#finished reading my fifth fic not even thirty minutes ago

[zeawesomebirdie]

At this point I think I just have to accept that I do in fact go here, even though I don't actually know where exactly here is

[geordiewrites]

Hey i just read exile inspired fic and it is soo good. I think you should write one based on the song tolerate it by ts? With harry plz. The drama, fight, tears.. I think you will reflect the emotion so well omg.

Tolerate It | Harry Potter

A/N: Hi lovely! First off, I adored this request so much and I really hope I’ve done it justice. Tolerate It is such a beautiful song and defo one of my favourites off of Evermore to cry to, there’s just so much detail hidden within the lyrics and I adore that. Harry too!! There’s not enough stuff for Harry, so I hope I’ve done well for you! ( Also this is super short, but I’ve been swamped with coursework xox )

Summary: Y/N is in love with The Boy Who Lived, and due to marry him in the Spring with a beautiful April wedding. Friends to lovers to that engaged couple who are just too in love to function, they share the most perfect story. But when Y/N begins to see their relationship for what it is, her entire world is thrown off key...

Warnings: angst and lots of it, loneliness, sadness, swearing.

~

“You’re coming home tonight, right?” Y/N asks, excitement and anticipation heavy in her tone, cherry red nails clicking against the cold metal of the answerphone.

“Of course, I’ll be back soon, love.” Harry Potter, her beloved fiancé, answered back on the other side from his workplace all the way in central London. His office is almost empty, devoid of any homely photos or colleagues: they had all gone home to their families long ago, and yet he stayed behind. He had no work to finish, no cases glaring to be solved. There was nothing to do but leave, but Harry didn’t.

“You’ve said that before.” Y/N pointed out blandly, her forced smile fading slightly. Many times had Harry said he was on his way home, only to send a letter the next morning apologising for suddenly getting swamped with unavoidable paperwork. “Please come home Harry, I’ve even made your favourite for dinner.”

“That sounds good, I promise I’ll be there soon. I’m just leaving the Ministry now.” Harry replied monotonously, not sounding nearly as happy as Y/N wished he would. Perhaps he had just had a bad day at the office, he must have done. But he had just one too many bad days now, and the reality that he might not want to see her was beginning to sink in.

Shaking off that horrible thought, Y/N inhaled a sharp breath and chewed the edge of her top lip. “Alright, if you say so. I’ll see you then.”

“Bye.” Harry said shortly before putting the phone down and staring at his office, desperately trying to find a reason to stay at work. He did love Y/N, he did. Heck, he had even asked her to marry him and kissed the edge of her lips as they set the date. And then postponed it. And then postponed it another year after that, all because of some urgent work that Harry had suddenly come across. He was just so young, forced to grow up so quickly he didn’t even have time for a scrap of a childhood. Maybe that was why he didn’t want to see Y/N, why going home to their apartment often felt like a chore.

Back at their cosy flat in the nicer part of Greenwich, Y/N put the phone down after hearing an abrupt beep on the other end that let her know he had hung up. She sighed before walking over to a tall cabinet that stood to the side of their kitchen, taking out a set of nice china plates her Grandmother had left her and crystal wine glasses. It was the lovely cutlery only used for things like Christmas and obligatory dinner parties her family forced her to hold.

After setting it out on the table, Y/N checked the time and supposed that if Harry really had left as he said, he would be back in just a minute through the wonders of apparation. Carefully so she wouldn’t somehow spill the food in her clumsiness, a quality Harry once said he loved about her, Y/N moved the food from the oven, to plates and then through to their front room where the fancy cutlery was set up. A smile made its way onto her face, a beaming, gorgeous smile of confidence that her and Harry would finally have the night she deserved. One where work or his reluctance to put effort into their relationship, even if she did pretend she knew nothing about this, didn’t get in the way.

Alas however, minutes passed and there was no sign of Harry anywhere. The food grew colder and that wonderful, rare smile of hers faded into an all too comfortable frown, the crease between her eyebrows deepening with not only disappointment, but anger. A growing resentment for Harry’s lack of care or even acknowledgement of their engagement. He didn’t seem to give two hoots that she had made a lovely meal; after all, he had only called it ‘good’. Not fabulous or decadent or even something praiseful. Just good.

They hadn’t said ‘I love you’ before they hung up the phones. Harry had only said one word. Y/N’s mind began to spiral, her breathing growing quicker and sharper as the thought that it might be time to confront Harry about the buildup of letdowns over the course of the last few months. A year even, since he had properly spent time at home. At their home, the one in which he had knelt down on one knee and told her he wanted to grow old with her by his side, failing at muggle card games on the front porch as they watched their grandchildren play.

Not knowing exactly what to do, Y/N retreated to grasping at the doorframe to keep her body from tumbling to the ground. Her mind whirred with the usual possibilities to try and chase away his lateness. Got caught at work, perhaps Ron called. But none of it compared to the looming threat that Harry was scraping any old excuse together in order to stay away. That he was lying, something she never thought she would have to think about him doing. Harry had always been such an honest person, even as a child.

Y/N remembered how nervous he was when he first asked her out during their fifth year at Hogwarts. He had been on this disastrous date with some Ravenclaw she couldn’t quite remember the name of, and come back utterly defeated. Feeling sorry for a friend she had always harboured a crush on, Y/N had stayed up all night convincing him something better was around the corner. It occurred to Harry quite quickly after that that Y/N was that somebody. She liked him, and at the time that was enough to make him think he was in love. To some degree he was, but not nearly as much as Y/N had fallen for him.

It was almost midnight when the front door to their apartment clicked with the turn of a key, and Y/N, still standing in the same sad place by the door to their living room, finally saw Harry step into their home. It had been hours since they were supposed to eat the food that Y/N had worked to hard to create. There it still sat however, with the plates and crystal glasses and unopened bottle of wine in the same place, completely untouched.

Y/N had a thousand things to say to him. Usually it would begin with her asking him where he had been galavanting off to, but not tonight. Tonight was the final tear in her elastic heart, just enough to finally make it tear into two broken, hollowed out pieces. She stood, silent and just watched as he took off his shoes and put his coat back in it’s place without saying anything. Harry wasn’t even trying anymore, and that hurt more than him being late to begin with.

“Sorry for the delay, something came up.” Harry said, standing a few metres away from her. There was no affectionate kiss to the forehead like when they were fresh out of Hogwarts with teenage dreams and ambitions. No arm comfortably slung around her waist in a protective manner. Y/N missed that especially out of all the things that had faded away. That simple gesture that showed he wanted to hold her above all else, above everyone else who had ever wanted to touch the Chosen One like she did.

“Something.” Y/N repeated, no emotion in her voice. It sounded almost like a recording being played back to him, just with any tone sucked away. “It’s always something, isn’t it?” She continued, not finding quite the right words to encompass the flummox of emotions seeping into her veins. “Work. Ron called. Hermione called. Work. Work again.”

“There really was something.” Harry pathetically added. It was a lie of course, he had spent the hours at his desk alone and staring aimlessly at a fountain pen as it leaked ink onto the black carpet of his office.

“Do you really think I don’t know you at all? Stop lying to me, Harry, just stop it. I’m done with being lied to.” Y/N says, her voice remaining as monotonous as ever as if she’s already grieving something. “I want to know what was so important that you’ve missed the dinner I made. The last thirty dinners, in fact.”

Harry just runs a hand through his messy hair as he tries desperately to think of something to say. But he can’t. There’s nothing to say that would make him any less guilty.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He manages to whisper.

“You’ve said that already.” Y/N points out without missing a single beat. She’s exhausted of pretending that she doesn’t know what Harry’s been doing, drained of all energy to put in effort anymore.

“Just tell me what the problem is and we can fix it.” He begs, but his voice is shaky and the words sound as though he’s reading them from a script.

“Fine. When did you stop being in love with me?” Y/N asks, sadness seeping into her voice. Tears began to form in her eyes but were quickly blinked away; the last thing she wanted was for Harry to see her as weak. She might be pathetic, pitiful, stupid for not realising earlier... but Y/N was not going to be weak. Not now, not ever.

“Why would you think that? Y/N, I could never stop loving you.” Harry said, trying to wrap her into a hug only for Y/N to quickly wriggle out of his cold grasp. His fingers left icy burns where they had briefly touched her arm, and Harry’s face dropped as he realised she didn’t want him anywhere near her.

“But you have, Harry. Otherwise you wouldn’t be coming home at ridiculous times, or avoiding even looking at me like you are now. You don’t love me, you tolerate me because you don’t want to be alone. I feel like I’m begging to be in the footnotes in the story of your life, not a main character anymore.” Y/N explained quietly, neither expecting her to be so frank but once the blunt words were spilling from her lips, not even she could stop them. She watched as Harry’s face crumpled, sadness twisting her gut as she fervently tried not to cry herself.

“Y/N... I don’t know what to say.” Harry trailed off. Y/N used to be so infatuated with him, so desperately in love that she was blind to his flaws, much like his ridiculous fan base. But she had grown up from the teenager with a crush to a young woman with heart and with ambitions, and Harry was no longer apart of what she wanted out of life. She had stopped being a part of his long ago, she just hadn’t realised it then.

“Is this in my head? Tell me I’ve got it wrong somehow, Harry. Because please believe me, I could do it. I could leave.”

“I can’t.” Harry finally said. “I did love you once, Y/N. I’m not even sure what happened to us if I’m being completely honest.”

“That’s the problem: you don’t really even want me to stay. But that’s the thing... you built an entire new wizarding world after you defeated You-Know-Who, and where was I? I’m sorry for being dramatic and shit but I’m taking this dagger out and finally going where I need to be.” Y/N continued, not pausing as not to give him any time to ask her to stay, not that he would. Her mind was made up, and even Harry could see that.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Harry whispered, his voice trailing off as Y/N went to get her coat from a peg just beside their front door.

“It’s alright, really. I know you don’t hate me, but both of us know this isn’t working anymore. I deserve someone who celebrates me and my love, and that isn’t you. I’m not really sure that it ever was.” Y/N said, a sad smile gracing her delicate features. She looked almost relieved. Utterly broken-hearted, but relieved all the same. “I’ll come back for my stuff tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving me?” Harry said. Even though she had told him why, it still came as a shock. Y/N nodded. “I’m so sorry I didn’t treat you how you deserve.”

“I’m sorry about that too.” Y/N replied, both warmly and coldly at the same time. “Goodbye, Harry Potter. All the best.”

“Goodbye.” It was all Harry could fathom to say as she pressed her engagement ring back into his hand, the final recognition of their relationship officially being over. It was a beautiful piece of jewellery, one she at one point she thought she would never take off her finger. There were no more words exchanged about the gesture for none were needed, all had been said already.

One simple word that locked the door on their relationship, the one that Y/N had finally gained the courage to close in the first place. It had taken her so long, so pathetically long, to realise that something wasn’t right. That Harry was meant to love her, that love shouldn’t and can’t survive while being one sided. It shouldn’t have to be tolerated, and Y/N had finally learned that through all those lonely nights of wondering where Harry was, what he was getting up to at work, if he even was there.

But as Y/N’s grandma used to tell her every Christmas, as one door closes, another always opens.

-

A/N: hoped you liked it anon!!!

Nancy xx

[maybedancanwrite]

Here’s my first fic for the Harry Potter fandom. Hinny Fic.

A one-shot behind my art. For more, visit my Instagram art page: @dan.artchive

Read here: FFnet or AO3

It was a warm and sunny Friday that shone through the streets of Diagon Alley. Two Aurors wearing their dark red Auror robes were casually walking through the crowd of shoppers. The first Auror appeared to be average in height that had brown hair, tanned skin, and bright grey eyes. The second one was a tall, stocky, strawberry blonde bloke with pale skin and piercing blue eyes. One would think that the pair were normal wizards walking through the famous Wizarding shop in London but the two of them were under a charm to look different. If Alastor “Mad-eye” Moody was alive, he would have seen right through the charm with his eerie magical eye, hence, the moniker, “Mad-eye”.

 Apparently, the second Auror was on the verge of nervousness the entire day playing out the worst scenarios possible in his head that could happen on what he was about to do that afternoon. The first Auror found it amusing that the man, who saved the Wizarding World, was worrying over a huge question that could be answered by a yes or no. They strode to the lone jewelry shop in magical London to obtain the thing.

 “Okay, here we go,” huffed Harry Potter, the second Auror in disguise. He opened the door and the bell above it rang, signaling the store keeper that someone has arrived.

 “Relax, mate, I’m sure she would say yes. You’ve been dating for almost four years now,” said Ron Weasley, the first Auror in disguise for the nth time, assuring him again and again that nothing would go wrong. They had this conversation over a month ago when Harry asked for Ginny’s hand from all the Weasley family members, in secret, of course. If Ginny knew, she would have thrown a fit stating that no one gets to decide to who she marries. 

Harry only nodded to the words of comfort coming from Ron. He greeted the store keeper a good day and asked for the ring that he requested to be made a week ago. The store keeper, named Jane, asked for his magical signature (a receipt in the Muggle world) for security and clarity purposes. Upon seeing the signature, Jane’s eye widened in shock and confusion. Who wouldn’t be confused if the magical signature (designed to be forge-proof) of Harry Potter were to appear but the man before her was completely different from the famous Harry Potter? Nevertheless, she kept her confused thoughts to herself and headed to the back of the shop to obtain said requested ring.

It took about two to three minutes before Jane arrived bringing the velvet box. Harry gingerly grabbed and opened it to see a beautiful engagement ring perfect for his beloved girlfriend. The ring was a beautiful silver band encrusted with diamonds around it with the peridot gemstone, her birthstone, on top of it all. It was perfect. Perfect ring for his perfect love of his life. Harry thanked her and requested to keep it a secret for now, because Harry realized that sooner or later, the press will know and would have published it in numerous papers with exaggerated headlines.

********************************

It was now four in the afternoon when Harry realized that Ginny will be off from practice in an hour. Somehow excited yet nervous, Harry fumbled the velvet box silently praying to the heavens that she would say yes. Harry, who took half a day off with Ron, was lounging in the drawing room of 12 Grimmauld Place after they went to retrieve the ring from the shop. Ron, who stayed with Harry after, was still snoring on the couch sometimes murmuring Hermione’s name.

 Harry aroused Ron from his sleep telling him that they need to go to Holyhead in ten minutes to finally ask the question. Ron, internalizing Harry’s word, was now fully awake and as excited as Harry. The pair then groomed themselves decently, especially Harry.

Ten minutes and a crack of noise later, the pair of Aurors, now not disguised, were sauntering along the grounds of the Holyhead Harpies’ stadium after some security checks and asking their purpose of visit. Harry told Ron to wear his invisibility cloak only to remove it until after the proposal, after she says yes, that is if she says yes, and snap a surprise photo.

The pair strode down to the stadium’s Quidditch pitch stands just in time to see the Harpies in the middle of their cool down routines. Harry roamed his eyes to a sea of women in green robes to locate where his girlfriend was. After a moment or so, he located her. There she was, looking so hot and sexy even in her current state; hair a mess, flushed cheeks and sweaty. 

 Thirty minutes later, the captain-slash-coach, Gwenog Jones, was now giving post-practice announcement, one of them was a two-day break much to the delight of the Harpies. Afterwards, the Harpies, who were now heading to their locker rooms, saw Harry approaching the team fumbling something under his robes. The ladies greeted Harry with a wave of hand, some nods, some saying “Wotcher, Potter”, and some pointing to their lead chaser, Ginny Weasley. 

 Harry returned their greetings and then walked to the center of the pitch with Ron behind, still under the invisibility cloak. He saw Ginny starting to remove her protective gears on her legs. He walked to her and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek only to be swatted by her small adorable hands pointing out that she was sweaty as hell. The two of them giggling while a hidden Ron was fake gagging. She was about to remove her protective arm gears when Harry took hand and donned his serious, loving and passionate face.

 “Gin, I-I don’t know how to start this but…,” started Harry, rubbing his thumb along her hand. Ginny, who knows her boyfriend really well, noticed how rubbing his thumb along any surface, this time her hand, is a sign of him being nervous of some sort.

 Ginny was about to speak out her thoughts when Harry gently asked her to let him finish.

 “Gin, the past years has been my absolute happiest moments. Living like a normal person, no mad dark wizard after me every year, no life threatening activities ever since – well, except for the raids and field missions,” he said, chuckling at the last part.

 “What I’m trying to say is…,” continued Harry, hoping the next words that will come out of his mouth would be not be too much for her. “I don’t want you to be my girlfriend anymore.”

 Ginny’s jaw drop every slightly with tears now starting to roll down her flushed cheeks. She was too frozen to remove her hand from his. The thing she was scared the most was now slowly happening. The thought of Harry leaving her for someone better than her was always at the back of her mind. 

 Unbeknownst to Ginny and Harry, Ron was fuming. This was not what Harry told him. This was not the scene he pictured out when Harry told Ron that he was asking his only sister to be his wife. Ron was about to pull the invisibility cloak when Harry went down on one knee, his other hand trembling as he held the velvet box. The box opened itself knowing that Harry had probably cast a non-verbal spell. The box, to Ron and Ginny’s surprise, was not the ring but a golden snitch.

 “Ginevra Molly Weasley, my love, my dear Gin, I’m sorry for shocking you like that. I love you and I don’t think that I can go on in this life without you in it. I may be a prat, a git, or whatever do you call me sometimes when you’re annoyed, but this prat loves you with all my heart,” he said, professing his love for her. Tears were still rolling down her cheeks, all flustered. “Would you let me be the happiest man and be my wife? Will you marry me?” asked Harry, gently taking the snitch from the box and caressing it softly along her hand revealing the peridot ring. 

 “Y-yes! Of course I will marry you, you prat,” said Ginny, hitting Harry square in the chest. “That’s for scaring me like that, Potter.”

 Harry slid the ring to her ring finger and kissed her. “I love you so much, soon-to-be Mrs Potter,” confessed Harry, hugging her so tightly.

“I love you, too,” replied Ginny, inhaling his fiancé’s lovely scent that she loves so much. When the couple pulled apart, Ginny asked about the snitch in question.          

 “The snitch…It’s the snitch I caught from my fifth year, isn’t it?” 

 Harry nods. “I got it from Madam Hooch. It seems that she has been keeping all snitches that won every House finals. Took me a lot of time convincing her but at the end she caved in,” he chuckled.  

Suddenly, a bright flash interrupted the couple’s sweet moment. Ron had finally removed the cloak and took a photo of the newly engaged couple, much to Ginny’s chagrin. Ginny was supposed to be mad at him for interrupting their moment but she noticed that his eyes were slightly puffed so instead of being mad at him, she hugged her brother. 

 “Alright, you,” said Ron, slowly pulling himself from his sister, trying to discreetly sniff and not to sound hoarse. “Go to your future husband and I’ll snap a photo of you.”

Ginny obliged and went to Harry for their first proper photo of their engagement. Harry, in his Auror robes, held her by her waist while pressing a kiss on her head and inhaling her flowery smell despite the sweat. Ginny leaned against Harry, her puffed eyes showing nothing but love and happiness with her bright and wide smile. She showed her ring to the camera while pointing at it. The snitch hovering close by. 

Harry was over the moon, the girl he pined for most of his sixth year, who then became his girlfriend for almost four years, was now about to become his wife. At the prime age of twenty two, he was at his happiest.

[spiderman-homecomeme]

day five - the baby-sitters club

ROOMMATES AU

A/N: DAY FIVE WOO!!! get ready for some softness!! This fic was very strongly inspired by the fact that for quarantine, I’ve been watching my sister’s two kids for her while she works from home. But instead of giving MJ a two year old and a nine month old, I thought I’d give her a baby and Peter. So two babies. 

Thanks @spideychelleweek​ again!!

Enjoy 5.1k of FLUFF, BABIES, and oh my GOD they were roommates

Read here or on AO3

-

come home

baby 

The text messages stare back up at him, taunting; the three words laughing maniacally as he tries to figure out what it all means, what his roommate of nearly two-and-a-half years MJ means when she sends him something so straightforward, yet still so cryptic.

There’s no chance in the world that she means what he’s thinking she means… that the gutter his mind immediately swan-dives into is in any way the right place to be. MJ, blunt and honest as she is, isn’t someone who just puts herself out there so forwardly.

He’s seen her flirt, and frankly, she’s almost as bad at it as he is. 

Granted, she’s been successful a few more times than he has, but still. 

In the area of romance and relationships, MJ might as well have that same Parker-Luck.

He realizes mid-swing that he still hasn’t sent any reply. He responds with an appropriate amount of question marks—three to be exact—before his body seems to move on its own accord, cutting off his early Saturday-afternoon patrol short by about half-an-hour and swinging him home at an almost embarrassing speed.

When, his phone pings again.

please I need you

At that, he clumsily misses a shot, forgetting who and where he is, stomach flipping as he hits free-fall for a fraction of a second before catching himself. 

His next thought is that this all has to be some accident. Perhaps it’s for someone else; perhaps she knows another Peter, another person she has under “Loser” in her phone. And, weirdly enough, the thought of someone else being so lovingly given that title brings with it a strange feeling in his chest. 

Or maybe he’s just completely misunderstanding the statement, which wouldn’t be all that unusual for him. After all, it’s damn near impossible to get someone’s true meaning in a text message. Sarcasm can fall flat when read. The difference between a period and an exclamation point can be monumental. The list goes on. 

Though, Peter likes to think in his years of being MJ’s friend, plus the two-and-a-half of being her roommate, that he’s come to know her pretty well, that he’s got all of her phrases and mannerisms tucked away in the “MJ” file in his brain. 

Still, after years of friendship, he’d be dumb to think she’d have run out of ways to surprise him. 

But what would he even do if a) MJ meant everything literally and b) it wasn’t some accident and she actually, honestly, truly meant it for him?

Really. What would he even do? He has no idea.

He starts to wonder if maybe it’s code for something else when he nearly splats face-first into his fifth-story window, almost losing himself completely in his thoughts. Sliding the window open as quickly as possible, he practically falls into his room, not caring about whether he’s being silent  or not. (MJ found out his secret years ago, even before they were really even friends.) He nearly trips over his suit as it flies off, and he stumbles as he yanks on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from the night before. 

Without another thought, he bursts out of his room, following the sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen. 

What he finds, however, isn’t something he’d ever considered in a million years. 

MJ’s there alright, standing in front of the open fridge, searching through the various fruits and vegetables. A perfectly normal occurrence. Nothing to be concerned about. 

Only there’s a slight difference. 

There’s a baby resting comfortably on her hip, one of its tiny hands reaching out to grab at the stray locks of hair falling from MJ’s ponytail as she ducks her head. 

“Uh…” Peter starts, the confusion just coming right out of him. “Hi?”

MJ barely even registers that Peter’s even there. “Oh hey, man.” She’s the very essence of nonchalance as she places some deli-sliced turkey and pepper jack cheese on the counter, her other hand instinctively coming up to stop the baby from grabbing any of it. 

At his bewildered silence, she finally meets his gaze, ignoring the infant in her grasp desperately trying to get its chubby hands on the jar of mayo. “What’s up?”

come home

baby

Peter opens his mouth to speak, but finds that nothing comes out at first. He blows out a puff of air through his lips. “I was—I was gonna ask about… your... text…?” He pauses again, his brow furrowed as he glances between her and the tiny human on her hip. “...But I think I understand now.” He huffs out a laugh. 

“Oh,” MJ nods, adjusting her grip as she closes the refrigerator door with her foot. “Yeah. That.” 

Peter eyes her expectantly. A beat passes. 

“What?” She asks innocently, as if she wasn’t just holding a random baby in their kitchen. 

“You wanna…” Peter gestures to her, his finger going back and forth between her and the infant. “Explain… The baby?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, my bad.” She goes to the pantry to grab the loaf of bread before turning to look at him again. “This is my son,” she deadpans. “I didn’t tell you?”

“MJ—”

“—you’re the father.”

Peter only returns with an unblinking, unimpressed stare. 

“I adopted him this morning.”

Peter blinks.

MJ waits a moment before apparently giving up the joke. “Okay, fine.” She rolls her eyes. “This is my nephew, Oliver. He’s eight months old, and my sister asked me to watch him for the day. I thought the text I sent was pretty clear, though.” There’s a faint smirk on her lips as she says that last bit, an expression that never fails to make Peter’s face warm. 

“I mean, it wasn’t,” Peter responds, returning her joking expression, his mind flashing back to the panic he was in not five minutes ago. “But it’s whatever.” He looks down at the baby in her arms, his smirk melting into a wide, easy smile. “Hi, Oliver!” 

Little Oliver stares blankly for a moment before turning to bury his face in MJ’s shoulder. 

And it’s the fact that Peter doesn’t immediately get a smile in return that makes him feel like literal human garbage. 

MJ seems to notice his disappointment. “It’s okay,” She says, bouncing the little one slightly. “Oliver’s kinda iffy with strangers at first. He’ll warm up to you.”

Hmm, sounds familiar, Peter thinks. 

A stretch of silence falls over the room, Oliver breaking it with a string of babbles consisting of only “guy” and the occasional “buh,” as he smacks at MJ’s shoulder, his other hand reaching for her hair once again. 

“Need any help?” Peter asks, remembering her last text to him, and also seeing the pained expression on her face as Oliver successfully gets a fistful of her curls and tugs it toward his slobbery mouth. 

“Um, yeah, actually,” MJ puts her sandwich makings down before walking over and holding her nephew out to him, simultaneously trying to free her hair from his tiny, vice grip. “Can you take him while I make my lunch?” 

Peter pauses a moment, eyeing the two of them before carefully holding his hands out. “Uh, sure...” 

MJ doesn’t miss the trepidation in his tone, but she also doesn’t seem to address it. Instead, she just hands him the baby, not waiting to see if he’s ready or anything. 

Luckily, Peter’s reflexes are fast, and he’s able to hang on to little Oliver, even if it is slightly awkward. Both of his arms are wrapped around the small torso, the eight month old pushing back against his chest, letting out a frustrated whine. The pleading expression on Peter’s face as he turns to face MJ again causes her to huff out a sudden laugh. 

Peter moves one of his hands to support the head, though he feels more and more that he’s losing control of the baby in his arms that desperately wants to look around the room. 

Again, MJ puts her ingredients down, making her way back over. “Just… hold him under his butt.” Gently, she guides Peter’s hands with her own to a more comfortable position, a touch under any normal circumstances would make him question his sanity. “He’s old enough to hold himself up, so you don’t need to like, support the back of his head or anything.”

Having never had much experience with babies—no little siblings, cousins, or his own nieces and nephews—this is entirely uncharted territory for Peter. His only interactions with littles have been through his work as Spider-Man. While it’s true that he’s saved one or two from burning buildings, this is something entirely different. 

And it becomes abundantly clear that Oliver can still sense the insecurity, even as Peter’s hold improves, when he starts letting out quiet, fussy whimpers. “Ahhh,” Peter panics for a moment, eyes wide as he looks to MJ for help, before adjusting his grip again, allowing the baby into a more natural position. 

“See? Super easy,” MJ says as she cuts her sandwich in half. 

Neither boy seems completely at ease with the other.

“I guess,” Peter replies, lightly bouncing on his feet. “Need any more help besides this?”

“Sure.” MJ looks up from her lunch before taking a bite. “But don’t think this means you’re getting any of my paycheck,” she jokes through a mouthful of turkey sandwich. “This isn’t some Baby-Sitters Club shit, alright?” 

Peter gives a firm nod. "Understood."

“Okay, well. Here’s the rundown,” She says as she finishes her lunch and begins to make her way into the living room. “My sister will be back tonight at 6:30. Before then, he needs to eat and sleep about every three hours. Last bottle was… thirty minutes ago? So he’ll need another one at about… two-ish, and then a nap right after.”

While she’s talking, rattling off the to-do list, the softest smile forms on Peter’s face as he listens and follows her. 

“And then, of course, we’ll have to change his diaper a lot, give him a new one before and after his nap and…” She notices her roommate staring, his eyes tinted with humor. “What?”

Peter coughs, clearing his throat, the tips of his ears turning an embarrassing shade of pink, though his smile never leaves. “Oh, uh, nothing. You just… you seem to have this down to a science. Like you care. A lot.”

She jerks her head back in mild surprise. “Well, yeah. He’s my nephew. And I told my sister he’d be back in one piece.”

“That’s fair,” Peter concedes.

“Plus, I’m not you,” she teases. “I don’t half-ass jobs.”

“Hey!” Peter’s eyes narrow at her, and he brings a hand to his chest, wounded, but he can’t seem to drop the dopey little grin her teasing brings. 

“In the meantime—” MJ sits down on the ground, motioning for Peter to follow suit. “—we can just play with him.”

Peter nods, though he struggles to find a way down that’s comfortable for both him and Oliver. He wonders if he should put the baby down first? Or if it’s completely safe to just sit. And again, his hesitation is clear, both to Oliver and to MJ. 

“Dude, just put him down.” She says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. 

“Yeah—Yeah, I—” Peter shifts on his feet. “I got that part.”

Oliver lets out the beginning of an anxious cry.

With another awkward side-step, Peter seems to figure it out, either from actually piecing it together or from not wanting the tiny human in his arms to start screaming, he’s not sure. He gently—and perhaps with an overwhelming amount of caution—places the eight month old on the ground. Oliver, still crying, glances around frantically. His wails stop almost immediately, his face lighting up, positively beaming when his eyes meet MJ’s. 

Michelle only gives him half-a-smirk and there’s a big, happy grin on his chubby face.

Oliver’s eyes move from hers after a beat, darting around the room curiously before landing on Peter. 

Peter puts on a silly smile. “Hey, buddy!” He greets in his best impression of a baby-talk voice. 

Though Oliver seems to be mildly fascinated by this new stranger, his expression shows that he’s less than impressed at the attempt.

And looking up, Peter sees the same look on MJ’s face.

Michelle, however, seems to take pity on her poor roommate, swooping in to rescue him from further embarrassment in front of a literal eight month old child. “He really likes when you blow raspberries at him,” MJ offers. “He’ll either laugh or do one back. It’s cute.”

Peter nods, though he doesn’t try.

MJ sits forward, getting her nephews attention, sticking her tongue out and letting out a harsh puff of air. As if on cue, Oliver lets out one of quite possibly the cutest sounds Peter’s ever heard. The baby’s eyes widen first, mouth forming a tiny little circle before he breaks into giggles, eyes barely open, his smile wide and gummy. When she does it a second time, his hands fly to his face, curled into tiny little fists. 

Peter has to physically hold back the audible awwww that threatens to just come right out of him at the sight. 

It takes a third time for Oliver to blow a raspberry back at MJ. It’s clumsy, and a bit of his drool flies out everywhere, but even then, Michelle’s unable to keep the small grin from tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

It’s when Peter tries, tongue stuck out with some forced air, that little Oliver’s smile slowly fades, his tiny features now fixed into a calculating expression. 

Almost instantly, Peter deflates. 

MJ starts to stand, putting a toy in front of the baby before giving Peter a gentle pat on the shoulder. “It’s okay, tiger. You’ll get ‘em next time.” She stretches her hands high above her head, the action earning another squeal of delight from Oliver. 

Oh, come on! Bare minimum, Peter thinks. 

In fact, almost everything Michelle seems to do gets the same reaction. She’s not a particularly sunny, bubbly person—far from it—but even her blank, impassive stares seem to incite rounds and rounds of uncontrollable giggles from her nephew. 

“Hey, can you watch him while I run to the bathroom?” MJ asks, already walking in that direction. 

“Yeah—yeah,” Peter nods, pressing his lips together. “Totally.”

Oliver doesn’t immediately notice when she’s gone, and he sits there, happily chewing on the soft toy that Michelle had placed in front of him. Though, when he realizes that he’s been left alone with the stranger, he grows restless. 

Peter sees his opportunity. “Hey! Hey Buddy! Hey Oliver!” He says with an overdramatic excitement. Again, he blows a quiet raspberry at the little one, feeling just slightest bit of success when one of the corners of Oliver’s mouth quirks upward for the briefest of moments. 

But the feeling quickly dissipates when Oliver’s attention goes back to the clearly more interesting toy. 

It does rattle, after all. 

Peter sits back on his hands, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he tries to come up with another way to get this dang baby to smile. If he could get him to laugh, bonus points. But now, all he needs is the teeniest, tiniest smile, and maybe he’ll feel like he can actually succeed in life. 

He doesn’t take a second to think about how he’s banking all of his future self-worth on whether or not a baby thinks he’s funny enough. Much less likes him.

But something catches Oliver’s curious eyes, and he turns to look at Peter—or rather, Peter’s hands. Turning his gaze downward, Peter sees that the simple bands of his webshooters—though the ‘shooty’ part of them is put away—are still on his wrists, and the dark silver metal is shining in the pocket of sunlight on the living room floor. 

Oliver lets out an excited, intrigued coo. He leans forward, tiny little noises of exertion coming from his as he starts army crawling to Peter’s place on the floor. 

And really, Peter can’t help himself. He picks Oliver up again, placing him back in a sitting position before taking one of the bands off his wrist. “You wanna see this, buddy?” Peter asks in a gentle tone, holding out the webshooter to the infant. “It looks cool, huh?”

Oliver takes the metal band into his tiny, chubby hands, his mouth set into a little circle, his eyes wide as he shakes the new toy furiously. 

“You like ‘em, little dude?” 

Oliver answers with a loud, excited “Ah!” In the same breath, he brings the webshooter to his mouth. 

And although Peter’s reflexes are fast, he can’t stop the eight month old from chomping on the cold metal between his gums. 

“Oliver!” Peter says, surprised that there’s a laugh underneath his tone. “You’re not supposed to chew on it!”

“What is he chewing on?” MJ’s voice is behind him again as she walks back into the room. 

Peter barely turns around to look at her as he responds. “My webshooter.”

“Oh, my God! Peter, I leave for one second—” Michelle instantly moves to her nephew, taking the metal band from his tiny grasp, setting it on the coffee table before joining them on the floor. “You let him put that in his mouth?”

“He seemed interested in it!” Peter defends. 

“He’s a baby, dude.” MJ stares at him. “He’s interesting in literally everything.”

“Not me…” Peter mutters under his breath before speaking at a normal volume again. “All I did was hand it to him!”

She blinks at him. Once. Twice. “You let him—a baby, who you saw earlier trying to eat my hair—hold your webshooter, not thinking he was going to want to chew on it?”

Peter tilts his head, bottom lip poking out as he shrugs. She has a fair point. He did not think that through. Upon this moment of realization, he flinches, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry.”

And at that, at his evident regret, she seems to soften. A sigh escapes her. “It’s fine, dude.” She laughs. “I’ve definitely let him chew on things that were just as bad before I learned. It was one time, but… I’ve been there.”

“Thanks,” Peter says, holding his head back as he looks at her from the corner of his eye. 

Her gaze shifts around the room, avoiding his for some reason. “No prob.”

The moment, tiny and seemingly insignificant as it is, is ending with another excited, incoherent, attention-demanding yell from the baby in front of them.

They play with Oliver for the rest of the early-afternoon, Peter still never getting anything more than a half-smile, if even that. Michelle always getting them effortlessly, without even trying, her nephew clearly smitten with her. 

And it’s not like Peter’s stopped trying. In fact, he might even say—or rather, he might be influenced by MJ saying—that he’s trying a little too hard maybe. He has tried everything though, it seems. Once he’s more comfortable holding the baby, he tries swinging him up into the air, but that only gets a few, ever so faint, single laughs. Nothing like the giggles that MJ gets out of him. 

Oliver’s even grown to be more comfortable around Peter, no longer glancing around frantically, looking to be rescued when placed in his arms. The baby even holds onto him, something MJ says is one of his little signs that he does indeed “like you.”

So, in theory, Peter should be able to make this baby smile. Make him laugh. 

But, it’s much easier said than done. At least for him. 

When one-thirty rolls around, MJ gets a call from her boss. Nothing to worry about, she says, but one she needs to take outside. 

Peter being much more confident, thinks nothing of it. In fact, he finds it to be the perfect opportunity to really master this whole baby thing. Even with no experience, he’s finding this easier than he’d ever thought. It just comes more naturally to him the more time he spends with Oliver. 

It’s weird in the coolest way. 

There are various, multi-colored blocks on the floor in front of Oliver, one of them between his drooly, chubby hands and in his mouth. He spares a few glances at Peter, once again, only a corner of his mouth quirking upward, though this one does seem to reach his eyes. 

Peter will take that as one of the many steps of an actual win. 

But nothing else seems to come out of it, Oliver just chewing on his block while Peter sits there in silent contemplation. Not wanting to try anything new, Peter goes back to the initial method. The classic, farty raspberries. 

Peter blows one at him, Oliver taking the block out of his mouth to flail his arms the slightest bit. 

Now, that’s something, Peter thinks. 

Peter does it again, earning the same, cute reaction; arms waving a little harder this time. At the third time, he doesn’t get the giggle he’s looking for, but an energetic squeal before Oliver sticks his little tongue out and blows a raspberry right back at him. 

In Oliver’s excitement at the fourth time, he flails a little too hard, losing his balance and tumbling over to the right and onto the soft carpet. His head just barely bumps the bright green block, and at first, his expression is blank and slightly confused. 

And then, there’s a second; one where Peter hears the sharp, deep intake of breath.

Oliver lets out a scared, long wail. It trails off, hiccuping as he lets out another scream. Peter instantly moves to him, taking the baby into his arms and holding him to his chest. His hand rests at the back of his small head, and he softly shh’s him, murmuring gentle, if not a little bit panicked, words of reassurance. 

“It’s okay, buddy! You’re okay!” Peter’s attempt at comforting the crying baby is valiant, but it doesn’t pay off. His voice comes out too shaky, no matter how quiet it is. 

When the door opens, MJ shutting it behind her, Peter looks up as if to thank whatever higher being that graciously decided to take pity on him. 

MJ’s brow is pinched together, her expression concerned. “What happened?” 

Peter’s heart seems to have fallen into his stomach, and his stomach into his butt. “Uh…” He takes a breath. “He—he fell and... hit his head on—on one of the blocks.” 

MJ holds her hands out to take the baby that’s too distracted by its own crying to even notice. “It’s okay,” she says to Oliver (and to Peter). “It happens sometimes. That’s how he learns to keep his balance.” She rocks back and forth, speaking softly to little Oliver as he clings desperately to her shirt, crying into her collarbone. “Auntie MJ, I fell over,” She speaks for him in a gentle tone, quiet enough that Peter probably wouldn’t be able to hear without his super senses. “It was so scary!” 

The crying soon turns to quiet whimpers that line up perfectly with her rocks from side-to-side; it’s almost as if he’s telling her all about what happened. 

Peter watches, a smile forming on his lips at the gentleness coming from his friend before him in spite of the near-crippling fear he’d just experienced moments before. He’s never really seen MJ this soft before, speaking with such tenderness. A few times, maybe, when she’s seen an animal; a dog, a cat, a bumblebee, a dragonfly, even the wayward spider, but nothing like this before. 

The crying eventually stops, and little Oliver looks up at MJ. She smiles down at him, lightly squeezing his sides under his armpits, and a tiny grin breaks across his features as he reaches his chubby hands out to her cheeks. 

MJ can feel Peter’s eyes and smile burning into her. 

“What?” She asks, perhaps a little defensive. 

“Nothing!” Peter says immediately, eyes wide, hands raised in surrender. “Just… Interesting—Nice, I mean, seeing you… with him.”

She raises a curious, almost judging brow, still rocking on her feet. 

“I mean—” Peter huffs out a laugh. “You don’t really like people all that much.”

“I mean… I don’t know. When you think about it, babies aren’t really people yet?” MJ reasons, scrunching her face playfully at the baby in her arms. “Like, of course they’re physically people, but… They aren’t terrible, yet. And I think they should be rewarded for that.”

Peter laughs again, not able to stop the fond shake of his head as MJ blows another raspberry at her nephew. 

Not long after, two o’clock comes. MJ once again leaves Peter to watch Oliver while she goes and heats up a bottle. Thankfully, nothing happens this time around. In fact, it’s pretty uneventful. Peter sits across from the baby, showing him how to stack a set of colorful rings on a wooden stick. 

Of course, he still doesn’t get a smile, but… it’s fine.

MJ returns just minutes later, Oliver’s eyes going wide, cooing in excitement, when he sees what’s in her hand. He seems to dance in place, his limbs flailing about when she goes to pick him up. “Alright, my dude, let’s get you some milk and then a nap.”

“He doesn’t seem super tired, though?” Peter asks rather than states.

Again, as if on cue, even amidst his sheer excitement, Oliver lets out a yawn, bringing his tiny fists up to rub at his eyes.

MJ raises a brow that speaks volumes. 

Peter shuts up. 

Peter gets a much need break as MJ feeds her nephew, both of them scrolling on their phones as the little one practically inhales his meal. But soon, as he gets to where there’s about a fourth of the bottle left, his small eyelids seem to grow heavier and heavier, and he struggles to keep them both open. And even sooner after that, as he finishes the last drop, little snoozes can be heard as he falls fast asleep on his aunt. 

Peter looks up then, just a few moments later, having not been paying attention, seeing that MJ’s shifting to laying down on the couch, her nephew cuddled up beside her. Her own eyes are closed, her arms above her head as she starts to drift off. 

And at that, he takes a chance, moving as quietly as he can to go stand above the slumbering duo. He pulls his phone out, swiping to the camera, taking a single picture, when MJ cracks an eye open, feeling his presence. 

“What are you doing?” She asks sleepily. 

Peter barely looks up from his phone, lips pulled back into a mischievous grin. “Getting blackmail. In case I need it.”

“Oh?” MJ questions, unable to keep from closing her eyes again.  

“Yeah.” Peter puts his phone away. “Imagine what everyone would think seeing big, tough, mean Michelle Jones cuddling with a baby.”

MJ rolls her eyes. “Come on. You’ve done way more embarrassing things. This is nothing.”

Peter nods. “Fair.”

“Plus,” MJ continues, though she can’t stop the playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “I can just murder you if you ever show that to anyone. No biggie.”

Peter covers his mouth as he lets out a surprised snort. 

--

“Thank you so much for watching him!” 

Peter hears a new voice from the living room. He steps over the threshold, seeing Michelle’s sister standing in the front doorway, empty baby carrier next to her feet, Oliver happily on her hip. 

MJ shrugs. “No problem.” Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Peter. “Oh, Lara, this is my roommate, Peter. He helped out.”

Lara’s smile widens as she reaches her free hand out to shake his. “Hi Peter. Thanks for helping my dear sister take care of this little monster.” She punctuates that statement with a tickle in her son’s side, earning a hiccuping giggle. 

Peter can’t help but grin. “Anytime.”

“But just because he helped doesn’t mean you should pay him,” MJ cuts in before throwing a teasing wink to her friend. 

Lara ignores her sister’s comment. “Peter, just find me on facebook, send me your venmo, we’ll figure it out. Simple.”

“No, no.” Peter waves her off. “That’s really—that’s okay,” he chuckles nervously, gaze flitting between the older sister and his roommate. 

Lara shrugs. “We’ll figure it out,” she repeats. She takes one of Oliver’s hands in hers. “Alright, Oliver. Wave bye-bye to your Aunt MJ and… Peter.” She shrugs again, this time more apologetic. 

MJ waves back at her nephew, moving forward to give him a little boop on his chubby cheeks. “See ya later, bud. Till the next time.” 

The baby grins, wide and happy. 

Peter waves, too, putting on his best, biggest, most genuine smile yet. “Bye bye, Oliver!” 

And finally.

FINALLY.

The wonderful, adorable, gummy little grin of validation that Peter wanted so badly stretches across the little one’s features. Oliver turns his head, bashfully burying his face into his mother’s hair. She smiles, putting her son into the carrier. 

“Thanks, guys,” Lara offers with a final wave, closing the door behind her. 

The apartment is quiet, the click of the shutting door echoing between the two roommates as they stand there. Peter’s the first to look over; he doesn’t turn his head, sneaking little glances from the corner of his eye. 

And he sees MJ do the same once. 

“Well, that was fun,” he offers lamely, rocking back on his heels. “We made a good team!”

“Yup,” MJ agrees, pressing her lips together. 

He turns to her. “For real, though. I had a blast,” he says earnestly. 

She turns to him. “Me, too,” she replies, and he swears he can detect a hint of shyness to her tone. 

And for a moment, they just stare at each other, neither one of them saying anything. The words unsaid hanging between them like a thick blanket. 

Peter clears his throat. “MJ… Today… Kinda got me thinking—”

“—Oh my, God. Yes. We should have a baby together.”

Her words nearly knock him right out of his head and into the astral plane. If he were a cartoon, he’s sure he’d have those damn stars and cuckoo circling his head like a giant anvil had just landed on top of him. 

“What?!”

She breaks, her laughter filling the apartment. “Dude, I’m kidding. I’m kidding. Geez.”

Peter breathes out a laugh, nodding slowly. 

He really had been right, he thinks as she playfully ruffles his hair and walks past him into the kitchen, asking what he wants to do for dinner; he’s right that even after all the years he’s spent with MJ, she never fails to run out of ways to mess with him. 

“Yeah…” His mouth twists as he tries to hide his smile, glancing briefly at the door, then at the toys that had been left at their apartment just in case there was another day of babysitting. He laughs, mostly to himself. “We’d be horrible parents anyway.”

[nekoannie-chan]

So close…

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Mutant! Reader

Word count: 1080 words.

Summary: Y/N keeps thinking about all the times that had a near-death experience

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death of characters, thoughts about death and life.

A/N: The text in italics are thoughts that the reader writes in a notebook, the first one I wrote it a long time ago in a notebook.

“Mutie” is a derogatory way to call the mutants that some people use in The Gifted.

This is my entry to the @jennmurawski13​ ‘s 1000 Follower/Birthday Challenge with the prompt:

“Near-death experience.”

Also my entry to the @angrybirdcr​ ‘s  200 Challenge with the angst prompt #4 and the scenario #78:

“How do we fix this?”

“Near-death experience.”

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don’t steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other’s people. The only exception is the ones I gifted ‘cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Marvel’s characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog. 

Tags: @navybrat817​ @saiyanprincessswanie​

Sometimes I wonder if people have any idea how many times they've been close to death, for years we see the exact date of our death on the calendar. How many times do people think about this? How many times have you experienced it? How many times have they thought about how close they almost dying?

 You closed the notebook after you wrote that then you kept it in the drawer with a key, you didn't like that anyone saw what you were writing, it wasn't exactly a diary, but just where you captured your thoughts and occurrences, even though you thought that if someone else read it... they wouldn’t understand what had happened because they had been on the other side during those events.  

For a few days you couldn't stop thinking about it, not to mention that you had a strange feeling.  

Despite having powers, sometimes you wished you could have visions and thus know and prevent future events

You stand up, you went to the kitchen and you made yourself a tea, a noise in the window made you look up, it had started to rain very hard and the drops were hitting the window.  

You sighed, a lot of people found the nights like this charming; however, it only brought you memories... bad memories.  

"What are you doing?”

You were startled when you heard Steve's voice, and you left the cup on the kitchen table.  

"I’m drinking a tea and think a little," you replied, trying to sound calm.  

"What were you thinking? Is there anything you're worried about? You know you can trust me,' Steve said.  

"I know... have you ever had any near-death experiences? I mean, you were going to die and something happened and you managed to survive," you questioned.  

Steve stared at you, he hadn't talked to anyone about all those times either; though they didn't seem to interest others.  

"I think I need a cup of tea too," he replied while serving the hot water in the cup.

"That doesn't answer my question," you complained. 

Steve sat next to you with the cup in his hand, took air before he started talking.  

“Before the serum... many times, I was too sick, doctors told my mom that if I reached the thirties it would be a miracle, after the serum... I came to think that he was invincible until the day Bucky fell the train... I realized how fragile life is," he recounted.  

"Wow... that sounds intense," you said.  

"Also during the Triskelion’s attack, I had many injuries from the fight against Buck, I was practically unconscious, and I remember falling from Hellicarier to Potomac... As I fell I couldn't stop thinking I was going to die...” 

"You thought it was the price you had to pay for what had happened to Bucky," you finished his sentence.  

Steve nodded.  

"And what about you? Steve asked.

"Pretty much my whole life, I stopped counting after the fifth occasion, I don't think any normal person can understand what mutants face and the danger it posed when the Sentinel program was active.

 2004

 No one expected the storm that day came unexpectedly, several lives were lost that day.  

Your classmates had locked you in the school service room minutes before the storm started. No one could go home, all roads were flooded, the water level was starting to rise, and everyone was panicking.  

The water was starting to accumulate in the little room you were in, you couldn't stop thinking it was your end, and you were going to die, would you find your body? How could your parents take the news? 

Until a miracle happened, your mutant powers were activated and they were the ones who managed to keep you safe, somehow you managed to create a portal that took you to a place away from the flood.

The problem was when the survivors found out what you did, they thought it unfair that you had survived, and that you hadn't gone to save the others, they didn't even care that you didn't know how to use your powers.  

They even called the Sentinel Services to catch your family, people didn't want "muties" living near them. It was when they had to go to another country, however, the dangers were still there, it seemed that there was no safe place.

 2018

 The Outriders were attacking them, even if you opened portals to send them back outside they seemed endless.  

Everyone was too busy with the enemy, you weren't even sure how this would end.  

You didn't see when one of the Outriders was near you and he threw you. It was too strong for you, you had no idea how to get it off your back.  

‘I'm going to die,’ you thought at the time.  

You were trapped, you couldn't open a portal in the position you were in, and fortunately, Okoye came to the rescue and took you off the Outrider.  

"Maybe you should send him outside," the woman suggested.

That's what you did. You were beginning to feel exhausted, you've never used your powers for so long.

You couldn't stop Thanos, you were in the bushes, you tried several times to open a portal, as if you want to somehow return the time to prevent what happened, obviously it didn't work.  

Steve started looking for you, he was afraid it would have happened to you or that you'd run with the same fate as Bucky, he couldn't bear to lose them both.He was relieved when he found you, rushed the pace, he was afraid that at any moment you would disappear.  

"Doll, what are you doing?” His voice sounded trembling.  

He looked confused about what you were doing, were you going to escape?

“How do we fix this?”

You looked at his beautiful blue eyes, whenever you had any questions or fears, he had the answer, he opened his mouth, but no noise came out, he didn't know what to do or how they were going to solve it, he still didn't understand what had happened.  

"I... I don't know,” he finally said

 I still can't process what happened, I don't think anyone has been able to understand. People have cried, they have not stopped doing it, no one knows what will happen in the future, nor how we will solve it, even if there is some form, although now they finally start to wonder and realize how fragile life is. 

[fluidityandgiggles]

Dalton Big Bang day 1 - The Canadian Girlfriend Experience

Writing Masterpost, AO3 Link

Notes: So... y’all. Dalton fam. Hear me out.

I understand that y'all are gonna be mad at me for staying up until (four? five?) five in the morning to post this, but I'm something like 90% sure I'd forget to post it in the morning (afternoon), and I have to write tomorrow's fic anyway, so... here's an extra early fluffy mess. Hope y'all like it.

I had to write this one... I really really had to. Han's girlfriend is a big deal to me. I hope you understand it.

(And for the uninitiated in pathfinder - the rank system is wild, feats are taken every two levels or so, Logan’s character is basically invincible, defeated only by Dwight’s monk and the absolute insanity that creating a monk in pathfinder can end up being.)

—————

"I really have to go to sleep," the familiar (by now) high-pitched voice said through the headphones, stifling a yawn. "My drama class is moving props to the auditorium tomorrow for our exam and my mom would be mad at me if I don’t go to sleep in the next thirty minutes."

"So go to sleep, Lils. I won’t be mad at you."

"Okay! I’ll text you in the morning! Love you, bye!"

"Good night."

Han finally let himself snort a bit after his girlfriend hung up, watching as she disconnects from the game a few moments later. He did say he’ll only play Starcraft today so long as Leah is available, and now that she’s offline…

He just closed the game and went back to working on his Pathfinder session prep.

Han met Leah at the San Diego Comic-Con last summer. On day one, she approached him because she thought the Westwoods’ Bat family cosplay was really cool. On day two, he approached her because her Arwen cosplay was flawless. By day three they’d already ditched the con to have a not-date lunch at In-N-Out, found out they’re in the same guild in World of Warcraft, Han found out Leah has a voice acting channel on youtube, they exchanged phone numbers, and by day four they may have not spent the whole day together but they certainly went on a date-date at the end of the day.

They’ve been rather inseparable for the following three weeks, but by then Han had to face the reality of it all. Leah’s phone number was weird to him from the start, sure, and he was willing to pass off her accent as a speech quirk, but it wasn’t until those three weeks ended that it finally sunk in that she’s not American. And like most good things, her visit too has to come to an end.

Maintaining a relationship online just… didn’t feel the same.

1 Unread Message

‘Merril: Can I suggest an idea for Mishka’s character arc?? You can say no, I just had an idea is all!’

Caterpillar: I’m all ears

———

"While this mess of a… bargain is happening," Logan called as Merril and Reed tried to catch their breaths from laughing. "Can Dwight and I get to the diplomatic debate?"

"Sure," Han sighed, watching his party quickly derail the session. "But let’s take a break first."

The first to disappear at the sound of "let’s take a break" was Lucy, who ran to the bathroom, accidentally knocking off Logan’s dice tower in the process. Merril got the brownies out and on the table, everyone pulled their phones out…

Han could take a couple moments to look at the pictures Leah sent him earlier. According to her, they were not yet done with lighting cues, and she was going crazy, but seeing her in her period piece of a costume and leg brace prop made him feel excited for her, somewhat.

Caterpillar: wish I could been there to see it 

Jabba the Hutt: Oh no! Don’t say that! Jabba the Hutt: I’ll send you the filmed version when I get it, but it’ll probably be really bad anyway.

Caterpillar: im sure it cant be that bad 

Jabba the Hutt: Han, it’s a high school production of the Glass Menagerie. Jabba the Hutt: My class is also doing the play version of Spring Awakening. Jabba the Hutt: It *can* and *will* be that bad. Jabba the Hutt: Trust me. 

"Han?" Merril called before he could answer that one. "Hansel, are you listening?"

"No, I wasn’t. What was it?" He grabbed a brownie, leaving his phone aside for a second.

"Wizards of the Coast announced a new edition of D&D," she said again, smiling gently. "Do you think you’d want to try it?"

"I’m already one step ahead of you there. I’m going to playtest it when it— excuse me…"

Jabba the Hutt: WE FINALLY FUCKING FINISHED THIS Jabba the Hutt: I’ve never been happier to say I’m getting offstage, I need someone to punch me!

Caterpillar: dont you mean pinch?

Jabba the Hutt: I meant what I said and I said what I meant.

Han tuned back in time to hear Logan say "I just really don’t want to have to mess with the power system again", which resulted in Dwight throwing a bag of chips at his head.

"Fourth edition has a very special place in my heart, Wright. Don’t talk shit about it around me."

"Yeah, why all the hate for the power system?" Lucy frowned (when did she get back from the bathroom?). "It’s not all that different to how feats work. Would you complain about getting a new feat every odd level once we switch systems?"

"Not going to happen, Lucy."

"Aw man, but I wanted to play Vampire the Masquerade next!"

"And we already said Merril is going to run it," Han reminded her, checking his phone one last time. "But we’re not switching our current game to another system. Not gonna happen."

There was a quiet "hell yeah" from Merril as Han’s phone buzzed with a new message, but before he could even read it, it was snatched by Lucy.

"Wha… who are you talking to, Han?" She laughed a bit, scrolling up, and then her eyes went wide open. "Well… damn."

"Don’t act like you’re surprised, that’s my girlfriend. You met her before."

The silence in the room was so tense, Han swore he could hear a pin drop. 

"...a girlfriend?" Dwight was the first to ask, raising a brow. "Since when?"

"You know, I honestly thought she would’ve forgotten all about you after two weeks…"

"Since a few months ago," Han told Dwight, taking his phone back. "Can we continue, please?"

"No! It’s interesting!" Merril joined in, resting her chin on her hand as she got closer, pushing some papers a bit. "How did you meet? Where is she from? Can we meet her?"

"We met at Comic-Con and no, you can’t meet her. She’s… not from here."

"...is she Canadian?" Logan raised a brow too, starting to laugh.

"Noooooooo…?"

"Oh yeah, Han’s Canadian girlfriend."

"She’s not— let’s start to fucking play, this session isn’t going to end itself."

By the end of the session, Han couldn’t say he’d be surprised if the whole school found out by tomorrow. And if anyone (namely the twins) made fun of him for his "Canadian girlfriend"... so be it. 

———

"Is this Canadian girlfriend of yours coming to prom?" Julian’s tired voice came through the phone, sounding like he was about to pass out. He just arrived at school earlier today, already tired from the flight, and immediately got coddled by Logan.

"She’s not Canadian, Julian. You’re the twenty-fifth person I’ve told this already."

"So where is she from? Would you please tell just one person?"

With a quick glance at the security footage, to make sure Logan wasn’t listening, Han whispered "her name is Leah, I met her at Comic-Con in San Diego last year, she’s from Israel and no, I doubt she can come to prom. She has her own prom to attend."

"...okay, so this Israeli girlfriend of yours. Got it."

"Thank you."

"Are you sure you want to keep her a secret…?" He clicked his tongue. His laugh sounded a bit rougher than usual. "You know how things can end up. You of all people."

"I… I’m just not sure I’m ready for… dude. Is Logan drooling on your shoulder…?"

"Give him a break, Westwood. He’s adjusting to his new pills."

"I asked about the drooling."

"He does that sometimes. I just let him be."

"...why is everyone so interested in my girlfriend? Is it really any different from David and Katherine?"

"I don’t know how to break it down to you, Westwood, but you’re not exactly the type anyone would expect to even have a girlfriend."

A shift in the camera footage made Han cuss silently, covering his microphone.

"...she said she’ll be here for graduation. Hers is in late June, but she finishes school in May."

"Yeah. May. When prom is."

"Do you want to talk to her yourself?" He could hear Julian snort. "I’m not kidding. I’ll give you Leah’s phone number and you’ll convince her yourself. I can’t."

"Because that totally won’t be crazy."

"Julian."

"Hansel."

"Just fucking ask her, you absolute nerd!"

"Can you stop ordering me around? This isn’t Hollywood. This is my girlfriend we’re talking about."

"Can you at least send me a picture of her? So I’ll know she’s real?"

"...fuck you, Larson."

Han sent him a picture anyway. A picture of the two of them that Lucy insisted to take while they were in San Diego. They coordinated somehow, Han with his LOTR shirt and Leah with her whole Arwen cosplay. It was the happiest day he could possibly remember.

And then, a snort through the phone.

"...so you’re Leah Appelbaum’s mysterious Maryland boyfriend? Huh. Didn’t know you lived in Maryland."

"...you know Leah?"

"We had auditions in the same building two years ago and she approached me because she’s a fan of Something Damaged. She insisted on keeping in touch. How did you meet her?"

"At Comic-Con… please be gentle about this, Julian."

"Okay! I just… wow. I know where you live now. Sweet."

"Don’t you dare try to blackmail me with that information, Larson."

"I won’t. There’s nothing to worry about."

———

"...you know what?" Han sighed as the last session before prom was about to close off. "Roll sense motive."

The clatter of dice hitting each other and everyone cussing filled the room, quickly picking up their dice and looking.

"Fifteen!"

"Seventeen!"

"Five!"

"How’s you get a five, Lucy?"

"I’m a barbarian, what do you think—"

"Thirty-four."

Dwight practically glared at Logan. "What the fuck, dude?"

"I play a half-elf cleric, Dwight," Logan answered, straight-faced. "Plus two to wisdom straight away, rolled extremely well, I have a plus five modifier to wisdom and the alertness feat. I took a single rank in sense motive every time we leveled up and now I have ten ranks. On the tenth rank in sense motive or perception, you get a bonus four to the skill instead of the usual two. Thus, ten plus four plus five equals nineteen, plus the fifteen that I rolled. That’s thirty-four. Do I sense motive?"

"...everyone who rolled above a fifteen, and that definitely includes Flint—" Han could see Logan smiling smugly. "Everyone who rolled above a fifteen can see that this woman is telling the truth. Anyone who rolled a twenty or above, Flint, can also sense that—"

There was a knock at the door. There was never a knock at the door. But now there was. And as Reed got up to open the door, Han silently hoped it wouldn’t be anyone who shouldn’t be there—

"And this is your boyfriend’s room," Julian’s voice came through as Reed’s jaw dropped. "Thank you for picking Julian Larson to be your tour guide, we hope you enjoyed the trip."

"Very! Oh, hello!" The girl at the door waved at Reed, who waved back. The whole party waved back. "Am I interrupting anything?"

"No, those nerds are just playing dungeons and dragons. You have nothing to worry about." Reed finally returned to his seat as Julian kissed the girl’s cheek, chuckling at the shock. "Logan, I’ll be expecting you to pick me up at six. I want my pre-prom sushi."

"I promised you I will, Princess, don’t panic."

"Okay, just making sure."

As Julian left, the girl went to sit on Han’s futon and look at everyone. Long brown hair, half of it bleached; dark eyes behind a pair of green plastic-framed glasses; a bit on the heavier side, like Han himself, and wearing a floral summer dress and a pair of short leggings. Her face was flushed red, her lipstick a dark blue, and her nails painted black that just started to chip.

Han missed her so much.

"So… hi." She waved around again, a bit confused. "What’s up…?"

"Who’s this?" Dwight was the first to speak.

"My girlfriend," Han replied, sounding rather insistent. "We were just about to finish our session, Lils. Can you wait?"

"Mmhm! Absolutely! I’ll be so quiet, you’ll forget I’m even here!"

Nobody forgot she was there. Merril kept looking over to her, Reed and Dwight seemed skeptical as ever, and the only person who was normal about it was Lucy. But it wasn’t news for Lucy, she’s met Leah before after all. All the while Leah sat there, chuckling at the game and waiting patiently for Han to finish, which he did twenty minutes later. Dwight practically ran out, followed by Logan who needed to pick his own boyfriend up for dinner, but…

"So where are you from in Canada?" Merril asked first, making Leah smile. 

"I’m… not Canadian. Did Han tell you I’m Canadian?"

"Where’s your lipstick from?" Reed asked next.

"Umm… it’s, it’s from NARS, I picked it up on the way here, I forgot to pack my own makeup and—"

"Is Han taking you to prom?"

Han choked on his water at that. "I can’t leave my room for prom, Merril. Health risks."

"You can have an indoors prom."

"We planned on watching Battlestar Galactica and ordering takeout," Leah admitted. "But… an indoors prom would be nice. I’m not going to mine anyway. My class is writing this… really offensive skit about one of the math teachers and I don’t want to be a part of it."

"What’s your prom even like…?" Reed squinted, sitting back down. "That you do skits."

"It’s… not really a prom. Israel doesn’t really have the promenade culture, it’s just like a showcase the whole class does for family and friends before graduation… I’ve never liked this practice, you know, I think it’s just…"

As Leah rambled on, Han took his time to clear the table and silently hope Merril and Reed leave soon. Those two have prom dates after all. And neither are a Canadian girlfriend.

[vernonfielding]

You feel brave little cub-cub

Welcome to my totally self-indulgent, insane and ridiculous Season 7 Countdown Project! For the month of January, I’m planning to post one missing scene fic a day. Yes, that’s 31 stories. I don’t know what possessed me to do this, except it seemed like a fun idea? And I like absurd challenges?

Anyway, on to the first fic! Only 30 more to go!

Summary: Amy and Jake decide to finish the Worst Date Ever after ending their stakeout and catching the bad guys. Takes place during The Bet. (Read on AO3.)

It’s well after 11 by the time they make it back to the precinct and hand their perps off to processing, and Amy is that particular kind of late-night punchy that comes from lack of sleep, physical and mental fatigue and the rush of having just made two arrests that weren’t even on her radar a few hours ago.

So that’s why she turns to Jake and says, “You have 38 minutes left on your date. Where are we going next?”

Jake just stares at her all agog and says, dumbly, “What now?”

Amy glances at her watch and snickers, then shoves it up in Jake’s face. “Thirty-seven minutes now, loser. Look, I just want to make sure we finish this thing so you’re not holding it over my head forever that I bailed early.”

That’s not entirely true – in that, it’s not her reasoning, though now that she thinks about it, that would be such a Jake move. The thing is, she can’t deny, at least to herself, that she kind of wants to see where else this worst-date-ever will go. She’s not quite ready for the night to end.

Jake’s eyes go wide and he nods slowly. She can practically see the gears spinning in his head. She’s sure he’s running over his horrible schedule of events for the night, and his mouth curls up in a look that Amy can only identify as glee. The look gives her a moment of doubt and she takes a half-step back, but Jake’s hands are up, catching her by the elbows.

His eyes are sparkling, his whole face is glowing, and Amy takes in a shuddery breath.

“Come with me,” he says, and wrenches her toward the elevator.

+++

He doesn’t make her put on the dress again, which, thank God. He refuses to even entertain her questions on the 10-minute drive to their next – and final, she presumes – stop for the night: a brick-faced walkup in Bedford. Jake parks in a passenger drop-off zone right in front and rings up at the lobby door and gives his name when a man answers. They’re buzzed in right away.  Amy shivers in the blast of heat when they walk inside.

Jake takes them up a flight of stairs and down a beige-painted hallway, and he knocks on a door at the end, three sharp raps with his knuckles. He gives her an exaggerated wink and the very definition of a beaming grin, so big and joyful Amy doesn’t even try to fight her own in response.

The door cracks open and bald man with more face piercings than Amy can count says, “Quick, inside.” He shoves the door closed behind them and turns about 18 locks.

“Jake-”

“I know, so cool, right?”

“This is so not cool,” Amy hisses at him.

The apartment is empty aside from a single beat-up couch pushed against the half wall beneath the kitchen counter. The walls are covered in disturbing scratches and gouges and what Amy’s pretty sure are patches of old dried blood. The bald man has disappeared.

“If you brought me to a murder apartment for a date, I will kill you.” Amy says, eyeing the majorly locked front door and wondering if there are any other exits. Jake turns and beams at her again and Amy adds, “I am serious, Peralta.”

Then a door back beyond the kitchen swings open and the bald man walks toward them, and in one hand he’s holding a leash. And at the end of the leash-

“Oh my God. Is that-” She cuts herself off, blinking fast as the room takes on a surreal, shimmery quality.

“Yes, Amy Santiago,” Jake says, going down on his knees to greet the approaching animal. “That is a tiger cub.”

+++

“This can’t be legal,” Amy says, for like the fifth time. The tiger cub is curled up in her lap and purring while Jake feeds it from a bottle. It’s seriously the most adorable thing she’s seen in her life, and she has a lot of pretty cute nieces and nephews.

“Yeah, I rented it on the darknet,” Jake says.

He coos at the cub and it blinks its eyes open lazily and rests one fuzzy paw on Jake’s hand holding the bottle. Amy melts.

She’s stroking the tiger’s back, scritching her fingers through its so-soft fur. After eating, the bald-headed handler says, watching them from the kitchen as he sips at a beer, the tiger will want to play for awhile.

They spend two hours with the cub, whom Jake names Goliath (Bald Man is weirdly secretive about the tiger’s real name). Amy rolls around with it on the carpet that smells like stale cigarettes, and Jake rocks it in his arms like a baby, and they both end up with shallow scratches all up and down their arms and tiger saliva in their hair. The tiger makes these grunting, labored crying sounds when it plays, something between a cat’s meow and a baby’s whimper, and Amy knows she’s going to be looking up tiger cub videos on YouTube the next day just to hear it again.

When the bald man finally says their time is up, and lifts the snoozing cub out of Amy’s hands by pinching it at the back of the neck like a mother would (Amy supposes – another thing she’s going to have to look up), it’s hours past the end of their date. Amy’s knees pop as she stands, and Jake stretches his arms up over his head and bends side to side, groaning at the pull of muscles.

He gives her a soft, guarded smile before leading the way out of the apartment and back to the car.

They don’t talk at first, and Jake weirdly doesn’t touch the radio, just lets it play whatever station he had it on before. Some pop song Amy doesn’t recognize crackles over the cheap speakers.

“That was amazing,” she says, as Jake merges into the late-night traffic on Myrtle. He’s looking in the rearview mirror, but she catches his gaze flirt over to her.

“Yeah, it kind of was,” Jake says, voice gone thoughtful, like he’s surprised even himself.

“And seriously illegal,” Amy adds.

“Oh, so illegal.”

They both laugh, and the silence that follows is gentle and easy.

Jake flicks the radio to something she still doesn’t recognize and Amy stares out the passenger window, at the red and orange lights bouncing off rain-slicked streets. She’s thinking that she’s glad she’s not allergic to cats. And that she hopes Bald Man takes good care of that tiger cub (and also that she should definitely report him to animal control in the morning).

And she’s also thinking that this worst-date-ever has been one of the better dates of her life.

“Why a tiger cub?” she says as Jake turns onto her street.

Jake doesn’t answer right away, just pulls next to a fire hydrant right in front of her building. Both his hands are on the steering wheel, thumbs tapping some rhythmless beat.

Finally he shrugs. “I guess I was just inspired.”

“Inspired,” Amy repeats, and he looks at her and nods.

The air in his car has gone charged, and Amy swallows hard.

“By me,” she says.

Jake’s face goes flushed with surprise and it takes her a moment to realize he’s flustered, and he says quickly, “No, what? No. By the bet. I was inspired by the bet, Santiago.”

“Okay,” Amy says, hands up. She thinks maybe she should feel offended but she’s not. “Well- thank you. I mean, for not making tonight too horrible.”

“Oh trust me, I had so much more terrible stuff planned, but-” He stops and lifts his hands in defeat. “Crime’s gotta come first.”

“I think you might want to reconsider that phrasing, but sure,” Amy says with a chuckle.

She reaches for the handle and pushes the door open with her shoulder, because it always gets stuck. She’s halfway out when she feels Jake’s hand on her upper arm and she turns back to him.

“Thanks for being a good sport,” he says. He’s leaning across the seats toward her, and his face is in shadow.

Amy shrugs. “You won.”

“I guess I did,” Jake says.

He lets go of her arm with a goodnight, and he stays idling at the curb until after Amy’s closed the lobby door behind her.

End Notes:

The FANTASTIC @fezzle is taking on the absurdly large job of beta-ing all of these stories. She also totally supported my craziness in planning this thing and gave me prompts and didn’t laugh at my planning spreadsheet even once. I love her so.

The rules of my countdown project are: All fics must be canon-compliant missing scenes, and at least 1,000 words.

Jake/Amy fics will dominate, but I’m deliberately diversifying. All of the main characters will have at least one POV fic. And several secondary/one-off characters will get POV fics too.

The titles will all come from The Lonely Island’s Unauthorized Bash Brothers Experience. This...works shockingly well. The title for this fic is from Let’s Bash (and specifically Andy’s amazing baseball teams frap).

Look, do we know that Jake and Amy hung out with a tiger cub at the end of their date? We do not. But do we know that they didn’t? WE DO NOT.

I will happily take prompts!! Seriously, please send me prompts. If there’s ever been a missing scene you’re dying to read, now’s the time to request it. Or you can really challenge me and give me something super weird (just, no Cheddar or Sgt. Peanut Butter POV). My asks are wide open!

[hurt-care]

Back Home

It’s a Lupin-fic drop around here today. Here’s another old favourite

Set during Prisoner of Azkaban

-

It was three days after his transformation and still Remus Lupin felt terrible. While he was now able to avoid some of the less pleasant parts of the full moon with the Wolfsbane Potion brewed by Snape, his body still had to undergo the transformation that rearranged his bones and organs and left him exhausted and weak. The last thing he wanted was to miss more than his allotted two days of classes recovering, so on the third day he dragged himself out of bed despite a blossoming head cold and forced himself to shower and dress.

He was used to the concerned looks of students and fellow faculty alike after the full moon, but the looks on the faces of his first class told him that he looked worse than usual.

“Are you alright, Professor?” George Weasley asked when Remus had managed to clear his throat and speak loudly enough to settle down his class of fifth years.

“A touch of cold, that's all,” Remus replied and set the class working on counter-curse spells while he wandered up and down between their desks, adjusting wand positions and correcting pronunciations while struggling not to cough on anyone.

By the time his third class of the day filed into his room, he wasn't certain he could be on his feet much longer.

“Professor Lupin?”

“I'm fine, Hermione,” he said, looking up wearily from his spot hunched over his desk. “Just a cold.”

“Err, alright...I'm sorry...I just was going to ask how long you wanted the essay to be?” she said, rocking on her heels as she looked at him with an expression of growing concern.

“Oh...um....sixteen inches I believe I set it at.”

“Is it okay if I have twenty?” she asked, holding out a long piece of parchment as several students holding markedly shorter papers behind her groaned.

“That's fine,” Remus replied, taking the parchment and adding it to the pile of assignments on his desk. He cleared his throat and spoke as loud as he could, hoping the rest of the class could hear. “If the rest of you can turn in your assignments, we'll get started.”

The rest of the class deposited their papers on his desk while Remus tended to his dripping nose with a rather well-loved plaid handkerchief.

“Err...Professor?”

He looked up from behind the shield of soft cloth to see Neville Longbottom gazing shyly at him as he held out a fresh white handkerchief.

“Um...do you want an extra? My gran always packs too many in my trunk. I'm not very good at cleaning spells so she thinks I need about a dozen more than I really do. I mean, the house elves clean them if I need so...um....anyway...”

Remus lowered his own handkerchief and smiled wanly.

“Thank you, Neville,” he said, accepting the starched white square of fabric. “That's very kind of you.”

He tucked the handkerchief into his robe pocket for inevitable future use.

“Alright, everyone,” he said, standing and holding himself steady with a tight grip on the back of his desk chair. “Apologies...my voice is a bit off today so please keep it down so everyone can hear. We're going to start out with recognizing cursed objects. If you could please turn to page....hehh...”

He paused mid-sentence, lowering his red-tinged nose into the sleeve of his robe.

Hurhh-TSGHH!

The sneeze tore out of him with a thick, throaty sound and he coughed twice afterwards to regain his voice. A quiet chorus of blessings came from the students along with a few small snickers from (Remus suspected) Draco and his friends.

“Sorry,” he said with a sniffle. “Page thirty six. Read the chapter and then we'll discuss.”

He sank back down into his desk chair and flipped through his teaching notes while the students read. With his head propped up by a hand, he barely realized he'd started to doze off until a voice piped up from amoung the students.

“Um....Professor? I think we've all finished.”

“Mhm?” Remus muttered, blinking away fatigue. “Oh...right. Sorry. Alright, who can tell me three ways to check if an object is cursed?”

How he managed to keep the class going for another hour he wasn't sure but when he finally dismissed them they filed out into the hallway chattering and laughing. Harry turned in the door long enough to give Remus a small smile before he followed Hermione and Ron out.

Remus rose, joints cracking in protest, and gathering his papers into tattered briefcase. He had forty minutes before his next class and while the idea of popping up to his quarters for a quick kip was tempting he knew if he went back to bed he'd only find it harder to go return to work. Instead he headed for the Staff lounge with his case in hand.

He was nearly there when he ran into the school matron, Poppy Pomfrey. She'd been a new staff member when he'd started at Hogwarts as a boy and had been instrumental in making the arrangements to accommodate a werewolf at the school. They'd grown close during that time and she was one of the only people he'd kept in touch with during the many years since he'd graduated. Even during the years when he went silent, sending no word of his location or doings to Dumbledore, he'd managed to send word to Poppy that he was still alive and making do.

“Hello, Professor Lupin,” she said, looking him up and down with a calm expression.

“Hello, Madam Pomfrey,” he replied. “Just headed to the Lounge for a break. Care to join me for a cuppa or do you have to get back to the Infirmary?”

“I do have to get back, and I think you ought to come along.”

“Oh, no, I think I'll just see if Minerva is around.”

“Remus Lupin,” Pomfrey said, her voice gaining an icy edge to it. “The infirmary. Now.”

He stared at her, dumbfounded.

“Madam Pomfrey,” he said with a small smile. “I appreciate the concern but I'm perfectly fine. I've got a class in forty minutes so I really must be going so I have time for tea.”

“Mister Lupin,” she said, stepping in front of him to block his path towards the Lounge. “Now.”

He felt about fourteen years old again under her piercing gaze. He exhaled, breath wheezing from his lungs in an exasperated sigh.

“Fine,” he relented. “For some potion or whatever you recommend, but I've got to be back by two.”

He followed her down to the Infirmary and stepped inside the familiar ward, heading for the third door on the left. It was one of the private rooms reserved for teachers or students with contagious ailments. It had been his usual resting place after full-moons during his school days where he could be attended by the Matron without revealing his scars and wounds to other patients.

Madam Pomfrey followed him into the room and shut the door behind her.

“Robe and shirt up and off please,” she said, taking up a quill and parchment from a pocket on the back of the door. They floated beside her, ready to record an assessment.

Remus tugged his robe up and off so he sat on the edge of the hospital bed in his trousers and button-up.

“It's just a cold,” he said hoarsely.

“Shirt up,” she repeated. “I need to hear your lungs and heart.”

He sighed and pulled the shirt up and off. If he hadn't been listening for it, it would have been easy to miss the sharp intake of breath from the Matron when she saw his pale torso marred with more than double the number of scars than he'd had when she'd last examined him. The giant puckered brown gash on his side, inflicted the first moon after James and Lily's death, stood out particularly stark against his milky skin.

Circling behind him, Madam Pomfrey inserted a small device into her ear and pressed the tip of her wand to his back.

“Breathe in as deeply as you can,” she instructed. He could practically feel her eyes boring into the jagged scar on his lower back where he'd almost impaled himself on a stair railing in a wolfish rage one Halloween almost seven years ago.

He took a deep breath, feeling his lungs crackle and wheeze in protest. It came rushing back out with a sputtering cough and Madam Pomfrey withdrew her wand quickly.

“Temperato!” she said, touching her wand briefly to his brow as she came around to face him again. A small gold ribbon floated from the end of her wand, twisting into a number Remus couldn't clearly see. The tutting sound Madam Pomfrey made when she saw it told him enough.

“I'll send word to Dumbledore that he'll need to find someone to cover your last two classes today.”

“No,” Remus said, reaching for his shirt to put it back on.

“Yes,” Pomfrey retaliated. “Don't fight me on this, Remus, please.”

In an unexpected gesture, she reached out and smoothed the hair back off his forehead. It was a touch he hadn't felt in years...not since his mother had died...not since Sirius and James and Peter had met him in the mornings after the moon...

“I'll have a house elf bring down your pyjamas and dressing gown,” she said as the quill scribbled furiously on the parchment floating at her side. “I'll get you some potions to help with the congestion and the coughing and to bring down the fever. I think your body just got a bit worn out from the transformation. Nothing to be ashamed about, Mister Lupin. Your classes will be fine. I trust you have lesson plans?”

Remus nodded, swallowing hard to bury the growing lump in his throat.

“Good,” Pomfrey said. “I'll go send for you things, then. Shouldn't be long. Get your lesson plans from your case and I'll send them along to Dumbledore to arrange.”

“It's just a cold,” he reiterated as he pulled his lesson plans from his case and handed them over. “Couldn't I just rest in my room?”

“If you wish, but I'd rather have you here to keep an eye on you for a few hours. These potions shouldn't react with the Wolfsbane but I'd rather be safe and monitor things,” Madam Pomfrey replied, giving Remus' lesson plans to a House Elf who appeared with a 'crack!' at her summons.

“Bitsy, please bring these to the Headmaster and then go to Professor Lupin's room and fetch his pyjamas and dressing gown for me, please.”

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey,” the House Elf said eagerly, taking the papers and disappearing with another loud 'crack!'

“That's settled, then,” Poppy said to Remus, taking her parchment notes and tucking them back into the pocket on the back of the door. “Get changed and into bed when Bitsy returns and I'll be in shortly with the medicines.”

Remus nodded mutely and watched her go. The House Elf reappeared only a short while later with his favourite button-up flannel pyjamas and robe in hand. He pulled the pyjamas on and settled into the single hospital cot. It was weirdly like returning home to sleep in his childhood bed, he thought as he settled into the pillows.

Madam Pomfrey returned after a few minutes with a tray of potions and smiled as she saw him tucked up in the bed.

“This is a strangely familiar sight, Mister Lupin,” she said affectionately. Remus couldn't help but smile back.

“Yes, but I've got a few more grey hairs than—ehh........”

He paused, nose crinkling in anticipation of a sneeze. He took up his handkerchief from its place on the nightstand and tucked it over his nose to catch the outburst.

Ehh-TESGHHTT! Nghh-TSGHH!

With a thick sniffle he wiped his nose and finished his thought.

“I have a few more grey hairs than the last time I was here.”

“Bless you. Me too,” Poppy replied with a laugh as she set the tray down and began dosing out the potions, handing small cups over for Remus to drink. He swallowed each dutifully, putting on a brave face despite the unpleasant tastes.

“That's a good lad,” she said, gathering the tray back up and depositing a few lozenges on the nightstand along with a decanter of water and a glass. “Get some rest, Remus.”

He slid down under the covers obediently and watched her go, shutting the door as she went.

Sleep was quick and when he woke again, it was dark outside and he was coughing harshly. Tears blurred his eyes as he hacked, doubled over in bed with his knees tucked up as his chest heaved and strained to clear. A comforting hand was on his back, guiding him up to sit and putting a glass of water to his lips. In a moment of confusion, he tried to figure out who the soothing person was...his mum? Lily? He could feel the cool hand press to his forehead as the coughs calmed and he sat, leaning against the headboard panting and wheezing.

Ghhh-TSGHHH!

His head snapped forward and he sneezed freely towards his lap with a harsh explosion.

“Bless you!” the person said, putting the hand on his back again and rubbing a small circle. “Poor lad.”

His eyes finally opened and focused. Ahh...right. Hogwarts. Madam Pomfrey.

“Sorry,” he croaked.

“Hush,” she said. “Lie back down. I'll get you another dose of Cough Ease.”

She disappeared momentarily and came back with a spoonful of thick liquid. She put it to his lips and he swallowed the bitter syrup.

“Are you warm enough?” she asked, adjusting the quilts across his legs. He gazed up at her through fever-added eyes and nodded. How long had it been since someone tucked him in? Brought him medicines? His eyes were drooping closed again and just as sleep took him once more he was sure he heard her sigh softly.

The next time he woke there was a bowl of soup on the nightstand kept warm with a charmed tray. He sat up and moved the tray to his lap, eating the hearty broth slowly and feeling the warm liquid loosen the congestion in his head.

When Madam Pomfrey came in to check on him, he was blowing his nose with strained, partly productive honks. She gave him a sympathetic smile and checked to see he'd eaten his soup.

“If you'd like to return to your own bed for the night, you're welcome to,” she said, pressing that same soothing hand to his brow to check that the fever was gone. “I'll send up some more potions for you before you go to sleep.”

He considered the option but shrugged and looked at her with a boyish smile.

“Do you mind if I stay here? I don't want to take up a bed but if it's okay...”

She looked secretly pleased by his decision.

“Of course!” she said. “Stay until you're well.”

He nodded gratefully, settling back down under the quilts. As he snuggled into the pillow, he felt her hand pat his back gently like she used to when he was a boy still frightened from the transformations and in too much pain to sleep. A swell of affection spread through his limbs at the touch.

“It's nice to have you back, dear,” she said as she moved to leave his room again.

He made a sound of agreement from his nest of blankets, unable to find the words to express how utterly grateful he was to be there. For so long he'd avoided visiting, fearing the castle would be too filled with the memories of his friends and forgetting that it still held people who cared for him. He nodded back to sleep filled with a feeling of love for the first time in a long, long while.

[its-love-u-asshole]

Franchises, Feuds, and Too Much Tension [fic]

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei/Kuroo Tetsurou 

Summary: Sometimes, Tsukishima wonders if his relationship is too good to be true. Kuroo is everything he's ever wanted and more, pardon his cheesiness, and there's never a doubt in his mind that he loves him. Of course, he should've expected a fight like this at some point or another, though he can't say he'd been prepared.The only thing Tsukishima knows for sure is that one way or another, this is all Terushima's fault. 

Rating: E

Tags: fluff, fluff and smut, established relationship, kurotsuki argue about dumb things like horror movies and then bang p much 

Note: Yooo I managed to actually get something done for @heartykurotsukiweek​! I've had this wip sitting in my docs for a while now and then the prompt list came out and day 2 gave me the perfect excuse to finish it ;) and it's smut too which is odd for me these days pft it's torture to write but hey, kurotsuki deserves to get laid always. Big thanks to @emeraldwaves​ for reading this over! 

AO3

Tsukishima was a good, reasonable person.

For the most part.

Therefore, it was important to note how much he did not and would not ever deserve this level of disrespect, from someone he loved no less.

Tsukishima took exactly ten steps into their apartment, not bothering to look at Kuroo until their privacy had been secured. He stopped at the couch, glaring at the few DVDs which were strewn about the rumpled cushions. All good picks, quality thriller movies which he and Kuroo had decided to rewatch the previous night.

He had been a young, naive fool then. Completely unaware of the secrets boiling beneath the surface.

It was like those movies were laughing at him now. Bitches.

How could he have missed it? It was the most obvious horror/gore franchise and yet it had never come up...

Here he was, thinking he and Kuroo were movie buffs when they had never even had the real nitty gritty conversations.

They were frauds.

The front door shut, and the muffled chatter of their neighbors in the hallway was cut off in a split second. Tsukishima could feel Kuroo standing there at the door, staring at his back, but he felt too stubborn to turn around and make the first move.

Man, things could get ugly here. Tsukishima hadn't fully realized it until just now. The silence around them was suffocating, thick with the strain of their thoughts.

Eventually, one of them would have to begin this bloodbath, and once more, Tsukishima was left to marvel at how stupid they both were. Why can't we have normal fights...

They'd never know, but oh how Tsukishima wished they'd never crossed the line into such dangerous territory.

How had this happened again?

It had been a normal night, and honestly, maybe that should've been the first thing to tip Tsukishima off. Things had been too peaceful, too calm, and without a trace of tension in the air when those cursed words had left his mouth, condemning him to a sleepless night.

Perhaps the worst part was the subject matter, but he stood by his opinion, and overall he blamed Terushima for the entire incident.

Some things to take into account before he continued:

1) Tsukishima was right. No matter what anyone said, he'd rather get smashed by a glass pane (ha), than give in to his boyfriend.

2) Final Destination was a terrible series. It had some arguable gems, and it was enjoyable to watch some of the grisly deaths and laugh at the dumbass characters. He'd never try and deny that if he saw it on the T.V. guide, he would click in an instant. Still, most of the films were awful, with less than acceptable effects. Moving on...

3) Kuroo Tetsurou was supposed to be the love of his life, but goddamn if Tsukishima wasn't considering poisoning his water.

4) Addendum. Kuroo Tetsurou was fucking wrong, and Tsukishima hoped he was ready to face the wrath that had been building in his debate club brain for the past hour and thirteen minutes.

Now that the basics are cleared, back to what happened....

They had been at Terushima's house late in the evening, drinking and yelling at each other after a few failed games of Monopoly. Everyone refused to read the instructions no matter how lost they were, but that was irrelevant at this moment in time.

Eventually, they all calmed down as the sun dipped below the horizon and Terushima supplied them with more beer. He and Kuroo had hardly drank, more content with watching their friends make fools of themselves for future blackmailing purposes.

The conversations ranged from embarrassing high school memories, to the famous mint chocolate ice cream debate, most of which Tsukishima gladly tuned out in favor of focusing on Kuroo's hands. Tsukishima had managed to practically seat himself in his boyfriend's lap without calling too much attention to them, the perfect vantage point. Especially when Kuroo's nimble fingers began to massage his exposed hip bones, kneading the soft skin and curves while Tsukishima greedily moved closer.

The touch was familiar, welcome, with something burning and desirous just below the surface. But given their public situation, the fire dwindled, and Tsukishima let himself relax as the ministrations continued. There was no rush, no urgency. They had all the time in the world that Friday night, and they basked in the jovial atmosphere.

That is, until the subject of the newest horror movie came about.

It was silly probably, how fast he and Kuroo's heads shot up, like dogs hearing their kibble pour into bowls, but they couldn't help it. They loved anything to do with horror and suspense; haunted houses, slasher films, whatever.

(Minus the time they'd gotten so scared from one particular movie they couldn't sleep, but no one had to know about that. They'd both agreed long ago on taking that one to the grave.)

But otherwise, it was their calling. They already had their tickets pre-bought for the movie everyone was currently discussing, and they jumped in, scattering their own predictions and opinions without care.

Naturally, one thing led to another, and the conversation turned into a full-blown comparison of different horror franchises, either in support or contempt of the new upcoming film. Whatever. Kuroo and Tsukishima had this shit. They’d made their predictions already, knew the director, had bets placed. So truthfully, this was more of a trip down memory lane of all the shitty and spectacular films they’d watched ever since they’d become brave enough to sneak into R rated movies.

Not to mention all the films they’d seen together, an excuse to hold each other close and makeout during all the boring scenes with dull characters. It made Tsukishima somewhat excited for either outcome. If the movie was good, then he’d enjoy himself and would also have a new movie to rewatch on chilly nights. If it sucked, then he could make Kuroo fall apart, movie forgotten. Wins all around.

So yeah, bringing up both the duds and hits of the horror world made him satisfied all around.

But then, Terushima went and did it, that bastard. He said the measly string of words which would later cause Tsukishima's mind-numbing headache.

"I don't know, it looks like a Final Destination rip-off to me."

And oh, what an insult.

Both he and Kuroo recoiled just a bit, not knowing where to start. What exactly did he mean anyways? They were two completely different plots, new actors, there was no supernatural element at all…

“I mean it looks too over the top,” Terushima continued, smirking slightly at the glares he received from the couple.

“Funny coming from someone as dramatic as you,” Tsukishima shot back, and in true Terushima fashion, the drunkard sloshed his drink in Tsukishima’s direction, eager for a fearful flinch.

Tsukishima didn’t move. A chorus of childish ‘oos’ echoed around them. The stare down between them didn’t last long though, in part because of Terushima’s one too many beers and Tsukishima’s good mood. They both maintained the scowling eye contact for a few seconds before they burst out into a fit of laughter.

Kuroo’s hands tightened on him at the sound.

Horror fan reputation be damned, Tsukishima was ready to ditch the party in favor of seeing exactly what those hands had in mind for him.

But of course, the universe, and Terushima had other plans.

"Those movies were a trip though," Terushima went on as his laughter died, his words slightly slurred from the amount of alcohol he'd inhaled throughout the night. The hiccups made everyone around him giggle. "My far...my fav was the--the one with the cars? The race track! That was epic."

And as predicted, he and Kuroo exchanged amused glances, their thoughts completely in sync. And how could they not be?

‘Pft, the fourth FD is a joke.’

‘I know right? Worst film, best title.’

“Oh Yuuji, how the hell did you get to be so uncultured?” Kuroo sighed dramatically, shaking his head. Tsukishima had to give it to his boyfriend, there was real pity in those eyes. “That’s probably the worst film of them all.”

“Ah fuck off,” Futakuchi’s voice drifted from where he sat, face buried into the couch cushions. Damn, Tsukishima thought he’d died thirty minutes ago.

“Yeah, you’re the ones who’ve seen every damn movie,” someone on the staircase said, and from the tone, Tsukishima could tell it was probably one of the Atsumu twins. Oh, so now everyone had their two cents… “Probably more than once…”

“For research purposes,” Kuroo called back, his grin staying firmly in place. Tsukishima wanted to kiss him for it.

“Oh yeah, well what do you assholes think is the best one then?” Terushima said, swirling around his drink with an air of confidence he did not deserve. It was like he was some rich business investor with expensive wine in his glass and not a broke college student drinking cider out of a Naruto mug.

But Tsukishima didn’t need to point that out, his answer would speak for itself. And it was a no brainer for him. He didn't even have to think as he said, "Oh, the fifth for sure."

At the exact same fucking time, Kuroo went: "The second one."

And that’s when the night fell right down the shit hole.

What.

The observing crowd must’ve realized what an affront this was, what a rare occurrence it was to see them disagree on something so close to their hearts. Oh, the silence which followed could’ve been akin to a cemetery even, but with twice as much dread and foreboding.

Kuroo and Tsukishima looked at each other in an instant, eyes stupidly wide and any other shit-eating words dying on the tips of their tongues.

Tsukishima didn’t have anything to say, could barely process his feelings on the subject. Deep down, he knew this day probably should’ve been expected at some point, but wow, what a fucking inconvenience.

Tsukishima’s mouth opened once, then twice, before he eventually surrendered to the fact they were screwed.

Lastly, the only person who could seem to formulate a response in that moment happened to be Terushima, who simply wheezed in laughter, throwing back the rest of his drink before he spoke in sports bar level excitement. “Oh. Shit.”

Aaaand now they were here. A car ride of silence and two ice cream sundaes (both for Tsukishima) later.

Kuroo clicked the lock on the door, sealing them in for battle, and Tsukishima took one slow, deep breath.

Yeah. He was ready.

The stupidest part was probably how they met each other halfway in no more than five steps. At the time, it felt serious, but Tsukishima knew later he’d want to jump off a cliff.

Kuroo nodded to him, eyes brimming with something so ridiculously nerdy one would think they were in high school mock trial. Basically, it was a look that said, ‘Yeah that’s right. Go first. Bring it.’

‘I fucking will.’

Tsukishima raised his hands, the only thing keeping him from just hitting Kuroo with the nearest pillow. Or…any object really. “Tetsu.”

“Yes, my love?” Kuroo smiled sweetly, and yeah, Tsukishima was so ready. No amount of sappy endearments would change that.

“How the hell can you say the second Final Destination is the best? Did you watch the same movie I did? Surely you could’ve have, dear.”

Tsukishima saw the brief hesitation, the way Kuroo had to smother the immediate instinct to just tackle Tsukishima and kiss the daylights out of him for the petname, but man, Kuroo must’ve been as serious as Tsukishima right then. He powered through it. Damn.

“Oh I’m sorry for liking believable suspense,” Kuroo said, motioning to nothing in particular, as if the gestures somehow made his points more legitimate. “That movie had deaths better if not equal to the first.”

Pure blasphemy.

Tsukishima blinked, shaking his head as he tried to make sense of the words. “B-Believable...wha—Tetsu, a girl has a vision on a freeway.”

Why was the freeway aspect more startling than the vision part? Who knew.

“A believable vision, you can’t trust those fucking log trucks!”

That…was correct, but not the point.

Tsukishima clapped, actually clapped in triumph. “Ha! See! You just like the disaster scene, you’re letting that get in the way of the fact the rest is shit!”

Besides, even if Tsukishima could admit the disaster scene was wonderful, the rest fell flatter than three day old soda.

“Oh, because you totally don’t like the fifth one just for the disaster scene,” Kuroo scoffed, rolling his eyes. “A bridge collapse? Seriously?”

“More original than some glorified car accident,” Tsukishima shot back, crossing his arms in hopes of looking more menacing. Too bad that strategy no longer worked on Kuroo.

“The logs Kei, the logs.”

“If that’s all you have to offer, then you’re not as good at arguing as I thought,” Tsukishima sighed in pity, a tone normally used for provoking Kuroo into…different situations. He’d happily employ it for this fight, no doubt.

The last Final Destination may have had subpar effects, but the ending and the deaths were so well crafted, he refused to let them be overlooked.

“Oh really now? What are your points then? I’m sure someone as devoted as you has more to dish out than insults…”

Tsukishima nearly winced. Kuroo, regardless of his sweetness and the fondness he held for him, had a sharp tongue on him all the same. Tsukishima loved him, but this was not helping.

Not that he was at a disadvantage. Oh no. He would gladly pick apart all the excellent points of the fifth Final Destination if Kuroo wanted him to, but really, his biggest point said it all.

Tsukishima sniffed, aura haughty and just the right amount of bratty to drive Kuroo up the wall. “Why should I? It’s obviously the superior film.”

“So help me, if you say it’s because it connects to the first—”

“It connects to the first film—”

“Kei.”

“—and it does so flawlessly! Admit it!”

“Never!”

Tsukishima turned on his heel, holding his breath as he walked to the end of the living room and back to face Kuroo. It needed to be done. He was about to lose it.

Kuroo either didn’t sense that or wasn’t scared to test it.

“You’re the one letting personal preference get in the way of which one had a better plot Kei, the second one has better acting and—”

“How is tying back to the first one not a better plot? It’s a prequel, a surprise prequel! Also what the hell, they all have the same plot!”

“That’s crap, I know you don’t believe that!”

(Tsukishima did not but okay, technically it was the truth. A director could only take a concept so far.)

Kuroo laughed, somewhat crazed, as he finished his spiel. “Final Destination 2 is better in every way, I liked the characters more, the deaths were better, and it stood on its own. It didn’t have to rely on the first film—”

“It…it completely relies on the first film!”

“—in order to be successful. You probably just don’t remember because you were too busy watching the cash grab that was the fifth movie.”

Tsukishima, had he been more on Kuroo’s level of drama, might’ve gasped, hand on his chest and everything. But no, he steeled himself, squinting because like hell would he blink. Blinking meant defeat.

“The critics hated it,” Tsukishima seethed, as if that meant anything at all. A low, pathetic blow even for him. Was he losing?

“The people loved it,” Kuroo said back, his grin wide and so telling. He thinks I’m losing. Me.

Unacceptable.

The problem there? When Tsukishima got competitive, part of his rationale flew out the window. Therefore, stupid, impulsive decisions could slip through.

Kuroo’s next words were all it took.

“A true horror fan would know, amidst all the movies in the franchise, number two is the shining star,” Kuroo sighed, placing a hand on Tsukishima’s trembling shoulder with confidence all too grand. “It’s okay babe, I still love you, flaws and all.”

Fuck. You.

“Well, we—we’re just gonna have to watch all of them then!” Tsukishima yelled, the fierceness of competition flaring up without control. “We’ll see what the shining star is!”

“Fine!”

“Great!”

Oof.

Or, not great. Not one of his best ideas in hindsight, considering it was already close to midnight. But he was committed.

This, this would surely show Kuroo how wrong he was. The middle movies were a fucking slog and they both knew it. Kuroo would crack in no time, begging Tsukishima to just skip right to the last film.

Fuck yeah.

Unfortunately, he overestimated several things. One, his own patience, and two, his ability to stomach more than two of these shitty ass movies in a row.

Hint: he could not.

It was halfway through Final Destination 3 that Tsukishima had enough, mostly because both he and Kuroo didn't care for this particular installment to the mediocre franchise and also because…as sad as it sounded, he sort of no longer knew why they were fighting.

Glancing over at Kuroo from the corner of his eye, Tsukishima could make out the bored stare mixed with stubbornness and just a tad bit of disgust (the tanning salon death always did sort of freak Kuroo out). Tsukishima couldn't help but grin at the small bit of knowledge, and he cursed himself. Why was being mad at Kuroo so hard?

Maybe it's because you're arguing about Final Destination, Tsukishima's brain supplied, quite unhelpfully.

Kuroo's hands were clenched, gaze flickering towards the remote as if he was contemplating giving in and turning the cursed thing off.

He wouldn't though. They were both far too prideful for that.

No, if Kuroo was going to concede, Tsukishima would have to employ other tactics, and he momentarily let himself cast away any remaining dignity. He couldn't half-ass this, and once his plan was put into action, he wouldn't be able to turn back.

I can't believe it's come to this.

More unbelievable still was the way a rush of anticipation ran up his body, the beginnings of a desirous heat coiling in his abdomen. Like a reflex, a preview of what was to come.

He wondered if his heart had started to race yet, his pulse picking up...

He'd been complaining earlier, but it truly was hard to stay mad at Kuroo. He was....well, he was Kuroo.

Just the name made him relax, and Tsukishima didn't bother scolding himself. What was the use? This would be over soon, given how grossly affectionate he was feeling.

At the thought, Tsukishima looked back at his boyfriend, noting the way the shadows and flashes from the T.V. danced across the curves of his face. The light flecked in his golden eyes, subtle and far too mesmerizing considering the movie playing. Those eyes, framed by long eyelashes and the occasional sand had held Tsukishima's gaze so many times. In fact, Tsukishima had stared at Kuroo's entire face more times than he could count, but he always found himself observing the same things over and over. The light crease on the bridge of his nose during allergy season, the discoloration on the tops of his cheeks due to too many beach trips.

Tsukishima could almost feel the textures from memory alone, each bump, every contour.

Seeing him sitting there, so content and at home regardless of their stupidity, made Tsukishima's heart squeeze, and an easy admission floated into his brain.

Kuroo, with all his dumb reasonings and silly jokes, was handsome. Tsukishima knew that, but it had been a while since he'd reminded himself. Maybe he was setting himself up for disaster, but whatever. He always did like sticking to facts.

Tsukishima didn't feel the need to add more to the observation, and if he had to write a book, he doubted Kuroo's description would be more than a few lines long. Kuroo's smooth edges and searing gazes were too much to describe, but to Tsukishima, they felt so simple. So right. He didn't have to make a case for Kuroo's looks, they stared him in the face everyday, woke up with him, laughed with him.

Not bothering with subtlety anymore, Tsukishima moved his body away from the television until he was facing Kuroo, hugging his knees up to his chest as he continued his musings. Plus, he'd seen this movie enough times (more than enough, fucking hell) to recognize the events. Some guy in the drive-thru was about to get bladed through the head, truly, Final Destination 3 deserved to be in a national archive of some sort. Best film ever.

As if sharing the sentiment, Kuroo chuckled, rolling his eyes at the display of gore.

Yeah, that's my guy, Tsukishima thought, without much resistance. Kuroo never disappointed him, Final Destination 2 be damned.

Tsukishima bit his lip, noting the softness as he stared at his boyfriend's creased brow. He never realized how soft his lips were until he started dating Kuroo. The raven liked to bite on them, pull and suck...

A second tremor came then, and now Tsukishima knew it was over.

Fuck this.

"Like what you see?" Kuroo's soft, amused tone floated in his ears, and he didn't flinch. Tsukishima knew Kuroo had noticed the staring from the beginning, but he was patient with Tsukishima, letting him collect his thoughts for a bit.

God, you're the worst.

And just like that, the last of Tsukishima's willpower was gone.

"Mm," he hummed, moving slowly until he was comfortably seated in Kuroo's lap. "I don't know. The gym death is kind of lame."

One of Kuroo's hands automatically came up to grab Tsukishima's hip, while the other laced their fingers together. Such a sweet, intimate gesture, all to the sound of Lewis Romero's delusional theories.

"The lamest," Kuroo replied, eyes never leaving Tsukishima's lips. The blond briefly wondered how he did that, how he could read the atmosphere so well nowadays. Kuroo was so terrible at that in high school, accidentally offending people, including Tsukishima on a few occasions. The doofus apologized genuinely each time, but still, it was impressive to see how far he'd come.

Now he could read the room like a telepath might, feeling the shifts in mood and atmosphere, knowing exactly what people wanted.

And right then, he could probably tell just how much Tsukishima wanted to be fucked against the nearest available surface.

Side note: Yes, he knew how weird it was to become unbearably horny during a rewatch of a horror franchise, he couldn't explain it and didn't really want to. End of story. Besides, he was allowed, especially after the time Kuroo wanted to get dicked after watching A Christmas Carol, there were some things they just refused to acknowledge.

“Final Destination 2 is pretty lame too you know,” Tsukishima jabbed, but the animosity from before wasn’t there anymore, replaced now with a soft whisper as he tapped his fingers against the back of Kuroo’s hand.

“Mmhm, and so is Final Destination 5,” Kuroo nudged, moving his hips to let Tsukishima slide closer. He happily did so.

“The whole franchise is.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Without a doubt.”

“The worst.”

Each exchange only made their stupid smiles grow, and Kuroo nuzzled Tsukishima’s neck to hide his face before it made them both blush.

“Hey…you know what’s not lame?” Kuroo asked, and Tsukishima rolled his eyes before the words fully left his mouth. Oh no…

Of course, there was no real dread to be found as Tsukishima touched their foreheads together. “Stop.”

“The most beautiful person in the world—”

“No.”

“Light of my life!”

“Tetsu.”

“The future Kuroo Kei, beloved husband.”

The words made Tsukishima halt, especially with how Kuroo’s tone trembled on the last syllables, as if he hadn’t meant to say such a serious thing. He didn’t have to worry, because the words only made Tsukishima wonder how he’d ever been mad at this fool in the first place.

He didn’t let the silence sit between them long, not when Kuroo sat so tense beneath him. Dummy, as if I’d be mad at that.

“Tsukishima Tetsurou,” he whispered into the small space between them, their breath mingling. The admission the reinforcement brought with it, the fact he’d revealed he actually pictured them married, made Tsukishima’s cheeks heat up.

“Huh?” Kuroo choked out, as if he totally hadn’t heard the words loud and clear. Tsukishima laughed lightly, shaking his head.

“It sounds better…that way…you know?” The explanation was poor, but Tsukishima couldn’t sound smart right then, not with the butterflies in his stomach, or the constant heat beneath his skin. To think, they could’ve been this close, touching, this whole time.

Slowly, Kuroo touched their lips together, a peck far too innocent for how in the mood Tsukishima was. Damn Kuroo and his ability to turn every moment sappy. Did Tsukishima understand it? No. Would he change it? Never.

“Yeah, guess it does,” Kuroo said, smiling in a way which would surely kill Tsukishima if he continued.

“So…truce?” Tsukishima tried, moving his hips in hopes of getting that dumb look off of Kuroo’s face. “I’d like to pick up from where we left off, if you don’t mind.”

Being sappy was fun and all, but that was their entire life pretty much. Right then, Tsukishima wanted primal, needy, and nothing would get in the way of that.

One more purposeful grind, and Kuroo got the picture.

Grinning in that lovable, aggravating way, Kuroo met Tsukishima’s movements. “About time.”

I’ll say.

A shiver ran down Tsukishima’s spine as any thoughts of movies or terrible gore effects were forgotten, and he succumbed to the atmosphere, wanting more and more of it.

"Hey...what was that thing at the party you were doing?" Tsukishima asked, ready to dissolve the tension around them and take the plunge. He'd been thinking about this throughout the party, and not even the interruption of Final Destination could smother the flame building between them. He was tired of waiting. The moment of confusion on Kuroo's face didn't last long when Tsukishima placed both of Kuroo's hands on his hips, shivering at the touch on the bare skin where his shirt rode up. Why did he have it on still again?

The recognition in Kuroo's eyes made Tsukishima feel so small, something only Kuroo could do from such a vulnerable position. It happened to be the only time Tsukishima allowed it. And yeah, it was a great look on his boyfriend, as if it was taking all of his willpower to not fuck Tsukishima into the couch right then and there. Kuroo was such a pleaser though, wanting to draw out every touch, every position so Tsukishima could feel everything.

Tonight though, Tsukishima wanted to be the pleaser too, and a wicked thought crossed his mind as his mouth salivated.

I want it in my mouth...

It was the least he could do, after destroying his boyfriend so badly in their fight. Or maybe he just wanted to suck his dick until Kuroo begged to come. He didn't care much anymore about pretenses.

Kuroo chuckled darkly, unaware of how in control Tsukishima was (but honestly, when wasn't he?), and dug into his soft skin with poorly masked greed. "Somehow I doubt that's all you want me to do, love."

And this time, the endearment made him want to surrender.

Kuroo bucked his hips up, grinding their growing erections together, and Tsukishima laughed lowly even as a shudder racked his body. Of course not, but it's a good place to start.

Kuroo's hands traveled up his chest, ghosting over his nipples with his palms slowly. It was as if Kuroo was the conductor of Tsukishima's pleasure, the only one who got the notes and cues exactly right. He grinned as Tsukishima's hips dipped lowly towards him, seeking more.

Tsukishima moaned, and he figured it was alright, since soon Kuroo would be as undone as him.

The sensation of Kuroo playfully tugging at his nipples almost made his plan blur in his mind, his back arching into the feeling, but the determination drove him forward. Perhaps too roughly, he undid the buckle on Kuroo's belt, and in record time, he flung the damn thing to the floor.

Much better, but not enough.

Smirking, Tsukishima leaned forward, licking into Kuroo's mouth until their breath grew hot and frantic. It could hardly be called a kiss, the way Tsukishima would tease with his tongue, coaxing Kuroo's to meet him and make those obscene smacking noises they both loved so much. Shamelessly, he tugged on Kuroo's waistband as he moaned into the kiss. If that wasn't enough to get Kuroo moving, his next words certainly were.

He pulled away, letting a string of saliva connect them as he squeezed Kuroo through his underwear. The captivation on his boyfriend's face made his own cock twitch in his pants. "It's not what I want you to do, it's what I wanna do." Another harsh tug. "Off."

He loved when Kuroo moved fast sometimes.

In a matter of seconds, rough hands returned to his hips, seating him on the couch cushion as Kuroo stood up and kicked off his pants and boxers in a few fluid movements.

The pure obedience did something to Tsukishima he couldn't properly explain, but he squirmed where he sat, trying not to moan at the sight of his boyfriend's cock as it hung heavy between his legs.

It probably didn't matter, since the way Tsukishima immediately moved off the couch and onto his knees spoke for itself. His mind was already racing with the desire to make his boyfriend come, to suck on the head until Kuroo begged for more, to choke on his cock...

"Wait!" Kuroo's voice made him freeze though, and he looked up at Kuroo as the raven sat back onto the couch. He probably looked so sex drunk already, from how Kuroo's eyes flashed with something carnivorous. Stroking his cock, Kuroo laughed at the way Tsukishima's eyes followed the movement, and then pat his thigh. "Come up here."

At that, Tsukishima actually snapped out of it for a bit, blinking in confusion. "But I want to--"

"I know you do, and I'm gonna let you," Kuroo said, and his smirk actually made Tsukishima glare. "But you deserve a consolation prize too."

Tsukishima scoffed, standing to shuck off his pants and briefs.

"It's not a consolation prize if you're the winner," he replied, and still unsure of Kuroo's plan, he hopped back up onto the couch until his breath fanned over Kuroo's cock once more.

The tremble in Kuroo's voice made him wiggle his hips, and he made sure Kuroo watched.

"What happened to a truce?" Kuroo's voice shook as Tsukishima gave his cock a few firm strokes, and the blond didn't care what Kuroo was planning, he wanted more of that desperation now.

"I needed to tell you something," he said slyly, and before Kuroo could retort, he took the head of his cock in his mouth, sucking like he yearned for it. Kuroo choked out a moan as the milky precum met Tsukishima's tongue, and he swirled it around lewdly in his mouth.

Kuroo's hips twitched from the pleasure, and Tsukishima keened, the vibrations driving Kuroo mad.

"Fuck baby, that's right," Kuroo groaned, his hand digging into the cushions clumsily until he found their bottle of lube. Tsukishima didn't understand at first, but the realization dawned on him as soon as he felt a large hand kneed his ass.

Oh. Oh okay. Yes please.

Sticking his ass up higher, Tsukishima began to suck Kuroo off in earnest, making the show of it as he went all the way down on his cock. The sloshing and choking noises probably weren't necessary, but he loved the way they made Kuroo grab his blond hair and pull.

"Fuck Kei, you're amazing."

Tsukishima drank in all of Kuroo's babbles, all the praises and embarrassing comments.

"Want me to stretch you open? You're so dirty, bouncing your ass like this..."

"I'm gonna make you come hard with my cock in your mouth, Kei."

Tsukishima whined, trying his best to keep a good rhythm so Kuroo wouldn't come so fast. But god, it was tempting, especially when all he wanted was to pull off and tell Kuroo to come hard down his throat.

All coherent thought left his mind when Kuroo's lubed finger prodded at his entrance, teasing the rim until Tsukishima's whines turned even brattier, just how Kuroo liked. Tsukishima never liked to show that side of himself, no matter how much Kuroo told him it was okay. But when he did, something in Kuroo snapped, and he was no better than an animal.

He worked Tsukishima open, the lust taking over as he spoke mindlessly. "Fuck babe, your mouth is good at everything huh? So smart, but you can't say anything right now can you?"

He pulled Tsukishima off his cock, and the blond gasped.

Kuroo cursed under his breath. "So sexy..."

At the same time, Kuroo pushed in another finger, teasing the bundle of nerves inside Tsukishima with practiced skill.

Tsukishima got the picture as Kuroo kept him off his cock, but he wanted more than anything to keep going. Kuroo was close, but he obviously didn't want the fun to end. Tsukishima licked the head of his boyfriend's cock instead while Kuroo fingered him roughly, eventually scissoring him with three fingers after Tsukishima loosened up for him. And yeah, Tsukishima couldn't say anything at all, could just moan and push back wantonly.

Kuroo must've used more lube on purpose too, because the way his fingers plunged in and out of Tsukishima's ass filled the room with sloppy, indecent sounds which made Tsukishima glad they didn't have close neighbors.

"Tetsu, ah--I'm--fuck," Tsukishima's words quickly turned to mush when Kuroo pressed firmly against his prostate, and Tsukishima spasmed around him, like he wanted to keep his fingers locked there so badly.

But Kuroo really was a genuine bastard.

He pulled his fingers out, his palm connecting with Tsukishima's ass cheek with a resounding slap.

Tsukishima's back arched, and he stroked Kuroo's cock as best he could with trembling hands.

"Don't stop..."

"Hm, tempting," Kuroo sighed, groaning when Tsukishima licked a long stripe up his cock. "M-maybe if you admit I was right."

Seriously.

Tsukishima huffed, but he was too far gone to stop this, he felt so good. He just wanted to come, wanted to make Kuroo come..."I hate you sometimes."

Not that the words landed in the slightest when he was drooling over his boyfriend's dick. Or when Kuroo abruptly thrusted his fingers back inside of him, Tsukishima's moans way too happy to carry anything convincing.

"Aw, you hate me now? Is that it?" Kuroo said, amusement clear as day as he let Tsukishima feel every slow drag of his fingers inside him.

The rough, breathless syllables pouring from his lips made Tsukishima's mind swim, his body twisting at the sex-drunk words. Kuroo's speech abilities varied, and so far tonight, his debate skills hadn't gotten him far. Now, he was giving 110% to cover all that lost ground.

Tsukishima keened, and fuck, he didn't even bother glaring as Kuroo continued. "Hard to believe. You're so tight around me...."

Fuck, fuck, fuck...

“Mm, I wish I could hate you," Tsukishima sighed out, nails digging into Kuroo's thigh as he felt the familiar coiling of heat in his gut.

I'm gonna come, please make me come...

"But?" Kuroo's grin was most likely of the shit-eating kind, but Tsukishima didn't have it in him anymore to mind. He'd take everything Kuroo offered.

Thinking actions would speak louder than words, Tsukishima took Kuroo's cock back into his mouth, his pace merciless.

Come on, fall apart for me.

And Kuroo certainly did, all inclinations to tease or argue out the window. Neither of them cared about words, not with the pleasure building, not with Kuroo whimpering into the air of their apartment as Tsukishima took him deep.

He felt Kuroo's thrusts quicken, knew his fingers must've been cramping by then, but he kept going, eager to make Tsukishima feel as good as possible.

In the last few moments, a surge of affection welled up in Tsukishima's chest, and the noise he made around Kuroo's cock finally sent him over the edge.

Kuroo threw his head back, his hand leaving Tsukishima's hair to grip the armrest. "Oh god, oh shit, baby I'm coming, I'm--"

The feeling of Kuroo's cum shooting down his throat, along with the rough press of his fingers, sent Tsukishima toppling over the edge. He pulled off as he sobbed out in pleasure, some cum dribbling from the corner of his mouth as his body trembled.

He moved his hips shamelessly, riding out every last shock wave as he released into his hand. At least he'd had enough sense to do that right before his vision blanked out, his toes curling.

So good, so good.

Collapsing, he gave one last jolt as Kuroo pulled out his fingers, the sound absolutely filthy. Spent, their labored breathing filled the room, and Tsukishima lazily wiped his hand on his discarded pair of pants.

"Wow," Kuroo sighed above him, and Tsukishima simply hummed in response. His throat was sore, and his body still tingled from his orgasm. He was perfectly content with silence, and Kuroo's comforting touches.

Or, almost.

One last thought did cross his mind, and he turned over onto his back, letting his head rest on Kuroo's thigh. He felt the blush spread across his cheeks, a reaction he found annoying each time. No matter how many times he said it, it never got less embarrassing. "I love you too much to hate you by the way, shitty movie opinions and all."

Kuroo probably knew that already but...he felt he had to say it. The night couldn't get weirder anyways.

Tsukishima saw the exact moment Kuroo's brain and soul combusted from the statement, and before he knew it, he was being tackled onto the floor, his limbs too relaxed to protest as Kuroo smothered him in affection.

Oh well, if terrible movie marathons ended like this each time, Tsukishima couldn't mind it.

Much.

As if remembering the reason for all this mess, Kuroo lifted his head, glancing over to the home screen of the next installment of the franchise. The fourth one. Terushima's favorite.

Looking at each other, the consensus was reached, and the mutual hatred was all they needed as they both uttered the same response.

"No."

And yes, the truce persisted.

[brokeandjetlagged]

Take a Chance on Me (Wonwoo/Reader)

Wonu sat there, blinking, with some unmeasurable weight in his chest that prevented him from speaking, from breathing properly.

an awkward bookworm Wonwoo for all of you~

a/n Wonwoo is romanized as “Wonu” throughout the fic b/c honestly, it just sounds more right. Also, this a companion piece to “So What Can’t I Do?” but can totally be read separately

There are many things that could be said about people who believe so wholeheartedly in fate. Most of what Wonu would say about such people would probably be very unflattering, so it was a good thing that he had the sense to keep such opinions to himself. Well, mostly. Almost half of the time, at least.

“How was the wedding?”

“I give it a year,” Wonu said dryly, pulling at his tie and kicking off his shoes at the door. His roommate, Junhui, was only momentarily distracted from some Chinese drama he was (illegally) streaming on the TV. His eyes were already pulling back to the screen, his hand reaching to rest in its comfy home inside his sweatpants. If Junhui were half as charming as he was handsome, no person in Seoul would be safe.

“That’s harsh,” Junhui chided. “Haven’t they been dating for like, ever?”

“Three years,” Wonu amended, flopping onto the ratty couch next to Junhui. Maybe by his next paycheck he could afford to replace it with something better. He was exhausted, although this wedding was about as short as any other. From the time Wonu had entered the wedding hall, witnessed the ceremony, and offered his congratulations to the new couple, not two hours had passed. Something about seeing Minki, just a few years older than Wonu himself, stand and confidently pledge the rest of his life to someone drained all of Wonu’s energy. His brain processed the entire thing slowly, his thoughts moving like molasses through the vows, the readings, the prayers. How, was one of the only thoughts that had enough momentum to circle back to him more than once. How is he so sure?

“Give Minki some credit, then.” Junhui spoke importantly, but a lilt to his words betrayed how little he actually cared about one of Wonu’s college buddies and his happy marriage. “Once you get to be our age,” he paused here, to pick his nose, and then resumed, “stuff like this will make sense.”

“I’m the same age as you,” Wonu said, fighting to keep an eyelid from twitching.

“Not mentally.”

Wonu would like to convey that he knows that attempted murder is never the answer for shutting up an annoying Chinese man. But if Junhui had continued to speak, there would have been a greater danger of Wonu having to jump off the balcony, and he was not above acknowledging that he probably had more to offer in his life than Junhui—who rarely did much other than model, eat, and annoy him.

(Wonu would also like to convey to you, dear reader, that, while it stings his pride, he has never been attributed to being very well-muscled. Or coordinated. He risked spraining a wrist if he turned a page in a book too quickly. So any murder attempt was never long-lived.)

“You’re awful,” Junhui coughed dramatically, rubbing his throat long after Wonu had recovered from his bloodlust. “You’ll never find love with this kind of behavior.”

Wonu hid his sneer by picking up a book from the coffee table, and spent the rest of the night annoying Junhui by loudly (and with terrific mispronunciation) repeating every other line of dialogue from My I.

Within the next few weeks, spring had come, and Wonu had mostly forgotten Minki’s wedding except for the new photos on Instagram from their (Wonu repressed a shudder at even the thought) married-life Instagram that Seungcheol had guilted him into following.

But yes, anyway: his last bout of midterms as a college student had ended, and spring—as mentioned before—made the air warm and the cherry blossoms close to falling, and it prompted Wonu want to get off a few stops early and walk the rest of the way home.

The fact that there was a Kyobo bookstore a few hundred meters away from this station wasn’t a factor.

The fact that Wonu found himself there only five minutes later was purely coincidence.

There were a lot of pushes recently among Wonu’s family (mostly by aunts that spent too much time on facebook) to abandon chains like this and favor more local, Korean-owned book stands. But Wonu was pretty proud of how much his English reading had improved since high school, and not many Dongdaemun book stalls had much to offer beyond a few battered copies of Harry Potter.

Junhui had come with him into bookstores a few times after he had first moved in. The man had been eager to explore some of the neighborhood and pick up Korean textbooks (this was when Junhui looked at Wonu with awe and didn’t know much Korean. A much happier time in Wonu’s life), but Junhui soon found that the internet and his drinking buddies were much better tutors, and Wonu made his trips alone again.

The classics were always the first that Wonu checked in the Foreign Books section. Nothing ever really changed there, but there was some sort of comfort in knowing that whatever he bought had been acclaimed and loved for ages. No one ever occupied this section either, besides college students like him, or middle-aged, professor-looking types that looked like they could go on for hours about which color pantaloons the early English nobility wore. But it was deserted today, and Wonu didn’t suppress his smile as his shoulders relaxed, and he let his fingers brush the spines of a whole shelf of Pride and Prejudice as he walked down the aisle.

After about thirty minutes of double checking a Naver blog post about the great classics, Wonu was debating between Jane Eyre and Lolita when someone cleared their throat. Wonu jumped, startled, and clutched his books to his chest like an embarrassed teenager when he saw the woman trying to get by him.

She pressed her lips together in an embarrassed smile at his reaction, and bowed her head slightly, moving to get by him before she stopped, seeing the books he had been trying to decide between. Wonu wasn’t exactly opposed to her lingering gaze.    

“You like your books scandalous?” She asked, and Wonu blinked dumbly at her for a moment before stuttering back to life.

“Um, yes.” He fought off the urge to smack himself. “I mean, yeah, I like it. Have you read them before?”

“Only this one,” she admitted, pointing to Lolita’s cover. “I have a friend with the same name. She hates it, so I have to quote it whenever possible. Obviously.”

Wonu was too startled to hold back his laughter. And he was glad he hadn’t kept it to himself when her face broke into an expression of a relieved sense of accomplishment. She was foreign, and although confident, was probably met with varying reactions when she interacted with anyone in Korean. A twinge of understanding resonated through his chest; she kind of reminded him of Junhui. Although much, much prettier.

“Sorry for interrupting you,” she said after a pause, heat staining her cheeks. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Wonu sat there, blinking, with some unmeasurable weight in his chest that prevented him from speaking, from breathing properly. She didn’t wait for him to speak--which was a good call, he probably looked like a gaping lunatic--and was lost into the crowd of shoppers almost immediately. Wonu shook his head, as if that could throw off the lingering embarrassment and heat he felt in his face, and put one of the books back without checking. He’d been having a nice day up until five minutes ago. Well. It was still nice, but he felt like his insides were spaghetti and someone and just stuck a fork in them and given it a good twirl.

“What’s wrong with you?” Junhui said loudly as Wonu walked into the living room. He flung his bag down and threw himself over the couch.

“Um. I bought a book?” Wonu looked at the brown paper bag that had landed next to his book bag. He didn’t really remember buying it.

“You bookworms are gross,” Junhui said bluntly, heading to his room. “Buy one book and you come home looking like you just got your first blowjob.” He paused before shutting his door, and poked his head out to the living area again. “Oh, you see, a blowjob is what happens when someone actually wants to put their--” He slammed the door shut suddenly, and a thick magazine thudded off the wood half a second later.

“Asshole,” Wonu muttered under his breath, slumping back down into the cushions.

While Junhui was possibly a demon from hell, Wonu did have him to thank for introducing him to a lot of cool people that he wouldn’t have met otherwise. The friends that he had made in the last two years he’d roomed with Junhui were so much better than the pricks that were in Wonu’s school’s journalism department.

The best of these new friends was a senior at Jihoon’s performing arts school, Soonyoung, who had also just finished his midterms and was itching to celebrate. And this is how Wonu found himself out on this particular Saturday night in the busier section of his neighborhood.

Wonu, contrary to every malicious rumor Junhui had tried to spread, did not only like to jerk it to old books that smell like death. He had many hobbies. Including drinking. Including this specific place’s honey makkoli that made his head swim but his lips taste sweet when he ran his tongue over them. A waitress came by with another bottle of liquor and a pot of honey and Wonu’s other hobby could be taking her as his wife because yes.  

“You’re funny when you drink,” Soonyoung sniggered as he mixed another--their fourth? Fifth?--round of drinks.  

“I’m funny all of the time,” Wonu said immediately. He stretched his hand out in front of him, flexing his fingers.

Soonyoung just laughed, which Wonu thought proved his point (it doesn’t, poor boy), and Wonu moved on to trying to think back on the specific train of conversation they were having before Soonyoung felt it necessary to point out how hilarious Wonu was. “What were we talking about?”

“Well,” Soonyoung shrugged, ladling out another cup for Wonu. “Nothing really. You just asked that poor girl to marry you though.”

“Oh.” Wonu winced, feeling a little of his happy, swimmy vibe dribble out of his ears.

“Aw, I’m sure she would’ve said no,” Soonyoung chided, grinning at Wonu’s red face. “And then you’d still have a perfectly clean no-commitment record.”

“You make me sound like such a douchebag,” Wonu complained. He thought of the girl from earlier that week, just a few days ago, really. His tongue felt heavy just thinking of her, though. And he shook the thought away. “Just because I’m not--I’ve never…” Wonu trailed off, blinking as his words stopped trotting around in his head long enough for him to realize what kind of tangent he was going on. “Wow, I’m drunk.” He dug the heels of his palms into his eye sockets.

“It’s okay,” Soonyoung laughed good naturedly, slapping a hand on Wonu’s scrawny shoulder and giving it a good shake. “So you’re not ready. Big deal. Maybe you will be and maybe you won’t.”

One of the greatest things about Soonyoung was that he sometimes spouted stuff like that, like he’d been some sort of living vessel for ancient Buddhist texts that knew exactly what Wonu needed to hear in order to not feel like his life was just one shitty decision after another. Wonu rewarded him by paying the bill, and letting Soonyoung crash on his couch instead of forcing him to find a taxi all the way back to his one-room on the other side of the river.

“Nunu,” Soonyoung groaned as Wonu gave up on wrestling him out of his coat. “You’ll find someone who’ll make you crazy.”

“What makes you say that?” Drunk asshole almost rolled off his tongue, but Soonyoung had been very nice that night and he was, Wonu reminded himself, his favorite.

“You drive a lot of people crazy.” Soonyoung giggled. His curse was that the alcohol hit him doubly hard once he was horizontal. Wonu brought a little wastebasket over, just in case, in the time Soonyoung had untied his tongue enough to continue. “Junhui and Jihoon would love it to see you all heart-eyed over someone, after all the shit you put them through.”

“They deserved it.” Jihoon had serenaded that one girl from the rooftop of one of his university buildings. Like a love-sick male lead in a cliche drama. There was a video of it on Youtube. What did he expect? For Wonu to not hum that song whenever Jihoon mentioned any new girl?

“It’s okay,” Soonyoung said, and his hand came up to clumsily pat Wonu on the cheek. More of a dull slap, really. “I’ll be rooting for you.”

Wonu blushed and slurred out a thank you before heading to his own bed.

Wonu almost wished he took another seminar class for his last semester rather than leaving a block of time for an internship. Working was hard. He could barely cope with trudging his way to work at the crack of dawn on top of his other classes and homework. How was he going to cope with a full time journalism job: forty hours a week, including research, editing, arranging interviews and scheduling shoots? He wanted to take a nap.

He couldn’t nap though. Or well. A nap wouldn’t be very proper in line at a Starbucks. The soulless drones that wandered Seoul would just step over him like he was garbage that hadn’t been collected from the night before, and he would get fired for being late.

Someone from behind jostled him, and Wonu huffed a little and scooted forward the two inches that he could. Seriously: Soulless. Drones. And when he got another tap on the shoulder, he had to fight from snapping when he turned around angrily to--

A pair of eyes blinked at him and then crinkled into a smile of recognition, and Wonu couldn’t stop the puzzled way his eyebrows drew together. It was the girl from the bookstore. The funny, pretty one. Her hair was pulled back from her face, and she was dressed like she was headed to work like him, like everyone else in line. It was weird. He had just assumed she was a tourist, or maybe an exchange student. Seeing her against the backdrop of a Monday morning in a random Starbucks felt out of place, like she didn’t belong in boring planes of reality like this.   

“Hello,” she said. Not over friendly, but polite. Sort of like how he would greet his co-workers when he finally made it in this morning. Not like he was some stranger she had exchanged a handful of words with a few weeks ago.

“Hello,” he nodded to her, and the absurdity of exchanging greetings with a complete stranger made him choke on a laugh. He held a hand over his mouth, but couldn’t stop the effects of his smile changing the shape of his cheeks, his eyes. “Have you been well?”

“Yes,” she said, and the way she had to bite the inside of her cheek let Wonu know that she had enough sense to know how out of place this was. “Which book did you choose?”

“You remember?” Wonu said, but he wasn’t very surprised. “Um. Jane Eyre.”

“That’s a good one,” she nodded, and moved her chin so that Wonu knew to take a step towards the counter. “I thought you were a student.”

“I were. I am.” Wonu started fishing his wallet from the depths of his pockets. His hands got nervous. “I have an internship in the mornings though.”

“Oh. I intern too.” The way she said it made it seem special, like she and Wonu were the only two interns in all of Seongdong.“I’m an editor at one of those startup volunteer organizations. Refugees and that sort of stuff.”

Wonu ducked his head down a little. That sounded a lot better than the morning of errands that he was about to run for a hoard of Dispatch wannabees. “That’s sounds interesting.”

“Yeah. It’s your turn.”

“It’s just this gossip newsletter. I just tweak the site and--”

“No, uh. It’s your turn.” Wonu followed her gaze to the empty register, where an employee was clearly hiding her irritation behind a smile. He gathered his strength and managed to walk forward and place his order without his face melting off from his blush; he gave himself a small pat on the back while he went to join the bundle of commuters waiting for their order to be called.

“You’re funny,” she said when she came over to wait as well. She said it lowly, in English, not rude or conversational, but an observation.

“No, I’m Wonu,” he said back, switching over to her language. He knew his accent was awful--his parents couldn’t afford to send him abroad like his cousins. But it made her smile. He liked the way her eyes shined; even though the sound didn’t escape, the light of laughter was trapped in her, and it refused to be quiet completely.

She told him her name, and Wonu butchered it, but promised to try harder, or come up with a nickname for her if he got really lazy.

“Meeting twice is kind of testing fate in a city like Seoul,” she said after her order was called. She looked at him levelly over the plastic top of her coffee as she took her first sip. “You seem nice.”

Nice. She thought he was nice. Wonu kind of floated on that for the rest of the morning. Minhyun yelled at him for accidentally deleting some D-list idol’s interview edits, but Wonu couldn’t find it in him to care. She also thought he was funny, said some part of his brain that did not want him to focus on any task he was given. She laughed at him a lot, anyway. And now he had her kkt ID stored in his phone.

“You’re acting weirder than usual,” Minhyun said loudly as he passed Wonu’s desk. He tossed a thumb-drive over to Jonghyun. “What is it?”

“He’s smiling too much,” Jonghyun said, his voice distorted around his fourth mug of coffee. Jonghyun was a perpetually tired grad student who also moonlighted as a dance crew leader in Hongdae. Wonu wasn’t actually one-hundred percent sure that Jonghyun could exist, as a person, without being hooked up to a caffeine IV.

“So I’m not allowed to smile?” Wonu deadpanned, the edges of his mouth smoothing down. Minhyun just shrugged.

“Classes going well?” Jonghyun guessed.

“They’re okay.”

“It’s a girl,” Minhyun said, leaning against Jonghyun’s chair in order to get a look at his computer screen.

“Are you into girls?” Jonghyun asked. He seemed unbiasedly curious, but he didn’t look up from his assignment.

“Sometimes,” Wonu said bitterly. That floaty feeling was getting dampened by this conversation, which is why Wonu genuinely did not like people in his business. Having another set--or sets--of eyes on him made everything seem tiny, examined piece by piece under a microscope. If you look at something closely enough, the importance seems to drain out of it. Or worse, you realize it wasn’t even important to begin with.

She texted him at 8:59pm on Saturday. Wonu only knows this because it was the exact time that they were announcing the guests for the next week of Knowing Bros. It was SHINee, and Wonu was already being bombarded by messages. He was trying to figure out how to mute Soonyoung’s alert tone (because there are only so many times he could be disturbed by a keyboard smash without wanting to smash Soonyoung’s head against a keyboard) when her icon popped up in a banner.

Free sometime tomorrow or Monday?

Wonwho: tomorrow? 4? There’s a good cafe near exit 8

Junhui called it a date. Wonu was not that optimistic--he was realistic.

“That’s not realistic, that’s just being sad,” Junhui said, rubbing an eye and smearing some of the liner a stylist had forgotten to wipe off. “You’re not a sad person. Go sow your wild oats.”

Wonu raised an eyebrow at him. “Where did you even learn that expression?”

“I’m telling you: I was a scholar in my previous life, and Buddha decided to reward me with good looks in this one. Maybe he’ll do the same for you.”

“That’s not how Buddhism works,” Wonu said boredly through a mouthful of ramen.

“I’ll start my own sect then. Wanna be my first disciple?”

Maybe in a different universe, they did start their own religion, right there in the living room. Converted millions and changed lives and went down in history as modern re-evangelists. Wrote essays and papers and revamped prayers to account for vanity and the need for more instagram followers.

In this universe though, Junhui’s joke (like many, many others, Wonu feels the need to add) fell flat, and the drone of shit variety television did little to distract that he (Jeon Wonu) indeed, perhaps, maybe had a date the following day.

End (?)   

I’m gonna start doing things where I just post something after I feel “done” with it, and maybe post updates/chapters once I get the juice back, or people really like a certain thing and want to see more of it. I have a little more in store for this little arc, but if I don’t get to it, i’m okay with this short little piece. 

thanks everyone for continuing to read and support my stuff. i check my notifs daily

[stillpartofthisworld]

Scared Of The Dark- TAZ

Small fic about Ango and Lup bonding over a bout of insomnia. Based off of this and this post. Is this on ao3? Yes it is.

Listen. 

It’s one thing for Lup to be awake for five days straight.

Elves don't actually need sleep anyway- and ever since she became a Hunger-busting Lich, the whole trance that she had goin' on wasn't even a thing anymore. So excuse her if she spent the nights staring fondly at her dumb brother, or her little denim boy who insists on staying up with her but always falls asleep somewhere around three AM. (She loves him, you know.). She also spends it by cleaning up the debris that now littered the not-an-actual-moon base, or sometimes by just shooting random fireworks into the air because she's free, she's free free free after that decade in that staff of a prison. So it's one thing for Lup to stay wide awake for one hundered and twenty four hours and thirty seven minutes. It is quite another for a little human boy. Angus McDonald wasn't sleeping at night. She would sometimes see the shadow of a little human in a window of the Starblaster, or in one of the many BOB domes. The kid was usually reading through the night, or sometimes slurping something out of a cup while looking warily towards the west, where the body of the Last Judge finally fell and dissipated into light. (Upon further inspection of the cup in the mornings, Lup notes that the kid likes to drink hot chocolate with three expresso shots. It occurs to her that she should start hiding the coffee. It also occurs to her that, being the world's greatest detective, he would probably find it in a heartbeat. ) As the hours wear on, she sees him doing random things to keep himself awake-cleaning, drawing, even going into Magnus's stash of clear nail polish and giving himself a mani-pedi. Her worry hits it's peak when, one day, she sees him sitting down, cup in hand, cracking open a math textbook and proceeding to actually learn from it. Oh. That kid's hit a low. She blasts open the door to the bridge and he jumps, scrambling to his feet and brandishing his wand at her. His owl like glasses have slipped on one side of his face, making one eye (and eye bag) look bigger than the other. When he sees her crimson red robe he relaxes his stance, putting his feet together but still keeping his wand pointed in her general direction. (She isn't hurt by this. If she had met a being made out of pure magic, she would like to keep a weapon close at hand as well. So she's...a bit proud of him.) "Hello, ma'am!" He waves cheerfully with his free hand. Lup smirks (as much as she can under her hood) and gives the kid a mock salute. "Sup, little man," she drawls and floats over to his side, pretending to study the book he had spread out on the small table Davenport uses(used. He used to use it.) for lunch and the odd come uppance of paperwork. " 'Mathematics for the Fantasy Middle Schooler', huh? Never had those in my day." She flicks her hand and the book begins to levitate, floating toward her. She turns the pages quickly, then slowly with her mind, reminding herself that n o, you don't really have hands to grasp things with, don't be silly- "Well, I am entering middle school soon, ma'am," Angus's voice cuts through her thoughts. She turns from the book and towards him; he's fixed his glasses now, and was looking down at the ground politely, casting furtive glances at the book that was now spinning slowly in the air. "I thought that I should get some studying done early, to get ahead." "What a great idea, Ango!" Lup closes the book with a sharp snap and returns it to the ground. "But why, exactly, are you executing this wonderful idea at four in the morning?" Angus jumps at the loud sound and flicks his eyes to Lup's shadowy face. She wonders how he sees her; she didn't really pay much attention to the kid on the battlefield, even though Taako had cornered her before he had left ("Lulu, take care of him. Squirt has barely been alive for a decade no matter how mature he acts, he hasn't seen war"). Right now, all she sees is a scared and sheepish child, shuffling his feet before muttering "I can't sleep, ma'am. At night, I mean. The darkness sort of...unsettles me." "You mean you're scared of the Hunger coming back?" This time he looks up at her and stares. "H-How did you-?" Lup snorts and floats closer to the ground, letting her essence spread across the floor until her hood is at level with the boy detective's curls. "Ahem, excuse-toi, buddy. You're talkin to a professional Hungerbuster." "But isn't it...a bit stupid? To be scared?" Angus's eyebrows furrow as if he's trying to solve a puzzle he was just given. (She watched him do some of Lucretia's handmade puzzles a few days ago. He completed two-a whole two more than anyone at the IPRE managed to do in a century.) He continues. "The Hunger's gone, right? The threat's...gone. So why do I feel as if it's going to come back?" He folds his arms together as if he's hugging himself, and the gesture looks so natural that Lup wonders if this kid has had anyone to comfort him in his short, short human life. "Every time I look to where that judge fell, I feel like someday, when I'm not looking, that thing is going to come out of nowhere and finish what it started and that, that scares me ma'am. I've been scared before, but never like this. I've never been scared of something that can't happen." In this moment, in this exact moment, Lup understands exactly why her family adores Angus McDonald. "Come with me, kid." She gestures with a billow of her robe to the door. Angus looks at her for a moment before pocketing his wand and letting his back be covered by her crimson robe, pushing him forward. "Also," she says as they exit. "Don't call me ma'am, little dude. I'm just your girl Lup." - She shows him their story. He's heard it before, yes, through the light of the baby Voidfish and through being with them during the last bit of their journey but not this. She shows him Lucretia's journals and drawings, depicting how scared they all were. Scared of the new responsibility that was thrust upon them. Scared of the Hunger, which they knew only came at the end of the year but it wasn't rare to find one of them at the observation deck of the Starblaster, eyes to the sky to see if they could find anything staring back midway through the cycle. Scared of losing each other, even though they knew that they would be back, that they would always come back, that didn't stop them from having nightmares. ("Even Taako?" "Even Taako.") She shows him how they dealt with their fear, through touch and laughter and closeness. She opens up a false panel in the kitchen and shows him a cookbook filled with chapters not based off of food but off of people and circumstances. She walks with him through the halls and tells him stories of Magnus picking her up, chair and all, and parading her around the room, because Barry had died three weeks ago and it had only been their fifth month together as in together and she had been just so terrified. Of when Magnus had died during the first cycle and they saw him reform right before their eyes, and she could have sworn she heard everyone choke back a relieved sob because they thought they had lost him but he came back but what if he didn't come back? She tells him this and more, and they reach a small storage closet, tucked away near the engine compartment. Lup stops in front of the the door, noting that the door, while a bit rusted, was opened a crack. Angus stops with her, peering into the room with the muted curiosity of a tired detective, and he asks "What is it, Lup?" but she's already pushed open the door, the weak light of the ship illuminating the figures within. Pillows everywhere. They come in all shapes and sizes and colors and makes, just covering the room in their plushness (that Lup can't experience, not anymore but this isn't about that). The floor below is covered in mattresses, but that isn't the main thing that catches their attention. It's Magnus, sprawled out in the middle of the room, breathing softly. On his chest lay the hands and head of Madame Director herself, her head rising softly with each breath Magnus takes (Angus has never seen Lucretia ever looking so serene. She looks a good 20 years younger now.). On the opposite side lies Merle, propped up against the wall that is Burnsides, Extreme Teen Bible clutched in one hand. Using Magnus's left forearm as a pillow, Davenport is snoring softly away, bits of drool escaping his mouth and sliding down Magnus's skin (He doesn't mind. He never has.) Taako is here too; curled up on Merle's side, snuggling close to Magnus's collarbone, his nose touching the warrior's neck. (He was last to join them, all those years ago. He always said the nightmares never came to him until one day he slammed open the door to find them all lying here, together and alive and not dead like he'd dreamed-) And there was Barry, her Barry, taking over her old spot by Magnus's legs, slinging his own over and sleeping face up, head resting on one of the many pillows. She floats over to her friends, her family, just aching to touch them but she can't so she just watches, her very essence just sweeping over them to say I'm here, I'm alright, we're here- and their bodies seems to relax a faction of a milimeter, as if sensing the arrival of their last member. And Angus watches her watching them and in that moment, the boy understands the true power of a having a hand to hold, lips to kiss, a body to hug and tickle and hold and why he and a being made of magic and a soul were bonding at four in the morning because they had no one and yet that wasn't true. The boy feels the weight of being awake for one hundred and twenty four hours and fifty seven minutes crash down on him and he sways, feet sinking into the soft plush of the underlying mattress as he makes his way across the room. Lup sees Angus coming and spreads her robe again, herding him into the  space between Magnus and Lucretia. He sinks into the ground and nestles himself near  the Director's lap, his head leaning on Magnus's stomach. Lucretia stirs and Angus freezes up, worried that she would look down at him with her patented disapproving look and ask him why, exactly, he was here and would he please be professional and get off her lap. Lucretia stirs and wraps an arm around the boy, pulling him closer into a rather motherly embrace, patting his head sleepily. "Night, Angus," she sighs and drifts back off to sleep, leaving him very relieved and very tired. He yawns and Lup takes his glasses off without a word, folding them neatly and placing them in the corner of the room, next to Barry's own. He looks young, so very young curled up to these beings who've lived and died for a century and a decade for a victory they achieved a mere one hundred and twenty five hours and three minutes ago. Lup whispers a good night as the boy steps cautiously into unconsciousness, and she keeps a quiet vigil through the night over her family. It's the closest thing to rest she has had in a long time.

[mystery-moose]

FIC: Angus McDonald and the Flight of the Flying V (4/?)

[AO3 link]

They’ve come a long way, but even ten years after the world was saved, they’re still not quite where they should be. A whim, a missing painting, and a handful of near-death experiences help a flip wizard and his apprentice bridge the gap.

Taako does his best. Angus takes some risks. Introductions are made, bonds are tested, and lessons are learned — better late than never.

Angus changed quickly. He'd never exactly had a large wardrobe, though years of birthday and Candlenights presents from the Bureau (and Taako in particular) had given him a particularly eclectic selection. He chose the usual, and briefly thought about wearing one of his gifts before deciding against it; in all likelihood, Taako would have either forgotten he gave it in the first place, or would pretend to as a goof.

Taako was actually ready to leave before Angus, which surprised him. His new outfit was a little more sedate than the one he'd arrived in town wearing, aside from the constants of his hat, umbrella, and jewelry, while his makeup (beyond the glamour he always cast on himself) was as perfect as it always was.

"Thought you were in a hurry, Agnes," he said smugly, checking his nails.

"Not as much as you, I guess," Angus countered, grabbing his blue cap from the shelf by the door. "You must be excited."

Taako shrugged and said, "It's something to do," and Angus immediately knew he was right. He grinned as he left the apartment, and Taako followed after him.

It was a beautiful day in Neverwinter, and it made for good walking weather. Angus chartered cabs when he had to, but he always preferred to travel on foot. It let him get to know the winding streets and alleyways of the city, and kept him fit, the latter being almost as important as the former. Something Carey had drilled into him back in the Bureau days — it was one thing to know what you had to do, and it was another thing entirely to be able to do it.

Taako, of course, disagreed.

"Are we there yet?" he whined, bracing his umbrella across his shoulders.

"Almost, sir!" Angus said cheerily, pausing to look before crossing the street. Simple legwork like this always put him in a good mood.

As they crossed, Taako made a very impolite gesture to one of the wagon-drivers hurrying them along. Angus led the way down a set of old stone steps into an alley between two larger buildings. There stood an old oaken door, with a viewport and an iron cage over it. Angus knocked once, twice more, then once again. The port slid open and a pair of large, intense eyes stared out, first at Angus, then over his shoulder at Taako.

"What's the good word?" a deep voice asked.

"Never a good word," Angus replied, "only a polite one."

After a moment to glance at Taako again, the port slid closed. A series of snaps and clanks sounded as the door was unlocked. When it opened, Angus ducked inside with Taako close on his heels.

The basement shop had changed a great deal from the last time Angus had visited — he recognized a few of the paintings leaning against the far wall, and there was a bronze sculpture of an aarakocra he'd seen before, but the rest was all new. Art of all kinds littered every available surface, from floor to ceiling across the room. There were scroll cases tucked neatly alongside bottles in a wine rack to his right; urns so old the designs upon them were faded almost to invisibility; a suit of armor with an elaborate chest-piece in the shape of a blossoming rose, holding a spear with a bright blue ribbon trailing from its haft; and a large animal horn tucked into a leather bag that itself looked hand-crafted in a old tribal style.

"Boss is in the back," the goliath said as she closed the door. "You're here to talk to 'em, yeah?"

"Yeah," Angus said, tipping the brim of his cap. "Thanks, Sheila."

Sheila nodded, then glared at Taako, who smiled in what he probably thought was a disarming way.

"Don't worry," Angus said. "You can trust him. Can't she, Taako?"

"Oh, absolutely," Taako agreed, nodding emphatically. "I'm as trustworthy as they come!"

Sheila crossed her arms and didn't take her eyes off him. Angus patted Taako's shoulder.

"I'll be out in a minute," he said. Then whispered, "Don't touch anything."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Taako murmured, smiling and nodding at Sheila.

Angus headed for the only other door in the back of the room, past the long ornately carved dining table where place settings of a dozen different styles were stacked a dozen high. He knocked politely before stepping inside.

This room rarely changed much; pieces came and went, certainly, but there were more fixtures here that Angus imagined were kept as much because of their beauty or sentiment as their price. A massive redwood desk with a relief of an ancient battle scene carved into the front dominated most of the room, with a couple chairs in strange and unique styles sitting by the door. There was a grandfather clock in one corner, mostly hidden behind a bookshelf stacked with tomes so old their titles were long faded. An alchemical lamp with a beautiful stained glass shade sat on the desk, illuminating a collection of papers with indecipherable handwriting.

"Be with you in a sec," the tiefling said, standing behind their desk and writing something on a slip of parchment.

Angus closed the door and waited patiently, hands in his pockets. Rocco was worth waiting for; always polite, always helpful, occasionally difficult but never obstinate. It was a shame they were sort of a criminal, but then, so were a lot of Angus' oldest friends. He tried not to judge.

Rocco finished whatever they were doing, swiping their pen triumphantly as they did so. They straightened and smiled as they removed their reading glasses. "Ah, Mr. McDonald! What can we do for you today?"

"Nothing major," Angus said with a shrug. "Just wanted to know if any new paintings came through recently."

"There are always paintings coming through here, detective," Rocco said. "You know that."

"This would be a big one. You'd recognize it."

"Big as in...?"

"Flight of the Flying V."

Rocco blinked — they seemed genuinely surprised, but Angus kept his eye out for any tells. "Flight has been stolen?"

"Less than two days ago," he said. "It hasn't made the papers yet. The Museum contacted me to look into it quietly before the story breaks."

The tiefling's hand rose up to stroke across their horns and run back over their hair. Rocco stepped around the desk, glancing thoughtfully around the room and looking a little disappointed, if Angus had to guess.

"Detective," they said, turning their attention back to Angus. "I'm... speaking honestly, a bit flattered that you thought my business would be able to fence something like the Flying V, but... even if someone had come in with it, brokering a deal for a painting by one of Faerun's oldest masters is beyond me."

Angus' eyebrows rose — Rocco was polite, but they were never exactly humble. "Is that so?"

Rocco nodded, and they wrung their hands a little as they spoke. "To say nothing of the attention it would bring, Flying V is a masterwork. It's the symbol of an entire artistic period stretching back thousands of years. I'd be afraid to breathe on it, let alone touch it."

"The Curator said it was priceless," Angus said. "But if you had to fence it?"

Rocco almost looked like they'd been asked to put a price on their mother. Then they paused and looked down thoughtfully. Rocco was a collector, Angus knew that, but they were also a consummate professional. There were times those two things had clashed in the past, but never quite like this.

After almost thirty seconds of serious consideration, Rocco looked up and gave their price. Angus balked.

"Are you serious?" he asked, already knowing the answer from the look on Rocco's face.

"It's the place I'd start bargaining," Rocco said firmly. "And I'd take a fifth right off the top for the amount of trouble it would bring."

Now Angus was the one running his hand through his hair. He tried not to set expectations early on in a case, but apparently that ship had sailed, because that was very much larger than he thought.

"You see what I meant, now, yes?" Rocco said. "I'm proud of my business, Mr. McDonald, but I know my limitations."

"Yes, I can see that." Angus shook his head. "Well. This is going to sound unnecessary, after that, but if someone does come in wanting to fence Flying V, can you let me know?"

"I won't be making that deal, so all I'd be able to give you is a description."

"That's fine," Angus said, reaching into his pocket. "Whatever you can do will help."

He pulled out his notebook and a small satchet of bonds — paper money was less visible than gold, and Rocco had an account under an alias at Neverwinter Trust. Angus tore half a page out of his notebook and handed it and the bonds over to Rocco, who pocketed them in a smooth and practiced motion.

"Thanks, Rocco," he said, holding his hand out. Rocco shook it. "Stay out of trouble."

"Quite," they said dryly. "Sorry we couldn't be of more help."

Angus stepped out of the office, preoccupied with his own thoughts, and was startled to attention by an unexpected sound.

"—and I was like, 'careful, don't burn a spell on it!' "

Sheila slapped her knee, roaring with laughter. Taako doubled over cackling and leaned on Sheila's shoulder.

"What a stiff!" Sheila said, wiping her eyes.

"I know, right?" Taako said. "You should have seen the look on his face!"

Angus stifled a grin and cleared his throat. Taako looked over, brows raised.

"We're done!" Angus said cheerily. "Thanks for waiting."

"Oh, no bigs," Taako said. "We really got to bonding, right, Sheila?"

"Yeah. I'll 'member about that nail polish," she said, wiggling her fingers. "Thanks."

"You'll look marvelous, ketzile," Taako replied with a brush of his hand over hers. "Adios!"

They stepped outside and Sheila shut the door behind them. Angus turned and regarded Taako.

"What?" he asked, fiddling with a bracelet. "She's a fun lady. Just gotta get past that rough 'n tumble exterior, y'know? Can't judge a book by its cover, Ango. You should know better."

Angus stared at Taako for a moment, then shook his head and started up the stairs to the street. "It's not her I'm surprised by, sir."

Taako feigned shock. "I'm a social butterfly! People like me!"

Angus turned once he got to the top. "Not normally, no."

"Oh, go to hell, twerp," Taako retorted casually, flipping his hair over his shoulder. "You get whatever it was you needed?"

"Yes and no," Angus said, glancing down the street. "They'll contact me if they hear anything, but I doubt they will."

"You attune your stone with just anybody?"

He grinned. "Even better."

Angus pulled out his notebook and handed it to Taako, who flipped it open and shook his head at Angus' handwriting. "I don't get it."

"Remember that old interceptor book I had?"

"Assume that I do."

"This is the opposite. Sends and receives." Angus allowed himself a moment to geek out while Taako paged through the book. "Anything I write in there gets archived in a journal back at my house, as a backup. And if I tear out part of a page, anything written on that piece appears in both. More surreptitious than a stone of Farspeech, and less chance of being overheard."

"Huh." He furrowed his brow. "You enchant this yourself?"

Angus puffed his chest out a bit. "Yep!"

Taako looked momentarily impressed. It shifted into amusement as he handed the book back. "Cute. Real Caleb Cleveland stuff."

His grin turned sheepish. "I came up with it on my own,"

"Are you sure? Because I seem to recall a similar device from Caleb Cleveland and the Treacherous Trail—"

"A wholly original creation!" Angus loudly declared.

Taako snorted and put his sunglasses on. "Well, where we going now, Poirot?"

"That depends." Angus started down the street with his hands in his pockets. "How do you feel about a trip down memory lane?"

Taako's whole head rolled along with his eyes. "Must you speak in riddles, sahib?"

[supernatural-girl97]

Pocket Knife

A/N: So this is my second fic and I would love some feedback if you read it! Hopefully it doesn’t suck... Ha! 

Summary: Dean and Reader have an established relationship, they’ve been through a lot together but what happens when you get hurt? And what if what hurt you wasn't some monster or demon, but a flesh and blood, innocent human? Or five... You were alone and couldn’t protect yourself enough and Dean just can’t seem to handle it. It’s a good thing you love each other so much.

Word Count: 2374 (woah... thas a lot...)

Warning: Some angst, Mentions of attack, swearing, lots of swearing, Dean being self-loathing, pissed as hell Reader, possible bad writing...

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam, Cas, random people

(Gif not mine!)

Dean P.O.V.

 Hands covered in blood.

The knife covered in blood.

Clothes covered in blood.

 Y/N covered in blood.

 There are bodies laying in the alley, one of them is Y/N.

She didn’t scream, she knows better. She’s a hunter. But, damn do I wish she had screamed. Maybe I would’ve found her faster… Maybe she wouldn’t be sitting in some back alley covered in blood from head to toe.

The scary part is that, for the life of me, I don’t know if I want the blood to be hers or not.

 I take off running as fast as I can to get to her, but it feels like I’m running in sand and I just can’t get there fast enough.

           “Y/N!!!” I’m screaming her name and when I finally get to her she’s shaking. I fall to my knees in front of her and grip her shoulders.

           “Y/N, what happened? What did you do?!” I know I sound harsh, but I’m terrified.

But she must not recognize me because she swings her knife at me. I barely reacted enough for her to miss my throat as I stumble back.

           Wait.

I know that knife? I gave her that knife when we first got together. Yeah, it’s a silver bladed pocket knife. She loved it because it was “just the right amount of girly,” with the hummingbird and flower image on both sides. Geeze, she did all this damage with a pocket knife? Normally I’d say, ‘that’s my girl’ but these aren’t monsters... 

           “Y/N, sweetheart? It’s me, honey, it’s Dean. Baby, look at me, look at my eyes. Please. Come back to me…” I plead with her as I reach for her again. But she shuffles back and lands on her ass as she tries to scoot away.

She’s scared of me. Oh, please no, she can’t be afraid of me.

           “Y/N… Sweetheart, don’t be scared. I’m not gonna hurt you.” Y/N goes crazy, she jumps at me, swinging her blade, and screaming. Then she just stops and collapses on top of me.

           “Y/N??? Y/N!!!”

           “It’s alright Dean, I took care of her. She’s just sleeping. I apologize, but she seemed out of control?” Cas. Of course.

           “No, it’s okay. Thanks Cas.” I picked her up bridal style after flipping her knife closed and slipping it in my pocket. She wouldn’t want to lose it.

Y/N P.O.V.

 There are bodies all around me, humans, civilians, innocents, whatever word you want to use. I killed them… I gutted them all.

I’m covered in blood and none of it’s mine.

How the hell did this happen?!

*Flashback to two hours ago.*

We were on a werewolf hunt, but we solved it within two days, got the bastards. Dean says it was one of the easiest hunts he’s been on but Sam isn’t sure… He’s worried that we missed something because it was almost too easy. It’s funny that that’s what’s going through my mind right now.

I’m on my way from the motel to the bar where Dean’s waiting for me to have drinks, “C’mon babe, let’s celebrate! It’ll be awesome!”

I wanted to shower so I decided to just meet him there, bad decision number one so far.

Anyway, I’m walking down the street when I hear it, this low throaty growl. I stop and turn down the alley.

           “Dammit. Should’ve brought my freakin’ gun. Stupid skirt.” I’m grumbling as I flick my knife open. There was five of them, well five and the girl. She was on the ground with her shirt torn open and four of them were laughing as one was…

I should’ve known they were human.

Dammit.

           “WHAT THE FUCK?! GET THE HELL AWAY FROM HER YOU DICKS!!” I’m screaming because I’m so unbelievably angry.

They turn on me and next thing I know I’m on the ground with four sets of boot prints in my ribs. Bad decision number two here I come.

All I see is red and I start slashing and swinging and stabbing in every direction. The fifth one must’ve seen me putting up a fight, and winning, because when I finally stopped there were five bodies around me… I guess I should’ve known that they weren’t werewolves, the silver didn’t burn them. So, why didn’t I stop?

This must be what shock feels like. It has to be.

My hands are sticky, what is that? Holy crap. Is that… Is that blood?

Oh, no…

Who are these guys?!

What did I do?

What did I do?!

What the hell did I DO?!

I hear something, something’s grabbing me, I start swinging. Then, nothing.

 When I woke up I was back in the bunker. Geeze, how long was I out?

           “Three days.” Sam, thank God. Wait, did I say that out loud?

           “Sam? What happened? I mean, I know what happened to me, but then what? How did I get back here? What’s going on? Where’s Dean? Sam?” I don’t remember, UGH why don’t I remember how I got here? Then Sam is coming to sit next to me. Wait.

It’s just Sam, so why did I flinch? Why did he scare me?

           “Y/N, it’s gonna be alright. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Sam raised both of his hands, palms out as if I was a scared dog, but I’m not scared of him. At least, I don't think I am... He placed a hand on my knee and then Sam told me what I missed… What happened when Dean found me, Cas knocking me out, Dean freaking out because I wouldn’t wake up, Sam saying it was shock and then Dean… Wait, where is Dean?

           “Wait, where’s Dean?”

Sam looked uncomfortable, but that doesn’t make any sense? “Sam, what’s going on?”

           “Y/N… He’s on a hunt… He said it was a milk run, so he’ll be back soon.” He said the last part so fast it was kind of hard for me to understand. But I got it, loud and clear.

           “Oh.” I’m not sure how I feel about Dean leaving while I was knocked out. Anger I think? But honestly, I wasn’t angry, I wasn’t really anything. “Listen, Sam, I’m pretty hungry. Do you think you could scrounge me up something to eat?”

           “Of course! I’m glad you’re feeling good enough for food. I’ll see what I can scrounge up, be right back.”

As soon as Sam left I found my phone and called Dean. Voicemail…

           “…Uhm, hey Dean… It’s Y/N. Uh, I’m awake now and I was kind of hoping to see you soon. But Sam says you're on a hunt. Be safe, please... Hum, So hurry back, yeah? I miss you just a little. Oh and call me so I know you’re alive?” I just sort of sat there and stared at my phone until Sam came back with a tray of food.

           “Wow Sam, that’s enough food for an army.” This tray has two sandwiches, an orange, 2 bags of chips, and juice. Sam looks so happy with himself that I just can’t help but laugh. He sat the tray down on my bed and ran a hand through his hair.

           “Yeah, well, I just wanted you to have some options. So I’m assuming you called Dean as soon as I walked out, what’d he say?” My laughter immediately stopped and my face fell.

           “Well, I don’t know. He didn’t answer. Where was he headed anyway?” Sam looked embarrassed but of course he knew more than me, I was unconscious!

           “Well when I talked to him last it was a spirit in Idaho, but the more I think about it the more the research says otherwise. I don’t know, I talked to him like two hours ago so I’ll have to call him again later.”

           “You talked to him two hours ago? So he is avoiding me. Typical Dean.” I was trying to laugh it off but I could tell Sam wasn’t buying it, so I ate what I could then told Sam I was tired so he would leave me alone. Honestly, I just wanted to wallow in my self pity of Dean ignoring me…

Three days. Three freaking days. Dean has been talking to Sam this whole time, but every time he tries to hand me the phone, Dean is magically to busy and has to go.

When he gets back, I’m gonna shoot him. Maybe a few times.

Five days. The prodigal douche-bag returns. Turns out, it was a ghost and a bitch of one at that. But did I hear any of this from Dean? Hell no. I’m sick of this avoiding crap. I’m storming through the bunker, tearing this place apart when I find Sam.

           “Sam, you better make yourself scarce because when I find Dean. I will kill him.” Sam’s jaw dropped as he nodded, but he quickly went to his room and shut the door. “Dean. Dean! DEAN. You better get your ass out here because I’m so beyond pissed right now.” When I finally found him he was in the dungeon, cleaning the weapons there.

            “What. The. Hell. You didn’t hear me calling you for the past thirty minutes? What about the past five days? I don’t know what’s wrong, what I did to piss you off while I was UNCONCIOUS, but maybe you could clue me in? I’ve been patient and trying so damn hard to not let this get to me but I can’t do it anymore.” The whole time I was talking, Dean never looked up… Just kept cleaning and sharpening, not saying a word or making a sound.

           “Yes? No? Do you have a fucking opinion Dean?!” Still, nothing. “Dean, so help me. If you don’t answer me…” With that his eyes snapped to mine and he cut me off before I could finish your sentence.

           “Maybe you should go.” His eyes bore into mine, and man… Did I miss those beautiful green eyes. His words shocked me, leaving had never crossed my mind. Is that what he thought? That I wanted to leave him? Or did he want me to leave… At this thought it felt like all the blood drained from my body and the air left my lungs.

           “What?” It came out as a whisper and my throat felt like sandpaper rubbing together. “Is that what you want?” He stared at me for what felt like hours before his eyes dropped to the knife in his hands, returning to the cleaning.

           “It’s what’s best. You’re a liability Y/N, I mean you couldn’t fight off humans and you think I’d let you have my back? Or Sam’s? Hell no.” He never even looked up. Dean had just destroyed me and he never even looked up. He knew that this was one of my greatest fears, failing him.

Tears pricked the back of my eyes, but not of sadness. Hell no, I blew right past sad and straight into pissed the hell off. This was the same load of bullshit that Dean always does. You know, that stupid, self-sacrificing, push-you-away-for-your-own-good, bullshit? Pure rage coursed through my body and before I knew it I was striding towards him, ripping the knife away and throwing it as hard as I could, watching it chip off a piece of the concrete wall before clattering to the ground.

           “Y/N?!?! What the hell?!?” Dean’s mouth hung open as he leapt out of his chair. He was yelling, but my voice came out through gritted teeth and was barely above a whisper.

           “How dare you. I am a damn good hunter, I have had your back more times than I can count and Sam is basically my brother too. You don’t think I’m a liability. You’re just afraid because I got hurt and YOU couldn’t stop it. Well, SCREW YOU DEAN WINCHESTER! Did you miss the part where I was the one that got attacked?! I killed people, innocent people Dean. You left me! I needed you and you left me. How dare you.” By the end of it, I’m crying and so is he, but he doesn’t reach for me and he doesn’t step back, he just stands there with tears streaming down his face.

           “I wish I could’ve been there to stop it Y/N. I shouldn’t have left you at the motel, I should’ve waited…” I can’t believe that’s what he thinks I mean?! So, I cut him off before he can finish that stupid, self-loathing statement.

           “DAMMIT Dean! I don’t mean you left me at the motel! Fuck! I meant that I was unconscious and then I wake up and Sam says you’re on a hunt?! What the Hell?!” My anger is starting to dissipate and I just feel so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of waiting, tired of reliving the night when everything changed, just tired.

           “I know.” I’m on the other side of the room leaning against the wall when I hear him whisper those two words, they’re so heavy that I sink to the floor. “I’m sorry…” It feels like an eternity but, what could I say, ‘it’s okay, I forgive you.’ That would be a lie and he would know it before I even finished saying it. “Y/N, please… I know you’re angry, but please sweetheart… Don’t leave me… I know I just said that you should go, but I didn’t mean it baby. I’d die without you, please. You can’t leave me… Just… Please…” I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. I just get up and go.

And then i’m coming back to the dungeon with that perfect girly pocket knife. The sight before me shatters my heart, Dean is on his knees in the middle of the dungeon, his shoulders are shaking and his hands cover his face, knives and weapons are strewn all over the ground. He thought I left him for good. Idiot. Doesn’t he know I’d die without him?

           “Don’t think that this is me letting you off the hook Dean. I’m still pissed, damn I am so pissed.” His eyes shoot up to my face, which is level with his as I kneel on the ground in front of him, only wincing slightly because of the injuries that haven’t fully healed. “And we are still gonna talk about you leaving, but I love you and I’m not going anywhere. Idiot, don’t you know? I’d die without you.” I place the pocket knife in his hands, then my hands on both sides of his gorgeous face, and when he sees the knife, he smiles. That’s my favorite sight...

Then, before I know it, he’s got his arms around my waist, mine around his neck and we’re locked together with our mouths sliding over one another.

 It’s a good thing I told Sam to hide in his room… ; )

[flashingcursor]

Fic: Wherever You Will Go

Pairing: Darcy Lewis/Pietro Maximoff, Darcy Lewis & Wanda Maximoff Rating: Teen. Warnings: Teenagers being cute and cuddling and Pietro kisses her hand. Word Count: 2,420 words. Square Filled: Childhood Sweethearts Summary: When Darcy was fifteen she finally met her soulmate through a Recognition Dream. At twenty-five, they're supposed to meet. She shows. He doesn't. His sister comes instead to tell her why. Author’s Note: @marvelfluffbingo I've had this idea floating in my head for a while. It starts largely fluffy and ends fairly fluffy, there’s just some angst in the middle sorry. There’s heavy grief and the beginnings of a friendship with Darcy and Wanda. I just needed to get this idea of Darcy and Pietro being ill-fated soulmates out of my head before it consumed me and I’ll still probably end up with more than these 2400 words at some point. If I ever work out the how of what my next thought for this was. Fills my cuddle square on my Fluff Bingo Q1 card. Fills my Soulmates square on my Trope Bingo card. Marvel Fluff Bingo Masterlist Read on AO3

“You’re late,” His voice is rough with an accent she can’t place, his consonants clipped and the tiniest lilt that Darcy would die before admitting she finds adorable as hell.

She knows what this moment is supposed to be and still she can’t bring herself to turn and face him. Him. Can’t be anyone but him, the voice is too deep even with the cracking common to puberty. She’s wondered what the Recognition would be like. Her mother spoke of her Recognition fondly, a hopeful and wonderful sequence where she and Darcy’s father spent hours talking and planning when and where to meet.  The downside to Recognitions is that sometimes the pair entirely forgets them and end up relying on more mundane means to find each other or half forgets, and that fateful day of the meeting isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Chewing her lip Darcy turns around slowly, using the time to first glance over her shoulder at the boy and then finishing in a quick whirl because who is she kidding she can’t wait. Darcy throws herself at him and watches a wide cocky grin spread across his young angular face. His hands are gentle as they catch her just under the arms like he’s used to doing that with someone else.

“My sister would love you,” He murmurs pulling her close to bury his nose in her hair. Sense memories help with recall. Help the pairs remember everything that happens during the dream.

“You have a sister?” She questions inhaling the light scent of soap and note of spice that tickles her nose. He’s perfect she decides, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and quietly determined to never let go. He’s so tall she realizes then, taller than her, with her head just reaching his shoulders and god he’s only going to get taller, they’re only fifteen.

“Wanda, she’s my twin and my best friend.” He says the last part a little cautiously. Like she could ever think his sister was anything but one of the most important things in his life. Like he’s scared she might be jealous, Darcy realizes, that a girl occupies the space of best friend. It makes her heartache as she separates herself from him gently. Her hands sliding from his neck and down his arms to twine their fingers together.

“I can’t wait to meet her. What’s your name?”

“Pietro Maximoff. What’s yours?” He asks with a tilt of his head waiting blue eyes brilliant in his quiet anticipation.

“Darcy Lewis.”

He pulls a hand free and rubs the back of his neck laughing slightly, “American?” He phrases it as a question, but she can tell he doesn’t really mean it to be, though Darcy nods anyway.

“Wanda’s going to be so pleased.”

“Why?” Darcy can’t help but question even as their surrounds shift from a muted gray everything to a room.

It’s bare bones with well-worn wood floors and muted green walls. The windows aren’t huge but they’re big enough to let the late afternoon light in and it turns the green into emerald and the wood looks gold in its light. There’s a sagging floral sofa with a low table set before it and Pietro leads her to it, tugging her down next to him before angling his body toward her. His knee brushing hers and Darcy wonders how much of that was intentional.

“She said you’d be American. Has continued to say as much since we were six years old.” He explains carefully, he doesn’t look around Darcy realizes. His focus firmly on her as if he doesn’t want to see what the world around them has become.

“Is this your home?” She asks drawing his attention to the golden light and emerald walls. The room is homey and warm, and she leans into his side to see if the warmth is him or the place. She can’t tell the difference and decides it’s probably him.

“Once.” He says so quietly she wonders if she misheard.

“Once?”

“The building was destroyed when I was ten, my sister and I…” he trails off and shakes his head. When he looks at Darcy again his smile isn’t genuine, and he can’t hide that there is a pain associated with the memory of this place. It takes a little effort to push his visuals away and the apartment becomes her parents living room. The green rippling to light purple walls surrounding a large bay window that looks out onto a quiet street. The moon is high and glowing white turning the room a soft blue in its silver light.

“I’m sorry for asking Pietro.” She murmurs wrapping her arms around his waist in a tight hug.

“It’s okay. You did not know. Do you have any siblings Darcy?”

“No. Mom wanted another child, but she couldn’t. It’s just me and my dog.”

“Then it is good that you’ll get to meet Wanda at some point.”

“I’ve always wanted a sister,” she admits with a laugh.

“You may regret saying so once she knows that.” He teases leaning back into the couch cushions of her mother’s normally too hard couch, but here in the dream it could be anything she wanted and tonight it was the perfect combination of soft and squishy to accommodate them.

Tucking her legs up under her Darcy lets her head rest on Pietro’s chest. She doesn’t know what else to say to him. She’s spent so much time looking forward to this moment that now that’s it here all her bright ideas about meeting up are forgotten. His arm drapes easily over her shoulder and she burrows closer content.

“When I finally meet you, Darcy, it will be with a bouquet for every day we spent apart.” He says after a while, the silence was broken with a promise she doesn’t know what to say to except that it makes her feel incredibly happy.

“That’s going to a very big bouquet, you sure you’ll have enough space for it?”

“I’ll find a way, for you.” He sounds so sure that he can that Darcy believes him without question. Why should she question it, it’s a promise between soulmates? People don’t break those because of the potential damage it can do to your bond down the line.

“You believe me?” He asks when she doesn’t immediately question him.

“Of course, I do,” she whispers sitting up to look at his face and smiles at the surprise she finds there.  Pietro returns the smile and raises their joined hands to his lips and presses a kiss to her knuckles.

“Good.”

“When do you want to try and meet me?” She asks softly.

“My twenty-fifth birthday in a place you’ve always wanted to go.”

“The Smithsonian American History Museum at noon on your twenty-fifth birthday. Which is when?”

“May second, ten years from now.”

“May second in ten years. I think I can make that work.” Darcy teases.

“Good,” Pietro agrees pulling her back into his chest and she settles there easily. One day this would be real, and she was counting down the days already. When she woke up, she’d be hunting up the date in her cell phone to add the appointment, so she never forgot. Not that she believed she would, but it didn’t hurt to have it there for posterity when she was getting sad or lonely.

Once more they lapse into silence, the main goal of the Recognition dream handled. She could try and fill the silence with chatter, but for the first time in her life, Darcy doesn’t feel like her endless babble is necessary. She’s content as his hand rubs up and down her arm in a soothing gesture that feels too natural for him to have never done it before. He most likely did so for his sister Wanda, when something happened, and she needed comfort. She lets the contact soothe her back to sleep.

When Darcy wakes again, she’s in her bedroom and the sun is shining. She can’t stop smiling and eagerly spills to her mother about her own Recognition dream over breakfast. Her mother is understandably both happy for her daughter and concerned. Her daughter’s soulmate is a foreigner and yet he was the picture-perfect gentleman in the Recognition. That counted for something.

Darcy adds their first date to her calendar, every calendar as the years pass. She dates of course because saving yourself for your soul mate tends to go over very poorly unless they live in the area. It never lasts long. A couple dates just long enough for the boy to realizes that they won’t be sharing a Recognition ever and sometimes ending as soon as the boy does have their Recognition dream as well.

The six years are slow and when Pietro’s birthday finally arrives, she’s waiting at the entrance to the American History Museum at the Smithsonian at ten minutes to noon hoping to catch a glimpse of him before he finds her. She’s wearing her best dress and it’s warm in Washington D.C. The weather choosing to be beautiful after weeks of rain that made her nervous that the rising flood waters would cancel their meeting.

Only Pietro never shows. She waits for him and at twelve-thirty Darcy resolves that he forgot. Their Recognition dream lost to his subconscious when he woke up six years ago.  It hurts but she’ll find a way to find him. They were both so excited that night she can’t imagine he would stand her up for any other reason.

“Excuse me are you Darcy Lewis?” a soft accented voice asks as fingers tap her lightly on the shoulder.

The accent she remembers, but the voice is too feminine to be Pietro. She turns anyway curious. The young woman is slight holding a bouquet of flowers her brown eyes sad and her long red hair hangs around her shoulders. Tilting her head Darcy nods to the girl. “I am.”

“These are for you. Pietro told me he promised you a bouquet of flowers for every day you are a part, but then the bouquet would never be finished.” The girl offers the small bouquet. It’s made of lilies, pink orchids, white carnations, and single crimson rose at the center. “He loved you very much even though he only had the dream to hold on to.” She explained choosing her words carefully.

One look at the strained look and watery eyes and Darcy knows what the girl is trying to tell her with the bouquet of flowers and her appearance.

“Are you Wanda?”

The woman nods and Darcy tug the slight young woman in for a tight hug. His sister was in enough pain, she wouldn’t burden Wanda with her broken heart. Not when they just met. That was a discussion to have with Jane when she was alone again.

Sniffling with unshed tears Wanda pulls away, “He spoke of his desire to meet you a lot. Of his plan to shower you in flowers. That when he met you for the first time he felt still and whole instead of his need to be moving.”

“First words out of his mouth when I told him my name was that you were going to be so pleased that I was American.”

“I was, I never let him forget that I was right about that.”

“As all good sisters never should.” Darcy squeezes Wanda’s arm in an offer of comfort, “Do you want to get lunch with me? I never had a sister and I was looking forward to finally having one.”

“Of course, there’s a café not far that I like if that is okay with you.”

“Sounds perfect. I haven’t been to D.C. before.”

Together the girls walk down the street talking quietly of the weather. Of their plans as they moved forward. Darcy told Wanda about her work with Jane Foster and how she helped the astrophysicist with her research into building an Einstein Rosen Bridge. That she was on a much-deserved vacation after spending the better part of the last six months on a lecture tour with the good doctor for her work on the Convergence and help in preventing an alien invasion in Greenwich, England.

Wanda for her part tells Darcy the story of how Pietro died saving two people from a mad artificial intelligence in Sokovia. That he was brave and that it was his dying wish that Wanda came to meet Darcy on their birthday so Darcy would know he hadn’t forgotten about their promise. Despite Darcy’s promise to herself not to burden Wanda with her own pain, the two end up trying not to cry as they share a meal.

“Would it be alright if we kept in contact?” Darcy asks as their server whisks away the last of their half-eaten plates.

“Yes of course,” Wanda nods and slides a business card across the table, “You can always reach me through that email address. Sometimes I won’t answer right away but I will write back when I can.”

“I understand. Jane keeps me busy helping her around the lab. But it doesn’t feel right to meet you and then never talk to you again.” Darcy pockets the card and when the server returns with the check pays without a thought. Not because she doubted Wanda could afford to, but she had invited the woman to join her and they were almost family in a strange way.

“Next time I am getting the bill.”

“Next time.” Darcy agrees with a small laugh.

“He would have loved meeting you. So much I do not think he would have been able to leave you at just lunch and a walk through the museum.” Wanda murmurs after a moment, her brown eyes wet again and then she shakes her head.

“I will talk to you soon Darcy.” It’s a stilted goodbye. One that leaves Darcy puzzled as Wanda gathers her purse and gets up to leave. Getting up Darcy pulls the redhead to her in another hug.

“I’m always here if you need to talk. It doesn’t have to be about what happened to Pietro. Anything you want to talk about I’m here. We’re sisters, okay?”

There’s a moment where nothing happens and then she feels Wanda nod her head and pull away.

“Thank you, Darcy,” she murmurs and leaves the café.

Darcy watches and takes her seat again to wait for the server to return with her credit card and receipt.

[a-badbowlofsoup]

Quantum Minako

Came across this in some old files. It’s a short drabble fic I’d written years ago and it shows., but what the hell, why not. I’m in a mood. 

Minako Aino sat up in bed and looked out the window at the newly risen sun as its light reflected off the facets of the utopia that was Crystal Tokyo. It was over, she realized. The prophecies and their foretellings of the future had run out. There was no way to tell what would happen from now on. 

"Gad, I'm bored," she said. ******* One week later... Doctor Conrad Howard raised an eyebrow as the stack of data crystals thudded onto the desk. Conrad was a tall, skinny young man with brown hair tied back in a ponytail and brown eyes. His lips were turned slightly upwards at some joke that only he seemed to know. He was a genius at creating new technologies out of seemingly irrelevant objects and energy sources. Technically, he worked for Ami, but Conrad was fiercely independent and Ami had long ago given up trying to actually direct him and had settled for trying to make sure he didn't blow up the palace. His lab was a hodgepodge of crystal devices and nineteenth through early twenty-first century technology. Parts and assembly equipment were scattered in a seemingly unorganized mess. On top of a computer tower an iguana perched. It's name was Iggy, which Conrad claimed was short for Einstein.

Conrad and Minako had a relationship that baffled the other senshi. It was more than friendship, but not romantic and as near as they could tell, never had been. Their conversations/arguments were often about things that apparently had happened in their mutual past while Minako was in England, and that they refused to explain to the others. The other senshi never mentioned it, but it bugged them that there was a part of Minako's past that they knew nothing about.

"Let us see here," Conrad mused, picking a crystal at random from the stack and reading the label. "Ranma, Tenchi, Utena, Ruroni Kenshin and...F Three?" Blushing, Minako grabbed the crystal from his hand. "A gift? I'm flattered, Mina-chan."

"It's not a gift," she replied. "I want to enter these."

"Enter?" He stared at the stack for a moment and then looked back at her. "No. No way in hell am I going to be responsible for another Cathedral."

"That was totally different!" Minako shouted. "The bear catching fire and the totaling of the Millennium Dome was a completely separate incident."

"If that's true, why did the bobbies keep coming by my flat to ask questions about it? Do you have any idea how long how I had to listen to my dad give me hell?"

"Bother the cops!" Minako slammed her hand down onto the table surface. "Now will you help me get into these?"

"Why do you want to get into them?"

"Because I'm bored. Almost all of these ended badly or ambiguously. Somebody should do something about it so that everything is fixed and all the wrongdoers have been punished."

"That's a novel reason to violate the fabric of space-time," he observed in a sardonic tone. "Why don't you go ask Ami to help you?"

"Ididshesaidno," Minako muttered.

"I see..." Conrad picked up a handful of data crystals and stared at them. "I'll think about it."

Three days passed and Minako returned to the lab to find Conrad hunched over a lab table, soldering a device about the size of a calculator together. Next to him was a large cylinder upon which was mounted a vertical drum. Set into slots were her data crystals.

"Is that..."

"Yep." He closed the device up and turned it over. The cover opened like a book, revealing a few keys, a small, two inch screen and a rectangular button. He pointed at the keys. "This one determines your location, this one allows you to call home, and the big one will get you out, or if you're here, send you in. In theory. It might also send you to another world. There's no way to tell."

"Great!" Minako said and transformed into Venus before mashing the button with her thumb. A glow surrounded her, the drum spun, Venus vanished, and then the drum collapsed into slag, scattering the thousands of crystals all over the floor. Conrad raised an eyebrow at that. He had cobbled it together from spare parts taken from broken equipment and hadn't bothered to test them. It was only for show, after all. But still...it was amazing what a teleporter, some crystals and a sense of humor would get you.

He chuckled to himself. Tearing a hole in the fabric of space time to travel to other dimensions/universes was only theoretically possible. Hell, even Crystal Tokyo technology could only warp space-time, allowing time travel or teleportation. But that was about it.

After a few seconds passed, Conrad picked a com off the desk and dialed Venus' private com code. "So, Venus, how do you like sitting in the cafeteria's sushi bar?" No response. "Venus? Minako?" No response. "Computer; Locate Sailor Venus."

"Working...Sailor Venus not found."

"System Wide Search."

"Working." Several minutes passed before the computer spoke. "Sailor Venus not found."

"Expand search. Widest parameters. Authorization is Howard Alpha One Cee." Minako had fought with Makoto like mad to get him that clearance, which was just a step below the Senshi themselves and two steps below the Royal Family. "Poke your nose into the Queen's private chambers if you have to."

"Working." "Almost thirty minutes passed before it delivered it's verdict. "Sailor Venus is not within scanning range."

Conrad stared at the spot where Venus had been, vaguely remembering, during a late night work session, of fashioning a crystal matrix and installing it into the transport device.

Was it possible? Could Venus have...could he have... "You have got to be freakin kidding me..." He flipped the switch on the com. It was after midnight, but there was no help for it. "This is Doctor Howard. All Senshi come to lab F Nine. There's...a problem."

******* Neo-Queen Serenity and her husband, King Endymiyon, were the last to arrive. Unlike the others, who were still rubbing sleep from their eyes, the royal couple was awake and one look at Endymiyon's face told Conrad why.

"Where's Minako?" the queen asked, looking around.

"That's why I called the Senshi together, My Queen. I wouldn't have interrupted your sleep, or," here he threw a look at Endymiyon that spoke volumes, causing the king to glower, "whatever else you might have been doing otherwise. To make a long story short, Venus has gone missing."

"Missing?" Makoto repeated. The others were instantly awake.

"How?" Haruka demanded.

Conrad explained Mina's request and his intention to foil it by dropping her into the sushi bar. "I usually work at night and I guess my mind was wandering. Happens sometimes," he finished. "Anyways, we have to find her."

Rei leaned over to Ami. "Ami, is it possible to do what he said?" she whispered. "Breach the...whatever fabric?"

"Only in theory," Ami whispered back. "I couldn't tell you how he might have managed it though." She gave her friend a helpless shrug. "I'm a doctor, not a quantum physicist."

"What do you mean, you don't know where she is? I thought you knew everything," Haruka sneered.

"I told you. I created what was supposed to be a teleporter matrix. Maybe I misplaced a decimal point on the fifth line or something while I was thinking about something else. Genius works like that. The point is, I never installed any way to track her and the transporter has no guidance circuits." He scooped up a handful of data crystals. "Every work of fiction from every part of the world going back twenty-five hundred years in on these crystals. Every anime, TV show, movie, comic, manga, video game, short story and book. Even though some of them offer only a glimpse, each one is a world, a full fledged universe unto itself. There's no way to tell where...hell, when she is. I'm sorry, but I think she's gone."

"You little shit," Haruka snarled, starting forward, hands outstretched. She and Conrad had gotten along like Usagi and Rei had at first, but unlike them, whose rivalry had become friendship, neither one showed any signs of warming up to the other. In fact, Haruka was moving towards him more out of a desire to remove him from the world then any real anger at Minako's disappearance.

"Isn't there anything you can do?" Neo-Queen Serenity asked, freezing Haruka in her tracks. "Surely there must be something you can try."

Conrad stared at her helplessly, and then his gaze dropped. Not to the revealing cut of her gown, but to the scepter topped with a multifaceted crystal that she held. He stared at it a moment, then looked up and straight at Hotaru. His eyes took on a peculiar look and they could almost see circuits being designed in the brown orbs. "Maybe...maybe there is a way." He pointed at the crystal. "I'll need that, Hotaru, her henshin wand, and a whole lotta luck."

"What the hell does Hotaru have to do with this?" Haruka asked as Conrad began to move around the lab, taking items from bins and stacking them in his arms.

"Because she and Venus are linked," Conrad replied.

"Linked?" Michiru asked.

"Each of the Inner Senshi's powers reflect a particular aspect of the Chinese Elemental Compass. Fire, Water, Air, Wood, Spirit, and Metal, if memory serves."

"So?" Haruka asked.

"So, Venus is also known as the Senshi of Love and Saturn is the Senshi of Death."

"And how the bloody fuck does that make them linked?"

"Let me put it another way." Conrad set the stack down on a table. "Suppose your death would mean the difference between Michiru living or dying. Would you sacrifice your life so that she could live?" He took up a data pad and with quick strokes of his fingers on the keys, made a number of notes.

"Of course," Haruka replied without hesitation.

"Why?"

"Because...I love her," Haruka said, understanding dawning.

"Exactly. And since you're all linked by the Ginzinhozu or whatever you call it, there might be a way to piggy back a line of communication on that link. We might not be able to get her home, but at least we can talk to her...assuming this doesn't kill one or both of them because of the mental shock."

"What?" If you think we're going to let Hotaru-"

"I want to do it, Papa," Hotaru said. Her eyes were frightened, but she stood tall and was making an attempt to be brave.

"But...Hotaru..."

"My purpose is to destroy," the frail girl said softly. "Almost all my powers are intended to hurt...or kill. If they can also be used to help, I'll do it. Even if it means my life." She faced Conrad. "What do I have to do?"

"For now? Go back to sleep. All of you. Building this mother is gonna take a while."

******* Conrad hadn't been kidding. It was almost a week before he sent for Hotaru. The lab had been completely altered. In the center of the room was a long bed mounted on a pedestal. A large crystal disk mounted on a long metal rod jutted out from the pedestal and then curved up and over the bed like a vulture. At one end, Neo-Queen Serenity's scepter and Setsuna's henshin wand were mounted on a headboard and thick cables ran from the pedestal to other pieces of equipment scattered across the room.

At his station, Conrad was dipping a wire into a cup of tea, then removing the wire, taking a sip, then placing the wire back into the cup.

As Hotaru, Michiru and Haruka entered the room, Ami approached them carrying a tray of tools and equipment. "Sit down, Hotaru-chan," she said softly. Once Hotaru sat, Ami pushed back her hair and swabbed the area behind Hotaru's left ear, her jaw, and then down her neck to her shoulder with gel and then picked up a large plate that had been shaped to fit the space she had just swabbed and pressed it to Hotaru's face. The plate began to move, forming it's shape to the area Ami had covered in Gel. Then she felt pinpricks up and down her face.

"There," Ami said softly, "that will allow us to monitor your vital signs. Follow me." The blue-haired woman led Hotaru over to the bed and indicated that she should sit. Conrad set the cup down with the wire still in it, and came over.

"Henshin wand." She handed hers to him and he set it into the headboard opposite Setsuna's. Then he picked up a glove and a crescent moon shaped piece of red crystal. The glove was fingerless and on the back was a circular piece of circuitry. "Left hand," he said, handing her the glove. She pulled it on as he fitted the crystal visor over her eyes. "This is going to be a bit like virtual reality," he told her. "See that circular patch on your glove? Once you're in, it should look to you like a circular patch of crystal. Double tapping it like this," he tapped the circular patch twice very fast, "will bring you back here, so to speak. Once you find Minako, tell her to activate the transporter. With any luck, it should return her to her point of origin, which will be here." He picked up a wire and plugged one end to the headboard and the other into the crystal visor as he described the transporter's controls. Another wire he plugged into the glove itself. "Remember, we won't know what will happen until you come back. We can't monitor what you see and hear. You ready?" Hotaru nodded. "Lie down and get comfortable." Turning he moved back beyond the arms and sat down at a control panel. "All right, focus your thoughts on Minako and don't think about anything else."

Hotaru closed her eyes and pictured Minako in her mind. How she looked, sounded and smelled.

"You have it?" she heard him ask.

"Yes."

"Okay, now hold onto that visual, you're going in on three. One, Two,"

"We love you, Hotaru!" Michiru shouted over the rising hum of machinery.

"Three!" For Hotaru, a loud roaring sound fill her ears and she felt herself fall into a cold void.

For the others, the crystal flared with white light and Hotaru went limp.

"She's gone into a state of REM sleep," Ami said from another station.

"Now what?" Makoto asked.

"We wait," Conrad said softly. "Once she comes out of it-"

"She better come out of it," Haruka growled.

"-we should know more," Conrad continued as though Haruka hadn't spoken.

"Wonder what she'll find," Makoto said.

*************** Opening her eyes, Hotaru found herself standing in a room full of people. She was dressed in her Senshi uniform and holding her glaive. Glancing down at her left hand, she saw that the glove with the crystal disc was on her hand over the glove of her uniform. She gazed around the room once more. All of the people were dressed in strange clothing, many repeating the same action over and over, or simply staring at the walls, ceiling or floors. And then she looked behind her. Sitting on the floor, staring at her in wide-eyed terror, was Venus.

"Hello, Venus-san," Hotaru said, bowing. "What is this place?" Venus opened her mouth to say something when one of the other people in the room walked through Hotaru as though she wasn't there.

AHHHHHHH!" Venus shrieked and then began grabbing whatever she could lay her hands on and throwing it at Hotaru. Within seconds, two burly men dressed as hospital orderlies ran in, grabbed Venus and hauled her out. Hotaru stood there for a moment before realizing that she wasn't being taken with them and hurried out, following Venus' shrieks.

******* Hotaru stared at sleeping, strapped-down form of Venus as she lay on the bed in the small room. By looking around and listening to the conversation of the men, and other conversations she had overheard as the men had dragged the shrieking Venus to this room, Hotaru had determined that they were in America, a place called L.A. The year was nineteen ninety-seven, and this was a mental institution. She had also determined that she was invisible, inaudible, and immaterial.

On the bed, Venus groaned and her eyes fluttered open. Hotaru held her finger to her lips for silence. "Venus, what..." she trailed off as voices were heard from the other side of the door. Moments later, the panel slid back and they could see several faces peering in.

"And as an interesting parallel to Ms Conner," said an authoritative voice, "we have this young lady, a partial amnesiac, who answers only to Venus. In this case, unlike Ms Conner's Paranoia Dementia, which leads her to believe in the arising of sentient robots which will wipe us all out,  Venus has Senile Dementia, or believes she is a super hero." There were a few chuckles. "She was picked up in downtown Los Angeles attempting to stop a mugging by attempting to catch him with a 'Venus Love Chain'. Some kind of energy chain. Naturally, it didn't work. She is strapped down as she suddenly began shrieking during her recreation period and then began throwing various objects. When the orderlies came in, she became violent, insisting that there was a young lady standing in front of her holding a weapon. She was taken back to her room, sedated, and strapped down for her own safety. Treatment so far has been mild sedation and sessions with a therapist. Now in the next room is a young man who believes he is a creature known as an 'Arby Fish'." The panel closed and the voices faded away.

Hotaru stared at the floor for a moment, absorbing what she had just heard.

"Who are you?" Venus asked softly.

"My name is Hotaru. I am a Sailor Senshi, like you." Venus stared at her.

"Ho...taru?"

"Yes, yes."

"What's a Senshi?"

"That is unimportant. I am here to get you out of here."

"Out of here?"

"Yes." Hotaru looked around. "Where is your transporter?"

"What's a transporter?"

"You had it with you. It opens like a book and had a screen and some buttons under the cover."

"Oh, you mean this?" Venus held it up for Hotaru to see. "I made it disappear before I went after those muggers. Wish I knew why I did. Go after the muggers I mean."

"Good. Open it up and press the big button. Or do you want to stay here?"

"No." With only one hand, Venus fumbled open the device. Looking up, she found that Hotaru had disappeared. She frowned. Odd girl, and even weirder that Venus felt that she should know her.

She pressed the button.

******* Hotaru opened her eyes to find herself seeing the world through red crystal. Her head hurt and even through the visor the lights from the crystals over the bed were almost blinding. Letting out a groan, she closed her eyes again. Moments later, she felt Michiru's arms encircle her and moments later, the import of what she had seen came crashing down on her and Hotaru began to cry.

"Hotaru? What's wrong?" Haruka asked.

"She doesn't remember, Papa. She doesn't know who she is!"

#############

Seeking to further the cause of Justice, Minako Anio, ripped a hole in the fabric of space-time with untested technology....

And vanished.

She awoke in another world, her Senshi powers limited, her memories in fragments, and driven by an strange desire to change each world for the better.

Her only guide on this journey is Hotaru, a young girl who claims to be a Senshi like herself, and manifests in the form of a vision that only Minako can see and hear.

And so, Minako travels from world to world, striving to put right all the wrongs and hoping that the next time she presses the button on the transporter...

That it will take her home...