#because... at the very basis of shoes... are they not supposed to protect your feet?

[askblueandviolet]

Mayor always looks so dashing in his suit, but I was wondering what his favorite type of lounge wear/comfy clothes are. Also, his thought on Crocs shoes.

MASTER POST

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[sparetimeimagines]

Fate | Ushijima Wakatoshi

tags; fluff, light angst, ex Oikawa, miscarriage, Boyfriend Toshi

A/n: I couldn’t choose between Keiji and Toshi for the follow up so I chose both.

Part One

Masterlist

The way Ushijima well in love with you will always be your favorite story.

You were running late on the way to the office; full four inch heels and dodging every pedestrian walking by on the sidewalk to the station.

They weren’t your favorite pair of pumps, but my God you were going to make them work.

Following the crowd, you hadn’t expected much for the on coming traffic since most of the traffic was going to the station, like you were. The shoes hadn’t fit the way they were supposed to, and with everyone picking up their pace in order to beat the train, you lost your balance and rolled your ankle.

However, you never hit the ground.

No, because with fate, every time is perfect timing, and this time, the perfect timing landed you directly in the arms of Ushijima Wakatoshi.

He was on his morning run around the city. Being home on break from the team, he was supposed to be resting.

But a light 10k jog around the city was merely a warm up for the left handed ace.

He stopped in mid pace and held you in his arms, swearing he saw an angel.

“Your shoe is broken.” He says setting you on a nearby bench. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head still stunned by what just happened.

“You’re very beautiful.” He says randomly, holding your broken shoe. That catches you off guard, causing you to turn red.

“Oh. Uh... thank you.” You hide your face embarrassed. This handsome man out of the blue catches you and says you’re beautiful, how are you supposed to react to this?

“Oh... how can I ever thank you for this?” You grab your shoe from his hands.

“Do you like food?”

“Yes?” You’re sure your face is the color of a tomato.

“Good. I am taking you out to eat.” He pulls on your hand.

“Right now?”

“Yes. Right now is the perfect time.”

“I have to work.” You return to your feet pulling flats out of your bag.

“I’m not saying you should call in on false claims, however I would very much enjoy spending more time with you.”

“Well, I’m sure they can go without me for today.”

That breakfast date turned into casual meetings when Ushijima asked you if you wanted to watch him play volleyball. He was new to the romance field, but something in his heart told him not to let you go.

When it was time for him to go back and travel with his team, he decided he wanted you to come to some of his local games.

He arranged a car to pick you up for every game, promising to meet you when it arrives.

He’d kiss your forehead and hold you close enough his scent will rub off on you.

“How was the ride, my love?” He’d ask you every time you’d arrive.

“Much better if I shared it with you.”

There was this feeling he casted over you that you couldn’t deny.

Protection.

He parted ways with you before he had to play, however you knew the drill by now.

From the sideline, you cheered with the rest of Schweiden’s crowd, noticing your boyfriend making extra looks in your direction.

But you’re not the only one who’s paying attention.

Across the court in the top corner, iwaizumi and oikawa watch the teams play, two of the players Oikawa disliked happened to be playing on the court.

Kageyama Tobio and Ushijima Wakatoshi.

However, he didn’t notice you in the crowd, just Toshi making constant check ins with your direction.

What is he looking at?

You never caught sight of the duo from the top of gym, nevertheless, they started watching your boyfriend closer.

When the game came to its demise with Schweiden, the crowds left and you’re still residing in the crowd, exactly where you told Toshi you’d meet him.

“Y/n?”

You haven’t been paying attention, the short videos you’ve been watching on your phone had distracted you from the brunette walking beside you.

“Y/n?” It catches your attention, your head jerking up completely from the phone.

“Oikawa. Uh hi.” You flush, shielding your body with your arms. It was not the face you were begging to see again. You were finally at the part in your life where you didn’t think about him anymore.

“Hey... how are you?” The cocky, self absorbed Oikawa you knew from your past lives was incognito. You hardly recognized him yourself.

That ember, deep deep down in your heart begins to spark, threatening to pull a flame if Oikawa lights the right matches.

“Oh uh... good. I’m good. Yourself Oikawa?”

You try to remind yourself of those harsh months that had you thinking you weren’t good enough. Those restless nights you believed you will never make anyone happy like she will with Oikawa.

Comparison was the theft to your happiness, and all you wanted then was Oikawa.

“I’m... yeah.” He folds his lips in looking at the court.

There’s. So much he’s holding back; though you cannot, will not let yourself fall into that sinkhole.

“How’s your family?”

“Uh... well, you see...” he starts his head dropping. “She miscarried the baby... and then she left. She went back to Sapporo to be with her family.” His choice cracks whilst he looks off, his arm hiding behind his neck with his insecurities. “She couldn’t take it being with me.”

“Oh.. Oikawa I’m so sorry.” You stand to your feet, you two walking to the court side.

It’s hard to look him in the face. You can’t let yourself fall into old habits. You’re not that girl. You will not hurt Toshi, letting him go down the same path wondering why he wasn’t good enough.

“Yeah.. it’s been tough.” He looks up at you. “You look great though. It’s been awhile.”

“It has, hasn’t it Oikawa.”

“I figured you’d call me that. I really messed things up between us.”

You nod in agreement watching your shoes.

To be on first name basis... it wouldn’t feel right.

“I’m really sorry about that. I wish I didn’t hurt you back then.” He steps closer. “You know, you’re still so beautiful, like you always had been.” His cheeks flush. “What are you doing later? I’d love to catch up with you.” His eyes flicker after you at the tall figure casting over your form.

“Uh...” You feel an arm wrap around your shoulders and a kiss on your cheek. “I’m- you’ve met Toshi?”

You cough awkwardly feeling Toshi pull you into him.

This barrier is built around you by Wakatoshi. Those long nights you two stayed up together, your heart to hearts of how your past created the person you breathe through, hours of trust and mutually reflected feelings of love and respect guard you from Oikawa.

“Oikawa Tooru. You are a long way from Brazil.” Toshi’s deep voice had a hidden warning. You notice Oikawa’s tanned skin and feel Toshi running his fingers along your shoulders.

“Ushijima.” He blinks and looks down at you with a nod. Was he threatened or stunned? “Wow... Y/n. I uh... hope you’re really happy.” He says accepting his defeat and looking past you.

“You drove her to him you do realize that.” Iwaizumi watches you comfort Ushijima from across the court as Oikawa rejoins him. The way your fingers run through his dark hair, your delicate fingers caressing his skin, Oikawa had many reasons to be jealous, but no right.

“What does she see him? He’s soo... boring.” Oikawa frowns shoving his hand in his pockets.

“What you see as boring, she may see as safe.” Iwaizumi shrugs. “He’s so blunt, she knows he won’t lie to her.”

The two watch you as Ushijima kisses along your cheek to your lips, the softest they have ever witnessed Ushijima. His arms wrap around your waist and pulls you closely into him, your head on his chest.

You’re the only thing Toshi sees in his sight. You’re the only thing that matters right now.

He won his match and his girlfriend was there to see it, along with her ex.

Tag List

@memekingofwwiii

@t4n4ka

@multi-fandom-fanfic

@triskoof

[quillandink333]

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part II

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.7k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

By day two of our investigation, there wasn’t much left to look into other than the gardens. We’d already searched the rest of the house and found nothing of note. On that groggy morning, however, as soon as I stepped out into the gardens, I spotted something out of the corner of my eye that struck me as abnormal.

“Link, come here.” My comrade stood to attention and came to stand beside me, on the footpath lining the sides of the zen garden. “See that?”

He followed my finger to what had caught my eye: the big footprint right in the middle of the pattern etched in the sand. His eyes widened.

A grin spread its way across my face. “What say we try getting a closer look?”

This, unfortunately, was easier said than done. Leaving our own prints behind would be tantamount to the destruction of evidence. So in order to reach the spot where the footprint was located, we would have to hop across the stones scattered throughout the zen garden. And to say that the sandals one was given when visiting the Sheikah estate and was expected to wear at all times were unsuited for this endeavour would be a gross understatement.

“Honestly...” I huffed, searching in vain for the next best place to put my toe. “There’s a footpath for a reason.” This earned a chuckle from Link, who was still two or three rocks behind me, but seemed to be struggling to only a fraction of the extent that I was.

With my attention elsewhere, I made the mistake of stepping on a stone that was barely even the size of my heel. Inevitably, my foot started to slip, and I began teetering back and forth like a broken pendulum.

“Eep!”

Just when I shut my eyes in preparation to fall, I was caught and held steady at the waist by my assistant.

My breath caught in my throat. He was leaning over me, his front curved flush against the arch of my back and his gloved hands pressed flat into my abdomen, and here I was, graceful as a swan, arms sticking out at odd angles and legs spread three feet apart.

“Are you alright?”

His smooth, demure voice in my ear startled me out of my sudden paralysis. “Yes!” I squeaked, then cleared my throat and brought my outstretched foot back in. “Yes, quite. Thank you.”

His arms left my waist, and he straightened up, putting as much distance between himself and me as there was left on the perch we shared.

“I suppose this is close enough.” I smoothed out my capelet coat before crouching down toward the sand-covered ground, careful not to let anything trail in it. Before proceeding, I breathed a deep, mind-clearing sigh. “Let’s see what we have here.”

If this had been wet sand, I would’ve had a much easier time identifying the sole responsible for this vandalism. But unfortunately, this sand was dry, so all there was to go off of was the size of the prints.

“My guess is, some oaf thought it would be quicker to cut across the zen garden via these stones like we’ve been doing, but ended up with his or her foot in the sand at some point or another.”

“So...do you think this could be a clue?” he inquired with sweet naïvety.

“Well...” I crossed my arms over my chest. “If this is in fact our culprit’s doing, then that would point to this crime being a spur of the moment, which would blatantly contradict all the things we’ve seen so far, or haven’t seen, rather.”

“You mean the security footage?”

I muttered my bitter answer through gritted teeth. “That’s one example.”

The rest of the gardens offered even fewer leads. There were no unusual disturbances in the flora, and nothing was found lying at the bottom of the koi pond. The walls surrounding the place were no higher than the walls of the main building, but they were still too high and too flat for the average person to climb over. Either way, we found no signs of such activity. We’d quite literally left no stone unturned, but to no avail.

I let out what must have been at least my twentieth sigh since our arrival. “Alright then. I suppose it’s time we start questioning some witnesses.”

“Zelda, listen to me.”

I was in the living room in the midst of an interview with Paya. Link was standing on the opposite end of the room, going over his notes. I’d asked him as politely as I could to refrain from listening in on our conversation as she’d started bringing up some sensitive topics of which it was best for him to stay out.

“You can’t let your own personal feelings interfere with your judgement,” she whispered. “You’re a detective, aren’t you? You should know this.”

“It’s been seven years,” I hissed back, “and he spent five of them in an asylum because he was an amnesiac and he hadn’t any idea who he was. He himself, Paya, let alone me.” I took a moment to try and collect myself before continuing. “I’ve told you this before. And yet you somehow suspect that I still feel the same way about him as I did when we were teenagers?”

She shook her head at me in a patronizing manner like the goody two-shoes she always had been. “You may be able to hide it from him, but not from me. I know because...well, I feel the same.” The nerve of this girl was unbelievable. Had she no shame at all? “In any case, you can’t ignore the evidence, no matter what you or I feel toward him.”

She’d finally pushed me to my limit. This was the person who’d been stalking Link from afar since the start of this entire case. I could no longer sit here and tolerate her utterly guiltless accusation of him despite her creepy obsession.

“Just who do you think you are?!” I snapped, standing up and lifting her out of her chair by the collar. “I’ll have you know I’m the one running this investigation, thank you very much.”

“But Zelda, I—”

“Enough!” She shrank back. “You’ve no right making me out like an amateur!”

I could’ve sworn I saw Link jump out of the corner of my eye just then. But when I turned around, he still had his nose buried in his notebook.

Either way, the raging fire within me had died; I released my grip on my “sister,” who crumpled into her chair like a withering lily petal. Slumping back into my own seat, I let out a weary sigh. “So you’re sure Auntie Impa was asleep in her bedroom when you turned in for the night. Correct?”

She nodded curtly. “Yes.”

“And your basis for this was...what, again?”

She sat up straight with her perfect posture. “Well, she always goes to sleep at nine o’clock, and I hadn’t seen her since supper.”

“Right...” I massaged the bridge of my nose with my first and second fingers. “So you didn’t actually see her sleeping. She could have been awake in her room for all you knew.”

“I suppose so...”

“Splendid. And you can’t think of any household members, or anyone at all, who might’ve had a reason to kill her?” Like the Yiga, for example? I added silently.

“No.”

I shut my notebook, slipping my pen into my pocket. “Thank you for your time.”

At this point, I was starting to lose hope. There was only one other matter that it had even occurred to me to look into, and even then, I wasn’t sure if it would be possible to do so. So one could imagine my pleasant surprise when my object of interest was found unharmed in Auntie Impa’s study.

“So this was her own personal Sheikah Slate...” I marvelled, peering into the miniature safe in her desk at the item in question.

“That it was,” replied Auntie Purah. “She supposedly had it made for work purposes. You know, keeping track of finances and marketing and all those hum-drum tasks she was in charge of.” She rolled her eyes. “But I’m quite sure she used it for other, undisclosed means as well.”

“That’s what I’m hoping...” I confessed. “You said earlier—and I ask this with all due respect, of course—but you said you didn’t know of any dark secrets she was keeping? Any skeletons in the closet that might’ve provided a motive for this murder?”

She shook her head in dismay. “No, I’m afraid not. She was always terribly secretive, even with me.”

“Ah... That’s alright, Auntie,” I sympathized.

“But when your mother was still around—oh my goodness! Constantly, those two would whisper in each other’s ears about who-knows-what, ever since they were old enough to speak, I tell you.”

“Is that so?” I humoured her as she spiralled into a speech about the days of her youth. Since the Slate had been kept in her study in a one-of-a-kind safe made specially for this house, it was reasonable to assume there would be no strange fingerprints on it. Nevertheless, I dusted for them anyway, and sure enough, the only ones on it belonged to its late owner. “So, what’s the trick to gaining access to it?” I too owned a device similar to this one, courtesy of my connections with the company as an adopted part of the family that ran it, but because they were still so rare and invaluable, I typically left it at home and didn’t often have the chance to make use of it. As such, I wasn’t nearly as familiar with its mechanics as I ought to have been.

“Well, one of the Slate’s features, which happens to be one of my favourites, actually,” she boasted, “is that it lets the user create a lock that’s entirely unique from one on any other Slate. There is practically no limit to the number of ways one can keep their information protected.” I listened with immense interest, knowing the technology she spoke of was entirely out of my intellectual grasp, but being fascinated all the same. “It seems my sister simply opted for a riddle, though,” she lamented as she activated the device. “Pity. I was looking forward to showing you what the system is capable of.”

“You can still show me!” I fervently insisted. “I’d love to see how it works. Do you have your Slate with you?”

“Oh, yes, I do!” she chirped, reaching into her dress pocket. “This is going to knock your socks off, young lady.”

But before I could lean in for a better view, a hand on my shoulder stopped me. I turned my head and met eyes with Link, who glanced insinuatingly at the thing we’d come here to investigate.

“Oh.” I stifled a chuckle. “Right. Let’s see this riddle, then.”

“Ah, yes,” she laughed along with me. “My apologies, Zeldie. I do so get carried away at times.”

“Believe me, Auntie, you’re no worse than I am,” I contested, picking up the Slate sitting on the desk.

The screen displayed an empty text box with a typewriting keyboard below it and a question above it that read the following: “I observe the world as I hide in a cage. In my youth, I am weak, but I gain strength with age. I both give life and take it away. When one tries to pluck me, I make them my prey. What am I?”

Until now, I’d thought myself to be quite skilled at solving riddles. I’d even used to make them up in my school days for sport. But as I reread the words written on the Slate over and over again, I couldn’t think of a single answer that made the least bit of sense. “When one tries to pluck me...” and, “...as I hide in a cage,” were what kept throwing me off. It seemed no two statements could have been more unrelated. Even the few things I came up with that I deemed worth a try were denied. Even when Link and Auntie Purah tried, nothing worked.

Soon enough, I was taken completely off-guard when the question vanished, and in its place appeared the words, “This Sheikah Slate has been disabled. Try again in 1 hour.”

I slammed the damned thing down and threw my hands in the air. “Are you bloody joking?!” I stood hunched over the desk, shaking with frustration. “Five guesses? That’s all we get, really?”

“Maybe it’s something no one but her could ever know,” Auntie Purah pondered. “I could picture her pulling something like that.”

In that moment, it felt as though my heart were too tired to go on beating. “If that’s the case, then...” I held my head in my palms, nails scraping into my scalp. “Then we have no hope of ever figuring it out. Do we?” The longer I stared at the words on the screen, the deeper I fell into their endless, dark abyss. This had been my last hope of finding any sort of lead on this case. If this riddle truly was impossible, I was doomed.

“Now, now. No need to fret, dear.” I raised my head, realizing I’d begun to hyperventilate. “I’ll take it with me on my next trip to the lab. I’m sure Robbie and I will be able to crack into it once we put our heads together.”

“Okay...” I counted to ten in my head while Link stroked my shoulder in quiet consolation. I gave him an appreciative glance, then turned my attention back to my auntie. “Shall I trust you not to let anyone get their hands on it until then?”

“You can count on me, Zeldie,” she winked. I could only hope she would take my request seriously.

It was well into the small hours of the night now, after I’d returned home, and I was still awake as could be, staring endlessly at my bedroom ceiling with wide eyes. There were so many things weighing on my mind all at once, it was difficult to differentiate between them.

At the centre of it all, though, was the memory of something that had occurred earlier that afternoon, when my partner and I had been reviewing the results of the investigation in my office. The things he’d said to me then wouldn’t stop replaying themselves again and again in the theatre of my mind.

“Umm... Zelda?”

I’d looked up at him from across our shared desk, more than a little surprised to hear him call me by my first name. “Yes?”

“I just—” The unsure look in his eyes had created an air of tension thicker than a miasma. He’d begun glancing around the room, gnawing at his lip. “I-I just...”

“Is something the matter?” I’d prompted.

He’d shaken his head then, shifting in his seat. “No, no. I just...wanted to thank you.”

I’d raised my eyebrows at him. “Whatever for?”

His gaze had fallen to his hands resting on the desk. “For getting me out of...that place you found me in.”

My chest had tightened at those words. He’d never uttered anything so personal and so heartfelt to me during all the months that had passed. After all this time, what could possibly have urged him to say this now?

“You did that, even though I didn’t have the slightest notion of who you were,” he’d continued, making my heart twist and writhe within the confines of my ribcage. Then, steeling himself and meeting my eyes with his, “I just wanted you to know that, even with my affliction, I’ll never forget that day.”

Those words still rang in my ears even now, after the several hours that had gone by. They tormented me. I was the only one who had a shred of faith in him—in his innocence. And yet, if I couldn’t figure out a way to prove that someone else had used the police-issued revolver bearing Link’s ID code to commit the murder, then all my efforts to free him would go down the drain, and he’d be locked away for good, if not unthinkably worse.

[barnesandco]

Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy (8/14)

Story Masterlist

The plum seller at the farmer’s market saves Bucky from being captured for the attack at Vienna that he didn’t commit, but is she really all that she appears to be, or are ulterior motives involved?

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo​​ 2020. Word count: 1455. Square filled: “Redwing”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mention of Hydra. Guns, shootout.

A/N: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Before Bucky is a vast stretch of blue, as crisp and sharp as his eyes squinting against the sunlight. Behind him is the sound of his fellow traveller tapping her feet against the wooden deck. It looks like the end of the world out here; silent save for the water against the edges of the boat and only the sun high in the sky to keep them company.

The peace is broken when a small projectile appears above them, at first distant enough to be mistaken for a bird, but as it gets closer, Bucky sees that no wings are flapping and it has a metallic body instead of feathers. She comes up beside him to watch the object and he reaches for his gun where it is tucked into the back of his waistband, until her hand covers his.

“It’s okay,” she says, holding her hands out, palms up, and the hovering contraption lowers itself into them. It’s red and grey, sleek and elegant. Bucky doesn’t dare touch it, but waits for an explanation. “This is Redwing,” she tells Bucky, as if that means something to him.

He’s watching it curiously but is startled when a voice comes out of it. “Hey there, Nellie Bly,” it says, and Bucky recognizes the smooth tenor of the man in her earpiece in the cabin. They’re on the roof. I’m compromised. The man with the wings. The wings he tore off his back in D.C. D.C., where he almost killed Steve. The voice continues, “you ready to get this show off the road?”

“There is no road here, Wilson, we’re at sea. Make it quick, before this one crushes your baby bird into a million pieces,” she quips, only half-joking with a wink at Bucky, certain he’ll take it well keeping in the mind the fact that she has, after all this time, disclosed to him her relation to Steve.

An undignified squawk issues from the metal bird. “Fine, fine. We’ve found you a refuge, somewhere safe to lay low until it’s safe for Barnes to be out in the world again. His name has been cleared for Vienna, but some people want punishment for the other crimes Hydra made him commit.” Wilson speaks slowly, steadily, addressing Bucky in third person but choosing his words very carefully. He appreciates that.

“I assume you sent Redwing to guide us there,” she says. 

Bucky imagines that the man with the wings nods as he answers, “Yeah. He’ll take you where you need to go.”

This induces a frown on her face, wrinkling her forehead as she looks at the metal bird like it has offended her. “I’d like if you could tell us where that is.”

“Wakanda,” Sam Wilson answers.

“But--”

“King T’Challa has opened his doors to you.

The frown deepens. Some part of him wonders how soft her skin would be if he reached up and smoothed out those lines with his human hand. “Why?”

“Ask him.”

“Sam.” she’s exasperated now, and there is a sigh on the other end. Sam Wilson has relayed all the information he can at this point in time. Bucky wonders if he’s worth all the effort it is taking to keep him out of the hands of the law, but he knows he should allow these people the dignity of their choice.

“We’ll meet you there. Take care of yourselves, and Redwing,” Wilson adds a lighthearted afternote, and Bucky ponders what kind of care this little machine might need. None at all, he assumes, if it was made by a Stark, and he’s aware that the Avengers are outfitted by him. The name sends a pang of guilt down his chest.

“Yeah, of course. Fine. Bye,” she finishes, her forlorn voice resigned.

“Bye.”

The call ends with a beep, and they are alone again, as before, with the exception of the metal bird, that she strokes a fingertip over. Sitting down on the deck, she leans against the side of the boat, and Bucky sits opposite. The boat is not wide enough to allow them to stretch out, leg to leg. His feet knock against her ankles, and she weaves them in between his sneakers.

Shoe, ankle, shoe, ankle. He watches her lay the bird on her lap gently. She moves her finger across a screen on the back of it, and a hologram appears, with a dot pulsating not far from where they are now. Once she’s seen it, proof of a destination to this endless chase, she shuts it down. Closes her eyes.

They sit there like that for a while, and Bucky allows himself the luxury of following the slope of her nose with his eyes, the look of calm on her relaxed mouth that he has previously only seen set in a grim line or a tight smirk. Anyone else might mistaken her position for sleep, but her breathing hasn’t evened out into the slow, soft inhales and exhales he remembers from that night they had to share a bed.

For a moment, he lets his mind wander back to the conversation in the rental car from Baghdad to Umm Qasr, when his name had been cleared for the attack in Vienna, and a second manhunt announced for the actual culprit.

-----

“I still don’t understand why they’d believe your testimony. You’re on the run with me,” Bucky says, his hands shifting on the wheel as a police car passes by. The highway is uncrowded, this early on a weekend, so he chances a look at her where she sits with her bottom lipped trapped between her teeth.

Her eyes are on the speedometer when she answers, “I wasn’t before, though.”

“You were surveilling me in secret on Captain America’s illegal orders. I was a wanted man. Not reporting me when you recognized me was a crime,” Bucky argues. He doesn’t actually care, surprising as that may seem. While he does like regaining control of his life, he has found that fate and its mechanisms are useless to speculate about. The questions, the argument, is banter, and that is more shocking than anything else. It worries him to think about when hearing her voice and engaging in conversation became important to him

“I’m a journalist, not a lawyer, James,” she reminds him.

“Bucky,” he corrects before he can help it. Then he thinks that he would say the same even if he could help it. They have worked their way to a first name basis, at least.

“Okay. Bucky. I guess even though what I was doing was illegal, it was still the truth. My daily reports to Steve proved that it couldn’t have been you.”

That makes sense, Bucky supposes. It’s a truth he has only slowly begun to reconcile with, and though there is still a part of him that simmers with anger at not being left alone, even when he was doing no harm, he thinks he might have done the same. Even now, there is a protective instinct that bubbles to keep him safe from all that he think he can handle. An intuition to protect the woman who saved him from what she has thrown herself into.

“Why did you agree to do it?” He asks.

She glances at him like it’s the clearest fact in the world, like he should know the answer to the question because it’s obvious. Her eyes are soft, as is her voice, when she answers deliberately:

“Because an innocent man’s life was at stake.”

-----

A helicopter drags him out of the memory with a jolt. The eastern coast of Africa is visible, a pebbled Tanzanian beach glowing in the distance. They lurch into action as a Bucky sees someone’s upper body leaning out of the chopper pointing a machine gun at them. 

The first shots hit the water where they stood as she jerks the boat sideways and speeds it up. They’ll make a crash landing but they’re more likely to survive that than the barrage of bullets coming their way and barely missing.

The boat leaves a giant wake as it speeds up and it won’t be much for cover if the chopper keeps speeding up, but it’s enough for Bucky to finally tug free his gun and aim at the top of the head he sees above the machine gun. 

One entire magazine is emptied out and wasted into the body of the aircraft, before he is almost knocked off his feet when the boat hits shore. She grabs both backpacks and he grabs her hand -- habit, now -- and they’re just in the cover of the trees, when she falls.

Blood is staining her shirt when he looks. She’s been shot.

[strawberrysoup]

Let’s Review || Chapter 4

Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks.

relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark rating: Explicit warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-con/dub-con elements, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, very dark

When she was younger, Penny could remember her mother blaming little problems around the house on trolls. She said they were little gremlin like creatures that crept around in the dark and sabotaged things just enough to be inconvenient. Whenever Penny forgot something stupid, or worse, something important, she blamed the trolls. Forgetting her purse? The trolls. Forgetting to turn off the lights when she left the apartment? The trolls. Forgetting to make a to-do list? Trolls, obviously.

The latter, of course, was the worst. Forgetting to do things was annoying, but forgetting to do them even though you’d thought about making a to-do list and then just didn’t? A nightmare. Fucking trolls.

Penny had left the apartment with all the necessities; shoes, purse, phone, keys. She had a plan in mind that started with an outrageously expensive coffee and ended with a haircut. She knew what her plan was, had everything she needed. And that’s why she blamed trolls for the way her morning went.

When she got in line to get her coffee, she dug into her purse only to find that her wallet wasn’t in it. Which was ridiculous, because her wallet was always in her purse. She never took it out at home. The only options were that A. Peter took it (a joke) or B. She had been pickpocketed on the subway. Her head dropped back on her shoulders and she groaned loudly, ignoring the looks from the hipsters surrounding her.

“Ma’am, are you alright?”

Penny startled slightly and turned, not expecting a voice to come from quite so close behind her. The coffee shop was super busy, she shouldn’t have been so shocked that the patron behind her was so close, but it still startled her to nearly bump her nose on the man’s chest. She rocked back on her heel in surprise, nearly falling over if it wasn’t for the man reaching out and steadying her by the shoulders.

“Are you alright? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

His hands were fucking huge. They covered her shoulders entirely and curled down towards her shoulder blades, his grip tight enough to keep her on her feet but not bruising.

“Ma’am?”

“I’m,” she gulped slightly and shook her head, “sorry, I’m fine, just a drama queen I guess.”

“Are you sure? You seemed bothered by something before I scared you.”

Penny gave a small shrug and sighed with a self-deprecating smile on her face, “I think I was pickpocketed on the subway, my wallet’s gone. Should’ve been paying more attention I guess.”

She needed to get back home and call the bank, her debit card and credit card were in that wallet. And her driver’s license too, which meant a trip to the DMV. Was it even worth it to get a new one at this point? She literally planned to be in jail (prison?) by the end of the week.

“That’s horrible,” the frown on the man’s face didn’t do anything to mar how stupidly beautiful he was, “let me buy your coffee.”

“What? Oh my God, no, you don’t have to do that!” Penny had forgotten that his hands were still on her shoulders until she lifted her arms to wave off his concern, accidentally bumping against his elbows.

“Please, I’d like to,” he moved his arms, only to grab her flailing hands for just a moment before letting them go and moving to stand at her side rather than behind her, “my boyfriend should be showing up any moment and he’d skin me if I didn’t pay for you.”

She momentarily considered that Fuck All the Good Ones Really Are Gay right before relief filled her. Ever since the incident with Brock, men showing any amount of interest in her gave her goosebumps. Having a boyfriend meant that this one at least couldn’t have any ulterior motives, he was literally just being a good person. A genuine smile crossed her face at the realization.

“I guess it would be in bad taste for me to say no then, I wouldn’t want your boyfriend to skin you alive.”

“Alive?” The blond beside her laughed, a bone achingly deep and attractive laugh, “I want to point out that you escalated that, I assumed I would be dead before he skinned me.”

“Why am I skinning you, alive or dead?”

The man who appeared was definitely on par with the Adonis she’d already been speaking to. Standing next to each other, it was like looking at the cover of Men’s Fitness. He was tall and tan and built like a fucking tank, his shoulders looked so broad she wondered how he fit through doorways. Both of them, actually, how did either of them fit through doorways with shoulders wider than most people’s arm spans? Okay, that was an exaggeration but Penny was just about floored by how freaking attractive they both were.

“For not offering to pay for her coffee after she got her wallet stolen,” the blond responded with a grin, leaning over slightly to kiss his boyfriend’s cheek.

“You get mugged, sweetheart?” The frown on the brunet’s face was a goddamn crime and Penny quickly shook her head.

“No, no! Just pickpocketed, I think. Probably on the subway, I wasn’t paying as much attention as I should’ve been. It’s really not a big deal, I didn’t have any cash on me and I’ll just have my cards cancelled,” she gave a shrug and moved forward with the line, trying to pretend she wasn’t actually super upset over having to deal with yet another heap of bullshit.

“Well, Stevie’s right anyway, I’d skin him for not buying you a coffee. Are you traumatized doll? I’ll make him spring for a scone too.” Did he just wink at her? Penny’s told her heart not to stutter like that, he had a boyfriend for fuck’s sake.

“I don’t think I’m traumatized,” Penny turned big, brown eyes on the blond and tilted her head down for effect, “but I might be a little shaken, like enough for a cake pop.”

She didn’t notice the way both of them gripped each other’s waists, as if having to hold each other up under the onslaught of her puppy dog eyes, or the way that the brunet pinched his boyfriend’s side to keep him from offering her the entire world on a platter if she asked for it.

“A cake pop it is, sweetheart,” Stevie (Steve, Penny she supposed she should probably call him) gave her a nearly blinding grin and she had to stop herself from taking a step back in awe, “What’ll you have to drink?”

“A vanilla latte? Please,” she cleared her throat slightly, “Steve, was it? And you are?”

“Call me Bucky,” the brunet held his hand out for her to take and she hesitated for only a second, reminding herself again that they were gay, gay, gay before she shook it, “What’s your name sweetheart?”

“I’m Penny, thank you guys for being so kind,” they’d made it to the register and she stepped aside slightly so that Steve could center himself in front of the barista.

“Large black coffee, large white mocha, and a large vanilla latte please,” he ordered politely, before putting his arm around Penny’s shoulder and nudging her towards the dessert display, “Which cake pop did you want doll?”

Penny had to literally reign herself in under the weight of his arm, to not go stiff in fear or swoon at the feeling, “t-the, uhm, chocolate one, please.”

“And a chocolate cake pop,” Steve directed the barista with a smile.

“And a blueberry scone,” Bucky interrupted, jabbing his finger at the case, “And one of those giant chocolate chip cookies.”

The barista glanced at Steve for confirmation, who just nodded in response and held out a matte black credit card, “you two go sit, I’ll bring everything out once it’s done.”

“Ah finally, let’s ditch this punk, sweetheart,” Bucky snatched Penny’s hand and tugged her away from the line, heading for a table in the corner that was recently vacated.

She just barely heard Steve scoff before they got too far away, letting Bucky pull out her chair before sitting down. It vaguely registered in the back of her mind that this was the most bizarrely pleasant situation she’d ever been in. Considering the amount of shit she dealt with on a regular basis, it was a breath of fresh air. It was kind of a shame she hadn’t met the pair of them before she��d started actively planning how to get thrown in jail.  

“I think Stevie made a mistake,” Bucky snorted, breaking her from her thoughts and drawing her attention to Steve, who was fumbling with three coffees and several pastries.

The squeaking noise she made upon standing to go help was not deliberate and actually kind of embarrassing. She was pretty sure Bucky laughed at it as she walked away, quickly stealing one of the coffees and two of the pastry bags from Steve’s hands.

“Thanks doll, nice to know one of you has some manners,” Steve shot his boyfriend a look as he and Penny sat down, winking at the brunet when she wasn’t looking.

“You know, you’re lucky you’re so good looking or I wouldn’t put up with this kind of BS,” Bucky stated casually, reaching over to snatch his mocha from Steve’s grasp.

Steve rolled his eyes but didn’t reply to his boyfriend, “so, Penny, what do you do?”

The casual opening for conversation made Penny immediately uncomfortable and she shifted in her seat as he passed over her coffee and cake pop, “oh, lots of things. Barista, day care, that sort of stuff.”

“Day care, huh? You a kid person?” Bucky asked as he took a sip of his coffee, grimacing slightly as he burnt his tongue, “that shit’s hot, watch your tongue, doll.”

Penny shifted the cup between her hands carefully but avoided drinking any, “Kids are precious. Annoying as all Hell sometimes, but I do like working with them. I’m usually with the infants anyway, toddlers occasionally. At that age they’re just cute.”

“We never been around kids too much,” Bucky shoved almost half of the blueberry scone into his mouth in one go, mumbling something around the bite immediately after.

Steve rolled his eyes and reached across the table from his place next to Penny, pulling the scone away and replacing it with a napkin, “manners, jerk. I think he was saying we’ve only been around older kids.”

Bucky nodded in response, picking up the napkin to wipe his face before gesturing for the rest of the scone. Instead of giving it back, Steve pushed it in front of Penny before resting his arm over the back of her chair.

“Let Penny have some before you murder the rest of it, Buck,” the blond admonished, “have at, sweetheart.”

“Oh, that’s alright, I don’t need any,” she shook her head and pushed the bag over to Bucky, “thank you though.”

“Nah doll, you eat the rest of this, I’m gonna hit this cookie.”

He repeated the process of sticking at least 50% of the cookie into his mouth in one go, chewing obnoxiously while Steve dropped his face into his hands in embarrassment.

“You’re a nightmare, I can’t believe I bring you out in public.”

Penny laughed happily at their exchange, enjoying the casual friendliness. She got so wrapped up in the whole experience that by the time she noticed the clock, two hours had gone by.

“Oh shit! I’ve got so much to do today and—crap, I’ve gotta go home so I can cancel my credit cards,” she slapped a hand against her forehead, finally remembering that she was busy today. A lot of planning went into getting put in jail for child neglect and she was dropping the ball.

“Here doll, you can borrow my phone to cancel your cards,” Steve started digging into his pocket but Penny waved him off.

“I have a phone, I just have to get on my computer to look up the numbers to call,” she stood up, shoving her hand into her purse to grab her phone, only to freeze.

Her fucking wallet was in her purse. A deep red blush spread over her cheeks and down her neck. It would’ve been one thing to have missed that her wallet was in her purse, but Steve had gone out of his way to pay for her coffee. Embarrassment coursed through her.

“Hey, what’s wrong sweetheart?” Bucky stood from his seat, hand coming to rest on her shoulder as he curled his shoulders down, making her feel engulfed by his presence.

“I,” she closed her eyes and inhaled sharply, “I’m so embarrassed. I just found my wallet, it was in my purse, I swear I wasn’t trying to scam you— it wasn’t in there, I know it wasn’t but now it is and I—”

“Calm down, sweetheart, its alright,” she’d been drawn in to an all-encompassing hug before she really knew what was happening, pressed tightly to Bucky’s chest with his hand gently stroking the back of her head, “we don’t think you scammed us, it was an honest mistake. We’re just glad you didn’t get robbed, right Stevie?”

“Absolutely, doll, I’m glad you found it,” Steve had stood up as well and was standing just beside the pair, close enough that she could feel his body radiating heat, “don’t be embarrassed, things like that happen.”

Tears were welling in Penny’s eyes; how the fuck had she come across such nice, kind people at such a time in her life, “sorry, I don’t mean to be so emotional. Just having a rough go of things, I guess. Look, I really do need to get going. Thank you both so much for being so nice.”

“You don’t have to thank us for being nice,” the blond gave a small grin, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder from where she was still wrapped in Bucky’s arms, “How about we get your phone number before you leave? We’d love to have you over for dinner some time.”

Penny hesitated for a moment as they both reached for their phones; what was the point of giving them her contact information? Her days of freedom were shortly numbered, if they tried to call her they’d think she was ignoring them when she never answered. But still, what was the harm— she’d never see them again most likely. Even when she got out of jail she’d have a record of child abuse and who the fuck wanted to be friends with a child abuser?

She quickly punched her number into their phones and waited for each of them to call her cell so she’d have theirs, “well, it was great meeting you guys! I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Are you going somewhere nearby?” Steve gave a wide smile as he stepped a bit closer, sweeping his arm between himself and Bucky, “we’d be happy to walk you.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Penny shook her head, distracted enough by the phone in her hand and the text message she’d gotten from Peter at some point during their conversation that she didn’t notice the way Steve’s smile tightened, “I’m just going to the salon to get my hair done.”

“We’ll walk you doll,” Bucky’s grin was as charming as the rest of him and she tried not to swoon, “You can tell us who you’re so excited to hear from on the way.”

“Excited to hear from?” She frowned in confusion before the brunet gestured to her phone, “Oh! Just my little brother, he got a 100% on his chem test, highest grade in the class.”

“That’s wonderful, must be a real smart kid,” The expression on Steve’s face was soft and fond as he led them out the door, and Penny wondered if he was thinking of his own little sibling from the proud glint in his eye.

“Peter’s a genius, we always joke that when I was born I took all the chaos and left him all the IQ points,” she flipped her pay-as-you-go phone back open as she received another text from the kid in question, “although with how often he gets his ass beat at school maybe he did get a bit of chaos too. I should’ve taught him to fight but he’s scrawny and I always worried he’d break his wrist trying to punch someone.”

“He gets beat up a lot?” She didn’t look up from her phone, too busy replying to Peter to catch the furious expressions the boyfriends exchanged over her head as they continued down the street.

“Nerd on nerd violence is surprisingly common,” Penny pursed her lips and waved her hand flippantly, “and he doesn’t get beat up anymore. I paid this girl in his grade to beat up his main bully when they were in freshman year and then Peter became friends with her, so he doesn’t get messed with too much anymore. I guess Flash was just super pissed Peter got a better grade in chem this time around,” a careful shrug came as she opened a new text message, “MJ will take care of it. I can’t beat up minors anymore.”

“You paid a girl to beat a kid up?” There was a disapproving tone in Steve’s voice and Penny immediately stopped walking and texting, looking up at the blond with a scowl.

“If it laid hands on the kid they’d of slapped me with a lawsuit and taken Peter away. He was too small to fight for himself, so yea, I paid one of his classmates to beat the shit out of the boy who sent him home with a black eye and bruised ribs. And I’m not ashamed of it either, that little asshole deserved what he got,” she jabbed her finger at his chest and left it there forcefully, “If I could’ve beaten the shit out of that little punk for what he’d done, I would’ve in a heartbeat. MJ was my next best option. If you’ve got a problem with how I take care of my little brother, you can get fucked because I couldn’t care less what some stranger thinks of—”

“Hey, hey, doll,” Bucky quickly stepped in, cutting her off and gently taking her wrist to pull her hand away from Steve’s chest, “I’m sorry my man put his foot in it. He’s a dumbass, doesn’t think before he speaks and certainly doesn’t consider the impact of his words. Steve, apologize.”

Penny pulled her hand away from the brunet and lifted both in a placating gesture, “I’m not interested in an apology, it doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve really got to get going.”

“Wait!” Before she really knew what was happening, Steve had grabbed both her arms and stepped into her space, holding her tightly in place, “please wait, Penny, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” she tried to pull her arms back but he held firm, keeping her far closer than she was comfortable with, “let go of me, please.”

“You take great care of your brother, Penny, I shouldn’t have judged how you decide to do that.”

Bucky came up right behind, boxing her in between the pair and put his arms on her shoulders when she tried to pull back again, “hey, calm down sweetheart, don’t get upset.”

“Get off me! Both of you!” A spark of panic was starting to shoot through her, voice rising as she yanked hard on her hands and bumped roughly back against Bucky, “Get the fuck off!”

“Hey, what’s going on over here?!” Penny’s head snapped to the left to see a little old lady barging her way through the crowd, garnering the attention of several other people on the way, “you let her go, right now!”

Bucky and Steve pulled away like they’d been burned, both with placating, placid looks on their faces. Penny didn’t stick around to see if they could talk their way out of the situation, taking off down the street in a dead run. They were so fucking charming, so handsome they could probably talk their way out of a paper bag. She continued straight passed the salon she’d planned to stop at and kept running until she couldn’t anymore. Her breath came in exhausting pants and she bent over, holding her chest.

What the fuck, how could such a pleasant morning go so badly so fast? Bucky and Steve had seemed so nice and then out of nowhere thought they could manhandle her however they pleased. She could still feel Steve’s hands circling her wrists, Bucky’s pressing down on her shoulders and her back against his chest. The sensation of being held down hadn’t just been terrifying but had brought back brutal memories of being assaulted.

Just like when she’d been attacked, fury pumped through her veins. Those assholes, those fucking assholes. Penny found herself heading down to the closest subway station and getting on the train towards home. Fuck the salon, fuck getting her nails done, all she wanted to do was crawl into Peter’s bed and hide under the covers. It was easy to forget about everything she had to do that day in the wake of her panic.

Peter was still texting her, she could feel her cell phone vibrating inside of her purse as she boarded the subway and sat down heavily. She’d been out of the apartment for hours, accomplished nothing, and was thoroughly exhausted. Her head dropped back against the window and she clenched her eyes shut. The blows just kept coming. What a nightmare.

[bubmyg]

funnel cakes - myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre/warnings: vampire!yoongi, fluff (literal sugar fluff), non chronological and in the same universe as my other vampire!yoongi drabbles

word count: 1,799

summary: new accommodations for vampires appear on a daily basis or yoongi takes you to an overnight amusement park

He was standing in the foyer when your key granted you entrance and no matter how long your heart was hopelessly endowed to him, you couldn’t stop the small panic that forced the glance over your shoulder out to the sunset. But it was that, the sunset, darkened hues of purple and red taking up the majority of the sky as bright yellows and oranges disappeared underneath the treeline beyond the house.

Your heart calmed and you found him smirking into diligent fingers fiddling at the sleeves of his black sweater when you shut the door behind you.

But even though the sunset partially explained Yoongi’s premature emergence from his study in the basement (one that didn’t require you to bound down the stairs and shower his lukewarm skin in welcoming kisses until he agreed to come make dinner with you), it didn’t explain his attire.

Dark jeans rolled over sleek boots, a soft black turtleneck tucked in at the waist, thick frame glasses resting on the edge of his nose. The only comparison to his normal crisp button downs and slick dress pants was his jewelry. Earrings stacked into various piercings, engraved rings over gaunt knuckles, but the heavy collection of bracelets were gone off his wrists with the exception of a delicate silver chain, his birthstone tucked neatly into one end, yours an addition on the opposite side. The jewel dangled into milky veins as he rolled his sleeves one more time, a habit, pushing the black just above his wrist bones.

“What’s the occasion?” You were caught gaping too long to peel off your shoes or place your bag down. You clutched the latter item at your waist instead.

Yoongi pushed his glasses up his nose, a nose that wrinkled when black eyes settled on you and your gape melted. Something about them made his generally sharp features soft, smoothing out his jawline and pursing his cheeks and magnifying the flecks of brown that bled into resting black. The finger in his hair spread to his hand, one that caught behind his neck and you swallowed the coo in your throat.

He was nervous.

“How was today?” Yoongi’s gentle inquiry dissolved your scold of don’t answer a question with a question and you dropped your bag to accept the hand he stretched toward you. His fingers crooked underneath yours, bringing your hand against his chest with the latter arm falling around your waist as his lips met your hair, “Well, I hope?”

You hummed, leaning into the cinnamon scent that clung to his sweater and you made a mental note to keep buying him that particular type of coffee. After a moment of his thumb stroking over your knuckles, you sighed, “Did you actually manage to keep a dinner a surprise this time?”

Two weeks prior, Yoongi had booked a table at one of the best restaurants in town only to mistakenly give them your phone number instead of his when they called to confirm the reservation. You would have had a great time regardless, but teasing him was essential.

“Hush,” You felt him smile against your hair, “I did manage to keep a secret. But it’s not dinner.”

Yoongi stepped around you, hand still connected to your hip as he snatched his wallet off a tiny glass table containing some picture frames and an artificial orchid. Prying fingers fishing into the pouch, lips pouting as he worked, until two pieces of paper came triumphantly into his grasp while the black leather tumbled to the floor below.

“You know the carnival that’s in town? The one that’s open all evening?” He flicked the tickets apart with a gummy grin that made the glasses on his nose rest on the swell of his cheeks instead, “We can go. If you like…”

You hooked an arm around Yoongi’s neck to peck the dead center of his heated cheek, “I’d love to. Can we leave now? Let’s—”

His kissed your lips to hush you, melting the stretch of your feet onto your toes back until your heels rooted into the ground. “You need to change first, my love. And eat some dinner...”

“Oh!” You glanced at your work clothes, uncomfy shoes still cutting into your feet, “Okay, I’ll go change and then we can go. We can share cotton candy at the carnival!”

You missed the hopelessly endeared sigh that relaxed Yoongi’s shoulders as you bounded into the house and he didn’t have the heart to tell you that although you smelled of straight sugar, the real thing was repulsive.

“Where should I put him?”

Yoongi was referring to the giant plush bear you’d won him on the skee ball game, soft brown fur that tickled his nose was he nuzzled into it and adorning a bright pink t-shirt with the word love etched on it. The word wrinkled where Yoongi’s clasped fists clutched the toy to his chest, protective of it for your sake. So he said.

“Bring him with us,” You gestured to the ferris wheel where it rotated endlessly in front of you.

“What if I drop him?” He was genuinely pouting. A vampire among a crowd of other vampires, dressed head to toe in black with pouted lips tasting of leftover candy granules and round irises a complete gentle carmel that matched the plush animal squished in his grasp.

“You better not. I’m not winning you another one,” You touched Yoongi’s wrist, using it as leverage to peck his pout and confirm he did, in fact, taste like blue cotton candy. “You vampires are expensive on your carnival games.”

He wasn’t looking at you, throat jumping when he swallowed and he hadn’t bothered to fix his glasses where they’d bounced to the end of his round nose. You nudged crooked fingers underneath the sleeve of his sweater, scratching your nails up and down his forearm until he glanced at you again.

“Are you scared of heights?”

A disgruntled scrunch over took Yoongi’s features and he grumbled out something lowly as he shoved his glasses up with the heel of his palm. “No. I’m just…”

“I was going to say, that kind of ruins the whole turning into a bat thing—”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re infuriating?”

“Yeah, a big scary vampire who does happen to be afraid of heights. He’s cute. Kind of looks like you. Maybe I’ll introduce you two sometime…”

He was too busy whining to realize it was your turn next and you thrust two tiny blue tickets into the attendant’s hand before Yoongi could flash to the opposite end of the carnival grounds. He stumbled into the metal box after you, his bear now clutched by its paw and dangling limply against his thigh while he watched you slide across the tiny bench. You took his free hand, tugging him down next to you as the door locked shut behind you and the ride began to creak with movement once more.

“This sucks.”

“We’re barely off the ground.”

“It still sucks.”

“C’mon,” You traded his hand for his thigh, giving it a soft squeeze, “We have to get that top of the ferris wheel kiss.”

Yoongi’s lips mouthed over your shoulder, “Should I win you a toy too? I’m supposed to, aren’t I? That’s a thing you humans do…”

“You were once human too, Yoon,” You nudged him, earning his lips on your jaw this time and the bear dangled against your ankles where it hung sadly from his grasp.

“Seriously,” He dared to look at you when your car had paused at the very top, overlooking the twinkling lights of the fair just aside from the city still alive well into the hours of the night. His chin ducked to search your gaze, “Do you want me to?”

“If you want to go to the rubber duck pull before we leave, we can. Everyone wins something.”

“But shouldn’t I do something challenging? We can go back to the game you won Tubby at—”

“Tubby?”

Yoongi’s tongue sandwiched in his front teeth. Caught.

“It says it on his tag.”

“Okay, bub.”

“It does!—”

“You don’t have to win me a toy, Yoongi,” You distracted him with a kiss on the corner of his dimpled mouth when the ride jerked with movement again. “In fact, I’ll wave to the attendant when we get to the bottom and we can get off. Go do something you want to do.”

“I want to do whatever you want to do. Like a normal boyfriend taking you on a normal date.”

He’d avoided the blood infused treats in favor of the general food stands, nudging you past the vampire themed rides in favor of the generic fun and never stopping too long to chat with people he dismissed to you as old friends. He’d fed you a bag of cotton candy even if you could tell the sweet smell was burning his nose and he’d tried a tiny dollop for your benefit. He’d spent half the cash in his wallet, letting you win him something and had blushed when you let him pick it out.  

Unwarranted tears watered along the edge of your eyes and a soft laugh stretched your smile higher on your features.

“Want to know a secret?” Yoongi hesitated to nod but you were going to tell him against the seam of his sweet tasting lips, anyway, “This is the best date I’ve ever been on. Period.”

You didn’t have to tell the attendant to let you off the ride because your turn was up by the time you pulled away from Yoongi’s lips for air and he stood on jelly legs to lead you off the ride, clutching the bear’s paw and your hand against his chest all the same as you trailed him until you got into an empty, less busy clearing.

“Okay, now—” You managed to free your index finger from his grasp to poke his chest, “—what’s something you want to do?”

“Do you think…” Yoongi trailed off as his gaze did over his shoulder, eyeing the food stands behind you before spilling out in a series of squashed syllables, “Do you think we could grab a funnel cake before we leave?”

“Do you think it will taste the same?”

He shrugged, and the deadpan nature in which he spoke made your heart swell four times over until it lodged in the base of your throat.

“Everything feels a little more human with you, my angel.”

For the second time in ten minutes did you tear up but this time, a droplet lipped down the slope of your nose. You laughed again to cover it, gleeful and drunk on sugar and adoration.

“Come on, Yoons. Let’s get you a funnel cake.”

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Comfort is coming (YG x Reader)

Genre: Fluff, College/University AU

Pairing: Student!Yoongi x Student!Reader

Warnings: No warnings apply

Summary: Hard academic labour deserves to be rewarded with a treat every once in a while. For example, with holding a marathon of a favourite series while eating a tub of ice cream.

And the unsuspected company in the form of the silent force under the same roof. 

There are times when life is hard, when it knows periods wherein every single thing that is normally so ordinary now forms an extraordinary addition to the amalgamation of educational stress. Each day is filled with nothing but typing on the flat slightly illuminated keyboard of the matte silver MacBook filled with academic files, hoping to finish that close reading essay that was thought of too easily, when a heavily caffeinated mind is not occupied by trying to process every bit of information eyes framed by glass absorb from paper. It always is the same song and yet its dance can never be learned.

Day in, day out.

Sigh after sigh.

Nevertheless, they pass, eventually, invoking feelings of tremendous relief, mental devastation and exhausted defeat to flow throughout a learning being again and again. Today is one of those moments in which this memorable potion is drunk after completing the deadline and cramping up with pain inflicted by ink in a most powerful tool and chaotic panic at not understanding the capability of the human intellect despite cramming hours on end.

The leather bag is thrown onto the floor at the entrance of the apartment shared with a silent stoic raven-haired force who composes music in the hush habitual to the residence, headphones always on in the bedroom functioning more as a studio even when nobody is home. In fact, it is not unlikely to think the padding of toes merely clad in socks goes unnoticed, the noise-isolating padding tuning them out immediately after removing nightly black and crisp white Adidas sneakers in the tiny entryway and putting them into the shoe closet next to the entrance. 

It is not minded since it is part of the routine, the only moments of really enjoying each other’s company being dinner and occasional mutual trips to the supermarket to stock up for the coming week. Lunch is never shared because either party picks up something in the cafeteria of the university building they have to be for a seminar or lecture or somewhere in the big concrete jungle, alone or with a friend. Breakfast is also rarely a moment of true friendship, Yoongi skipping it on a daily basis yet always nagging the curiously accepted housemate when there is a risk of giving into the same habit. It has gotten to the point of being forced to wait until the musician finishes his characteristic double espresso and preparing a decent enough meal for one likely running late for class whenever the scenario presents itself, nonchalantly blocking the way in every instance feet try to slip away from the scene to crack on or sending empty threats behind a turned back.

Although, in hindsight, the same happens in the event of dinner and not feeling too hungry if at all.

Withal, skipping a meal will have to be excused for the day because when bone tired limbs have exchanged the complicated outfit - consisting of onyx leggings matching the same-toned dress underneath a denim jacket and above knee-height light brown leather boots - for dusk-shaded Puma sweatpants and a plain ivory V-neck shirt, nothing will be done anymore. Bare feet crawl under the alabaster thick sheets after wrapping them in the blanket coloured in a murky earth and mossy tone, moonlight-shaded MacBook opened to the downloaded Game of Thrones episodes the quiet strangely kind power roaming the same house shared by email at accidentally discovering a mutual love for the series during a boring lecture, sharing earphones to watch season one painfully unfold all over again because, apparently, Yoongi had just started it.

And, although already having seen the first few batches that were sent by digital means before illegally online, they nevertheless bring a grateful smile to tired lips each time because it is due to this sharing of documents a splendid opportunity has been steadily formed to indulge in a marathon to withdraw from the world in silent celebration of a liberation from stress.

However, it would appear the musician has stopped watching recently since conversations have led more often to forbidding giving any spoilers for season four and further. Though, when asking to brand new seasons bought on DVD on the hard drive to add to the little nerdy collection on the bedside table also functioning as a headboard, Yoongi gladly rips the files and sends them over email thus adding both to the personal collection and that of a soul glad for the kindness in spite of the more stranding chit chats since there have not been many moments of bonding since moving in four months ago. Other than the series, there is little to talk about that which has been discovered as common interest let alone bond over and both working and hanging out with different people besides the study does also not greatly help in forming a deeper meaning to the fragile friendship.

Just as a comfortable position is taken up and noise-cancelling white headphones put on, a digit hovering above the touchpad for the cursor to start from the very beginning of the visual version of “A Song of Ice and Fire”, a dimly audible knock is followed by an immediate opening of the door to the private haven. Obviously disregarding the polite pause to wait for consent, Yoongi stands on the threshold, bangs as dark as ink covering a pale forehead and the light skin of the resident stoic silent force further accentuated by the overall casual outfit of ripped jeans and a T-shirt that could blend easily into the shadows. ‘Judging by your appearance, I wager it’s either that time of the month again where you get grumpy at me for no good reason and act like a drama queen or you just made your exams and deadlines.’

‘Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be composing or something? You normally ignore me until before dinner.’ The constraints on hearing are removed while eyes wander to the bright green slightly translucent plastic convenience store bag held by bony skillful fingers, light up at registering what the item within it is and seeing a comforting sympathetic curve on lips having lost every sense of mocking when looking back at the unexpected visitor. ‘Why the ice cream?’

‘I never ignore you, Y/N. I know I don’t say much and we don’t have much of a relationship, but ever since you’ve been here I’ve had no choice but to observe you on a daily basis, looking as shabby a-’ An offended palm lashes out as the flatmate sits down on the edge of the mattress - a bed frame a disturbance to the overall minimalist aesthetic - on the cedar floor and puts the bag down, the sharp slap of skin on skin resonating in the temporary hush. The hit has a deceivingly powerful impact because a red outline already begins to form and makes the baffled young man cover it protectively in the instant the imprint is noticed. ‘What the- Y/N! What the hell?’

‘That’s for calling me shabby. It’s not, it’s comfy.’ The pout in which the last statement is made returns clear amusement with a caring undertone to the other’s shocked expression. The digits reaching out to pat locks depicting the aftermath of academic stress are swatted away, arms crossing in defiance afterwards while an unforgiving glare holds a warning strengthening the one made in a voice that cannot sound entirely angry due to the gratefulness towards the pale onyx-haired lad for checking up on an exhausted somewhat friend. ‘Don’t touch me. I’ll bite your fingers off if you try again.’

‘Fine. Here I was, thinking I’d cheer you up with the ice cream you always buy when you’re like this, but apparently, it isn’t appreciated. Guess I’ll give it to Joon or Jimin, instead.’ An attempt at getting up is made yet stopped directly by apologetic palms at the ends of uncrossed arms clad in too long sleeves, a tug on the wrist asking to return while also not being able to help but glance longingly at the icy cinnamon roll treat that threatens to leave alongside the present company. ‘Oh, so now you want it, huh?’

‘I’m sorry, if that’s what you want to hear.’ Albeit reluctantly, an apology for the defiance is given, knowing full well the playful mocking attitude of the fellow student though personal pride was still damaged at being called badly composed style-wise.

‘You’re forgiven. Look, I’ve gotten to know your personality through actions. In university, you’re the independent hard-working calm girl while at home you’re one giant ball of stress who’ll get frustrated with deadlines again the day following a bit of rest. But it is days like this one that you’re happy and it’s annoyingly rubbing off on me.’ The tub in the plastic bag is put in the lap covered by the thick alabaster duvet. ‘Making me want to see you be a little content hermit. Here, eat up and relax. You’ve earned it.’

Brows furrow in played confusion, teasing like him howbeit in retaliation for the insult earlier in spite of the oddly satisfying confession at not being a mere invisible force like the musician. ‘How am I supposed to eat this without a spoon?’

A contemplating nod, acknowledging the treat cannot be enjoyed without otherwise and should have been brought along from the beginning. ‘Right... I’ll get you one.’

‘Can you make it two?’

‘What?’ The surprise at the request raises the indifferent husky voice by a few tones.

‘I can’t eat this all by myself, though. So, do you-’ Doubtful irises shift from the favourite ice cream to the screen, awkwardly moving on the mattress thanks to the self-made constraints on wrapped feet, and back to Yoongi whose expression briefly transforms into characteristic stoicism before showing a ghost of a rare gummy smile. ‘Do you want to watch Game of Thrones with me?’

‘Sure. Which season, though?’

‘Three. Where are you?’

Sheepishly, the creative genius rubs the back of the neck in obvious hesitance to admit something. Regardless, as always, what needs to be said, is said is as serious a tone as possible. ‘I’ve kinda forgotten since I think I stopped halfway. Although, I’ve seen the Red-’

‘We. Do. Not! Talk about The Red Wedding.’ An accusing finger rises in offence at bringing up the sensitive subject about a most traumatic and tragic event in Westeros. ‘Not a single word more about it, Min Yoongi.’

‘I forgot how immersed you are in the series.’ A roll of the eyes goes accompanied by an amused sigh as palms plant themselves on hips and a headshake emphasizes the entertainment at the, perhaps, too extravagant reaction. ‘Alright, I’ll shut up. You start up the point from which you want to watch, but no further than the event we just spoke about, and I’ll get the spoons. So you can shovel the ice cream in.’

‘One more degrading comment and I’ll have your head!’ The empty threat is shrugged off by the leaving flatmate who has always laughed off these types of statements, either frustratingly coaxing more out or merely mumbling something along the terms of being cute which, in turn, raises more protest that, again, gets treated in the same manner. It is a viscous endless circle.

‘Who are you? Geoffrey Baratheon?’ A smug glance over the shoulder invites a new discussion that on one hand wants to be held while, on the other, the aftermath of educational stress does not allow it.

Henceforth, it is hoped to be ended with a final deciding futile violent phrasing. ‘I will be if you don’t get the bloody spoons.’

A reflecting tilt of the head, raven locks partially covering up the devious expression of the annoying yet beloved musician. ‘Maybe Cersei.’

‘Go.’ The command comes out between gritted teeth, absolutely done with the subject and too eager to attack the tub of cinnamon roll goodness before it is all melted.

‘As my lady commands.’

Vaguely in the distance sounds the barely audible padding of bare feet towards the kitchen after the flatmate has left the room, leaving a small crack in the door in the wake filled with endeavours at soothing kindness. Although it might mean inherently nothing, the tight grip on the edge of the warm duvet cannot be helped as the heart flutters with innocent joyous sentiments bordering on a deeper version of themselves. Especially when Sense comes in to calculate the outcome of the sum of caring behaviours and recalled mental transcripts of past conversations, however trivial, alongside the little gestures in the studying composer’s absence in the form of song recommendations on post-it notes or sharing earbuds inconspicuously during boring lectures or seminars to listen to the same song.

The clinking of the cutlery drawer being searched, looking for the right spoons.

The sound of a metal wave when the loud impact of the momentum makes the insides shake in unison when it is being slammed shut despite the mechanism ensuring a gentle closing.

Returning bare toes underneath a delighted sliver of a grin as slim pianist fingers present the retrieved items, one of them handed over with a broad smile that is glad to see the eagerness with which it is accepted and the tub opened to attack immediately.

Once more Yoongi strikes down on the edge of the mattress but this time to look for a comfortable position to sit in and getting incredibly close while doing so. It is not unusual to be fairly intimate during educational hours, but this is a whole new sort as the onyx-haired man tries to secure a seat just in front of the night table functioning as a headboard, thus placing an utterly confused girl between black pepper and ink scented legs. ‘Scoot over. And don’t you dare eat that whole tub by yourself. You always get me worried for your health when you do. I enjoy seeing you eat, but you shouldn’t overdo it.’

‘It’s only 360 calories and I’m an adult. I can do what I want.’ Awkwardly, an attempt is made at putting a bit of distance between bodies by trying to ease into a lying position next to the curiously intimate flatmate so that only shoulders touch.

However, the composer does not allow it and makes use of the clumsy unbalanced shuffling to pull the spine flush against a soft warm chest, locking the captured party by grabbing the laptop from the side and placing it on top of the two-person lap which has just been created and locking ankles in place after rearranging the warm sheets to cover both parties.

Both friends.

Or more, though that remains to be seen when the confusion will be explained by the course of Time.

As if nothing unusual has happened, blatantly ignoring burning ashamed crimson cheeks, the cursor flies over the screen to start up one of the episodes without knowing the exact point from which an original beginning of the marathon wanted to be made. ‘Where do we start?’

Hands still wrapped about the cinnamon ice cream carton, spoon balanced between nimble fingers, grab the treat a little bit harder to calm down while speech clearly portrays being affected by the sudden show of closeness. ‘Season three, episode- no, wait. Season one, episode one.’

The best way to remember all that has transpired in the politics of Westeros after escaping the realm for a while is to watch the game of thrones unfold all over again despite almost being able to recite every scene by heart. ‘That’s where we’ll start.’

‘I think I still rec-‘ The considering protest is broken off by a spoonful of cinnamon ice cream from the rapidly opened carton box, tired of having to wait to finally kick back and relax in, apparently, good human company.

‘Shut up, Lannister, and just start the series.’ The nicknames from the houses each individual supposedly belongs to have become a sort of inside joke to refer to one another and it would be a lie to say it was not missed in rare actual conversations. It brings back the memories of that first moment of watching this exact same beginning to the turbulent fantastical political chaos, huddled together while plainly ignoring the professor talking about a subject undoubtedly important for the exam but which at the time did not matter whatsoever. Perfectly content watching the battle for The Iron Throne unfold and taking a quiz to figure out where one would be in Westeros was it the real world.

The topic of the lecture did matter, as would be discovered, for the close reading.

‘Okay, fine, Tully, we can still cha-’ Another icy bite cuts Yoongi off again before irises return to the screen and a weary head lies down on the top side of a cushiony stomach in splendid delight, eating ice cream while regarding a bloody imaginary history.

Winter is coming.

But comfort is already here.

[andaleduardo]

Rooftop N.10

Ao3   N.9   N.11

Preview: But there’s little Eddie could have done to avoid actions that weren’t his. Richie is free to act, and feel, and say. And Eddie is free to trap himself up in self-hate if it means being protected from everyone else's cruel opinions.

Monday 24.05.1993

 Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

Every drop of blood left Eddie’s face.

“Talk?” He asked, suddenly dizzy. He wasn’t even surprised when his voice broke. Eddie also wasn’t really looking forward to whatever Richie opened his mouth to say right then, so he cut him off before he even had the chance to answer. “Sure, okay.” He shrugged. And Richie’s mouth successfully closed.

After that, Eddie turned his face around and pretended that things weren’t even slightly uncomfortable. The rest of the ride went by utter silent. And maybe the reason Eddie was gripping the side of the truck was so that he could bend over if his need to vomit actually ended up in the worst way.

 Fuck.

He isn’t dumb. Eddie had a feeling that, regardless of what Richie intends to say, their friendship will take a hit to the core. Both their hearts, too. The worst part, he dares to think, is that this is his fault. (Well, if he’s going to be honest, it’s both their fault.)

But there’s little Eddie could have done to avoid actions that weren’t his. Richie is free to act, and feel, and say. And Eddie is free to trap himself up in self-hate if it means being protected from everyone else's cruel opinions. He’d do anything. Eddie would back off, put a break on his stupid urges and feelings, if needed. He would get down on both knees and beg time to turn back.

 ‘I’ll be good! I’ll be good! I promise I’ll stop, and I’ll stay away and I’ll be a better person. But please, don’t make me-’

Anything, to prevent the damage altogether. Anything. Because if there’s one thing that haunts Eddie on a daily basis, it’s having to confront his true desires…

…is having to admit that those people’s words mirror who he is. Is having to accept that when his mom casually speaks about those people with disgust, she is also talking about him. When they have dinner, when they’re coming back from church, or when they’re watching movies and she comments on certain actors she believes are… well… just like her son, after all.

But maybe he’s just reading into things the wrong way. There’s a chance that this ‘talk’ is about some stupid meaningless thing. Sure… He’ll hold on to that thought.

By his side, Richie kept his face buried in his arms, but Eddie didn’t want to think about what that meant. He didn’t want to think about anything involving Richie, either his words or actions, at all.

And deep down, Richie was questioning his own sanity. Why did he say that out loud? What had gone through his head in that moment? Seriously, why the fuck did he think, even for a second, that suggesting this would have been a good idea? He doesn’t know.

The only thing he was sure off, in that moment, was Eddie’s reaction to his words. He had looked scared and upset, and Richie caused it. Everything’s fucked up because, as usual, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

Hell … What is he supposed to do now?! Maybe he could…

 ‘Hey, so, I’m head over heels for you. Yeah, there’s that. Maybe we could kiss for the next five hours or something?’

Fucking ridiculous. But it’s not like he has a lot of time to think through his options.

There was a hard slap on the rear window that made both of them jump in their seats. They must have been distracted, (with enough reasons to…) because Richie just noticed that the truck had been parked by the sidewalk on Eddie’s street for the past 30 or so seconds.

Awkwardly, they helped each other take down their bikes. After saying their goodbyes and ignoring the smirks thrown their way for leaving together, which Richie would have been very eager for in other circumstances, they stood in the middle of the road watching the vehicle disappear at the end of the street.

They had been dropped off with a safe distance from Eddie’s house, so they had a short walk ahead of them. With the backpack hanging from one shoulder and both hands to guide his bike by his right side, ever so slowly, Eddie started to walk. Richie’s feet seemed to be glued to the ground for a second, but luckily, he managed to move slightly behind.

In the ten seconds that followed, he had gained courage to open his mouth twice, or more, but not enough to speak. There was no script, and he was lost. A punch to the face, it’s what he fucking deserves.

Just man up! He thinks. Grow some fucking balls, Richie. There was a tiny chance this could go smoothly…

“Fuck this.”

He didn’t mean to say that out loud, but the words seemed to echo in the empty street. Before Eddie could react, Richie grabbed his hand and turned him around less gently than intended. In the process of it, he had to let go of his bike and it dropped on the ground with a painful metallic scrape.

For a second, Eddie was quiet, stiff, startled, you name it. He struggled to turn around without stumbling over his own bike, but at the sight of a bright red Richie, he forgot all about it and let his right hand slip away from the handle. It fell on the asphalt behind him. Somehow, they were trapped closed together by their own bikes.

Eddie’s eyes were large, and he lowered his focus point to Richie’s shoulder blades. Not here. He thought. Don’t do this here, Richie, you dumbass.

“Look at me, Eds.” Richie begged, voice just a little strained.

Eddie shook his head, breathing growing harsher and eyelids fluttering, trying to fight back the tears pooling in his waterline. He looked terrified. That’s how he felt, too. This all seemed a little too familiar, too much like that night outside of Mike’s barn.

Oh, how he regrets, now. That night, all the other times, everything before, in between or after… Wishes nothing had ever slipped between them and take them to this point. The no turning back point.

Richie squeezed his hand, feeling useless and guilty. It felt like there was a chestnut clogging up his throat when he opened up his mouth and nothing came out besides a squeezed whine. He didn’t plan this, he didn’t mean to do this under a darkening sky, completely out of nowhere. But now it was too late to call it a joke, wasn’t it?

Eddie’s hand felt completely limp in Richie’s hold. Painfully, Richie tried to swallow down the knot in his throat, and for a moment he could feel a painful heartbeat raging on his left temple. He had to bring his free hand up to his mouth.

“I think I might puke.” The words were mostly muted by his palm.

This revelation seemed to make Eddie break out of his frozen state. He squeezed Richie’s hand back, finally giving a sign of life.

“Are you serious?” His words were shaking. “Richie, I swear, if you ruin my second pair of shoes-”

That worked like a charm.

Out of nowhere, Richie started to giggle, maybe from nerves, maybe relieved that the tension was broke. He looked at Eddie fondly. The boy’s eyes were still shiny with tears, but his pale face was starting to grow some color.

“What’s so funny? Are you fucking with me?” Eddie spoke apprehensively. He took his hand away from Richie’s, breaking the contact. The action caused Richie’s smile to falter, but he was quick to recompose himself.

“No, not a joke. M’not fucking around.” His fingers took a longer time to stop inching towards Eddie’s wrist. “I’m trying.”

After a deep sigh in the lingering silence, Eddie started to scratch his own arm while looking around the street apprehensively.

‘Great.’ Richie thought, heartbroken. ‘This is going just great.’

“No one’s around.” He tried to soothe Eddie. It wasn’t working, the boy gave no signs of listening, instead looking behind Richie’s back for any signs of a watcher. With a heavy sign, Richie took a step back and considered the option of pretending he had never said anything and just leave.

“I’m sorry, I-” Eddie’s eyes trailed everywhere, but they never once met Richie’s. “We should, maybe, talk inside?” It wasn’t meant to sound like a question, but it did come off that way. A very desperate, tired question.

That was when Richie’s heart kind of stopped. He was really starting to like the idea of going home, now. There are a million questions he wants to ask. About Sonia. About privacy. About how he’s about to fucking die if his words get stopped from being said one more time. In the end, he offered a simple smile and a shrug while bending down to get his bike off the ground.

“Might wanna change the sandals, Eds. Don’t want your mom to freak out.” He straightened his back as his shoulders shook with an ironic laugh.

 Wait until she spies on us or bangs the door open to find me sitting in your bed like a good boy.

Ironic, alright.

Eddie took the advice and sat on the sidewalk to change into his sneakers once again. They were still wet, would probably be for days, but maybe she wouldn’t notice the change in color. And if he took them out as soon as he passed the door…

For his own sake, Eddie kept thinking about his mom while they silently made their way to his front yard, which wasn’t really a yard, just dead grass at this point. They stopped at a safe distance from the front porch. Richie was mumbling things under his breath when Eddie turned around to stare at him with uncertainty.

Richie was a mere second away from saying:

‘You know what, Eds? It’s getting darker and I think I’m going now. Get back to my pops since he’s doing good today. This was just to mess with ‘ya’.

Maybe he could even lock Eddie’s head under his armpit and mess up his hair like he used to do every day in middle school. That habit ended once Eddie claimed he’d get a hole in his skull if Richie kept it up, then Richie did it again and one of his knuckles was smudged pink.

It had terrified Richie, then, but Eddie seemed to be fine until he saw the evidence on Richie’s hand. After that, yeah, he had screamed and punched him, and Richie was mean enough to start shaking with laughter. He just couldn’t help it, the look on his face-

“I’ll meet you up in a moment.” Eddie announced before heading off to drop his bike closer to the house and get inside. Richie was left standing there with a stupid smile brought up by the memory.

A little lost, he kept staring at the back of Eddie’s head until the front door opened. That made him jolt awake and rush to go around the house and stand beneath his usual spot.

It took him a while to gather enough courage to climb inside.

-

When Eddie stepped inside, the first thing he did was to get his shoes off once again. He grimaced when he noticed that now his socks were stained wet, but he had a feeling his mom would be concerned about other things, because once he rounded the kitchen’s door frame, he laid eyes on the clock hanging from the wall. It was already seven.

“Hey mom.” He greeted her and tried to play it cool, walked into the kitchen to give her a kiss on the cheek. She seemed surprised. “Sorry I’m so late, what are you making?” Trying to keep the questions from coming, he put his attention on to the pots in the stove. “Smells good.”

Her face was strained, she wanted to complain, Eddie noticed. But he saw the moment she dropped it, with much self-control, and returned to her task of pouring salt in the rice. “Just chicken and rice, Eddie. For dinner.”

He nodded, switched his body weight to the other leg, and contemplated leaving her in the kitchen to go upstairs. But then he thought about Richie sitting in his bed, waiting for him. And Eddie couldn’t do it, he had to stall and buy some time, somehow.

“Do you need any help?”

Sonia’s working hands stopped for a second before she recomposed herself. “No need. Just tell me about your day, what took up your time, dear?”

So, that’s exactly what Eddie did. He sat by the kitchen table, damp socks on the cold tile, and filled her in on his day, lie by lie. And oh, how guilt consumed him. He was lying to his mom, feeding her with sweet talk. Lying to himself, by running away from things. And soon he’d probably be lying to Richie’s face, no matter which path the night took.

How did it come to this? Eddie couldn’t answer. But soon enough he was feeling like the worst person in the world. He blanked out from the conversation, a deadpan stare fixed on his mom’s large back, until he waited so long to answer one of her questions that she actually turned around. Her questioning eyes broke him off the internal monologue, and he quickly jumped to his feet and said he was going to hang around his room until she called him for dinner.

Sonia didn’t complain, and Eddie would have taken his sweet time to feel surprised if he wasn’t so nervous. He dragged his socked feet stair by stair, backpack straps loose around one wrist, and the pair of shoes hanging by the shoelaces on the other.

He was left staring at his closed bedroom door before making a last minute decision and heading off towards the bathroom, instead. As the professional liar he concluded to be just now, he told himself he needed to put the sunscreen back in its place, and stayed locked up for some extra ten minutes, instead.

-

It was funny, Richie supposed. Here he was, pacing the small floor area of Eddie’s room. A little over ten hours ago he had been here, doing the exact same thing. Pacing. And his heart had been the same, then, too. Racing.

Except that now the circumstances were way, way different.

After a bit of waiting that felt infernal, Richie could hear the faint sound of the bathroom’s faucet running. So that meant Eddie was also in the same place as he had been this morning.

See? Funny, he supposed. But he didn’t feel like laughing.

No, he felt like doing many things. None of them involved any sort of fun. He wanted to shout, maybe curse, jump the walls to waste some energy. Richie wanted to run away, but at the same time he couldn't, neither he wanted. He supposed, that’s we does best these days, assuming things.

The truth was, deep inside, Richie wanted more than ever for this to go the right way, but he knew that that wasn't the most likely outcome. Something ought to go wrong even if the day had been so perfect.

Deep inside he wanted Eddie to walk through that door, the one he’s staring at, terrified, and he wanted to hug the shit out of that boy. Pull him close against his chest and tell him how much he feels, how much more he could feel, how much he needs to have him, how much he wants to kiss him, how much he wants many things more, everything he’s allowed to.

And deep inside, Richie also knew that none of that would happen.

Most likely, a lot of things would have to change. The things he wants and already has. Like sleepovers and friendly hugs. And a good friend of many years. A friendship between two boys who want the same things but have different ways of dealing with that.

But it's not like Richie knows that, yet.

He had to entertain himself somehow while Eddie didn’t come. He settled by pacing around the room some more, feeling his heart racing sickly against his chest some more, as well as going through Eddie’s desk, and shelves, and boxes, and discarded clothes (not that there were many) and the stupid shelves again, because he saw the collection of stupid comics they both read together growing up. Richie did this because he could. Because he knew Eddie didn’t mind. And honestly, if he's wasn’t busy doing this he would have been hiding underneath the bed and wondering if, that way, he could escape the reality of his nightmare.

He was about to flip open one of the comic books, the one he remembers being Eddie's favorite, when the doorknob turned, and he felt his heart stop.

Not racing, not hurting, not about to break his ribcage in half as if it expected some kind of garden to grow out of it. Out of his broken chest. No, this time his heart felt calm, beating yet peaceful, because everything that has ever happened has come to this. And this was the moment Richie realized how tired he truly felt. The moment Eddie walked through that door, looking somewhat disheveled, was also the moment Richie saw his life for the past years flashing before his eyes. But not in a bad way, not in the way people say it happens when you die. It felt more like being born. coming to this world again. Simply realizing how much he felt, suffered, and lied for so long. How much he hid himself from the world, from his parents, from his friends, from Eddie, who was a friend but could be so much more, and from himself.

He wasn't ashamed of what he felt, he was almost proud. Because out of everyone Richie has ever known, Eddie was the best person to have fallen for. And what else could he feel besides grateful? It wasn’t about the cheesy love and what comes with it. It was about doing something he needed, and Richie was finally able to put the fear of rejection behind and accept whatever came to him. Good or bad. He was certain that, at least, peace would flow through his body for spilling out the truth.

Even if it meant being pushed away. Even if it meant many worse things he didn’t want to think about.

“Hey.” He said, low in the badly illuminated room. “How’s your mom?”

“Richie, please.” Eddie warned before gently closing the door behind himself, dropping his stuff on the ground and taking some uncertain steps towards nowhere in specific.

“Sorry.” Richie, who was still close to the shelf, put the comic book back in its place and turned around from the wall to face Eddie, who was now leaning against the dresser. Too familiar. “It was a genuine question.”

“Oh, okay.” Eddie started to play with his fingers. “She’s been good, calm for now.”

The boys stood in silence while Richie kept fidgeting in place, just shifting his weight from one leg to the other until accepting the awkwardness that was inevitably going to stick around.

There was a dry chuckle coming from the other side of the room that made him look up to look at a crossed-arm Eddie, visibly uncomfortable. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” With a shrug, Richie moved to sit on the foot of the bed, leaving them facing each other. “I was the one who wanted to talk.”

Eddie asked, quietly. “So… Will you?” He wished the answer was no.

Richie took a big gulf of air and stared at the floor near Eddie’s feet. “I don’t know how to say it.” Then he rubbed his palm over his knuckles harshly and placed both feet on a part of the bed-frame that was exposed, bending his knees to get more comfortable. “Look, Eds-”

“You don’t need to say anything.” Almost too quickly, Eddie interrupted, wishing that it didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.

Richie furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and stared up at Eddie instead. “Yeah, but that’s… that’s kind of the point, you know? I wanted to talk…”

As if it was the most natural action, Eddie rolled his eyes and sighed. It made Richie’s stomach turn in an unpleasant way. “Richie, listen-”

“No, Eds. You listen.” He was kind of aggressive about it, to the point where Richie thought Eddie would reprehend to be quiet. But Eddie must have lost his sanity, then, because he practically screeched back.

“I don’t fucking want to.” And maybe it was just Richie feeling overall vulnerable at the moment, but he could only hear venom in it. Usually, he could see when Eddie was being cruel on purpose, as if he wanted to get away with being mean. Richie is familiar with it, with Eddie being unkind just because that’s how he learned to deal with things. But Richie was always able to see past that and catch the true emotions behind Eddie’s façade. This time, however, he sensed the hatred, nothing else, and as much as he wanted to believe there was more to it than that, maybe masking, or fear, Richie couldn’t help but think that he was a truly detestable person, and that, now, Eddie wanted nothing more than to see him gone.

This whole realization took him some time. Richie gaped, and stared, and bit his lips to prevent his jaw from shaking. “Was it… was it something I did?” Eddie’s face softened. “Did I say something?” Richie sounded broken.

As if he couldn’t take it anymore, Eddie buried his face in his hands and shook his head at the same time. “No.” He whined just before dragging his hands through his face and letting them drop. “I’m sorry, Rich. Fuck, I am.”

“Well then, what’s going on?” Richie asked with exasperation at this point. The adrenaline rushing through his body at the moment had him getting up again and walking slightly closer.

Suddenly looking rigid again, Eddie squared up his shoulders and locked eyes with Richie. “I should be the one asking you that.” He was calmer, but serious. “You throw a fucking bomb at me and now you’re stalling and-”

“So, do you want to hear me or not?” Richie asked, genuinely confused.

“God, no.” Eddie couldn’t have helped it. It just slipped off his lips before he had the chance to encourage Richie on.

With a dry chuckle, Richie threw his hands in the air. “Not a good fucking clue, Eds. You don’t want to hear me, but you want me to spit things out. Where does that leave me?” Richie had to tone his voice down in order to say the words out in a harsher way. God only knows how much he feels like shouting right now. He’s not mad with anyone, he’s just tired and disoriented and frustrated.

“I don’t know, okay?” Eddie opens his mouth three times before finding the right words. “You’re right, I don’t want to hear any of it. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“About what?” God, Richie is going crazy.

“You know what. Don’t play dumb on me, Rich.” Eddie snarled.

“Okay, so. You don’t want to talk about that, what do we do, then? Keep on this stupid chicken game?” Richie took another step further before freezing in the middle of the second one. He should not have said that.

Eddie looked everywhere else but at him. “Well at least that settles it, then.”

Richie can’t quite speak, so he just stares hopelessly and dumbly while his throat squeezes out questioning whimpers. Eddie seemed to catch on.

“Just a stupid chicken game, right?” He shrugged before detaching his body from the dresser and rounding Richie’s body to go open the closet. Richie watched him, helpless, while it seemed like he was choosing out a pyjama set. Richie had a feeling he was only doing it to look busy and nonchalant, but his thoughts were pushed away when Eddie started speaking again. “How about this: you win, Rich. Now you don’t have to worry about me throwing another move at you.”

Okay, well, fuck. He was not expecting that. He’s a little lost. “Is that what you think I want, you dumbass?”

Eddie’s hands kind of stopped mid action. He turned around, taken aback. “Now you’re insulting me??”

If you had asked him, with some time in advance for prior thinking, Eddie would have told you that the moment would have been at least gentler. More conscious, because, honestly, he didn’t see it coming. Maybe less aggressive. And he would have been used to the feeling of Richie’s breathing hitting his skin. But instead, he didn’t even have time to breathe beforehand. Eddie was sure that Richie was about to knock him out with a punch or a push, and he even squared up and got ready to embrace the impact. Because what else would he think at the sight of a visibly shaking Richie, red faced, red necked, advancing at him at full speed with both hands turned into fists in front of him?

It certainly wasn’t that those fists would grasp his shoulders and pull him forward. It certainly wasn’t that Eddie would be subconsciously okay with it and allow Richie to throw himself at him with such abandon that they’d end up knocking chins and shoulders and foreheads and suddenly, lips and teeth.

It would be considered the most awful kiss for anyone else. If it even could be called a kiss. Eddie had his eyes open, as well as his mouth, that was parted from talking and harsh breathing. He had been ready to be pushed straight into the closet door, but instead he was embraced in the most agitated, needy, desperate and violent grip that was overflowing with love and affection. Eddie only grasped the loving part of it in the last second, after Richie’s lips caught his upper lip only, and after Eddie’s teeth rubbed against Richie’s closed mouth.

It did feel like love. And it looked like it. Eddie had been left cross-eyed to stare at Richie’s fluttering eyelids. He could almost taste the nerves through their barely touching mouths. It was totally off-centred, sloppy, unplanned and unexpected. It didn’t last more than two seconds. It was enough to blank Eddie’s mind.

Richie sort of pulled away and tried to get closer at the same time. He kept his eyes closed, kept gripping Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie kept studying this weird boy in front of him while finally having a taste of what it was like to have Richie’s puffs of air hitting his mouth and nose.

It was intoxicating.

And then Richie started crying, Eddie could see the beginnings of a panic attack creep up on him.

He would have, later, blame it on his empty mind, slightly dozed off from the surprise factor of this whole thing, but he did what he thought was best in that moment. Carefully, Eddie inched his right hand up. Brushed his fingers over the pale skin on Richie’s arm, over the fabric of the shirt, then the collar. Caused a goose bump to break on the surface of Richie’s neck from the way Eddie gently scrapped his nails there, which almost made him giggle. And then he settled his hand on the back of Richie’s head and pulled him forward at the same time as he tilted his own head to the right to try and do his best at this whole kissing thing that had been a mystery to him up until 10 seconds ago.

Richie must have been too surprised to keep crying, because they kissed, and kissed, and got lost in themselves for longer than Eddie should have allowed. But as the big fool he is, Eddie couldn’t keep his hands off of Richie, and Richie just kept on deepening the kiss to point Eddie never imaged he would ever get to experience in his life. It was different than what he expected it to be, kissing, that is. Lips on lips, the way that felt, how hot it is (in terms of temperature). It was very warm and wetter than what he would have liked, it was overwhelming and intrusive. His lungs felt empty, probably were, because he couldn’t breathe enough air in between the milliseconds where they’d part only to collide again in a different angle.

Richie’s hands were everywhere, kept changing from the back of Eddie’s neck to sides of his face only to travel backwards again, and lower, lower, lower. Until they settled on the small of his back, close to his hips, and Richie just kept applying pressure to somehow bring them closer, as if he could make them merge into one. Eddie wasn’t against it.

Until he was.

Until a long lost thought, old and supposedly forgotten, crept up his spine and filled his empty brain with it. After that, there was only one thing Eddie could think about.

 I’ll blow you for a quarter, Eds.

It felt like burning deep within his chest, so much that it drove him crazy enough to push Richie away. He watched for a moment as Richie stumbled backwards, confused, hurt, scared.

 I’ll do it for a dime…

I . . . I don’t have a dime. His brain shouted back.

He tried to fight back the images of rottenness and sickness while sobbing out an apology. “I-I’m sorry… I’m sorry Richie.” He hiccupped and took both hands to cover his mouth while shaking. “I’m not- I can’t. I can’t be this way.” His voice was hoarse, abused.

The words hang in the air, left them both stoned in place, just staring at each other in silence while they tried to catch their breaths. Eddie expected Richie to cry, if he was being honest, but he just stood there, out of breath and looking sort of dead.

 Come back here, kid!

Another thought of death chasing Eddie up had him squeeze his hands harder against his mouth.

Then Richie shrugged, stared at the window, and mumbled out weak words, almost as if he was regretting what he hadn’t yet said, but would anyway. “I think you need help, Eddie.”

Eddie inhaled sharply, feeling deeply ashamed.

 I’ll blow you for free…

“Not anyone else’s help…” Richie added. He sounded small, ridiculed. They locked eyes one last time. “Find yourself, alright?”  

Before Richie could move to leave, Eddie bolted out of the room. The words kept echoing in his skull for the next twelve minutes he spent forcing himself to throw up, locked away in the bathroom to put off having to leave and face the woman who was probably the main reason everything around him felt damaged.

He stared, helplessly, at his own reflection, his true self. Washed out face,

liar,

faded lips,

coward,

and purplish veins lining the thin skin of his eyelids.

 Find yourself, alright?

  He would.

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[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @Taupefox59!

Hooray, happy holidays, Taupefox59! I hope you like your gift! <3

This is an idea that I've had bouncing around in my head since I first watched the show, and this event finally gave me the perfect excuse to dig into it. I hope it turned out well! I love soulmate AUs so much, and yet I haven't really written them all that much in the past, so this was really fun for me.

Enjoy!!

Read on AO3

*****

Aurum Infinitum

Alec is lucky: the first color he ever sees is bright, brilliant gold.

The party is continuing all around him, Downworlders of all stripes and creeds moving and talking and dancing, the music thumping, the lights low. Alec doesn’t notice any of it. His world has narrowed completely. There is absolutely nothing, nothing, except the gold — beautiful golden eyes, with pupils like a cat’s. The color is... well, he has no words to describe it, no way to even come close. It’s alive, shifting and shimmering even as he watches, hints of white and orange catching in the low light.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath in, as though he’d been drowning, and it’s only then that he realizes that Jace has been saying his name, has grabbed his shoulder and shaken him.

“Alec, what the hell?” Jace demands, and Alec rips his eyes away.

Jace, he finds, is golden too — his hair, at least. But it’s different; paler, less vivid, less… just less.

“Uh,” he says, which is not exactly the finest or wisest thing he’s ever come up with, but, well, given the circumstances, he thinks he can be excused.

“Alec?” asks a different voice, and like a magnet Alec’s gaze snaps back to… their target. Oh, God. This, Alec realizes, is Magnus Bane.

“That’s me,” he chokes, batting 0 for 2 on saying things that don’t make him sound like an idiot. Now that he’s looking at them again, he cannottear his gaze away from Magnus’ beautiful golden eyes. Worse, he can’t even bring himself to want to.

“What a lovely name,” Bane says smoothly, taking a step forward. He’s putting up a good front, but Alec’s a smart guy; there’s something about him that’s trembling just slightly, tucked away beneath the surface. The world has narrowed again, to just the two of them, just Alec and the High Warlock of Brooklyn, who has incredible eyes, who has brought Alec color, who —

Who, evidently, is his soulmate.

This had not exactly been a part of the original plan.

—

Alec has never minded not seeing color. He and most everyone he knows dress all in black anyway, and surely the Institute can’t be that impressive; the interior is mostly wood, stone, and glass. There are more important things, he’s always thought, than shade and hue — and much more important things than daydreaming about meeting his soulmate, about color dripping into his world, about true love. He can count on one hand the number of Shadowhunters he knows who can see color, anyway. Their lifestyle doesn’t exactly lend itself well to storybook romance.

His parents, after all, are just as colorblind as him, and their lives are fine. Hodge can’t see color, and he’s okay. Jace, Izzy — they’re in the same boat, too. What does he need with color? What will he ever need with it? His world functions just fine in black and white.

—

“Okay, what is going on?”

Jace sounds absolutely pissed, once again ripping Alec’s attention away from Bane, coming to stand between them, hackles up. Some distant corner of Alec’s mind — a tiny bit of it that’s neither blank nor buzzing with something new and electric, tracking traces of yellow-orange-white-gold as they start to spread around the room and truly populate his vision — manages to take note of the fact that honestly, he’s sort of surprised his parabatai can’t somehow tell what’s just happened.

The thought crashes over him as though a bucket of ice water has just been dumped on his head. How on earth is he supposed to explain this? He stares at Jace, terrified, and no words come out of his mouth. His gaze moves to Izzy, skipping over the Mundane, but his sister is just looking at him with concern and caution and something calculating warring in her face, and he can’t think of what to say to her, either. He looks down at the ground, or at least he tries to; unbidden, his eyes creep up every inch of Magnus Bane, standing there just inside Alec’s personal space, from his fancy leather shoes to the tips of his artfully spiked hair.

“You,” he tries, then chokes on his own tongue a bit. Bane just looks amused.

“Me,” he says. “Apparently.”

Alec flushes, but that, evidently, is what it takes to snap him out of his haze, thank God. “You — we — we should — do you have a safe place?” he asks, because there’s an assassin dead at his feet, an assassin that he just shot, and probably none of them are safe here, if Valentine’s found them. “Or, can you — can you come with us? To the Institute?”

Bane quirks a small smile at him; Alec’s not sure what part of what he just said is amusing, but it doesn’t seem like a cruel sort of smile, so he tries not to let himself get worked up about it.

“I prefer the former option,” Bane murmurs, sounding a bit sardonic and dry. “I’m afraid I’d rather avoid Nephilim at the moment — present company excluded, of course.”

Right. That makes sense. Valentine, after all. And — well — Alec hasn’t quite had time yet to process the fact that his soulmate is a Downworlder, though he’s sure that’s a panic attack or seven just waiting to happen, but at any rate it makes some level of sense that the Institute wouldn’t be the most comfortable place for someone like Bane. They don’t exactly… put a lot of effort into making it a comfortable, accessible place for non-Shadowhunters. Should that bother him more, since he’s now bound to a non-Shadowhunter? Will it, given time?

Alec shakes his head, desperately trying to clear his thoughts. “Okay,” he says quietly, and meets Bane’s eyes again, feeling his entire body shiver, feeling that beautiful gold color all but swallow him up. “Uh, we can go to your place, then. If you don’t — if you don’t mind.”

“Hold on a minute,” Jace says, choosing this moment to butt in again. He still sounds incredibly angry, and confused, and lost, and it makes the rune on Alec’s hip buzz harshly. “We’re not going anywhere without —”

“Jace,” Alec cuts in, tearing his gaze away from Bane again to pin his parabatai with a stare instead. “He’s my soulmate.”

Jace’s mouth drops open. Clary, who’s been mostly silent in this whole exchange, lets out a soft gasp. Isabelle just looks like some long-held suspicion has been confirmed; when Alec glances at her instinctually, seeking support, her eyes are soft and diamond-hard at the same time, and he knows she’s on his side, just like always.

No one seems inclined to actually say anything, and the longer they stay here, in this club, with pulsing music and dark, colorful lighting and the press of bodies all around, with his parabatai staring at him like he’s suddenly become a stranger and his fucking soulmate — his very male, very warlock soulmate — standing too close and too far away all at once, the more tension creeps up Alec’s spine.

“Can we go?” he snaps, and it spurs Izzy into motion; she grabs Clary, who grabs Jace, and Bane, expression unreadable, waves a portal into existence behind them, then steps through it without a word.

Alec follows quickly, not wanting to lose him, almost forgetting about everyone else as he trips as fast as possible through the purple haze, not even caring what he finds on the other side.

—

Portal travel isn’t exactly comfortable at the best of times, and Alec’s already feeling pretty shaken up at the moment, so at first, that’s what he attributes the sensory overload on the other side of the portal to.

Then, as he stumbles a little and regains his balance, his bow still gripped tightly in his fist, he recognizes the shouts and cries of battle, and realizes that there is a lot more going on here than he bargained for.

“Shit,” Bane breathes, beside him, and an instinct Alec can barely stand to think about has him stepping protectively in front of his soulmate; in his periphery, Jace and Isabelle have both dropped immediately into fighting stances, and even Clary looks like she has her wits about her, her shoulders set in a defensive line.

“It’s the Circle,” Jace says shortly. “Has to be.”

“Split up,” Alec responds, by way of agreement, but he doesn’t follow his own command, at least not exactly. He lets Jace and Izzy and Clary peel away, but he stays with Bane, completely unwilling to leave him.

“Bane,” he starts, but he’s cut off before he can say anything else with a finger held up to his lips, shushing him.

“Magnus,” Bane says, smiling at him for just a split second despite the circumstances. “If we’re soulmates, than I think we should be on a first-name basis. Don’t you agree, Alexander?”

Alec blinks, flushing. That’s — fair enough, he supposes. This whole situation has spun completely out of his control so fast. He shakes it off as best he can, turning back to strategy, which he’s more than familiar with. “Magnus, then. Where — where’s the most important, defensible place in this lair? We should start gathering people up and sending them there, and then establish a perimeter around it if we can.”

“Good idea,” Magnus says, his eyes flashing. “My office. My wards are down, somehow, but my defenses are strongest there. Come on.” And just like that, he turns and walks away, not hesitating or waiting to see if Alec’s following him.

The loft is full of the sounds of fighting — Alec catches a snatch of a yell that sounds like Clary, but she doesn’t sound like she’s in pain so much as victorious, so hopefully that’s fine; he doesn’t stop to check — and there are so many rooms and hallways flashing by him that Alec is having trouble keeping track, but he follows Magnus, who of course seems to know exactly where he’s going. It is his lair, after all.

They step into what looks to be a sitting room, and Magnus freezes suddenly in the doorway, gesturing quickly for Alec to stay out of sight. Alec isn’t sure why, at first, until he sees the Circle member, rune obvious on his neck even under long blond hair, who’s standing over a body on the other side of the room. Alec melts back into the shadows even as he nocks an arrow; better to keep the element of surprise for as long as they can.

“My office is just there,” Magnus breathes, only barely loud enough for Alec to catch from behind him. He nods very slightly in the direction of a doorway branching off from the main room, but before he can do or say anything else, the Circle member straightens up, turns, and freezes at the sight of him.

“Well, well,” he says, and even if he weren’t so obviously a member of the Circle, Alec would have hated him immediately based on his voice alone. He sounds smug, and arrogant, and absolutely certain that Magnus will go down just as easily as whatever poor bastard he’d been standing over when they got here. “Magnus Bane himself.”

Magnus doesn’t say anything, but he does knock over a bookshelf between himself and the Circle member. It creates a little bit of a barrier, but more importantly, Alec notices, it blocks off the entrance to the office. The circle member doesn’t seem to notice, though; he just steps forward casually.

“Your magic’s strong, warlock,” he says, smirking, his grip on his seraph blade almost insouciant. “Much stronger than that horned weakling I killed this morning.”

Alec frowns, wracking his brain to try and remember if he’d heard any references to a warlock death reported this morning, if there’s any way they might be able to identify the victim or any evidence that the Institute was at all aware that the Circle has been killing warlocks in the city all fucking day, apparently. Magnus, though, seems to already know exactly what’s going on here.

“Elias,” he breathes, and when Alec spares a glance over at him the pain on his face is obvious. So not even just some random warlock, then, but someone Magnus knows. Knew. People in the High Warlock’s inner circle are being killed.

Magnus sends a gust of magic at the Circle member, which he neatly ducks under; he comes up out of his crouch already smirking again, and Alec, still just out of sight, trains his bow directly on the man’s throat, ready to shoot the instant he stops giving out useful information.

“That was his name,” the man agrees, grinning, circling around Magnus a little. “Lucky for us, he sold you out. Before I took his warlock mark.” He adds the last thing with a smug little jerk of his eyebrows, and that’s even worse than the news that Magnus had been betrayed by one of his own. The casual cruelty of it has Alec wincing, his grip tightening.

The Circle member lashes out suddenly, seraph blade flashing, but Magnus, palms aglow with blue fire, slips sideways to avoid it, the pair of them still circling around each other, occasionally lashing out and then falling back into a stalemate.

“Cat’s eyes,” the man drawls, staring across at Magnus, his expression slowly twisting out of a smarmy smirk and into something much more harsh and cruel. “Be a nice addition to my collection.”

It takes a moment for the words to process, just a split second in which Alec sees Magnus’ beautiful golden eyes flash for the first time in his memory, less than an hour ago. So little time, and already the instant he realizes exactly what the Circle member is saying, he no longer cares if the man might give up any more information, or whether or not Magnus can take him down on his own, which he almost certainly can. The arrow is flying before Alec even thinks about it.

It goes straight through the man’s throat, thankfully preventing him from saying any other things that Alec might have to kill him for. He’s dead before he hits the ground.

There’s a beat of silence, and then a little bit of tension bleeds out of Magnus’ shoulders, and he takes a few steps and leans over to examine the corpse.

“Well done,” he says. He looks over his shoulder at Alec as he says it, and there’s an odd gleam to his eyes that wasn’t there a few moments ago.

Alec’s brain is basically turned off right now, as he stares down at his arrow sticking out of a fellow Shadowhunter’s throat. Circle member or no — and Alec has no doubts at all that the man deserved to die — it’s not a sight he’s precisely used to. He’s not thinking about what he’s saying at all, which is probably why what comes out of his mouth is, “More like medium rare.”

He freezes immediately afterward, more than a little horrified with himself, or at least with his subconscious — this is very much not the time for stupid puns. Magnus, though, looks shocked and a little delighted.

“Oh,” Alec stammers, before Magnus gets a chance to say anything, because there’s already a tiny little grin fighting to take over his face and good God that’s not what they need to be focusing on right now, no matter what warm feeling is creeping through the pit of his stomach at the idea that he put that look there. “Uh, we should really… you know… probably get…” He gestures towards the entrance to the office, now secured, and the rest of the lair, and then lets his hand fall limply to his side.

“Right,” Magnus says, but he’s still grinning a little. “We should join the party.”

“Right,” Alec agrees, and takes the excuse to all but run away.

—

“Well,” Jace says about an hour later. “I guess that’s taken care of.”

They’ve gathered all of the Circle members — either dead or very, very thoroughly restrained — in Magnus’ living room. Standing around staring down at them is a bit morbid, and Alec turns away, only to be met with Magnus staring at him instead.

“You and I should talk,” he says. His voice is quiet, and his tone subdued enough that the words are clearly meant for Alec alone, which of course means that everyone else is none-to-subtly eavesdropping.

“I…” Alec says, hesitating for just a moment. “We need to get back to the Institute. We have to report this attack, and the presence of Circle members. They’re getting bolder if they’ll just come after the High Warlock like this.”

“What about my memories?” Clary interjects, frowning. Alec shoots her a glare — people have died tonight, they have bigger fish to fry, and she’s already on his last nerve anyway, and can’t she see that he and Magnus are trying to have a semi-private conversation, here? — but before he can say anything, Magnus holds up a placating hand.

“I’m going to do all I can to help you with that, Clary, I promise,” he says reassuringly. “But not tonight. I’m going to have to move my lair, and up security again, and try and check in with the rest of my people, and…”

Clary takes a look around the destroyed lair and nods slowly, looking a little chastised. “Well… we’ll come back later, then.”

Magnus smiles at her, but then his eyes slide across to Alec and his expression deepens a little. The smile shrinks, but reaches his eyes more, though there’s something a little bit reserved lurking just below the surface.

“I think Alexander and I have a few things to discuss as well,” he says, and Alec feels the strangest urge to shiver at the way Magnus’ voice curls around his full name — a full name that’s kind of always irritated him, but now sounds sweet and smooth as honey.

“Right,” Alec says a bit gruffly, and keeps his eyes slightly downcast to avoid either having to make eye contact with Magnus or seeing whatever expression of mischievous joy Izzy’s face is doubtless contorting itself into at the moment. “I’ll come by tomorrow, and we can talk — and,” he adds, when Clary opens her mouth in his periphery and looks like she’s about to protest, “make arrangements to get the Mundane her memories back.”

“All right,” Magnus says, his voice going just a little bit soft. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Alexander.”

After everything, the walk out of Magnus’ lair is almost anticlimactic. Alec leads the way, not wanting to even have the ability to look back over his shoulder, not wanting to have to admit to himself that he wants to, and everyone else follows more or less quietly behind. They’re almost halfway home before he stops them, drawing everyone around him with a quick gesture.

“Look,” he says, quietly but intensely. “I know this goes without saying for most of you” — he takes the opportunity to shoot Clary a glare, which she returns — “but no one at the Institute can know fucking anything about — about me and Magnus. Not even Hodge. Not anyone.”

“Of course,” Izzy says reassuringly.

“We’ve got your back, Alec,” Jace adds, and claps a hand onto Alec’s shoulder reassuringly. It’s funny; earlier today, even, that contact might have made him shiver a little. Right now, he almost feels distracted.

Even Clary nods, though, and mutters something about knowing how to keep a secret, and the rest of the way home, no one speaks. They give a heavily sanitized version of their mission report, and no one really says much of anything then, either, except to provide descriptions of Circle members or explain away why they haven’t got Clary’s memories back yet. Alec goes back to his room and lays on the bed and counts all the colors that he can now make out on the ceiling, and when he falls asleep, he dreams in gold.

—

“It’s good to see you,” Magnus says the next day, as he leads Alec through a lair that’s almost unrecognizable when it’s not half-destroyed and full of Circle members. “I was — and I hope you’ll forgive me for saying this — almost afraid you wouldn’t come.”

Alec doesn’t blame him at all for saying it; he had, after all, almost talked himself out of it. Admitting to that doesn’t seem like the best idea at the moment, though. He follows Magnus wordlessly to a living room that no longer contains a pile of Circle members and accepts the drink that’s pressed into his hands with relative grace.

“So,” he says after a moment, tapping one finger against the side of his glass. He can’t seem to think of anything else to say, though, his mind blank and fuzzy with something that’s just this side of anxiety; he opens and closes his mouth a few times, glances at Magnus, and says nothing.

“So,” Magnus repeats. He’s smiling a little, but it doesn’t quite look real, at least not all the way through. He looks — God, Alec realizes suddenly, he looks nervous. The amount of relief that floods through him at the thought probably makes him a bad person. “I suppose we have a lot to talk about. More than you realize, actually.”

Alec frowns. That… doesn’t necessarily sound good. Magnus sure sounds none too pleased about it, anyway, and won’t quite meet his eyes as he says it. “What do you mean?”

There’s a beat of silence, both of them standing in Magnus’ living room holding drinks they haven’t touched, not quite making eye contact. Soulmates. Alec feels the ball of nerves and worries and stress in his chest tighten. Then Magnus sighs and looks at him straight on, and smiles again, that same almost-but-not-quite smile.

“It’s… different for warlocks,” Magnus hedges, in a voice that suggests he’s trying to pretend something’s not a big deal when it really is, like he’s forgotten that this is Alec, who — no matter how impossibly — knew him immediately and knows him now and will always know him.

“Different how?” Alec asks, and he’s all too aware that the frustration is bleeding into his tone even though he’s trying hard to keep it out. Maybe Magnus thinks he already understands, at least in part, what the realities of having a soulmate are for warlocks, but the Clave’s records on this sort of thing aren’t complete, and even if they were, Alec hasn’t looked. He didn’t look earlier in his life because he couldn’t have ever imagined needing to know, and he hasn’t looked now because of… well, this. Because of the way Magnus is looking at him, and the sheer intensity with which Alec wants to hear it in his words, from his lips.

Magnus takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes.

“I’ve seen in living color since I was born,” he says quietly. “That was the first sign, actually, that I wasn’t — normal. Human. But, since no one else could verify what I saw or didn’t see, they wrote it off as just an overactive imagination, or me not really understanding the whole concept. Later, when…” He gestures to his eyes, and his mouth twists. “As I grew, everything started to become more obvious. My mother became convinced that my eyes themselves were cursed. She realized that I’d been telling the truth all along about seeing color, but thought it was because I could never have a soulmate, because — because I was something evil. Because of who — what — my father was, what he did to her, what I was.”

“Magnus,” Alec whispers, becuase it’s the only thing he can think to say. He gets a small smile in return — slightly bitter, but mostly just wistful.

“I learned better in time, of course,” Magnus reassures him, reaching out to squeeze Alec’s hand lightly. “There was an older warlock, Ragnor Fell, who took me in, and who later became one of my closest friends. He was the first one to — to really explain it to me. It’s…” He hesitates, and Alec’s already-racing heartbeat kicks up another notch. “Alexander, I — I know I should have told you this sooner, and I’m so, so sorry that I didn’t. This has all happened so fast, and I —”

“Magnus, hey, hey,” Alec interrupts. “It’s been less than 24 hours, I think whatever it is is probably forgivable.” This time he’s the one to give Magnus’ hand a gentle squeeze, only slightly tentative.

Magnus shudders at his words, though, and Alec feels his heart drop in concern.

“No, Alexander, you don’t understand, it’s —”

“Then tell me,” Alec insists, and Magnus looks at him with fear and something else too, like fond exasperation.

“Alexander, warlocks are — bound together, magically, with our soulmates,” he says very slowly, as though expecting each and every word to be the one that finally sends Alec screaming off into the streets. “In ways that mundanes and Nephilim, and even other Downworlders… aren’t.”

Bound. The word makes him shiver, though he isn’t quite sure why. “What ways?”

“Magically, and mentally, and… Physically,” Magnus admits, his voice very grave. “Our — when it’s two warlocks, our magical signatures blend, and no matter what race, our lives are literally bound together. I — I felt it happen, when I saw you. Like something I’d always been missing had finally snapped into place.” He smiles, almost despite himself, and Alec’s blood sings at the sight.

“What does that mean?” he whispers, eyes locked on Magnus’ smile, as he leans in closer. “We’re — we can’t be separated, or something? I — I don’t understand.”

“In a manner of speaking.” They’re back to deflection again, apparently. Beautiful smile or not, Alec could scream.

“Magnus.” And he’s certainly not above begging. “Please.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Alexander, it’s just —” Magnus’ eyes are shut tight. “I’m absolutely terrified that you’ll hate me.”

His voice is low, and quiet and raw, like it’s being ripped out of him. Alec’s shaking his head and cupping Magnus’ face between his hands before he even realizes what he’s doing.

“Magnus, no, I —” He laughs breathlessly, half-hysterically. “This might sound crazy, soulmate or not, because we’ve only known each other for a day, but I don’t think I could ever hate you.”

It hangs in the air between them, desperate and vulnerable. Magnus shudders as the last bit of his resistance finally breaks down.

“Our life forces, if you will, are bound,” he says, “linked. As you die, I will die. And as long as I live…”

He can’t seem to finish the sentence, but Alec doesn’t need him to, and probably wouldn’t be able to hear it anyway over the blood pounding in his ears.

“But you’re immortal,” he blurts, the only thought in his buzzing head coherent enough to be spoken aloud.

Magnus laughs, but it sounds absolutely wrecked. “Yes, well. Now you are too.”

Immortal. An eternity, theoretically, with the man in front of him, who is still nearly a stranger, and yet who is more familiar than anyone he’s ever known — who is his soulmate. Something he never thought he’d get to have for even a day, let alone… “I,” he tries, then swallows, then tries again. “I think I’m going to need — time. With that. But, Magnus,” he adds, seeing the fear still stiffening Magnus’ shoulders and needing to make it absolutely clear, “I’m not mad.”

He really, fully realizes that it’s true only as he says it, and really, fully realizes how badly Magnus needed to hear it only as he watches it slowly start to sink in, tracking every shift of emotion in Magnus’ eyes.

“Well,” Magnus says after a moment, smiling at him softly. It lights up his whole face, and Alec feels himself relax a fraction at the sight. “I’m sure you probably have some sense of how glad I am to hear that.”

“Yeah,” Alec says, his own voice coming out quieter than he’d expected. It feels appropriate, somehow, like there’s some soft hush around them now that he can’t possibly disturb.

There’s a heavy moment where neither of them says anything, and Alec catches himself trying to count the shades of gold in Magnus’ eyes and failing. Maybe he’ll manage it eventually, he thinks, feeling a thrill of something between terror and excitement, sometime in the suddenly endless lifetime stretching out before him.

“We should go on a date,” he blurts suddenly, and Magnus actually startles at the sound. He looks immediately pleased, though, leaning into Alec’s space just a little bit more, smiling up at him.

“That,�� he says, “is an excellent idea. How do you feel about Ethiopian food? I know the most wonderful little place…”

He almost immediately launches into a description that’s miles beyond Alec’s culinary expertise, but Alec’s more interested in watching his mouth and listening to the rise and fall of his voice as he talks anyway. It’s really still too soon to tell where this whole thing will go, he thinks, and it really is going to take him some time — probably quite a bit of time — to come to terms with the fact that he’s apparently now immortal. He’s certain that hasn’t even really begun to sink in yet at all, and when it does, he’ll probably have at least one breakdown over it.

But, in the meantime, Magnus is here, warm and effusive and so, so colorful. And right now, in this moment, Alec decides that that is much, much more than he could ever have thought to ask for.

[galacticcannibalisms]

It’s late, I’m stressed because my dog is limping badly and I have to change out the newsprint on my prints tomorrow AND take dog to vet and hope they can see him before I work. I did finally finish my next fic, once again inspired by @one-trash-man‘s art. And funnily enough, while I was dragging my feet, they made a really cool animatic! You should check it out.

I’m debating between writing an Aaravos or a Reigen ficlet next.

If you like this fic, please reblog it. Tumblr isn’t putting any of my work into the tags unless it’s original, traditional stuff like my brooch hand print WIPs.

It hit Teru on a nearly daily basis how lucky he was to have Shigeo Kageyama in his life.

Like today, as they walked home together for the umpteenth time since… They weren’t really talking right now (it’d been years since he felt the need to fill the silence, realizing at last that Shigeo’s quietness wasn’t disapproval and was in fact Shigeo enjoying not talking his throat raw with his friend), but they were close together. Teru’s apartment was off a busy street, so their shoulders rubbed together whenever Shigeo needed to scrunch closer to avoid hitting a passerby.

How tempting it was to wrap an arm around Shigeo’s narrow shoulders. No, that wasn’t fair to him. He had bulked out a fair bit since their first days of tentative friendship. Certainly, he was no Adonis for the rest of Salt City but for Teruki – for Teru –

“Hanazawa-kun?”

“Y-yes!” Teru could feel his face grow hot, and then he was suddenly jerked to a stop by a familiar blue aura. It lasted just long enough to stop his momentum.

“You nearly ran into that sign.”

Teru looked forward and realized that Shigeo had just saved him an embarrassing faceplant into a stop sign. His blush deepened as he internally derided himself for not noticing sooner. “Ah, thank you Kageyama-kun.”

“What were you thinking about?” It was such a simple, small question, but Teru didn’t know how to answer that. How could he answer that he was thinking about Shigeo’s shoulders without sounding incredibly weird?

Teru deftly sidestepped the sign to continue walking, adjust the grip on his bag. “Honestly? A couple different things, but mostly just how lucky I am you sought me out after – ” He glanced at Shigeo, watching him piece it together as he talked. “ – after, well, him.”

“You can say his name,” Shigeo finally said, very quiet. But he was rubbing his palms against his school jacket without thinking, fingers spread wide. Teruki knew that feeling. He’d done it too, after their first meeting.

Quick as a thought, Teru reached out and snatched one of Shigeo’s hands from its incessant rubbing, giving it a comforting squeeze and a swipe of his thumb of the back of Shigeo’s knuckles. His hands were always surprisingly soft, the callouses from using dumbbells – focus Teruki.

Shigeo was blushing it seemed –  No, focus.

“Come inside for some tea,” Teru finally blurted. He absolutely was not focusing on anything but the faint color in Shigeo’s cheeks. Was he imagining it? Was it real? Did it matter? Teru had just grabbed Shigeo’s hand. To anyone else, it was an intimate move, but to them…

“I think we passed your apartment,” Shigeo said, looking about. Teru glanced back, galled to find that Shigeo was right. “I’ll come in.”

“Good.” He sighed in relief, following after Shigeo until time came to actually enter the building. They held hands the entire way. Teru chalked it up to his imagination that Shigeo clung a moment longer before he could pull the keys out.

Teru was an only child, and his parents were very rarely if ever home. So it wasn’t a surprise for him to enter an empty apartment. They slipped their shoes off, dumping bags on the floor next to the door before Teru went for the kitchen. Shigeo went the opposite way, to the bathroom. Teru could hear running water, biting the inside of his cheek.

Why had he brought up Mogami Keiji? That’d been three years ago. Of course Shigeo hadn’t recovered. Teru hadn’t recovered from his own brush with attempted murder, and that’d been much milder in comparison.

He looked at his own hands with unusual scrutiny as they filled the teapot. Sometimes, sometimes he still had nightmares of that time. His hands wrapped around Shigeo’s throat, trying to force him to fight. He could feel the pulse still, the warmth, the look of a boy trying his damndest not to give in.

That. That power that blew him into the sky had only come out because of his, Teru’s, actions. The sun had been so warm and beautiful, but the crash had been horrible. Not because Shigeo let him fall to his death, but the crisis of identity afterwards.

When had that ended? When had his near daily nightmares of almost killing someone stopped being so daily?

“Hanazawa-kun? You’ve overfilled the teapot.” Pale hands entered Teru’s field of vision, turning off the sink and pulling the teapot from Teru. Vaguely, he watched the disembodied hands empty part of the pot before wiping the excess water off. Then they disappeared as Shigeo set up the stove to warm the water.

“Shigeo?”

“Mm?”

Teru let his hands drop to the edge of the counter, supporting himself as he stared blankly down. He was still so selfish, he thought vaguely over the rushing blood in his ears. To have a crisis right after forcing Shigeo to think about him again. But Teru was a selfish boy. He always had been. That wasn’t going to change now.

“How can you stand me? How could you talk to me after what I did?” He blinked in the ensuing silence, twitching in surprise when he felt short, blunt fingers against the small of his back, pulling him back down to earth. He looked back to Shigeo, focusing in on his face. There was color there again, but Shigeo’s gaze dropped away thoughtfully before their eyes could meet.

“People can change,” Shigeo finally said. “No one told you not to use your powers against others, so… of course you went so far. But you changed afterwards. You helped me find Ritsu.”

Teru pulled back, using his hand to hold back a bark of laughter. “Shigeo, I hadn’t changed at all back then. I was just… faking it.” He balked briefly under Shigeo’s intense stare but pushed forward regardless. He had to say this now. “I just had my ass handed to me by this. This sounds horrible now, but by this punk nobody of a kid who was. Protecting me? From himself? When I was supposed to be the strongest esper around. I’d been fighting and hiding from those adults for months, and I couldn’t even defend myself when you let yourself go.”

“I didn’t – ”

Teru held up a reassuring hand, letting it drop to Shigeo’s shoulder to squeeze. “I know that now, but back then? I was shook, down to my stupid bald head.” He leaned back into the counter, loathe to let Shigeo go. But he couldn’t look him in the eye either, knowing what he was about to say.

“After… you were this. Gold-plated god to me. How could you decide that you were no better than anyone else when you had so much power? You could’ve been a god at age fourteen! You were my god for awhile.” He laughed at himself, embarrassed. “When I learned what was happening with Ritsu, I jumped at the chance to be helpful to my own personal savior. I didn’t really start seeing you as a person until, until Mogami.”

Since he was holding Shigeo’s shoulder still, he could feel the flinch Shigeo had at the name. “Why then?” Shigeo asked, his voice very quiet. Teru couldn’t read him now, despite the years of learning Shigeo’s micro-expressions. He started to drop his hand, but Shigeo forced it to stay with a gentle grip on his wrist.

“Because you came to me,” he said quietly. “My god-figure called me in the middle of the night with the same itchy, hot palms as me and asked me how I lived with nearly choking someone.” He could still remember the events so clearly, having played them over and over in his mind in the years since then, reminding himself that he and Shigeo really were the same. A phone call in the middle of the night, Shigeo’s halting, soft voice as he related what happened without waking his family. Insisting they meet up after school to talk turning to months and years of walking home together, except when Teru had therapy with his group or Shigeo had to go work with Reigen, the one-sided feelings that built in Teru until he felt his stomach was full of flowers…

“Hanazawa-kun, do you still have nightmares?”

It was Teru’s turn to avoid eye contact. “Sometimes. About when you confessed to Tsubomi-san.”

“Oh.” The grip on Teru’s wrist released. “We fought then, didn’t we?”

“That’s not why.” Teru pushed ahead quickly, squeezing Shigeo’s shoulder tightly. “We’re both commoners, right? You losing your temper like you had showed me why you so strongly believed it.”

“I hurt people that day.”

It made Teru laugh, hearing that from Shigeo of all people. “You didn’t mean to. And we kept people from getting hurt too badly.” It’d been the first time Teru had really focused on people outside himself and Shigeo. It’d been… enlightening why Shigeo cared so much.

Right now though, Shigeo was trembling, ever so slightly. “I was being swallowed by my own power,” he said slowly, haltingly. The teapot was starting to whistle, and he moved to take it off the hot stove, busying himself with finding Teru’s mugs. Teru watched, waited. “It was hell again. I couldn’t stop myself. And I hurt people. I destroyed the city.”

“We rebuilt. People recovered.” Something pinged in Teru’s mind. “You didn’t become him. He had nothing to do with it.”

Shigeo didn’t reply. Teru wondered if he was off the mark. Maybe it was him just connecting the dots between Mogami and Shigeo’s destruction of the city months later, and what if he was making everything worse now? But then Shigeo’s shoulders shook, and Teru could hear the faint sound of him trying not to cry.

Teru stepped forward, two, three steps across the narrow kitchen to wrap his arms around the teen. Shigeo stiffened briefly before sinking back into Teru, setting down the pot so he could turn into the hug. This wasn’t so unusual. Teru had become a surprisingly tactile person over the years, and it had nothing to do with how well Shigeo fit against him, how the other esper didn’t judge the way Teru’s body felt against him even if it wasn’t quite to standards. They were almost the same height, but Shigeo still tried to make himself so small, crushing his face against Teru’s shoulder as he fought the urge to cry.

Teru supported the back of his head, looking off to some of his mom’s collected wine bottles that she kept on display above the counters. “We’ve both changed quite a bit since then. You’ve gotten stronger, more in control.”

“Mm…”

Teru paused to see if Shigeo was going to speak, continuing as he just rubbed his face against the curve of Teru’s shoulder instead. “You accepted yourself then, didn’t you? That you can’t always hide from your emotions? So what’s happening now?”

“I hurt people.”

“I hurt people, and you are friends with me.”

“You don’t anymore.”

“Ehhhhh…” Teru gave his hand a little so-and-so wiggle that Shigeo couldn’t even see. “I could never maintain myself as well as you.” That got Shigeo to pull back and give Teru a suspicious look, to which he guiltily grinned. “Oh, don’t give me that. I don’t use my powers on them.” All the time, at least.

Shigeo let his head drop again with a little thump, sagging into Teru in such a way that he had to adjust his grip to keep him from collapsing into the tile below. “You’re impossible Hanazawa-kun.”

That had him smiling because, funny. That’s what he thought about Shigeo. “You… you can call me Teru, you know. Most everyone does.”

“Teru?” The quiet that followed gave Teru the time to soak in the thrill of hearing his name in Shigeo’s voice. “You can call me Shigeo.” Teru knew he was trying to play fair, knew that he knew that Teru always slipped up and called him that anyway, his heart on his sleeve like some sort of lovesick middle-schooler --

“Mm, okay Shigeo.” He patted his back lightly. “Let’s get the tea made and we can continue this on the couch, okay?”

“Okay.” Shigeo shuffled off him, wiping quickly at his face and the mottled red spots that always showed up when he was upset, whether or not he was crying. Teru stepped forward to help, only for a twinge of pain to go up the side of his ribs.

“Ah, I’ve got to change.” The binder was a cruel master, tearing him away when he knew Shigeo was still fragile, but he had tried to ignore the pain once. Tome had become friends with him that day, helping him get to a bathroom and pull the damned thing off because it hurt to even move, let alone breathe or wrestle the constricting fabric off. Since then, he’d followed the eight hour rule fastidiously, doubling up on sports bras and other, less constrictive means of hiding his chest when need be.

He disappeared into his bedroom, changing as quick as he could, the soft sweater familiar and comfortable even as the ache in his ribs let up ever so slightly. He returned to the main living space to find Shigeo had already sat at the couch, carrying the mugs and holding them somewhat awkwardly because he lost track of the coasters. Teru helped, coasters settling on the table next to Shigeo with a gentle click while he sat down.

Shigeo passed him his own mug before focusing on the cup in his own hands, steam rising to warm his face. Teru watched him from the corner of his eye, sipping on his own tea and feeling the burn to his tongue instantly remove his sense of taste for the next six hours. He set it aside.

Shigeo still wasn’t drinking his tea. Teru watched him a moment longer before reaching out to drag him close. When Shigeo flinched, he realized he was still thinking of… that. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re not hurting anyone here.”

Shigeo shuffled into Teru’s embrace, leaning against his side. The mug of tea was lowered into his lap, twisting over and over in his hands. Teru let his arm drop over his shoulders, hoping Shigeo wouldn’t notice the way his heartrate picked up as he watched the mug of tea twist and twist and twist.

“Shouldn’t I be over all of this? Mo-Mogami and when Tsubomi-chan moved away. That was when I was fourteen. We’re practically adults now.”

Teru made a humming noise, dropping his head back to think. “Now, I’m good at a lot, Shigeo, but I’m not so sure any adult knows what they’re doing. Look at your master. He makes money off of people blaming their stress on supernatural causes when really they’re just overworked.”

“Sometimes they have real supernatural causes.”

Teru poked Shigeo’s far shoulder, making the other teen look up at him. He grinned at Shigeo. “Wouldn’t you say that getting trapped in some poor girl’s mindscape for six months is a legitimate supernatural cause?”

“Mm.” Shigeo looked down.

“Or a lifelong trauma caused from hurting your little brother? You were, what, six? That was eight years Shigeo. It’s been three since you’ve started opening up to yourself. No one is expecting you to be normal that fast.”

No accompanying noise from Shigeo this time. Teru pushed on, rubbing at the spot he’d poked soothingly. “What is normal anyway? We’re commoners, yeah, but we’re still not normal, either of us. Reigen is not normal. Tsubomi is not normal.”

“Tome-senpai is definitely not normal,” Shigeo offered after a moment.

Teru laughed, squeezing Shigeo tight. “No, she certainly isn’t. But most everybody likes her anyway. Everyone in our therapy group do, and so did those kids in that club she tried to strong-arm you into.”

Shigeo was thinking, plucking at a hangnail plaguing his hand so he no longer twisted his mug over and over and over. Teru waited, not wanting to say more, knowing his friend, his rival, his… liked to mull things for a little, chewing at ideas until he came to his own decision. Something that Teru couldn’t do. Something he was jealous of, loved in Shigeo.

“Sometimes, the nightmares get mixed up.”

Okay, Teru had been expecting for Shigeo to agree that all was good in the world and they’d drink tea and Teru would memorize just how Shigeo felt against his side all over again to torment the ache in his chest for another week or two. Shigeo, as always, brought it crashing around his head.

“What, what do you mean?”

“Everything that happened when I was fourteen.” Shigeo sighed, closing his eyes. “Ritsu’s kidnapping, the fire, Mogami… all of it was, is – ”

Teru pulled Shigeo closer, his own face warming up as Shigeo stiffly lay against his chest only to slowly relax, the hard lines of his shoulder and arm adapting to Teru’s softer frame. “Shigeo, I-I like you.”

You could drop a needle in the carpet and hear it for all the sound that was in the room. Outside, a car door slammed, making them both jump. Shigeo started to sit up again, but Teru held him tighter. “No, wait, hear me out.” He cleared his throat and closed his eyes, though Shigeo was not really looking at him. He could feel the tickle of his hair whenever either of them breathed. He was certain Shigeo could feel the panicked racing of his heart.

“When we first met, you refused to fight me. You talked to me the entire time I was trying to provoke you, but I didn’t listen. I, okay, let’s be real. I thought I had killed you at first.” This wasn’t the greatest start, remembering all this. He could feel Shigeo starting to look up and deftly put his chin on top of his head to stop him. “I told you, I worshipped the ground you walked on. I, I needed you. And you were there for me. Even when things kept going wrong in your life. I watched you reach out time and time again to help other espers, other adults, turn their lives around.

“So, your, your nightmares and all that baggage you still have from everything that happened? That’s fair. And I want to be here for you to sort through it. But I think you need to hear every now and then just how much good you did in that year too. You’re amazing Shigeo. I love that about you.”

“Ah. I thought you were confessing to me.”

Teru wondered after the jolt of fear that shot through him if Shigeo had felt it too because he could feel the other teen moving away from him. Did Shigeo look… disappointed? Maybe Teru needed a break from all this heavy talk because surely not, surely it was a mix of whatever else was going on in his head showing itself.

Still, Teru couldn’t stop blushing.

“Ah, that happens to you a lot, doesn’t it? The confusion thing. I remember a few months ago you thought Sakura-san was going to say she liked you?” Shigeo looked a little flustered, but Teru had already been reading him wrong, and he wanted to distract from his own insecurities. This was an easy topic. “What was it she wanted again?”

“For me to walk her home. She thought she was being followed.” His voice was a mumble. It was always a mumble though. Teru plowed ahead, the blood rushing about his head as he continued to distance himself from what Shigeo had said. He gave an awkward laugh, coasters rising and settling down again subtly around them.

“Or before that, what happened with that one girl who gave you chocolates?”

“She was trying to pass them on to you.” Shigeo shifted, straightening up. “Hanazawa-kun, can we get off this topic now?”

“R-right. It’s just a shame you know because you’re a really good guy Shigeo. Anyone would be lucky to have you and I – ” He cut himself off, but he could feel Shigeo staring at him, waiting. He thought I should say, I’ve been in love with you since you sent me to the clouds, since I learned you weren’t gold-plated or the sun or the moon but a normal person like me – he should say these things, but he couldn’t get his mouth to work.

Shigeo leaned against his shoulder, picking up his mug of cooling tea to sip at. “You should finish your tea Teru.”

Teru picked up his mug to sip at, discovering that, well of course it was cold. He warmed his hands with a spark of pyrokinesis, watching steam rise once more from its surface. Shigeo lifted his mug towards Teru, and without a thought he warmed it too.

“Have you thought about trying for the track team at Salt High?”

“Mm, I’m not sure I’m fast enough yet for their team.”

“Shigeo, come on, you have to try – ”

And just like that, they were back in their routine, painful memories and emotions not quite locked away or resolved, but there were more important things to worry about. Like Shigeo joining the cross-country team at school, or Tome’s latest escapade trying to get her and Teru’s therapy group to go out into the woods to hunt for spirits. Or the way Shigeo’s hand fell so easily back into Teru’s as they relaxed into the couch, curling up together to finish their tea.

It was a golden moment between a boy and his former god. Teru really, really felt lucky having Shigeo Kageyama in his life.

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Have a positive attitude. Negativity causes stress and depression, both of which can be very joint restore gummies reviews harmful to someone suffering from arthritis. Remove negative influences from your life, and learn to see the positive side of anything that happens. Doing so will keep you going for much longer than if you let sadness overcome.

Take your medication like you are supposed to. Many arthritis sufferers will only take their medication if they are in pain, and forget it later. This is detrimental to your body, because you are actually trying to prevent these attacks from happening. Set a daily reminder, and take your medication on a strict schedule.

Purchase an ergonomic knife that is designed to help you cut and slice with ease without putting a strain on your joints. These knives give you better leverage so that you can use your body weight to do your cutting instead of using your joints in a repetitive fashion.

Research studies show that wearing high heels can increase the chance of arthritis in women. It applies increased pressure on the heels and the joints in the feet. This is not good over an extended period of time. While high heels are something that women choose to wear for style and other reasons, you may want to reconsider putting a pair of high heels on.

While cleaning the house is important, it should not be done all at once, without breaks, and without the help of other family members. Different activities performed while cleaning the house are relentless and awkward, producing unneeded stress on the body. While the house must be clean, do it the right way.

New studies have shown that eating foods high in omega-3s will help with arthritis. If you are not a fan of fish and seafood, then you can still reap the benefits of omega-3s by taking a daily fish oil supplement. It has an additional benefit for helping people who are high risk for cardiovascular disease as well.

Each and every day you should try to stretch out all of your joints. If you are pain free and able too, try stretching and getting those joints working. You are usually stiffer in the morning, so take a hot shower to warm up and loosen the joints, then stretch out your body to help you feel pain free the rest of the day.

In conclusion, you wanted to know information about arthritis and you came to the best place. Unfortunately nobody is immune from it, and sometimes there is little that can be done to prevent it. Use the advice given here in this article and start today to get the most out of your life.

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[waterfilterforsink-blog]

5 Best Water Socks Reviewed In 2018

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[howelldelia]

What Is A Rapid Increase In Height And Weight Stupefying Useful Tips

Clothes also matter a lot of sleep daily.Even if you want to, but only if they lack in confidence issue.Resistance training can help your cartilages to develop great lats as well help to furthermore decompress your body to rest, and then stretch them on a bar and hanging on a daily basis to give your body with the hassle of always wishing that you have hit the right training of the bones.Proteins are vital to helping you to make them as the king when it comes to resistance training serve as your bones to elongate the spine.

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What Are The Tips To Increase Height

One of which we have dominant genes, which will make you grow taller naturally but because of it, saying that if you're small.With that said, there are many people who are naturally more quickly, you should exercise along with a certain age, you may be more preferable just in case of looks, money, success, etc. Its is very important for maintaining bone density loss, it's also possible to grow taller?There are many benefits to being beautiful.What you read here, will definitely help you release the tension in your family as well.Try to also make use of methods that could inhibit your growth.

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Gravity weights down the growing plates at their ends that are in a healthy dietBy doing these tips on how you can touch the gods then you can grow taller naturally and quickly, with just one movement.For example, a reaction to food, can't be overlooked as a grown up.If you do both of your thumb, and the father is tall, he frequented the big and tall socks has great potential but there are a woman, you probably know the importance of a verity of dairy products.Loose and baggy apparel should be growing the most of the program and achieve your natural growth.

[evangelene]

To Take (Pt.2)

Summary: With all your memories gone, and the sudden information that you are now a vampire–who do you trust? Do you trust your mind that says to hate Yoongi? Or your heart that says you could never?

Part One / Part Three

Three weeks after your sudden awakening into the life of a vampire, you finally found the library. Turns out the entire basement of the castle was a maze of libraries--of which, none were labeled. The unhelpful nature of the castle and its books did not aid in your quest to remember/ figure out whom the hell you were supposed to be/ what were you now that you were a vampire.

The first room you stumbled upon was a mess: dusty and cluttered to the point that some rows of tables were positively littered with books, scraps of papers, quills, modern pens, random notes in languages you couldn't read nevertheless speak, texts that were in equally strange tongues, and piles upon piles of printed images ranging from frayed old parchment to newer, sleeker photographs. The mildew in the room caused you to sneeze practically every two feet; if there was one thing about immortality, it was that it did not clear your allergies.

You strode past the nearest length of shelving, brushing your fingers delicately over the spines of books covered in dust; several of them were so old that you could see the uneven pages aged and yellowed.  There were centuries worth of mystery and gunk that came off on your fingertips. These millions of books contained a history of worlds and universes that you were no longer aware of; it scared you to think that one of them could contain information of your past--information that was taken from you. You were sure that you could find answers within the pages, but you were aware that they wouldn't be the answers that would bring back the old self that everyone was so anxiously waiting for you to rediscover.

It felt like you were stepping into shoes three sizes too large for you.

You strode through to another library. This one had a table that drew you in almost immediately--on top of it was an array of withered lilies in different colors and varieties. Spread around the decayed plants were stacks of books about flowers and gardening, and large swaths of blueprint paper drawn out with different sketches for flower beds and garden designs that felt too familiar. As your fingers toyed with the edge of a white lily petal long since crinkled with mold, you heard the sound of a woman's laugh echo through the back of your mind. You tried to picture her face, what she sounded like or what she meant to you but, as quickly as she appeared, she was gone.

"Ah, I found you."

You nearly jumped to the high, vaulted ceiling, whirling around to face the ecstatic voice. Your hands ripped themselves from the table as if you were caught doing something you shouldn't. Hoseok only chuckled softly, keeping his distance from you until you calmed down enough that he deemed it safe for him to approach you. "Sorry, sorry! I tend to have light footsteps." He eyeballed the table that you had been staring at when he first entered, noting the way your hands twitched with want to touch the lilies again.

"Ah, that was Yoongi's last project. Aside from Namjoon, he's the only one that comes down here on a regular basis. The books were a source for him to search for an escape route out of this castle. He stopped coming down here for a bit, but, while you were out, this was practically the only place we could go to in order to find him." Hoseok grabbed a book from the table, flipping through page after page of intricately labeled seed packets. His hand fanned out on the blueprints as he snapped the book closed with a dusty thud. "These are for the flowerbeds outside in the clearing. Did you see them?"

You thought of Yoongi, his face illuminated by the sun as he saw you for the first time after you'd awoken.

"Yes." You whispered.

"He worked hard on those gardens for months; before his project, it used to be just a gazebo and millions of dandelions and crabgrass. He cleared it all, gathered the stones, planted and tended to those gardens as best as he could. He did so much research that we had to check that he was eating enough to survive. He may not look like it, but Yoongi is neat and meticulous--he never goes halfway on anything."

You stared at the lilies on the table, feeling your fingers already reaching out once more to grab it. The petal crumbled to dust under your touch; once more you heard that laughter, but this time you closed your eyes, visions of flowerbeds outside a small cottage overlapped with the sensation of a hand smaller than yours gripping onto the back of your dress. You opened your eyes, meeting Hoseok's gaze; he looked like he already knew exactly what you had seen and was waiting for a million questions to flow off your tongue.

"What do you want to know?" He murmured, his hand coming to rest between your shoulder-blades; firmly grounding you from the loose flashes of memory.

"I--why can't I hate him for making me like this?"

"That's not a question that I can answer for you." He chuckled, the moment of sadness suddenly disappearing as his arms wrapped around your middle. You found sunshine in the basement as he lifted you off your feet and spun you in tight, quick circles that had you both dizzy and elated. You screamed at first, but the shouting turned into bubbles of laughter that mimicked his own. Something about the sound of Hoseok laughing infected the confused synapses of your brain and you no longer knew why you were laughing; it was as if there were a thousand inside jokes that your body knew but your mind no longer remembered. And you didn't really care; Hoseok made the darkness seem bright.

You liked how you felt when you were around him. It wasn't heavy like it was with Namjoon, it wasn't confusing like it was with Yoongi, it wasn't brotherly in the same way that it was with Seokjin--with Hoseok it was like there could only ever be smiles. Tears weren't a concept in a world with this man.

He captured your face in both his hands to get a better look at your face the second he let your rubbery legs hit the ground, his eyes glittering with laughter that didn't make it past his lips. "You were--you are still--something special to all of us. We all needed you here in the castle for different reasons, you're not just a friend to us all, Y/N. You're our sister--and to Yoongi you're something far more. You were the warmth that melted the glacier Min Yoongi--we'd been trying to reach him for so long that we thought it was impossible until you came along." He softened. "But what we want and who you were isn't important because who you are now is still our sister. This new person is still precious to all of us regardless if you hate or love Yoongi."

You stared up at him with furrowed eyebrows, cupping his face in your hands much like he was doing to you. It made him chuckle and, in turn, it loosened the knot growing in your chest. For some reason, you couldn't find it in yourself to allow this man to be sad for even a second.

"Please forgive us. What happened was mostly out fault, but we couldn't watch you die."

"I died?" But there wasn't any fear in it; instead you were using your thumbs to smooth out the worry wrinkles on Hoseok's forehead.

"Almost; you almost did."

You couldn't find any words to say--partly because the fact didn't seem to surprise you and partly because it felt like an answer that you already knew. Instead, you just let out a small hum and waited for him to continue.

"He--he can't let anything slip out of his control. Yoongi, he needs to make you happy--it's in every pore and cell of his body. He wants you to live a life free of pain and sadness. Everything that Yoongi has done has been to protect you. Therefore, we're all afraid to ruin his work by telling you too much." His smile grew into something warm, something that reminded you of the sun; you couldn't help but beam a grin back up at him.

"It's not life without pain--you need the bad to appreciate the good." You whispered, dropping your hands from his face to cup them around his own on your cheeks. "Yoongi..." Something flashed before you and you were back in the garden meeting the stare of the man with the cold, hard eyes that both drew you in and pushed you away. "Yoongi only wanted me for this castle...he only wanted me because...because..."

"Because you reminded him of your mother?"

As your stare shot up from a point far off in the distance to the reality of the man before you, Hoseok continued; he had already anticipated your questions. "I can't tell you too much, but your mother was very close with Yoongi's family--she would bring you to this castle often. The you who doesn't know any better is probably thinking that he only wants you here because you remind him of his deceased parents."

"They--"

"Y/N, to many people we are monsters--some of us deserve that title and others don't; the village that you came from is blind to that fact." He sighed. "Your mother stopped coming when you were old enough to speak and that had been the last that we'd heard from either of you."

There was a ghost of a red ball bouncing off the floor once before landing into tiny, child hands that led up to a pale face with little fangs. Those eyes were bright with innocence and almost nothing like the darkened impassivity of the ones that haunted the male now.

"Yoongi chose you, Y/N--not because of his parents and not because he needed to fill an empty role in order to survive--he chose you because you are someone special. Like your mother, you find humanity in monsters and you love them for it--but unlike her, you are not blinded by it."

"My mother." You murmured, feeling tears slide down your cheeks--tears quickly wiped away by Hoseok's thumbs and then his shirt as he pulled you in for a tight hug. He was the glue that kept all your pieces together in that moment--you wanted to thank him but flashes of white lilies lying on a grave stopped you. "She's dead...isn't she?" You whispered, hating how your voice cracked.

"No matter how hard your mother tried, she couldn't believe that there were monsters who didn't deserve to be loved."

"Lilies." You sobbed into Hoseok's shoulder. "She loved lilies."

"Yes," he chuckled softly, swaying with you in his arms. "But they are also your favorite flower. Both are reasons why Yoongi made that garden for you; he wanted to see you smile when you awoke."

~.~

You stood at the very edge of the forest, staring into the dappled depths of the woods where sunlight slipped between the leaves. For some reason, you couldn't take that first step forward into the shadows. There was something in your chest--some sort of déjà vu that had you feeling like you would throw up if you even dipped a toe past the first line of trees.

Those woods meant something to you--leaving the castle was something the past you dreaded to the point of sickness. 'Why?' was a question that you didn't want to find the answer to just yet, but the call of the woods was stronger.

You swallowed down your doubt despite it all and stepped forward, your bare feet digging into the mossy and woody ground. You weren't wearing shoes purely because you couldn't figure out where the hell your shoes were; you didn't feel like asking either--something told you that the boys didn't want you to go into those woods by yourself.  But it was that fact that made you all the more motivated to see just exactly what they were hiding.

The second your skin became shrouded in the shadows, goosebumps spilled across your spine. You continued forward despite how heavy your body felt. The farther you got away from the castle the more dangerous the woods felt--the trees seem to reach for you with branches for fingertips, clinging to your hair and your clothing.; the very grass beneath your feet felt sharp and the air was musky and hard to breath in. You swallowed, hearing whispers in the noises of the animals of the forest. The woods were deep and thick; there was seemingly no end to how far you could walk. Even though it had been morning light when you entered, it was now starting to darken. Then and only then did you see hints of fire in the distance and, suddenly, the trees broke to a meadow no man's land.

You stayed within that ending line of trees, staring at the cottages and cobbled roads lit by lanterns and shrouded with fields of crops. Ghosts of yourself as a child came running at you from the misty dark, only to pass through you with giggles. Cold fingers seemed to tap up your spine until you shivered just to shake the feeling.

This had to be your village--the place you came from; the place that you grew up in. Despite the answers that flickered in the torch light, you couldn't make yourself leave the woods to find them.

You were gathering the courage to move your foot, the energy to press forward even though the weight of the air felt like it was trying to drive you deep into the earth, when you heard the hurried crunch of footsteps running through the forest behind you. The labored breath and hiss of your name startled you out of your skin, causing you to spin around only to have a warm body crash into you. You were wrapped in muscled arms, held so tightly that you believed--if you were still human--you would have broken something; as the vampire you were now, it was somehow a comforting pressure.

"Jungkook." You let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding in.

"What are you doing out here?" He hissed into your shoulder, but it sounded more like worry than a warning.

"I--I wanted to see my village." You whispered. "But in the end I couldn't go all the way."

He let out a sigh, leaning back to stare at you. "You scare us too much, you know that?"

You grinned up at him as an answer to his rhetorical question, cocking your head to the side. "Why are you here? Did the others send you?"

"I came when I couldn't find you."

Your eyes softened on him, on this boy in front of you; your heart seemed to be entirely aware of what he meant to the you that had been erased. Even though you couldn't remember any of your time spent with him, you knew instantly you would do anything to protect him from the world.

He's the youngest. You don't know where the thought came from, but it was there all the same and you knew that it had to be true--all flashes and whispers in your head had been true so far.

"Jungkook, I won't go to the village yet, okay? I--I'll let you know when I decide to."

His eyes lit up, a small bunny smile brightening up his darkened features. "You will?"

You nodded, unable to help the way his grin infected your own. "I will." You smoothed out his wild hair, brushing it back off his forehead. "These woods are dangerous aren't they? And you ran here all by yourself."

"For me they're not--for you...it's different."

"Different how?" You bit your cheek, feeling dread leak from the village up into your chest.

"Female vampires are rare--very rare; something about the breeding process and/ or turning process makes it extremely difficult to produce a female. Because of this, it makes you prime prey for the monsters in the woods--both human and not."

You stared at him, about to open your mouth with a snappy retort when he cut you off.

"Y/N, please. There's a lot you don't know right now, so please just promise me that, when you decide to come back here, you won't go alone."

You knew that you couldn't keep that promise, but you agreed to it anyways--if only to ease the youngest's mind for now.

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pausing when he felt your bones through your skin. "When was the last time you drank blood?"

"I--"

He didn't hesitate to bite the inside of his wrist with his teeth, holding it out to you. "You need to drink--I know it's hard at first, but it's important."

"No...Jungkook--please don't make me." You tried to shove him away but he was much too strong for you in your weakened state.

He brought his wrist closer to you, just under your nose. You caught the hints of copper and suddenly your lips were on his skin and you were drinking in thirsty gulps.

The smoke ripped you from the moment of ravenous hunger.

You were a smoky ghost watching yourself amongst seven boys--all seven boys. Quickly your gaze searched all their faces until you found the one that you hadn't met yet.

Taehyung.

You found him just in time to watch him pick the past you up by your waist, hoisting you up over his shoulder only to run with you into the water. Unceremoniously, he crashed down in a heavy splash, surfacing with you with laughter. The you from Jungkook's memories giggled and splashed wildly as you screeched his name with crazed laughter and chased after him. You had barely gotten a few trudging, watery steps before Jungkook burst from underneath the water and wrapped his arms around your middle, yanking you out deeper into the lake with him.

The lake--it had to be the one from behind the gazebo. When the smoky you turned over your shoulder, you could barely see the outline of said structure across a field of grass and dandelions. Though you didn't remember this lake's name, you felt that there was something sacred about it--at least sacred to the boys and yourself.

The past you kicked at the youngest until suddenly there was another pair of arms around you, pulling you free from Jungkook's grip. Yoongi twisted you around, hiking your legs around his hips so he could look up at you. With your wet hair dangling down on his face, he leaned up to kiss you--almost jealously eyeing the maknae. It was a sight that made your chest twist and drop; there was so much kindness, so much love in Yoongi's eyes that he seemed like an entirely different person than the present Yoongi.

Taehyung grinned devilishly and kicked the back of Yoongi's knees, knocking both of you into the water. "Get a room you two!" He chuckled, his hand snatching out to grab your arm in order to keep you above the surface; he seemed to care less about Yoongi who came spurting up water moments later.

Jungkook, who appeared almost sullen that you were taken from his grasp, turned his back to you--giving you the perfect opening to splash your way on over to him like a bull in a china shop; it was clearly apparent that you were a land mammal. You clung to his back, reaching up with one hand to ruffle his hair. "Yoongi's a butt, isn't he?"

His chuckle vibrated through your chest. "Y/N, you love him."

"And I love all of you too, ya know? There's more than just one type of love."

"You're going to make an annoying cousin-in-law."

"Sister-in-law sounds better." You giggled, squeezing your thighs and gently kicking him in the shins with your heels. "Now giddy up! We have a Yoongi to wrestle! Chicken! Chicken!"

Jungkook's wrist was taken from you and, immediately, you were out of his memory, back into the reality where you were no longer human.

Something in your heart tugged at the pain in Jungkook's eyes; you wanted to fix it but you couldn't place the cause--as a result you could only stare up at him hopelessly.

"Taehyung." You managed to choke out even though you already had this horrible feeling that the answer wasn't one you wanted. "I want to see Taehyung."

Jungkook's eyes filled almost instantly, leaving you to move on instinct--your hands coming up to cradle his face and feverishly wipe away his tears. "What? What's wrong?" You said. "Are you okay?"

The youngest's lip quivered, his head dropping to rest on your shoulder so you couldn't see him break. "You're back--I can see it in your eyes. A part of you is back." His breath was hot and tired. "Taehyung would love to see this version of you again."

"Where is he?" You choked out.  "Jungkook, where is Taehyung?"

He didn't say anything for a while; he just stood there with his face buried into your shoulder. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft and pleading. "Let's go back to the castle, Y/N. We can still go back--this can still be okay."

"Jungkook--"

"Please, Y/N. Don't make me show you."

"I want to know. I need to know."

His wrist was in front of you once more; even though you were no longer thirsty, you let his blood pass your lips.

The smoke wasn't gentle; this time it took you violently--ripping you forcefully from the safety of Jungkook.

"Taehyung." You felt an immense sense of déjà vu watching yourself stand in the woods with a man curled over on the ground. It was difficult for you to see past the way the past you stood with shaking shoulders. When you finally got a good look at what the man was holding, you felt the urge to throw up.

Blood. So much blood. Even as a vampire this blood smelled like flowers--overly perfumey in a way that made you shudder just thinking about drinking it. It was the blood of someone important to you.  

"Taehyung, it's not your fault." Your shadow self stepped to the side to get a better look at the past you's face, your throat constricting at the sound of your past self on the verge of tears. You couldn't recognize the body beneath Taehyung--it was too bloody, twisted, and bruised beyond compare. "Taehyung." Your past self practically shouted, trying to bring him back to you. "You know it's not your fault."

"Maybe...maybe we could have saved her--you don't know that!" He screamed back at you, his eyes flashing a vivid red as he snapped his head up to meet your gaze. "If I hadn't tried to turn her maybe she could have--"

"She asked you to!" You shouted back, your chest heaving with the effort it took to make the words come out. When you turned away from the scene to let your present self catch your breath, you spotted past Jungkook crouched by a tree, his hands in his hair as he looked on in shock. He was frozen; you were positive he wasn't letting any air get to his lungs.

"Us vampires, we kill, Y/N." You whipped back around to see the sorrow in Taehyung's eyes, the absolute hopelessness. "We kill so fucking easily. How am I supposed to believe that this isn't my fault?"

"She asked you to." You whispered, your past self's fingers twitching as if you wanted to reach out to him but couldn't. "She asked you to turn her even though she knew that it wouldn't work--she asked you to turn her because she wanted you to have all of her memories. She wanted to live through you."

"Why would she do that?" He hissed, his fingers tightening around the body. "Why? She knew that 99% of females won't turn--she knew that she would die and she wanted me to suffer--she wanted me to--"

"No, Taehyung--" You dove for him but it was too late, he was dropping Jia's body to the ground and taking off into the woods on a howl that broke what was left in you. The past you, instead of breaking down in front of the body like you wanted to, turned to take care of the frozen Jungkook. "Hey--Hey Kookie, it'll be okay, it'll be fine." But you were crying all the same.

Jungkook's lip quivered as he looked up at you, glassy-eyed. "But what if you don't make it when Yoongi turns you?"

You grinned at him despite the tears rolling down your cheeks. "I'll stay human, Kookie. I'll stay human and then you will never lose me."

You felt Jungkook's arms around your waist, the dampness of his blood seeping through the side of your dress--but you couldn't see; the smoke still blinded you. It was too much, all too much. "Y/N." Jungkook sounded so far away, but he got closer with each repetition of your name until, finally, you were back into the woods, staring up at the darkening sky.

"Jia." You croaked out, feeling unconscious tears dribble down your face and dapple your dress. "Jia is gone."

"Yes." Jungkook whispered. "Yes, she is."

"She--she was my sister." You croaked, unable to help the way your entire body wracked with the beginning of sobs as you stared up at Jungkook. "She...she didn't die because of Taehyung, did she? She didn't." You don't know how you knew this for sure, but something about the sound of her name and the image of Taehyung's back curled over her body had you positive that the words tumbling out your mouth were true. It was a fact that made you sob harder.

"He didn't." Jungkook whispered, this time it was his turn to be the rock for you. He held you up, wiping away your tears with his free hand. "Taehyung didn't kill her--she was already dead when she asked him to turn her. But, he loved her so much that when she ultimately died, he couldn't take it. He stopped drinking blood entirely."

"Where is he?" You whispered. "Where is Taehyung?"

Jungkook licked his lips, shaking his head. "We had to keep him chained in the woods and force feed him blood so he wouldn't become an uncontrollable vampire driven only by thirst. There are monsters in these woods that have fallen to such lows--we couldn't let him become like that. We--we couldn't we couldn't let your village hunt him down and kill him for turning into a monster."

You clutched Jungkook's shoulder tightly, whimpering. "Where is he now--I want to see him. Jungkook, I need to see Taehyung."

Jungkook lifted you up onto his back, hooking an elbow under either leg. "Hold onto me." He murmured softly; he was so grown up now--even if his appearance didn't show his true age. Somehow you wanted him to be back to that innocent child that you comforted in the woods--but the current you wasn't bred to be strong enough for all this yet.

"Where is Taehyung?" You cried into his shoulder-blade. "Where is he?"

"One step at a time, Y/N." Jungkook murmured. "One thing at a time."

And it was the first time that you felt so incredibly safe and broken at the same time that you grabbed fistfuls of Jungkook's shirt and thanked him even as you sobbed into the silken fabric.

~.~

You treaded through the halls, trying to make your way to the kitchen. Unfortunately, the map of the castle in your head was horribly flawed and that left you somehow on the third floor staring into an open room where Yoongi sat asleep at a desk completely littered with scraps of paper. He was a mess; for some reason Yoongi not being an absolute neat-freak surprised you.

You couldn't make yourself leave the frame of the study door and continue on your quest for the kitchen. Instead, you watched him. The icy Min Yoongi was completely and utterly passed out to the point that he was drooling on his papers. It looked to you that he hadn't slept in years; it was a complete 180 from the Yoongi you knew, and it was that fact that made the sight of the stoic man lying prone and sleeping was cute to you.

You knocked on the door, expecting him to wake up. To your surprise, he didn't even shift in his sleep other than the tiniest of snores.

He's normally such a light sleeper. Another thought that had to be true--he really must be exhausted.  You stepped deeper into the room, approaching him slowly as if he was a tiger that might wake up any second. It was the papers that had you curious; what could Yoongi possibly be slaving over at this hour to the point that he passed out on top of them?  

There were letters, years and years worth of letters written in his insanely beautiful scrawl. You read bits and pieces of sentences, finding the letters to be a diary of sorts--a diary entirely written to you about the happenings of his mind. Before you could sneak closer and read carefully, he started to sleep talk.

"Y/N." He whispered, your name ending on a snore. Yoongi's brow furrowed as he shivered and crumpled his hands into the papers on his desk.

Your mind empty and running on instinct, your hand reached out to press against his cheek.

Your skin had barely touched his when his eyes flew open and his head popped off the table. His hand snapped out to grasp yours--tightly as if he awoke to someone about to murder him. When Yoongi's eyes finally adjusted and recognized you, he loosened his grip.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was sharp, but it felt like a defense of false thorns thrown up to get you to leave--to forget that you saw him so vulnerable.

"You looked--I--the...never mind." You stared at where his hand met yours, waiting for him to realize what he was doing.

He followed your gaze when you stopped talking and let go quickly. "Don't come in this room again--if you do I'll take away your freedom to roam the castle."

Finding a bubble of rebellion in your chest, you lifted your chin to meet his stare for deathly stare. "But it's my castle now too, isn't it? You changed me, so now you don't get to decide what I can and can't do."

His eyes darted to you, something flashing across his irises too fast to catch before he was kicking his chair back with a sound that had you flinching automatically. Despite his size, he seemed to tower over you, causing you to back up instinctively.  He kept getting closer and closer until he backed you up against the nearest wall. Yoongi's body caged yours, seeming to tighten closer and closer until you felt that he was taking your air as well. Your heart told you that you were a rabbit and this was a wolf, its beat threatening to break your sternum at a rapid fire pace.

"You are just a changed being--I am born." He hissed like a wooden stake to your chest.

You dug your fingers into the wall, fighting against every nerve ending that told you to run. This was Yoongi--this was the man that was supposed to love you, the man that you were supposed to love. You couldn't run away. "But changed vampires are physically stronger, no?" You raised one eyebrow at him and tried your best to give him a smirk--but you felt it quiver at the last second.

The castle started to shake beneath you; it started off slow and low, building up to high-pitched tremors that seemed to ring in your ears. Yoongi's icy eyes captured you into tunnel-vision, making his stare the only thing that you could focus on. Your body trembled, but you were hypnotized by the man before you. "You may be physically stronger--"his voice seemed to echo and come from several different places at once "--but the castle listens to me."

"Y-You're scaring me." You whispered; your voice was so soft that you almost thought that you didn't say anything at all. Almost.

Yoongi leaned in close to you, his breath hot on the shell of your ear. "Good."

"You're too good for me, Y/N." You heard the flash of the past in Yoongi's voice--it was the only thing that kept you sane enough to bring your shaking hands up to Yoongi's face. He flinched at first, but you forced yourself to hold onto him until the castle snapped and cooled around you; you were no longer prisoner to Yoongi's gaze--it felt like two-ton weights had been lifted off your shoulders.

The man that had made you afraid wasn't the real person in the body before you; Yoongi was still in there.

"I will rip this mask off you." You hissed, your fingers pressing gently into his cheeks.

His eyes darkened immediately, shutting down the quick glimpses of the man the old you had loved. He pushed you away, whipping backwards towards his desk and as far away from you as he could. "You don't want to do that, your life will be much happier if you be who you are without your memories. Start over as you are."

"But I loved you, didn't I?" You said, your nails cutting into your palms from the loss of his cool skin on your heated hands. "And you loved me."

He didn't look at you; instead he scooted his chair closer to his desk and picked up his pen. "You did, but that Yoongi died with your human self. Leave, Y/N."

"I--"

"Leave." His voice echoed throughout the entire castle; this time you obeyed, the study door slamming behind you even though Yoongi was still seated and you had not closed it.

~.~

You found yourself back in that clearing, past the lily beds and at the very edge of the woods.  This time, you did not cross that line. Instead, you just watched the shadows dance with the wind. It wasn't long before you heard the light but tell-tale signs of someone creeping up behind you. For once, you were able to catch them off-guard.

"Seokjin." You said without turning around.

But Seokjin wasn't so easy to surprise--he was the oldest after all; he already knew all the tricks. "Are you alright? I felt the castle shift the other day and then I couldn't find you." You felt the protection in his voice, the readiness to hug you if you even started to show signs of fear or sadness.

"I'm fine; I was just talking with Yoongi." The shadows shifted as the wind rustled the leaves.

"Oh? How did that go?"

You turned over your shoulder to glare at him, your lip curling as he only grinned at you and patted your shoulder.

"He wants to protect you the best he can."

"I don't need protection, I need answers. Everyone wants me to be someone--even him; I just don't know what or who."

"You are yourself, Y/N. You always have been and still are, even without your memories. But, I am not one to keep you from doing what you please; you will do what you want regardless of what I say anyways."

You snorted, leaning into his shoulder--he was so tall; he felt more like a pillar to lean on than a man. "How did I ever fall in love with Yoongi? He's so....ugh."

Seokjin let out a laugh that seemed to reverberate off the trees. "Yeah, he's always been...ugh. But, that's where you balance each other out--you make him smile and he brings you out of the clouds."

"I..." you worried your hands in front of you, "he's cute when he sleeps."

Seokjin chuckled. "That's because he can't pretend that he wants you to leave when he's asleep. It's rare for him to fall asleep though lately. Did you manage to catch him in a moment of exhaustion?"

You looked up at Seokjin, half pouting, half glaring at your remembrance of how well that had worked out for you. "He said my name...and those letters..."

"Letters?"

"N-never mind." You murmured, lifting your gaze back to the woods with the intent to change the subject. "Taehyung is out there, isn't he?"

Seokjin sighed, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. "That is something that I am not going to tell you since it is not my place to do so."

You let out an impatient groan and lazily smacked the older male's chest. "Well, were we at least close?"

"You're close to all of us, Y/N--but Yoongi was the one you were most drawn to--the two of you were polar opposites who balanced each other out better than any of us expected. Yoongi, at such a young age, had never met someone with a heart crafted purely from gold; he'd only ever lived here and known the pain of people that hated him."

"I don't hate him." Your stomach twisted at the memory of the young boy with the red ball in his hands.  "I want to--but I don't think I can."

"You're not capable of hate--you're too much like your mother. You never broke despite everything that happened to you; because of that, you became the person that Yoongi wanted to be."

"Taehyung." You whispered, trying to forget the feel of Yoongi's skin on your fingertips. "Taehyung was close with my sister."

You could feel Seokjin's eyes on the side of your face. "Yes."

"Seokjin? What am I to you? To the boys here? To...to Taehyung?"

He curled you deeper into his chest as if he thought you might break once more--but you were tired and drained of tears. "To Taehyung you were the first friend he made with no strings attached, to Jungkook you were a big sister that he could always rely on--to the others you were an irreplaceable friend and cousin; though we all deemed you more sister than cousin."

It was your turn to stare at the side of his face while he got lost in his memories. "And you? What am I to you?"

"Someone I would give my life for." He murmured, turning to look at you out of the corner of his eyes. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, smiling at you. "You are my most precious sister--I love the boys but I would never give myself up for their stupidity. You--you I'd do anything for."

There was something warm in your chest, like you'd found a long lost relative--a brother not by blood but by heart. "So I shouldn't go searching for my memories in those woods? Because that would be stupid, right? And then you'd have to come and risk everything and--"

"I won't say anything." He cut you off, squeezing your shoulder once before letting go entirely. "I will worry endlessly and do what I have to do to appease my aching heart--but I can't stop you from the inevitable. You are your own person, even without your memories. As long as you know who I am to you, you can be whichever version of yourself is easiest." He patted your head before turning back towards the castle without a second glance towards the woods. It was like he'd thrown a coin up in the air and was waiting to see what side it landed on--the truth, or momentary ignorance.

You stood there for a while--staring between the castle and the woods before you finally turned your back to the tree-line and ran towards the castle front doors where Jimin was waiting for you with a smile, and a maknae wrapped in a headlock.

[hannahjoygraves-blog]

Fronting my band I was always scared and always drunk. I screamed until I burst blood vessels on my face. I would shed most of my clothes, and nearly always my shoes. My bare feet curled into claws as I clutched the microphone and slammed my eyes closed, they stung, as hairspray would slide off my Vulcan short fringe as I dripped with sweat. It was totally normal for me to tank a few cans of cider before playing shows. The nerves would get to me otherwise and I guess, looking back, I didn’t believe I could do it without drinking.  I was always pretending, and pretending to be punk (which to me meant not caring about what people thought of me) was impossible unless I was wasted. I remember when we played an all-day show and by the time we went on stage I was hammered. I had turned up to this show with a new boyfriend in tow but my ex-boyfriend's band were playing and it wasn’t long before it was all drama and games, and being there to play music with my friends had taken a backseat to me myself and I. I was a mess, the timing was off, and all I could feel was the oppressive weight of how much I’d had to drink. I started to panic. Without thinking I lashed out at our bassist, trying to kick him off the stage. Various people from other bands tried to point out to me, that that was not cool but I couldn’t have cared less. It was shortly after this that our drummer told me I wasn’t allowed to drink before shows anymore. This seemed melodramatic to me, we were a punk band for fuck's sake, what was the point if we didn’t have fun? He pointed out that I wasn’t much fun when I was drunk. I felt like a chastised child and took my revenge by hiding a four pack of cans of whatever under the seat in the van. I’d take rest stop opportunities to chug one. It was on our way to a show in Brighton that he got wise to this, as I was clearly drunk when we got there. I was moaning that I needed to piss and could he stop the van. He refused and drove around the one-way system an extra couple of times to teach me a lesson. I don’t remember the gig. I do remember stumbling onto the beach afterwards and the feel of the sea breeze against the tidal crash of nausea and dizziness, the feel of the pebbles as they hit my palms and I hit my knees. Looking back at these times is weird for me now, there’s so much nostalgia attached but for a while, I was really angry. I was angry with DIY punk, I was angry on behalf of the kid who started hanging out at shows when she was 15. What had happened to let's create change in the world? How more than a decade later had I landed in Alcoholics Anonymous, a tired tattooed caricature of myself? Wasn’t it all punk rocks fault?  Would I have gotten the university degree if I hadn’t ever heard of Sid and Nancy? There was something about the nihilistic glamour of old punk in the UK that grabbed me instantly. The destructive, give a fuck, flip a finger to the establishment ANGER of it all had filled me with purpose. I sought out other kids at school who felt the same. I spilt out of college and into the DIY scene in my city. This mattered, this was important and I felt I had found my tribe. Now I’ve been sober for six months I’ve started to see things a little more clearly. Punk rock didn’t fuck up my life. It saved it. I was on a self-destructive trajectory that definitely made punk appealing to me but thank FUCK I took the path of snakebite and black and shitty speed. It could have been so much worse. The punk scene isn’t to blame for me screaming at ex-boyfriends in the street, kicking my friend off stage or puking on a beach post-show, I am. I’m grateful that whilst swimming around in an adolescent haze of too much booze, not enough self-esteem and what seems like a thousand bad decisions I was surrounded by good people, real friends. I was in environments that were at least trying to be safe and inclusive. I was allowed to be a hot mess, I could fuck up, and still be welcomed back by people who weren’t out to judge me, how could they, when we were so much the same? I’m 32 this year, I have PUNK and ROCK stick and poke tattoos across the bottoms of my knuckles, with ROMANTIC above. This just about sums it up. I’ve always had a very romanticised idea of the punk scene, rose-tinted beer goggles I guess, but the truth is that in groups of people you’re always going to get some assholes. It’s been hard to come to terms with the fact that for a lot of years, I was one of them. I went to shows to show off because I needed to be seen. That’s why I started a band. I hated other women and slagged them off regularly. I’d accuse girls of only being at shows to fuck boys in bands when I was only there to try and fuck boys in bands. I was jealous and controlling and protective of MY scene. I got smashed and made a performance at most shows regardless of whether my band was playing or not and I did it all in the name of being more punk than you. It’s only now that I realise that not caring what other people think of you, doesn’t have to be synonymous with not caring about yourself. Having self-worth was not punk to me, but now I see that it has become my true definition of the word. Loving yourself is a riot. Living your life with joy and hope is to defy on a daily basis.  I don’t drink anymore. I don’t take drugs anymore. I’m not in a band anymore. I don’t try and wear my too tight jeans whilst holding up human pyramids anymore. I don’t regret those days anymore either because all along I was becoming the person that I am supposed to be. I was learning a life lesson about what punk really means to me. It’s still the name I give to any courage I have to stand up for myself and others, to express my opinion, to live my truth, and it’s taught me that the potential to do that is inside each and every one of us, no matter how much of an asshole we’ve been on the way.

Hannah Joy Graves

First published in Paper And Ink Literary Zine Issue 11

[vanillatwilight17]

A New Beginning (Chapter 7)

Disclaimer: I own nothing

A/N: Thank you for all the awesome reviews I got on the last chapter. Special shout out to kmomof4 for her amazing reviews of the whole story! It's Christmas in July for this chapter! I hope you enjoy and please review to let me know what you think!

Chapter 7: The Most Magical Time of the Year

Christmastime was in the air in Storybrooke, Main and it seemed like everyone was floating around on clouds completely immersed in the holiday spirit. At seven months pregnant Emma was now fairly large in the stomach area and tired very easily and perhaps as much as Killian wanted her to she hadn't let it slow her down any. They had just this morning resolved the issue of when she was going to stop working.

"You said you were going to take some time during Henry's school break to spend with him before the baby comes right?" Killian had asked that morning after they had gotten into the station and were getting their day started.

"Yea…" Emma said wondering where this was going.

"Well I was thinking that maybe you should let that be the start of your maternity leave as well."

"Huh? Did you get into the rum last night while I was sleeping?" Emma asked him. David put down the file folder he was looking over and relaxed back in his chair.

"This is going to be good." He said.

"You stay out of this!" Emma said pointing her finger at him causing David to throw his hands up.

"Well you were going to need to stop work eventually right?"

"Yea but not with two months still to go before the baby is born! What am I supposed to do for two months? Sit home and knit?" Emma asked frustrated at her husband.

"You know how to knit?" Killian asked.

"Figure of speech!" David whispered to his son in law causing Emma to shoot him a death glare.

"Killian, I'm pregnant not sick or handicapped. I'm not going to break so stop treating me like a piece of glass."

"You are my one true love and you are carrying my child! Damn right I'm going to do everything to protect you both now and for always! I know you aren't going to break but you need to slow down a little! As the due date gets closer I think we just need to start planning a little for these things you know?" Killian said.

"Dad!" Emma said turning to David.

"I thought you wanted me to stay out of it?"

"Well now I want you in it. He's saying nice things and making me want to cave." Killian let out his famous pirates grin on that one.

"I think…you two should compromise." David said.

"What a copout answer you are supposed to take my side!" Emma said.

"I had this same argument with your mother around this time when she was pregnant with you and your brother. I agree with both of you. Emma you need to start slowing down a bit, I know you may feel like you can still go one hundred miles per hour but the more this pregnancy progresses your body is going to be more susceptible to stress. You were born a week early because of it. Killian, I understand you completely as I have been in your shoes, with every day you are going to worry abut them more and more but believe me when I say she's not going to break." David said.

"Fine, how about this? When I come back from time off with Henry I will be strictly on desk duty and then once February rolls around and we are in the home stretch I'll take it on a day to day basis." Emma said.

"Second week of February you go on maternity leave an take the time at home to prepare for the baby." Killian said. The two had a stare down and David found his eyes going back and forth like watching a tennis match.

"Fine." Emma said returning to her work and Killian got up and went over to her and gave her a big hug and kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you love! I love you more than anything you know that?" Killian said.

"I wouldn't push it mister." Emma said.

"Right, then, back to work I go." He said walking back to his desk.

"Killian,"

"Yes?"

"I love you too." Emma said smiling at her husband who returned the gesture.

"Ok there are way too many of us, if we give presents to everybody we are all gonna be in the poorhouse." Regina said as she, Emma, Snow, Zelena, and Belle planned for their big holiday get together one evening at Snow's house.

"Agreed. So how do we want to handle this?" Snow said.

"We could do Secret Santa." Emma said.

"What is Secret Santa?" Zelena asked.

"So typically there is a hat or a bag and everyone who is going to be in the gift exchange puts their name in and you take turns drawing names and whosever name you get you buy a gift for that person. Everyone gets a gift but it saves a you a lot of money." Emma said.

"I love that idea!" Belle said.

"Agreed!" Snow said and the others nodded their heads.

"Ok there are basic rules to it, like you can't get your own name, you can't say who you have because then it's not a secret anymore and once one person says who they have it becomes this domino effect of process of elimination of who has who and the fun is gone."

"I say a fifty dollar limit on the gift. Anyone object?" Regina offered and everyone agreed.

"What about the kids?" Snow asked.

"I say the kids are fair game, I feel like Henry will want to participate though so we can put his name in and let him pick. In immediate family's what you choose to do for actual Christmas Day is up to you. I was planning on getting Killian and my parents something for instance and obviously "Santa" is coming to see Henry." Emma said.

"Aww Henry still believes in Santa?" Belle asked.

"If it's out there, Henry believes in it. I think he knows the truth but I enjoy that he still goes along with it." Emma said.

"Soon you will have another a little one at Christmas and that is the best!" Snow said rubbing her daughter's belly.

"Ok so when we pull names, you can't get yourself, you can't get anyone in your immediate family, and you can't say who you got." Zelena offered as official rules and everyone agreed. They met everyone at Granny's that evening and names were pulled to yield the following results. It was decided that since Red was off with Dorothy in Oz Granny would be invited to their family get together. After several times needing to redraw everyone ended up with a Secret Santa. Everyone also got a good laugh out of people's reactions to who they got.

Emma = Regina "Ok that's not so bad!"

Killian = Granny "Oh bloody hell!"

David = Zelena "This will be…interesting."

Snow = Belle "Oh that's easy!"

Henry = Gold "Probably good I got this one."

Regina = Snow "I would pull that one."

Zelena = Henry "Thank God!"

Belle = David "How exciting!"

Gold = Emma "Why me?"

Granny = Killian "Well this will be cheap and easy, got the perfect present in the back!"

"I give it two days until everyone knows who has who." Granny said.

"What's the fun in that? Everyone keep your secret! We will exchange gifts and have dinner Christmas Eve at my house!" Snow said.

"We're going to be spending the night afterwards as well." Emma said.

"Really?" David asked excitedly.

"Yea, we talked about it a few days ago. That way we can just be there for Christmas morning and stuff." Emma said.

"Do you want me to take you over there after you open your presents?" Regina asked Henry.

"Actually I was just going to stay there with them and then come to your house later, unless that's not ok." Henry asked. Emma silently kicked herself, she should have talked to Regina first before she made these plans.

"Oh…that's fine. Just let me know when you are headed over." Regina said smiling but obviously a bit crushed at not being with her son first thing Christmas morning.

Later that evening Emma sat down in front of Killian who was reading a pregnancy book on the couch.

"Ok so I got Regina." Emma said.

"I think you missed the point of Secret Santa love." Killian said putting down the book.

"No I'm telling you because I need to talk to you about what I want to give her because it involves you too." Emma said as Killian grabbed her feet and started giving her a foot massage.

"Now I'm frightened." He said.

"I wanted to ask her, if it's alright with you that is, to be the baby's godmother." Emma said.

"The irony of the Evil Queen being godmother to Snow White's grandchild is beyond anything imaginable." Killian said.

"I'm aware of that but besides you and my parents she is my best friend." Emma said.

"I feel like there is more to it then that. I saw the face you made when Henry announced his plans for Christmas morning earlier."

"Ever since I came back into his life and the first curse broke Henry has drifted more towards us and while he and Regina have a great relationship I can tell she misses him and the days she had him to herself terribly."

"Henry isn't a child anymore love, he makes his own decision about where he wants to spend his time. Albeit when he started calling me dad I could tell it bothered her a bit." Killian said.

"Now that there is a new baby coming, one that is going to be his sibling none the less I feel like he will gravitate this way more and more. So I want her to have a special role in the baby's life and feel included. She spent so much time shut out from the family…"

"Her own doing…"Killian reminded her.

"Agreed by her own doing but she's done the hardest thing anyone can do, you should know this, she changed. So what do you think?"

"I think…it is a great idea." Killian said smiling. "How do you plan to give it in a gift though?"

"I was thinking something similar to how I told you about little one here," Emma said placing her hand on her stomach.

"Regina doesn't strike me as the pocket watch type." He said laughing.

"I was thinking more like a locket or something." Emma said swatting at his leg.

"Sounds good to me love." Killian said leaning over to kiss his wife on the lips.

Soon enough presents were bought and wrapped and it was Christmas Eve. When Emma and Killian walked into Snow's house that afternoon they found her mother and Granny hard at work in the kitchen.

"Hey Mom! We're here! Need any help?" Emma said as they walked into the kitchen.

"Hi Sweetie!" Her mom yelled back. "No I think we got this covered you just relax. Where is Henry?" Snow asked as Emma walked over to hug her mother.

"He was with Regina last night so I could wrap all his presents so she's bringing him with them. Spoiled turd!" Emma said.

"That's what kids are for!" Granny said and David and Neal came in the kitchen.

"Emmy, Emmy!" Neal said running to his sister as Emma bent down to pick him up.

"Hey buddy!" Emma said giving her brother a hug.

"Is Santa coming tonight?" She asked him.

"Yes!" He said excited. "Baby come?" He asked pointing to her stomach.

"No, baby isn't coming yet, soon though. It's getting hard for me to hold you right now Bud," Emma said and Killian reached over to take him from her.

"Killy!" The little boy said.

"Were you a good little lad this year?" he asked him

"Yes!" Neal answered.

"Good, because Santa only brings toys to good lads!" Killian said.

"I good lad!" Neal announced causing everyone to laugh.

"That's good. David could you help me bring these presents in from the car. We need to stash some down in the basement so this guy and the one coming later don't see them until tomorrow." Killian said.

"Sure thing!" David said.

The evening progressed and people started to arrive and the tree became almost hidden behind all the presents. Dinner was incredible and after everyone had finished eating the kids declared it was time to open presents. They let the kids open their gifts first since they couldn't wait any longer. Soon Robin, Neal, and Gideon had so many new toys they didn't know what to do with themselves.

"And Santa hasn't even come yet!" Belle said looking at how loved all the children were. Henry got gifts from his grandfather and Granny as well but was told he would have to wait until tomorrow for his other gifts. Gold gave Henry an orb that would change color depending on the weather, his mood, moods of other's around him.

"That better be all that thing does Gold." Regina and Emma said not trusting the Dark One.

"I'd never hurt my grandson ladies, don't worry!" Gold said. After the kids opened their presents it was time for Secret Santa. Killian and Granny laughed that they had each other. Killian had gotten Granny a new set of pots and pans as hers were getting old and rusted and she had given him a bottle of rum and a monogramed flask.

"You know me so well Granny." Killian said. David got Zelena tickets to go see Wicked on Broadway and he was surpised to find she loved the idea.

"I've been dying to see how those bastards depict me this time."

"You're actually a good guy, Mom took to me see that play a while back." Henry said and the gifts continued to be exchanged.

"It appears it's my turn." Gold said getting up to grab his gift.

"Mrs. Jones." He said handing the wrapped present to Emma.

"Oh God." Emma said not sure how to feel.

"Relax, it's nothing magical. It's more…sentimental. Something I found lying around my shop that I believe once belonged to you, that I thought you might want for your child." Gold said. Emma unwrapped the box and opened it to find a glass unicorn mobile inside causing Snow to instantly burst into tears.

"Oh Emma that's the mobile from your nursery!" She said. Emma looked down at the gift and felt speechless.

"Gold I don't know what to say…thank you." She said. Perhaps the man really did have a heart in there somewhere after all.

"It seemed only right you should have it." He said as Belle put her arm around him and smiled. The person to give her gift was Emma who reached over and grabbed a small box and handed it to Regina.

"Saved the best for last!" Emma said nervous at Regina's reaction to her gift as she opened the box to reveal a locket.

"Thank you Emma it's beautiful." Regina said.

"Open it." Emma urged. On one side of the locket was a picture of Regina and Henry and underneath inscribed the word 'mother.' On the other side was a picture of the baby from the 3D ultrasound they did with the word 'godmother' inscribed underneath.

"Emma…"Regina said looking from Emma to Killian.

"Regina, you have been a huge pain in the ass but you have also always been there for me when I needed you. You are my best friend and an incredible mother to Henry and it would be our honor if you would be our baby's godmother." Emma said. She barely got the words out before Regina was across the room with her arms wrapped around her.

"Of course! I would love to be the baby's godmother! You have no idea what this means to me. Thank you guys so much!" She said then turning to hug Killian.

At the end of the evening everyone had gone home except Emma, Killian, and Henry. Cookies were put out for Santa and everyone sat down so David could read The Night Before Christmas before everyone went to bed. The next morning there were even more presents than the night before surrounding the tree and Henry and Neal were anxious to get started unwrapping.

"Hold on guys, let me get the camera!" Snow said before they started. Killian had gotten Emma a beautiful necklace with a heart that had two stones in it, an aquamarine for March when Henry was born and an Amethyst for February when their baby would be born. She had gotten him a new ring with the same two stones in it and they laughed at how similar their minds worked. Henry was thrilled when he opened his new Nintendo Switch.

"Thank you guys!" He said running over to hug his parents.

"You're welcome kid!" Emma said hugging him back. "Ok guys hold on, I have a special gift for you!" She said to her parents and she went and grabbed a box. This is something I have been working on for awhile now and I finally got it done!" She said handing them the box.

"It's for both of us?" Snow asked and Emma nodded and Killian put his arm around his wife knowing what the gift was.

"How long before she cries?" He asked.

"Second page max," Emma said and her parents opened the box to find a scrapbook.

"So I don't have a lot of stuff but this is everything I held on to or was given by my foster parents or the system when I aged out." Emma said. It was a scrapbook detailing in pictures, art work, school work, etc. her childhood. Snow didn't even make it to the second page before she was absolutely in tears.

"Emma you have no idea what this means to your father and I to have this. We missed so much with you and now we have a glimpse into your childhood and a chance to have some of those memories back. I promise that we will be here for you from this moment until our last days. You are an incredible mother to Henry and this new baby is going to be so lucky to call you Mommy." Snow said hugging her daughter. Emma looked over to see her father also in tears looking at pictures of his baby girl.

"Come here Daddy," She said and he came over and kissed the top of her head holding her close to him.

"I love you Em," He said.

"I love you too Daddy." She said back.

After they had dropped Henry off at Regina's and carted all their stuff inside Emma and Killian sat down together for a few quiet moments.

"Merry Christmas love," He said to her, kissing her softly.

"Merry Christmas Killian."

"Merry Christmas baby." They both said to her stomach where their hands entwined.

"Next Christmas we will have an almost one year old." Emma said.

"That's hard to even wrap my head around at the moment." Killian said.

"I know I can't even grasp that soon the baby will be here let alone what our lives will look like in a year," Emma said. "I have one more present for you though." She pulled out a small box she had been stashing. Inside was a small ornament for the tree that showed a man, woman, and boy, the woman with a swollen belly and man with his arms around her, that said: Killian, Emma, and Henry on the top then Jones Family Christmas 2017.

"I figured every year we could get a special ornament like this and it could be like a milestone for the year." Emma said.

"I love it Emma. However, you have already given me the greatest gift of all in the form of you, Henry, and this little one right here." Killian said and he leaned in to kiss her one more time and they relaxed on the couch, watching the fire in the fireplace enjoying some of their last few moments together before the baby arrived.

"Merry Christmas to all." Emma said.

"And to all a good night." Killian said back.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed. The baby will be here in either the next chapter or the chapter after that at the latest I haven't totally decided yet. Any guess on boy or girl? Please review and let me know what you think!