, to where she continued her strut down the aisle to plop down, while Dustin and Will had agreed to share theirs.

Surprising they made it out of bed this early.

You took a few more steps towards the back of the bus. A wide grinned Erica was seated amongst her friends in the center of the very back row, your eyes scanning the seats until they landed on the wild dark mane of a certain metalhead, who was occupying the pair of seats right behind the stairs down to the back door.

He was practically lying in the window seat. Head resting against the glass, staring out to observe the students who hadn't set foot onto the bus yet. Parents who were lecturing their kids one last time before letting them go.

Was he daydreaming? What could possibly be going on in that pretty head of his?

Your heart jumped and your stomach fluttered when he shifted his gaze to the aisle where you were standing. The widest smile spread over his face at the sight of you, and you hated to admit to yourself that it did not leave you unaffected.

The seat next to him was empty.

It took Eddie a few seconds to remember what his initial plan was. As if something in his brain clicked, as if a bolt of lightning had hit him, he straightened himself and got up.

"Uh hi there. I, uh, kept you a seat if, uh, in case you'd like to sit with me."

Eddie the freak Munson. Had thought of and would be willing to sharing seats for a 10 hour bus ride. With you, of all people?

In the light of the sunlight flooded bus, you could see his cheeks adjusting to the colour of your own. Flushed pink.

And you just couldn't help the wide grin that was pulling at the corners of your mouth.

Now both of you were standing in the aisle facing each other.

"I would love to, Munson."

Quickly you took out the essentials for the journey from your bag: headphones and your walkman, your tape collection that you wouldn't leave the house without, a novel, some water and a tote bag with your carefully selected snacks.

Eddie waited patiently for you to get comfortable, standing there in the aisle in his signature leather jacket and denim dio vest, while leaning against the backrest of his own seat, watching your every move.

Once you swung yourself around into your seat, Eddie plopped down next to you with an equally wide grin plastered across his face while pointing his ringed index finger at the snack bag.

"You know, you're gonna have to share those with me."

You turned your head around to face him, eyebrow raised.

His chocolate brown doe eyes were so so softly looking at you. If you didn't know better they'd melt you on the spot.

"Oh really, do I?"

"Yeah, it's the unspoken yet official law of seat partners, sweetheart."

You chuckled at his silliness and the pet name, the nervousness which you had gotten from the thought of him very obviously thinking of you when it came to the decision of who to sit next to, all gone.

He wanted to be physically close to you.

He wanted to spend that time on the bus around you.

He chose you.

After Steve, Robin and all the others from your group had acknowledged your presence as well with genuine smiles, and the last few kids had found their seats, it was time to leave Hawkins.

The bus hit the highway towards Chicago pretty soon after departure.

Eddie let you sit in the window seat, which eventually led to him conveniently using your shoulder as a pillow. And no, you didn't mind the weight. It was Eddie.

Hell, you were having a hard time keeping yourself from wrapping your arms around him to pull him closer.

"Does this also fall under the law of seat partners?", you asked curiously, placing a hand on Eddie's head and slightly scratching his scalp.

The only thing you got in return was a satisfied, sleepy "mhm" and a squeeze and rub of his warm hand over your thigh, but it was enough for your mind to drift off, wondering which other of Eddie's love languages and further details of his ridiculous seat partner law you'd come to discover on this trip.

-----

tagged: my beloved ellen @josephfakingquinn <3

[dnihallofshame]

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[filesbeorganized]

Nymphaea

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Author’s Note - Start: This fic falls under the series My Garden of Love, which is part of the submission for Celebrrration in Tumblr. The accompanying song for this fic collection is “Flowers” by Hadestown.

Celebrrration Day 3 Prompt: Music

Warnings/Tags:  Celebrrration submission, developing relationship, flower language, canon typical violence, can be read as stand alone but you might be a little confused if you don’t read the previous instalment, songfic, TW for sexual harrasment, TW for blood and major injuries

Relationships: Alluri Sitarama Raju/Komuram Bheem, Seetha&Jenny

___

Flowers, I remember fields of flowers,

soft beneath my heels.

Walking in the sun.

___

Bheem walked with him through the forest. He keeps Ram updated about what he has been up to, at least the things that he hasn't mentioned in the letters. Jenny walked with Seetha, the both of them deep in conversation, chattering about their own activities.

They end up at the entrance of the village. Passing several children running about, and the communal kitchen alive with the fire and smoke lifting into the air. The sun slowly disappears into the horizon, leaving only streaks of warm light in the sky.

“So that’s the team I was telling you about,” Bheem points to a clearing, several men are engaged in military training. “Currently Lacchu’s training them, I oversee once in a while. In a few months they’ll be ready for their first mission.”

Ram peers into the crowd and found the man who he had tortured for information standing in front of the group. Every so often he delves into the lines of men, correcting postures and adjusting the form. So, his name is Lacchu.

“Want to visit them?” Bheem offers.

He thought about the awkwardness of confronting Lacchu. Plus he just arrived. Does he really want to raise hostility this early in his visit? So, for the sake of maintaining some of the peace, he said, “Maybe another time.”

Bheem raises his eyebrows but does not ask any question.

So they walked to Bheem’s cottage instead. Jenny has her own hut and she had invited Seetha to stay with her during their visit. Seetha accepted.

That means Ram will be staying with Bheem.

After putting his belongings where Bheem had directed him to, Ram wanders around the house. It’s not a massive place, but it is definitely Bheem’s. There’s not a lot of his personal belongings, only the essentials like clothing and a short table where some books and documents are piled on top. There’s a door to the backyard, a pot of fresh water stands beside it. Ram walks to the backyard.

He found Bheem hunched over the soil. Beside him, the hyacinth they found in the forest last time has thrived into thick shrubs of purple flowers. Bheem truly hadn’t lied when he said no plants will perish when he’s around.

Bheem finishes planting the white alyssum Ram had given him. He turns around and smiles as he notices Ram’s presence.

“It’s beautiful already,” Bheem exclaimed, “Can’t wait for it to grow.”

Ram could watch that smile for the rest of time and he won’t get sick of it.

“It’s getting late, we should clean up and rest,” Bheem suggested. Ram nodded in agreement. He let Bheem herded him to a small opening at the side of the cottage. A big pot of water stood beside a small fireplace. Bheem boiled some water and soaked soap beans in them. Then he left Ram to cleans up.

When Ram enters the main room, Bheem is tidying an extra mat beside the one already in the room when he first arrived. He’s not sure why but his cheeks are heating up at the thought of sleeping that close to Bheem.

It’s not even that weird. Back in Delhi, sometimes Bheem will stay over in his house. Most of the time Bheem will just sleep on the floor. But sometimes Ram will insist he take the bed, while Ram sleep on the floor. Sometimes the both of them were just so exhausted, they both just passed out on the bed. He’s not sure why today is any different. Nevertheless it’s apparent that his heart rate is still accelerating.

He scolds himself to please, just be normal.

After Bheem finishes, he brings Ram to get their food at the communal kitchen. Ram watches as the people fuss over Bheem. The village healers surrounded Seetha and exchanged knowledge. Even the raiding team’s men chats along with Jenny, praising her for working as an informant, working behind enemy’s lines.

Ram is content watching the people he loves having the time of their lives. He feels just slightly lonely in that crowd. The disadvantage of people considering you to be a half god, a legend, is that it puts a distance between you and them. Usually Ram won’t mind people ignoring him. But this is Bheem’s people. It feels like their approval of him holds more weight than others. Luckily, the soft smile Bheem wears the whole evening distracts him from the stinging pinch in his heart.

___

The next day Ram has to fulfil his promise to meet Bheem’s raiding team. The men are excited. They’re so filled with idealism and long for justice, for freedom to come to their homeland. They ask him questions and insist he oversee their training for the day.

Lacchu was there too. Lacchu will talk to Bheem, and help correct poses like he did the day before. He didn’t do anything particularly hostile. But he is also pretending that Ram did not exist either. After what Ram did to him, this should be considered hospitality, though.

It was past noon when they all took a break. Lacchu immediately parted ways with them, which just emphasised that he won’t be wasting any more time than needed to deal with Ram. Despite knowing he absolutely deserves this treatment, Ram has to push a bitter taste down.

Bheem somehow misses Ram’s pained expression, because he directed Ram to the communal kitchen to fetch their lunch. Leave it to Bheem to make sure Ram never misses his meal.

“Loki-akka!” Bheem greets the woman nursing the fire under a big pot of rice. “I’m here for lunch!”.

She laughs, “Sure, sure. Go have a seat, I’ll fetch a plate.”

He and Ram sat beside the low table nearby. He watches as the children play under the shades of trees. He has a flashback of Bheem and him playing with the Delhi’s children. Part of him felt like he’s not only accompanying them to play, but also is playing with them. Doing things he hadn’t got the chance to do as a child. Being around Bheem tends to make him experience new, amazing things.

Loki-akka comes to the table bringing a big plate of rice and bread. She fetched another plate and put it on another table nearby. She then calls on the kids, announcing that they got to eat their lunch. Hurricanes of limbs and yelps invade the table beside him. The kids quickly wash their hands and take a spot around the table.

Bheem began to eat, so he followed as well. They watched as the kids started ravaging their meals. At some point a couple of kids had begun quarrelling over a piece of chicken. Bheem laughs at that while Loki-akka tries to calm both of the kids. The two kids refuse to let go of the chicken and Loki-akka is clearly running out of patience. She took the chicken from both kids and is ready to scold both of them. Before the whole ordeal turns into a crying match, Ram takes the chicken from his plate and offers it to the kids.

“Here,” he waves it in front of the kid who’s clearly the closest to tears. “I’ve got extras.”

The kid beams for a moment, but the smile quickly dies down as she notices the person offering the food.

“I don’t want it,” she said. The boy who had been wrestling the previous chicken from her quickly took the chicken from Ram’s hand instead.

“You don’t like chicken anymore?” Ram tried to joke. He recognizes this girl as well, he just hopes she does not recognize him.

“I don’t like you,” she scooted farther from him, “You’re a villain.”

Loki-akka inhales a sharp breath nearby, as Bheem stops eating at all. They all went silent for a moment, except some kids that clearly have no interest in following their conversations. They’d rather finish their lunch instead.

“Malli,” Loki-akka’s voice sounded edged, “You can’t say that. Apologise to your anna.”

“I’m not in the wrong!,” Malli insisted, “He hurted Bheem-anna before. He might do it again!”

“Malli!” Loki-akka raises her voice. Even some of the kids previously occupied by their food started staring at them.

“You’re not my anna,” Malli glares at Ram, “Never will be.”

With that she stood up and ran away.

“Oh! That girl will send me to an early grave,” Loki-akka clicks her tongue in frustration. “My apologies, she’s still recovering from..”. From the trauma that you helped cause, is probably what she might have said. But since she’s too polite for that kind of remark, Loki-akka didn’t finish her sentence. Instead she offers him a sympathetic smile and walks away to resume nursing the fire.

That left Ram staring into nothing as Bheem tried to catch his eyes.

“Are you alright?” Bheem cautiously asked.

“Yeah,” Ram tried to fight the stinging in his eyes, “Yeah. I’m full actually. So-”

He stood up and left for Bheem’s cottage.

___

For a moment he does nothing except sit on that mat and stares at the wall.

Malli’s right. He’s a villain. He’s not going to be accepted here. Not after he hurt Bheem, the person most beloved by the whole village. Not after he almost caught Malli in the cross-fire. Not after he tortures Lacchu, who hadn’t want to do anything but save Malli.

He’s not sure how to look at any of the villager’s faces without his cheeks burning up in shame.

A knock comes from the door. Bheem appears on the doorway.

“It’s your house,” Ram sighs, “You don’t have to knock.”

“Well, let’s pretend I just knock before entering my house all the time, just for fun,” Bheem said.

Ram shakes his head in disbelief, too tired to laugh at that.

Bheem takes a seat beside him. He sat so close that their shoulders knocked at each other. Even that simple touch is already calming Ram down.

“Thought you might want company,” Bheem murmurs.

“No, I-” Ram chokes on a sob, “No, I actually deserved that.”

Bheem offers his upturned palm, and Ram just has to take it. Just this once he wants to accept Bheem’s help to collect himself, so he does not break down completely.

“They need time to heal,” Bheem stated, “They have every right to take as much time as they need to heal. They’ve been through so much after all.”

Ram nodded in agreement. He’s not sure if by ‘them’ Bheem is referring to Loki-akka and Malli, or to the entire village. They all had been traumatized by the whole kidnapping incident after all.

“You can’t demand them to accept you immediately,” Bheem continued, and he is so right except this reality is also quite painful to swallow, “But what you can do, is to accept yourself first.”

Ram turns his head to face Bheem, his gaze filled with questions.

“I don’t deserve acceptance, though,” Ram whispered, “I did many bad things. Since when does a villain deserve healing?”.

Bheem squeezes Ram’s palm in his hand, “Oh, but you’re not a villain. A villain doesn’t tend to feel bad when they do bad things. But you do. So you do deserve healing. And it can’t start unless you accept yourself first.”

“That man that’s training your team, Bheem,” Ram sighs, “Lacchu. Remember when I was searching for a man all over Delhi? He was the one I was searching for. I tortured him for information, Bheem. I was ready to keep Malli under house imprisonment for the rest of her life in the Scotts house, for a mere promotion. How can you not be disgusted at me?”.

Bheem took both of Ram’s hands into his, “I know about Lacchu. He told me once we got reunited. He’s rightfully angry at you, but after Seetha’s story, he knows that you didn’t have much choice either. All he asks is that he doesn’t want to interact often with you. And that is fair, right? As for the disgusted part, I thought I told you this. I can’t hate you. I love you too much to spare a room for hate in my heart. And did you not end up trying to help Malli? You can’t rewind time to fix the past. But you tried to be better in the future. To be honest, that’s the only thing we all could do. Live for the future. You look too long at your past and you’ll stand still while life passes you by. I don’t want that for you.”

Ram shrugged, “Lacchu has been watching me roaming around his village for the whole day and he’s patient enough not to kick me out immediately. But one scold from Malli and suddenly I’m the one sulking? I don’t deserve your sympathy, Bheem.”

Bheem smacked his side and Ram looked at him in surprise.

“Stop that. You’re deserving of my love. It’s a non-negotiable part of our friendship. You better accept that. And while you’re at it, you better start to accept that you deserve to have a good future as well.”.

“Or what?” Ram’s lips start to quirk up to the side. His breath is less heavy, and he can feel his shoulder loses its tense. He can stand to lose the love of the whole world, as long as he still gets Bheem’s love.

“Or I’ll tickle you to death!” Bheem announced as he lunged to make true of his promise. Ram tries to wrestle out of his death hug but can’t help but start laughing.

A quick knock and the sound of the door opening stops their wrestle. They tried to sit properly as the person at the door made their way inside.

“Hey you guys,” Jenny said, “Seetha told me today’s Dhanteras, so she wants to take me shopping in the-” Her words stopped as she saw Bheem and Ram still somewhat tangled with each other.

“Ah, we’re interrupting them,” Seetha emerges from behind Jenny. Her eyes glinting as if she’s holding in a laughter.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Jenny sighs, “Anyway, if you’re not too busy being joined at the hips, we’re going to the city to shop. If you want to join, meet us at the village’s entrance in ten minutes.”

“Now that’s out of the way,” Seetha steers Jenny to the door, “Let’s leave before we witness any more weird things.”

Jenny barks a laugh at that.

Ram loses the ability to speak for a moment.

“Is she…uh, okay with this?” he asked finally.

“Who? Jenny?” Bheem questioned, “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t she?”.

“Well I thought you both have a crush on each other, figured she’d be jealous or something with us being so close or whatever,” Ram tried to sound as neutral as possible.

“Oh. About that,” Bheem actually blushes, “We kind of…drifted apart.”

“Wait, what?” Ram is genuinely concerned, “Are you okay? Don’t tell me you messed it up so hard with the flirting that she got disinterested.”

Bheem bites the side of his cheek, “Shut up, you’re not a master of flirting as far as I can tell. She actually got into trouble for the whole nails in the wheel shenanigans.”.

“Oops,” Ram tuts, but he actually feels a bit bad.

“But anyway,” Bheem continues, “We try to go out together for a while. Didn’t work. Apparently we’re better as friends. So here we are.”

Ram has a surge of irrational fear down his spine. He hopes that he and Bheem weren't just better as friends.

“We should get going,” Bheem tugs at him after a while, “Nothing better to cheer you up than to see fresh scenery. Let’s go!”.

___

The city’s streets are jam packed with stalls.

The four of them just wander around for a while. Bheem dragged them from one stall to another in search of the candies to give to the village’s children.

“Perhaps we can ask for a truce to Malli,” Bheem picks several types of candies from the merchant’s boxes. Ram has the urges to buy all of them if that can grant him Malli’s forgiveness, except he knows full well it doesn’t work like that. Forgiveness and trust are things that are quite hard to be bought.

They resume their walk until they come to a stall selling bangles and earrings. Seetha drags Jenny to select their choices of accessories.

“I somehow have the flashback of shopping with Bheem, he ends up buying a bangle for Malli instead,” Jenny hums.

“I did not buy a bangle for Malli,” Bheem declared, “I made it.”

“Yeah, because he’s romantic like that,” Seetha comments nonchalantly. “Is that why you lost your girlfriend, you ol’ snooze?”.

“Hey!” Bheem protested, “Jenny, Tell her it was a mutual decision!”.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jenny retorts, “It was a mutually made decision after he considers that we’re better as friends, and after I consider that he’d made a terrible boyfriend.”

Ram has the impulse to defend that Bheem would have made a great boyfriend. He did not get to voice it because Jenny suddenly jumps and turns around, panic displayed in her eyes.

Seetha moves first and asks Jenny, “What? What happened?”.

Jenny points to the hollering crowd of boys standing not too far from them. They yell obscenities at Jenny and point at her.

Jenny looked like she wanted to vomit, “I think one of them just slapped my behind.”

One of the foolish boys approaches Seetha and tugged at her saree, trying to pull her closer.

“Want to have fun with me, darling?” he said. Eyes clearly looking vulgarly at her.

Bheem moved forward and the boy finally took notice of him and Ram.

“These two’s your girls, brother?” he raised two hands up, “If so, apologies. Thought that they were alone.”

“They’re not our girls, but-” Bheem enunciated his words slowly, voice laced with barely contained anger.

“Oh!,” the boy laughed as if this whole thing were mere jokes, “Then it’s fine if I took them to have some fun with us?” He points at his friends, still hooting improper words at Jenny.

Ram is standing still, fury starts boiling inside him. Whether they are their girls or not, these boys are not treating their fellow humans with respect and it is unacceptable.

Before he nor the boy could react, something flashes forward and hits the boy’s face.

A loud crack made Ram unconsciously wince. Then he took in the scene of Seetha chasing that boy away.

“You want to have fun? Is that why you harass my friend?” she yelled, bangles rustling in her fist. Whenever she catches up with one of the boys, she lands her punch powered with those iron bangles. The chiming noise of the bangles mixed with bones cracking sound is so absurd that the rest of the group just kind of stands there and stares. She chases them all the way to the road’s branch. The boys ducked into the street’s darkness and Seetha finally gave up her chase. She stomps her way back to the group and checks on Jenny.

“Are you okay?” She touches Jenny's side cautiously. Jenny thoughtlessly nodded.

“Those senseless boys!” Seetha exclaims, “If they come back here I’ll beat them to death!”.

“Uhh, miss?”.

“What?!” she barks her reply.

The stall’s vendor just stares with some fear in his eyes, “Uhh, sorry, but are you going to pay for that?”.

He points at the misshapen, bloodied bangles in Seetha's grip. Seetha looks at him and the bangles a few times before snapping back to reality, “Oh, yes. Apologies for the ruckus. How much are these for?”.

Seetha paid for the broken bangles and some pairs of new ones. The night is decidedly ruined, so they opt for walking back home instead.

“Here,” Seetha hands Jenny the newly bought bangles, “Sorry you have to go through that.”

Jenny stares at her for a moment, her eyes unreadable, then she reaches for the broken bangles in Seetha's other hand instead.

“I want this one,” she takes the broken bangles.

Seetha looks up in confusion, “Why? It’s all bent, you can’t wear that.”

“Sure, I can,” Jenny firmly insists as she fits the broken bangles into her wrists, “You fought tooth and nail to get me these ones. It’s my new treasure now.”

Seetha blushes, her face went bright red, “O-oh. Uh, sure. Thank you?”.

“Thank you to you too,” Jenny replied with a soft expression on her face.

Ram and Bheem exchange a confused look but wordlessly agree that they better not comment anything.

___

After the whole ordeal, Ram thought they’d all slept like the dead all day, but that morning he found Bheem already awake at dawn. The sun barely crept into the sky but Bheem’s standing near the door, buckets of water, mop and broom at his disposal.

He lets his head clear up for a moment before he remembers what’s the day’s occasion.

“Cleaning up for chhoti diwali?” he yawns, still somewhat sleepy.

“Correct,” Bheem beams for some reason. There’s no way anyone is excited to brush their home from floor to ceiling, but there Bheem is, a big smile plastered to his face as he offers Ram a broom.

Ram relents and crawls out of the mat. He helps Bheem roll the mat and put them aside so they can start sweeping the house.

After the sweeping comes the hard part, which was to mop the whole place clean. It involves buckets and buckets of water, and a sore back from bending down to mop the floor. Every so often Ram has to throw away the dirty waters outside, and he’ll be greeted by Seetha or Jenny for Jenny’s hut, both of them also hard at work cleaning the place.

By noon all of them were sprawled across the house’s lawn, tired from the day’s activities. Bheem was pulling a last minute groom for the flowers in the backyard. Apparently he bought a water lily when they went to the city, so he’s now fussing over the new addition to his garden, making sure it has enough water and all that. So Ram’s just sitting on the front lawn, exchanging groans with anyone who was passing, their conversations basically going, Are you tired? Me too, I’m tired too. At one point Seetha crosses the road to bring him water, but almost pour the water down his face because she was so out of breath that her hand’s shaking. After that no one tried to move for a while, trying to regain their energy and calm their breath.

Fate seems to be in a joking mood that day, because that’s the moment a kid ran across the lawn. She tried to climb a tree in panic, which means she failed miserably. Ram’s brain was sluggish, his overworked body still dealing with the tiredness fatigue, but he finally saw the thing that had alarmed the girl. That thing is turning so fast at the corner that it slips and falls, but it quickly gets up its feet again. That thing is a wild boar, and it is readying itself to charge forward.

Now it’s Ram’s turn to panic. He doesn’t know what to do, his movement still slow from weariness, but the boar is definitely not waiting until he can plan a reasonable course of action. So he does the next best thing, which in retrospect is actually the worst thing ever. He throws himself in the course of the boar.

Ram can feel the boar’s ploughing through him. He bet this is what getting hit by a truck felt like. His limbs do their best to wrestle against the boar, trying to steer farther from where the kid is. He feels that he’s losing his footing, so he does his last ditch move and tries to break the boar’s neck. The boar’s struggling under him but clearly still has a lot of fight in it. He heard someone yell as he felt the boar’s tusk digging itself into his stomach. The flare of pain only feeds his adrenaline. With his last burst of energy, he twists the boar’s head until he can hear the bones breaking inside. This also means he’s yanking out the boar’s tusk out of his stomach. Blood seeped into his clothes and he felt lightheaded. The good thing is his last ditch move works and the boar fell limp beside his foot. He did not have the time to congratulate himself because he soon followed the boar’s lead and passed out on top of it.

___

As Ram wakes up, he almost wishes he didn’t.

There’s a throbbing pain on his sides and the fatigue hasn’t gone away either. Overall it’s quite an unpleasant waking up experience.

“Ah, you’re awake,” a small voice beside him spoke, “I thought you’ll spend another day in a coma.”

He tried to follow where the sound came from, but his headache said otherwise. So he just croaks, “Yep. Awake. A hundred percent awake. Hi.”

A small face looms over him, “You’re in pretty bad shape.”

“Gee, thanks for your observation,” he huffs.

“How are you still annoying despite being currently in death’s door,” the kid scoffs.

His eyes clears up and he finally registers that the small face belongs to none other but Malli.

“Oh, hey you,” he finally said.

“The only reason I didn’t stab you again in your sleep is because Bheem-anna would be disappointed in me,” Malli announces. She shuffles uncomfortably from where she’s sitting, then continues, “And also because you saved me. So thanks for that, I guess.”

Ram vaguely remembers the girl that’s trying to climb the tree in panic, “Oh, that was you trying to imitate a broken legged goat on that tree?”.

Malli huffs but Ram’s suspicious that she’s holding a laughter rather than being offended.

“Shut up,” she fumed, “I’ll call Bheem-anna to check on you, but only after he finishes putting up diyas outside.”

“Are you…prioritising a candle over me not dying?” Ram asked, he’ll laugh if that won’t make his whole body ache.

“Yeah, that’s your punishment,” Malli insists, “No way I’m letting you get in the way of my anna getting his yearly blessings.”

“Also,” Malli poked her tiny finger into Ram’s cheek, “You’re not dying anymore, Seetha-akka basically yanks you out of the afterlife. You’re okay now, crybaby.”

This kid is so disrespectful but somehow Ram can’t bring himself to get angry at her.

“Okay, then. If I died, however, I’m haunting you forever,” Ram said.

Malli stood up so she once again loomed over Ram, “Sure you will.”

Then, perhaps Malli got scared of being haunted, or maybe it’s something else. But she puts a few candies she must have gotten from Bheem in Ram's hand.

She talks quickly in a harsh tone, as if embarrassed, “Happy Diwali anna, sorry you have to miss it. And, thank you.”

Then she ran out of the door, all the while yelling, “Enjoy your stab wound!”.

That impertinent girl.

Ram sighs as he feels the weight of the candies in his hand. He tastes sweetness in his mouth despite the fact that he hadn’t eaten anything since that morning. From outside the house, he can hear the faint sound of laughing and music being played. Light from the bonfire somewhere out there flickers across the room every so often. The booming sound of the firecrackers being lit up is not helping his stinging headache. But all in all, not the worst day he’s ever had in his life.

___

Author’s Note - End: Pink Nymphaea/Water Lily symbolises joy, youth, and friendship. The word is derived from "nymph" which referenced the spirits of plants from Greek mythos. It has opposing qualities, for example, despite its beauty, this plant often grows in ponds with thick muds. In parallel, nymphs are creatures that can bring both harm and good to humans who encounter them.

Tagging the mods @stanleykubricks and @fangirlshrewt97 and the blog @celebrrration in case my Tumblr went nuts again.

Shout out to @dumdaradumdaradum on Tumblr for letting me annoy her with questions about the festivals mentioned in this fic.

[reallyhardy]

went through the goes-wrong-verse playbills/programmes - that is, ‘the play that goes wrong’ and ‘peter pan goes wrong’ (thank you @cornleypolytechnicgoeswrong​ !) trying to piece together each society member’s career within the society PLUS if possible whatever it was they were doing at the polytechnic (university) course-wise, along with whatever other character snippets they give. this is mostly to inform me when writing but i thought it’d be useful for other mischief/goes wrong fans!

chris bean:

as of TPTGW is the ‘newly elected’ head of the drama society, and is known at the university for his charitable & philanhropic work. he has six acting credits within the polytechnic to his name.

i was going to presume his choice of course at the uni was acting or directing, but his PPGW bio states that his ‘dacting’ (directing and acting) is all self-taught, so who knows. maybe he’s just in the society because of his aforementioned charitable work.

robert grove:

has starred in 40 productions with the society since 2002 (when he began work at cornley polytechnic as a caretaker - i’m taking this to mean he was never actually a student there.) anyway wow explains why they call him a “veteran actor” lol.

he offers acting lessons (reacting, gesturing, emotioning and acting) and can be contacted via twitter @robertgoodactor. i’ve looked this twitter account up and it does exist it’s just not been used since 2017 - that said there are some in-character photos of henry lewis as robert and nancy zamit as annie on there and plenty of tweets.

he runs an extremely dubiously safe cornley youth theatre program and can be contacted at his email robertgoodactor@hotmail.com (membership fees are non-refundable.)

trevor watson:

in TPTGW is arbitrarily from ‘the north east’ (rob falconer’s portrayal, whereas chris leask’s portrayal is firmly and specifically scouse.)

he has a twitter account (rob falconer’s portrayal) @trevtechie, with i think probably the most tweets of the cornley twitters. stopped being updated in 2017.

his participation in haversham was to complete an electronics module - as the light and sound technician i’d assume his course was in this kinda field.

he states that after haversham he wants to never work with the cornley drama society again, but as of PPGW he’s “following in his parents footsteps” and has pivoted to possibly actually studying stage management. (his PPGW bio states that he’s in his final year at the uni for the 3rd time running. so it could mean his staying on with cornley is like partially due to failing his course?)

dennis tyde:

in his TPTGW bio it states that he joined the drama society after failing to get in to any other societies.

he didn’t live on university campus and commuted in from his parents’ house. he mostly just wanted to make friends - he’s interested in snooker and wants to meet like-minded people.

in his PPGW bio he still wants to make friends and says you can reach him via twitter @dennistyde. i checked this account too and again it does exist but hasn’t been used since 2013, and there are only 3 tweets so its much more bare-bones than the others. i like his one tweet about drinking a mug of bovril to calm his nerves before a show.

as of 2021 in promotional vids we learn that dennis and robert now live together.

max bennett:

in TPTGW bio it says he was a first year studying human geography and crime which i was surprised about but sure okay. it also says here that he happily donated “a large portion of his recent inheritance” to the society to help fund it.

at the bottom of TPTGW’s cast page it states that the west end performance of the play is “made possible by a generous legacy from claude bennett” who’s presumably max’s grandfather? or just father? idk

his TPTGW bio also says his favourite movie is the legend of bagger vance which i’ve never seen but is apparently a will smith golf movie.

his hobbies as listed in his PPGW bio are chess, cooking & hanging out with friends and fam. he also dedicates his performance in PPGW to his grandma claire, which is sweet.

annie twilloil:

as of TPTGW she’s designed, built, painted, costumed & stage managed every cornley show for the past 3 years. in the PPGW bio, it states she’s studying cognitive behavioural therapy and pottery, and has taken up life drawing at the student’s union (as the model.)

after haversham, she apparently had an internship lined up at the bolton octagon.

she has WILD backstory in her PPGW bio that says she dedicated her performance to her estranged husband julian who she hoped was in the audiance and two children frangipani and ylang-ylang. not sure if the kids are with her or with the husband but either way, wild. nuts. pretty funny but also pretty tragic.

she’s also got an ad out looking for a new bloke (i suppose if her husband isn’t in the audience) apparently she’s been left by boyfriends previously for an air hostess, a stripper, and a coal miner.

she also enjoys knitting and playing the banjolin (an instrument she made herself.) her email address is greatfunmum@hotmail.com.

she has a twitter account that again hasnt been used since 2017 (@annietwiloil). a couple tweets chronicle dave hearn’s shoulder dislocation but as max so i guess its canon that max also dislocated his shoulder, but he did it while trying to open a twix? lmao

sandra wilkinson:

in her TPTGW bio it states that haversham manor is her 11th production with the company. idk how frequently they put on shows.

she won some kind of local kids beauty pageant in 1998 and did some modelling for a local restaurant (the sunam balti house, which apparently the cornley crew frequent? or have at least been to - seems they struggled with spicyness levels there, especially dennis.)

nothing on her course at the university, i might just take a stab and assume she was actually doing acting, since her bio is mostly about her being a performer.

she’s a big fan of jeremy irvine, they mention him in both of her bios.

jonathan harris:

is a total health & fitness guy. his course at the uni is in physical education and he’s also a model, though who’s to say what for. in PPGW this is expanded and he’s moved on to being a combo model/actor/photographer/lifecoach.

he loves his outdoor sports: mountain biking & kayaking are noted.

he had a bath salts advert out and he hoped it was gonna go national.

lucy grove:

her surname IS grove! i wasn’t sure, but that’s confirmed. not really much about her in there, because the bio is written by robert and he just used it to gas himelf up.

can’t tell if she’s a student at the university or just in the society through robert. genuinely there’s just not a lot to go on when it comes to lucy.

another note is that the murder at haversham manor and the version of peter pan that the cornley crew perform are both written by ‘susie h. k. brideswell’ who i guess either chris knows or chris is a big fan of?

other notes... they try so hard to make out like the characters aren't all the same age like implying that robert is genuinely older than most of them etc etc but ofc the cast featured in the TV broadcasts are all visibly the same age... ofc all this is just comedy innit so you can take it or leave it

also i realised that the american version of TPTGW calls it “the cornley university drama society” since i guess you guys dont have polytechnics over there. a polytechnic is like... a university that offers the arts (among the classics you know science law what have you) basically. by 2021 in promotional videos etc. shields in character as chris has dropped “polytechnic” altogether from the group’s name (but varies between calling it ‘the cornley drama society’ and ‘the cornley amateur dramatics society’) i assume to reflect how much time has passed since the group put on their first production under chris’ leadership - and that now they’re simply operating unattached to the university because they’ve become a real family. love love love, sillyness and love.

[skellebonez]

(kicks door down) INVERTED AU WITH PROMPT 72, SPECIFICALLY WITH MK

I’m not going to write out the ENTIRE TikTok so just. Watch an enjoy the madness that is B Dylan Hollis. It will make this fill so much more entertaining.

Don’t you dare.

Had it not been even a few weeks ago things would be almost completely on their normal “regular day with no special plans” schedule. Wake up, work, hang out with Pigsy and Tang, get Mei to have some fun, run off to Mount Huaguo for training with Sun Wukong, make sure the immortal Monkey King is taking care of himself, go home and sleep (a few gaps between each in case he needed to chuck a water bottle or granola bar at any of his friends and make sure they weren’t overworking themselves and if he came across anyone who needed his special brand of, as Macaque once called it, “aggressive self care affection”).

But no. Oh no. This was not a few weeks ago.

This was now, not even a month after the Lunar New Year Festival. Not even a month after he was finally introduced to the rest of Spider Queen’s family- plus one not so accidental addition who had decided it would be a fantastic idea to experiment on himself for funsies and “oops all spiders”.

Said addition stood, or rather half stood and half reclined on the mechnical legs protruding from his back, diligently typing away at his computer. The same computer he hadn’t stepped away from except to take a shower earlier in the day.

17 hours ago.

“Syntax,” MK said with the most gentle warning tone he could muster... which, to anyone unfamiliar with MK would sound like he spoke the human turned spider demon’s name like a threat. “Please tell me you have eaten more than a single calorie bar today.”

“I have eaten more than a single calorie bar today,” the scientist assured with a barely thrown over his shoulder smile in the younger man’s direction.

“Ok g-”

“I ate 2.”

The proud look on Syntax's face, as if he had figured out the loophole to end all loopholes, was a stark contrast to MK's expression of angry horror.

"You can't just eat TWO CALORIE BARS, Syntax!" He shouted, grabbing the scientist by his lab coat sleeve before starting to drag him out of the laboratory. If anyone was there to witness this they would find this feat impressive given how Syntax dug his mechanical legs into the floor in protest.

"I have survived on these so far and I will conti-"

"Survived, yeah, as a human," MK noted as he realized the other was simply allowing him to lead him along without a fight in the least. "But you're a spider demon... cyborg... guy now, you need more sustenance than that. And you needed more before!"

"3 bars?"

"NO MORE OF THE FUCKING BARS!"

The moment Syntax shrunk back in reaction to MK’s yelling the Monkie Kid took his chance and gripped the scientist’s sides and tossed the man over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes before breaking out into a sprint down the halls of Spider Queen’s lair.

“Don’t you dare!” Syntax yelped, attempting to free his arms or move his spider legs but gave up on the later and instead retracted them out of fear he might accidentally harm his captor. “I have work to finish, young man!”

“You can’t finish if you die of malnutrition, I’m teaching you how to cook!”

As they ran toward the entrance they passed Spider Queen who, upon realizing what was happening, gave them a calm wave and a smile.

“Make sure to have him back in time for you to get home before dark, MK!”

“EVEN MY QUEEN IS BETRAYING ME!”

~

Syntax eventually gave in. After all, despite his new enhancements he was still no match for the sheer strength of the Monkey King himself in the hands of a very determined young man with a hard line stance on self care.

And somehow this man decided he should be deposited in... his kitchen.

In front of a phone set up like... a camera.

Huh.

“Uh-”

“Hold that thought!” MK said, positioning Syntax just out of sight as he grabbed a cook book and hit record. “A bean PIE from the 1920s! Today we’re doing something different-” he reached over and grabbed Syntax’s arm, pulling him into frame without even a single change in his expression. “Today I have an assistant because SOMEONE doesn’t know how to EAT NUTRITION and needs more Vitamin B.”

As he let go of the scientist’s arm he turned to him, face as serious as a miscalculated formula when a project was due in 1 hour.

“OK, you’re the science dude. Let me tell you something from experience,” MK grabbed the cook book, holding it up. “Cooking IS science. And this science insists that BEANS can be made into a PIE which I think is bullshit and I am going to prove on camera. Until you learn how to eat things that aren’t instant bars, you are going to join me on my cooking science experiments. Understood?”

Truth me told, Syntax didn’t see the appeal in cooking. It was far too much hassle for something as basic as nutritional supplements you could acquire from far easier means that did not involve making a mess you had to clean up later... but...

The idea that cooking could be a science... that he had never considered before. And MK seemed to be pretty well convinced that he was correct in this assertion. This was part of why Syntax had, for a while now, considered reaching out to him with an offer of becoming his assistant. His tenacity and determination was something that was a great asset in the field of scientific discovery after all! And well...

If making a weird pie could get him into the young man’s good graces...

“Where do we start?”

~

MK held up a bowl of beans to the camera. “Now these took a long bath last night-” he turned to Syntax. “-I’ll splice in some footage from earlier here later-TIME TO COOK EM!”

~

“The pot,” Syntax noted, pointing to the pot on MK’s stove that had begun to over boil.

“AAGH!” MK yelped, sliding over from where he was grabbing his mixer. “BEAN REBELLION!”

~

“Eggie,” MK chuckled out, cracking an egg into the mixing bowl with the rest of the ingredients.

“How many eggs does it call for?” Syntax asked, trying to make sense out of the madness he was being witness to.

“How many? I don’t know, it just says EGGS.” MK gestured to the cookbook before them as if it has just insulted Pigsy himself to MK’s face.

~

“FORE!” MK yelled, closing his eyes and turning on the blender as Syntax held a frying pan in front of himself in preparation for disaster.

And disaster came... just not in the way either expected, as the blender sputtered and just.... stopped.

“... did you just kill my blender?” MK turned the knob on it, shaking it and tapping it gently. “HELLO?”

He shook it harder, twisting and turning the knob on the front wildly before he broke down into laughter. “THE BEANS KILLED MY BLENDER.” MK crossed his arms on the counter, laying his head down on them as he devolved into equally amused and annoyed cackles. “This has never happened before, how the hell!?”

“Well...” Syntax looked around, finding an induction blender sitting half buried on the opposite side of the counter. “Will this work?”

~

Finally. After waiting for the pie to bake. It was done.

A piece sat on a plate before both men, looking both intimidating and somehow delectable at the same time. But both were well away this concoction was primarily sugar, cinnamon, and BEANS. They looked at each other for a moment before nodding, each taking a fork full of the pit before shoving it into their mouths expecting the worst.

MK looked at Syntax as they chewed. Then the camera. Then he started to laugh through his bite as Syntax’s face went on a journey from “this tastes good” to “HOW THE FUCK DOES THIS TASTE GOOD”.

“Nothing makes sense anymore,” he moaned, gesturing to the pie slice before him as he began to laugh in disbelief.

“WHY ARE YOU GOOD?” Syntax asked, shaking his plate slightly. “You have a bag of BEANS in you!”

MK laughed harder, needing to put his plate on the counter as he needed to hold his sides from the pain of trying not to laugh louder than he was.

“This is like if tomato soup made a cake that tasted like chocolate!”

“I-It!” MK wheezed, holding up one hand to get the scientist’s attention. “It has!”

“I’M SORRY- WHAT!?”

~

“Yes? Oh, that’s fine dear! Yes, as long as he has somewhere to sleep and I know where he is- ... yes, we would love to try some when you escort him home tomorrow! Thank you, take care now,” Spider Queen said, smiling as she hung up the cell phone that Pigsy and Tang had no kindly helped her acquire.

“So, uh...” Huntsman asked, rubbing the back of his neck in concern and confusion. “What’s up?”

“Syntax will be spending the evening with MK!” She announced, smiling wide. “He’s taken up an interest in baking, apparently. Something about needing to unlock the secrets of tomato soup and beans.”

[gallavictorious]

Darling Ryt, you've managed to be nosy at exactly the right time, so here we go:

Name: Kee. Or, En Mycket Stor och Ståtlig Älg. Or, Joanne, apparently...

Century of your birth: 20th century all the way, babe!

Go-to coffee order: Either whatever beans sounds most interesting/weirdest, with milk (if it's a micro roastery type of place), or some sort of flavoured latte with whipped cream (if at an Espresso House or Starbucks).

Do you have a pet?

Do you have a personal motto? Yes. 😏

Last vacation: Road trip up north with my one in particular. The journey was the destination (well, that and the food, drinks and sights).

Next vacation: Not strictly speaking a vacation but it feels like one, so... My new job's sending me on a three day conference in Newcastle in early June. Hotel looks SWEET. Also, might be stopping by London for a brief spell on the way there or home, so if someone wanted to meet up for a nice meal, that could potentially be arranged. 😌 If works does not count, a weekend trip to Gothenburg to see a production of Jesus Christ Superstar I'm VERY excited about.

Dream vacation: The Caribbean! And we're going next year! Barring plagues, wars and general disasters, so probably not I guess...

A short-term goal: Getting to the end of May without losing my professional shit.

A lifetime goal: Joy, bitch. 🥰

Last show you watched: 9-1-1 Lone Star. Giving it a cautious twirl. So far, not convinced.

Next on your to watch list: Our Flag Means Death.

Last thing you read: Shades of Gray by Jasper Fforde.

Something you're excited to read: The sequel to Shades of Gray. (Which might be published next year. I've been waiting more than a decade for this goddamned book! Read Shades of Gray back in 2012 and didn't get thar it was the first of three until I had about 50 pages left and realized things could not possibly be sorted out in that short a time. Got to the end, DYING for more. Went online to see when the next novel would be released and just found a video of Fforde walking the fields of Wales and explaining he MIGHT start writing it in 2014. Was devastated. Now it's 2022 and it's finally being written. George RR Martin never hurt me like this.) (I'd like to point out I just reread Shades of Gray. I have read one or two other books between 2012 and now.)

Funniest thing on the internet today: I've hardly been online, so uh... my one in particular's text narration of her encounter with a pigeon? It's weak, I know.

Something your struggling with right now: Not planning too much social stuff. I do need me a couple of days a week to just chill, and if I neglect that (as I'm sometimes wont to do), even fun social stuff ends up stressful rather than fun, and I end up a very put-upon Kee indeed.

Something hopeful: Life has never died.

(Oh, and my motto is "life might not be the party we hoped for, but while we're here we might as well dance". Shake that booty, sweetlings. ❤)

Cheers, hellishly harmonious @howlinchickhowl - that was fun!

Tagging @dreamylyfe-x @captainjowl @damngcoffee @fiona-fififi

@dramaticviolincrescendo @ianandmickeygallavich

[captcas]

Trucks, Tenders, and Tying the Knot

Claire plays wingwomen for Uncle Cas while watching the trucks. Prompt from this tweet. read on ao3

Castiel is already planning the next six days in bed from a god awful migraine as the loud whir of what might be a front loader clashes with the sound of a jack hammer.

But Claire loves trucks.

And Castiel has the hardest time saying no to his six-year old niece so obviously— despite it being 90 degrees in the shade and the obnoxious amount of noise— they’re sitting outside watching a construction site.

Cas wishes he could say it wasn’t his best (only) option for his Saturday night. But, when Meg begged him for a night off, he didn’t even hesitate. He owes his adopted sister more than he’d care to admit and Claire really is one of his favorite humans.

So, again, they’re watching the trucks.

Pointing curiously at all the different types of trucks, Claire asks Cas to name them off, but Cas truly couldn’t guess the different names for these things if his life depended on it. At first he tried Googling the answers, but Claire’s patience waned so he started just making them up instead.

It’ll only be a problem for him once his adoptive-sister is fielding phone calls from kindergarten when Claire calls an Excavator a “Whoozitkabob”.

It’ll be very hard for Cas not to laugh.

After a while of watching the free (loud) show, Cas realizes it really is 90 degrees and they should probably be keeping hydrated.

This is why Castiel isn’t a parent.

They walk out of the nearby Starbucks a few minutes later, Cas with an iced coffee and Claire with her Vanilla Bean Frappuccino which Cas had to convince her was just a milkshake with a fancy name . He glances down at his niece who is now enthusiastically guzzling the beverage down as though she wasn’t almost in tears about it minutes prior.

Kids, man.

As they reapproach the construction site and their front row seats, Claire stops walking and Cas almost trips trying to stop with the same abruptness.

“Phewwww, I don’t know what he’s fixing but mines broken.” Cas chokes on his coffee before following her gaze to the man in question.

Damn.

“Claire— where did— nevermind—“ Cas knows where Claire heard that, his sister never being subtle with her sexual innuendos despite the impressionable nature of her kid. The most impressive part is Claire is… not wrong.

Flustered by the comment and whether he should tell her objectifying men is not a good look but also by his extreme want to objectify the same man that made Claire stop in her tracks, Castiel just stands there.

And then he stares.

Because damn.

He thinks Leonardo Da Vinci may have been a time traveler because when he described the perfect man he must have been talking about this man. Strong arms, broad chest, bow legs, sandy hair, a smile to power the Chrysler Building, freckles for day, and the greenest eyes Castiel has ever seen even from this far away. He’s dressed a little nicer than most of the workers so Castiel reasons that he must be the contractor or project lead but holy shit can he wear a flannel and jeans.

Tight jeans.

Maybe they can watch the trucks for a bit longer.

Before Castiel can realize what’s happening, Claire is pulling him in the direction of said man. As much as he knows he shouldn’t let a six-year-old wander toward an active construction site he also knows he would never have the guts to approach the man otherwise. He does a quick sweep to make sure there aren’t any Thingamahoozies around and that there’s a fence and decides they’re probably fine walking closer.

As long as his heart doesn’t beat straight out of his chest.

“Hey, Mister. Whatcha fixing?” Claire is yelling as she runs toward the guy who at first looks a little taken aback by the precocious child hurtling towards him but then he notices Cas and breaks into a wide smile that practically knocks Castiel onto the ground.

He reminds himself that the contractor is just happy this kid is supervised and that he is entirely imagining the way the man’s jaw slacked at the sight of Castiel.

Now that he’s drawn to them, Castiel knows he’ll be picturing those lips every time he closes his eyes for the foreseeable future.

The man is laughing and shaking Claire’s hand through the chain-link fence and Castiel realizes he’s staring again. He approaches the two of them, and apparently they’re fast friends, because Claire introduces him, “Oh, there you are. This is Dean!”

Dean .

Cas smiles what he hopes is a normal smile because he feels like he’s lost all control of himself being in this man– Dean’s presence. Somehow his brain tells him to reach out his hand and before he knows it, their fingers are intertwined and he’s speaking, “Hello, Dean. I’m Castiel.”

Then he stares some more but maybe Dean doesn’t mind because he’s staring right back and it’s giving Castiel all the time in the world to study every fleck of gold etched into the summer green of this man’s eyes. In no time at all he moves onto the constellation of freckles that are patterning his cheeks which, if Castiel isn’t mistaken, are starting to red in a blush that may be the most adorable thing he’s ever seen��� Claire aside.

Oh yeah, Claire.

Castiel reluctantly lets go of the man’s hand when Claire snaps them out of their trance, “We need you to fix whatever we’ve got broken.”

Oh, fantastic, now he’s mortified.

But Dean doesn’t bat an eye, in fact he throws his head back in laughter and it’s the sweetest sound to ever grace Castiel’s ears and he swears if he could he would spend a lifetime trying to hear that laugh everyday.

Dean glances at Castiel’s left hand– not subtle at all – and then looks towards Claire fondly, “Is that what your dad said?” Castiel doesn’t have time to focus on the fact Dean thinks Claire is his because if he thought his mind was reeling from Dean’s check of his marital status then it’s absolutely worthless when the man looks back towards him and winks.

Carve up his tombstone because Castiel is a goner.

Claire, apparently completely unaware of the absolute stupor she’s put her uncle in, continues chatting, “Oh, he’s not my dad, that’s my uncle, Cas.”

“Cas.” Dean looks like he’s mulling the nickname over like an award winning wine and then he smiles. “Well, it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you and your uncle Cas.”

Claire beams before gasping loudly, “OH MY GOD, UNCLE CAS! IT’S A ZINGAMAHOOEY!”

Send that tombstone via express mail because Castiel just died of embarrassment.

Dean’s face screws into something too cute to be legal and he shoots a glance at Castiel, clearly looking for an explanation. Somehow Castiel finds words, “She kept asking what they were called and I’m clueless.”

Cas could swear Dean’s eyes twinkle before speaking again, “Well maybe I could teach you… uh… over dinner?”

“Oh yes please! I love chicken tenders!” Claire, apparently paying attention again, chimes in.

Cas is about to object but then Dean laughs again and says, “Of course! I know the best spot for chicken tenders.”

With Claire satisfied and looking again at the construction site, Dean looks back toward Cas with nervousness etched across his face, “Is— uh— I mean— if you want to..”

He can’t help but enthusiastically put the man out of his misery, “I’d love to.”

And they do.

A week later they’re munching on burgers and chicken tenders listening to Dean talk about all the different kinds of trucks and Claire try and tell him he’s wrong because Uncle Cas said.

And if Cas thought the night couldn’t have possibly gotten better, Dean drops off Claire first and walks him to the door and kisses him goodbye with the promise of another dinner— just them two.

Dean keeps his promise and a million promises... including the biggest promise of their lives with the tiniest Maid of Honor by their side.

[formenis]

Rain

Anon asked: “ Can you do a one-shot were reader is Light's sister and secretly in a relationship with L and she spends the night with L at HQ for the first time and Light catches her leaving L's bedroom and confronts her and L in front of the whole Task Force“

A/N: sure dear. But since in the manga L and Light were handcuffed together at the HQ, I changed a bit the location so this one-shot is set in the hotel we can all see in the anime.

Again, sorry if you find mistakes in my stories, English is not my first language.

pairing: L x Light’s sister!reader

warning: none

requested: yes

H/L = hair length

H/C = hair colour

F/C = favourite colour

E/C = eye colour

Y/A = your alias

The third Yagami. Why did nobody talk about her? Y/N Yagami: H/L hair in a shining H/C shade, excellent scholastic career and charming personality. Few years younger than Light and older than Sayu, she was as smart as Light, as perfect as her older brother despite the tiny age gap so why she wasn't on everyone's lips like him? Simple, because she liked something called discretion.

Y/N Yagami never liked being under the spotlight (A/N: ahah did you get the joke here?). She was an excellent student yes, Soichiro and Sachiko's pride, but she didn’t show it off.

Y/N, Light and Sayu had a special bond. They would do everything for each other, they were one the confidant of the other. However, since the end of November 2003 Light started to act strange. He would spend more time in his room than with Y/N or Sayu and both of her didn’t know the reason. He was more distant and colder with her too and this made Sayu a bit sad.

But, as we said before, Y/N loved discretion. Something happened to her too. She met someone. It was a strange encounter, Y/N admitted it.

♰ FLASHBACK ♰

It was another rainy day at Tokyo but Y/N had her F/C umbrella in her bag. Luckily it wasn’t that heavy so she was pretty confident she would reach home all dry.

Wrong. Not much after she left the Daikoku Private Academy (her high school), a heavy shower poured on her and the tiny pocket-sized umbrella could do precious little. Fortunately, a nearby bakery had a big awning and she ran towards it searching for a shelter.

«Damn…such a timing…» she wasn’t wet but that rain bothered her a lot since that afternoon she wanted to go at the tennis field with Light.

Y/N closed the umbrella and turned to take a look at the shop window of that bakery. In front of her a large variety of sweets, cookies, cakes, ice-creams, candies scattered all together on a table. She frowned finding it quite strange.

«Why on a table?» she asked mostly at herself since she was alone under the awning. However, she soon realised it was not the bakery's shop window but the table of one of the many clients. Then, from behind a black cherry double layer cake, appeared a head of a young man with messy black hair. Y/N observed how greedily that man was eating the cake: in one bite he ate almost half slice of that cake.

She opened her E/C eyes wide at that sight. Were all those sweets only for him? He would get a stomach ache and a cavity if he decided to eat all those sugary delights.

Another good look at the guy and Y/N, if it was possible, would open even wider her eyes: a very slim, pale, young man with messy neck-length black hair and black eyes; those eyes had a deep shadow below them, maybe his sleep was too much overwrought. Y/N noticed how simple his clothes were: a pair of blue jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt. Nothing more, nothing less.

But two things caught Y/N attention: first, his posture. He seemed to prefer to crouch rather than sit. And second, the way he was holding those sweets, using only a thumb and a finger. For someone as Y/N Yagami, a guy like him was strange yet interesting at the same time. For some reason she wanted to know more about him.

He was going to eat what remained of the slice of cake when he turned his gaze at her. His look was so intense that made Y/N jump for the surprise. However, she got hypnotised by those eyes, so deep black and apparently empty.

They kept staring at each other for a while, none of them looked away or blinked. It was only when someone spoke near Y/N's ear that she snapped back in the real world.

«Y/N, what are you doing here?» it was Light with his usual serious voice. When Y/N looked at him she noticed he was still wearing the Daikoku's uniform.

«Light!» she turned her body fully at him. «I was waiting the rain to stop»

«It stopped ten minutes ago, we're waiting for you at home»

Ten minutes ago? For how much time Y/N and that guy stared at each other then? She apologised to Light and before leaving the bakery's awning she looked inside one more time but she didn’t see that weird boy anymore.

♰ BACK TO THE PRESENT ♰

Since that particular encounter, Y/N met few more times that guy. Especially at the To-Oh University where Y/N was present at a tennis match between that guy and Light. Of course Light won and his little sister couldn’t be happier.

One day, back at that specific bakery where the two saw each other for the first time, Y/N was enjoying a break from her studies with a cup of tea and some sweets when she felt a presence beside her.

«Good afternoon, Miss. May I have a seat?» a warm and monotone voice spoke not much far from her. When Y/N turned towards the source of that voice she couldn’t hide the surprise in finding that same weird guy! What was his name…ah, something like Hideki Ryuga, like the idol. Sayu loved that actor.

Y/N looked around the shop noticing many empty tables so she found it very strange. However, she gestured him the chair in front of her and he sat down. Well, the correct expression was "he crouched" since he didn’t sit like a normal person.

«I noticed you took all the remaining daifuku» (A/N: "daifuku" = a Japanese confection consisting of a small round mochi (glutinous rice cake) stuffed with sweetened red bean paste made from azuki beans. They could be white, pale green, or pale pink-coloured).

«It's because they're my favourite sweets»

Shortly after that a waiter walked closer and took Hideki's order and few minutes later that same waiter brought a cup of tea and a large slice of strawberry shortcake. The two of them stood in silence for a while until Y/N decided to end that embarrassing situation.

«I saw you at the To-Oh…great match» Y/N took a sip of her tea, the steam warmed her face.

«Thank you. Light Yagami was a great rival back then. Aren't you too young for the University?»  he asked tilting his head in confusion, the thumb was pressed against his pale lips. «Oh my, the manners. I'm Hideki Ryuga»

«Like the idol?» Y/N asked surprised.

«Yes» Hideki replied and then he devoured in one bite an entire daifuku.

Of course Y/N didn’t believe him. Sure, it could be true that this guy shared the same name with someone else. However, Y/N had a strange feeling.

«I'm Y/A» she ate a daifuku, a pale-green one.

«Only Y/A?»

«Yes»

Unaware of Y/N, Hideki's gaze darkened. He knew exactly who Y/N was and the fact that she used an alias much like him made grow a strange excitement inside him. That was going to be fun.

♰ TIME SKIP ♰

It went without saying that Y/N and Hideki (or Ryuzaki as he wanted to be called) created a special, deep tie. Something completely different from the connection with Light and Sayu. Between Y/N and Ryuzaki there was understanding, complicity and empathy; they completed each other sentences and their way of reasoning was the same. This bond became even stronger when Ryuzaki revealed he was the greatest detective L. Y/N suspected that he was hiding something but she couldn’t imagine something like that.

Soon they could consider themselves in a romantic relationship. The fact that Y/N was Light's sister could be a problem but not for L. The two of them had a personal way to show love and affection: whispering sweet nothings in each other ears, lacing their fingers together when nobody was looking or gently running a hand over each other’s back or arm. In public they were quite discrete as Y/N requested. However, one day this discretion broke irremediably.

«Are you sure? I mean…I'm Light's sister after all…»

«You're nothing like Light-kun, Y/N»

It was late afternoon, almost dinner time. Very soon Y/N should come back home but before that they had a couple of hours for themselves. Their relationship grew to such an extent that both of them were ready to take one step forward (if you what I mean).

«You're the exact opposite…your eyes don't have the same dangerous shadow as his» L raised the hand and touched Y/N's cheeks, the index finger traced every curve of her features as to register everything.

Y/N smiled leaning in the touch. She looked at him, E/C pools met black ones. After an endless minute, their faces became closer and closer until a kiss connected them. A first chaste and sweet kiss turned in something more passionate and rough, the hands started to roam around their bodies wanting more and more. And they had more those hours.

.

.

.

It was 7pm and Light had to walk back home with Y/N as often happened when she would come with him at Ryuzaki's hotel. The Yagami boy had a strange feeling about his sister: she was acting strange, she was so out of character. Nothing worrying but Light noticed this change in his sister.

He was searching for Y/N around the hotel, they had to meet near the elevator but she didn’t specify which one. That was what Light referred when he said "being out of character": Y/N would never forget a detail like that, he knew she was a precise person.

However, Light would discuss this later but in that moment he had to find his sister. He turned the corner and stopped abruptly at the sight in front of him: Y/N was kissing L on the lips in front of his bedroom.  Light kept staring at them in disbelief, horror and in rage. How dare L do such things with his sister? He was going to pay for this.

After the kiss, Y/N walked away from the bedroom leading towards the private lounge where the task-force worked. Maybe she wanted to say hi to Soichiro before leaving the hotel. Light followed her, his blood was boiling inside him. Now he had another good reason to kill Ryuzaki, at least from his point of view.

«Dad! Me and Light are leaving. Should we wait for you for dinner?»  

«No dear, I'll be late tonight. Be careful on your way home»

Light joined the task-force in the lounge shortly after Y/N. Everyone greeted him but he didn’t say anything. His younger sister found it quite weird.

«Are you alright, Light?»

«Of course, Y/N. Everything's fine…except for the fact I saw you»

«It's good to hear you don’t need glasses, Light…» Y/N tried to appear relaxed by using sarcasm but inside her she was panicking.

«I'm talking about the kiss with Ryuzaki» he crossed the arms while looking sharply at his sister.

«The what?!» Soichiro uttered in shock dropping all the papers on the ground. Even the rest of the task-force was shocked.

In that exact moment L entered the lounge and sat at his armchair ignoring everyone's gaze on him.

«Ryuzaki! Explain! Is it true you kissed my daughter?» Soichiro asked in a rush. His face was red but for rage or embarrassment? Who knew.

«Please Yagami-san, there's no need for these scenes» the greatest detective in the world replied monotone as always.

«Don’t tell me to stay calm, Ryuzaki!»

L sigh. «Light-kun, could you tell your father to stay calm please?»

«I won't say anything, Ryuzaki. However, I would rather an explanation»

«You don’t need explanations, Light. My life has nothing to do with you» Y/N crossed the arms as well, now quite bothered by both her father and brother.

«You cannot date Ryuzaki, Y/N!» Light said firmly.

«And please, may I know the reason?» Y/N counterattacked.

«Because he is way older than you!»

«Look who's talking…the boy who is dating a girl older than him…» Y/N was talking about Misa who was for real two years older than Light.

This back and forth continued for a while and the three Yagamis were raising too much their voices for L's taste. Luckily, the rest of the task-force was too terrified to interfere and kept following with the eyes the moves of Soichiro, Light and Y/N. After a while, L had enough.

«Light-kun, Yagami-san please…» he put down the discussion using his alluring and authoritative voice despite it was always so emotionless. However, Y/N discovered how passionate his voice could be just few hours before in his bedroom. «Have you even considered that your daughter is smart enough to understand what is the best for her? I understand that you, Yagami-san, as a father and you, Light-kun, as a brother were worried about Y/N's safety, but please evaluate her opinion too before making a fuss» L took from the pocket of his jeans a lollipop, he unwrapped it and started to eat it.

Light and Soichiro stopped arguing. At those words Soichiro was deep in thought while Light didn’t change his mind about that topic.  After five minutes of silence, Soichiro sighed.

«I want the best for her too…» he admitted. «And if you're the best for her, Ryuzaki, so be it»

«Dad!» Light protested but Soichiro raised a hand to stop him.

«I know you're worried, Light, but Ryuzaki is right. Y/N…are you sure about him?»

Y/N nodded with conviction. «Yes dad, I trust and love Ryuzaki with all my heart. I want to stay with him»

Soichiro smiled at her. «Good. But Ryuzaki!» he said out of nowhere pointing his index finger to the greatest detective in the world. «If you hurt Y/N in any way I'm going to arrest you!»

In the meantime, Light didn’t say a word. He was trying to elaborate a new plan after that sudden turn of events. When Y/N asked his opinion about that argument, he replied that as long as Ryuzaki treated her with love and respect he could consider the idea to accept that relationship.

But now that his sister and Ryuzaki were a couple, will he continue with his deadly plan?  

[a-storm-of-roses]

October Fics Day 3: Black Cat

Pairing: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard

Rating: G

Words: 1411

Summary: Rodney gets a pet. John and Rodney test their luck.

Read on AO3 or below!

“Maybe we should bring it back with us. You know, so the zoologists can examine it?”

“Since when do you pick up presents for the zoologists, Rodney?” John asked skeptically.

On the ground, Rodney didn’t answer, too busy scratching the belly of the fluffy, white animal in his lap. It was about the size of a young labrador, but looked like a cross between a fox and a cat. Rodney was clearly charmed by the creature, had been ever since it had wound its way around his legs and begun trilling in a way that was almost reminiscent of a purr.

“Aren’t you a beautiful… uh… whatever you are. Oh! And smart too!” The animal had managed to paw open one of the pockets of Rodney’s vest, and was currently using it’s small, sharp teeth to tear into a power bar. With its tail, it grabbed a chunk of the bar and dropped it into its mouth, trilling again as it gnawed on its new treat.

“Can’t take it back to Atlantis. It’s a white vreelt. They’re bad luck.” Ronon said, eyeing the creature suspiciously, his hand resting light on his stunner.

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no such thing. Look, it’s a small mammal, with a prehensile tail, and it’s clearly smart. The zoologists will have a field day.”

“The Athosians share the same belief. Vreelt were not native to Athos, but our stories still warned against the white ones. Misfortune follows those who cross paths with a white vreelt.”

“Huh. Like a black cat then,” John muttered.

“Exactly!” Rodney added. “And that’s pure hogwash, nothing but uneducated superstition.”

“Could there be anything behind it?” John asked. “Maybe something biological you didn’t know about? Something to do with the Wraith?”

Teyla shrugged.

“I do not believe so. We have many old folktales like this. But I admit, I have rarely come across a vreelt in my travels, and never a white one.”

“Well there you have it,” Rodney said, pulling the vreelt into his arms and standing. The creature went easily, nearly too easily for a wild animal, wriggling just a bit, before settling happily into the crook of Rodney’s arm.

And god help him, but Rodney looked so soft, so happy, so besotted with the little fleabag he was holding, that John just couldn’t bring himself to say no.

“Fine, we’ll bring it back.”

“Bad idea,” Ronon grumbled as they made their way to the gate. Rodney harrumphed and the vreelt trilled, a bit deeper than before.

When John twisted his ankle on a stray root, just a click from the gate, Ronon said nothing, but his eyebrows definitely said I told you so.

---

For some godforsaken reason, Rodney named the vreelt Pearl. And to his credit, he did leave Pearl with the zoologists for about four days. But while her (and Pearl was a her, it turned out) tail was of general interest, not much else about her was. When Major Lorne brought back a small creature that looked like a cross between a mouse and frog, but turned out to asexually reproduce, the zoologists forgot all about Pearl and she moved back in with Rodney.

Rodney brought Pearl everywhere - to the labs, to the mess, to team movie nights, even though both Teyla and Ronon insisted on sitting as far from her as possible.

She was sweet and smart, and generally well behaved, especially given that Rodney spoiled her rotten, feeding her off of his plate and petting her absentmindedly, every time she begged for attention. And sprained ankle aside, John was sure Teyla and Ronon’s fears were unfounded.

Sure, Rodney spilled blue jello, all down the front of his newly cleaned shirt. And Teyla had lost her best pair of bantos, the ones her father had carved, and Ronon seemed to have developed a persistent stomach issue, which Carson thought might be a gluten intolerance, but none of those things had to do with Pearl.

And it wasn’t Pearl’s fault that the chemistry lab burned down, when there hadn’t even been any active experiments running. Or that the Daedulus somehow brought salt instead of sugar, and everyone was subjected to six weeks of bitter coffee and savory food.

But by the time the ZPM malfunctioned, and the shields failed, John was ready to reassess.

56 long hours, fuelled by adrenaline, bitter coffee and a judicious application of uppers, and John had reached his limit. Rodney was stumbling back to his quarters, crashing already, another crisis averted, when John waylaid him in the transporter.

“She has to go.”

“Who has to what? Sheppard, I’m too tired for this.”

“Pearl. Ronon’s right. She’s bad luck.”

Rodney’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry, has your brain finally abandoned ship, let your hair take control of your body? Do you hear yourself? She’s an animal! A pet! There’s no such thing as bad luck.”

“You have to admit Rodney, things haven’t been going our way recently.”

“This is the Pegasus galaxy, Colonel, when do they ever go our way? I’m way too tired for this nonsense.” And with that Rodney hit the control panel and stalked out of the transporter, striding with purpose, even though John was sure they were nowhere near his quarters.

---

In the cold light of day, and after nearly 16 hours of straight sleep, John could admit he had perhaps been a little rash. He apologized to Rodney, brought Pearl a power bar and a leather chew toy, and glared right back at Ronon whenever he eyed Pearl a little too viciously.

But things kept happening.

They lost power in the central spire, for no apparent reason, faced a shortage of ammunition when the Daedalus was delayed. John caught the Pegasus equivalent of strep throat and lost his voice for a week, and Rodney burned his hands doing a standard rewire on a control panel.

But, bandaged hands aside, Rodney was happy. Softer, lighter somehow, as if having something to love, and something that would love him back, uncomplicatedly, was all he’d really been missing. Pearl adored him, spent her hours sprawled on his lap, or wrapped tightly around his feet, and Rodney doted on her in return, brushing her soft, white fur, and baby talking her when he thought no one else was around.

She was a sweet thing, trilled happily when she saw the rest of the team, even Ronon, who continued to glare suspiciously. John had to admit he’d grown fond of the little puffball, even he did sometimes feel a twinge of jealousy when Rodney stroked her fur and called her beautiful.

---

“What have you done to Pearl!”

“Nothing! It just happened naturally!” Zelenka was stood square in the lab, glaring Rodney down, as a cheerful, but notably darker Pearl, ran circles around Rodney’s feet, trilling in pleasure.

“When I left here, Pearl was very much white. Get it? White? Like a pearl? How the hell did she end up looking... sooty?”

“Pearls can be black too,” Zelenka shrugged.

“Maybe she’s like an ermine,” John suggested, just to watch Rodney splutter some more.

“Don’t be ridiculous- of all the stupid-”

---

As it turned out, Pearl was like an ermine, or a stoat as the zoologists kept calling them.

“She’ll probably turn white again in a few months time - it’s hard to know how the move to a new planet might have affected her rhythms,” Dr. Patel assured him.

“The name doesn’t make sense anymore,” Rodney lamented, even as he held Pearl close, his hands stroking through her darker, slightly rougher fur.

“I mean Zelenka wasn’t wrong.” Rodney fixed him with a blank stare. “Pearls can be black.”

Rodney sighed.

“Least she isn’t bad luck anymore,” Ronon offered.

And when they stumbled on a ZPM on a routine archaeological mission, well that had nothing to do with Pearl either. Nor did the discovery of a bean that tasted suspiciously similar to coffee, or the reappearance of Teyla’s bantos.

And John certainly wasn’t going to credit Pearl for Rodney kissing him, sweet and a bit shy, or the shining happiness in his eyes when John kissed him right back, revelling in the soft press of lips, the warm touch of skin. With a high trill, Pearl summarily interrupted them, head butting Rodney’s arm in annoyance at the lack of attention she was receiving.

As one hand stroked through warm dark fur, and another twined in short brown hair, maybe, John thought, their luck had finally turned around.

[sam-and-buck]

At Home With Captain America

Fandom: MCU

Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes

Rating: G

Words: 7.7k

Also on AO3

“What can you tell me about how you got to know the Winter Soldier?”

Wilson chuckles. “The first time I met Buck—Sergeant Barnes—he ripped the steering wheel out of the car I was driving on the freeway. He got on the roof, punched through the windshield, pulled the steering wheel off. Just like that.” He mimes with his hands as he describes it.

This doesn’t sound like an auspicious beginning to me, but Wilson is laughing.

At Home with Captain America

By: Adrien Davis

Published: February 2, 2026, 3:35 PM 

To say I’m intimidated by interviewing Captain America in his own home would be an understatement, and I would never have thought to ask if I could do that if he hadn’t personally invited me. Normally, I’d start one of these articles by describing the location, maybe even throw in an anecdote or two about how I got there, but that’s not going to be possible here.

Sam Wilson lives on [REDACTED] in [REDACTED]. It was a windy day.

Here’s what I can tell you: it’s an apartment. A nice one. Two bedroom, two bath.

“Am I allowed to describe the inside of your house?” is one of the first things I say to him, after getting his permission to turn on my recorder.

“Go right ahead,” he laughs, arms crossed over the worn USAF logo on his gray t-shirt. “Just don’t put the street name in there or anything.”

Wilson gives me a moment to poke around. Whoever decorated this place has good taste; it’s no haphazard bachelor pad. There’s an exposed brick wall in the otherwise slate blue living room, several plants (which I assume are fakes—albeit convincing ones—since Wilson is, by his own admission, not home as often as he’d like to be), a sturdy walnut coffee table, and a magnificently squishy-looking red couch.

It’s unmistakably lived in, though. I don’t get the sense that the place has been scrubbed spotless or particularly arranged for my visit. There are two abandoned mugs on coasters sitting on the coffee table, along with several different remote controls, and a stack of half-finished books with dog-eared corners. A pile of mail has been pushed to the side. Next to the door, a wall-mounted coat rack holds several leather jackets in shades of brown and black, and at least as many sweaters, mostly navy blue, charcoal and maroon. The shoe rack underneath houses multiple pairs of black combat boots, worn running shoes, house slippers. And next to that, on the floor, a large, gleaming silver case with red detail that could only contain Wilson’s Falcon wingpack. The legendary shield is propped up against it, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

I’m trying to imagine how it would be to leave the house for him. Got my keys, wings, phone, shield, wallet?

There are pictures on the walls and the mantle above the fireplace, under the television. People who I can only assume are Wilson’s relatives by their similarly gap-toothed smiles. Veterans. Wilson in full air force gear next to a blond man I don’t recognize. Then Captain Steve Rogers, in the 1940s with the Howling Commandos, and in the twenty-first century by himself. Wilson with Rogers, and Natasha Romanoff. One conspicuously empty nail where a large frame would clearly fit. 

Scattered among these are several very old, dour black and white photographs of a dark-haired family. The first shows a mother, father and two small children, a boy and girl. The second is the mother and children only, taken some time after, judging by their apparent ages. The third is several years later still; the same children with light eyes and dark hair, but they’re teeangers now, and without parents. They look haunting and out-of-place among the glossy prints of Wilson’s big, happy family in matching 80s colorblocked tracksuits, or Wilson and his sisters in front of a Christmas tree, surrounded by wrapping paper and toys.

There’s also a wood-framed painting that stands out: an idyllic watercolor of a little farmhouse with a green roof and shuttered windows in a field. A small pile of lumber and a white mailbox make up the foreground. The most distinctive feature is the signature at the bottom: S.G.R. I know those initials. 

“Captain Rogers painted this?”

“Uh huh,” Wilson nods fondly, hands now in his pockets. “Man of many talents. Maybe every talent. Having a hard time thinking of anything he wasn’t good at.”

I hear the unstated in that. A tough act to follow.

I think, for purposes of journalistic integrity, I should probably insert my bias before we go any further. We had never met before this interview, but I am and have always been enormously supportive of Captain Wilson and the work he’s done, and have written myriad articles and think pieces about him over the past several years. He’s shown himself time and again to be a man of unshakable integrity and endless emotional intelligence, and frankly, I’m more worried about the poor sucker who’s going to have to follow Wilson. Rogers did a lot of great things, but among the best of them was choosing a successor.

I tell him as much and he smiles, looking down at his shoes.

“Yeah, I know that’s how you feel,” he says. “I requested you for this piece, actually, because of that. People are going to accuse me of wanting a softball interview here, and maybe they’re right. For this one, I think that’s what I need.”

I’m not sure what he means by that, but he continues before I can ask.

“We should probably do this in the kitchen.” Wilson indicates behind us with his thumb, after I’ve stood silently in his living room for probably way too long. “That couch is too comfortable. I end up falling asleep every time I sit on it.”

The kitchen is, perhaps, a little cramped. There’s a large, dark marble-topped kitchen island that just fits in the center of the room with four bar stools tucked under it. The cabinets are tall, with glass doors showcasing a massive collection of healthy, but non-perishable food. The shelf nearest us holds several well-used bags of pantry supplies: chickpea flour, arrowroot starch, raw sugar. There’s a pasta shelf above it, but no Kraft Mac in sight; everything is lentil-based, chickpea-based, black bean-based.

“Have a seat,” Wilson says, inclining his head towards one of the barstools. “Can I get you something to drink?” He opens the refrigerator.

“We have…” he pauses. “Water. Sorry, just got back from Ecuador this morning. Sparkling or still?”

I accept a glass of still water from Captain America. He sits down on the stool next to mine.

His house, or what I’ve seen of it, is homey in a way I can’t imagine any of the late Tony Stark’s buildings ever were, and I mention this.

“I lived at the Avengers Tower briefly,” Wilson tells me. “Tony liked everything streamlined, really modern. Kinda sparse for my taste. I needed some real furniture when I got out of there, you know? Like, things that were made by human beings. Stuff with ‘character,’ that’s what Steve would call it.”

“So you decorated this place?”

“I think it’s about fifty-fifty,” Wilson says, indicated with vague hand motion.

This is my in.

This interview, as you may have read on the cover description, is actually intended to be an exposé about the working partnership between Wilson and Sergeant James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, but I didn’t want to be the one who brought him up first. 

All I knew going in is that they’re a package deal in the field, a unit. We’ve all seen the footage.

Also, Barnes lives here too, but evidently, he’s not home.

“What can you tell me about how you got to know the Winter Soldier?”

Wilson chuckles. “The first time I met Buck—Sergeant Barnes—he ripped the steering wheel out of the car I was driving on the freeway. He got on the roof, punched through the windshield, pulled the steering wheel off. Just like that.” He mimes with his hands as he describes it.

This doesn’t sound like an auspicious beginning to me, but Wilson is laughing.

“I hope he apologized to you for that,” I tell him, because I’m not exactly sure how else to respond.

“Oh yeah, of course he did, even though he knows I don’t blame him for it. He doesn’t remember it at all,” says Wilson. “There are a lot of gaps, to be honest. Most of it is gaps.”

What Wilson is likely referring to here is the decades-long period in which Barnes was under the complete mental and physical influence of the Nazi splinter group known as HYDRA. If you’re unfamiliar with the history of Sergeant Barnes, I’ll list a couple of great articles for you to read at the end of this one. I assure you, it’s worth your time. 

Wilson has without a doubt been Barnes’s most ardent supporter. He’s spoken out many times about not judging Barnes based on the actions he couldn’t control, and has masterfully refocused the national conversation towards Barnes’s invaluable contributions in World War II and in the recent war to bring half the universe’s population back into existence. Wilson has been quoted as saying, “The least extraordinary thing about Sergeant Barnes is his vibranium arm.”*

But perhaps Wilson’s most effective act towards building public confidence in Barnes was his decision to designate him as an almost exclusive mission partner. Even if the general populace has been reluctant to trust the Winter Soldier, it is abundantly clear that Captain America does, absolutely. Barnes is a constant in the footage of Wilson’s exploits. The moment he touches down on the ground after a successful arrest or negotiation, Barnes is right there. He’s been sighted treating Wilson’s minor injuries, tightening straps on the Falcon wingsuit before Wilson takes flight, and he stands quietly behind Wilson during almost all of his many public appearances.

Despite his ubiquitous presence in Wilson’s company, Barnes has remained elusive for comment. He has no social media, and the only public statement he’s made to date was in November of 2023, in support of Rogers’s decision to pass on the legacy of Captain America. Barnes expressed his categorical agreement that Wilson is “the best and only choice for this job,” describing him as both “worthy of the honor,” and “equipped for the burden.”**

“Is it fair to say that Sergeant Barnes almost comes with the shield?” I ask.

Wilson makes a face.

“No, it isn’t,” he shakes his head. “The shield is an accessory; my partner is not. I really don’t like it when people lump him in with the shield. It sort of minimizes how Bucky and I have made a series of conscious choices to be the way we are now. Especially because he’s experienced being fully stripped of his personal autonomy—as a veteran, I can say I’ve had a taste of that, but nothing like what he’s been through—and I think it cheapens his choice to do what he does if we imply that he, as a person, is a package deal with my title, you know?”

The therapist in Wilson is showing. In addition to his decorated military history and service as Captain America, he has a background in psychology, and a Masters degree in Social Work with a focus on Veterans’ mental health issues. He’s worked extensively with the VA as a leader in group therapy.

“So Sergeant Barnes is by your side day in and day out because he wants to be?”

This, Wilson has another unequivocal answer for. “Yes. He wants to be there, and I want him there. And here at home.”

“Tell me a little more about that,” I say. “After the...steering-wheel-stealing incident. Once he was more or less himself. Did you two hit it off right away?”

Wilson laughs again. “Not at all,” he says. “I think there was this resentment, kind of, in the beginning. Like I’m Steve’s best friend and no, I’m Steve’s best friend. Real elementary school stuff. He really got on my nerves; just everything about him annoyed me, and the feeling was mutual. Looking back…”

And here Wilson pauses for a moment. He chews on his bottom lip, and I notice all at once how nervous his body language has become. His fingers are drumming on the table, the line of his shoulders is taut, his leg is bouncing. He clears his throat though, and seems determined to continue.

“Looking back, I can see where it was coming from. It wasn’t clear to me at the time, but now I get it. There was this one time, it was during the fight over the Accords. We barely knew each other at this point. Buck and I, we’re fighting Spider-Man—who neither of us had ever even heard of before, like, that afternoon—and he pins us to the floor of this hangar with that goo he shoots out of his wrist. Really gross. I manage to get Redwing [Wilson’s drone] to fling Spider-Man out the window. So we’re just laying there, me and Bucky, stuck. And he goes ‘you couldn’t have done that before?’ And I just turn to him, and I’m like, ‘I hate you.’”

At this, Wilson really starts cracking up. He relaxes visibly, just a little.

“Did you mean it?”

“I sure thought I did,” he says, still chuckling. “Like, I wasn’t about to take it back.”

He continues: “Anyway, so after Steve, you know, passed on the shield to me, that’s when things really changed. Actually, back up a second. After the whole Accords incident, we ended up sending Bucky to Wakanda for like… to hear him describe it, it’s like we sent him for a two-year spa retreat. They unscrambled his brain as best they could—and really, I think it’s a good thing they couldn’t do any more because I wouldn’t wish some of his memories on my worst enemy—and he spent like months meditating in a hut and milking goats and going to therapy every day. When I met up with him again, I barely would’ve recognized him.”

“So that’s kind of when you guys reconciled? The arguing stopped?”

“Oh, it never stopped,” Wilson says with a grin. “We still argue all the time, about all kinds of things. Just ask Rhodey [Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes, aka War Machine] or Scott [Lang, Ant-Man] or anybody. But the dynamic shifted a little, I think. Bucky’s got… Like I can’t imagine some of the stuff he’s been through, but he’s just kind of learned to roll with it. He is hands down the most resilient person I have ever met. Easily. It was real hard to keep hating him when he was so dead set on getting me to like him, too.”

“Can you walk me through the process by which you two decided to live together?”

“Yeah,” he says, and the nervousness is back. He smooths his hands on his thighs over his jeans. “So, basically, once I got the shield, we’d just barely come back. Like everyone else who got… I—I still don’t know if this is like an okay question to ask people. Do you mind me asking if you were dusted?”

I don’t mind. “Yeah, I was.”

“So you get it,” Wilson says. “Might be the most vulnerable I’d ever felt. I got nothing. Nowhere to go, just the clothes on my back. Then Steve hands me this shield and this enormous legacy—and I look back and there’s Bucky, standing a couple of yards behind me, nodding like, yeah, it should be you. He was the first person who knew, and he’s been right by my side ever since.”

“So you decided to stick together?”

“The original conversation about it was pretty logistical,” Wilson says, rubbing his beard. “There was so much going on, it’s hard to remember exactly what was said, but I think it was along the lines of him offering to fetch the shield for me while I learned how to throw it, and stuff like that. Just easier to do when we’re together 24/7.”

“So rooming together didn’t actually grow out of field partnerships?”

“It was definitely the other way around,” says Wilson. “Basically, I’d get a call from the powers that be that there was something I had to go check out, and it was easier to just walk across the hall than to pick someone else, try to wake them up, and then have to rendez-vous and strategize.”

“I’ll bet,” I say.

Wilson nods. “Easier and faster. Bucky can go from dead asleep to fully geared up in under three minutes. The first few times were like that, with me just knocking on his bedroom door like ‘hey, I need—’ and he comes barreling out covered in knives thirty seconds later like, ‘where are we going?’ We just… clicked. And I’ll be honest; I was really surprised. He’s got my six, I’ve got his, and I never question it. I started asking for him specifically on all my assignments after that, and Fury [Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.] and everyone caught on quick that that’s how it was gonna be. I don’t have to ask anymore.”

“Do you see this continuing long term?” I ask.

Wilson doesn’t hesitate. “Definitely.”

“How would you describe your relationship with Sergeant Barnes now?” I ask. “Clearly you’re partners in the field, and roommates, but…”

Wilson takes a deep breath. His hands are shaking, but he clasps them together in front of him and looks me straight in the eye.

“As of last month,” he says slowly, “Bucky and I are married.”

In the spirit of my interview with Captain America, who stands for honesty and justice and integrity, I think you deserve to know the truth. I want to say that I didn’t drop my recorder, but I did. It clatters to the floor, luckily undamaged.

That startles Wilson into a laugh. For the second it takes me to retrieve my recorder from under my seat, I wonder if he’s kidding.

“Come on,” he says. “Say something. I’m getting nervous.” He’s smiling, but not joking.

“Congratulations,” I blurt out. “I...really?”

“Yeah.” The tension leaves his body in a rush. “We, uh, it’s official.”

I’m struggling for questions at this point. The talking points I was planning on hitting in this interview are all suddenly moot, and I decide to throw out my mental to-do list entirely. I finally settle on, “How long have you two been together?”

“A little over two years,” Wilson answers. “About three months after I took up the shield.”

“How did it happen?”

Wilson grins. “Uh, well. I had sort of been…having feelings about him, you know, for awhile. Actually, it’s more like I had noticed that I was having more-than-friendly feelings in the few weeks leading up to that. I think the main reason we had so much trouble getting along in the beginning is that it took some time to process those feelings as attraction. So in a way, I was interested on some level right from the get go.”

“Even if that person wasn’t...behind the wheel of their own brain, so to speak—” I start, but Wilson interjects.

“I see what you did there.”

“—I think it would take a lot for me to be attracted to someone who had previously tried to kill me.”

“Less than I would’ve expected, that’s for sure,” Wilson says. “But it’s not like I was checking him out while he was busy tearing my wings off my back; I’m talking about once he was mentally present in his body. That was like...two years after the whole steering wheel incident, and I hadn’t seen him at all in the interim. I didn’t even know where he was during that time.”

“So it had at least been awhile since he had tried to kill you?”

“Oh yeah. And plenty of other people tried to kill me in those two years, and they weren’t even sorry about it. You gotta adjust your standards, you know?” he says with a laugh.

“Anyway, if you ask him, he says he’s been all in since the moment he saw me back in Wakanda after his little vacation. Now we’re talking about four years since the steering wheel thing. Me, Steve, Nat and everybody; we landed in Wakanda and Bucky’s there. He and I look at each other over Steve’s shoulder, and like, bam, that was it for him. 

“And then there’s five years where neither of us exist. We get back, we fight the monsters, Steve gives me the shield, and while all this is happening, apparently Bucky has come to the conclusion that he’s in love with me. After that, he was just waiting for me to catch up.”

“And he just knew you’d get there? Did you give him any indication that you were interested, or…?”

“I definitely did, but not intentionally,” says Wilson. “He’s very perceptive—like way more than I was giving him credit for—but I think it’s a combination of that and me not being as subtle as I think I am.

“Because, see there’s this invisible line I’ve drawn here—at least that’s how he was thinking about it—and I keep dancing a little closer to that line every day, the line being the no homo line; the point where you can’t take it back. The flirting, I mean. I, of course, think he has no clue and that I’m being slick about it. Actually, lemme ask—how much detail are you looking for here? Like do you want to know the whole story or just—”

“Lay it on me,” I tell him. “Just however you want to tell it.”

“Alright. Where was I? So I’m just there going back and forth on whether or not it’s a good idea to risk this roommate-partner-buddy thing we’ve got going here by trying to make a move that, frankly, I have no clue if he’s gonna be receptive to. You have to remember we’re talking about a guy from the Great Depression here, like that’s the time period he grew up in. I’m no historian, but I think it’s common knowledge that if you were a man who was attracted to men back then, you mostly kept that to yourself. The chances of him bringing up his sexual orientation unprompted are very low. And like, I’m 90% sure I’ve caught him looking before, but that’s never a guarantee, you know?

“So, instead of sitting down and having a mature conversation about my feelings, I keep doing this thing where, for example, say he’s trying something new with his hair, and I’ll say something nice about it. And then I follow up immediately with, ‘Almost makes up for your ugly mug,’ or whatever, which—I mean, he’s such a good-looking guy, like what ugly mug, obviously I don’t mean that. And he’s not stupid, he knows what he looks like. So he picks up on what I’m doing, doesn’t say anything, and lets this go on for months.

“Eventually, there’s one night… We’re on the couch, watching like, I don’t know, Seinfeld or something. Whatever was on. He’s reading a book on my tablet, looking all relaxed and handsome. I can’t have that, so I start egging him on like I usually do, and I guess I got close enough to the line that he just puts the tablet down, turns to me and says, ‘Sam, you know there’s no line, right?’ 

“And I’m going, okay, what does that mean? Like, is this a conversation I was previously a part of and forgot or...? Where is this ‘line’ thing coming from? And so I ask him—I think I just said, ‘What?’ At that point he looks me right in the eye, and he goes, ‘You can kiss me if you want to.’” So I did, and he was ready for it, like no hesitation. Like I said: waiting for me to catch up.”

This, as you can imagine, is far beyond the level of detail I could have ever imagined I’d get about Captain America’s love life in my wildest dreams. I decide to ask a new question, because I feel like I’d be pushing my luck to delve further when he’s already been so open about this experience. 

“Who proposed and when?” 

“Ooh,” says Wilson, “I guess technically I did, but I’m gonna go on record saying that one was a group effort.”

“Well, now you’re gonna have to explain that,” I tell him. “What’s a ‘group effort’ proposal look like?”

“Hmm. I backed myself into that one, didn’t I?” he says. “First, I want the record to show that before I called you guys to set up this interview, I specifically asked Bucky if there were any us-related topics or whatever that were off-limits to discuss and he said ‘No,’ and I said, ‘Are you sure?’ and he said ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ and I said, “You better be sure, because whatever I say is gonna be public knowledge after that,” and he said “I know, I get it, Jesus.” Then I dropped it because he sounded like he was getting kinda irritated. If he didn’t want me to tell you any of this stuff, that would’ve been the time to speak up, so here we go:

“We were at… Well, I can’t tell you exactly where we were, but let’s just say we were working. There was nobody else in the room, but we were getting ready to go out in the field; seemed like it was gonna be a pretty...intense situation out there. I had my whole suit on, he was calibrating his arm, and the conversation ended up at living wills. As you can imagine, that’s an important thing to have when you’re in this line of work. So he proceeded to tell me that the last time he’d updated his was never and that his next-of-kin was nobody. And I was like, ‘So what, your grenade launchers are all gonna go to the state? I don’t even get the red one?’ and I’m just giving him a hard time, you know, and he’s like, ‘Sam.’ 

“And then, my god, he just goes all the way off about how much he loves me and trusts me and I—we don’t usually go there. I mean, we’d been on the same page for a long time as far as, we’ve established that we’re in love, this relationship is going well, but it’s not something that we’d verbalized in any real depth. That’s just a level of like, exposure, vulnerability, I think, that doesn’t come naturally to most people, myself included. 

“So he just keeps talking—and I think it’s fair to say he’s not a very talkative guy most of the time—and I’m standing there with my jaw on the floor because he is not holding back, and this is all clearly unrehearsed. Like, this is just how he really feels about me, apparently. By the time he’s finished, I’m crying, he’s crying, it’s a mess. And so I open my mouth, and I have no idea what I’m gonna say to all that, but what comes out is, “Will you marry me?” I wasn’t planning on it, but suddenly I just knew. Best decision I ever made.”

“And you’ve made some very important decisions in your life.”

“That’s right. I know which ones I’m leaving out by saying this was the best, and I stand by it.”

At that moment, as if on cue, the lock clicks, and Sergeant Barnes walks through the front door carrying two very full bags of groceries on his vibranium arm. He tosses a set of car keys into a little dish and locks the door behind him.

“Hey, babe,” Wilson calls out, catching his eye.

“You did it?” Barnes asks.

“Yeah.” Wilson tilts his head up.

Barnes rounds the corner, pecks Wilson on the lips with all the comfort and familiarity of a couple who have done it a thousand times. I hear him murmur, “Proud of you,” under his breath.

Barnes sets the groceries on the counter in front of me as Wilson introduces us.

“Call me Bucky,” says Barnes, reaching out with his right hand to shake mine. There’s a silver band on the fourth finger, and when I look back over at Wilson, he’s slipping his wedding ring out of the pocket of his jeans and putting it back on his left hand.

“Wasn’t sure if I’d be able to go through with all this,” he says, gesturing to me and my notepad. “I took the wedding pictures down in the living room too, before you got here.”

“I knew he could do it,” Barnes tells me. His voice is low, soft, and so quiet, a hint of an old Brooklyn accent underlying his words even now, despite everything he’s been through and everywhere he’s been. He shrugs out of his nondescript hoodie and tosses it on one of the unused stools, grabbing a kettle and putting it on the stove.

“Hibiscus or chamomile?” he asks me, pulling two boxes of tea bags from one of the grocery bags and letting me choose before turning to Wilson. “Bad news, hon. They were out of your whole wheat pita.”

“Again?” says Wilson, with feeling. “Really?”

“They only had the gluten free. I guess I could check the other store tonight, but it’s supposed to rain later, and I kinda don’t feel like going out again,” Barnes says, head buried in the cupboard as he stacks cans. “I was thinking maybe I could just try making ‘em. How does that sound? How hard can it be, right?”

“‘How does homemade pita sound,’ he says,” Wilson repeats, jabbing a thumb towards Barnes. “Can you believe this guy?”

“I honestly can’t.” It’s the truth. My brain refuses to reconcile this man with the supposed playboy I read about in my 11th grade history textbook, nor the internationally feared assassin.

“Is that a yes or no on the experimental homemade pita?” Barnes asks Wilson, still deep in the cupboard. “No promises on quality.”

“That’s a yes, Buck,” says Wilson, then he turns to me. “Don’t listen to him; he’s a great cook.”

The Winter Soldier is a great cook, I write in my notes. And then I realize this is my moment to shine.

“I actually know a good recipe for homemade pita,” I tell them. “It’s whole wheat.” That gets Barnes’s attention.

“You do?” he says, pulling out his phone. “Can you send it to—hmm.” He frowns. “Sam, it’s not showing the thing.”

“What thing?” Wilson asks, taking Barnes’s phone from his hand. “Oh, yeah, that’s cause it’s set to Contacts Only, Buck, you have to switch it to Allow Everyone.”

Wilson looks at me, smiling. “Bucky here hates technology—”

“—I don’t hate technology—”

“Oh yes you do, you won’t even let me get you an iPad—”

“Yeah, for what? What do I need it for? I wouldn’t even use—”

“You wouldn’t use one, huh? How about I stop letting you borrow mine for a couple of weeks, then we’ll see how you feel.” Wilson turns to me, passing Barnes’s phone back to him. “He should be showing up on your AirDrop now.”

Sure enough, I’m able to send the recipe link to Bucky’s iPhone. He thanks me and starts scrolling right through it, argument apparently totally forgotten.

As Barnes continues to read, periodically checking on the kettle; Wilson excuses himself to help put away the rest of the groceries, which are mostly produce. 

“I hope you have like, immediate plans for these,” Wilson says, inspecting the avocados as he pulls them out of the paper bag. “They are ripe, man. Tomorrow’s gonna be too late for them.”

“Yeah I do, I was gonna make grilled chicken and avocado sandwiches for dinner,” Barnes replies. “I got tomatoes, swiss cheese—”

“What’s all this about pita then if we’re having sandwiches?” Wilson asks.

“No, the pita is the bread here,” Barnes explains. “You stuff everything in the pocket. I’m gonna have to get started pretty soon; probably gonna double the rising time since it’s cold out.” Wilson hums in apparent approval of this course of action.

I lose Wilson to the refrigerator for several minutes. He stands back up after arranging things in the crisper to his liking.

“Any chance I could get a peek at those wedding pictures?” I ask.

“Oh,” says Wilson. “That okay with you?” He turns to Barnes, who nods, carefully steeping bags of tea in three steaming mugs, and then leads me back to the living room. 

Wilson has stashed two silver-framed pictures in a drawer of the coffee table, apparently in anticipation of my visit, and he pulls them out to show to me. Both are taken in front of a familiar-looking farmhouse, which I struggle with for a moment before placing it as the exact one in Captain Rogers’s watercolor painting that’s hanging to my left. Wilson’s suit in the photo is a matte but brilliant shade of cobalt; Barnes wears black.

One is of just the two of them, arms around one another and foreheads together. It’s almost too intimate to look at; I feel as though I’m intruding on something intensely private, even though Wilson is standing right here offering me a glimpse of it.

He puts that one back up onto the mantle.

The next is them in the center of a large group that consists of some people I recognize and others I don’t. Familiar faces include Dr. Bruce Banner [The Hulk], Clint Barton [Hawkeye], and Maria Hill [Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.]. Also present: King T’Challa of Wakanda and his sister, Princess Shuri. There’s a young girl in a white dress, carrying a flower basket and missing a front tooth, standing in front of [C.E.O. of Stark Industries] Pepper Potts. Next to them is a teenager with floppy brown hair doing an indescribably awkward double thumbs up.

“Who’s that?” I ask, pointing at him.

Wilson snorts. “Some punk. Family friend.”

That picture gets hung on the empty nail next to Captain Rogers’s painting.

Barnes knocks quietly on the doorway behind us. “Tea’s ready.”

An awkward silence settles in with us once we sit back down in the kitchen, Wilson and Barnes next to one another, and me across from them. I flip through my notes, taking a sip from my mug.. My drink is sweeter than I was expecting, because apparently the Winter Soldier has added agave to the hibiscus tea he made me. It’s delicious.

Barnes eventually breaks. “So whatcha go over so far?”

“How we got together, how we got engaged,” Wilson answers him. “In detail too, so if you don’t want that published, you’re gonna have to grovel at the journalist yourself, because you said—”

“Oh my god,” says Barnes, old-school New York sarcasm dripping from every word. “How dare you tell people about the best thing I ever did, huh? Now they’re gonna think I’m like, a sensitive, good guy, and here I’ve been coasting along on this murder cyborg image. What have you done, you dick?”

Wilson rolls his eyes.

“So...you’re okay with it?” I ask them, absolutely ready to scrub the record if he hesitates.

“You kidding me?” says Barnes. “Every other week comes up some new atrocity I committed against my will in like...the 70s, and you think I’m gonna be upset with people knowing that once in a while I say nice shit to someone I love? Write it. Please. Knock yourself out.”

Okay then. Since Barnes seems willing to talk, I ask them if I can throw them a few questions I have for them as a couple. Barnes looks as though he wasn’t anticipating this.

Wilson turns to him. “You wanna be here for this?”

Barnes nods slowly, hesitantly, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“You’re okay?” Wilson asks. “You decide you’re done at any point and I’ll end it. Or you can go hang out in the other room, your call.”

“I’m good for now,” Barnes decides. “I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“You can ask whatever you want,” Wilson says to me. “I can’t promise we’ll answer everything, but go ahead and shoot.”

“I guess the first question I have is: what’s the hardest thing about navigating your jobs as a couple? What bothers you the most about that?”

Wilson exhales loudly. “I mean, the obvious answer is the danger,” he says. “The nature of what we do is fundamentally unsafe. I think it goes without saying—I’ll still say it—that we’re always aware that one of us might not make it back from a mission, which is...” Wilson trails off for a moment, shaking his head. “You don’t get used to that feeling. The fear.”

“Mm hmm,” Barnes agrees, from behind his mug.

“And,” continues Wilson, “I’m also aware that by doing this interview, I’m putting Bucky in additional danger. I’m not naive enough to think that the people working against us won’t try to use my relationship with him as leverage against me.”

“That makes sense,” I say, because he’s absolutely right, and pretending that public knowledge of his marriage doesn’t put them both in a new kind of danger seems disingenuous. I face Barnes. “Your turn.”

“Racist assholes,” says Barnes immediately.

Wilson smirks and cocks his head in agreement. “Sometimes I think I’ve talked that subject to death, other times it’s like I could never hope to address it enough. Today feels like the first one.”

A diplomatic, but clear answer. Time to move on. 

I’m about to ask the next question when he adds: “Another thing that gets under my skin is how it’s like Bucky’s image in the eyes of the general public is totally dependent on me hyping him up all the time. As far as I’m concerned, he’s proven himself a hundred times over, and yet if I’m not on T.V. reminding people of that every day, it’s suddenly like ‘oh, the Winter Soldier, can we ever really trust him?’ 

“I just… It bothers me. I want us to come to a collective understanding that everything that happened happened to Bucky, not because of him. It kinda circles back into another of the things I’m passionate about, which is mental health care and awareness. I think if we as a society were better about recognizing and addressing mental illness, and particularly Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, I wouldn’t have to keep having this conversation about my husband.”

Barnes’s face is getting pinker and he says nothing, but he’s smiling a little at Wilson, who puts an arm around his shoulders.

“Anyway, we can move on,” says Wilson, his expression going easy again. “Just had to get that out there one more time.”

“Hopefully this one’s a little more pleasant,” I say. “What inspired you to come forward about your relationship? I know you guys—” I gesture between them, ”—have been together for a couple years, so why now?”

“I want to go on a date in public,” says Bucky. “I haven’t been on a date since the 40s.”

“That’s right,” says Wilson. “We’re doing all this so I can take him Denny’s and hold his hand over a $6.99 Super Slam.”

When I finish laughing, Wilson continues. “Part of it’s because we realized it’s gonna get out there whether we like it or not. You already knew when you got here that we lived together, and that’s because that information got leaked to the public last week, so it was always just a matter of time before people found out anyway. I’d rather have some control over that narrative; better you hear it from me and Bucky, how we want to tell it, than in some tabloid.”

He’s right about that: they would undoubtedly have been outed one way or another. Their status as “roommates” was reported by TMZ a week and a half ago, and there was a Buzzfeed piece only yesterday, rife with gifs, entitled 15 Times Captain America and The Winter Soldier Made Us Wish We Were Their Third Roommate, that ended on the note of how Wilson and Barnes are “absolute BFF GOALS.” Wilson continues:

“But I think the biggest reason is that we decided, together, that we actually think it’s good for people to  know. I’ve seen firsthand the impact that having a Black Captain America has had on the Black community and on the national topic of race, and we think—we hope—that a Captain America who is a member of the LGBT community will have a similar effect. 

“The people who already hate me aren’t going to like me any better or worse for being bisexual, but some bisexual teenager out there is hopefully gonna read this article and feel a little bit better about themselves than they did before. That’s really the impact I want to have here. Got anything to add, Buck?”

“Actually, yeah,” says Barnes, staring at the counter in front of him and fiddling with his wedding ring. “I grew up gay in thirties. The idea of being able to just...tell people, that’s still amazing to me. The fact that I’m sitting here talking about it with a stranger and you’re not screamin’ in my face right now…”

“You do know I’m not straight either, right?” I ask him. I’m not exactly shy about that, it’s the kind of thing most people can tell just by looking at me.

“Even so,” says Barnes, finally looking me in the eye. “You fool around with a fella back in the day—or worse, you make a pass and he turns you down—then he knows about you, and then it’s like, what if he tells someone? Some of the worst shit I ever saw came from people who found out that way. So, other gay guys. Basically you never felt safe.”

“What about Captain Rogers?” I ask. “Did he know?”

“Oh yeah, Steve knew,” says Barnes with a dismissive wave of his hand, like that ought to be obvious. “He wasn’t gonna tell anyone; I got too much dirt on him.“

“Pfft. He’s messing with you,” Wilson interjects, directed at me. “There’s no dirt on Steve anywhere; believe me, I’d know by now if there was.”

“I want you to guess how many times I’ve had to clean up Steve’s puke,” says Barnes in a total deadpan, leaning forward. “Whatever number you think it is, the real answer is higher. 

“This again,” says Wilson. “I keep telling you Buck, Steve throwing up on you at Coney Island isn’t the big scandalous story you seem to want it to be.”

“Sam wasn’t there, he didn’t see it,” Barnes insists. “We were with these girls and they just left us standing there by the Cyclone, covered in hot dog chunks. Actually, that part was kind of a relief ‘cause one of ‘em was definitely jonesing for me to kiss her before that, and I really didn’t want to. 

“But seriously, after everything we went through together, I knew I could trust Steve with anything. And that made me luckier than most—at least I had one person. Lots of guys had no one. 

“Anyway, my reasons for coming out with all this are probably more selfish than Sam’s. You know some of those Nazis—we’re callin’ ‘em something else these days, like ‘alt-right’ or whatever, but I know a Nazi when I see one—they have this crazy idea of what I was like back in the day. They’ve got this fantasy, like a golem of toxic masculinity with my face on it, and I just want to publicly shit on their dreams. Every date I ever went on with a girl was a total sham, and I was scared down to my bones that someone would figure that out. I fight because someone needs to and I’m good at it, but I hate hurting people and I’d much rather be sitting here cuddling on the couch with a man. This man.”

Barnes is grinning big and wide by the time he finishes—a real, genuine smile that brings out the sparkle in his eyes—and suddenly I feel like I’m catching a glimpse of what Wilson must be seeing in him. Wilson himself is laughing.

“I like how you snuck your little buzzword in there, baby,” he says. “Toxic masculinity. That’s one of Bucky’s things he learned about from his Wakandan therapist. 

“Obviously super important,” Wilson adds, lest I think he’s making light of something serious.

“I think it’s great that we’re talking about it so openly now, especially with respect to the military.”

Barnes tilts his head in agreement, checking the time on his phone. We’re probably approaching the point at which he wants to get started on that pita bread, and I’m definitely in his way.

“So what’s next for you guys?” I ask.

“Isn’t that always the question?” Wilson asks, taking Barnes’s right hand in his left and resting them, intertwined, on the countertop. “Sometimes it’s aliens. Sometimes not. Who even knows anymore?”

“Hopefully, a whole lot more of this,” says Barnes, looking down at their hands.

Wilson smiles. “Well, that’s a given. That’s always.”

This is when Barnes gets up to pull a stand mixer out of one of the cupboards, and I read that as my cue to take my leave. I end my recording, Wilson thanks me for stopping by, I promise to give him an advance copy of my writing to make sure he’s comfortable with what I said, and I find myself standing back on the sidewalk of [REDACTED] moments later.

I’m not typically in the habit of including as many details about the dinner plans of my article subjects as I have here—and I’m certainly testing the limits of my editor’s patience with the word count—but in the spirit of Wilson’s wishes for what his coming out story will mean to the people of America, I wanted to emphasize how human his marriage is. 

Barnes and Wilson have extraordinary jobs that they are undoubtedly uniquely suited for and that most of us will never fully understand, but they are also two people who have been through a lot of hardship and found happiness and peace in one another. And that’s something that most of us do understand: love, the human experience that transcends the divisions we give ourselves.

*From a press conference Wilson gave on May 7, 2025.

**From a statement written by Barnes and issued through a S.H.I.E.L.D. representative on November 1, 2023.

For further reading on Barnes, the author recommends: 

1. Greatest Generation X: The Impossible Life of James Buchanan Barnes, by Ariel Guzman, published in 2025.

2. R.Y. Uhlencott’s column “The Wolf of Brooklyn” in the October 2024 issue of Time covers the basic timeline and trajectory of Barnes’s life.

[worstloki]

okay so on the idea that the nine realms is the america of space:

- everyone knows what’s going on there all the time because word gets out on every major event but everyone outside the nine is just a spectator at this point so people be eyeing the crazy stuff going on there but everyone also just moves on with their day

- this results in midgard and asgard being the star attractions where midgard is like the generation of younger activists fighting the system but its also florida with a few people doing crazy things while meanwhile asgard is the governing political mess (re: the other realms are just chilling. maybe they’re michigan or minnesota or every state that just exists and doesn’t get much attention? jotunheim can totally be texas though because its got its own personality but also gets stereotyped.) 

- “so one of the weapon rich kids on Terra went through a life changing field trip and now he’s made himself a fully operational suit of armour and claims to be defending the planet” “with their noob tech? really?? they don’t even stand a chance against anything in the rest of their own galaxy--” “no no no he’s defending the planet and establishing peace... only within the populations on Terra” “aww that’s so cute” “i know!”

- space has all the gossip which means they know all the messed up stuff going on within the nine realms and everyone in space is kinda detached and not a part of it so its like a tragic-comedy reality show that people like to keep up with

- “so odin is pretending his new son is actually his firstborn now... and also banned talking about the whole history of being built on colonialism and also no one is ever allowed to mention his executioner daughter’’ “huh, weird”

- “odin totally stashed the tesseract on Terra to keep it safe” “why are you telling me this” “I was just thinking about how funny it’d be if those short-lived humans found it one day” “you’re not going to go find it for yourself? it’d sell for loads of credits...” “nah dude i’m not risking stepping into the pit of despair that is that dark dark section of the universe”

- “there are rumours he stole the jotunheim king's kid and is raising him as an asgardian” “does the kid know?” “the father sure doesn't he thinks the baby was killed” “no wonder laufeys been going a bit off the edge recently” “i’m feeling worse for the poor kid stuck with odin now”

- “hey so that Terra hero Quill was always going on about? he’s been found and recently unfrozen apparently” “dont lie to me - humans don’t live that long” “that’s just what I heard i swear”

- “odin used another realm as a time out dumping ground” “which one now?” “the second one, and midgard this time” “at least midgard isn’t filled with the souls of the dishonorable dead?” “well it was his favourite kid, so, ya know,” “ah yes, blatant nepotism, thou art a villain” 

-  “odin did--” “oh $#!^ what'd the old man do NOW” “well you know the stolen jotun kid? odin didn’t tell him he was a different species” “oh WOW that’s messed up” “oh yeah definitely. so anyways he tried to kill himsel-” “that place still has systematic racism in place and his other son has been pushing for violence since he was a kid so...  what’d the old fart THINK would happen?” “beats me”

-  everybody KNOWS what’s going on around there but no one wants to get stuck in that mess so they leave it alone and don't prod the nine realms with a ten foot pole if they can help it hence the negative connotations of midgard especially in gotg and captain marvel 

-  thanos can be colonial britain or something idk how history works but lets assume he thinks it’s prime time to go to planets and just kill some people and take their stuff for his own cause and also Sanctuary has 0 natural spices other than a pinch of salt okay

-  ''i heard odin’s stolen kid, loki i think his name was? yeah I heard he finally got a ticket out of the nine realms'' ''good for him'' ''he landed with thanos though...'' ''well, $#!^”

- “Terra’s got a little band of protectors now” “yes I heard they took down Loki” “which would’ve been such a cool thing to watch honestly I mean a master of magic vs those cute little human beans” “nah he was totally faked it. I heard the guy didn’t even want to attack the place but thanos didn’t give him another out and wanted a native to speak for him.” “so he was playing thanos? oh boy that aint gonna end well” “but he also got the mind stone away from thanos so...” “the icon really just did that?? ayyy I stan 1 prince of asgard” 

- “so I heard Terra’s hero band really just broke up because of some signature dispute” “I thought they don’t have a centralised government system yet though?” “there’s some subgoverning system that’s got most of the planet agreeing” “thats wild” “yeah so anyways there are still 2 stones there but now there’s no team to keep them safe” “oh yikes do you think we should try and assist or something in case thanos sends a retrieval party or something?” “I mean we probably should but I’m not doing it” “can’t they send Cap Marvel in? she’s from Terra aint she?” “yeah they should send Danvers in”

- “I heard odin finally kicked the bucket” “about time” “yeah but also his actual firstborn the one he tried to delete is back now...” “oh darn is loki ok?” “yeah he’s been on sakaar for like a week now just chilling” “good for him” “yeah but hela is totally trying to reinstate all the colonial bull loki was getting rid of as king” “where’s thor at in all this” “i think he accused loki of killing odin right after odin tried to guilt trip him into accepting he was a good father” “oh ew” 

- “hey so they got rid of hela but asgard blew up-” “D:” “-and loki got to do it” “:D” “yeah i thought you’d like that... so do you think we should offer aid? they’re kinda in the way of thanos’ route to midgard” “they’re asgardians” “yeah but its not their fault they were living in asgard” “i’m not going anywhere near the nine realms thanks” “you’re right they’ll probably be fine anyways”

- “hey so... asgard was not fine” “oh no” “he’s heading to earth now for the other stones” “i’m not stepping foot anywhere near there, plus they’ve got their own protectors and all” “dude they broke up years ago remember the signing issues” “that’s still a thing?” “yeah dude it never ended” “wack”

- “i think thanos really is going to succeed and snap half the universe” “well if asgard needed support they could’ve just asked vanaheim or something” “asgard never admits to needing help we already know this” “maybe we should’ve told the other realms to help midgard jů̸̢̠̳͎̳̾̓̉͜st ̷͚͙̯̺̻̦̦̃̓̒̔͜i̴̺̼̗̞̘͖͉̙̾̆̋͂̀̚̚͠n ̷̜̮͚͖́̅̈̌̐͑͛͝ć̵̭͛͛̎͋̀à̷͚̬̩̾̒̅̿̄͆͋s̷̰̖̳̙̠͈̀͊̀ḙ̷͐͑̀̌̉...” “nah Migdard will be fine” “...” “john?” “...” “john?!” “...” “JOHN NOOO!!!” [five years later] “John! You’re back! Dude!! I missed you so much!!” “I told you we should’ve sent a letter or something” “john i love you but i still wouldn’t have risked sending a letter into the nine realms” “that’s fair” 

in conclusion space has all the gossip, and people know stuff is going down there but no one wants to interact with the h*ckhole that the nine realms are, so everyone does their best to just steer clear and keep their hoods on when in the neighborhood.

[cheeriecherry]

Can you write an hc where bakugou owns a coffee shop and the reader is like a daily costumer there, the rest is up to you! Also your writing is the best, ily mwa 😚

This is my first ever headcanon request pls be gentle TvT

----

-Okay so you probably hear about the coffee shop from a friend

-The place is notorious for its good brews, but also for its...enthusiastic owner.

-You don’t fully believe your friend’s story when they tell you about the guy who yells and shouts and borderline scares customers but also who makes the best coffee on this side of the city.

-So you decide to check it out for yourself! You find yourself in the area one afternoon and figure what better time than today, when it’s dreary outside and a little bit chilly? A warm drink might cheer you up.

-It’s not very busy when you walk in, since most of the lunch crowd has already passed, but it’s definitely quieter than you thought it would be. There are two or three patrons sitting at the tables, either reading or doing schoolwork, and they all seem to be about your age.

-You’re startled when a gruff voice calls out to you, and your attention snaps to the coffee bar, where a spiky-haired blond man stands, looking impatient.

- “What do you want?” he asks bluntly, and it takes you a second to figure out he’s asking you what you want to drink, and not what are you doing in here.

-You fumble for a second, face heating up under his scrutiny, but eventually decide on a simple dark roast with foam on top. He narrows his eyes a bit, but gets to making your drink.

- “I would’ve pegged you as a ‘fancy caramel frappucino with oat milk and vegan whipped cream’ kind of person,” he says, while he waits for your coffee to brew. In the corner of your eye, you see all three of the patrons shift in their seats.

-”Well, I mean,” you stutter, “I wouldn’t say no to that. But you’ve gotta be in the right mood. Today’s more of a dark roast day.”

-He considers you for a second, gaze intense, but he doesn’t say anything else. When your coffee is brewed, he pours it into a travel cup and fixes it the way you’d requested, and sets it in front of you.

-You pay for your drink and offer him your quiet thanks, dropping a couple dollars in the tip jar on the counter, and when you walk out of the building, you miss the way his expression softens ever so slightly.

----

-Your friends don’t believe you when you tell them about your calm interaction with the supposedly hot-headed owner of the shop. They tell you there hasn’t been a time when they haven’t heard him yelling.

- “Maybe you’re special,” one of them suggests, and you’re quick to get embarrassed and swat at them.

- “Not likely!” you say, “I probably just caught him on a good day.”

-Still, you make a point to drop in at the cafe again the next day, around the same time. It’s a little busier than your previous visit, with the end of the lunch rush still lingering around.

-Again, the blond seems to be the only person behind the counter, working diligently and effectively to prepare people’s orders. He’s not bad looking, you decide, not in the slightest, and you’ll be the first to admit that there’s something mesmerizing about the way he works.

- “Hey, space cadet.” His voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you glance at him with warm cheeks. “What do you want?”

-The line in front of you has dissipated, and you realize you’ve been standing in the same spot, staring, for several minutes. It’s a little embarrassing, but you hope he’ll just chalk it up to you having a off day.

- “Um,” you say, taking a glance outside, “I’ll have a chocolate latte. With an extra pump of espresso.”

- He narrows his eyes at you again before beginning to make your drink. You hadn’t seen him interact with many other people, but you were fairly certain he didn’t scrutinize their orders like he did with yours. Though you noticed he was undeniably calmer while he was making your drinks.

-Whether that had anything to do with you, you didn’t know.

-He sets your drink in front of you a few moments later, and you pay, leaving him with a tip and a quiet thank you.

-You once again miss the way his gaze trails after you as you walk out.

----

-Before long, you find the coffee shop becoming part of your daily routine. You wake up later than most people, get a good portion of work done from home, then take a late lunch, which is usually when you’d stop in to get a drink.

-Over the weeks, you learn a little bit about your favourite barista. You’re shy around him for the first little while, barely mustering the voice to order your drink, but as you grow more accustomed to the routine you get a little bolder.

-You learn his name is Katsuki, but most people just call him Bakugou. You learn that he’s owned the business for about four years, having started it on a whim when his roommate suggested it. You also learn that he’s got a roommate, and that he’s apparently ‘the most annoying person and the physical embodiment of sunshine’ but also his best friend.

-He asks you a few questions in return, your name, what kind of work you do, simple things that aren’t invasive or impolite but that keep conversation going. Your friendship is still budding, but it’s growing steadily. He calls you out when you’re later than usual, and sometimes tries to guess what kind of drink you want, based on the weather (he gets it right about 50% of the time).

----

-About two months into your daily visits, you have a bad day.

-And by bad day, you mean a Bad Day. The kind of day that has you stressed to hell and back, jittering in your own skin, and so restless you can barely get anything done. It makes you want to cry out of frustration. either that, or fully quit your job.

-As such, you’re so busy you don’t get to the coffee shop until late in the day, close to closing. Sure, you couldv’e skipped out on your warm drink for the day, but you didn’t want give up on your favourite parts of your routine just because you’re stressed.

-It’s almost dark out when you walk into the cafe, and Bakugou looks up from the counter when the bell above the door rings. His face softens slightly when he sees it’s just you, but a frown appears when he realizes what kind of state you’re in.

- “Long day?” he asks, leaning against the counter.

- “Something like that,” you sigh. “I need something with so much caffeine, I won’t sleep for six more hours.”

-He narrows his eyes at you and stares at you intensely, instead of getting started on your drink, and you stand there awkwardly while he silently judges you.

- “I think I’m gonna have to deny you on that one,” he finally says, and goes back to wiping the counter down.

-Your eyebrows raise in surprise, and you’re only a little taken aback. “Why?” you ask, “Are you out of beans or something?”

- “No,” he says, “But you look like shit. Maybe I’m going soft, but I think what you need is some sleep. That, or a new job.”

-You’d be more prone to argue if he wasn’t right. You sigh and droop, letting your exhaustion show clearly. “I’ll just have a chamomile lavender tea, then.”

-He gets to work quickly, and you lean against the counter to watch him. You’re both quiet, and it sits a little oddly with you. Though it hasn’t been that long of a time you’ve known him, you’ve gotten used to the idle conversation you share on a daily basis. You never see him talk with other customers like that, and maybe you’re being a little too hopeful, but you wonder if maybe he...feels something for you.

- “Damn, you really are out of it today.”

-You startle out of your thoughts, and your face feels like fire when you tune in on Bakugou’s face. He’s leant on the counter directly across from you, looking you directly in the eyes from about four inches away, two steaming mugs in between you.

- You skitter back a foot or two, apologizing profusely.

- “It’s fine,” he grumbles, taking one of the mugs in hand. “Come sit for a few minutes, though. I don’t feel right sending you out into the darkness when you’re this fucking oblivious.”

-You grab your own cup and hide a smile behind a sip, sighing when you sit down at one of the small round tables.

- “I think this is the first time I’ve sat down all day,” you tell him, when he takes a seat across from you. “Figuratively, of course. I work at a desk, so I’m technically always sitting.”

- The two of your nurse your drinks for nearly half an hour, talking about whatever you feel like, whatever comes to mind. You tell him about the project you’re working on, some shitshow that your boss demanded you take part in, despite it being out of your field of experience.

- “If I don’t do it well, I’ll literally lose my job. And I have no fucking idea what I’m doing, but when I ask people, they’re also clueless! The only person who has any kind of experience with stuff like this is my boss, and she’s refusing to take part in it. ‘Needs her seasonal vacations’ she says.” You grumble a little into your cup. “If I could pick one person to punch really hard...”

-A quiet laugh shakes you out of your reverie, and you glare at Bakugou halfheartedly. “It’s not funny,” you tell him, but he only laughs a little louder.

- “It is, though,” he replies. “You’re so different than what I expected.”

-You tilt your head to the side. “What do you mean?”

-You don’t miss the way his cheeks flush slightly, but you don’t say anything about it.

- “I just mean. Most of the pretty girls who come in here are either so vapid it’s painful, or they’re just here to twirl their hair and flirt with me. It’s fucking annoying.”

- You chastise him a little, telling him that not everyone is the same, to which he replies that he knows that and that It’s just the experience he has with coffee shop girls.

- “You think I’m different, though?” you wonder, setting your empty mug down.

-He averts his gaze ever so slightly, flush still evident on his cheeks. “And pretty.”

- A feeling of boldness consumes you, and you stand from your chair, walking around the small table to come to a stop in from of him. He stays seated, looking up at you and watching you carefully. 

- “I think you’re pretty, too,” you tell him, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, “and thank you for the tea.”

- His face resembles a tomato when you pull back, and by the time he snaps back into reality you’re already out the door. However, on a napkin on the table, you’ve left your name and phone number for him, and the sweet message of Let’s go out some time!

[twstarchives]

Jack Howl・Voice Lines

Additional Voice Lines

Beans Camo event card

Scary Dress event card

School Uniform - R

Unlock Card “Are my ears really that weird? You keep starin’ at them.”

Groovy “I’m not gonna lag behind the upper grades just ‘cause I’m a first-year.”

Home Setting “Make it brief.”

Home Transitions “I’m just wondering why the guys who sleep away their classes even come to this school.”

“I was just about to head to the library. ...Is the idea of me reading really that surprising?”

“I hate aimlessly sitting around. But it is important to take a break every once in a while.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “My uniform feels tight around my waist. I think that means working out every day is starting to have an effect!”

Home Taps “The Ramshackle Dorm is so dusty; it’s making my nose dry.”

“You can get points on tests if you just do the questions in your workbook. I don’t mind it.”

“...What? It’s not like I was waiting for you or anything.”

“I’m hungry. Bread really isn’t filling at all. Meat is where it’s at.”

“I don’t like hanging out with people. Leave me alone.”

PE Uniform - R

Unlock Card “What’s on the training regime for today?”

Groovy “You wanna run together? ...Hm. I’m not going to wait for you to keep up.”

Home Setting “Alright. Let’s get to campus.”

Home Transitions “I should have all this physical strength, but I’m always losing to Leona in magift... It’s annoying.”

“Ruggie asked me earlier if I ever get tired of training all the time. I’ve never thought about it before.”

“120... 121... ‘What am I doing’? Squats. Just keep watching and you’ll see.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “If you skip one day of training, you’ll lose three days worth of your muscle-building. Remember that.”

Home Taps “Deuce and I are both in the Track & Field club. I’m not gonna lose to someone in the same grade as me. Neither am I going to lose to anyone in the upper grades.”

“Don’t just suddenly jump into a rigorous workout; you’ll strain your muscles... I wasn’t worried about you though!”

“There are always people who try pickin’ fights with me just ‘cause I’m big. I hate pointless fights like that.”

“The one battle I want to win more than any is the one with myself.”

“Stop acting so buddy-buddy with me. I don’t remember us becoming friends yet.”

Lab Coat - SR

Unlock Card “I’m not good at detailed work... but that’s not an excuse.”

Groovy “You’ll make progress in any of your classes as long as you take it seriously.”

Home Setting “Are you ready for our lab?”

Home Transitions “Oh, it’s you. I thought you were Professor Crewel... I’m not really comfortable around that guy.”

“I was going to go tend to the cacti in the Botanical Garden. They look like they might bloom flowers soon... What’re you looking at??”

“The odors herbs give off when you cook ‘em messes up my sense of smell.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) *sniffs* “...I think the strong chemicals I was working with last period stuck to my lab coat.”

Home Transition (Groovy) “Class A is going to have a quiz next period. Question 3 is a trick question, so—hah? ‘I’m sweet’? I-I just felt like telling you! That’s it!”

Home Taps “There’s this guy named Epel in my class. I don’t know how to put it, but he’s kind of weird... Nevermind.”

“Leona snapped at me to not interrupt his nap and shooed me out of the Botanical Garden. I hate how he acts like it’s his territory in there.”

“If you just take proper notes you won’t have to do something as lame as supplementary lessons.”

“I told Ruggie that I’ve never gotten a red mark before, and he went ‘Seriously!?’ Rude...”

“Oi, stop poking at me! It’s ticklish.”

Home Tap (Groovy) “You need to focus during labs. One slip of the hand could end up in an explosion. ...But it’s not like I’m not worried about you or anything.”

Ceremony Robes - SR

Unlock Card “You really shouldn’t let people look down on you based on their first impression of you.”

Groovy “I’m not used to these clothes... Oi, stop laughing!”

Home Setting “Is this how you’re supposed to wear these?”

Home Transitions “Ruggie told me ‘If you see Leona, get him so he can’t run away’...”

“Today’s ceremony is an assembly for all the students in the school. You’re not ready yet? You’re going to be late.”

“Wearing these ceremony robes makes me feel really dignified. I don’t want to ever forget this spirit I’m starting out with.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “These fluttery robes seem like they’d keep getting caught on everything around here.”

Home Transition (Groovy) “Aah? Do you need something? I-I’m not saying you need a reason to talk to me, though.”

Home Taps “Ugh... My ears don’t fit well under this hood. And my tail has no space to move either... Grrr...”

“It used to snow a lot in my hometown. So I’m very familiar with clothes that have hoods like this.”

“I’ve never put makeup around my eyes before, so I don’t really know what to do when ceremonies come up.”

“I knew the teachers would all take forever with their speeches... but the Headmaster really is somethin’ else.”

“Oi, quit pullin’ at me! It took a long time to get this outfit on.”

Home Tap (Groovy) “Your hood’s down. You’re the prefect here, so you need to look sharp. ...I’m not mad or anything.”

Dorm Uniform - SSR

Unlock Card “...What? I’m not interested in hanging out with anyone.”

“If you’re going to fake being someone’s friend, then try somewhere else. I just do what I need for myself.”

Groovy “Our dorm is a survival of the fittest. I’m not gonna obey anyone weaker than me.”

Home Setting “Let me show you Savanaclaw pride.”

Home Transitions “Seeing Leona lead his students reminds me of how amazing he really is. I wanna catch up to his level soon too.”

“I like how the Savanaclaw uniforms are durable and easy to move in. Fluttery clothes wouldn’t suit me that well...”

“There aren’t any elaborate rules in our dorm. ‘If you want others to recognize you, then get strong.’ That’s it.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Wearing this uniform makes it really sink in that I’m a part of Savanaclaw.”

Home Transition (Groovy) “Apparently anyone’s allowed to swim in that water hole in the Savanaclaw lounge. Can you swim?”

Home Taps “The triangular folds around my neck are supposed to give off the impression of the King of Beast’s mane.”

“We can sense other people’s strength on instinct. But that’s not an excuse to shy away from fighting the strong ones.”

“I’m not really my best when it’s hot out.”

“I just realized that I think Ruggie takes advantage of me a lot. I don’t believe it...”

“Did you grab my tail just now?”

Home Tap (Groovy) “There’s a lot of aggressive guys in our dorm. You shouldn’t come here so casually just to visit me... I-I’m not saying that ‘cause I’m worried about you.”

Duo Magic Jack: “Ruggie, let’s knock ‘em dead!” Ruggie: “Jack, you’re so fired up.”

Birthday Celebration Outfit - SSR

This card was only obtainable during Jack’s birthday event (Oct 9 - Oct 14, 2020).

Login on Birthday “Did you come to wish me a happy birthday...? Oh. Thanks. At least let me say that. ...M-My tail’s only wagging ‘cause I’ve been training, not ‘cause I’m happy or anything...!”

Unlock Card “So I’m the star today...? Alright. I’ll show you what I’m like one year bigger.”

“I can’t believe even the upperclassmen came to say happy birthday... I gotta remember to return the favor for their birthdays too.”

Groovy “You remembered my birthday? O-Oh, er, you did... Th-Thank you.”

Home Setting “This sash is so embarrassing...”

Home Transitions “Epel gave me an apple pie when I got to our classroom. It made the whole room smell amazing; I got really hungry.”

“Deuce gave me a towel as a present. You really do pick up on what each other wants when you’re running partners.”

“Isn’t it kinda overboard to decorate the entire dorm...? Wait, who put lights on my precious cacti!?”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “What? A birthday party for me...? I-I’m not opposed to the idea, but hold on a sec. I’m gonna hurry up and finish my daily workout!”

Home Transition (Groovy) “Is there anything you want for your birthday? I-I’m not trying to give you one as a thank-you for today! I’m just asking.”

Home Taps “My birthday resolution? I guess I want to be someone that’s really tolerant, like Ruggie, and... D-Don’t tell him I said that!”

“Did you try some of the roast beef that was put out at the party? I heard Leona’s the one that brought it. I’ll have to thank him for it.”

“My little brother and sister used to make me pear compote for my birthdays. They were really bad at cutting it, but it always tasted especially good.”

“I work out, but I’m still going to have some cake. A light amount of carbs and fats isn’t going to hurt. The important thing is to keep it balanced.”

“You never really see brooches shaped like cacti. I don’t wear little decorations like this normally, but I kinda like this one.”

Home Tap (Groovy) “I’m not that comfortable with all this noise everybody’s making... I think I’m going to step outside for some air. Wanna come?”

Duo Magic Jack: Are you just trying to make me look good, Jamil? Jamil: It’s your special day, Jack!

Tutorial “I’m going on ahead. If you don’t wanna get left behind, then follow me.”

Lv Up “Alright, let’s keep goin’!”

“The results of my training are starting to show.”

“Hmph... What? I never said I wasn’t happy.”

Max Lv Up “Working so hard really does pay off. I have to keep putting in my all even more.”

Episode Lv Up “Wolves hunt with their packs. So why don’t we team up when we’re after the same prey? ...Nevermind, it’s nothing.”

Magic Lv Up “I want to become a powerful mage who can wield even more kinds of magic.”

Limit Break “Not even the sky’s the limit! I’m gonna keep going even higher!”

Groovy “This doesn’t feel bad at all. Makes me want to go out for a run. Wanna join me?”

Select Lesson “Which class are you taking? ...Hm, that’s a coincidence. I was thinking of taking that one too.”

“Studying is the same as working out. If you don’t keep training regularly, you’re gonna lose your skills.”

“I’ll wake you up if you fall asleep. ‘Cause of course it’ll get in my way if you doze off right next to me.”

Lesson Start “Alright, focus!”

Lesson End “I learned something new again today!”

Battle Start “You’d have better luck just curling up your tail and getting out of here.”

Battle End “That was pointless. Come back when you’re actually ready.”

Other

Profile Quote “I don’t plan on gettin’ along with anyone.”

January 2020 Trailer “If you’re scared, then turn your tail and scram. I’m fine by myself.”

Countdown Poster “If you’re going to fake being someone’s friend, then try somewhere else. I just do what I need for myself.”

Login Bonus Greeting “Oh, you’re here? It defeats the purpose if you don’t do your training everyday.”

Player Birthday Wish “Oi, I heard it’s your birthday today. Here. It’s a present. I-It’s not like I waited till you were alone before I came to give you this. Don’t get the wrong idea.”

[rhysismydaddy]

Naughty Neighbors pt. 2 (Elriel)

As promised, it’s in Azriel’s POV which was actually super hard for me to write for some reason. Don’t ask why it’s in first person when Elain’s isn’t. Just go with it I’m so tired.

I LOVED reading the comments on the last post they brought the biggest smile to my face so thank you all so much for the love!

Part 3

______________________________________________________________

~Azriel~

At first, I’d thought it was just attraction.

I mean, it was inevitable. She'd shown up in the middle of the night, dressed in a thin, rose-colored robe that did absolutely nothing to hide the curves underneath, smiling at me like I don’t deserve to be smiled at.

It was obvious I’d be attracted to her.

But it was also different. 

Because usually, when I’m attracted to a woman, I go after her and get her out of my system the old fashioned way. But with Elain Archeron... it’s somehow more than that. 

Don’t get confused, I’d be more than happy to have her under me. Or on top of me. Or trapped between me and a wall. 

But I also crave her smile, her laugh. Her blush. 

Fuck, I love that blush. 

The woman turns red at any sort of innuendo, like she’s never been flirted with before. At least not properly. 

I’m damn near addicted to it. 

Which might explain why I’ve developed a routine in the week after moving into my apartment. I get up and get ready, walk with her to work, fight the temptation to go across the street and kiss her stupid, then walk with her home. 

It’s only a total of ten minutes together a day, but it's enough to drive me fucking crazy. 

Crazy enough to do it over and over again, just like I am right now. 

I knock on the door to her shop, keeping my unspoken vow to never go in the flower-infested place. 

“Hey,” she says with a grin as she comes down to meet me, locking the glass door behind her. “How was work?”

“Well, a three-hundred pound man got a tattoo of a raccoon on his back. Shit took three hours and was bigger than in real life.” She giggles, and my lips twitch at the sight. “You?”

“I sold a lot of bouquets, since it’s wedding season. Nothing special.”

We start the short walk back to our apartment complex, walking close enough that our arms occasionally brush. The feel of her soft skin on mine has me gritting my teeth, and we’re still four minutes out. Fuck.

Elain shivers slightly, and since it isn’t cold, I take it to mean I’m not the only one affected. I could be a gentleman and let the reaction go, but... 

“Are you cold?”

Soft brown eyes meet mine, and there’s a bit of surprise in them. “No.”

“You sure? You shivered.” 

Those eyes narrow slightly, well on to the game I’m playing. “I’m sure.”

I can’t stop the smirk from forming on my face, but she just sighs and turns straight forward again. 

“Any plans for the weekend?”

I’m practically baiting her into saying she’s doing something with her boyfriend, even though I doubt that’ll be the case. I haven’t so much as seen the guy around the entire week. 

If I were him-

No. We’re not going there. 

“Not really, actually. I might go to the MOMA.”

It’s easy to picture her in a museum, staring adoringly at overpriced pieces of art a child could probably recreate. “Art fan?”

“Not really. My sister has an exhibit this week and wants me to come. I like her art, but she’s the exception.”

For some reason, this makes me smile. “Nothing’s good enough to impress you?”

Her eyes narrow in the cute way they always do when I tease her, and she says, “Nothing makes me feel anything. Art should make you feel something. Right?”

Is she seriously asking me that? “I don’t know. I’ve never been to a museum.”

Elain stops walking suddenly, and I turn to face her with raised brows. “Ever? You’ve never been to a museum?”

I shake my head, confused as to why she’s confused. Is that not normal?

“What about on school trips?”

Oh. 

That explains it. 

I turn and keep walking, knowing she’ll catch up in a second. When she does, I say, “Maybe my school was low on field trip funds or something.”

The lie tastes like dirt in my mouth, so I light a cigarette to wash it down. 

She rolls her eyes like she knows I’m full of shit and keeps walking. 

“You look beautiful today, Elain.” 

Her cheeks go pink at the words, and the urge to punch her boyfriend grows. If a woman blushes every single time someone calls her beautiful, she probably doesn’t hear it enough. 

And I know I tell her everyday, but it’s especially true today. She’s in one of her probably hundred dresses, and it’s tighter around the waist and loose around the bottom. 

I think it was designed just for her.

Or maybe just to drive me insane. Either theory works. 

Her hair’s down, framing the soft features I’m disgustingly obsessed with, and there’s a pink tone to her full lips. She looks like a goddamn flower. 

I hate flowers, I remind myself helplessly. 

We keep walking, and I’m so focused on thinking about anything except the way that pretty little dress swishes around her thighs that I don’t even realize we’re back at the complex. 

I open the door for her, and she goes inside but waits before heading up the stairs. 

“What are you doing?”

Her cheeks go a bit more red, even as her eyes narrow. “I’m wearing a dress. You go up first.”

“Elain Archeron,” I scold instantly, mood brightening already, “I can’t believe you’d accuse me of trying to look up your dress.” 

I probably would’ve, but that’s another point entirely. 

She bites her lip, and my blood starts to thrum. “I didn’t say that, actually.”

“Oh, I see. You just want to look at my ass, then.”

A laugh bubbles out of her, and I take mercy and head up the stairs, pausing once every now and then to shake my butt in her face. 

“You’re a child,” she laughs, pushing my back to make me go forward again. 

I’m laughing, too by the time we make it to the hallway with our apartments. But the joy falls away as we stand outside, both nervously silent. It feels like the end of a date, for some reason. 

Maybe because we were laughing and smiling and flirting. Maybe. 

“What’s your name?” she asks, exactly like she always does. 

Fucking unable to help it, I lean in close enough our noses brush, smiling when she sucks in a breath. “You ready to pay the price?”

Every day it’s the same response. She usually shies away, rolls her eyes, and drops it, but today she surprises me. “What’s the price, exactly?”

Her voice is a little scratchy, and her legs are tense, like she’s pressing them together. For a moment, I can’t even breathe, let alone tell her. She looks so adorably naive and beautiful right now. It’s hard to focus on anything except the heaving of her chest, the lip tucked between her teeth. 

Bu it’s the raw desire in her eyes that makes me finally respond. “I want you to give in. I want you to kiss me like I know you’re dying to. I want you to admit that it’s me that turns you on, me who you think about at night.”

Her breathing’s rougher now, and it ignites a fire in my blood. “I want you to tell me you want me, Elain. Because we both know you do.”

“I...”

Fucking hell, she’s going to kill me. I’m desperate to hear the words, so when I speak, it sounds like a plea. “Say it.”

But something comes over her, and the cloudiness sweeps from her eyes instantly. She takes a deep breath and places a palm against my chest to shove me away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have a boyfriend.”

Her favorite thing to say, apparently. 

“I love him,” Elain says with strong, fake conviction. “I... I don’t want you.”

A harsh laugh forces itself out of my throat. “Beautiful little liar.”

Her cheeks go pink, and I smile in spite of the tense conversation. “I’m not lying.”

“Yes, you are, but that’s okay. I get it.” Before I can stop myself, I’m moving to tuck a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “But I’m not telling you my name until you stop.”

Before she can respond, the door behind her swings open, revealing a man instantly recognizable as the boyfriend. He’s in a disgustingly cheap suit, about 5′11 with red hair and golden brown eyes with his hair pulled back in a low bun.

I automatically want to punch him for some reason, but I deny myself the satisfaction. 

“What’s going on?” he asks, glancing between me and Elain. There’s something in his voice, but it’s not suspicion. It’s surprise. Like he can’t even fathom the idea of seeing her with another man. 

Fucking idiot. 

A woman like her is always going to get male--and probably female--attention. 

“Nothing,” Elain says instantly, taking a step towards him. “This is our neighbor. He moved in Monday.”

“Oh. Hey, man. I’m Lucien.”

I ignore his outstretched hand. “The boyfriend?”

A bit of the friendliness leaves his eyes, and he pulls Elain to him and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “The boyfriend.”

“How exciting,” I mock, sounding like a total prick. I don’t really mean to, but I can’t help it. I mean, this is the guy she’s with? Objectively, I’m man enough to admit he isn’t exactly ugly, but he sounds about as interesting as a can of beans. 

He probably works a desk job. Something in finance. 

And he has Elain? 

It makes no sense. 

Lucien The Boyfriend ignores that statement and looks down at Elain. “I missed you this week,” he mutters before pressing a quick, grossly wet kiss to her lips. 

The surprise in her eyes makes it clear he’s not usually so... affectionate. 

I have to cough to hide a laugh. 

He’s trying to mark his territory, but if he actually looked at his girlfriend’s face, he could easily see how stupid it looked. 

“Have a nice night, lovebirds,” I say sarcastically as I unlock my door, still chuckling to myself. If he kisses her like that, gods know how he fucks her. 

Poor woman. 

~Elain~

Well, that was uncomfortable. 

And embarrassing. 

The little laugh her neighbor had barely attempted to hide made her skin burn. Lucien wasn’t a bad kisser, but neither of them had really been ready for his sudden display of affection. 

Plus, it’s not like the man had tried to hide his reason for kissing her. They hardly ever touched in public. 

Or at home, really. 

It’d been three weeks since they’d slept together, so she knew the kiss was for their audience’s benefit. 

She ignored the gross feeling inside her gut and went to the kitchen to start dinner. 

“That guy’s rude,” Lucien commented, sliding on a bar stool and loosening his tie. “And he looks like a drug dealer.”

The urge to roll her eyes was almost overpowering. He thinks anyone with tattoos is a drug dealer. “He’s nice.”

“So you’ve met before?”

Elain sighed, not knowing how to answer this. “Sort of. He works at the tattoo place across the street, so I bump into him some. I don’t even know his name, though.”

Why was she lying? 

I bump into him? 

Seriously? 

She’d walked with him every day this week. And thought about him all the time. 

Not to mention tonight, when she’d been a second away from finally finding out what his mouth felt like against hers, what it tasted like. 

Gods, just the thought of that encounter made her sweat. 

He knew exactly what he was doing to her. 

And her mind knew, knew, he was dangerous and might very well be involved in all sorts of illegal activities, but her body didn’t give a single shit. 

She wanted him like she’d never wanted anyone before. 

But that was just attraction. What she had with Lucien, that was love. A lifelong, everlasting love. Right?

She slid the plate of reheated chicken and rice in front of her boyfriend and muttered, “I’m going to shower.”

He nodded, not even looking up. 

Two hours later, they were watching a movie in bed, neither of them paying much attention to the screen. There had been a tension between them ever since the weird kissing incident. 

She wasn’t mad, but it had just made her feel a little strange. 

He seemed to notice it, too.

“I love you,” Lucien whispered quietly, rolling on his side to look down at her. “I know things have been weird recently, and I’m sorry. I’m just stressed at work, but I don’t need to bring that home with me. I just... I love you. You know that right?”

She nodded immediately. “I know. It’s okay. I love you, too.”

A small smile on his face, he leaned down to her and kissed her. There was no awkwardness now, thank the gods. 

She thought he’d pull away like usual, but he tilted his head and took it deeper, sliding his tongue in her mouth.

Surprised, she kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Something in the back of her mind was hatefully muttering that he was only doing this because of their neighbor, but her body didn’t really mind. It had been weeks, and just being touched made her happy.

Supporting himself on his elbows, he came over her, resting in between her thighs. A hand snuck down and tugged her robe open, then she heard his belt buckle open.

Normally she’d want to take things slower and draw it out, but she didn’t mind tonight. Her body needed him and whatever contact it could get.

A few moments of shuffling, then he pressed against her, and she gasped as he immediately started to move. Okay, maybe a little more drawing it out would have been helpful. 

Her hips moved with him, trying to keep up with his increasing pace. Lucien grunted in her ear, breath hot on her neck. 

It was too much too soon, and he seemed to sense that. His hand came to her breasts, and she moaned softly as he molded one to his touch.

The sound seem to affect him, and he stilled above her, then kissed her deeply.

Elain laid underneath him, heart racing, and tried not to raise an eyebrow. Or laugh. Or cry. 

That was it? The first time they had sex in almost a month, and that was it?

He pulled out slowly, kissed her brow, and rolled over. Her mouth dropped open.

He wasn’t even going to make sure she finished? Because she sure as hell hadn’t. And more than that, he rolled away from her?

They didn’t always have great sex, but it was usually better than that. And he always held her afterward until she fell asleep.

She felt cheap. Used.

Definitely unsatisfied.

Now more than ever, it felt like they were fifty years old. She made him dinners and kept the apartment clean, he worked a desk job at an investment bank, they came home, barely talked, then had unremarkable sex.

She’d known for a while they were in a slump, but now it seemed like it was a permanent thing. 

After waiting until he started snoring soundly, she slipped a hand between her legs, trying to relieve some of the tension.

Gods, that had been awful.

Maybe it was her fault. Maybe it was because she was so worked up from...

Her neighbor’s smirking face popped into her mind. The ache between her legs got worse, and she moaned as she slipped a finger inside herself.

Sitting up suddenly, she pushed his face out of her head. This was wrong.

She couldn’t... fantasize about another man while in the same bed as her boyfriend.

Elain threw her robe on the ground and walked to the shower, ignoring the fact that she’d already taken one tonight. She’d wash this night away and forget about it.

But he appeared in her mind again, shaking his head with a smile. That’s not possible, beautiful.

Hard to forget someone when they were mentally stalking you.

~

The next morning, Lucien was gone before she even dragged herself out of bed. She was technically late, but she didn’t even care. Perk of being her own boss. 

Elain trudged around, getting ready slowly. It had been a long night. Even after her very cold shower, she hadn’t been able to clear her mind and relax. 

When she opened the door, she couldn’t repress her groan. Apparently, his face was stalking him in her head and real life.

“Long night?” he asked, a small, almost victorious smile on his face.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at that expression. She knew him well enough to know he was trying not to laugh. “Yes.”

“Same. Noisy neighbors.”

It took a few moments, but a furious blush exploded on her face as she realized what he was talking about. She knew the walls were thin, but... “Oh, my gods.”

He’d heard!

Oh, gods.

This was really, really bad. 

“Have fun?”

She glared at his annoyingly handsome face, barely resisting the urge to punch that smile away. “Yes. So much fun.”

She was, in fact, a dirty little liar. 

“Mmhm, sounded like it. All three minutes of it.”

An indignant sound escaped her, and he started to laugh. She ignored how lovely the sound was and chanted, “Shut up shut up shut up.”

“Not a chance.” He glanced down at her legs. “Hey, do you need help waking there? Or are you too sore from all that terrible se-”

She slapped a hand over his mouth, and he smiled under her fingers.

“You’re such an asshole,” she told him. “I love him. And he’s a great lover.”

The asshole just raised an eyebrow.

“Usually,” she amended. “He was tired.”

Gently, he pried her hand off his face. “I could be in a coma and do better than three minutes.”

“Pretty sure that’s illegal. And beyond disturbing.”

He smiled. “We going to work?”

Elain glared. “Only if you promise not to make any more comments about my sex life.”

“I haven’t made a single one!” He protested, still smirking. “I’ve been joking about the lack of your sex life, baby girl. Keep up.”

“Oh my gods,” she growled, pushing past him and yanking her door shut.

“At first, I didn’t even know what you guys were doing,” he told her, walking easily beside her as she stormed down the stairs and started down the empty sidewalk. “I heard his weird ass grunt and thought he was working out or something.”

She rolled her eyes.

“But then I heard you moan, and I-”

“I swear I’m going to kill you.”

“Anyway, I heard the boyfriend start snoring, so I figured the debacle was over. But I heard you again.” He smirked down at her. “Wanna tell me what you were doing over there?”

From the look on his face, he knew damn well what she was doing. “You-”

“No, I know you weren’t doing me. Would’ve been a lot louder if you were.”

Her glare could’ve frozen the Sahara. “I was going to say that you are the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

The man just smiled, more than happy with himself today. Gods, he was insufferable. “I might be annoying, but at least I last longer than your little boyfriend.”

The way he said that made her jaw clench. What was it with the men in her life being completely useless today? It pissed her off. “Oh, I seriously doubt it.”

A dark, almost promising look crept into his hazel eyes, and he leaned down to murmur, “I promise you one thing, Elain. If I had you under me, I wouldn’t stop until you were screaming my name. Maybe not even then.”

She didn’t bother pointing out she didn’t even know his name.

Then he pulled away and smiled, and she noticed they were in front of her store. “Have a nice day, gorgeous.”

She was so fucked. 

_____________________________________________________________

To all my Lucien stands, I don’t really believe he’s complete shit in the sack (yes, yes I do), but I’m trying to write a story here, okay?

Part 3

@astreia-oniria @whimsyrhys @lameomclameo @wineywitch202 @thedarkdemigod @captainthefangirlofhp @elriel4life @queen-of-glass @courtofjurdan @nessiantho @texas-shaped-waffle-maker @stardelia @myshadowsingeraz @tswaney17 @illyriangarbage @nicerhero @fancycrowncat @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @superspiritfestival @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @bamchickawowow @a-bit-of-a-cactus @aesthetics-11 @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @savemesoon8 @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace @poisonous00

[greekbros]

"greek-Bros: When in Rome, wait wut?; The Reboot Nobody Fucking Asked For"

*after two incidences with his sons, Zeus has recruited Hades and Poseidon to investigate why the living hell was so distracting about Rome*

Zeus: *poorly disguised as a shepard* Well, it is a mighty fine city indeed. It's almost comparable to Athens. Don't you think so?

Poseidon: *also poorly disguised as the world's most muscular fisherman* It is dear brother! Why even our statues here are incredibly beautiful!

Hades: *who's cleverly disgusted as an old lady* hmf.

Poseidon: What's the matter Hades? Disgruntled that you don't have a shrine dedicated to you?

Hades: No quite frankly I actually don't care about shrines or temples in my honor. *Looks around and sees the same issues that the Bois saw* .....why do the mortals here call me Pluto?

Zeus and Poseidon: *both laugh at that*

Hades: Hahaha, laugh all you want.

Centurion: YOU TWO! How DARE you laugh at that poor, ugly old crone! You're under arrest for harassing the elderly!

Hades: *grins*

Zeus: *having absolutly none of this BS* .......

Poseidon: Ugh but sir we-

Centurion: *takes out cuffs and chains, FuCkInG puts them on Zeus and Poseidon* You're coming downtown! *Drags the both of them*

Zeus: *glares into space completely understanding why his sons tried to destroy Rome*

Poseidon: But sir! You can't just thrown people in jail for laughing!

Centurion: *in a completely casual tone* I deeply sorry sir but as of late there has been a zero tolerance policy throughout the city, orders say we MUST make an immediate arrest and put you through the identification process.

Hades: *still as an old crone clicks heels and walks away to sight see*

*later*

Mortus: *looming in the dark corner of the interrogation room, walks slowly to the table and slams his fist*.....where were you on the day of the Coliseum's destruction... And if you weren't there where were you on the day of its reopening?

An innocent bean farmer: *shaking in fear* ugh....in my field sir?

Mortus: *glares at the farmer*

A Centurion: *walks in the room* Sir! We have more prisoners! I think you maybe interested in these two.

Mortus: *slowly turns around* ......if this is another dead end.... you're joining the rest of the scum at the crucifixion field.

A Centurion: *gulps* ....y-yes sir.

Mortus: Bring them in...oh and release this one.

Bean Farmer: *just fucking bolts out of the room*

Mortus: .....

Centurion: *brings in Zeus, whom already looks a little claustrophobic in the already small room* There's a second one outside.

*outside*

Poseidon: *apparently has attracted the attention of many young beautiful women* Fear not Roman citizens! For I Po-*thinks of a name*...uhm...Paul.... understands your infatuation, but alas I am happily married, BUT let that not stop you from admiring my very being! *Tries to flex while handcuffed*

The small crowd of women: *swooned*

A Centurion: oh shut up.

*inside*

Mortus: *actually a little intimidated by Zeus and his stone cold resting death face*....Well now....you rather large for a shepard. Retired I suppose?

Zeus: ....no.

Mortus: Than what is your occupation?

Zeus: ......I do not think you have the jurisdiction to ask me.

Mortus: *getting angry* Where were you when the Coliseum was being destroyed!?

Zeus: .... Probably with your mother, who I would be certain would be very ashamed that her son has decided to harass the elderly.

Mortus: *steaming mad* YOU WILL ANSWER THE QUESTION!

Zeus: I want to speak with my lawyer.

Mortus: WHAT?!?

A Centurion: Um sir, we have a Mr-*looks at a crudly written card* Plutonium? He's a law maker and legally represents the detainee.

Mortus: *feeling a cold sweat as if the devil has entered the building, looks at Zeus*

Zeus: *smiling*

Mortus: ....bring him in.

Hades: *now looks more like a mortal version of himself but now carries a satchel* Good evening my name is Cryus Plutonium and I have heard my client and his brother have been unlawfully detained. *Places a scroll on the table* Sir if I may infer, I've been working several weeks in the law office and I have found no evidence of this new "Zero tolerance policy". So I do believe you have no legal right to detain and must release him-

Poseidon: *from outside* AND ME!

Hades: -and his brother.

Mortus: *stares in disbelief* ....what.

Hades: *slowly walks to Zeus and unbinds him*

Zeus: thank you.

Hades: Now. Let us l-*feels a sword near his next* ......

Mortus: *has just about snapped* .....I've been after you and your mutant kin for a whole year and three months.....you owe not just me....but you owe the empire....an explanation.

Hades: ............

Zeus: ...........*lifts a finger, shocks him and tases Mortus, knocking him cold* ................you know something.......I think I finally understand why the children hate this place.

Hades: *shakes his head, as the two leave they see poseidon just flexing for a small crowd while the Centurion who was gaurding him is tied to a support beam*

A Centurion: Please help me.

Zeus: *points and sarcastically smiles* No. *Walks to Poseidon and drags him* It's time to go.

Poseidon: Awww....but I was just getting the crowd warmed up!

Hades: Let's just say they'll be warmed up with a few weeks of heavy thunderstorms.

Poseidon: .....can there be earthqu-

Zeus: You may bury the lot.

Poseidon: *smiles* Huzzah!

Hades: Or....we can be a little less intrusive.

Zeus: Fine, I shall ask Odin if he wants to help.

Hades: Yes my thoughts exactly.

Zeus: *still angry until he sees Octavia and little Caius and suddenly feels a little odd*......Hades.

Hades: yes

Zeus: I understand you don't have children...but what are the chances that one of my sons may have left something behind.

Hades: *trying to understand what Zeus meant until he saw Caius* Hmm....oh come now you're not going to take the child away from. His mother....or..... fornicate with her.....are you?

Zeus: .....oh damn it all....we can't destroy this city........

Poseidon: *in a singsong tone* I can! *Suddenly a little rumble starts until Zeus bonks him on the head* ~°

Zeus: No....the city of Rome...if officially protected.

Hades: ........all this because there's a bastard grandson around here isn't it?

Zeus: Silence Hades. Look at him, not a care in the world. Enjoying his moments with his dear mother talking to Hera a-WHAT THE?!?!

Hades: Wait Hera is here??

Poseidon: *rubbing his head* Hey look! It's Amphitrite too!

Hera: *talking to Octavia* Oh yes, married life is great but have you ever considered divorce?

Octavia: Oh heavens no, even though my husband has been rather distent. I'm positive he isn't in an adulterous relationship. That's punishable but crucifixion here.

Amphitrite: Well yes darling, for the WOMEN, men here get away with it scot-free.

Octavia: Oh heavens no.

Caius: *squirming a little*

Octavia: aww what the matter deary.

Hera: *knotices that Caius has few enough features of Zeus to be related but not directly enough to be his son* Aw what an adorable little baby boy. Who's the father?

Octavia: oh I'm happily married to General Mortus Biccus.

Hera: hmm....

Zeus: Oh there you are my beautiful, wonderful and not here to make sure I'm cheating on her wife! *Grits teeth* what are you doing here?!

Hera: ....I was wondering the same thing. I'm here shopping for some exotic fruits.

Amphitrite: *shows her basket of bananas*

Zeus: Oh.

Poseidon: *enthralled by the bananas* ohhhh.....

Hades: Well....I guess we can all go home then.

Octavia: Oh my! This must be your husband. You must be very lucky to have married such a big strong man.

Hera: *unamused* I am so blessed.

Zeus: *puts his arm around her* not as blessed as I am to be married to her.

Octavia: aww.

Caius: *kinda happy sensing he's found grandma and grandpa* c:

Zeus: *now getting a closer look, the baby literally looks like a spitting image of Hermes* oh my.

Mortus: THERE YOU ARE! *huffing and puffing from running* You are all under arrest!

Octavia: Oh Mortus, don't be so rude to these fine people they have done nothing wrong.

Mortus: This man shot LIGHTNING out of his finger! And that one *points to Hades* is...well he's just scary and THAT one is just annoying! *points to Poseidon*

Poseidon and Amphitrite: *sharing a banana and suddenly stop* hmf?

Mortus: These men are connected to the destruction of the coliseum last year and the disappearance of Gaius!

Zeus: ....Oh! You mean my sons? Oh yes they're actually harmless. You see, they're traveling magicians and they perform fantastic illusions!

Mortus: NO! FUCK YPU OLD MAN! I know what the people saw! Clearly something is going on! ...my suspensions are...that you...and your cohorts.....are demons!

Octavia: Mortus!

Caius: :c

Zeus: ....oh that's rather rude.

Hera: Now hang on a minute. Let's prove our innocence.

Zeus: Hera what are you doing?

Hera: .....you know, the gods are technically innocent....and exempt from being accused of any crime.

Mortus: *tempted to mention Emperor Caligula and his recent campaign against Poseidon but decided not to*

Hera: ...so...if we were gods...we would be innocent.

Octavia: Hmm...she does have a point.

Mortus: What are you getting at?

Zeus: *deep sigh* Fine...I lied.....me...my lovely wife and my brothers....are all gods......I'm actually Zeus, she's Hera and so on and so forth. My sons are were Apollo, Hermes and Dionysus....you see....it's likely their fault for losing their tempers, I apologize for that too. And I apologize for shocking you but you did threaten to crucify me.

Mortus: ..........*starts laughing hysterically and has officially lost his mind*

Octavia: Oh dear. Let's go honey, I must apologize for my husband's behavior. He's been working day and night. Oh sweetheart let's go.

Caius: byebye c: *waves*

Mortus: *while laughing like a mad man* HAHAHAH wait! I HAVE to know this but IS Caius here yours?!? HAHAHAHA I mean, I don't have BALLS! HAHAHAHAHAHA *gets dragged back home*

Zeus: ......you didn't help with that last portion did you?

Hera: No. I figured a man who looked as pathetic and desperate like that probably was already at his wit's end.... Speaking of which is that child yours?

Zeus: hmm....

*back at Olypmus*

Zeus: *pulls the ears of Hermes and Dionysus*

Hera: *helping with the situation and pulls Apollo's and Ares's ear*

Zeus: You boys are forbidden from returning to Rome. And as for you Hermes....it's one thing frolicking with farm maidens with incompetent husbands....but a war general with no testicles?....shame on you.

Hermes: *knows what he's talking about*.....worth it. *Feeling his ear getting pulled* ow~°