#chimney sweep open fire

[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober: Day 19

Kinktober Masterlist aegri somnia - “troubled dreams” TF141 x f!reader Kinks > sex-pollen, gangbang, semipublic, corruption Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

You’re at a costume party on Halloween night on base with your team. The whole gang is there, and they sample something …strange… from the bar. The only cure for their fever? You.

Warning: drugged sex, dubcon, sex-pollen style scene, anal, vaginal, face fucking, some ghoap.

You were a kitty cat. Past tense. Now, you looked like a chimney sweep. This Halloween party had gotten way out of hand. The heating was cranked up to ninth-circle-of-Hell temperatures, and everyone was dancing, sweating, and getting completely fucking sloshed. 

Your whiskers and nose had long been rubbed away, and you’d lost the cat ears somewhere between the upstairs toilet and the sandpit volleyball game that the boys had set up in the basement. Two months of deadtime in the Urzikstani Green Zone had been great for morale but shit for discipline. Price was gonna be so pissed when he saw how Soap had painted the TAC-V like a big pumpkin. 

“You alright, love?” Gaz slurred, stumbling a bit before resting his arm around your shoulder, half-in and half-out of his own Paddington Bear getup. He still had the red hat, but the blue jacket was tied around his waist, and the matching shorts looked like little more than boxer briefs. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Parched. What’s that?” You pointed to his hand, jealous that he had a cold beverage. 

“Mm,” he took a sip and handed you the cup, “I dunno. Soap was passin’ it around. Orange, mysterious, probably lethal.”

“I’ll take my chances,” you laughed, downing the last sip.

“Speak of the devil…” Gaz nodded over to the makeshift bar.

There, on top of two stacks of crates, stood Soap, pouring his orange concoction right into Simon Riley’s open mouth. Soap was dressed in a little red devil outfit, complete with pitchfork, and Ghost was… well, he was just himself. The skeleton mask did the trick, you supposed. 

You shook your head, laughing at them, and Soap looked up to see you there. 

“Oy! C’mere, bonnie. Got somethin’ special for ya.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” you grumbled, walking over to the bar with Gaz in tow.

Soap was crouched over in his tight red onesie, digging through an ice chest. He emerged with a wide, mischievous smile on his face and a bottle of eerie, murky liquid.

“Pinched this from Ale and Rudy when they were in last night. Probably that killer tequila he’s been on about. Didnae wanna try it by meself.”

He started to pour out four cups, and you turned your nose up at it,

“Oh, Jesus, Johnny. This smells like piss.”

“Quit your whingin’, lass. You’ve had worse things in your mouth,” he winked, downing his shot and wearing a twisted face of immediate regret.

“Suppose that’s right,” you shrugged, drinking down your own. 

It rushed through you like burning fire, and it made you feel like you’d been punched right in the jaw. 

“Holy fuck,” Simon coughed, “The hell is this, Johnny? Fuckin’ petrol?”

“I’m gonna be sick,” Gaz complained, trying to breathe slowly in through his nose and out through his mouth. 

“Ach! C’mon, it’s not that bad,” Johnny protested, going back for a second dose.

Suddenly, a husky voice came out of the darkness behind the crates, 

“What’s all this then?”

“Oh, hey, Cap’n,” Johnny tried to look normal. He failed, but at least he tried.

Price rolled his eyes, but he held out his cup and held it out to the sergeant,

“Go on, then. Give us a taste.”

You watched as Price took two big gulps, your own stomach turning from the memory, and gaped in amazement as he mostly controlled his expression. Show off.

You were already sweaty, but this tequila made you feel like you were going to burn right up. You wanted to move. The music was deafening, and even though you didn’t know this song, you begged Gaz for a dance. 

“C’mon! Just one.”

“Alright, love. But, you know I can never have just one,” he twirled you around, making you feel even drunker than you were, and led you out into the warehouse where Ghost had rigged his huge boombox to make a dance floor.

Everyone was dancing. Time was moving at an insane rate. Fast and slow, dilating in and out, and you were like a shadow, letting it pass right through you, drunk and high and everything in between. 

Soap and Ghost joined you, and Price watched on from the edge, smoking and looking a little red around his eyes. 

Suddenly, Gaz’s hands were on your hips, pulling you back into him, grinding you against his crotch.

“Hey,” you turned over your shoulder, “What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothin’, babes. Just dancin’. That alright?”

You nodded, smiling up at him, 

“Yeah, I guess so. Feels like this tequila went right to my head.”

“This fat arse is goin’ right to mine,” he said, staring down at your butt, squeezing it roughly.

You felt his cock through his shorts as he danced with you, rubbing himself against your leotard and fishnet combination, chasing his own high. 

Soap joined you, dancing in front of you, lacing his legs between yours, dancing even closer to you than Gaz. He looped one arm around your neck, and he threaded the other around your waist, moving his hips in time with the beat, drinking another cupful of tequila when he got the chance. 

Ghost was behind him, and he began peeling off the lycra onesie, revealing Soap’s broad chest to you, rubbing him down with his hands, playing with his nipples in front of the entire base.

Had you been in your right mind, you would’ve balked at such behavior. But, for some reason, it felt right. You wanted to touch him, too. So, you did. 

You reached out in front of you and ran your hands down his belly, lowering the zipper even further, feeling his heated skin.

“Mmf-fuck,” Ghost moaned, “Tha’s hot.”

Soap seemed to agree, his arching erection obvious through the thin, red outfit. 

Gaz’s hands moved from your ass to your tits, squeezing them as he pulled your body against him, thrusting himself against you to the rhythm of the drum and bass, letting you feel his incredible length across your backside. 

“Look at these, mate,” Gaz cooed in your ear, talking to the other boys, massaging your breasts and pulling at the fabric of your leotard until it almost let your heavy tits fall out. 

“Gaz… what’s…” You tried to clear your mind, “What’s gotten into you lads?”

Your lieutenant leaned forward across Soap’s shoulder and kissed you through his balaclava, moving his mouth into yours, letting you feel the outline of his full lips. You tried to kiss him back, using your hands to flip up the edge of his mask, finding his chin and cheek, moving over so you could taste him properly. 

He was full of that dark tequila, and a hint of his menthols, musky and manly in the most enticing way. When he pulled away, he went immediately to Soap’s neck, sucking on his flesh and making him moan aloud in the middle of the dance floor. 

Suddenly, a large, strong hand gripped your face and turned you towards him, kissing you full on the mouth. His beard and mustache were the only giveaways that it was your captain, feeding you his tongue and choking you with it greedily. 

What was happening? This was insane. Something was wrong. What was in that drink?

“Cap,” you whispered when he allowed you space for a breath, “What’s happening?”

“Need you, love. Need you right fuckin’ now.”

Gaz’s hands reached into your leotard, around your cotton cat tail, and tugged at the gusset. The button snaps popped, revealing your ass, covered only in fishnets. He dug his fingers into the large holes of the fishnet leggings and pulled, ripping them apart, making room for his fingers to sink themselves into your dripping hole. 

You fell forward, grabbing onto Johnny’s shoulders, loving the way Gaz’s hand felt as he moved it inside of you, each finger was like its own challenge, delving into you and reaching for your soft spots.

“Fuck, she’s wet,” Gaz revealed, and you felt your cheeks warm with shame.

Soap smiled down at you, reaching between your legs on his own accord,

“Oh? Is that so, bonnie girl?”

He touched you right beside Gaz, both of their hands vying for position, sometimes shoving their fingers into you at the same time As Gaz would pull away, Soap would bully his knuckles forward, swiping up into you like a greedy thief, reaching for more of your silky wetness. Then, Gaz would return, playing at your clit and then feeding two of his fingers inside of you again, stretching you to make room for both his and Johnny’s eager hands, not caring who was there first or whether or not you were enjoying yourself. 

You were enjoying yourself. But, that was beside the point. Weren’t you at a party? What were you doing before this? There were other people around, right?

But, they suddenly didn’t matter. Price tugged down your shoulder strap to reveal your breast. He marveled at the puffy nipple, pebbled and waiting for his mouth. He bent and began to suckle from you, feeding his other hand across your chest, groping you under the fabric of your outfit as he pulled you into his mouth.

Johnny’s ragged moan cut through the fog of your pleasure, and you looked up at him. He was nearly naked, his devil horns the only thing left from the waist up, and Ghost was kneeling behind him, his mask pushed up, eating his sergeant’s asshole and spreading his cheeks apart cruelly. 

You reached down to feel Soap’s cock, and it was leaking through the fabric, barely concealed anymore by the costume. You pulled him free, jerking him off, smearing his glossy precome all over his pulsing, pink head. 

Price grew tired of your clothing, and he began to rip your costume away from you. Gaz helped him, pulling and tugging and tearing at the fabric. You were left in your fishnets and heels, stumbling between the men surrounding you, feeling the tequila worm its way into your core, stirring your body and making you yearn to be fucked by their heavy pricks. 

Gaz was the first to press himself into you. You were shoved forward, your face smashed into Johnny’s furry belly, his sweat painting your cheek, and Gaz held you in place. He gripped your hips with a painful clutch of his hands, and he swiped his dick through your lips, back and forth, coating himself in your wet warmth. Then, that familiar, aching stretch, and he was inside of you, humping his cock into you deeper and deeper, filling the empty space within your core. 

“Holy fuck,” Price purred, grabbing you by your hair at the nape of your neck.

He pulled you toward him, his fat prick in his hands, and fed himself into your mouth, shoving your head down onto his shaft, choking you with his girth. 

Soap pulled you from him, giving you the same treatment, and you could taste the salty precome that he was leaking with, using the momentum of Gaz fucking you to find a rhythm with your mouth. 

They took turns using you, moving you back and forth, fucking your throat until it burned, pushing you further and further down until your nose was buried in their dense curls, tickling you with the matted fur at the root of their cocks. All you could do was swallow and try to breathe, but it was little use. You were drooling all over them, unable to control your body and its desperate attempt to prepare you for their huge pricks. 

Gaz had ripped an orgasm from you twice, making you scream around the base of Price’s cock, shoving his thumb into your twitching, tight asshole as his cock ruined your pussy. He was well and truly gone, at this point. His grunting was like that of a beast, and you could feel the sweat dripping off of him and onto your back. 

Ghost grew tired of tasting Johnny’s asshole, and now he was fucking him in shallow, huffing thrusts. Every time he would push himself further into his hole, Johnny would leak a little more, his come running down his shaft like sap from a huge trunk, sticky and sweet and endless. 

You were in the middle of tasting Johnny’s dripping head when you felt Gaz bottom out inside of you. Then, he shouted out a long, whining, rumble as he pumped you full of his come. You felt it spilling out of him, pouring into your cunt, spraying rope after rope of his seed into your walls, soaking your hole, desperate to seep into your womb.

Price all but shouldered Gaz out of the way, manhandling your body until you were wrapped in his arms, your legs slung over each giant bicep, and you were being lowered onto his impossible phallus. 

“I… I can’t…” You protested, unsure of whether or not you would survive whatever your captain had to give you.

“You will,” he purred darkly, his voice demonic in its timbre, “Oh, baby, you will.”

He slipped his head into your hole, but that was all that slipped. Everything else was an uphill battle. You wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to take some of the weight off of your core, but it was no use, he was using his heavy hands to pull you down onto him, squeezing himself inside inch by agonizing inch. You said a prayer of thanks to whatever sick gods were watching your debasement that he was not as long as Kyle.

You hissed in a breath when he reached a new level of thickness that your body had never experienced before.

“Shh, shh,” he cooed in your ear, “Be a good girl, love. Relax for me.”

His hands readjusted, moving lower to pull your cheeks apart, and he used his middle finger to dip into your asshole, playing in Gaz’s dripping come, swirling it around the puckered rim, teasing you by prodding you with shallow thrusts of his finger.

It was enough to distract you from what he was doing to your poor pussy, and he shoved himself in to the base, shocking you enough that your blood ran cold. You held your breath, unable to even cry out. It was as if you were a machine that had been unplugged. You were gone. Your captain had fucked your mind right out of your head. 

“That’s it. There she is,” he smiled sinisterly, pumping himself in and out, using your own weight to fuck you on his heavy rod. 

Two, greedy hands reached around to grope your breasts, grabbing them roughly, pinching your nipples until you whimpered and squirmed. Johnny was behind you, being fucked hard by Ghost, teasing your heavy breasts and rubbing his cock against your ass. 

Price’s hands were in the way, but when he felt Johnny’s cock, he positioned you so that his sergeant could reach. Then, you felt Johnny’s slick cockhead writhe its way inside the very brink of your asshole. He was so close to coming, it didn’t take much depth to take him there. As Simon fucked him, he thrust himself up into you, stretching your hole, unable to fit inside as deep as he would’ve liked with Price in the way. There was just no room. 

Johnny came in you messily and with total abandon. He bit down on your shoulder, keening and groaning, spending himself inside your asshole and letting it drool out of you as he left you there, warring with Price and his weapon.

Ghost let Johnny sink to the floor, and he took his place behind you. He was as tall as the captain, and his cock was almost as large, but there was no gentle rubbing like what Johnny had given you. Simon spread you wide, making you cry out from the way you were being spread apart, your cunt desperately clenching around Price, trying to find a way to hold onto something, anything. Then, he fed his cock inside your asshole, wet already from Johnny’s greedy core, shoving and pushing and squeezing his way beside Price, not taking any sort of laws of physics too seriously.

He began to kiss your neck, staying perfectly still and buried in you to the hilt, letting Price do all the work. The captain kissed you on the other side, biting you and leaving huge red marks where his teeth were too mean on your tender flesh. 

“Too fuckin’ tight,” Ghost complained, moaning into your skin.

“Knew she could take it,” Price smiled, kissing your slack mouth.

“Needy slag,” your lieutenant growled, leaving marks of his own all across your throat. 

He was playing with your tits, pinching your nipples between his forefinger and thumb, holding them up and out, making you feel like you were trapped in his hands. Then, he would knead them, feeling the weighty softness, enjoying your vulnerability, revelling in your corruption. 

Price’s thick cock was moving you both, shoving and bullying Simon’s dick through the thin flesh between your holes, making his masked officer harden like a stone inside of you. 

“M’gonna come in you,” Ghost promised, whispering against your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth. 

You could only cry out, your brain too fuck-drunk to make any words. Sluts didn’t need words. They just needed to come hard and clench their tight little holes around these two, huge cocks. You were nothing more than a hole to be filled. 

Simon thrust in opposite motions from Price, moving himself through your asshole at an absurd speed, fucking you into a shuddering orgasm, and blowing his load deep inside your belly. You could feel its creamy warmth, and as he pulled out of you, you felt it drip from your gaping hole, mixing with Johnny’s fallen seed on the floor. 

Price was still pounding away, brute that he was. Now that he was alone, he lay you on the crate beside him and held your knees open wide, splaying your thighs apart and staring at his cock as it thrust through your folds. 

You were moaning like a paid whore, coming in waves, your whole body feeling the effects of your pleasure, full of come and hungry for more. 

Suddenly, the music kicked off with a thud and you heard laughter coming from across the room.

“Déjame adivinar…” Alejandro’s rude tone came through loud and clear, “You filthy perritos got into my Damiana, verdad?”

Rudy reached behind the crates that Gaz and Soap were leaning against, panting, sweating, and covered in come. Then, he pulled out the bottle, half-empty. He let out a low, pitying whistle, watching as Price buried himself in you with loud, wet slapping noises filling the room, 

“No mames, güey,” he shook his head, showing Alejandro the bottle, “Mira. They’ll be hard until next week.”

“Mierda!” Alejandro cursed your group, all worn out in your pitiful states, “This was expensive stuff. I had it made by a bruja! Extra strong. You owe me, pendejos.”

Their crackling laughter made your head spin, and as you listened to the pounding of flesh on flesh, you knew you were in for a long fucking night.

Hope you enjoyed this year's Kinktober adventure! Thanks for sticking around. Happy Halloween, everyone!

If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving me a like or a comment to let me know. As always, reblogs are deeply appreciated. Want more from me? Check my AO3 profile. I have over 100 COD fics! (I know, crazy.) Discord: @californicationist

[lyjen]

No Way Out | Evan “Buck” Buckley

Summary: When the 118 responds to a call with the mission to pull out the last victim, Evan splits up from the team to sweep the last floor. The victim turns out to be the sniper, with the goal to shoot firefighters. (Y/n) is a stubborn cop who goes against orders from captain Nash and still tries to save Evan from the shooter.

Request: @lizwinchester16

Taglist: @oliviah-25 @shauna-carsley

Feel free to send in request in my “Ask me a question” section! 🩷

9-1-1 Masterlist

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

With his eyes focussed onto the burning building through the window of the firetruck, Evan placed his hand onto the lever of the door. He pulled the lever and stepped out of the truck.

When he felt the asphalt underneath his boots, he placed his helmet on his head. “Dispatch said there’s a single victim inside named Ethan.” The voice of his captain snapped him out of his thoughts and got him back to reality again.

Buck watched his captain walking in front of him. “Miller, Ravi, hook us up to some hydrants. Start hitting it from out here.” Bobby said as he pointed at the hydrants he spotted from where he was standing.

Bobby turned around to the rest of his crew, “Hen, Chim, Buck, you’re going in” he commanded the last three of the crew. Buck nodded as a small “Copy that” fell from his lips.

It was weird being on scene without his best friend, it just felt wrong. Like there was some kind of empty void that couldn’t be filled, not by anyone. Knowing Eddie was in that awful hospital room, Buck guessed he was already crawling the walls by now.

Evan turned on his heels as he made his way to the correct compartment of the fire truck. He clicked the door of the compartment open as he claimed one oxygen tank and mask.

With one knee connected to the asphalt and the other leg at a ninety degree angle, he put the helmet on the ground in front of him. He pulled the straps over his shoulders so the oxygen tank would hang on his back, and placed the mask on his face as he adjusted the straps. When the mask was fully connected to his face, he placed his helmet back on.

“Ready?” Hen asked as she was waiting on the two guys from her team finished prepping their gear. “Let’s go!” Buck yelled, trying to make his voice audible through the mask.

They made their way through the doors, as they started to sweep the first floor, looking for the last and only victim. The ground floor was empty, as well as the first floor.

“Ethan! Are you in there?” Hen’s muffled voice sounded through the second level of the building. Followed by Chimney’s voice, “LAFD!“ he yelled as all three of them swept the second floor. “Ethan!” Chimney added as he was determined to find the lost man in the fire.

“No sign of Ethan here!” Hen concluded as they came together at the staircases. “Dispatch said he might be unconscious.” Buck reminded the other two firefighters. ”I’m heading up to three!” Buck continued as he glanced at the staircase that went up to the last and final floor.

“Are you sure?” Chimney asked. “Trust me! I will be in and out in a second, like a ninja.” Buck answered his brother in law. “Copy that Buck!” Hen spoke up, “Let us know if you need something” she added as the two of them took a few steps on the staircase that led them to the ground floor. “Copy that Wilson” Buck smirked at her, he knew she hated it when he used her last name instead of “Hen”.

Buck made his way up stairs, on the wooden staircase. He had to work fast, the fire was spreading, the entire building was almost existing out of wood. When he reached the last step, he took one second to focus, and with one hard kick he broke the door open.

Evan took a second to scan and take in the scene he entered just now. The entire level was filled with smoke, making it hard to see further than 3 meters.

“LAFD! Anybody up here?” His voice roared over the third floor, he called out as loud as he could. He was trying to make himself intelligible through the oxygen mask he was wearing. He carefully tried to make his way through the smoke, trying to find their last victim.

“LAFD!” he yells again, but gets caught by surprise as he gets interrupted by his radio. “One eighteen, we have a direct order to evacuate the building” May’s voice sounded through the radio that was clipped onto Buck’s fluorescent jacket.

Evan’s eyebrows furrowed at the request from dispatch. “Evacuate? On whose authority?” He heard his captain’s voice ask over the radio. “LAPD” May answered as Evan made his way through the space.

“Ethan!” He called out again, but just as he was losing faith, he spotted two legs sticking out beside a small wall. He quickly made his way towards the person, “LAFD! Sir, can you hear me?” He asked as he crouched down next to the victim.

He touched the man’s body, but it didn’t feel like a body. His eyebrows were in a frowning position as he could feel something was off. When he pulled the body slightly off the ground and took a look at its face, he realized it was a mannequin.

Immediately Evan drops the body and he straightens his legs again. He was turning on his heels, but during that spin he could hear a gun load. Within a blink of an eye he was standing eye to eye with the shooter.

There was a few feet of distance between Evan and the gun. Ethan. This had to be Ethan.

Slowly Evan showed his hands, telling him without any words that he didn’t mean any harm and that he was unarmed.

“Come in Buck!” Chimney’s worried voice sounded over the radio. “H-Hey, I just want to talk.” Evan said with a trembling voice as he could feel the adrenaline rushing through his veins. He could feel his mouth suddenly go dry. “Buck, respond!” Hen said. “Call them back in here” Ethan said as he had his eyes deadlocked onto Buck, and motioned with his head towards his radio where the voices came from.

“Buck, what’s your twenty?” Bobby’s voice filled the small spot of silence as Buck was in his mind digging for an answer of what to do. “Do it” Ethan said, determination overtaking his voice. “I-I can’t do that. I can’t give o-orders. I’m just a firefighter.” Buck stuttered.

“Call ‘em in! Tell them you broke your leg or something” Ethan said, the tone of his voice becoming darker with every word that left his lips. He took a step closer, towards the firefighter he was holding at gunpoint.

“Do it!”

-

(Y/n) pushed the gas pedal with her feet until the pedal hit the floor of the car. She had the steering wheel in her hand, tightening her hand around the wheel as if she was trying to break the wheel.

Her eyes were deadlocked onto the road ahead of her. She could see the burning building in the street and coming closer into her vision, with the ladder from the truck of the 118 expanded until it reached the roof.

She pressed the brake, pulling to a hard, rough stop as she took out the keys with her right hand and her left hand was already on the lever from the car, clicking it open. When she stepped out of the car, she was pretty sure she could smell the burning rubber from her tires.

(Y/n) scanned the scene with her eyes as she saw Athena walking towards the 118, who were standing in a circle. When she walked towards the same group as sergeant Grant, her heart dropped down her chest as she could hear the 118 calling him over the radio.

His name was coming through over the radio over, and over again. But he wouldn’t answer.

“Ethan Copeland? He’s not a victim. He’s the sniper.” (Y/n) could hear Athena say as soon as she joined the group of people. Terrified looks were shared. As Chimney called out one more time. “Come in Buck!” over the radio.

“The sniper is LAPD?” Hen asked with confusion in her voice. “Ex-LAPD” the LAPD Deputy Chief Pate quickly corrected Hen. “After his partner quit, we realized Copeland was a problem and we removed him from duty.” the deputy chief clarified. “Now he’s making everybody pay for it” Detective Danvers added to the story.

“Anybody have any idea where inside this building Buck is?” Athena asked with her eyes locked on the burning building. “Third floor, Bravo side.” Bobby answered her question. “Somewhere around that window” He added as he pointed out at the right window.

“Buck, come in!” Hen tried again as she pressed the radio close to her mouth. The team could call his name countless times, but he wouldn’t answer. He couldn’t. Even though Ethan told him to.

“Everybody, switch to channel tac channel fifty.” the deputy chief said as he turned ninety degrees, directed to the people that belonged to the LAPD. (Y/n) placed her hand on her radio as she switched the channel with a small turn on a button.

Detective Danvers, the deputy chief and Athena gather around to make some kind of plan. But (Y/n)’s eye falls on her firefighter friend, Hen, walking away from the group.

“Hen!” (Y/n) called out to the firefighter paramedic as she ran towards Hen. Hen stopped in her tracks and turned on her heels as she heard her name fall off (Y/n)’s lips. “Yes?” Hen said as she saw the young police officer jog towards her, and stop in front of her.

“Can you get me in there?” (Y/n) asked as if it was the normallest thing in the world. Hen’s eyebrows furrowed at the request of the officer. “What? You want to go in-” Hen spoke but got cut off by (Y/n). She knew Hen would be against this idea. She was just an officer.

“Hen, if we don’t do anything. Buck is going to die in there.” (Y/n) said as a desperate expression morphed onto her face. ”You need to help me.” she added, trying to get some kind of reaction from Hen, who was just looking at (Y/n) like she was insane.

There was a silence between Hen and (Y/n), as Hen was thinking of a way to get her friend inside.

“Help you do what?” Bobby’s voice entered the conversation of the two females. (Y/n)’s head turned to the captain of the 118, “To go and get my friend” she said, determined.

“No. You’re not going in there.” Bobby instantly answered.

“Cap, with all due respect. I’ve been in that building, and it’ll be easy.” Hen started. “Cut in on the delta side, where most of the fire has been contained. She goes in and she makes her way across to bravo-” She tried to talk her captain over as she made her instructions clear.

“I understand what you’re saying Hen, but there’s one thing wrong with your plan.” Bobby said. “She will be in a fire.” He added as no one answered, and pointed out at the officer that was standing diagonally across from him.

“Put the gear on me, I’ll be protected! Trust me, I’m not going to be in there for long.” (Y/n) said, as she tried to talk him over once again. His eyes shot from Hen towards (Y/n), “No, it’s too dangerous. I don’t care if you’re wearing protective gear, you’re not trained for this!” the captain said as he made motions with his hands.

“But-” but she gets cut off by Bobby. “No buts, you’re not going in, and that’s an order!” he cut her off strictly, as he pointed at her. ”Hen let’s go, I need you to help Chim.” Bobby continued as he waved Hen over. Hen shrugged her shoulders, “sorry” she nonverbally mouthed at (Y/n) and followed her captain.

A loud sigh left (Y/n)’s mouth. Help or not. She was going in, and no one could stop her.

(Y/n) took one last look at the burning building, she had to do something. She shook her head, she wasn’t going to let this happen. She couldn’t just stay there and gawk at the window, waiting for someone to take the lead.

Determined she walked towards the firetruck as she popped open a compartment, she took a look in the compartment, but it was filled with bags. Nothing like she’d hoped for. She didn’t even know what she was looking for.

She closed the compartment again and opened the one to the side of it, revealing a fluorescent jacket, a turnout jacket.

Bingo.

She grabs the turnout jacket, and quickly shrugs it on as she closes the compartment again with her left hand. This will have to do the trick. She placed her facemask, which was hanging around her wrist, onto her mouth and placed the elastic bands around her ears.

However this might be a violation of section 14-49, she needed to do this. “Lord forgive me.” she mumbled as she made a quick prayer, looking up at the sky.

(Y/n) didn’t have an oxygen tank, so she had to improvise. And this face mask could help.

With her back pressed against the side of the firetruck, she looked over the hood, standing on her tippy toes to see if there was a free entrance.

With her eyes she scanned the scene at the moment, on the left side, detective Danvers, the deputy chief Pate and sergeant Grant-Nash who were discussing. And so were the one eighteen on the same side, (Y/n) could see Chimney pressing the radio to his mouth. They were still trying to get some kind of reaction from Buck.

(Y/n) spots the back entrance on her right. If she did this quickly, she could get through unseen and she could enter on the Delta side like Hen had told her.

She pressed her eyes closed for a quick second, as she took a deep breath as she pressed her hands into fists. There was no time to overthink this. She was doing it, even if Bobby told her off. He wasn’t her captain, she didn’t take orders from him.

“Screw it.” she whispered under her breath. She bent her knees a little to make her feet tap lighter against the asphalt, making her way towards the front of the fire truck. She peeked around towards the left side. They were still discussing.

Good.

She sneaked across the street, which was around twenty feet from the fire truck she got the jacket from. (Y/n) found the door, quickly opened it as she sneaked inside. Soundless she closed the door behind her as she scanned the space she ended up in.

A stairwell.

(Y/n) remembered Bobby telling Athena that Buck was on the third floor bravo side. Meaning she had to go up three stairs, and go straight across from the side she was on now. She could do this.

She slid her gun out of her holster from her hip and pointed it out in front of her.

The stairwell was filled with smoke, but she could see enough. Without thinking twice, she started going up the stairs. Counting every door she met, when she stepped onto the last stairs she could hear Evan and the shooter talking.

When she was over fifty percent of the stairs, she peeked through the open door frame. She vaguely could see Evan holding his hands next to his face as Ethan held him under gun point she guessed. The smoke made it hard to see what was happening.

“This is officer (Y/L/N), I’ve got eyes on Ethan.” she whispered through her radio, as she peeked through the door frame. “(Y/L/N), did you ignore my direct order to not enter that building?” Bobby asked through the radio, which was weird because only the LAPD was on tac channel fifty, but she figured he heard it from Athena’s radio. But she didn't answer, not when he already knew the answer to his own question.

Before any of the others could call over the radio, she turned the radio off. She couldn’t have any of the others communicating over the radio, not when she was that close to Copeland and Buck.

She swallowed, she was scared while the adrenaline was rushing through her body. But she couldn’t make the same mistake as a few months ago, even though she had already come further than she expected.

Ethan was on the bravo side, she couldn’t just walk straight forward towards him. She needed to make a beeline. She could go along the alpha side, or the charlie side.

As she stepped off the last step of the staircase she entered the third floor. She quickly glanced at the two choices. On the alpha side the fire was already roaring, while the charlie side had a few small flames, but mostly smoke.

Charlie side it is.

She slowly but silently sneaks along the walls of the charlie side, with her gun pointed in front of her. “We don’t get to choose who lives or dies.” she could hear Evan say, “we save everyone we can” he added, (Y/n) could hear a vibration in his voice.

He was terrified.

“You don’t have to make the tough choices, but people love you for it! And hate guys like me!” An unfamiliar voice sounded over the third floor. With every step she took, she came closer to the source.

“You think saving lifes is a hard job?” Ethan said, as she could see the silhouette become larger. She had to be quick, before he actually did something. It sounded a lot like he was tired of waiting and chatting. “Try having to take them.” he added. (Y/n) could see Ethan’s finger pressing the trigger.

She didn’t have a second to think, as she ran towards Evan and pushed him out of the way of gun point.

A loud bang sounded through the third floor, as first one dull sound took over the scene, and not a second after, another one. Evan’s eyes grew wide as he turned on his heels and saw two bodies on the ground. How didn’t he get shot?

But as soon as he saw that one of the two was wearing a firefighter jacket, he rushed towards the body. He let himself fall down onto his knees as he placed two hands onto the shoulder of the -he thought- firefighter. He carefully turned the body, but was met with an oh so familiar face he didn’t expect or hoped to see.

He stopped breathing for a second as he recognized the woman in the turnout jacket. It was (Y/n). “Oh my god-” he stumbled as he saw (Y/n)’s face, “(Y/n)” her name fell off his lips.

Why was she in here? How did she know where he was? Why was she wearing a turnout jacket? A million questions were running through his mind.

With one arm around the back of her shoulders, he held her upper body up. He was checking if she was still breathing, and he left out a relieved sigh as he saw her chest rising and her eyes fluttered open.

“Hey- Okay.. okay. You’re okay.” he tried to calm himself down as he let out a small relieved laugh and pressed his cheek against the top of her head.

A groan left her mouth as she felt the sharp sensation in her upper abdomen, she squeezed her eyes closed as she pushed her hand on the GSW.

Everything happened in a flash, Evan had so much information to take in at the moment that he didn’t know what to do or to say.

He clenched hand around the radio that was connected to his turnout jacket.

“Officer down, I repeat officer down!”

______

(Y/n) turned her key in her front door and pushed it open. “Thank you for doing this. I didn’t know who else to call.” She said as she held the door open so Buck could walk through the door frame with the two bags he was holding in his hands.

“No need to thank me, that’s what friends are for, right?” He answered, as he gave her a questioning look where to put the bags.

“You really didn’t need to help me carry my bags in, you know” she smiled as she pointed at the dining table in the middle of the room, as a sign for Buck that he could put the bags there.

“Oh I know, but I don’t think the doctor would be happy if one of those stitches came loose because of carrying these bags.” He said as he placed her bags on her dining table, and arched his eyebrows as he looked at her.

A small laugh left her mouth as she shook her head. Oh, she knew he was right. But Buck knew that once she felt good, she’d be rushing into things. He knew her too well for that.

“You want a drink?” she asks as she shrugged off her cardigan and placed it over one of the dining table chairs. “I mean if you want to, if you have nothing else to do-“ she quickly added. She didn’t want to push him into things.

Evan smiled at the way she tripped over her words, “sure” he said as he took the scene he entered. His eyes scanned a bookcase, filled with books and framed pictures.

Buck had never been inside this apartment since they met. They knew each other for eight months now, but usually they’d meet up at a bar or at his place. He had dropped her off a few times outside, when he walked her home. But he never had been inside.

“Hey can I ask you something?” Evan spoke up as he took in every detail on the pictures, and turned back around.

“Sure.” She said as she grabbed the can of ice tea out of the fridge and poured the drink into two glasses.

“Why did you do it?” He asked, as he walked back towards the dining table and placed his hands on the back of the chair. “Push me away, and catch the bullet yourself?” He added as he tried to get eye contact with her.

He could see her expression morph into an thinkful one, as she finished pouring the glasses full. But even though she had that thinkful look on her face, she didn’t answer. He pushed himself off the back of the chair and he made his way into the kitchen.

“You know there were a hundred different options.” He continued and leaned with his left hip against the counter. (Y/n) places the can into the fridge, and closes the door.

“(Y/n)?” He said her name as he didn’t get any kind of response on his words. With her back towards Evan, she closed her eyes and she took a breath. One hand was still on the door of the fridge. “I just.. wanted to help.” she sighed.

“You wanted to help..” he repeated her answer and a small scoff left his mouth. He let a hand go through his hair. “And you thought the best way to help was jump in front of that bullet?” he asked as he shook his head.

“I didn’t even have one second to think, Buck.” she said, scared to turn around, and go into the conversation. She’d rather skip this one. But here they were. “What you did was stupid, naïve and reckless.” he started. “I could’ve lost you.” he added, as he waited for her to do something, to say something. To try and win him over that this was the only and right choice.

She gathered all her courage, as she took a deep breath and turned on her heels, making a 180 degrees turn. “You could have. But you didn’t.” she said, keeping a straight face as she finally had the guts to look Evan in the eyes. “And you know what, yes maybe I am stupid, maybe I am out of my mind. But I couldn’t just stand there, waiting for orders.” she hissed, as she took a few steps closer.

“You are no firefighter! You are a cop! Why the hell were you in that building in the first place?” Evan started to raise his voice, which made (Y/n) a little scared. She never heard him yell before, hell they never even fought before.

“You really want to know why I made myself a target? Why I made the choice to jump in front of that bullet?” She asked, as she felt her hands automatically making fists.

“Yes! Please tell me.” He answered as he folded his arms over each other. “I did it because of you, and all of those people outside! I wouldn’t let any of them take that risk.” She started as she pointed her index finger at him.

“They have people, family, waiting for them to get home safe and sound.” (Y/n) added as she could feel a lump being created in her throat and the tears burning in her eyes. “I have nothing to lose.” Her voice was getting less louder with the words she spoke.

“There’s no one waiting for me.” She cried as she shook her head, and tried by squinting her eyes closed to get rid of the stinging tears. But instead of getting rid of them, they flowed down her cheeks.

“Really?” Evan started, ”Or did you do it because of what happened with Lance.” Buck mumbled under his breath.

Oh he wasn’t actually going there.

Her eyes grew slightly wider as she realized what just came out of his mouth. “Don’t-” she warned him.

“The moment you stepped inside of that burning building, and they shot him.” He continued. Trying to get to the edge. “Shut the fuck up” she hissed, with her teeth pressed against each other. She was trying to calm herself down, but the scene he used cut as deep as a knife into her skin.

He knew how much Lance meant to her, he was her brother. But once he stepped into the world of drugs and gangs, she realized how much of a red flag he actually was, and she broke contact.

But one day, when she arrived at a scene, and she entered some abandoned building, she saw her own brother getting shot, by those so known “friends”. That was now a year ago.

And the only person she had told about this, was Buck.

“Sounds like this one hit a little close to home.” He added. Her fingernails which were on the inside of her palm, still in the fists she made, were cutting into her palm. “You don’t know anything about me” she said under her breath.

A silence took over the room as Buck stopped pushing her to the edge of her emotions.

“I really thought that you’d be one of the persons who’d understand why I did what I did.” A now calmer but slightly trembling voice from (Y/n) took over the silence. She was looking at the now oh so interesting floor. “But turns out.. you’re just like them.” She added, as she looked up at Buck again, shaking her head and the tears in the corner of her eyes.

“You wouldn’t fight for your team. You didn’t do that for Eddie, and he’s your best friend.” She said, going in to attack modus now.

“You just stood there. Looking at how his body tumbled to the ground.” she continued, but the second those words left her mouth, she regretted it. This wasn’t like her. She knew Evan was only trying to make her aware of the things she did in the situation, and that she shouldn’t be acting before she thought.

He was only trying to help her.

“What now?” His voice sounded lost. Evan was aware that he said some awful things to her. And maybe involving her brother’s story wasn’t the right move, he knew that.

A feeling of rage was rushing through his body. As he was speechless, did she just really say that? Evan pushed his hip off the counter as he turned around, with his left hand against his forehead he looked up at the ceiling.

“Do you have any idea how toxic you sound right now?” He asks, as he rubbed his hand against his temple.

He turns back around to face (Y/n). “I..-” Evan stops mid sentence as he moves his left hand from his forehead towards the back of his head. And he starts laughing.

“You’re insane.” he said, as he moved and left the kitchen.

“Buck.. please I didn’t-“ but before she could even finish, she could see him leaving through the front door combined with a loud bang of the front door being smashed against the doorframe.

A sigh left her mouth as she covered her forehead with her hand. What did she do..

_______

This is four Adam twelve” she coughed through her radio as she tried to keep the smoke from entering her airways by placing her mouth in the crook of her arm.

With her hand still remaining on the radio, she scanned the room she was in now. “The fire has surrounded me.” she continued.

Yes, she was inside of a burning building, again. But this time it wasn’t burning before she entered.

She ran after a suspect for a few blocks, until he entered an abandoned building. She had called for backup, but she couldn’t risk losing the suspect. So after she called it in, she didn’t wait for backup to arrive.

She wanted to prove herself so bad to the department. She wanted to show them she could do this on her own.

But when she was checking the fourth floor, some kind of explosion roared over the level she was on.

Last time she was inside, she had a face mask, which helped with keeping the smoke out. But since she had to get out of her car and run, she didn’t have it with her this time.

(Y/n) could feel the smoke entering her lungs, making it hard for her to breathe. With every breath she took in more, and more ashes. Causing her to cough, making her head ache.

The smoke was burning in her eyes, causing tears which were protecting her eyes from the smoke and getting the suspension out of her eyes.

She couldn’t navigate over the level anymore, she was disoriented, since the fire was everywhere.

This was it. There was no way out for her. Maybe she would actually suffocate in here. She didn’t get to that suspect. This was her first shift back. Was this her karma for that fight with her friend? Her friend she was scared to admit her feelings for? The one she pushed away when he came too close? The one she broke the rules for?

“I’m on the fourth floor. I..- I don’t know where.” she gasped through the radio, trying to get in more air. She let herself fall down onto her knees as she scanned the environment once more. “Please..” she cried to herself.

Evan could hear the coughs through the radio as he was in the stairwell, just passing the second floor. He could sense the desperation in her voice as she told them she didn’t know where she was.

Chimney and Buck made their way towards the fourth floor. But he could feel his soul fade away as soon as he opened the door to the fourth level.

Flames had taken over the entire floor. “Chim, you take the right side! I will take the left!” Buck said as he pointed out to both sides. “Copy that!” Chimney answered back as he continued to sweep in the right side of the building.

The feeling of guilt was still roaring through his body. He never wanted to let things get out of hand the way it did. With his left hand he slid along the wall, following the shape of the room.

“Fire department! Call out!” Buck yelled over the floor he was on. But no reaction.

He scanned the room over and over again, he wasn’t going to miss any detail. He had to find her, and that stupid fight between the two of them wasn’t going to stop him.

“LAFD! Call out if you can hear me!” he continued. When he made his way through the room, he stopped as soon as he could swear he heard a sound. But then suddenly his eyes fell on a silhouette, kneeling down on the ground.

He squinted his eyes, trying to focus “(Y/n)!” he called out her name as soon as he could see her hands down on the ground, and so were her knees.

She tried to call out as soon as she could hear Evan’s voice in the distance, trying to locate her. But she couldn’t. She could feel herself fade away, the smoke inside her lungs was becoming too much for her. Suffocating her almost.

Her knees were burning, due to the heat that was flowing over the fourth floor. She was conscious but it was like her senses were shutting down. As if someone was turning the volume of her ears down by using a button.

But as soon as she could feel someone place a hand on her lower back and pull her arm around their shoulders, the feeling of desperation made way for relief.

She pushed herself onto her feet, as she leaned partly onto the shoulder of Evan.

“Chim, I got her! On our way out now!” Evan spoke through the radio as he held (Y/n) at her waist with his left arm and his right hand held on to her arm that was around the back of his neck. “Copy that! Leaving the building!” Chimney answered back.

“Come on, we’re almost there! You’re doing so well!” Evan told her as he guided her down the stairs and through the doors outside, which Chimney held open as soon as he saw the two coming.

Evan ripped the oxygen mask he was wearing off his face and let it hang aside his body. He moved his hand from her waist towards her shoulder, as he wanted to guide her towards the ambulance.

But suddenly (Y/n) stopped in her tracks, as she placed her hands on her thighs and bent over when she started to let out loud coughs.

The fresh oxygen was reaching her lungs now. But she could feel it burn inside of her airways. “Get off of me!” She said as she pushed Evan away, causing him to let go of her body. She spit out some saliva as she tried to control her breathing.

“Im fine!” She said, as she could feel his hand onto her shoulder again. She turned her head to the side as she glanced at him.

Tears were burning in her eyes, as her face was partly covered in ashes. “You’re not fine.” He said, as he looked at her with a worried look in his eyes.

“I just…-” she gasped as her breathing was taken over by a loud cough. “need to catch my breath” she added. “Mmm and I am Prince Charming” he said sarcastically. “Why don’t you stop being so stubborn for a second and let me help you.” He added as he searched for eye contact again.

“You’re acting like a lunatic” he said as he shook his head, and sighed at the view he had right there and then. She was practically suffocating from the smoke inside of that building he pulled her out of. “You’re running into burning buildings, making yourself an actual target, putting yourself in danger.” he continued.

“I don’t recognize you anymore. What happened to that intelligent, badass, sweet officer that I met eight months ago?” he asks as he places his right hand on his hip.

(Y/n) doesn’t say anything, but shrugs her shoulders like she’s some child getting a lecture. “What are you even doing on duty? Shouldn’t you be at home? Let that wound heal?” He said pointing out at her stomach.

“What are you? My mom?” She mumbled moody as she avoided eye contact and spit out some more salvia onto the ground.

Evan sighed, but a laugh left his mouth. It felt like the same fight all over again. It had been six weeks. Six weeks of no contact and it was killing both of them. There was an emptiness inside of them they couldn’t seem to fill.

“Don’t tell me you ignored the doctor's advice and went to work anyways.” He went on as he placed his fingers on his forehead.

He glanced at her, and she looked back at him. But when she didn't actually deny what he said, another sigh rolled from his lips. “(Y/n)..”

“You know I can’t sit still. I needed to get back out here!” She shot back in defensive mode. (Y/n) pushed herself up again, so she was standing straight.

“I'm not a doctor but from what I know, you’re not fully healed! Healing a GSW takes two to three months!” He told her as he turned around. “Please tell me you’re still talking with Dr. Sanford.” He continued.

“I have talked with her.” She started, as she placed both her hands on her hips. “One time.” she added. Making Evan instantly laugh in disbelief again. “Jesus. Seriously?”

“She doesn’t get me Buck!” Her voice was audible over the entire scene. She was talking to a person with his back towards her, almost making it look like some fight between love birds.

“I don't get it..” he started as he turned back around again, ”they’re offering their help services to you and you just don’t accept it.” he pointed at her, just to make her feel a little more guilty about the things she did.

“I don’t want help from some professional woman.” She said as she placed her hands in her hair. She felt like a crazy person. Like no one actually understood what she was saying. Was she speaking Chinese?

“Then tell me what you want. What do you need?” He stepped closer, finally after all these minutes.

She just stared into his eyes. Desperate for someone to understand her. Why was no one listening to her? “You.” The words slipped from her lips. The words she couldn’t get back after letting them out.

“I need you.” she continued. Evan’s face morphed from anger to a more calmed down one. Did she just really say that?

“You know me better than anyone else.” She added, as her eyes narrowed. “And I’m so sorry for saying those awful words. I didn’t mean it. I was a dick and I’m sorry for lashing out at you like that. The second I said those things about Eddie I regretted it but I just-“ she rattled.

“Oh shut up” he interrupted her as he took a few quick steps closer, grabbed her shoulders and pulled her roughly to his chest.

Their lips connected, and the warmth of both their bodies came together. The dried up sweat from Evan’s face combined with the ashes visible on hers.

Her body was tense, but when he crashed his lips down onto hers, she could feel her body relax. Her arms were dangling beside her body, one of Evan’s arms was pushing her lower back, and his other hand was lost on the back of her head.

Her back was bending backwards by surprise, as she held her eyes closed.

When Evan pulled back, their noses connected, and small gasps left both of their mouths. One of her hands was placed on Evan’s shoulder, as she placed the other one on his cheek.

“Uh.. okay” she mumbled in confusion. “I needed you to stop.” He gasped, as he felt her breath tickling his short hairs on his face.

“Was it.. wrong?” He asked when he couldn’t figure out by the look on her face if she wanted the same thing as him. “No” she whispered as she rubbed her thumb against his cheek. Making Evan smile.

“Okay pay up!” Hen’s voice sounded over the scene. Hen was standing at the back of the ambulance as she was holding her hand out, moving her fingers as people from the 118 placed money in her palm.

“You placed a bet on us?” Buck asked when he glanced a look to the side, and saw Hen grinning at the sight she had.

“Oh, it’s not that hard to figure out when the two of you keep fighting, hovering and risking your lives for each other.” Hen said loudly enough to reach the two of them.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like a Phoenix (4)

Pairing: Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Series Summary: An attack on your palace thrusts your only hope for survival into the hands of a mercenary who is forced to protect you, all due to a vow he made many years before. Though, those are circumstances neither of you have chosen.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: theft; Bucky being protective; Bucky being a sneaky little shit; mentions of knives, sexism

Author’s Note: This is a tad shorter, but the next chapter will be the longest so far and quite intense, y’all, so be prepared :) Hope you enjoy ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

The town sprawls out before you, hemmed by rolling hills and thick forest, a cluster of modest wooden homes and stone-built shops that seem to lean into one another for support.

Smoke from numerous chimneys twists into the dusky evening, carrying the combined aromas of home fires and warm bread.

The cramped alleys thrive with activity, merchants shouting their goods in voices worn from years of competing with the noise.

The sensations are overwhelming you, making your head spin after so many days in the quiet of the forest.

You have never set foot in such a place before. Especially, not like this. Not cloaked in a worn brown jacket of the man shadowing your every step.

It likely is a town like any other to him - muddy, loud, alive with barter and chatter - but to you, it might as well be another world.

The actual marketplace is even worse. It is tucked into a wide, cobbled square, flanked by crooked wooden buildings.

Stalls are spread out, some covered in fabric of various colors, others laden with goods that sparkle and shine in the dwindling sunlight.

It is chaos.

People are talking, shouting, laughing. A dog is barking. Children are running, wildly darting through the legs of passing strangers. Everything is haphazard. There is bread next to salted fish, baskets of apples and other fruits, bolts of simple linen, and even knives - rough-hewn and gleaming.

You have to remind yourself to breathe. But your breaths only grow more shallow, afraid to take too much space from air that doesn’t know you’re here.

Your gown underneath Bucky’s jacket is stiff, frayed, and dirty. It’s still a symbol of everything you no longer are. The hood hangs low over your forehead, casting a shadow across your face, but you can’t help but feel like a painted target walking into the open.

Bucky made it clear from the moment you neared the outskirts of the town, that you were to speak to no one unless absolutely necessary. Keep your head down. Don’t look anyone in the eye. And most important; stay at his side. He made you repeat it like you’re some uneducated little girl, though his expression, the way his eyes pierced your own, stopped you from speaking your thoughts.

Bucky walks half ahead of you, half beside you to keep you in his vision. His shoulders are taut and his hand is resting casually - too casually - on the hilt of the dagger at his side. His eyes are sweeping over the stalls - stall to stall, face to face, tracking the movements of the people around you. His shoulder brushes yours every few steps.

You are not naive. You are acutely aware of how risky this situation is. Someone might recognize you. A merchant, a traveler who has once caught a glimpse of you in the palace courtyard, or a soldier who has seen your face etched onto decrees or coins or as a painting on a wall.

But Bucky cannot leave you alone in the forest.

And it appears he also can’t let you stay in that impractical dirty gown that fails to keep you warm each night, for you to lay there shivering and clattering your teeth. He also can’t let you only consuming the tiniest food rations he can find to save something for him.

You feel colder, hungrier, and far more removed from whatever fragile piece of yourself had once existed in the gilded cage of your former life.

The forest is not your friend. Its roots seem to rise intentionally to grasp your already faltering steps. The rustle of the breeze seems to taunt your grumbling stomach and diminishes the thickness of your skin. The trees stand too close, plotting to reach out with their branches and wrap them around you, never letting go.

Bucky, of course, always notices.

The day before, you had glimpsed some berries nestled against the thorns of a bramble bush while staggering through the woods once more. They were bright and glittered in the weak sunlight.

You remembered them from the palace gardens where they grew in neat rows, where servants picked them and cooks used them in summer pies. You’d seen them illustrated in books as a girl, read their names aloud at your tutor’s insistence. Their name you forgot, but you know they are not poisonous.

So you plucked a handful of them off, fingers brushing against the dew-slick leaves.

But before you could bring only one of them to your lips, a shadow fell over you, dark and looming. And before you knew it, a hand shot out to knock the berries out of your grasp. They scattered across the forest floor, rolling into the dirt.

Bucky’s movement was swift, but not violent, yet the force made you stumble a step back.

“What the hell are you doing? Are you tryin’a get yourself killed?” he snapped at you, voice thunderous and blue eyes blazing.

“I am no fool,” you hissed back, but your voice was shaking slightly. “They are not poisonous-”

His glare stopped the words in your throat. “You don’t eat anything unless I tell you it’s safe,” he said lowly, stepping closer. Close enough for you to see the pulse hammering in his neck. “Do you understand me?”

The next morning he told you, you’d visit the next town’s market.

Bucky waited until evening, so you wouldn’t stand out too much since the light of the sun would be dimmed.

Yet, you can’t shake the thought about why he cares.

The cold and the meager food rations don’t seem to affect him much, so why does it matter to him that it affects you?

He’s always been so careful, so paranoid, his caution bordering on obsession.

But then you remember the way his gaze lingered on you these past few days, the way his eyes darkened when observing the sharp lines of your collarbones peaking through your gown or the way you rubbed your arms for warmth in the cold night air but still remained trembling even with Bucky’s bedroll around you or the fire he always alights near you. Or the way his brows came together slightly when letting his eyes fall to the thin leather of your slippers, so unaccustomed for your journey, their once fine embroidery now faded and caked with mud.

Bucky stops abruptly near a stall selling bread, his back moving slightly more in front of you. You nearly collide with him, fabrics brushing together, and his head turns slightly, just enough for you to glimpse the warning in his eyes, the strain in his sharp jawline.

“Stay close.” His voice is a low rumble.

You nod, ducking your head.

The vendor, a small and older woman, exchanges the few coins Bucky hands over for two loaves of crusty brown bread.

He hands them to you, calloused fingers brushing yours for an instant.

His movements show no sign of hesitation, lacking the fear and unease that thrums with each of your heartbeats. He seems confident. Although his shoulders are squared and his jaw is working the whole time, he makes it look so casual. So effortless. Just slipping into the role of a villager, or traveler, just coming to the market to buy some goods.

It frustrates you.

Because the further you walk it feels like an act of defiance against your own instinct. You are not made for this. Not prepared for this. Your refined upbringing, your courtly manners - what value do they hold now?

“Keep your head down,” Bucky murmurs under his breath, eyes staying focused forward.

You do as he says, subtly pulling the hood tighter around your face. The world is narrowed to the cobblestones at your feet, hems of skirts brushing past you, wooden wheels entering your vision as a cart is pushed by. It clatters against the ground.

It is strange, walking through a crowd with your head down, without being noticed. You are used to people looking at you - studying your features, whispering your name and title, bowing their heads. Now, you’re just another person slipping through the throng. A nameless girl in a nameless town.

Nobody makes room for you. Shoulders bump against yours, making you stumble slightly.

You hold the loaves of bread closer to your chest, almost cradling them, as Bucky leads you further into the market, toward a stall displaying cloaks and tunics of rough wool.

The middle-aged woman running it barely glances at you, letting her eyes linger on Bucky.

Without a word, he procures more coins and gestures to a dark, heavy cloak.

You don’t see much of the exchange, still keeping your head down, but you acknowledge the dark fabric in Bucky’s hand he holds out for you to see.

Your hand reaches out to take it and you move to pull it over yourself at the expectant expression Bucky fixes you with.

Bucky watches you as you slip the cloak over your shoulders, trying to hand him back the jacket only for him to tighten it around your shoulders.

He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t meet your eyes. There is something guarded about him.

Resuming your stride through the market, Bucky stops again shortly after. This stall is laden with bolts of fabric in so many different hues.

Despite knowing better, you lift your head a little bit to let your eyes roam over the items. There is that soft blue wool that catches your attention. It’s the color of a cloudless summer sky, the color of the scorpion grasses that grew in your palace gardens.

You don’t know why they caught your attention so fast, but for a moment, you let yourself imagine. A gown spun from this fabric, its folds draped across your shoulders like water, its color catching the light when you twirled through the palace halls. The image is so vivid, so painful, your throat closes up.

You blink to find the burn of Bucky’s eyes on you. He’s just watching you. Silently. With an unreadable expression. You meet his eyes briefly and startle for a moment to find the very same color of the fabric you’ve been staring at reflected in his eyes.

But that is just a coincidence, right?

You didn’t look at the fabric because it reminded you of the exact color of his eyes.

Shame grips your chest and you remember with a start, that you are supposed to conceal yourself and show your face the least you can.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, something your father would have chastised you for, and swiftly move your head down, to continue staring at the uneven ground.

It slightly confuses you that Bucky didn’t reprimand you for not doing that sooner. He merely watched you quietly, with a look far too mild and ambiguous to feel anger over your brief mistake.

The cloak over your head obscures any view of what Bucky does, but he keeps standing beside you and you hear the twinkling sound of coins.

And when he prompts you to continue walking, you spot the blue fabric you’ve been eyeing sticking out from beneath Bucky’s arm as you both weave your way through the throng of people.

You try not to let your heart jump. But there is still something fluttering in your chest, something like tiny wings, but they are clumsy, beating against your ribs half in delight for being able to fly, half in warning to better shoot them down.

You take a glance at his profile, running your eyes over the strong slope of his nose, the hard line of his jaw, the way his dark hair falls over his cheeks, but he keeps his eyes deliberately focused ahead.

Bucky pauses again after a short walk.

You catch sight of boots. Thick-soled and sturdy.

He picks up a pair, turning them over in his hands.

The cobbler standing near, a wiry man with a patchy beard, begins to rattle off the boots’ virtues, but Bucky waves him off brusquely, turning to you.

“These’ll fit.” He holds them out to you.

“Oh, I do not need-”

“Try them,” he orders firmly, taking the bread from your arms and thrusting the boots into your hands instead.

With a resigned sigh you take hold of the boots. They are quite heavy for footwear. Heavier and more robust than anything you’ve ever worn. Their leather feels unfamiliar and stiff against your soft palms.

You slip off your slippers - ignoring the cobbler’s muttered comment about the state of your stockings - and pull the boots on.

“Walk,” Bucky instructs, gesturing to the narrow strip of space beside the stall, and with another sigh, you do as he says.

The boots are clunky at first but you have to admit that they provide a stable and firm base for your sensible feet, protecting them from the hard surface of the ground better than your slippers ever could.

Bucky is watching intently, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t smile. His expression doesn’t change out of his assessment. But he nods slightly. Pursing his lips in satisfaction. He reaches for the coin purse at his belt.

You want to protest - about the cost, about how you don’t want him to pay any more for you, about the guilt in your heart - but he doesn’t throw you another glance when paying the cobbler and leaving your old slippers with the man.

Another relic of your old life gone.

You try hard to remain near Bucky. The sheer crush of bodies pressing around you causes your heart to race and your body to recoil with each bump against you.

He doesn’t glance at you but his hand grazes your arm every so often. His attention is locked on the movement of the crowd, his head turning sharply but subtly every few seconds as if he is cataloging faces and the exits of the market. His presence is grounding but in his own way disconcerting.

He is a blade drawn halfway from its sheath - prepared and anticipating.

Your stomach growls audibly and you flush, wrapping your arms around your middle as if to stifle the sound.

Bucky is carrying the bread but you guessed you wouldn’t have taken a bite even if you still had it. It would feel wrong somehow. Still, more than a week has passed since you felt full, the cold nights and the thin rations eating away the strength you didn’t really have in the first place. It only causes your stomach to crumple inward in contorted shapes as a sign of rebellion.

You watch Bucky’s face jerk to a fruit stall you are about to pass. The merchant is having a discussion with a rather loud customer, which grabs your attention until something small and round appears in your sight.

It’s a red apple that Bucky holds out for you.

You blink at him in disbelief. “Did you just- did you steal that?” Your voice is hushed.

His eyes cut to you. So unfazed. “Do you want it or not?”

Hesitantly, you let your hand reach for the fruit, fingers lightly touching his before pulling away. It looks bigger in your hand.

You hold the apple like you never had one in your hand before, tightening your fingers, and can’t help darting your eyes around nervously, half expecting someone to shout or point.

But nothing happens and Bucky turns ahead again.

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek, conflicted between appreciation and discomfort.

You don’t like the way the apple feels in your palm.

Back at the palace, a fruit like this has served as a mere decorative embellishment at all those extravagant feasts and banquets. There were so many of them, all stacked high in golden ornate bowls as if they existed only for beauty. Now it is simply sustenance - limited and precious.

And it fills you with guilt. Shame. You basically feel the muscles around your ribs tightening into knots so complex, you swear they are trying to strangle your heart. Feeling like it hasn’t done enough to justify its effort.

Carefully, you let your eyes catch glimpses of the lives unfolding around you.

A woman with a child on her hip argues fiercely with a butcher over the price of a stringy cut of meat.

A young boy weaves through the strands, his face marked with grime. He clutches a bundle of firewood so large it seems he might topple over any second.

Tucked behind a stall filled with rolls of fabric, a group of women skillfully use their experienced hands, sharing soft, bittersweet laughter while they pass along bits of gossip.

You feel a strange ache watching them. The muscles in your neck strain with the effort of not turning away, causing the fleeting view you get to be both a punishment and a form of wonder.

There is a harshness to their lives, a grit and weariness that is foreign to you. However, they have something you never had the chance to experience. A feeling, something like a community, something they share. They all have a connection.

This is a world of mud and struggle and bargaining, but it is also a happy world.

You don’t recall ever laughing like that before.

You stop walking at one point. And you only realize this because Bucky’s hand is on your arm, urging you to move ahead again, though his hold on you is not forceful.

You blink, again, and stumble back into a walking pace.

Bucky doesn’t say anything but his gaze keeps lingering on you a little longer. Perhaps he sees something in your eyes - in the way you steer clear of meeting his own, rather dropping your gaze to the ground once more - but he falters slightly. Just a single and short delay in the next step he takes. And something twitches in his expression. Only now does he release your arm.

Another few stalls later, Bucky slows, examining a display of gloves and scarves.

While his fingers move over the worn wool and leather, you hover awkwardly behind him, grasping the apple close to your chest and feeling acutely out of place.

The tall woman standing behind the display narrows her eyes at you both and Bucky doesn’t even glance at her at all before he discreetly positions himself more in front of you.

Your gaze is drawn to his back, to the broad set of his shoulders, and the way his hair brushes against the leather at his neck.

He doesn’t belong here either, you realize. Not fully. But unlike you, he is good at pretending.

After a few moments, he turns to you and takes your hand, slipping a glove on, testing the fit. It’s a simple robust design lined with fur.

But unfortunately for you, it’s not the glove that warms your hand, it’s his touch.

You stare down at the way he holds your gloved hand. He nods to himself. “They’re good,” he says gruffly, about to move away but you speak up.

“You really do not have to-”

“We’ll take them,” he states, to you or to the merchant you’re not sure.

After paying and making sure you keep the gloves on your hands, he leads you further down the market.

The sky is getting darker and the shouts around you are starting to turn into a ringing sound in your ears.

You keep your eyes on the ground and on Bucky at all times.

You wondered how he can keep himself so calm and collected but you see the way his hand immediately goes back to hovering over his knife.

He walks until you reach the quieter outskirts of the town, where the air slowly loses the many scents that wouldn’t stop flooding your senses. The streets are less crowded.

“Eat the damn apple,” Bucky tosses over his shoulder without really looking at you. His voice is slightly softer now, almost teasing.

With a glance down at the red fruit in your gloved hand, you sigh and take a bite, sweetness exploding on your tongue. It’s almost immense after consuming mostly bland meals for over a week.

Bucky keeps you on your feet for a while longer. You finished the apple some time ago and now try to ignore the way your stomach still feels hollowed out, the cold is winding up your legs, and the ache in your feet.

Until he stops.

In front of a building with cracked stone walls surrounded by creeping ivy that seems to hold the place together more than the mortar itself. The aroma of damp earth hits your nose.

There is a faint glow of lantern light that seeps through the gaps in the shutters, casting sharp patterns onto the soil trail.

Bucky pushes the door open with a rough shove.

You hesitate at the threshold. This is not the kind of place you ever imagined stepping foot in. Not as a princess. But is that what you are anymore? Whatever title you once held feels like a fading light in your mind.

With a grunt from the man you are traveling with and a hand on your back, you are quickly snapped back to yourself and guided inside.

The inn’s interior is dimly lit, the atmosphere dense with the combined scents of woodsmoke and stale ale and the faintest hint of iron. A fire crackles in a low stone hearth, creating shifting shadows that glide over the rugged tables and assorted chairs spread around the space.

The floorboards creak beneath your new boots, the wood warped and pocked with stains whose origins you don’t care to guess at.

You follow Bucky closely and look around nervously.

The common area is sparsely populated. The patrons are mostly older men nursing mugs of ale. Conversations are indistinct and they don’t care to look up.

Of course, they don’t.

To them, you are nobody.

You probably are. You can feel it. It’s the emptiness in your chest where your title was pinned. There is a hole now. A vacuum where your heart beats softly, uncertain, questioning every pulse, asking permission to exist.

Bucky exchanges a brief word with the innkeeper, a grizzled man with a thin scar cutting across his temple.

You are basically glued to Bucky’s back. And you attempt to avoid the thought that you would feel much more restless without him here.

You don’t even listen to their conversation, only hoping it will end soon.

When he finally turns, key in hand, he briefly glances at you and nods toward a staircase concealed by shadows at the back.

“Upstairs,” he instructs shortly.

Each step you take makes the stairs groan underfoot.

The room is small. Barely more than a box with a bed crammed into one corner, a battered chest in another, a chair, and a single, grime-covered window.

A small lantern burns dimly on the bedside table.

It hasn’t even been two weeks since you have seen a real bed, and still, there is something aching in your chest at the sight of it. The mattress of the bed sags in the middle and the blanket is frayed at the edges.

But it is warm.

Bucky drops his pack along with the blue fabric and the bread onto the chest and leans against the wall, arms crossed as he watches you take in the space. You can’t tell if he is waiting for a complaint or just sizing up your reaction.

You don’t pay him any mind, letting your fingers brush against the rough wood of the window frame and gaze out into the night. The town below is quiet now, the streets empty except for a shadow moving between buildings.

You turn back around to see Bucky unwrapping a small bundle covered in cloth. He takes his time unfolding it and finally reveals a hunk of roasted meat.

You furrow your brows. “Where did you-” You stop mid-sentence, realization dawning as you take in the sly smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Didn’t think you’d mind,” he drones out, tearing a piece off with his teeth and pointing at you with the rest. “Guzzled down that apple like it ain’t nothin’.”

You can only stare at him in disgust.

You don’t know if it is his faulty actions or his terrible manners that make you twist your beautiful face into a grimace. Probably both.

“You stole it,” you accuse then, rather lately.

But he only shrugs, utterly unapologetic. The infuriating twist of his lips carries a spark of something almost boyish. “Not the first time, darlin’.”

You open your mouth to argue but then he simply winks at you - an utterly brazen gesture that makes your hands clench with equal parts anger and something deeper.

You spent your life surrounded by people who carried themselves with poise and restraint, who bent over backward to adhere to rules and expectations.

And here is this man, stealing food like it’s his birthright and then having the nerve to wink at you for it.

The apple rests like a mistake in your stomach, causing it to twist with nausea.

After all, you knew it was stolen and you ate it anyway.

And you hate how it makes you feel. How he makes you feel.

Because there is that part of you that speaks of envy.

And it’s unwelcome. It knows it is. But it doesn’t care. Boldly sneaking into the vulnerable parts of your chest, filling spaces where your breath should be. Every inhale feels like drawing in the bitterness of what you lack.

This man moves through the world with a freedom you can’t fathom. He takes what he wants, consequences be damned. Isn’t that what you have always dreamed of?

Bucky Barnes sits in a dingy room with stolen food in hand and looks so content with it.

And when his boot pushes the creaky chair over to you and he holds the meat out to you with an expression that tells you he knows you’ll take it, you want to resist.

But you do not.

So you sit down.

As you chew, Bucky keeps his eyes focused on you.

His posture actually seems relaxed but his eyes are thoughtful.

And you wonder, not for the first time, what goes on behind that gaze.

“You’re quiet tonight.”

You almost choke on the piece of meat in your mouth.

Swallowing hard, you stare at him.

He looks at you so blankly, it’s hard to make out why he would even bother saying that.

You hesitate. “I did not believe you would care about me talking.”

He tilts his head, considering you for a moment before leaning forward slightly. You don’t like how there is only one chair in this room. Because he already looms over you when you are standing.

“I don’t. Ain’t mean I don’t notice.”

“You keep on interrupting me,” you hum, trying to sound as indifferent as he so often does.

His shoulders shake with a laugh. It’s a low sound and it vibrates within you.

“Get used to it, darlin’.”

“Sometimes you think you’re being put in a hard situation but in reality the universe is preparing you for something good. Remember that. And be ready for when it comes.”

- r. m drake

Part five

Taglist: @cjand10 @unaxv @bellamoret

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

@bucktommypositivityweek Day 1, season 8 opening disaster. 2,610 words, read on AO3

🐝“We're doomed.”🐝

“Millions of bees?” Chimney asked unbelieving, still clutching the radio. Dispatch had just reported it; in fact, it had been his own wife, and she was definitely not joking on the job. “Killer bees,” Buck corrected, squinting up at the cloudless sky as if they were already pouncing down on the 118. “African honeybees, actually. Nasty, aggressive critters. The whole hive attacks when threatened, and they chase their victims. Saw it on a documentary once.” “Nobody wants to know, Buckley.” Gerrard was just leaving the fire engine and putting on his helmet. ”There's a huge traffic jam ahead of us, and a few miles at the end of it is the truck that caused it. Whether there were millions of bees in it or not, which I personally think is nonsense and an exaggeration, we’re the ones picking up the pieces, so let's get to work.” Buck shouldered his axe, though a noise overhead distracted him. A small plane, a nimble propeller-driven aircraft, was flying pretty low above them. Was he imagining it, or did the pilot briefly wobble its wings? “That's one of ours,” said Eddie, who was now walking beside him, toward the next crashed car. “There are at least two people trapped inside.” "Oh yeah? How do you know?”

“I looked through the windshield, Buck,“ Eddie replied with a bemused look. ”No,” Buck shot back, looking up again, ”that it’s one of our machines?”

“Pry open the door here… yeah, that's it. Get a grip, Buck. I know this because Tommy explained how to recognize the machines. I'm surprised you haven't started spouting off trivia about airplanes and helicopters yet." Hen came running up, tossing Eddie an IV bag which he deftly caught. “We're doing a proper triage," she said. “Oh wait…" She bent over past Eddie, who was busy calming the occupants of the car, two women, appearing frightened, confused and clearly injured. ”Ma'am? We got you. Eddie, hand me a skin clamp, please.” Buck, standing behind her, was already looking for the next car from which someone needed to be freed. He recognized from her tone of voice that she had discovered something bad in that car, but that the person concerned should not notice under any circumstances. Eddie rummaged in the emergency bag, and Hen asked in a conversational tone, “What do you think they need a plane for? It's not exactly a forest fire.” “It's a crop-dusting plane, I think,“ Eddie replied. ‘It's probably supposed to spray chemicals against the bees.’ ”Against millions of bees?” “Well, how else are they going to get rid of them? Buck, I think I heard Gerrard call you!" Buck turned around and saw the captain pointing at two cars wedged into each other, a scowl on his face that furrowed his forehead. I better hurry, he thought, and he was right about that.

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Of all the things Tommy had ever done with an airplane, this was probably the craziest.

The mission had been anything but normal from the start. Millions of bees had escaped from the truck in an accident on the highway, dispatch reported. Killer bees, goaded and stressed, now following an instinct. Whatever bees do, maybe they want to pollinate something. Tommy took a look at the controls – everything was fine – and thought of Evan.

Of course, it was the worst possible time to think about the man who’d turned his head, but then again, it wasn't. Evan would probably have a lot of exciting prattle about bees. Tommy briefly pondered what he knew about them… well, wasn’t much. Right now, what mattered was his job; the only idea Animal Control had come up with, He was supposed to fly as close as possible to the swarm and spray biocides. First, the smoke would irritate the insects and disorient them, then kill them in no time. He already felt sorry for those who would have to sweep millions of dead bees off the streets at the end of the day.

Tommy kept to the west of the highway; according to his information, the bees had set off directly towards the city. He steered the machine low, the bees didn't reach that high of an altitude. A few red spots below him told Tommy that the emergency services had already reached the scene, and Evan would be among them, no doubt. The people down there were safe. However, that didn't apply to a large part of L.A., if those bees were to cause trouble there. With such a large number of aggressive animals, you didn't even have to be allergic to die from their stings.

“FLX-126, this is Air Control,” croaked his radio. “Kinard, the population has been warned to close windows and doors, you have clearance. Catch the beasts before they reach the city.“

”Copy that. I’ll take up the chase against the bees.“

Evan would find that funny.

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”Hurry up, Buckley, there's an oil slick up ahead that needs to be secured. You want half the pileup to blow up? One spark is all it takes!”

“I'm nearly there, Captain,” Buck shouted, helping a shivering elderly gentleman out of the car. He had almost torn the door off its hinges trying to free him, but after a quick check, it seemed that the man was all right, except for an ugly gash on his forehead. Not the first miracle today. ”The ambulances are over there, please go to them, they will take care of you.”

“Buckley!"

Buck liked to imagine Gerrard as a nagging little man who would tear himself apart in the forest in a rage, but reality was no fairy tale. Reality was an operation on a chaotic road smeared with oil and blood, where a hazardous materials truck full of bees had left a trail of devastation. A mission with dozens of trapped people who had to be freed using heavy equipment and muscle power, and Buck was already dripping with sweat. But there was no time to catch a breath, not when Gerrard was in this mood.

“Get the binder!” Gerrard snapped, while simultaneously impelling Chimney, ‘There are still people trapped up ahead, so get your ass in gear!’

Gerrard's arms were gesturing in both directions. Now Buck knew a better comparison than a vicious fairy-tale creature — Gerrard reminded him of General Grievous, who could lash out with four arms at once. He jogged over to the captain, giving the oil slick a skeptical glance. It was big, yes, but a simple barrier should suffice to start with; there were more important things to do right now.

“The binder is in the truck, and it's almost half a mile down the highway,“ he said.

”So?“ Gerrard's Adam's apple jumped up and down angrily. Buck stared at it, fascinated.

”I should help Chimney, there seems to be a problem up ahead.”

Buck pointed to his brother-in-law, who was trying with great effort to break open a wedged car door.

“The 126 is further ahead, they’ll be fine. The oil slick is here.” Gerrard said with narrowed eyes. The guy needs glasses, Buck thought.

Now he knew why Gerrard wanted to keep him here. He was probably afraid that Tommy was on duty up ahead and they would meet. Moreover, the captain of the 126 was not very fond of Gerrard, and Gerrard would have to stop his annoying harassment for a while. At least Buck would then have been able to work in peace as he saw fit... the way Bobby had taught him, not that stupid old geezer with his old-fashioned rules. However, he was convinced that Tommy was on the plane that had just made a loop above them and then turned west. For a second, he pondered whether it was worth rebelling against Gerrard, but then he thought of all the people who were still trapped and hurt, looking for help. Buck took a deep breath.

“All right,” he growled and jogged across the highway to the fire engine.

At least Tommy is having an exciting time.

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When Tommy spotted the swarm of bees, his mouth went dry.

He didn't know what he had actually expected, but the sight was... sobering. Not to mention scary, even from up here. Millions of bees formed a dense cluster that only frayed a little at the edges. It was an enormous cloud of insects that almost looked like a single animal; a huge, billowing monster moving towards the city.

Evan would have a better comparison for it, he thought briefly. But even his brave, extremely adorable boyfriend would probably freak out if he could see this. Tommy, in any case, sensed that only an adrenaline rush was keeping him from simply turning the plane around and leaving as quickly as possible. That, and his sense of duty. Damn it.

The swarm was now already close to one of the city's outskirts, a peaceful suburbia with neat terraced houses and cute gardens. Gardens that would soon be invaded by so many bees that every living being down there would be buried beneath them. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Tommy gripped the stick more firmly, lowering the machine a couple of feet.

These critters were already much too close to L.A. There had been warnings through the usual apps, but people were people. He knew there would be enough who hadn't noticed or were just too ignorant. Some of them would be hit by the chemicals, no doubt. And Tommy knew that theoretically that shouldn't bother him; he had a job to do. But only people like Gerrard would consider the consequences to be collateral damage. If Tommy released the biocide now, it would not only destroy the bees, but also cause a lot of damage in the pretty little gardens below him – and in the groundwater. A crazy idea formed in his head. There wasn't much time to make up his mind.

He pushed the controls down, added a little thrust and flew straight into the swarm.

It was a strange feeling, a bit like floating through cotton wool. The bees were briefly startled, but kept their pace. It wouldn't be enough to make them change course, and Tommy had to hurry – the longer he flew through the middle of the swarm, the more likely it was that they would sit on his windshields until he couldn't see anything. Or that too many of them would fly into the propellers until they clogged them and he would lose control. Tommy gritted his teeth. All or nothing, he thought, and waggled the wings to stir them up. Then he yanked the plane sharply to the left, flew a small loop, and glanced behind. The bees followed him; the cloud of insects, which had only briefly scattered, had reformed into a dense, angry mass, and they were on his tail.

Next target: Kinard, he thought. Off to the desert with you.

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That evening, as Buck unlocked the door to the loft, dirty and tired, he was greeted by an extremely pleasant scent. It smelled like... lasagna? He had barely closed the door when his stomach growled.

“Interesting greeting, Evan,” Tommy called to him from the kitchen counter.

Tommy, to whom he had given a copy of the keys to his apartment only two weeks ago. Buck's heart gave a happy little jump. He was also a little jealous, though, because Tommy was obviously freshly showered, and he felt like he had just come out of the garbage disposal. However... the sight of his boyfriend, with his hair still damp and slightly wavy at the ends, and apparently wearing one of Buck's T-shirts that stretched in all the right places... His throat tightened and he cleared it.

“My stomach's as happy to see you as the rest of me,“ he replied, and with two quick steps he was at Tommy, kissing him fondly while he glanced at the stove. Lasagna, definitely.

”Mmm,” Tommy purred appreciatively, ”ten more minutes. Maybe you want to change quickly? You kinda reek of oil.”

Buck groaned. “Gerrard had me do all the dirty work,” he complained, as he dropped onto a chair at the kitchen table. “That truck with the killer bees? It skidded because the driver – who, by the way, was very lucky to survive – was frightened by a spider in the cab. Can you imagine? The guy had millions of bees on board, and he freaked out because of a spider that had come right down on his nose.“

”You call me if you find a spider in the shower,” Tommy remarked as he stirred salad in a bowl.

“Because I find touching them gross. And because it's not right to just flush them down the drain. Did you know that spiders are very important to the ecosystem?“

”Hm. But I guess you would have been scared, too.”

“Maybe,“ Buck admitted. ‘Anyway, the guy swerved so hard that he caused a huge accident on the highway. Dozens were injured, it's a miracle that no one died. The trail of devastation stretched for a few miles across the roadway.’

”Including an oil slick, it seems to me,” Tommy teased him.

Buck raised an arm and smelled his armpits.

“Yuck. Yeah. Gerrard had me mopping up oil, securing the roadway, extinguishing tiny fires on the shoulder... I was lucky I could free four or five people from their cars before he sent me off to do some useless crap again.”

"The guy really has it in for you.”

“It's the medal,” Buck said, while he pushed a few of the carrot pieces, that Tommy had already cut but not yet added to the salad, into his mouth, ”He can't stand that I was decorated and he's been stumbling on the career ladder for forty years.”

“Hmmm,” Tommy went and quickly threw the rest of the vegetables into the bowl before Buck could contaminate them even more. ”That, or it's just because he's got a stick up his ass.”

Buck laughed briefly, then sighed. “It was a crazy operation, and I could have helped a lot more people. Tommy, I saw your plane for a second today. I bet you had a much more exciting day. A huge swarm of bees right under your plane, and you destroyed them all before they could wreak havoc on the city!”

The look he shot Tommy was admiring, and Tommy grinned. He thought about how he had almost peed his pants flying his plane in front of a giant swarm of aggressive bees, and that flying right into them had been a pretty crazy move. About the maneuver he had flown over the desert, that had almost cost him an engine because he had to try to get above the swarm again to release the biocide. He thought of the moment when a few of the killer bees had broken away from the collective and actually, as he had feared, settled on his cockpit windshield to narrow his view. And he thought about how the flap had jammed when he was directly over the swarm, how the sweat had run down his back and he could hardly breathe. How he had thought of the thousands of people who would be in danger if he didn't finish this; among them Evan.

“It wasn't that exciting,” he said modestly. ‘To be honest, dropping a few chemicals is a simple job, nothing to write home about. You should really take a shower, babe. After that, you can tell me more about Gerrard's exploits, okay?’

He leaned over to breathe a kiss just above Evan’s birthmark, and his smile was worth the little lie.

[hp-hcs]

(Fine, I’ll do it my damn self: part 5 of my silly lil mlm stories <3)

tmr is just babygirl i don’t make the rules

Watercolors (Chapter One) — tom riddle x male! artistic! hufflepuff! reader

he could manipulate and possess me thus irreversibly changing my trust in people despite it never being mentioned again and i would thank him

yk, i absolutely love chamber of secrets, but who starts a new diary (obtained under questionable circumstances) with ‘my name is’?

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tom Marvolo Riddle had been stuck inside of his diary since he was sixteen years old.

The diary itself, inside, was a perfect replica of Hogwarts, the boundaries stretching out well into the Forbidden Forest. Perfect, except for the fact that it was made solely of parchment and ink, and was completely devoid of color or life.

Tom hated the color of parchment.

The diary passed hands many times over the five subsequent decades. First there was the pathetic, sniveling man—the Malfoy sycophant—who all but groveled at Tom’s feet (metaphorically, of course).

Next was the littlest Weasley, the redheaded girl who bored Tom to (again, metaphorical) death. He could only pretend to be interested in how Dean Thomas held the door open for her so many times before he wanted to bash his head into one of the walls.

(He tried, once. The parchment just ripped and left him with a nasty paper-cut on his forehead. Tom missed the red of blood. Now, he bled only black, dripping ink.)

Then, Harry Potter, the boy fated to defeat him, (or whatever) who turned out to be really quite sweet. As a last fuck you to whom he became in the future, Tom aided Harry in coming out to the littlest Weasley’s mother.

That’ll show Lord Voldemort, the dipshit, Tom thought gleefully.

Eventually though, even lovely Harry became more distant, his newly rediscovered godfather being the rightful center of his attention. Tom supposed he might have been jealous of the acquitted Black in another life, but after fifty years of loneliness he understood the yearning for living, breathing friends rather than just paper that writes back, as Little Weasley once called him.

Then, out of nowhere, came the Hufflepuff boy with a tin of watercolors and an eye for the overlooked.

The first thing this wondrous creature made for Tom was a little stone cottage, complete with a warm hearth, a garden of pumpkins and berries, and an idyllic curl of smoke from the chimney. The cottage sat near the edge of the forest, wonderfully secluded and alive.

Tom had watched as gentle sweeps of a brush, suspended in midair, created a home. One that existed in both the physical diary and the hellish paper prison Tom resided in.

Everything existed.

The warm, brown thatched roof, the colorfully patterned bedspread, and even a fireplace.

When the masterpiece was complete, Tom, although he would never admit it, gorged himself on the garden’s sweet huckleberries and sour raspberries. Afterward, he explored his new house, even going so far as to stick his hand into the flames of the fire.

(They weren’t real. They felt like nothing more than a faint warmth against his skin. Disappointing, Tom supposed. But probably a safety hazard.)

Then he curled up in the big bed, under the vibrant bedspread, and closed his eyes.

For the first time in fifty years, Tom slept.

•••••••••••••••••��•••••••••••••••

Chapter Two

i need you all to know that the original title for this was “Tom Riddle is a man-whore(crux)??? (NOT CLICKBAIT)” so-

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: a little summery skjei family fic 🥰 nothing too crazy to talk about, but i’ve been having fun fleshing out all the little families and you’ll see the twins’ births at some point bc i had a fun idea for that! enjoy!

word count: 2k

tw: none

summary: it’s the first summer weekend in lakeville and brady just wants to grill, of course something always goes wrong

“Brady, I’m going to give the twins a bath,” you shout out, the wiggling almost one year olds trying their best to escape your grip. “Daph’s in the playroom.”

Your husband pokes his head back inside, grill tongs in one hand and a meat thermometer in the other. “Bath before dinner?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at the deviation from the usual schedule. You’ve been insistent on keeping the twins on a schedule, arguing it’s the only way to keep a little order in their first year of life. So the deviation is unusual.

Instead of answering, you turn so he can see the twins, completely covered in cocoa powder. They look like little Cockney chimney sweeps and Brady’s jaw drops slightly before he lets out a loud, unrestrained laugh.

“Bath before dinner,” you confirm wryly. You shift Millie up on your hip, heart lurching when she lunges for Brady with a cry of “Dada!” as if he’ll save her from her bath time fate. Easton’s more accepting of his fate, but he’s rubbing at the cocoa powder on his face and arms, getting you all dusty too. He grumbles when he licks at his fingers and realizes that the cocoa powder isn’t as tasty as actual chocolate.

“Definitely a good reason for the schedule change, sweetheart,” Brady grins, saluting you with the tongs. “I’ll keep an ear out for Daph.”

“I’ve got Bluey on in there,” you comment, tightening your hold on Millie as she fights you, legs kicking. “She should be good, but just so you’re aware.”

He nods and you traipse up the stairs, ready to do bath time battle with the twins.

Brady returns to the grill, the back door open so he can hear the faint sounds of Bluey and Daphne if she calls for him. It’s a gorgeous July night in Lakeville and you’re finally settled into summer mode after making the trek up from Raleigh. Brady’s been dying to get the new grill fired up, ready to start a summer of steaks and backyard get togethers with his family and your rotating crowd of guests. Unfortunately, it’s rained every day for the past week, making the entire Skjei household restless.

You’d given up yesterday, letting the three kids run wild around the backyard in the rain with the dogs. The mug and grass that had been tracked into the house was disgusting, but the big smiles on all the kids’ faces had been worth it.

Brady’s the last Skjei standing who hasn’t gotten to start his Minnesota summer checklist. You’d told him that he could grill in the rain if he really wanted to, but he’d complained that the first grill of the summer needs to be in sunny conditions.

Finally, thankfully, and just in time to save your marriage, the sun emerged on your fourth day in Lakeville and Brady had immediately packed up the kids to take them to the grocery store. They’d returned with steaks, a ton of veggies to grill, and of course, the makings of ice cream sundaes.

Seeing him so excited about the first summer grill had you excited too and you’d gotten ambitious, planning on making brownies from scratch for the sundaes. Of course, that’s when the Hurricane Twins got into everything and made a mess.

Brady’s happily humming to himself, settled on an Adirondack chair while he waits for the asparagus, onions, zucchini, and eggplant to grill. It’s the Fourth tomorrow, so he’s glad he got a chance to break in the grill before the big test, when you’re having the entire Skjei family over for a barbecue before heading down to the lake to watch the fireworks. The backyard is tidied up with all the kids’ toys organized and the tennis balls kicked into the designated dog toy bucket.

Speaking of the dogs, they’re both rolling around in the grass and are definitely going to need to be hosed down before being let back inside. Brady makes a mental note to handle that after dinner.

He gets the vegetables off the grill and into a disposable aluminum tray, covering them with tin foil to keep them warm while the steaks get carefully arranged on the grill with a satisfying sizzle. Brady grins at the immediate smell of cooking meat, flipping the lid of the grill down and tossing a stray tennis ball for Reese and Sully to chase.

It’s suburban quiet, the soft sounds of the neighbors in their own yards and the few cars going up and down the street providing a soundtrack to the July night.

Brady gets up and heads to the back door again, calling for Daphne. “Daph, baby, why don’t you come join me and the puppies?” He calls, making his way through the kitchen and into the playroom. It’s a mess, predictably, and Daphne is starfished on a fuzzy floor cushion, watching Bluey with slightly glazed over eyes. Her little bike shorts and Disney Princess shirt combo is covered in grass stains and a ketchup splotch from lunch. Brady grins at the sight of her, looking exactly like you when you’re exhausted and zoning out to a show.

He laughs and draws her attention. “Oh! Hi, Daddy,” she chirps. “Wanna watch Bluey me?”

Squatting down to ruffle her dark hair, Brady shakes his head. “I wish I could watch Bluey with you, but I have to finish making dinner. Do you want to come outside with me?” He asks, even as her attention is drawn back to the cartoon.

“No fank you, Daddy,” she replies absently, one bare foot kicking out in a stretch and clipping Brady’s knee. She lets her heel rest on his leg, wiggling her toes to the Bluey theme song. Brady laughs and pinches at her toes briefly before setting her foot back on the floor and standing up.

“You know where to find me if you need something, okay, Duck?”

“Mhm,” she hums in response, essentially dismissing Brady back to the yard.

“At least she’s polite,” he mutters to himself, heading back outside to the grill. He can hear the sounds of bath time upstairs, splashing punctuated by your shout of “Oh my god, Eastie! Don’t eat soap!”

With a wince and a silent thank you that he’s not in charge of bath time tonight, Brady slips back outside to man the grill. The back door shuts just slightly behind him.

The steaks are perfect, just a few minutes later and Brady loads them into the other disposable tray, ready to let them sit inside before cutting them up. He thinks about whistling for the dogs, to warn them not to follow him inside, but since they’re peacefully splayed out on the lawn, Brady figures it’s okay to try and sneak inside.

The door is fully shut when he reaches it, both disposable trays held on one arm. Brow furrowed, Brady tries the handle and mutters a curse under his breath when it doesn’t give.

Locked.

He leans his forehead against the glass pane, spotting Daphne right next to the door, one foot perched on the inside of her other knee, little fingers playing with PlayDoh on the countertop. Where the hell did she find PlayDoh?

It doesn’t matter, Brady shakes his head and knocks on the door. The sudden sound startles Daphne and she looks up, wide-eyed.

Brady smiles, just a little nervously, “hey, Daph. Baby, can you open the door for Daddy?”

She looks from his face to the door’s hardware as if it’s the first time she’s seeing it. Which is impossible, since she’s definitely the one who had to have flipped the lock to lock him out.

“How?” She asks, scrunching her fingers around the hot pink dough. Little pieces of it fall to the floor and Brady knows you’re going to flip when you see the mess. Especially when Daphne puts her foot down and steps right into it. He winces.

“See the lock, the gold piece,” he tries to point as best as he can with the glass in the way. “Flip that back the opposite way you did before.”

Daphne’s eyebrows scrunch together and her nose wrinkles. “I don’t know how!” She cries, starting to look nervous. “I didn’t do it!”

Brady sucks in a calming breath. The trays are hot against his forearm. “Okay, it’s okay. Can you go get Mommy and tell her I’m locked out?”

“Mommy’s with the babies,” Daphne shakes her head.

“I know,” Brady replies, shifting the pans on his arm. “It’s okay, go get Mommy. Or unlock the door, Daph.”

“I don’t know how!” She cries again and runs off, leaving Brady to thunk his head against the glass with a groan.

He puts the trays down on the table so his arm doesn’t burn and remembers that his phone is in the pocket of his shorts. He jabs at your contact information in the recent calls section and presses speakerphone, waiting for you to pick up.

Until he sees your phone on the kitchen island, vibrating across the counter.

“Fuuuuck,” Brady groans, ending the call and dialing the landline. He can hear it ring through the back door and when the line picks up, the squeaky little voice is too familiar.

“It’s Daphne, who calling?”

Brady barely manages to contain his groan. “Daph, honey, please put Mommy on the phone,” he says, making another mental note to have another conversation with Daphne about not answering the phone.

“Daddy!” She yelps delightedly. “How come on the phone?”

“Daddy’s stuck outside, remember?” He can’t help but laugh at the insanity of the situation. Through the glass, he can see Daphne skipping through the kitchen and disappear up the stairs while she chatters in his ear about nothing.

Brady leans against the side of the house, embracing the fact that he’s stuck outside and enjoying listening to Daphne chatter away. The next voice he hears is beyond welcome.

“Hello?”

“Sweetheart, oh thank god,” Brady breathes a laugh.

“Brady? Why are you on the phone?” Splashing and giggling echo down the line. “Mills, honey, please don’t splash Mommy.”

“Daph locked me out,” he replies, nearly drowned out by Millie’s shriek in the background.

You sound distracted when you ask, “she what?”

“Locked me out,” he confirms. “And couldn’t figure out how to unlock the door.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh, voice getting distant when you say, “Daffy duck, did you lock Daddy outside?”

Brady can hear Daphne’s high pitched giggle and a smile subconsciously turns his lips upward. “Can you come down and let me in? Dinner’s going to get cold.”

“I have two soaped up toddlers,” you scoff. “Settle that cute butt of yours in a chair and get comfy, Mr. Skjei. I need at least fifteen minutes to finish up here and get them dressed.”

“Mommy, Eastie’s throwin’ toys,” Daphne pipes up in the background and Brady hears you sigh before you end the call.

Brady tucks the phone back in his pocket and takes your advice, getting settled in the Adirondack chair again, whistling for the dogs to play fetch. Twenty minutes later, he hears the back door open and he turns his head to see your smiling face, Easton clinging to your neck, his hair damp and curling slightly around his ears.

“We’re teaching her how to unlock doors asap,” you giggle, stepping to the side so Brady can come inside with the disposable trays. He ruffles Easton’s hair and kisses the toddler’s forehead as he passes.

“I still can’t believe she did that,” Brady shakes his head, getting the steaks on a cutting board so he can start slicing. You move around the kitchen to set the table, Easton still clinging to your side. His little face is buried in your neck, one hand curled into the neck of your shirt.

“I guess she sees us do it?” You shrug and sneak behind Brady to snag a fatty piece of steak off the cutting board. You hum happily. “Grilled to perfection, as usual.”

Brady laughs and turns his head to kiss your cheek. “Let the Lakeville summer officially begin,” he proclaims dramatically, getting a laugh out of Easton.

[wow635]

Chapter 2!!! I’m debating on putting it on wattpad and ao3. Would that be something people would like?

I hear a knock on the bedroom door, I put the book down right away when I hear Harry’s voice from the other side of the door. “hey, you ready they should be here soon?” I put my book in my trunk and make sure everything else is in place and close it responding “I’ll be down in a moment”

I take one more look at myself in the mirror. And head down to the living room flopping down on the couch next to Harry.

The Dursleys muttered and grumbled amongst themselves, casting disapproving glances in our direction. Uncle Vernon's purple face twisted into a scowl, and he muttered something about the "freaks" that were about to arrive. Aunt Petunia hovered nearby, wringing her hands nervously.

Dudley, on the other hand, sat quietly on the couch, his expression a mixture of annoyance and the urge to head to the kitchen and eat some food most likely.

Me and Harry sit up straight when we hear banging and scraping from behind Mr Dursleys new electric fireplace. I flinch and close my eyes when I hear voices. This isn’t going to be good. “Ouch! Fred no—go back, go back, there’s been some kind of mistake—tell George not to— OUCH! No, there’s no room go back quickly and tell Ron—“

Harry laughs softly as we continue to listen to the commotion coming from the fireplace. Uncle Vernon's face is contorted in a look of horror, obviously terrified by the prospect of magic happening in his home. Aunt Petunia, on the other hand, let out a small gasp, her eyes wide as saucers as she wrung her hands nervously. Dudley, meanwhile, seemed to have left the room in a hurry.

« Mr Weasley? » me and Harry call out in union walking closer to the fireplace still giggling

The voices behind the fireplace abruptly stopped and there was a moment of silence before Mr Weasley's voice replied, "Ah, there you two are!" There was the sound of a muffled thump and a quiet "Ow!" before Mr Weasley continued,"Sorry about that, it seems like we've hit a bit of a snag with the Floo Network."

“No no, our uncle got a new electric fire place, you seem to be stuck behind it” I say stifling my giggles “Oh dear, back up you two I have an idea” Mr Weasley responded

Harry pulls me back and next thing I know the electric fire place goes flying across the living room, leaving behind a trail of soot and ash

I cover my mouth with my hands as Harry and I both laugh uncontrollably at the sight before us. The electric fireplace lay in pieces on the floor, amidst the soot that was now covering everything in the room. Uncle Vernon roared in anger, Aunt Petunia let out a scream, and Dudley was hiding behind the couch, looking absolutely terrified. Mr Weasley, looking rather embarrassed, stepped out from behind the fireplace looking like a chimney-sweep.

“Ah you must be Harry and y/n’s aunt and uncle” Mr Weasley says extending his hand to a now soot covered Mr Dursley

Uncle Vernon's face was turning a rather alarming shade of purple, and he glared at Mr Weasley with pure hatred. “Well I think we should be going kids” Mr Weasley laughs awkwardly noticing Mr Dursleys face

I nod still giggling “are your trunks ready” he asks

I nod, trying hard to contain my laughter while also trying not to draw any further ire from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. "Yes, sir, everything is all packed and ready to go," I manage to say. Mr Weasley nods in understanding, taking a moment to survey the room and the soot-covered Dursleys.

“They’re just upstairs” I respond “We’ll go get em” Fred and george say in union

“I'll come with you” I say walking toward the stairs with them on my tail.

As I climb the stairs with the two twins behind me, I can hear Uncle Vernon's heated words directed at Mr Weasley echoing from below."Magic, in my house! How dare you!And now look at the mess you've made!"

I giggle “oh he's such a hateful man” I say as I open the bedroom door

"Our mum always says the Dursleys are the worst sort of Muggles." George says As we step into the room, the twins immediately began surveying the place with curiosity and awe.

“Alright” I grab my trunk “that's Harry's over there”I say nodding my head towards his.

“We couldn't tell” George says sarcastically looking between mine and Harry's. I had decorated mine with rhinestones and bows

I roll my eyes and turn to see Fred inspecting my desk

"I must say, you've got some interesting taste," Fred said with a smirk as he picks up a makeup palette from my desk. He flipped it open and started examining the different colors, "I never would have pegged you for the sparkle and bow type. It's kind of cute, in a weird sort of way."

I blush a little but roll my eyes “Come on let's go before Dursley goes mad” I say begining to try and lift my trunk George laughs "Yeah, we wouldn’t want the old man to go senile just yet" he said with a mischievous grin. He grabbed my trunk "Don't worry about it, we've got this," he added with a wink. “Thanks” I say as Fred grabs Harry trunk and George grabs mine

We head down stairs back to the living room

As we make our way back downstairs, we're greeted by a scene of chaos. Uncle Vernon is still arguing vigorously with Mr Weasley, gesturing wildly and spluttering in anger. Aunt Petunia is beside him, wringing her hands nervously and looking like she's on the verge of tears. Dudley, however, seems to have disappeared, no doubt hiding in his room to avoid the madness.

“Alright kids, seems like we best be on our way” Mr Weasley say looking wearily at Mr and ms Dursley

I nod, a mix of relief and excitement filling me. The prospect of getting out of this house and away from the Dursleys was overwhelming. We bid a silent goodbye to the Dursley family and followed Mr Weasley back to the fireplace. As he sprinkled Floo Powder into the fireplace and stepped in with a clear The Burrow!' individually we are whisked away and transported into the Weasley family home, leaving behind the Dursleys and the chaos of Privet Drive.

I stumble out of the fireplace bumping into Fred feeling dizzy. Gods I’ll never get used to the floo network

I feel a pair of strong hands gently catch me and help me regain my balance. Startled, I looked up to see Fred standing there with a concerned expression on his face. "Woah, you okay there? You look at little pale" he said with a hint of worry in his voice.

“Yea we dont use floo much” I say holding onto his arms for balance. Once I become less dizzy I stop and stare at him for a moment as he stares at me. We realize and I quickly pull away

I ignore the butterfly’s in my stomach and try to shake off the feeling. It never gets easier I think to myself. All these years there��s been a tension between me and Fred, and I couldn’t help but develop a small crush on him.

For a moment, his gaze lingered on me.

The tension between us was palpable, something he couldn't deny. However, before either of us could say anything, Mr Weasley's voice shattered the moment. "Come on, kids, let's get you sorted with a room and settled in." The moment between us was gone, and we both turned away from each other, pretending that nothing had happened. But the tension still hung in the air, unspoken and heavy.

I smile as Ginny and hermione come bounding down the stairs. I open my arms for them. They throw their arms around me nearly knocking me off my feet “it’s been so long! We missed you!” Ginny squeals hugging me tightly

Hermione beamed at me “ I can’t believe you’re finally here! We have so much to catch up on!”

I give ms Weasley a hug and girls waste no time to rush me upstairs to Ginny's room

As Ginny and Hermione led the way up to Ginny's room, they chattered excitedly, their words tumbling out in a rush. Both girls speak rapidly, filling the air with the sound of rushed words and giggles. It seems as though their excitement overcame their ability to string together coherent sentences, their voices blending into a flurry of exhilaration.

Upon reaching Ginny's room, they ushered me inside and closed the door behind us, shutting out the rest of the world and enveloping us in the cozy haven of Ginny's space.

I drop onto Ginny’s be dramatically “ so catch me up on everything” I wiggle my eyebrows

Next chapter———>

[judesmoonbeauty]

Jude's Leg Strength & A Coal Mine?

Forgive this post as it is impromptu, but please humor me for a minute......I was driving home and thinking about Jude's legs (because that IS normal), and in particular about how much Cybird emphasizes their strength. Jude's always on the run, and everyone talks about how strong they are. Under the cut for minor spoilers.

Initially, I chocked it up to something along the lines of, "Well, in Dark IF he was on the run from people who were after him as a little kid, so it may be a hint for his main story as a little kid always on the run." And this may very well be the case.

But then I thought, well that's one possibility, what are some other ways he could've gotten such strong legs that would have to be developed over time. This is how my brain works:

Jude ➡ Strong legs ➡ He's a runner ➡ Running ➡ Running ➡ Running for work ➡ Work ➡ Work ➡ What kind of work? ➡ Courier? ➡ Nah ➡ Servant? ➡ Nope ➡ Chimney Sweep ➡ Chimney Sweep??? WTF? ➡ Ah, Fire ➡ Fire needs coal ➡ Jude's Coal mine ➡ Coal mine ➡ Coal mine ➡

JUDE WORKED IN A COAL MINE?

I got home and looked up 'coal workers in Victorian times' and found this (if you want to read it yourself).

Turns out that children were often employed to work in coal mines as:

Hurriers and Thrusters.

Young children tended to work in pairs pushing and pulling carts of coal together in narrow roadways, the hurrier would pull it, while the thruster pushed it. Older children and women did this task alone.

The tubs could weigh about 600 kg or 1,377 lbs. The height of the tunnels could be between 60-120 cm or 1.9-3.9 ft.

There were also other positions:

Trapper: Reserved for the youngest child in the family, they'd be responsible the entire shift to open and close the door to the mine.

Getter: Usually, this was for the strongest youth in the family or for males. They sat at the coal face with a pick axe and chipped away the coal bits.

The entire family would usually work together so they could make enough money. Typically, a child was eight years old when they started to work in the mines, but could be as young as five. From the photos, it looks like sheer backbreaking, eye-straining hell.

Ah, a law was put into place in 1842 that stated children under the age of 10 couldn't work in the mines, but what if the owner of the coal mine kept it a secret that he had children under that age working, or Jude may have been about 10 years of age (presuming upon Dark IF).

The Theory: Jude may have worked in the coal mines as a hurrier or thruster. It would definitely explain the incredible strength that he's built up in his legs, and consequently crushes people's jaws with so easily. Hmm, and it could explain why Jude has a coal mine or at least has the authority to send someone to a coal mine.

In the switch up story, Jude tells the thieves that he can either sell them or send them to slave away in a coal mine until they die.

Hahaha, wouldn't it be just like Jude to purchase the coal mine that he and his family may have been forced to work in when they were little, and then force the task masters and/or the owner of the mine to work in darkness until they were dead. That is not a stretch to me.

I mean, his family could've likely developed CWP or Black Lung Disease. True, asthma may have run in his family, but inhaling the dust over time would not only aggravate their pre-existing condition, but it would cause them to develop that illness as well. Couple that with weak and tired bodies, with no money for medicine......you get the picture.

Of course, this is just for fun and I could be totally wrong, but it was fun to think more about his past and how he developed such strength in his legs.

Okay, good chat everyone! Now, I'll go translate.

[picturesofthegoneworlds]

For one word prompts, I'm finally seeing some green in my garden again, so: Sage?

Oh, of course you know how to appeal to me. I hope this brings the vibes <3 ~

There was a variety of sage (still is, most likely) - sanctified – a herb that they would dry hanged from the rafters and tie into bundles like broomstick bristles, its own fibrous stem knotted in noose around the neck and ankles of the bale, burnt at the stakes and raised pitchforks to sweep away the wicked.

The smoke was what woke her, herbaceous floral distress signal, thrown through the open (paneless) window, accompanied by salt and circle.

They hoped to lure her out the front ‘door’ - she concluded with groggy post-dream clarity - strategized to trap her between saline force field and stone and mortar.

She stumbled over herself, gathered her few possessions. In time shorter the flames carpeted the threshing covering the floor, climbed into her bed to alight the straw stuffing the mattress, exorcised from there to cross exposed rafters to the mossy thatching comprising the roof-

She left through the vacant fireplace.

From a distance fled she observed the thick grapevine coiling of smoke as it billowed out above the forest canopy from a chimney that had crumbled decades ago.

Fire-licked masonry, tattered and scorched fabrics. Perhaps their malice left the cabin more befitting, well-suited, paralleled - outfitted in ash grey skin and soot ichor stains. The hunting party retreated but she could not return. She wondered who would take up residence in the hollow shell - as such a body must be an invite, must be a vessel (at least that was a lesson she was soon to learn) - but who would cohabitate with the spiders, birds, and other small mammals?

The thick smoke filtered through the pines

All of her grievances aside (packed away once again with her bedroll and cauldron), it smelt rather wonderful-

~

There was another sage (surely must be, still) - common - cultivated in window boxes and allotments, the leaves torn to marinade meats, to infuse healing balms, unbiased towards the dead or the living, transmuting itself for both in order to permeate soft tissue.

Laudna would grab handfuls of the silver-furred leaves; amass them in pocket-lint-lined-bundles of potpourri. Crushed the sage between her fingers, rubbed it on her pulse points, tied it with red twine dried in parcels of cheesecloth that she decorated around her person. Loose in her coin pouch, trinkets, her spell component satchel too, sewn into Pâté’s stuffing, flattened behind her belts and tucked into the front of her bodice and trampled in the soles of her shoes-

Never sure if it was necessity or in her head, not like when she wore flushing and sweating flesh, saturated, awkward teenager dealing with the stubborn stench of puberty or drenched in the fragrance of a farm-girl-butcher’s-daughter composting straw manure and coagulated pigs’ blood –

-not the perfume of The Ladies, certainly, refined with their age, aged mahogany liquor barrel vintage sophisticated palate, finery of silks satin lace velvet layers stored in lacquered marquetry hardwood armoires and mausoleum-sized wardrobes, aired in gilded vase and bouquet’ed marble surroundings, chandeliers ornately framed paintings in alabaster hallways-

She would feel rather self-conscious of it; of her differences - but continued her play with the worms in the forest regardless.

Then, for a short time, she slept with them.

Or rather, she woke to fall onto a heap moving with them, dancing drunken room-spin carpet shag pile of maggots and flies and mosquitoes and pillows of other larvae unidentified, turning familiar faces into fertiliser.

She was not sure if it was the memory, or the actual (un)working order of things

Permanently rotting 

Hard to smell past the end of a decomposing nose

Perhaps it wasn’t so hard to tell for others?

Every time she passed the plant she filled her pockets and hands - ironically unaware of how time had stilled, that she was embalming herself - hoping it would fight the trauma-ever-present smell, that she could throw off the(ir) scent.

~

There is a sage that blooms violet throughout the summer - wild - like early humid evenings with head thrown back in laughter and perspiration jeweling tanned neck, clouds underlit and voluminous as purple-sunset tousled hair.

Imogen points it out with inquisition; at the gatherings of spears of blossoms lanced into soil growing not far from the bank of a river in the sun-bleached and crunching-under-foot tall grasses of an open field.

Seeds from dried out flower heads are carried along the docile breeze, ashes falling in hazing-heat ground fog, smithing dandelion diamond rings to decorate the fingers of the willows that lazily wave, bid farewell to the jewellery that doesn’t fit, allowing it to marry elsewhere between clumps over the grass and charms accumulated at the banks of the gently moving river.

“D’ya know what this is? Smells good.”

She kneels down with her palm held open to the purple blooming sage, presentory, skin offering the tan lines above her knees exposed from the displacement of the tops of her tall leather boots, a dandelion seed catching in the mass of her mane like a feather, her hand not designated to indicating specimen shading above one of her eyes squinted shut and the corner of her mouth raised baring teeth as she looks to Laudna with the midday sun over her shoulder.  

It’s a bit overwhelming, the life and the bliss it elicits.

Laudna walks the few paces over to her, gives a quick inspection with the cast of her shadow.

Smiles in familiarity, nods to the plant in greeting

“Would you like to try it?”

Imogen starts the fire, uses the abundance of dried grasses as kindling. It smells just like the burning cottage had, does so every time. Laudna prunes the wild sage, gathering toothed leaves and small violet petals into her wicker basket, rolls the fragranced stems between the pads of her fingers and inhales, implores the herbal scent to momentarily mask the memory of deterioration as it once had. Imogen sets up the frame for hanging the cauldron, drives the iron spikes into the dry ground, fills it from the river, has to submerge her hand into the gathered water, fingers tweezers removing errant dandelion parachutes that she wipes onto her gauzy dress skirt, skin glistening with the cascading droplets that intuitively follow the scarring of her lightning marks and drip onto the floor, where a lizard with skin like stones flees under the weave of the trodden grass once her footfall returns, retreats for safer ground. Laudna questions whether it will turn to watch the fire or let instinct tell it to keep running-

“You’re quiet…”

Imogen states, offers a softened and upturned corner of her mouth.

Another feather of an airborne seed lands in her hair. A warning arrow shot through the window and puncturing her pillow, innards flying-

“I seem to be having a reflective day, sorry.”

 “Anythin’ you wanna share?”

Imogen wears her empathetic apology in her brow, strained, and Laudna isn’t sure of how legible abstract memories are to her, if the furrow is from an attempt at unknotting the tangles, mostly it feels a weight too unquantifiable to know what to share with intention.

“Not now. I think this is good, something new.”

Present is good, a gift, shared (willingly, in part).

“I don’t dislike it…”

Imogen declares, staring into her cup as she swirls its contents under inquisitive-eyed assessment.

“It sounds like you are warming up for a caveat there.”

She pauses, holds the pottery between her hands on her lap.

“I’m not, s’just new. Tea back home was mostly black and made with lemons and alotta honey or sugar; was cold if the occasion were special-” she tucks her hair behind her ear as her eyes read the pattern of the blanket they had laid over the floor. Laudna wonders if there were birthday parties on picnic blankets out in the paddocks, waited by her father, Imogen and her childhood friends drinking sweet tea and running around in daisy crowns “-I guess we had other teas, but they were more for if y’all were sick?”

She doesn’t like to think of that.

The birds and the crickets carry on their background accompaniment, Imogen's hand returning to the other cradling the cup. Laudna feels as though she can see the slow turn of the skin on her exposed thighs from bronzed tan to sun-kissed red, convinced she is observing the freckles multiplying.

“This one is supposed to be good for anxiety.”

Imogen scoffs, it causes a nearby bird in the brush to scatter

“Yeah? Well I’ll report back on that - maybe we should take more with us just in case.”

Laudna laughs agreeably, enthusiastic. She knows how to make plenty of room for sage.

To follow the tea she also makes them a salad with the plant’s greens; a field-foraged thing prepared with borage and dandelion leaves, fleshed out with wild strawberries, a little olive oil and a little cider vinegar, served in a wooden bowl. 

finishes the assemblage with an intentionally random flecking of the wild sage's violet petals, as though the bowl is a miniature diorama of the meadow in which they sit, olive oil babbling brook and cast iron fork fallen-tree bridge ready to present on a plinth, garden plans proposed by the landscaper in the study to a snooty gent stroking his chin and um-ing and ah-ing -

the hidden door that was disguised behind ornate wooden panelling, adjoining the ransacked and emptied floor to ceiling shelves of the study via dark stone corridors to the equipped and practical, cell-like laboratory- 

She thinks that was the layout, at least - worries who she will rouse if she thinks too hard on it. There is comfort in the answer being left immaterial.

“All’a those times I was sittin’ in fields of flowers, I never really thought I could be eatin’ them.”

It is so nice to have someone she adores break up her ruminations.

“You had a lot of quality produce, there wasn’t really the need.”

"I guess not. Honestly, I think I prefer the salad to the tea." 

Imogen licks her teeth, reveals a violet petal plastered over incisor that she shortly removes with a blade-of dry-grass toothpick, re-places the petal on the flat of her tongue, rolling it around her mouth and swallowing it. 

Laudna stares.

"You like the flowers?" she finds herself leaning towards Imogen. Wants to tell her that for years this one was her perfume - pomanders adorned and concealed in tattered layers.

“They’re purple, ‘course I do.” she giggles, resting sat cross-legged with her weight behind her on her palms. Her head rolls towards Laudna, leaves their foreheads almost resting against one another, Laudna able to count each individual eyelash.

Purple, like the deep undertones of her hair. That much Laudna was very aware of.

“I should have guessed that that would be what caught your attention.” She brings her hand up and wraps her bony index finger in a ringlet of Imogen's hair.

“More like your magic, I was thinkin’…” She drawls, tenor lowered and breathy. 

“And the taste?”

Imogen visibly swallows, cheeks flushing a further tint than what the sun has already given - it makes Laudna feel overly aware of the networking of her own heart and veins.

Imogen clears her throat

"’s’good - kinda familiar."

Laudna feels overwhelmed by the compelling need to kiss her - so she does. Her hand with finger still tied in ringlets of hair sprawling over Imogen's chest as she responds with a squeaked moan that reverberates underneath it. Her lungs halt in their expansion as her mouth is sealed with her own, the increasing pulse at the base of her neck decipherable carved runes under the tip of her fingers, her heart thudding against her palm.

Familiar. Laudna can muse on that in the future, certainly.

She sits back from Imogen - already breathless and chest heaving, lips kiss-swollen - and appreciates the sight she helped curate; the picture of her looking a little dazed on their tartan blanket with the surrounding flora densely reaching above her shoulders, crowned in multi-coloured paint strokes.

“Familiar? And here I thought that was your first time eating a flower.”

Causes her to blush furiously

“Don’t you use ma’words against me.” She pushes Laudna playfully at her shoulder, pretends to look away in dissatisfaction, bottom lip pouting.

“I apologise, that is your advantage to keep. My words are but humble ammunition for your armoury.” Laudna exaggeratedly plays acting pious at Imogen’s half-turned back, Imogen turning back to her with one eyebrow raised and a laugh she is clearly trying to keep within her stomach murmuring at the corners of her lips.

"That so? Well alright, how would y’all describe it?" 

She puffs out air towards her head, hairs previously put behind her ear falling back out of (or into, depending on which of them you ask) place, sits forward again, arms folded. Adorable. Laudna is aware of how susceptible Imogen is to her teasing, always so charming and charismatic, and so often a bumbling mess - and it is intoxicating - to exercise any sort of outcome on such a gifted sorceresses’ disposition, is doing her best to learn what the differences and distinctions are between that and her own longer ongoing situation…

Focus.

Despite the more imposing associations, she can still remember

Can still remember her father butchering the pig, her mother in the kitchen slicing its fatty flesh into patchwork diamonds, stuffing the incised indents with sage and garlic and other seasonings, the slab of flesh tied with butcher’s twine around a whole peeled onion and roasted, skin crackling, the three of them sat around the oak table, talking about the small things, Laudna's mother showing off the basket Laudna had weaved that day, presented like a cornucopia on the kitchen table top, holding that weeks offering of vegetables.

She would describe it as herbaceous, sweet, and floral. Peppery, perhaps like a minty aniseed. Earthy. Mulchy. Rich as the soil it grew from. Could also admit to it being 'like the first home I'd made burning down, like the incense I'd crush between my palms and rub behind my ears so as to not offend any people who would be so kind as to get close enough to notice the death’

what she does say is

"nostalgic." 

not a lie - though she hopes in futures she won’t be drowned marinating in it, the complex layering of all of the ingredients and flavours, hopes one can remain dominant, bountiful and nourishing.

Imogen there, seen over the end of a nose that did not rot and fall off. She’s sure that it can change.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

👑👑👑👑👑👑👑 Chimney my beautiful Cinderella here to sweep Prince Charming off her feet

🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮 CRANBERRY ILYILYILY

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️buddie wedding don’t be a disaster escape the tv drama curse

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸 BAD DECISIONS EDDIE I AM WATCHING THROUGH MY FINGERS

💐💐💐💐💐💐💐💐 May don’t fight the feelings you got thissss

HEY!

Yesss Chim IS Cinderella! Like it's IN THE NAME.

21 for👑:

---

 He knows he’s running short on time. He doesn’t want to disrespect Bobby’s incredible generosity by showing up late. But he can’t quite help himself from stepping forward and kissing Maddie again. 

This time, the kiss is longer and a bit more heated. More confident. He can feel the tips of her manicured nails press into the back of his shoulders a little. 

Chim could stay here forever. He wants to stay here forever. 

But he’s on a curfew. 

He pulls away again. “I really do have to go.”

Maddie nods, a little breathless. “I’ll see you soon?”

“God, I hope so.”

She smiles and squeezes his hand reassuringly. 

“Then go. Have a good rest of your shift, Chimney.”

“Have a good rest of your night, Maddie. And, uh, Happy New Year.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think it is.”

---

Sorry in advance that the next sentences are my first draft at Cranberry-verse smut (kinda?)

33 for 🦮:

---

“I can stop,” Buck offers.

On the screen, he sees Eddie give a very quick little shake of his head. No. He doesn’t want Buck to stop. 

Buck’s stomach is somersaulting. They’re really going to cross this line, then. Trample over the normal order of things that they might have followed, had they gotten that long-awaited date.

“I think you should do something to make yourself feel better,” Buck suggests, more breathless than he expected to sound. 

“Yeah?” 

Eddie shifts his position a little.

“I think you deserve it,” Buck continues. 

“This is crazy,” Eddie murmurs. 

“Do it anyway.”

Eddie shifts again, switching his phone from one hand to the other. Buck can imagine the other reaching down, snaking beneath his waistband. He feels very warm all of a sudden. Eddie takes a deep inhale as he starts stroking himself, and even translated via FaceTime, the effect is overwhelming on Buck. He feels a pulsing need in his own crotch. 

“God,” he mutters. “I wish I was there.”

“I wish it was you,” Eddie breathes.

Buck wets his lips with his tongue. He’s nervous. More nervous than he’s ever been with this sort of thing.  Because it’s a man. Because that man is Eddie. Because it’s been a while. Because it’s finally, finally, the exact kind of meaningful that he’s always wanted, deep down. He doesn’t know. But he wants to get this right.

“I would take good care of you, if I was there,” Buck promises. 

Eddie’s eyes flutter open and closed, heavy-lidded and dreamy. 

“I’d take my time,” Buck continues.

---

Uhhhhh definitely NO drama AT the wedding? However...

18 for ⚡️:

---

Their next call is to the scene of a fire. 

This should not be especially eventful, considering that they are firefighters and all. And, for the drive there, it isn’t. The transit process? Just fine. 

It’s the rest that sends Buck into a tailspin. 

He spends the ride seated next to Eddie, thighs touching. They’re back being partnered together. Sadie earned her shield a couple months back, and has been working as Ravi’s partner since. Buck is pretty proud of her - and himself, for training her. He liked working with her a lot. But he’s happy to be back where he belongs, in terms of workplace duos. 

Buck and Eddie - okay, mostly Buck - talk everyone’s ear off about the house for the time it takes them to get to the fire. They should possibly be a little less giddy headed towards an actual three alarm fire, but at that point, Buck thinks his mood simply can’t be shaken. How naive. 

It is perhaps due to this focus on the house, which is nowhere near the direction they’re headed in to get to this fire, that Buck doesn’t realize what is in the direction of the fire. In his defense, neither does anyone else! Not even Eddie! Even Bobby, who knows better where they’re going, doesn’t put the pieces together. 

---

It may not go the way you think for Eddie!

15 for 🩸:

---

When Eddie wakes, it’s to the din of Buck trying to be quiet. He’s not an especially quiet person, especially in spaces where he’s relaxed. Maybe months searching vampire spaces covertly have improved those tendencies, but that doesn’t seem to apply to this morning. Buck treads heavily on the hardwood floors, shuffling to change into sweats before joining Eddie in bed. 

Eddie is bone tired. He doesn’t know why last night’s confrontation has taken so much out of him. Certainly, he’s accomplished far more exhausting feats recently. Dealt with much worse. But he feels like he’s been hollowed out, nonetheless. Yet, beyond all that, there’s a sense of stillness. Like some wriggling, writhing dark thing in him has been surgically extricated. The decision he has made has stamped it out. And while the process has exhausted Eddie, he feels liberated. 

It doesn’t matter what he is. He’s going to find a way to live a life that he can be proud of.

---

24 for ��:

---

“What?” April demands, when she catches May looking out of the corner of her eye. 

“Nothing,” May insists. “Nothing at all.”

“Look, I know I suck,” April sighs. “I’m not an artist!”

“I didn’t say anything!” May protests.

“I played clarinet in high school! I never took an art class I wasn’t forced to take.” April continues. 

May raises an eyebrow. “Well, you seemed happy enough when I suggested the idea for this paint night.”

April shrugs. There’s a smudge of blue across her right hand, and when she lifts it to scratch her head, a little bit of that transfers to her forehead. 

“You seemed like you wanted to do it, so…”

May flushes. 

“I find painting fun,” she admits. 

“Anything is fun when you’re good at it.” April points out. 

“I’m mediocre at best,” May corrects. 

April rolls her eyes. “Well, you’re the second best here.”

“Second best?”

[gigagendergt]

NEW NOIR ROBOT G/T STORY LET'S GO

as of right now this is untitled. let me know if i should continue it!

The sun was orange in the smoke-haze of the slum chimneys by the time J-8 arrived at the crowded turnstile-filled entrance of the cellblock apartment building on Eleventh street. He, as always, brushed past the fee gates with impunity. The light on the turnstile he passed was broken and the bar only reached up to his thighs, but it still cranked its way in a jarred circle to let his metal lower half through.

The place was crawling with humans and they eyed him in suspicious tones or let out breath through their noses or, in one man's case, spit flavored tobacco on the floor as he passed by. Saffron and anise. The elevator was broken so he took the stairs as always, stepping up three at a time. The low ceilings of the place weren't up to code and he took care not to brush the metal lobe of his crown against the ceiling lest it damage it and cause one of the above occupants to fall through.

Everything human-built was fragile. If he was found of comparisons he might say it was like living with paper dolls in paper houses, but it had been Stell who came up with that one.

He arrived at the door a little past ten pm. It was painted a sad, peeling yellow. Stell's roommate Neely answered the knock. He was high and the smoke rolled past J-8 into the hallway. Behind Neely three or four others lay sprawled on blankets on the floor, watching the sticky TV screen. As Neely spoke they looked over. One, a girl with long blonde hair rolled into makeshift rag curlers, stood up violently at the sight of J-8.

"Oh, shit," Neely said. "Yo." He tried hard to extinguish the blunt he'd been smoking.

"It's fine, Neely," J-8 said.

"What the fuck is that doing here," the girl with the curlers shrieked.

"Hey," Neely said, raising his voice. "Chill. This is Stell's guy."

The girl grabbed a pastel pink bag from the counter and shuffled towards the window, keeping her body hunched towards the door in a suspicious C-shape.

"Hey, what the fuck," the man next to her said-- he was skinny, all angles and lines-- "that's a bot."

Neely looked back at them, looked back at J-8. His ineptitude was almost endearing. "Yeah," he said.

J-8 moved forward and Neely shuffled out of the way, cramming himself against the humming refrigerator. The room wasn't large and J-8 wasn't small and he had to move at unnatural angles to avoid touching Neely, whose heart rate had jumped at the sudden intrusion.

"I just need to talk to Stell," J-8 said.

"Well, fuck, man," Neely said, ducking under J-8's bent knee, "I'll go get her. Jesus. Betta, C-line, Mono, dip out the fire exit. We can chill on the roof."

The blonde ran over to the window and hauled it open, crawling out onto a metal terrace. As her bare feet vanished the skinny man glanced back at Neely.

"Yo," he said, "you good?"

Neely waved his hand frantically in the man's direction.

"All right," the man said, and followed the blonde. The last human, an androgynous figure with ripped-up jeans and a hook nose, stared at J-8 for a charged half-second before they moved to exit.

He ran records, ticking through the mental files. Mono. The alias rang a bell. A few counts of drug possession, distribution, forgery. J-8 had legal right to detain them but doing so would damage his relationship with Stell and he needed her more than he needed a petty conviction. Besides, drugs weren't this thing, or his AI's. He hadn't turned a dealer in for fifteen years.

Neely hobbled over the crowded floor to a thin stairwell: grabbed a tall orange bong with one hand as he went, stooped to sweep a few buds into his pocket with the other, and almost tripped over a number of ancient analog cassette players, which he collected. He vanished out of sight as he ascended the stairwell, and J-8 heard him rap on an unseen door and the answering creak of it opening. Stell emerged a few seconds later, Neely trailing behind.

She was descending the stairwell slower than usual and J-8 immediately clocked the broken rib she'd tried to hide by packing herself into a tall corset. It was looser than it should be, for one thing, and for another she was using it to immobilize her upper body, taking the corset's structure as support when she shifted side to side. She'd scrubbed off most of her makeup but streaks of black remained around the eyes where, J-8 knew, the cheap stick liner street girls wore lingered. J-8 connected Neely's earlier anxiety as his presence to Stell's injury and began redrafting his approach. Humans were complicated at the best of times. Scared and injured they were nigh unpredictable.

"All right," Neely said, waving his arms toward J-8 as Stell settled onto the floor and leaned back against the wall. "Have fun. Scream if you need me."

"Yeah, yeah," Stell said, pushing her palms against the linoleum and shuffling herself a bit higher so her back was flush against the cheap wallpaper.

Neely turned to head out the window and Stell watched him, pursing her lips. It wasn't until he shut the glass behind him that she turned to J-8.

"What do you want, big boy?" she asked. J-8 shifted, tucked his metal limbs into a cross-legged full lotus position.

"There's a new striker," he said. "Killed six in the past 48 hours."

Stell scoffed. "Well I know jack about that. Sorry."

"I know," J-8 said. "I came to hear about the humans."

Stell considered him with soft brown eyes.

"What about the humans?" she asked flatly.

"Did you know them, are there rumors, where did they live, who were they, what drugs did they take, why'd they sell out?"

"No I didn't know them, yes to the rumors, they lived out in the- well, two lived out in the brick building by Central, and the other lived I think over in Newsom, something like that- what were the other questions?"

"Who were they?"

"Oh, you know, street drags. One guy sold TV's. I think the girl was a busybody or something. I dunno about the big guy. Don't you have record for this stuff?"

"Had," J-8 said. "they got wiped."

"All of them?"

"Just the sellouts."

Stell let out a burst of laughter, then winced. "Fuck. That's funny. You got a rogue one huh?"

"It happens."

"Yeah, it sure fucking does."

J-8 inclined his head.

Stell yawned. "Fuck," she said. "Stinks in here."

J-8 said nothing.

"Are you gonna bust Neely?"

J-8 shook his head. "I don't do drugs."

"Oh, I forgot, you're a bleeding heart."

"I'm a tactician. Weed is harmless. Strikers aren't."

Stella pressed her lips into a suspicious line. "Except at the facility, right?"

"I don't have time for this, Stell."

Stella considered him, and some of the tension on her body eased. J-8 heard the smokers outside laugh through the thin wall of the apartment.

"I don't know," Stella said, pulling a thin glass vial from her pocket and smearing a white liquid onto her mouth with a finger. "That's the truth. Just what I told you already."

J-8 inclined his head. "Two in Central, one in Newsom, street drags, TV's, busybody."

"Yeah, that's about it."

J-8 pushed his weight up, unbound his legs. "Thanks, Stell. I'll check it out."

"Wait," Stell said. He paused. She leaned forward, rocked onto her feet with a wince, and slowly straightened.

"Knock 'em dead, cowboy," she said, and hobbled over to kiss his cheek. He permitted the action in tense silence, hyperaware of her broken rib, the fact she used sex as a connection to the unattainable, the way her infatuation with him would have to be discouraged if not broken entirely for her own safety.

She pulled back and he let his eyes drop to her rib. "I'll send a doctor by this afternoon," he said. "Confidential. No questions asked."

She sighed. "Fine. Be that way. I'll get you sooner or later."

J-8 left without commenting. It wasn't until he reached the stairway that he allowed himself to put a hand to his cheek and feel the metal chip she'd stuck there using her own saliva and, he'd guess, a sterile glue. It would have to be probed for malware before he could decipher it. He dropped his hand, tilted his head, sent one of his remote drones to monitor the apartment until his next return. That was a level of theatrics humans only went to when they felt unsafe. She must have stored the waterproof chip under her tongue for the duration of the conversation.

Smart girl, Stell. He would have to keep an eye more than usual. Smart and risky, and humans had a way of getting themselves killed.

[bloofinntoona]

"Our Last Kiss Tasted like Cigarettes"

PART 1 Word Count: 676

Themes: fluff, a little angst, sebastian sallowxf!reader

Summary: Story based on Utada Hikaru's First Love

最後のキスは

タバコのflavorがした

ニガくてせつない香り

Our last kiss tasted like the cigarette A sad and bitter fragrance

Sebastian Sallow has always had a keen interest in fire spells. They are as powerful as they are beautiful, he said. Whenever Sebastian accompanied you to battle your enemies, you wouldn't be surprised to see flames dancing around the field. You couldn't deny that you were terrified of the heat when he first taught you Confringo, his favorite spell, but now you found comfort whenever you are near the element. Perhaps it reminded you of the freckles that adorned his face, his soft chestnut locks, and his dark brown eyes - a certain Slytherin boy that has been occupying your heart ever since you transferred to Hogwarts in your first year. You never saw yourself as a romantic, you didn't believe about 'the one' or 'love at first sight', yet the connection you shared with Sebastian was significantly different. The moment he opened up to you, about his parents and Anne, you made a promise to yourself that you would keep him away from harm.

It was not as easy as you thought. Rationally speaking, Sebastian was as stubborn as a rock. His ambition to cure his sister became his downfall. The death of Solomon Sallow shook him to the core. Anne was right, the guilt of casting a Killing Curse to his own family member was punishing enough for a teenage boy. You kept your promise though, even though you couldn't change the past, you always made time for him, lending your shoulder to cry on whenever nightmares haunted Sebastian.

One Saturday afternoon in your seventh year, you received an owl from Sebastian, proclaiming that he had made an innovative advancement to the Confringo spell, and he asked you to see it firsthand in the Undercroft. The hideaway reeked of smoke, and charred wood planks and ashes littered the floor. You shook your head at Sebastian, who was beaming with joy, despite the singed robes and spots of ashes on his face. "Come here!" he gestured.

You positioned yourself in front of him, readying your wand and pointing the stick at a stack of boxes across the room. A gasp left your lips when you felt his hand resting on your waist, pulling you close, your back flushed against his chest - sometimes you had forgotten how tall he grew. "Just focus on the target, and imagine a ball of fire blasting through it." he leaned in, his hot breath fanning your ear.

Perhaps you were too nervous to actually focus on the spell, resulting in a massive fire ring erupting around you and Sebastian. Your eyes widened as your satchel caught in flame. "Glacieus!" you immediately cast, freezing the bag.

"Godric's balls - I swore it worked when I tried it," he shrugged, walking closer to you, "are you alright?"

"I'm fine," you nodded, "my bag is destroyed though... I guess Reparo will fix it."

He bursted in a giggling fit when he saw your face, and you immediately reached to feel your brows - thankfully they are still intact, "what is it?" you asked in annoyance.

"Did you just get a job sweeping chimney?" his hands cupped your ash-covered face.

"Ha-ha. The same goes to you, Sebastian." You mirrored his action, your thumb stroked his cheeks, wiping the ashes.

You started to notice how warm and red his cheeks were. You didn't know what had gotten into you, or maybe someone had slipping Felix Felicis into your tea this morning, you decided to make your move. You stood on your tiptoe, bringing his face close, and planted a chaste kiss on his lips. Your head was spinning in panic and embarrassment, scared that you had misread his signals and ruined a treasured friendship. Your doubts immediately disappeared when Sebastian pulled you back into his arms, deepening the kiss. The flavor of chamomile tea and a hint of ash filled your mouth. You tried to turn your head slightly, clumsily bumping your nose against his. You felt Sebastian chuckle into the kiss, taking this moment to slip his tongue inside.

Your first kiss wasn't perfect, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

A/N: I had outlined a whole fic based on this song... But I caught a bug and I wanted to get this first part off my chest LMAO. Will write more soon!

[ginger375]

LUtober Day 28: Spooky

See the full collection on AO3.

A dark and stormy night wasn’t uncommon, as nights tend to be dark and occasionally stormy, but nine bedraggled heroes would have preferred to travel by the light of day with clear skies above them.

Unfortunately, the portal that dumped them in a forest in the middle of the rain in the middle of the night clearly didn’t care what they wanted.

Hours of trekking through the wet forest in the dark left the group grumpy and all but dead on their feet as they attempted to locate a suitable place to rest for the night. They were most ready to just sleep where they stood when they reached a clearing and a small house in the center.

“An abandoned house in the middle of the woods. Not suspicious at all,” Four mused.

“This place looks extra spooky,” Wind commented.

“It’s probably full of Poes,” Legend offered.

“It’s full of what?!” Hyrule cried.

Time chuckled more in exhaustion than amusement.

“Can we go in? I’ve never seen a Poe,” Wild asked.

“Me neither,” said Sky.

“You’re not missing much,” Twilight deadpanned.

“You all can stand out here getting more drenched if you want, but I’m going inside,” Warrior said as he headed for the door. The hinges were rusty, creaking as Warriors pulled it open. “Hello?” He called out, but there was no response.

“Is it dry at least?” Time asked.

“Looks like,” Warriors turned and waved his companions in. The younger of their party bolted for the door while the older trudged in utter relief.

A larger open living area with a stone fireplace took up most of the space past the front door. After a check for blockages in the chimney and a sweep of the area, the group changed into dry clothes, spread out bedrolls, and got a fire going. The second floor was checked and the house determined safe. One by one, the heroes nodded off, exhaustion claiming each of them.

***

Between one breath and the next, Wild went from sound asleep to wide awake. Without moving his head, he looked around to see what had woken him up. In front of him he could see Sky, Four, and Wind asleep in a pile, with Legend and Hyrule near them. Wild lifted his head and looked behind him to eye Twilight, Warriors, and Time. No one moved and all he could hear was the sound of breathing and the crackling of the fire. So what had woken him?

Creeeeeeeek

Oh, the creepy sound from upstairs. That made sense.

Wild grabbed the slate as he got up and tip-toed across the room, taking care not to wake his brothers. He paused at the bottom of the rickety staircase, listening for the noise again.

Hee hee hee!

He heard a childlike giggle instead.

A shiver ran down Wild’s spine. As much as he'd like to go back to sleep, he was certain sleep wouldn’t come without investigating. So he took careful steps up the stairs, peeking up into the loft as he neared the top.

It was as empty as the rest of the house had been.

Climbing the rest of the steps, Wild stood at the top of the stair for a moment and listened again. When no sounds came, he walked further into the space. He peered at the corner of the room when something touched his foot.

Wild jumped and swatted at his ankle, thinking a rodent had gotten too close, but there was nothing. He looked around again, thinking he would at least hear a rat scurrying on the wooden floor. Again, nothing.

“Must have been dreaming or something,” he muttered to himself and turned to go when he felt a tug on his pony tail.

He whipped around to see the culprit, but only saw darkness. His heart was pounding and his palms were starting to sweat.

A hand on his shoulder had him nearly jump out of his skin.

“Shhh, it’s just me,” Wind whispered.

“What the hell?!” Wild hissed. “Don’t do that!”

“Sorry.”

“What are you even doing up?”

Wind shrugged. “Heard you get up, thought I’d come see her too.”

Wild had no idea what the sailor was talking about. “See who?”

“Let your eyes kinda unfocus and just watch that corner,” Wind said, pointing to the farthest corner.

Wild did as asked and was about to ask what Wind was playing at, when he thought he saw a dim light flicker for a second. He gasped and turned to Wind. “Is it a Poe?”

“No, it’s just a spirit. She doesn’t mean us any harm.”

“How do you know?”

“Because a Poe would have attacked us already.”

“Oh.”

Wind pulled a feather out of his pocket and placed it in the middle of the room before turning back to the stairs. Wild tilted his head in question.

“It’s nice to leave them something when you’re in their space.”

Wild took the slate and skimmed his inventory. He summoned a small opal that shone with many colors below its surface. He added it to Wind’s feather before joining the boy at the top of the stairs. He would have to pick the sailor’s brain about this in the morning.

Come dawn, nothing remained in the loft.

[thesugarclubs-blog]

Mirror Mirror - AU Bucky Barnes x OC

warnings: reverse snow white au, fairytale au, snow white Bucky & princess OC, pure fluff

word count: 9k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1381215967-mirror-mirror-florence

Masterlist

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far far away, nestled deep within the tall evergreen trees sat a small stone cottage.The roof was made of wood and straw with a garden of wild flowers lining the dirt pathway heading towards a large wooden front door. White smoke billowed from the chimney and the smell of fresh apple pie wafted through the forest with the faint sound whistling. 

A man spun by the open window, singing softly to himself as he moved the broom over the grey stone floor. James smiled softly as a small chickadee landed on his shoulder and whistled along with him. 

“Do you mind? I have to finish sweeping while dinner rests! The boys will be home from work soon,” he commented, using one hand to take the small bird onto his finger and set him onto the window sill. 

With a small shake of his head, James balanced the broom on his shoulder in order to scoop his long dark hair into a bun that rested on the back of his neck. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the edge of his white tunic and moved over the dark ceramic pot hung over a smoldering fire. 

Looking into the pot James checked to make sure the stew was simmering nicely. Taking the long wooden spoon that rested to the side of the pot he stirred the stew around to make sure that none of it got stuck to the bottom and got burned. Taking out a little spoon from the pocket of his tunic James took a taste of the stew.

“Hmmm. Just perfect, I think it will be finished just in time for them when they come home” James smiled, turning to smile at the bird that was still resting on the window sill. It chirped in response.

"No," James shook his head, "there's enough salt this time."

The bird stomped on the sill, trilling into the air. 

"That's nonsense," he rolled his eyes and tasted the stew again, keeping his eyes on the bird who watched him. A long mocking birdsong filling the air as James brows pinched together. "Okay, it needs a little more salt."

The bird chirped again. “I know, I know.” James sighed, “You were right. I was wrong.” James agreed to his little friend in defeat as he turned around to place eight little bowls onto the big wooden table. 

As if he could tell, he heard his friends arguing from a distance.

Their familiar voices and playful bickering were unmistakable, and it brought a warm smile to James's face. It was a comforting sound, a testament to the strong bond they all shared–

“I can’t believe you ruined my favorite dungaree,” the door suddenly swung open, startling both James and the small bird who, huffing and puffing, flew out. “Your damn giant hands, Steven!” 

“C’mon, Tony! Don’t be dramatic, it’s not like I did it on purpose!”

"It might as well have been! Why did you pull me back so hard?" Tony whined.

James saw Sam hold back a laugh at his brothers' argument as they all slowly trickled in, to which James shot him a playful glare. 

"The rocks would have fallen over your giant head, otherwise!" Steve huffed in annoyance. He always meant well but his brother was not able to always see reason. Tony was as stubborn as the rocks of the mines they dug.

"Oh my god, will you two shut up? We get it," Clint rolled his eyes as he dropped his sack to the ground and moved around his bickering family. 

Sam strolled over to the fire, lifting the lid of the stew and took in a big whiff, "Leave them alone, they're always like this when they're hungry," 

James smacked the wooden spoon onto the back of his brothers and shook his head, "All of you go wash up first and then we can eat" 

The chaos that ensued everytime the family got home was one of James' favourite moments of his day. Sure, the quiet cottage was nice during the day when he needed to get things done but eventually it grew too quiet around him. Thoughts of the nights he'd spent alone in the forest before they took him in crept in from the edges of his mind but once his boys were safe at home, those memories disappeared once more, allowing a soft smile to tug at the edges of his lips.

A throat cleared behind him and he looked down to find Thor standing there, his hands hidden behind his back and a knowing smile on his face. 

“Found another one for you,” he rumbled from beneath his thick blond beard and brought his clenched fist forwards.

James held out his hand and Thor deposited the heavy crystal into his palm. James almost squealed with excitement and leaned over to wrap his arms around Thor’s stout frame.

“Thank you Thor!” He breathed excitedly and hurried over to the window.

Finding a place on the frame for the clear crystal, James sighed happily as the sunlight refracted through it, casting rainbows across the opposite wall of the cottage.

Chairs scraped across James’ freshly cleaned floors as the seven of them finished washing up. They settled at the table, leaving the seat at the top for James. 

“This looks delicious,” Steve beamed, as James set down a steaming loaf of bread in the center and turned back to the stove to dish up more stew. 

“You think everything looks delicious, Steve,” Clint grunted, rolling his eyes. 

“Because it does, James is an excellent cook!” 

James grinned in thanks across the table where he was setting down a bowl in front of Natasha, her cheek smushed into her hand as her eyelids drooped. Tony nudged her gently with his elbow. 

“Look alive, Nat.” 

Nat shook her head quickly, swatting her hand out at Tony. “I’m awake, I was just resting my eyes a little. “The stew looks delicious as always. James,” Nat yawned as she leaned across the table and grabbed the knife by the bread and cut off a slice. 

“Can we please eat… I’m really hungry” Loki said, playing with his spoon looking down at his bowl of stew with a longing look in his eye.

"Go on then," James winked at him, knowing that if he didn't give the okay Loki would sit pouting. 

They all dug in without hesitation, the sounds of spoons scraping bowls and the soft satisfied moans filling the cottage. 

"Breathe Thor," Steve warned, as Thor inhaled his stew in four disgusting bites. "There's always more!"

“It’s so good, though!”, Thor said, his mouth full with stew. “I could bathe in this food.” 

“That’s disgusting.” Clint looked annoyed to his left, where Thor was seated with a big smile and remains of stew on his face.

“Language!” Steve pointed his finger at Clint happily. 

“That’s actually not a bad word, Steve.” James leaned in and whispered into Steve's ear.

“Oh,” he responded a little embarrassed but continued eating

With their bellies full and the cozy cottage illuminated by the soft glow of candles, the family's evening continued in a familiar rhythm. After dinner, they gathered around the hearth, where the flames crackled and danced in the stone fireplace.

James began to tell one of his incredible tales, weaving a world of knights and magical creatures, some forged from fantastic metal. He recited the story of heroes battling incredible evil as all seven brothers found themselves captured by the grand gestures of his wrists, the dramatic flair in his voice and even Nat that night took her time trailing off on her usual spot on the armchair.

As the night wore on, and the firelight flickered, they all felt the deep contentment that came from being surrounded by the love of family and the magic of their kingdom far, far away. The enchanting forest whispered its secrets in the moonlit night, a silent witness to their cherished moments, a testament to the extraordinary life they had created together.

***

The forest was peaceful and serene, the warmth of the morning light shining through the trees and bathed the path in an emerald-tinged glow. It was exactly what Florence needed.

Clicking her tongue and tugging on the reins, she urged her horse, Alpine, deeper into the verdant greenwood. She breathed deeply once, and then again, letting the tension drain from her shoulders. Long had she yearned to escape the confines of the castle and the burden of royal life.

She tilted her head slightly as a sound filtered through the trees, one she would not have expected to hear. A deep, resonant voice carried a melody so sweet it piqued her curiosity and, tugging on Alpine’s reigns once more, she guided her noble steed in the direction of the alluring voice.

As she ducked beneath branches, traveling further into the blanket of green, the voice grew louder, stronger with each note. 

Shielding her eyes from the sun as she came to a small clearing, Florence searched the area until she found the source of the voice. Crouched beside a hedgerow, plucking berries with careful thought, was quite possibly the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. 

His dark hair glistened in the sun, loose and draping across one shoulder, giving her a glorious view of his stubbled cheek and sharp jaw. 

Florence slowed Alpine, staying hidden a little behind the trunk of an old oak as she watched the man work, filling a wicker basket by his feet.

She watched him picking through as he bent over searching through the grass and occasionally pulling something out and placing it into the wicker basket. He continued to sing as he worked. The birds in the trees seemed to know the tune that he was singing and began to join in. Soon the branches were filled with birds chirping along. 

Florence watched in amazement as she saw a rabbit hop into the clearing getting slowly closer to the man. The man noticed the rabbit and slowly held out his hand. 

“Why hello there. How are you doing today?” he asked as the rabbit came up and sniffed his hand.

A smile played on her lips, the grown man was barely contained beneath a white tunic and dark blue vest. His yellow trousers strained about his thighs in protest to his knelt position and his dark hair pushed back by a thick red ribbon. 

"Would you like to share?" He asked the rabbit, who seemed to curl into his touch.

The small rabbit seemed to respond to his words, moving towards the basket and plucking out a few of the berries that sat nestled into the whicker, pulling another soft chuckle from the mans plump lips. 

"Not to many," she heard him say, shooing the small creature lightly, "These have to make pies for the boys and you know how they can eat" 

The boys Florence thought, tilting her head to the side. Were there more mysteriously good looking men trasping around this far into the forest? Maybe that had been her problem. Only being presented to men in the kingdom instead of looking farther out. Not that she herself has been looking, but her father always made it seem like she needed someone to take care of her. 

Urging Alpine slowly forward, the dark haired princess made her way out into the grass, clearing her throat softly so as to not startle the man before her, "Hey!" Florence called, "what are you doing out here?" she asked, curiously.

The man looked up sharply and the little gray rabbit darted in between his feet, peering around one of his shapely calves with a curious expression, it’s whiskers twitching nervously.

“It’s alright, Rocket. I’m sure this lady means no harm,” the man reassured, although he eyed the sword fastened to Florence’s hip with no small amount of suspicion.

“I am simply collecting berries and plums, Lady. They make the best pies and my family does tend to need a lot of feeding,” he replied, his voice rumbling deliciously through the clearing.

"You live in the woods, you and your family?" Florence asked, tilting her head curiously. The man nods, eying her with a wary gaze still despite his soft, confident words to the creature at his feet. 

"Yes, a little cottage not far from here. My family, brothers and sister, they work down at the mine."

Florence nodded, a gentle smile on her lips, as she studied the man. There was no denying she wanted to know more about him, to learn what else made his blue eyes shine the way they did as he spoke to the rabbit. 

"What's your name?" 

"You ask a lot of questions," the man replied, his tone teasing as he stood to his feet, "why should I tell you?"

“Well normally when someone asks you your name the polite thing to do is to tell them.  At least that’s what I’ve been taught” Florence responds stepping a little further into the clearing. Alpine followed closely behind her lightly nudging her shoulder.

The man chuckled a little and smiled, the smile reaching his eyes and his nose scrunching up a bit.

Florence couldn't help but smile at his own. 

"I tell you what," he leaned down to pick up the basket of berries and folded his hands over the handle as he squared his shoulders, "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." 

It was then she noticed how broad he was. His shoulders were wide with arms that would put any other woodsman to shame. The front of his tunic seemed to strain over his chest as he stood watching her with curious lake blue eyes. Alpine huffed behind her, nudging his nose into her back forcing a soft chuckle to leave her lips. 

"I suppose that seems fair." She smiled, "you first." 

The man tilted his head back and laughed, "I may have been raised in the woods, but I'm not a complete fool. Ladies first," he waved his hand out in front of him, gesturing for her to go. 

"A baker and a gentleman," she quirked a brow. 

"I do more than bake Sunshine." He grinned cheekily.

Florence tried to bite back the smirk that tugged at her lips, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest, "Down boy," she cocked her eyebrow, "I'm Florence. Your turn." 

"Florence" the man repeated, tilting his head to the side, his blue eyes scanning over her features, "I'm James, but my family calls me Bucky"

The small rabbit appeared once more, tapping it's small paw onto James' leg, causing him to glance down and huff, "And this is Rocket"

Florence beamed even wider and crouched down, holding her hand out and rubbing her fingers together.

“Greetings Rocket, it’s an honor to meet such a fine looking rabbit as yourself.”

The rabbit hopped  over to Florence’s outstretched hand and touched his little nose tentatively to the tips of her fingers. 

A huff from behind her elicited a chuckle from James and she looked up to see him leaning over and whispering in Alpine’s ear whilst stroking a large yet gentle hand down the horse’s neck. 

“I apologize,” she began. “This is…”

“Alpine, yes, I know. And apparently you two haven’t eaten since dawn.” James raised an amused eyebrow at her dumbfounded expression.

“Well, it seems you’re already acquainted with my hungry friend.”

Alpine huffed again, head butting gently against James’ hand. 

“Yes, yes. I’m getting there,” he laughed. “Florence, would you be so kind as to join me for lunch?” 

Florence met James’ gaze, a smile spreading across her lips. She was sure she was taught something about strangers as a child but when one was as endearing and handsome as James, well… 

“That depends,” she replied, “will I get to taste this delicious sounding pie you’re going to make?”

James grinned at her in response. “Of course” he said 

“Our cottage is just through the trees back here. My family are down the mines at the moment, but they will be back soon for some food. They are a bit of a rowdy bunch just letting you know.” James said turning around and walking across the clearing with rocket hopping along beside him. 

Before Florence could respond Alpine began to follow behind James with a slight spring in his step. It hit Florence then what James had known her horse’s name and that they hadn’t eaten sine dawn.

“Wait… can you actually talk to animals!?” She called racing to catch up with James. “Like understand what they are saying?”

“Yeah…you can’t?” James asked, a frown forming on his face that turned into a light grin. Even though he was being sarcastic, Florence had to admit that his smile was addicting. 

“How?” Now she was the one smiling as she caught up with James, Alpine, and Rocket. 

James shrugged in response, “I don’t know, actually. I like to believe it’s a gift. I feel some kind of trust between us like I have a special bond with animals. It’s hard to explain.” 

Florence nodded as she understood. “So you are a crazy person?” she said, making James stop. He looked at her like she said something wrong, but then he burst out into laughter.

"Crazy about sweet berries maybe," He smiled at her, running his hand along Alpine's neck, "but mostly sane in every other way." 

"Mostly?" 

James smirked, "I live with seven siblings, would you be completely sane?" 

Florence's eyes bugged wide, "Seven!? How do you get anything done?" 

"They spend most of their days down at the mines, gives me some quiet time during the daylight." James said with a beaming smile, "It's my responsibility to take care of them and there's a great pride in growing and cooking delicious food for the ones you care for."

“That’s a nice sentiment, how you care for your family,” Florence could see how much he loved his family with all his being. That love radiated from him every time he mentioned his family. 

They fell into a lovely silence as they walked towards his home. Her stomach grumbling loudly enough for it to be heard across the forest.

“Hungry?” James says laughing at her and her stomach. “Luckily for you, we’re here.”

As the small stone cottage came into view, Florence allowed herself to pause and take in the scene before her. The contrast between her palace and the house nested in the trees before her took her back just for a moment. A sense of peace and comfort washed over her and a small smile found its way onto her lips. 

"So eight of you live here?" She questioned, following James' lead up the pathway. 

James hummed and nodded, chuckling lightly, "It's a bit tight but we make it work. Honestly, there's no other place I'd rather be" 

Florence took in a small breath of the fresh pine air, and hooked Alpines reins over the wooden hitching post that sat to the left of the front door. Aside from the woodland creatures, she found herself wondering if they had many visitors or horses hidden somewhere. Maybe it was a habit of his bringing women he met in the woods back to his cottage, claiming he had pie and a deep love for his family. 

"It's cozy and sweet," she smiled once more, following him through the lard wooden door.

The main room of the cottage was a refreshingly cool contrast against the heat of the morning sun and Florence sighed deeply. It smelled of pine, soap, and…home.

There was a large wooden table with eight chairs around it, right easy chairs surrounded a large stone hearth, and a wooden staircase led up to what Florence assumed was a second floor.

She gasped in delight at the twinkling rainbows that were cast across the back wall of the room and she found herself lifting her arms and twirling slowly around. Laughing in delight as the spectrums danced across her skin she halted as Alpine let out a deep whinny.

“Don’t be mean, Alpine,” James admonished quietly. “Everyone needs moments of joy in their life.”

He quieted the rambunctious horse by reaching over to the vegetable bin and pulling out a carrot. He offered it to an eager Alpine, who snapped it up with a huff of thanks.

"Yes, Alpine, don't be mean," Florence repeated, coming to a halt and standing with her hands on her hips. She heard James chuckle softly behind her and flashed him a beaming smile over her shoulder. 

"Make yourself at home," James offered, gesturing to a cosy looking armchair in the corner. It looked well-loved, like the rest of the cottage, rough around the edges but so well cared for. 

Florence made a beeline for the seat, sinking into the soft cushion as she watched James separate and wash the freshly picked fruit.

He moved through the small cooking area gracefully, like he'd danced his way through it a million times before and she got the feeling that he probably had. Every once in a while those blue eyes glanced up at her with a soft smile when he found she was watching and it only spread the soft thrum of butterflies in her chest throughout her limbs. 

"I don't see many women ride through these woods alone," he blurted after a few moments, "matter of fact, I don't see any women ride through these woods." 

Florence smiled, "So there's no secret lair teeming with damsels in distress you've saved?" 

James huffed out a laugh and shook his head as he moved on to inspecting a batch of plums, "Even if there was, you think I'd give away my secrets?" 

"Crazy and possibly murderous," She grinned, "I've hit gold with you."

She could see the faintest blush spread across his cheeks and beneath his stubble at her remark.

"I don't know 'bout gold, but I'd like to believe that I'm good company," he told her with a hint of shyness in his tone. She watched as he put together a plate of berries and plums and turned to walk in her direction and extended it to her.

"At least before I lure you to my secret lair, m'lady," he ended with a mischievous smirk and a wink thrown her way.

Florence couldn't help the huff of  delighted laughter that left her at that, relishing in the light feeling filling her as she shared a light banter with James. Even more so when he laughed sweetly along with her with a red tinge still tinting his cheeks. 

“Oh, so this isn’t your secret lair, then?” Florence couldn’t help going along with this playful banter. She didn’t really believe that a person like him, that had the ability to speak with animals, would do something bad to her. Unless, you know, he used said ability to ask the animals to be part of his craziness and lure damsels in distress to his lair. 

“Now, why would I lead a lady into this cozy cottage where my family lives only to murder her?” James had a twinkle in his eyes while he said that.

With a light chuckle, Florence shrugged and shook her head, "I'm note sure, you're the criminal mastermind here, not me" she joked, popping a berry into her mouth. 

James' laugh echoed out through the cottage as he moved back through the kitchen to assemble the pie he kept bragging about. Silence fell over them once more, her hazel eyes watched him worked, taking note of a small red cardinal that sat perched in the window. 

"She's just a guest," she heard him mutter before the bird chirped back at him, "you can go now, Redwing," he muttered once more, moving his gaze over towards her as drifting sunlight caught his ocean blue eyes.

“Where do you hail from, Florence?” James asked, breaking her out of her reverie.

“I, umm, I live on the far edge of the forest,” she replied hesitantly, and James’ eyes narrowed slightly before he smiled at her once more.

“Then you must definitely be hungry, having traveled so far,” he said, and with a courtly swoop, placed a plate before her piled with bread, cheese and some of the berries.  “We’ll have to wit a little longer for the pie,” he admitted, although the enticing scents of warm berries and sweet pastry were already creeping through the cottage.

“Thank you,” she said, gratefully, and pushed the plate between them in an offer to share.

She took some of the bread and placed a piece of cheese on top of it. Taking a bite she sighed. “Hmmm, this bread is amazing. Probably some of the best I’ve ever had. Did you also bake this?” She asked, taking another bite of the food. The bread was light and fluffy and the crust had a satisfying crunch to it. 

“Thank you, yes I also baked the bread. Since we live quite deep in the forrest I make a lot of our food. We rarely head to any of the surrounding villages… when we do it’s mainly for delivering what my brothers and sister collect from the mines. I mostly stay here though” James said, taking a seat across from her and picking up a plum from the plate and taking bite out of it.

"What were you doing so deep in the forest anyway?" He questioned, as he examined the purple fruit in his hand. 

With a soft hum, Florence shrugged unsure on how to actually answer that question without giving away her status. The truth was she wasn't built for the life her father wanted for her. She wanted to do more than sit around and look pretty when she knew the kingdom across the dark forest was suffering. The king would tell her how dangerous it was in the woods and how that kingdom had fallen under evil rule when the prince disappeared, yet still, deep within herself, Florence knew there had to be a way for her to fix it. 

She sucked in a deep breath and shook her head once, realizing she had been lost in thought, " I just went out for a morning ride. Alpine needed to stretch his legs and riding around our village wasn't really cutting it, so we went a little farther than expected but it seems to have worked out for us," she smiled, taking another bite of the bread.

“I think not just for you,” James said, a soft blush painting his cheeks.

They stared at each other a moment before James cleared his throat and looked bashfully away.

“I…I need to check the pie,” he stammered, rising from the table and heading over to the oven as he wrapped a cloth around his hand for protection.

When he opened the door a waft of spiced heat filled the room and even Alpibne whickered from his place at the window.

“Be patient, big fella,” James laughed.  “It’s still too hot, even for you.”

Florence watched in admiration as James placed the large pie dish on the table and cut two slices and then a third small sliver, which he put onto plates.  He collected an earthenware jug from which he poured a generous helping of cream over the two lives and then set the third plate at the window.

“Blow on it first,” he instructed and Alpine did so, huffing on his little treat so dramatically that Florence feared he would blow it clean off the plate.

At a nod from James, the horse snaffled down the pie and James then joined Florence at the table, still chuckling at the horse’s antics.  He slid one plate in front of Florence and then handed her a spoon.  She took a generous scoop, making sure to blow on the steaming mouthful although not quite as dramatically as Alpine and then placed it in her mouth.

She took a bite and let out a satisfied moan. “Oh my… this pie is amazing” she said before digging back into the pie.  She heard James chuckle as he watched her eat her slice of pie. 

“So what about you? Where are you and your family from or have you always lived in the woods?” She asked looking up at him after eating a good portion of her slice. She noticed how he stilled at her question before slowly putting his spoon down his eyes darting to look out the window.

“I-”. James sighed, “I’m sure you don’t want to hear that.” He slowly shook his head and looked down at the wooden floor.

“I do,” Florence said, slowly taking James’ hand into hers. She didn’t want to overstep a line, but she could also feel that James needed some sort of comfort.

“Okay,” he smiled softly. “I was younger when I came here. I don’t know much about that night it all happened, but…one day, a man brought me into the woods. We walked until the sun had set. I didn’t know who sent him, and at that time, I didn’t know why, but the older I got, I knew his purpose. He was out here to end my life.” James paused before he continued, “He couldn’t do it, so he left me to die in the woods. I survived day and night before finding this little cottage. At first, I thought it was an old empty house, but then I met these six boys and one girl, and it almost felt like all of this happened for a reason. Because if that man hadn’t let me live, I wouldn’t have found my family.” He smiled as he looked around the cottage, his eyes stopping at the eight chairs around the kitchen table.

“Oh, James,” Florence mumbled. She didn’t know what to say other than ‘I’m sorry’ but those words cannot convey anything other than emptiness. Because how do you express that you are sorry that the person didn’t die-that they survived- a situation like that? 

“It’s okay,” James whispered, as if knowing what she wanted to say.

“Do you know who sent that man? Florence asks with determination in her voice, as if she might go this instant and punish the person that tried to take away a soul as pure as his.

James looks away from her, but she catches the sadness in his eyes. It’s a sadness so deep that it tugged at her heart, “I don’t know. It’s heartbreaking to think that there is a person out there that has the type of hatred to want another person to just take away like that.” 

Florence knew he was struggling to come to terms with that because this man, who clearly is the most fairest person she has ever encountered, has lived through unimaginable things and, despite everything, still wants to believe that there is still some goodness in this world.

A comfortable silence fell through the cabin as the two of them sat there, in the confessions. The afternoon sun brought a certain glow through the crystal and illuminated everything in it's path. James' company mixed with the fresh pine air drifting in with the breeze was a new experience for Florence. She could stay in this moment, in this place forever if she was given the option. To not have to return to the confinds of the palace walls was secretly what she'd wanted for a long time. 

Florence cleared her throat and moved to stand up, catching the orange glow in her hazel eyes as the sinking sun brought her attention to how late it had gotten. "I should go," she said quickly, bringing her plate into the kitchen. 

James followed her movements, and grabbed her hand lightly before she could make it out the door, "Wait, will I see you again?" 

With a small sigh and a soft smile, she looked up to meet his eyes as she nodded, "Tomorrow. In the clearing we met in this morning," 

The man nodded in response and brought the back of her hand up to his lips, kissing it gently, "Tomorrow it is," 

With that, Florence made her way out to Alpine and untied his reins, mounting him quickly. She glanced back at the handsome man leaning in the doorway of the stone cottage before kicking Alpine into a gallop through the trees on their way back to the palace.

The next morning Florence rushed out of the great hall and down to the kitchens with her mouth still stuffed full of bread.  She threw some food and a ceramic bottle of ale into a sack and almost ran to the stables.

“Woah there, Princess, where are you going in such a hurry?” The Head Steward asked as she nearly ran him down.

“Iiiiiit’s such a nice day I thought I’d take Alpine for a ride,” she squeaked breathlessly, bouncing impatiently on her heels.

“You have duties to attend to, your Highness,” he admonished, but the Princess pretended not to hear him as she bolted off.

She felt a little guilty for pushing Alpine as hard as she did in her eagerness to reach the clearing where she had met James the day before.  She knew she was early but there was still a pang of disappointment when she arrived and James was nowhere to be seen.  There was a little red bird however, who looked remarkably like the one she’d seen the day before.  Feeling a little foolish she cocked her head and spoke.

“Redwing?” She asked and almost laughed in relief when the bird twittered and hopped over to her.

“Hi, hello, I, ummmm, I don’t know if you remember me from yesterday but I’ve come to see James.  Is he around?”

The bird looked at her and tilted its head this way and that but made no response.

“You know, James?  Tall, blue eyes, sings, bakes? Ummm, oh, he said his family called him Bucky?”

At the last the bird let out a series of whistles, bobbed up and down a few times, before taking off in what Florence thought she remembered as the way to the cottage.  It wasn’t long before she heard footsteps and a melodious humming hurrying along the path.

James looked up at the sound of her approaching, the brightest smile blooming across his face, eyes glistening in the sun.

“There you are!” He called cheerily, tucking the handle of his basket into the crook of his elbow. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to show.” 

His words were laced with a chuckle and he bound towards her as Florence stepped forward to meet him. 

“What delights have you been picking today?” She asked, peering into his basket. 

“I noticed there are boysenberries growing on the bramble through the clearing,” James explained, “I was just about to finish up with this hedgerow of raspberries before you arrived.” 

James offered up the basket and Florence plucked a raspberry from the wicker, popping it into her mouth with a delighted hum. 

“Well, I would love to help,” she replied softly, “I don’t forage much but it seems like a lovely way to spend the afternoon.”

“I’ll show you how to find the best berries then. Just follow me” he smiled leading the way down a narrow path that was lined with boysenberry bushes. 

“So what you need to do is look for the berries that are dark purple and fall right into your hand when you gently tug at them. I always pick from the middle branches of the bush because the top branches are for the birds and the bottom branches are for the rabbits. And I always make sure to leave enough for any other animals that might come by.” James smiled at her showing extremely how to pluck the most scrumptious berries.

“That’s very thoughtful of you. I don’t think anyone would think about leaving some for the animals,” she said with a hint of wonder in her voice, while plucking the berries just as James taught her. 

It felt natural to do this with him, something that she could see herself doing for a long time to come. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see James sneaking some berries into his mouth. James catches her looking at him savoring the delightful flavor of the berries and chuckles, “Do you want to try them? They’re good, I swear.”

“Don’t mind if I do, kind sir,” Florence picked up some berries from the basket and popped one into her mouth. Relishing the flavor of the berry, she goes to pick up more from the basket when the basket is suddenly taken away from her. 

“Woah, there. Don’t eat all of them now. Leave some for later!” James chuckled.

Florence laughed and tossed another berry in her mouth with a playful smirk, "I can't help it! You introduced me to these," she commented, earning her another deep chuckle from James. 

"Go try the bushes over there, I've got these ones," He pointed to a space a few feet away from where they were standing. 

Her smile remained on her lips as she nodded, taking one of his spare baskets and heading to where he told her. There was something about his presence that brought a certain feeling of peace and happiness to her soul. She was beginning to understand what it felt like to have someone genuine in her life. 

It was nice, picking berries in silence. Doing some manual labor and taking her day into her own hands instead of strolls through the garden or sitting in the throne room for meetings. The quiet chatter of James' voice drifted through the breeze and floated through her ears. For the amount of animals that were around and who James liked to speak too, it didn't even cross her mind to look over and see what it was. There was a higher pitched second voice that softly mixed with it, but Florence assumed she was either going fully crazy or it was a mockingbird playing off a conversation it had heard. 

"Hey look at this!" James called, pulling over her attention to a rip purple plum that flew through the air as he tossed it and caught it again in his fingers. 

Florence hummed and her eyebrows kissed together, "I didn't know there were plum trees around this clearing?" 

"There's not! Some nice woman gave it to me," He smiled sweetly.

“Nice woman?  What nice woman?” Florence asked with suspicion, having never seen another soul in these woods before, not even James.

“She seemed like a nice old lady,” he shrugged, tossing the plum into the air once more.  “I mean, she only found one plum and she gave it to me because she said I looked like the kind of person who would appreciate it.  I gave her some boysenberries in return!” He protested, as if Florence would think *he* was the one taking advantage.

“James, I don’t think you should eat that,” she said carefully, making her way across the clearing towards him.

“I don’t see why not,” he countered.  “It looks so ripe and juicy and…” his voice tailed off as he looked at the plum.  

His eyes grew wider, seeming to glow with an eerie hue, and he stared at the plum as if mesmerised.  He ran his tongue over his bottom lip and began to bring the plum towards his mouth.  Florence felt as if she were wading through molasses as she tired to reach him.

“No, James, don’t-“ 

It was too late.  James brought the plum to his lips and took a large bite.  Florence watched as his lips curved up into a satisfied smile and a rivulet of juice made its way down his scruff-covered chin.  His eyes crinkled in delight then they widened in surprise.

Florence could do nothing as James’ jaw fell slack and his arm dropped to his side, lax fingers spilling the plum from his hand.  His knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground, his eyes rolling back in his head before closing.  The plum rolled insidiously across the space between them and knocked against Florence’s foot before she finally freed herself from the thrall she was under and launched herself across the clearing towards the fallen man she had come to care for so much.

"James? James!" Florence panicked, heart thudding hard against her ribcage as she fell to her knees beside him. "Please, please. James, can you hear me?" 

She brushed her fingers delicately over his cheek, sweeping tendrils of chestnut hair from his face. Timed seemed to slow as she sat beside him in the grass, covering James with gentle touches and murmuring softly in an attempt to rouse him. She didn't know how long it had been before she heard a rustle, the thump of tiny feet on solid ground and she looked up to see Rocket, snuffling around the plum. 

"Oh, Rocket, no! Don't touch that!" She cried, and the small rabbit peered up at her, nose twitching as he made a small timid sound at the sight of his friend sprawled out on the ground. He hopped over, burrowing in close to James' side. "I'm so sorry, Rocket, the plum -- it must have been poisoned. Do- do you know the way to his cottage? Maybe his family could help?"

The small rabbit seemed to nod his head at Florence in understanding. “Perfect, now all I have to do is figure out how to get him there.” Florence said standing back up. Alpine came up behind her and nudged at James’s side then looked over at Florence. The horse then knelt down and rested on the forrest floor next to James and turned his head to her. 

“Alright Alpine, let’s see if we can make this work” she said grabbing James under the shoulders and slowly lifted him up and draped him over her horse. Once she was sure he was on properly she stood back up and Alpine followed suit. Taking hold of Alpines’ reins in one hand and holding James in place with the other she looked down at Rocket.

“Ok, Rocket lead the way” she said and the rabbit began to hop into the forrest. Florence followed quickly behind hopping that someone would be at the cottage when she got there. Rocket seemed to understand the urgency of the situation because the little rabbit was moving fast through the wood. It was not long before the cottage came into view and she could hear people talking from inside.

The closer she got to the house, the more scared she became because, what would she tell them? 

She didn't want them to think badly of her. From how he spoke of his family, they mean the world to him and she had hoped to meet them under better circumstances. Becaise she knew, deep down, that James had come to matter to her far more than she could have expected in the short span of time they had known each other.

With her heart in her throat, she came to a stop in front if the cottage door and knocked once. The chatter inside immediately stopped and steps thuded on the floor before opening the door.

"Hello– oh I'm sorry.." her voice trailed off as she saw who opened the door. A dwarf. Much shorter than she'd expected given James stature, small in size with kind eyes starring at her expectantly before drifting off behind her and widening comically at the man laying on her horse' back. 

"James! What's happend to him?" He rushed out the door to his brother before the sound of many more steps came barreling down the door at his raising voice.

"What have you done to him?!" He shouted angrily at Florence, making her both frightened to respond but angry with how she was being treated.

"Nothing! It wasn't me!!" Florence tried to assure them men before her, with slight frustration in her voice, "we were berry picking and James said this nice old woman gave him a plum! I tried to tell him not to eat it but he went into this trance and then he just, collapsed." 

His family moved around Alpine and managed to get James down, carrying him with the seven of them into the small cottage. Florence wasn't sure if she should follow them or if they still assumed it was her fault. Maybe it had been. The ominous red glow in the middle of the plum should have made her work harder to stop him from taking a bite. Or maybe she should have just looked over when she heard him talking and she would have seen who it was. There had to have been something she missed.

"James!" The blonde man called, kneeling down beside his brother and putting his ear close to his face, "he's breathing," he assured his siblings before glancing up at the doorway where Florence now stood, "what did this woman look like?" 

"I - I don't know, I just heard him talking to someone, but I thought it was one of his creatures so I didn't think to look," Florence breathed, pulling her lip between her teeth and looking down at the concrete floor, "But I did see a flash of red hair when she walked away," she pointed out. 

The redhead female looked at her brothers, "Wanda. We should have known she'd find him one day. But he should have been more careful,"

“We told him again and again about talking to strangers,” a shorter, blond-haired, dwarf grumbled, casting a disparaging eye over Florence.

“Easy Clint, she brought him back to us. She didn’t need to do that,” the first dwarf replied, stroking a hand through James’ hair.

“Who is Wanda?” Florence asked, subconsciously clutching at the hilt of her sword in a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by the seven dwarves before her.

“You’re up Steve,” Clint grumbled, folding his arms in a huff as the dwarf that held James cleared his throat.

“Wanda is James’ step-mother. She married his father when James was but a babe and, as he grew, she became convinced that he would take the crown from her.”

“She’s achoo a witch!”

“Aye Tony, I was getting to that,” Steve said, offering his brother his handkerchief.

“She knows that as long as James lives then her power will weaken. When he was but a boy she commanded her huntsman to bring him into the forest and take his heart!”

“That’s horrendous!” Florence exclaimed, her hand reaching out to cup James’ cheek, a gesture not lost on any of his found siblings.

“The huntsman took one look at him and couldn’t go through with it. He abandoned James in the forest knowing we would find him and take him in,” Steve finished.

“But now she’s found him and tried to finish the job!” Another, dark-haired, brother cried.

Florence couldn’t stop the tears that tracked down her cheeks.

Never had her heart ached so much for someone. She glanced down at James, serene and soft in his sleep-like state. Florence didn’t understand how this had happened to someone like him, James was so kind and gentle, how anyone could try to harm him the way the— 

“Wait, did you say crown? He’s… he’s royalty?” 

Tony nodded, “his father was the king. James should have been next in line to the throne if Wanda hadn’t… well, you heard the story.”

Florence could do nothing but stare at them all, shocked by this new revelation. 

The silence was broken by a soft trill sounded from the windowsill, and Florence turned to see Redwing, perched on the wood with several other birds. Behind them, a doe and her fawn peered into the cottage, while Rocket sat solemnly in the doorway. 

“They care about him,” Florence whispered, “he made a life for himself out here.”

“We all care about him,” James’ sister stepped forward, a yawn stretching out her words, “he’s our brother.” 

Florence nodded, steadfast as she swept the last of her drying tears from her cheeks. There had to be a way to wake James, surely.

Florence looked from James’s family gathered around him where they laid him on the table to the assortment of animals all peering in to see their friend and back to James. The story his family just told him sinking in… James was the missing Prince from the Kingdom from the other side of the forest. Hadn’t she just been thinking that there was a way that she could fix that? Somehow, whether it be fate or destiny or her horse she had stumbled on said Prince. 

Looking down at James who seemed to be in a deep sleep she took a deep breath. “There has to be something that we can do. There is always a way to reverse magic… maybe, if I ride back to the palace I can bring back our healer. He knows some magic… maybe he can help” Florence said looking back to his family.

“Palace achoo you live in a palace?”  The one called Tony asked 

“Yes… My father is the King of the Kingdom on the other side of the forest. And if James is really the Prince from the other Kingdom then it is our duty to help save him. His Kingdom has diminished since he disappeared. I’ll go right away” Florence replied about to head out the door, but before she felt she turned back around to James and knelt over him.

“I’ll ride as fast as I can James, I promise” she whispered in his ear before placing a soft kiss on his lips. She stood back up and headed back towards the front door his family stepping to the side to let her through all watching her silently.

Her heart felt heavy in her chest as she went to climb atop her horse, the family and the animal's hopeful gazes following her every step.

Florence didn't know for sure if her family's healer could help James, the Queen's sorcery being much more powerful and darker than anything they'd ever heard of. 

It was fueled by hatred and greed.

She couldn't imagine anyone wanting to hurt people– especially James, so willingly. 

He was the last person she'd ever wish harm to. So sweet and kind and caring. And selfishly, from the moment of brief contact their lips had moments ago, his lips so soft and plump under her own. She wished to have the opportunity to kiss them again and again.

She would do everything in her power to help him, and maybe, to return him home. If he wishes so. 

Alpine hooves were heavy as they began to move, stopping abruptly and just as she was about to question why, a few shocked gasps could be heard before the birds birched on the cottage window started chirping excitedly.

The birds began to fly in circles around her head and Florence had to resist the urge to bat them away. She dug in her heels and to move Alpine onward but he remained stubbornly in place.

“Come on, boy, we need to go. We have to help him!” She demanded, her voice cracking.

“Princess!” A voice cried. “Come quickly!”

She turned to see Steven beckoning her madly from the door of the cottage and she leapt from her horse and hurried towards him.

“What’s the matter?!” She cried, worried that the witch had found a way to deliver James some greater torment.

Florence entered the cottage once more but halted abruptly as she took in the scene before her. James was propped up on his elbow, one hand rubbing across his forehead, his brows drawn down in a frown.

Like a magnet his eyes found hers and his face erupted into a smile so joyful that Florence could do nothing else but return it.

“You’re here!” He exclaimed, though his voice was hoarse.

“Of course I’m here,” she replied, striding over to his makeshift bed on the table. “I was only leaving in search of help.”

“Please don’t leave,” he whispered, reaching his hand out towards her.

She grasped it and he pulled her closer, managing to drag himself upright.

“I don’t understand.”Florence murmured. “You were under a spell so strong…”

“It was you!” One of the dwarves replied.

“Loki is right, Princess,” Natasha confirmed with a yawn.

“Princess?” James mumbled, not able to tear his eyes away from Florence’s face.

“Aye,” Loki said with a dopey grin. “You woke him with your kiss.”

“ I did not,” Florence protested, but could not help the way her eyes flickered down to James’ lips and back, nor the way he gazed back at her with such emotion.

“Only true love’s kiss can break a witch’s curse,” blushed Thor.

“I am not sure of the truth in that statement,” James muttered as his arm wrapped around Florence’s waist, “but I would very much like to test the theory.”

Florence  flushed a deep red as he leaned upwards but at the last minute she turned her head to the seven pairs of eyes that stared intently at them.

“Turn around at least!” She exclaimed, and with some shoving and jostling, the seven dwarves turned their backs to at least give some semblance of privacy.

“Where were we, your Highness,” Florence smiled, turning back towards James.

“From what I heard that title belongs to you,” he replied, leaning ever closer.

“There are still some tales to tell,” she whispered against his mouth as their lips finally met in a sweet, soft kiss.

[some-little-infamy]

Honesty Has Its Benefits

(read on AO3) (Inspired by a plothook from @daniwib) 

It happens by accident. It’s such a simple moment, one no more dangerous than they’ve been in a dozen times before, and one much less dangerous than both of them have faced before.

The fire explodes outward, breaking the glass of every window, and splintering the wood of every door not already burning. Buck, the last one inside, gets thrown several feet by the blast, landing in a heap on a pile of rubble. He closes his eyes for a second, only to snap them open when he hears his name.

“Buck?! BUCK!”

It’s Eddie.

Buck forces himself to his feet, stance shaky, so Eddie won’t worry as much.

“I’m fine,” Buck manages, voice breaking with the effort of those two words. “Let’s get back to Cap and-”

Except just as Buck goes to walk back with Eddie toward the others Eddie stops him, grabbing his wrist and pulling Buck back around to face him.

“Stop. Almost. Dying.” Buck isn't sure if it's meant to sound like an order, but Eddie’s words come out as a desperate plea.

They make and hold eye contact for a few seconds too long, and there’s no denying exactly what the charged energy between them is and what it could mean. It isn't new, but it feels different this time.

It feels like it could be more than just wishful thinking.

“Make me,” Buck says. It's a challenge, but with it comes a promise: that if Eddie does make him, he'll listen.

Eddie does.

Eddie kisses him, short but intense, knowing that at any moment concerned members of the team will be rounding that corner after Eddie.

And just like that, everything Buck hoped and hinted at and prayed for, was real.

---

They don't tell the team at first.

Buck wonders if it's obvious, but a part of him realizes that he barely acts any differently at the station because these aren't new feelings, they're just newly admitted. In actuality, he looks at Eddie with the same endearing fondness he has for months now.

Still, things are different between them now on a fundamental level and they want to make sure that will last before they make any sweeping declarations about it to the rest of the team.

They wait two months.

Two months of Buck going back to Eddie's place more often than his own. Two months of more frequent radio check-ins in the field when they aren't in the others' line of sight. Two months of Buck switching shifts last minute to watch Christopher when Eddie's sitter bails last minute. Two months of stealing kisses and sneaking lingering touches when no one is looking.

When they tell the team they're met with soft smiles and exaggerated surprise that Buck's positive is for his and Eddie's benefit. Still, it's appreciated that even if they were suspected no one tried to force their hand until they were ready.

"Thanks, guys. I knew we could count on you to be cool about it," Buck says.

"Don't thank me for that yet," Chimney warns. "Wait until I have time to plan the 'thank God we don't have to keep pretending we didn't see you grab Eddie's ass last month' party."

"I told you someone would see that, " Eddie hisses, not quite under his breath.

"You didn't exactly pick the most subtle guy to date, Diaz," Hen points out.

Buck glances uncertainly over at Eddie, but the nerves aren't needed. Eddie, despite some mild embarrassment, is smiling.

The only person not smiling is Bobby, a fact that doesn't escape Buck's notice. Bobby is quiet and reserved, leaving while the rest of them chat and laugh without a single word to Buck or Eddie.

Buck exchanges a worried glance with Eddie, but even Bobby's silence can't put a total damper on the elated mood of the room that Buck is quick to return to.

Whatever Bobby's problem is, he can deal with it later. For now, he basks in Eddie's arm around his waist for the first time in front of their overly supportive friends, unable to imagine anything that could ever bring him down again.

---

It's a feeling that doesn't last long, because when he shows up for work the following day the mood in the air is tense. One glance through the window of Bobby's office shows him the reason: Captain Mehta and Chief Williams sit at his desk.

That's never a good sign.

Bobby must have been looking out for him because a second later he’s at the door and motioning for Buck to come over.

“What did you do, Buckley?” Chimney asks.

“Beats me,” Buck says, and for someone who is relatively certain he shouldn’t be in trouble he sure feels like a rock just landed in his stomach.

“Ah, good timing, Eddie. you too,” Bobby calls out, looking over Buck’s shoulder. Buck turns around to see Eddie coming up behind him, eyebrow raised. Buck shrugs and reaches his hand back for Eddie to take and gives a comforting squeeze.

"What's up, Cap?" Buck asks as causality as he can.

"Captain Mehta and Chief Williams are here to conduct an internal review to determine if the two of you can remain employed by the same firehouse," Bobby explains.

"What?!" Buck sputters. "Why wouldn't we?"

"Buck-" Eddie attempts to step in with calm reassurance.

"This is… this is discrimination!" Buck continues anyway.

"Before you go and start another lawsuit," Chief Williams says. "Maybe wait to hear us out?"

Buck winces and falls silent.

"We aren't here because of any complaints, which is a great start," she continues. "But we need to determine if the two of you remaining here together would compromise the team as a whole. "

Buck doesn't get it. This team is his family. It's Eddie's family. How could their dating have any impact on that if no one complained?

"They're worried we might focus too much on each other," Eddie says as if reading his mind. "Prioritize saving each other over someone closer, or who needs attention more."

Eddie's words are tense. He sounds frustrated but resigned, like he's more annoyed he didn't consider this before now. Buck knows the feeling… not that he would've done anything differently. It's fine. They're going to be fine.

"Exactly," Captain Mehta says, sounding relieved that they're all on the same page now. "It's to be expected. Who wouldn't want to save the person they love over anyone else?"

Buck makes sure to avoid eye contact with Eddie at that, because for everything they've discussed, everything they're so certain of, they haven't said The Word yet.

Captain Mehta chimes in to lay out the plan.

"We're going to ask the two of you to take the day so we can conduct interviews with your team without any undue influence from the two of you, and look over reports from the last… two months, did you say you were together?"

Buck nods, but his attention turns to Bobby.

“You knew,” he accuses. This is why Bobby was so somber yesterday. “You knew and you didn’t say anything.”

"Don’t be too mad at him, it’s protocol,” Captain Mehta says. ” Just to see if there are any patterns of bias or preferential treatment," he finishes.

"Why don't you just watch us now?" Buck asks, figuring following on a call or two would have to be easier than sifting through hours of reports.

"Because now you'd know we're looking, " Chief Williams points out. "You'd act differently. "

Buck tries to think back to recent calls, wondering if there's anything he did during them that might royally screw them over now. Not that it matters - what's done is done, but still… if he can think of something and try to get ahead of it, or just explain…

He's been in his head long enough to miss whatever was said next, but judging by the way Eddie starts moving toward the door it was probably a dismissal.

"It's fine, Buck. We'll handle it, whatever happens. We're going to be fine," Eddie promises him on their way out. Buck does his best to trust him, though he's heard Eddie use that line to appease Christopher one-too-many times for it to be truly reassuring.

---

The day off is torture. Buck should be able to enjoy the extra time with Eddie but all he can think about is how much he wants to text the others and see how the interviews are going.

"Buck, relax. I can see you overthinking from here," Eddie says, frowning over at him from across the little outdoor Cafe table they're sitting at.

"Sorry," Buck says, physically shaking his head to try and mentally shake himself out of the small spiral he's in. "How are you not freaking out?"

"Because our friends support us and we're damn good at our jobs," Eddie says simply. And he has a point - they are, and that should be enough.

The rest of the team says the same when they return to work the next day. Buck continues to overthink every move - when Eddie and Chimney pair off to go into a building Buck only radios Chim. He barely acknowledges Eddie all day, and there's an uncomfortable weight over the entire team because of it. The dynamic is off and he hates it, but he's afraid one wrong move will be the reason he or Eddie will have to leave.

They're told it would probably take a week or two, but Captain Mehta and Chief Williams are back the following morning.

That can't be good.

"Please, take a seat," Captain Mehta says, motioning to the chair next to where Eddie was already sitting.

"Wait," Buck says. "Don't we get a chance to speak for ourselves first?!"

"Buck, I don't think that's necessary-" Bobby starts, but stops when Chief Williams holds up a hand.

"No, go on. I'm curious what he has to say."

Buck braces, reminding himself that this isn't just his life on the line but Eddie's, too.

"I don't know what you read, or heard, but I swear to you that this entire team is my family. They're our family. And we would never put any of them or any member of the public at risk just because of our relationship. Eddie would dump me so fast if I let anyone die to save him instead."

Eddie huffs out a light laugh. "You're not wrong."

"And this isn't new. The label is, sure, but I've-" Buck's sentence drops off abruptly, but there's no other way for this to carry as much meaning as he needs it to. "I've loved Eddie for a lot longer than 2 months. And not once has it affected my judgment in the field."

"While we appreciate your honesty, Mr. Buckley-"

"And Eddie should be the one to stay," Buck blurts out.

"Buck-" Eddie protests immediately.

"Christopher needs the flexibility Cap can give him here. I know other firehouses won't be so understanding."

"Mr. Diaz will be staying, " Captain Mehta says.

For a moment Buck feels a strange warring of relief for Eddie and profound dread for himself, until the Captain continues.

"As will you, Mr. Buckley."

“What?” Buck ass, mouth hanging open in surprise.

“You’re both staying. Everyone on your team said the exact same thing - that they trust you with their lives. We looked through a few of the more recent reports and any time you two went out together it was strictly professional, and every judgment call was by the books. We’re normally a little more thorough, but when Captain Nash called to inform us of whatever horrible tension overtook the lot of you yesterday we decided to end your suffering early and go with our guts on this one.”

“Then why did you let me say all that?!” Buck asks, the elation of knowing his job is safe suddenly morphing into mild mortification over everything that just left his mouth in front of his superiors.

Chief Williams shrugs, barely holding back a full smirk. “I thought it might be amusing. I was right.” She moves toward the door with Captain Mehta behind her. “And from the look on Mr. Diaz’s face during your little speech, I think the two of you need a few minutes.”

“I’ll show you out,” Bobby offers, giving Buck and Eddie both a wide smile.

The moment they’re alone Eddie rounds on Buck. “I can’t believe you,” he says, shaking his head.

“Sorry. It just came out, I-”

“I cannot believe you would say you loved me for the first time when I couldn’t say it back,” Eddie continues, wasting no time in closing the gap between them and kissing Buck, uncaring of who’s prying eyes may be watching.

“Thank you,” Eddie says, nearly breathless, when they finally pull apart. Buck is pretty sure he can hear clapping and a few cheers muffled by the glass but he can’t be bothered to look - he can’t bring himself to look at anything but Eddie.

“For what?” Buck asks.

“For putting Christopher first. For standing up for us. For being you,” Eddie lists off. “Take your pick.”

“All of the above?” Buck suggests, grinning.

Eddie kisses him again, and Buck can feel Eddie’s lips pulling up into a smile against his own.

“Maybe let other people talk first from now on, though?” Eddie suggests.

Buck places his arms on Eddie’s shoulders, looking him in the eyes with a smirk. “I don’t know, I’d say talking first is playing out pretty well for me this time around.”

[typicalopposite]

woo hoo for being early for a change!

hahaaha! (did I write this up on saturday so I could tag everyone before they could tag me... yes. yes I did!)

so here's a little peek at ch. 2 of the angsty BuckTommy mpreg no one asked for that I just needed to tell anyway <3

chapter one is posted on ao3

The fire isn’t even hard to manage. They should all leave with no injuries.  They should…  But Buck joins his team—or more like he watches as his team maneuvers around him like he is some helpless puppy … No worries Buck we got the hoses. I already sent Ravi and Cortiz in to check for civilians. It’s all good kid, just help Chim and Hen access the people with smoke inhalation. He feels sidelined, he feels left out.  “Buck!” Bobby yells at him. “What are you doing?! I told you to help Chim and–” “Yeah, yeah … they’re good!” Buck yells back, not entirely sure if there's any truth in his words, because he hadn’t even got to Chimney and Hen before his body pivoted and he was speed walking towards the smoldering building. “I’m just gonna check on Rav and Cortiz!”  They are fine of course. He isn’t needed, of course. He should just turn around and leave. But he doesn’t… of course. Instead he insists on doing another sweep through of the building, and insists he will be fine doing it alone. Cortiz leaves without much pushback, Ravi only leaves after Buck gives him the death glare he used from Ravi’s probie days.  So Buck scans the rubble alone, and he gets hurt…  …of course. 

and now for the tags... ok look I'm a lil bitch and panic at this part everytime! so leaving it open minus @onthewaytosomewhere & @adreamareads since yall usually tag me andddd @scripted-downfall because I figure if I keep tagging you, you'll finally do it! :)