#heavily suggestive canoodling

[dacialogansuperfan]

megawarp fic under the cut

rated m

also edited and posted on ao3!

it’s hard to tell, but he thinks megatron might be obsessed with his wings. his thinking face is identical to his glaring face, which is also pretty much his default expression.

but he keeps staring. at skywarp, sometimes, but mostly just at his wings. his optics snag on every movement and linger, over the insignia in their center, the tiny twitches they make under his continued gaze. 

and okay, it could just be that skywarp’s wings are particularly expressive, especially around megatron, but he’s never seen him stare so hard at anyone else. he spends practically every waking moment with starscream, but his optics never stray too far from his face, and even then it’s only to dart down and check his servos for any active weaponry or experimental poisons. 

none of the other fliers have said anything, so at the very least skywarp is the only one who’s noticed. except maybe soundwave, who’s taken up staring at skywarp’s wings during mission briefings as well, possibly trying to figure out what all the fuss is about. 

skywarp is fairly sure megatron doesn’t speak wing, but soundwave on the other hand… 

information is his thing, but so is discretion, and skywarp hopes that if soundwave does know what all their fluttering in the war room actually means, he hasn’t told megatron about it. because it’s embarrassing, mostly, but also because he doesn’t want it to affect his assignments. he doesn’t want to be pulled from active duty, from the small pool of mechs megatron trusts to carry out the more sensitive operations, because of a stupid crush. despite what everyone thinks, he’s good at his job, and he wants to keep doing it. wants to keep helping the cause - and megatron - in any way he can. 

still, he can’t stop the tremors that run through his wings when megatron looks at him - at them - like that. 

his whole, formidable attention on skywarp’s wings, optics like the hottest part of a flame, at the very center, on every minute change.

once, he’d even lost his train of thought, trailing off in his explanation of their latest raid as skywarp’s wings flared out, puffing up under his undivided attention. 

the longer he stared, the more restless they became. fluttering, for primus’ sake, arching up and away from him before spreading out, the ailerons twitching out, then pulling back towards the body of the wing in a lascivious wink. 

megatron has no way of knowing that, of course, but his optics track the movement either way, the soft derma of his lips worried between sharp denta. 

it’s a tense, charged minute before he speaks again, optics finally leaving skywarp’s wings to study the map before them. his distraction is noticeable, but nobody comments on it. megatron’s optics remain fixed on the blueprints in front of him for the rest of the meeting. 

skywarp tries not to feel disappointed. 

the best thing about skywarp’s outlier ability is, arguably, being able to just disappear from places and situations he’d rather not be in. thundercracker has to physically walk out of the hab if he wants to escape starscream’s latest attempt at bullying one or both members of his trine into acting as test subjects for his newest experiment, but all his attempts so far have been met with starscream ruthlessly grabbing a wing and yanking him back into the room. 

with a mock salute in thundercracker’s direction, skywarp warps himself to the safest location he can think of - all the way across the ship.

- and promptly collides with something large and solid enough to be a wall, if walls could grunt.  there’s warm metal at his back, the gentle vibrations of an idle engine sending little tremors through the surface of his wings. oil and gunpowder in the air, a scent that sends his tank tumbling down into his pedes. 

megatron. he’s just crashed into megatron. the hands carefully settled on either side of his waist to steady him belong to his supreme commander, and if skywarp could travel through time as well as space and just take starscream’s stupid, untested concoction, ushering him peacefully into the allspark, that would be great. 

processor currently and entirely occupied panicking, it takes him a while to realize megatron still hasn’t let go. well, a while by his standards, anyway - the processing power required to shift his entire mass instantaneously through space is considerable, and despite certain trine-leader’s frequent - and unfounded - complaints, skywarp is usually quite quick on the uptake. too quick, sometimes. it isn’t his reaction time that’s the problem, it’s the thinking things through part, which usually happens sometime after The Consequences. 

like accidentally warping straight into your commander’s arms, because you forgot to check whether or not the hallway you intended to escape to was currently occupied. 

still, it can’t be more than a few earth seconds before skywarp comes back to himself enough to realize he should probably move. seconds where megatron’s hands remain pressed to his plating, holding him up with barely more effort than it would take skywarp to pick up a cube of energon. one of the small ones, even, the kind for personal consumption rather than the outsized ones they use for mining resources. he’s seen megatron sling those around like they weighed nothing, too, which is a thought he should really stop having while he can still feel those powerful arms bracketing his frame, the soft brush of air from megatron’s ex-vents against his wings. 

“uh, boss?” stupid, skywarp. if there was a ranking for terrible times to address your commanding officer informally, mid-accidental bear hug would definitely make the top five, possibly even top three. before he can correct his mistake, though, megatron answers in the form of a noncommittal hum. skywarp can feel it vibrate all the way down his back strut. 

“are you alright?” his usual gruff, curt tone softened to a murmur, megatron sounds distracted. which is better than furious, but with the threat of retaliation for his mistake gone, skywarp wishes suddenly he could see his face. 

he starts to step away, out of the loose circle of megatron’s arms to face him, saying “yeah, um, totally fine! all good here, sorry about…” he trails off when megatron’s hands tighten around his waist. not painfully, just enough to keep him in place. still with his back to megatron, wings pressed close against a broad chest. 

he hasn’t really been paying attention to what they’re doing, too busy being mortified and terrified and then just… confused, but he’s horrified all over again to find that the damn things won’t stay still. skywarp’s processor might have decided it was time to pull away, but his traitorous wings have decided to protest that idea, loudly, by jolting suddenly and forcefully outward. megatron has to pull skywarp closer to himself, trapping them against his chest to avoid getting cold-cocked in the optic. 

skywarp starts to apologize, but the words die in his throat when he feels a hand leave his waist and carefully, touch so light as to be almost nonexistent, trace the bottom edge of a wing. it goes ridged under his hand, along with the rest of skywarp’s frame as his vents stutter to a stop. 

fingers find seams and trace them, softly, the rough calluses on megatron’s digits leaving tiny sparks in their wake. skywarp’s held vents come out in a small, hiccuping sigh, and slowly, scared of shattering whatever fragile moment he’s literally fallen into, leans a little more of his weight onto megatron. 

for a brief, spark stopping moment megatron stills, palm flat on the surface of skywarp’s wing, the fingers of his other hand curling reflexively on skywarp’s waist. then he shifts, wraps the arm supporting him more securely around skywarp’s middle, fingers just brushing the edge of his cockpit. like this, crushed to megatron’s chest and trapped under the weight of his arm, he can feel the way megatron’s fans have kicked up, not yet audible but running fast enough to shake his frame lightly. 

not really sure what to do with his hands, or just what to do in general - he’s so far outside predictable events his decision matrices are just throwing up errors, and one lone suggestion to warp both himself and megatron somewhere private (and more horizontal) that he ruthlessly dismisses before he has time to think about it, and give his frame the chance to embarrass him farther - skywarp brings one up to rest against megatron’s forearm guard. the metal is hot under his palm, and he follows it’s slope down to megatron’s scarred knuckles without thinking about it. 

this seems to be the signal megatron was waiting for, because his other hand starts moving over his wing again. it follows the edge, fingers catching on bolts and swirling around them in a way that is definitely, and highly suggestive, ruining all of skywarp’s attempts at dismissing increasingly urgent demands from his hud to online his cooling fans. the sound of them spinning furiously is amplified by the nemesis’ curved hull, but with his helm so close to skywarp’s audial, he doesn’t miss the small, pleased noise megatron makes when they click on. or the tightening of his arm around skywarp’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer to megatron’s front. 

he really, really shouldn’t say anything. the careful exploration of his wing feels good, really good, and in his millennia of experience skywarp saying something is usually the precursor to things going horribly, catastrophically wrong.

of course, knowing that hasn’t actually stopped him in the past. 

“so, is this like, a wing thing?” this time, when megatron pauses, skywarp is there to thread his fingers through the larger ones cupping his cockpit, gentle encouragement to continue and also possibly ignore everything he just said, because it was stupid. 

but, after a few seconds mulling it over, all the while his fingers are doing absolutely devious things to the hinges nestled in the center of skywarp’s back, megatron answers. “is that…” skywarp is more than a little gratified to hear the huskiness in his voice, gravel over a road that was already hewn from stone. gratified, and a lot turned on, “what you think this is?” 

it takes him a second to answer through the shaking, tremors rocking his frame back, into the long strokes megatron is making over the tops of his wings, thumb tucked into the front and applying just the right amount of pressure, and forward, into the hand teasing over his pelvic plating. 

“um, kinda?” a breathless laugh tumbles out of his mouth, along with a rush of words he’s far to distracted to stop. “you’re not exactly proving me wrong here, boss, but…” thankfully, megatron stops him before he can say something really stupid, catching a particularly sensitive spot on the underside of his wing. unfortunately, he stops talking to gasp, and then moan when megatron doesn’t let up on that spot, which is arguably worse. 

“but?” megatron asks, and then he does stop, when skywarp doesn’t answer. which almost prompts the most humiliating noise of skywarp’s life by far to leave his vocalizer. he only just manages to turn it off in time, which has the added bonus of giving him time to think about how he’s going to un-dig the hole he’s made for himself. 

by the time his vocalizer clicks back on, he’s decided on frag it, might as well go all in. if it backfires, he can blame half his processor being so far down his interface protocols it’s become functionally useless.

“but, i was thinking…” he’s become so accustomed to it, he’s actually surprised when this isn’t immediately met with a derisive snort, “it’s not just a wing thing?” it comes out like a question, which it is. 

skywarp takes a cautious step forward, out of megatron’s arms because he thinks he should probably see his face for this. seeing how it’s become, disgustingly, a feelings thing now. maybe. skywarp, at least, is starting to have an uncomfortable amount of them. 

this time, megatron lets him go, but his hands are back on skywarp’s hips the moment he turns around fully. it’s reassuring, as is the look on megatron’s face. softer than he’s used to seeing, optics over-bright with charge. it’s a good look on him, and skywarp is overcome with the desire to kiss him. 

it would have been a ridiculous idea, before, but the only reason skywarp doesn’t, before he loses his chance, is because he’s fairly certain he won’t. 

“it’s a me thing, too?” he still sounds hesitant, unsure, but megatron nods, optics darting to skywarp’s lips like he’s having the same thoughts. 

skywarp grins, relived the talking part is over. although megatron didn’t technically talk, and he looks almost surprised, optics cycling wide when skywarp leans up to actually, finally kiss him. the supreme leader of the decepticons is surprisingly cute when he’s confused, but skywarp recognizes the slack shoulders of relief before he’s lifted the rest of the way up to the press of megatron's lips. 

seconds, minutes, or hours later, skywarp has to warp them both out of the hallway before the entire constructicon gestalt finds them with their panels half open, doing things with their mouths that are far superior to talking. 

[go-river-flows]

Welcome back to the Avatar Programme

Part 12 of 13

Summary: We're coming up to the end of the story now. Everything is wrapping up and coming to a close.

A/N: Sorry for the late upload, Ive been busy over the weekend and also had a terrible writer's block. But here I give you the final two chapters of the story!

“Corporal Wainfleet,” Quaritch stepped into the room, “Am I interrupting your canoodling?”

“Uh, no sir,” Lyle pulled away, taking a step in front of me. Quaritch lips pulled tight as if thinking.

“Well, do you care to join me at the flight line?” Lyle looked back at me as I looked at him, observing his actions.

“Yes, Colonel!” Lyle yelled in return. Taking a few steps towards the door, Lyle looked back with slightly glazed eyes. In his place, Fike entered the room taking a hold of my wrist dragging me away to the science department. Meeting Grace, Norm and Jake, interrupting whatever they were talking about.

“Quaritch is planning on hitting Hometree!” I yelled as I entered the room. The horrified expression recoiled on Grace, Norm and Jake’s faces. Trudy entered behind a few seconds later, in her uniform and helmet in hand about to open her mouth

“What?!”

“Quartich is going to hit Hometree,” Trudy repeated, confirming my words. Grace quickly stood and rushed past me returning to the Communications Tower again. Jake hurried after her wheeling out in a rush to catch up with her.

“Trudy, you’re flying out with Lyle right?” she nodded, “Keep him safe.” She gave a firm nod before taking her leave, rushing out towards the flightline.

“Oh my god,” Norm mumbled into his hands as he rubbed his face, breaking into a sweat, “I can't believe this is actually happening.”

“Grace will try to convince Selfridge into warning them at least,” I thought about it, “At least Selfridge has a bit of empathy, right?”

“God, I hope he does,” Norm sighed heavily, Grace returned with Jake, Selfridge and some soldiers in tow. Making their way into the Cradle room and we followed behind to keep up with the ensemble. Catching up to Max who Grace dragged along with her.

“Calibrate fast. We’re going in, right now,” Grace demanded.

“Calibrating three and four,” Ruth called out from the centre controls, opening the link beds.

“Run sequence.”

“Initiating, thirty seconds,” Max included as he got to Augustine’s control panel.

“Listen to me. You’ve got one hour. Unless you want your girlfriend in there when the axe comes down, you get them to evacuate. One hour,” Selfridge leant above Jake’s form, closing the cradle for him.

“I'm going in too,” I made for a link bed only to be stopped by a soldier.

“No, you're not,” the female soldier stood in front of me, stopping my movements.

“What? You have to. My avatar is at hometree. Unless you want a dead avatar there, I suggest you let me go in,” I poked my finger firm on her collarbone.

“No. I'm only letting Grace and Jake go to convince them to leave. You’re not authorised by any means,” Selfridge butted in, as Norm watched from the sidelines, not daring to do anything to aggravate him. 

“But I–”

“No! Don't push it, (Y/N)!” Selfridge pushed me into the centre railing, “Don't make me cuff you.” I winced a little, feeling the cold metal through my shirt against my lower back. 

“Hey!” Ruth yelled out making Selfridge stop as she turned the holograms to the live video feed direct from the aerospatiales (copters?). The feeds showing everything bright and clear as the fleet of copters approached Hometree. There being tied up was Grace and Jake, but my avatar was nowhere to be seen. As everyone gathered in the middle to watch everything unfold, the female soldier suddenly grabbed my arms forcing me to turn around as I fought back, knowing that she was going to cuff me, I’ll just make it difficult for her.

“My avatar isn't there! Let me go! Let me GO!!!” I felt the cold band tighten around my wrist as she pushed me to walk up the step to the middle, her hand at the back of my neck to restrain me, ���Fuckin’ asshole! Let me go in! I’m gonna kill you Selfridge!” I continued to throw out curses at him as the assault began. At first it was incendiaries (gas rounds), then it was missiles. Flames spurted from the base of Hometree as the Na’vi started running out and away, like ants. My avatar body was gone, I just knew it. But I could do nothing as I was being held against my will, witnessing the destruction of a home. It was all over when Hometree started collapsing. Sending large splinters of wood and ash in all directions. That was it. The rage I felt when I lost Anuk and Sylwanin returned tenfold. With furious tears I whipped my head back, throwing the soldier off guard, the recoil breaking her nose sending her into a daze. 

I was quickly apprehended again by another soldier, when Selfridge said the words I’d never hear him say.

“Pull the plug,” which was followed by resistance from Patel, Norm and Ruth, Norm acting quicker as he put himself between the soldiers and Grace’s control panel. A scuffle broke out between them and Norm threw some punches, only for a soldier to grab him and yank him away for the other to slap the big red button. The female soldier, cupping her bleeding nose, got to Jake’s cradle using her free hand to press the big red button on his control panel. Pulling the two of them out, mere seconds from each other. Norm was cuffed to the railing as I struggled against mine, the two soldiers dragged Grace and Jake from their link beds as Grace fought back.

“You murderer!” Grace screamed at Selfridge. 

More reinforcements came in to drag the lot of us away. Through Hell’s Gate and shoving the lot of us into a single cell. Thankfully, they had uncuffed us and we sat in silence. I leant my head on Grace’s shoulder as she held my hand, rubbing soothing circles on my palm.

“Is my avatar still alive?” I whispered to her, she could only give a sad look.

“I don't know,” was all she could say. I don't know how long we sat in the cell for, but we soon had a visitor. Trudy.

She waved at the security guard, pushing a trolley as he opened the door for her.

“What's going on, brother? Long time no see.”

“Hey.” We all turned to look through the thick glass door, Norm sat up from his lazy position.

“Personally, I don't feel these tree-hugging traitors deserve steak.” She bullshitted.

“They get steak? That's bullshit. Let me see that,” he bent toward the trolley as Trudy stepped around the trolley, pulling out her hand-held gun. Pointing it at the base of his head as she chuckled.

“Yeah. You know what that is. Down,” she ordered the guard. Grace and Norm now stood as Jake turned his wheelchair around, watching the events transpire. “All the way down.” She smacked the butt of the gun hard on the guard’s temple, knocking him out, he let out a pained groan. Looking at the lot of us she called out to Max and Lyle, who ran in from the hall. Max tried his access key but it didn't work, before Lyle pushed him aside and used his. The door slid open, Norm exiting first with Jake and Grace following suit. I was last out when the elevator door right in front of us opened, revealing another soldier reading paperwork, looking up from it. Trudy acted fast, going straight for the poor guy disarming him and knocking him out in the elevator. Lyle pulled me into a bone-crushing hug, planting multiple kisses on my face.

“Baby, oh my god,” he whispered incoherently into my hair, kissing me all over, “I'm so glad you're safe. I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry.”

“Lyle,” I gripped onto him for dear life.

“I didn't see your avatar out there. I was so scared. I'm so sorry, baby. I couldn't do anything. I'm so sorry,” he kept repeating his eyes were a little wet and red, as if he had been crying.

“Come on. We gotta go!” Trudy called from the entrance of the tiny prison. We hastily made our way out, Trudy in front of us and Lyle behind us with their guns drawn. Making our way down a flight of stairs and many halls. Trudy and Norm ran ahead to get to the flightline first to start up her Samson. As we finally approached the depressurising chamber. Jake asked Max to stay behind as Lyle gave me a deep passionate kiss.

“Come with us,” I said.

“I can't–”

“Then I’ll stay–!”

“No! You can't. You’ll be safer with them. I’ll come find you after, I promise,” Lyle unhooked his dog tags from his neck, putting it around my neck as he gave one final kiss, pushing me into the chamber and closing the door right behind me. I looked at him through the glass, he gave a sad smile. Jake shoved a mask in my hand and I quickly slipped it on, turning to get one last look at Lyle. Grace opened the door and we hustled out. 

Getting to Trudy’s samson, Grace and Norm helped Jake into the copter first as I folded up his wheelchair, lifting it in and hopping in myself. I sat on the left opening. The sudden sound of raining bullets hitting the samson alerting the lot of us.

“I'm taking fire! Let's go!” Trudy began to pull up when Norm was hanging on the side, Jake and Grace pulling him in. Trudy flew us away from Hell’s Gate as quickly as she could. I felt a burning sensation in my side, I looked down noticing a wet spot forming on my black shirt. I winced at the pain and added pressure onto the bullet wound, gasping at the pain. 

“Yeah! Yeah!” Jake yelled out in excitement when the bullets stopped.

“Alright! Yes!” Norm followed. They whooped as we got further away from Hell’s Gate, but I was silently groaning from my bullet wound.

“Are you all good back there?” Trudy asked.

“Norm! You good?” Jake asked loudly through the roaring wind, Norm confirming he was fine. “Grace?” She chuckled out loud. “(Y/N)?” 

I hissed at the pain not hearing him call my name.

“(Y/N)?” Grace slid into the seat next to me. I tried controlling my breath, but my body was going into shock. “(Y/N)?” 

“I-I'm hit.” Grace’s face shifted to a horrified expression.

“Shit!” Jake and Norm cursed.

“(Y/N)’s hit!” Norm yelled to Trudy.

Grace moved her hand to find my wound, her fingertips grazing under my own feeling of a wet spot on my left waist, where my stomach was. 

“Am I dying?” I choked out.

“No no no. You’re not gonna die,” Grace pushed down hard on my hand eliciting an abrupt yell from me.

“Is there an exit wound?” Jake slid closer, running his right hand under my shirt and around to my back, feeling around for any openings. There was no exit wound. Looking at Grace he shook his head no. Norm was mortified, his free hand covering his widened mouth whilst his other hand gripped onto the straps of the samson.

“Okay. We just need to keep pressure on the entry wound,” Grace slipped off the seat, guiding my body to lay down, “Trudy! Do you have a Trauma Kit?!” 

“Yeah! It's here!” she called from the bulkhead, pulling a red bag from under her seat, handing it to Grace. Jake took over, his hand encompassing the wound, he pushed down hard on it eliciting another yell from me.

“What do we do?” Jake questioned Grace. I could feel the blood flowing out and my head getting lighter 

“We have to treat it now, or risk infection. There will be internal bleeding but as long as we keep it in– (Y/N)! Don't fall asleep!” she noticed my eyelids slowly drooping. I open them whilst struggling to breathe. I could hear plastic packaging being torn open and Grace worked to patch me up, albeit rushed.

Trudy landed in the small clearing of Site 26. Norm carried me bridal style into the facility first, opening a link bed and settling me in it before rushing to the other side of the facility to grab some things. Returning with pillows, a blanket and medical bag as Jake and Grace entered the facility. 

“We’re gonna hook up this side of the building. Norm you’re up!” Grace called to him as he draped the blanket over my body. Jake wheeled over to my side as Grace helped Norm into the other link bed.

“You're gonna be okay,” Jake reassured, taking my slightly cold hand.

“Tommy?” I mumbled. Jake’s expression shifted into sadness, hearing his brother’s name again. He wheeled right up next to the link bed, laying a gentle hand on the side of my face. He ran his rough thumb over my cheek, leaning to kiss my forehead.

“Yeah?” He leant closer to my ear.

“I love you Tommy…. Tell Lyle… I love him too,” I whispered back. Jake frowned confused as to why I was saying that. The sudden jolting of the facility interrupted the moment, Jake looked away for just a moment. My eyelid felt heavier, taking a small breath I couldn't feel the warmth of my body. At that moment, everything turned white. Jakes voice echoed as I fade, yelling for Grace. She ran to my side as I caught one last tiny glimpse of her.

*

I was walking down the familiar hallway of the training facility on earth. It looked the same from the many times I walked through them. Coming to a door, I peered through the glass window. Seeing a familiar back that I always saw I pushed open the door, alerting them of my presence. He turned and smiled at me. Opening his arms, I rushed to him, knocking the two of us onto the floor.

“Tommy,” I breathed out, my eyes leaking happy tears.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” he whispered, kissing my head.

“Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,” I repeated like a mantra.

“My (Y/N),” he kissed my head again and again and again.

“I missed you so much.”

“I miss you too. I love you,” he wrapped his arms tighter around my waist.

“I'm sorry,” I said.

“Sorry for what baby?” 

“I'm sorry I left you alone on earth. I'm sorry I didn't get to say a final goodbye,” he nestled my face into the crook of his neck.

“Baby, No. I should be apologising. I promised you that I’d be beside you on Pandora. I broke that promise,” Tommy softly spoke, “I'm sorry I couldn't keep that promise. But I’ll always be with you. In here,” he brushed my hair to the side, pointing two fingers at my head, “and here,” lowering his hand to my heart.

He sat the two of us up, lifting me to stand. 

“I'm glad you got to meet my brother, even if he’s a bit of an ass. And I know it must have been harder to move on, but I'm glad you did,” he leaned his forehead down onto mine, “You can’t stay. It's not your time yet.”

A hand tugged at my shirt. I turned to find Anuk there.

“Anuk,” I muttered.

“Hello sister, I see you,” he greeted. In an instant Tommy was no longer in my arms.

“Hello Anuk, I see you,” I returned his greeting, “It's been a long time.”

“Yes, it's been too long. Yet, it is not yet your time. The great mother sends her kind regards, but she wants you to live. Our great mother has plans for you,” Anuk spoke.

“But, I am not Na’vi.” 

“Oh, my sister. You are not yet Na’vi. But you are Omatikaya. You always have been. Our great mother has accepted you as one of her own, for your sacrifice to our people. She sees all you’ve done. As well as your faults and strengths. It's time to join our people,” Anuk took my hand, guiding me back into the hall. Suddenly it felt like we were being pushed forward as the view of the Tree of Souls came into view. It's pink tendrils lighting up the dark sky as Na’vi sat with hands on each other's shoulders all moving together and chanting out loud. In a blink I was standing closer to the Tree of Souls. I could see my naked human body and my heavily wounded but surviving avatar laying in front of the Tree of Souls, the two bodies wrapped in white root like tendrils. Mo’at chanting above me. Turning to my right was Grace, Jake and Neytiri all watching in anticipation.

“What's going on?” I questioned in awe, turning to Mo'at, her white eyes meeting mine as she silenced down, though the chanting behind me continued.

“My child, you have been blessed by Eywa,” She spoke directly at me, even though both my bodies were at her feet. Jake, Neytiri and Grace looked in my direction with confused expressions, it was like only Mo’at could see me. “She has granted you a second life, it is not yet your time to leave. Come,” she reached her hand out to me though I was reluctant to reach to her. I felt a warm hand grab mine, turning to see Tommy again.

“It's okay, take it,” he assured, giving a soft smile, “I’ll always be by your side.”

“Take it sister. Take it,” Anuk gave the same reassuring smile, they both guided my hand to Mo’at and an overwhelming sense of warmth flowed through my body. The white light overwhelmed my senses.

*

I slowly opened my honey yellow eyes. My ears twitched at the quieting chanting. Mo’at leaned in, blocking the pink and purple hues of the majestic tree. My tail twitched a little at her sudden appearance. The white root like tendrils fading and retracted into the dirt. 

“(Y/N)?” Jake called out hesitantly. My ear twitched again. My nose twitched at the scent of ash. Slowly I began to move my arm as their light gasps alerted everyone. They knelt down next to me as I fully opened my eyes, shifting around to look at Jake, Grace and Neytiri.

“Oh, thank Eywa!” Grace  breathed out a huge sigh of relief.

Mo’at smiled widely before letting out a joyous yell, letting the people know of the success. My body ached but I was alive.

“Urgh, why do I feel like I was hit by a truck?” my mouth was dry as I coughed out, to which Jake chuckled. The three of them gently sat me up as the rest of the clan began to disperse. I looked down at my naked blue body, covering my blue boobs with my arm as Jake’s eyes drifted down a bit.

“Perv,” I lightly punched his shoulder. Looking around at where I am, my eyes settled on Tsu’tey who gave a relieved, but sad smile. “What happened to me? Well, not human me, I know what happened there.”

“Tsu’tey got you out on his ikran. Your avatar was still unconscious in Hometree when it got obliterated, but Tsu’tey found you and grabbed your body. He thought you were dead, but he saved you,” Jake explained. I turned to look at Tsu’tey again, he was standing a distance away, apprehensive to approach.

“Tsu’tey,” I called his name, reaching my hand out. He slowly came closer, taking my hand.

“Tsumuke. Oel ngati kameie,” he wrapped his arms around my shoulders bringing me into his gentle embrace, “I thought you wouldn't make it.” His voice breaking a little, “I thought I lost you, like I lost Sylwanin. Don't ever do that again,” he said in a stern but joking tone. 

“Tsu'tey, I will be by your side. Even if I died. Sylwanin will always be next to you. Just like Anuk,” I pulled back from his hug, turning to Jake, “Just like Tommy.” Jake’s ear flicked a bit.

“What?”

“I saw him, when I was dying. He said that he was glad we met, even though you’re a bit of an ass,” I smirked, remembering his words, “But he’ll always be here,” I gently pointed to his head, “and here,” I pointed to his heart. Jake’s eyes welled up with tears. He knew what he had to do and with the permission of the new Olo’eyktan, Tsu’tey, he made a great speech. To call for aid for the upcoming war. The war between the sky people and the Na’vi.

“Go get ‘em tiger!” I shot him a proud smile. They took off there and then, as daybreak came. Those with ikrans followed after, spreading the news.

Final chapter!

Taglist: @sleepilysworld   @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed  @wolfmoon8269  @howlerwolfmax   @lovekeeho   @ducks118   @dyingofcookies   @secretflowerobservation

[chryblossomjjk]

You said diary, so I'm here to deliver

TMI WARNING (lol):

Fortunately, I never did the nasty with him (the thought is 🤢). Only went as far as the back seat canoodling (is that how u spell?) bc even tho I had no standards, I knew my limits. He sucked at kissing tho and his nostrils were so big that his fucking snot got into my mouth 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭. His kissing skills were extra disappointing bc he was my first kiss, and my dreams were shattered bc I thought kissing was gonna be boring for the rest of my life.

While i wasn't dating him at the time (15 y/o me was depressed and insecure 🙁), he was my first boyfriend technically (only when he wasn't cheating on me 😉🙄). So, I guess you could say the whole dating experience was ass.

Man's made me very sad and took advantage of the fact that I was so hung up on him to have the chance to get off. However, he was ass at that, too. I'm pretty sure the dude had a death grip on himself whenever he watched porn bc he'd always suggest we "finish at home," as in by ourselves 🤨🤡.

Turns out he was still ass later bc his ex-girlfriend came to tell me all the tea when they broke up.

Also unfortunate, but he was so a part of my friend group bc me and my friends were immature. BUT, this gave me plenty of opportunity to roast his fragile masculinity as much as I wanted. He was gonna pay for my therapy and emotional trauma somehow 🤷‍♀️😂.

Sadly, I tried to date another emotionally and physically stunted guy after that, which ended before it started (I could go on about him, too ugh).

On a happier note, i haven't dated since, and while sometimes I feel like I'm missing out, I know that I need to have a great relationship with myself first. I'm really finding myself even though the past 4 years have been hard, and it has been and will continue to be worth it 🥰

But fuck, I miss kissing and cuddling 🫠🥺.

Thanks for letting me rant, most darling Kiki. I 💖 you.

im so sorry my love! honestly, it's kinda nutty to see how that first person you're really into heavily influences the way you feel about yourself, relationships, etc. i'm so sorry your first experience with love was traumatic and i'm so glad to hear that you're healing <3

and unfortuantely its all trial and error and sometimes you find another dud like you did the sceond time. however, you were able to spot the red flags asap n gtfo of there!! v proud of you for that like thats not an easy thing to do!

i really hope when you're ready, you find a love that is kind, sympathetic, and easy, bc you deserve it :( <3

[wonderlandleighleigh]

For @alixinwwonderland

They wind up at a small club. The jazz quartet has a slow set going, sweet songs that are well-known and well-played, and they’ve found a little booth in the corner.

The other couples around them are having a good time. Canoodling and kissing just as much as they are, and Midge is glad for it. It’s a good excuse to curl in close as she listens to the music.

Being close to him feels so right. They share a cigarette and order drinks, and she closes her eyes, reveling in the music and the comfort. She likes feeling Lenny so relaxed, too. His arm rests over her shoulders as he watches the band. His fingers occasionally play with the ends of her hair, and with anyone else, she’d complain about messy ends, but it feels so nice.

“Lenny?”

He turns, glancing at her softly, and for his trouble, he’s tugged in to a unhurried kiss. Light, and sweet, and she feels him smile into it, his thumb stroking her jaw tenderly.

*****

He’s only here to scope out what other clubs are doing, but he didn’t realize tonight was one of those kinds of nights.

Archie seems just as uncomfortable as Joel.

“You know? Maybe we should come back another night,” Archie suggests.

Joel sighs heavily. “We’re here now, let’s just-sit at the bar, see what’s what, have one drink and then leave.”

Archie sighs as he looks around. “Fine.” He looks to the band and then lets his eyes wander, freezing up. “Uh...”

Joel frowns. “What?”

“You know what? Nothing.”

“Arch, what?”

He sighs and nods in the direction of a couple in the corner. Joel follows his gaze and blinks rapidly as he realizes what he’s looking at.

Lenny Bruce in a corner booth with a beautiful brunette curled in against him, smiling adoringly as they chat quietly. Little touches. Brief kisses.

And the brunette is definitely Midge.

Joel just stares.

Stares as Midge fiddles with his tie playfully.

Stares as Lenny Bruce traces a light pattern over her shoulder.

Stares as they share a cigarette and she steals a sip of his whiskey.

“Joel, we should go,” Archie says casually. “Y’know. I just- I just think we’ll come back another night, and-”

Joel starts moving towards the couple, and Archie snatches the back of his jacket.

“No.”

“Archie.”

“No. C’mon, man. What’s Mei gonna say if she finds out you got into a fight with Midge’s new guy?”

Joel huffs out angrily. “She’s dating Lenny fucking Bruce. I can’t fucking believe it.”

“We should go.”

Joel’s shoulders slump. “Lenny fucking Bruce.”

“Joel, we’re going.”

Joel gives his friend a helpless, baleful look. “Lenny fucking Bruce, Archie.”

He starts leading him out. “And we’re gone.”

[heli0s-writes]

IV. Symbiosis

Summary: “Since you’ve been caught—” Fury squints, “Canoodling With The Allegedly Injured James Barnes, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone’s already halfway finished with digging you up. Forgeries. Petty theft. Grand larceny. The damn rest of the kitchen sink. So, Ranger…” The way he says it is both lazy and threatening, completely on brand and irritatingly calm.

“Here’s my suggestion: get ahead of this thing before it knocks you on your ass.”

A/N: 4.8k words. I’m a liar who lies because after 4 months of overthinking and coming up with diddly squat, here is part 4 of Trinity Epoch sans smut. I’m sorry! I’ll double your pleasure next time. xx Thank you for sticking with me, I’m so sorry it’s taken so long.

Warnings: Language. References to canon-typical violence.

Trinity Epoch Masterpost

Bucky stays like that a while longer, just breathing.

Your fingers trace his hair—running through the strands, over the shell of his ear, then resting briefly on his cheek. All the ways you used to with Natasha when she’d break her own heart, or maybe ways you would have liked her to have done for you when you felt like you were dying a little bit.

You feel it now: a small death in the wake of last night’s simple touches. Your body and Steve’s body curled around each other sprung something immeasurable, as if the drift flowered then and ripened beneath your skins. You bit into it. You savored its taste. You could have lived on it alone.

Everything smears together like a child’s careless hand in a mess of paints until all the brights muddle dark. A shaky breath as you work yourself into calming, trying to find coherent words while your head remains a pot of sideways soup, at best.

Bucky shifts until he’s looking up at you, nose millimeters away. His irises are just a touch more gray, a sprinkle less green. You can see Steve in him, just as he can see Steve in you and then your eyes begin to prickle, Nat’s face undulating behind the burn.

You don’t really know what you want to say. Maybe apologize, run, beg for forgiveness, grab Bucky by the shoulders and shake him until he understands that you didn’t mean it— you didn’t mean to hurt him. That you love him. That he lives inside you, too.

His ghost from the drift— the aftermath phenomena of the neural bridge when pilots take on a bit of each other’s consciousness out of the cockpit and into the world with them. Take two people with a predisposition for the drift into the cockpit into each other’s brains and they exit heightened—sharper, better—imbued with each other’s strengths and knowledge. Mind-meld long enough, deep enough, and your core endures, but you become a different beast.

When Steve’s consciousness bled into yours, so did Bucky’s. If you walked away with half of Rogers, you also got a quarter of Barnes and it only compounded worse during Polidori’s drop. Resurrecting trauma, agitating itself, making a mess of your weary soul.

You relived his amputation last night, just as fresh as you relived Nat’s death. More visceral than the first trial run, you witnessed him—felt him—torn and hoarse, clutching his shoulder as he rocked helplessly inside Orion’s chest, frayed wires sparking across his cheek and landing in his own blood. His teeth gnashing together as he tried to hold on for Steve’s sake, steering his co-pilot’s panic back on course. Terrified and agonized, but he was hellbent on making it out.

Bucky who made you laugh. Bucky who took you to dinner. Who walked with you, gave you his jacket, listened to your rambling and crying, and kissed you because you reminded him of his co-pilot, or maybe of himself.  

How could you not love him, after all this?

Armageddon slows for nothing though, and before the first letter of his name can fall out recklessly from your mouth, three precise thumps jostles it back in.

Steve’s voice is muffled through heavy steel. “You in there?”

The door slides open with a tremulous croak but neither of you bother to separate. Nothing seems to matter now.

“Buck...” Steve looks from one raw face to the other, stepping forward and reaching out. He grasps Bucky’s hand. “We should talk—” he closes his mouth into a thin line, shoulders slumping heavily before letting go. “I’m sorry. Later. Shit’s hit the fan.”

-

The office is stagnant air full of questions but other than the squeak of the marshal leaning back in his chair, nobody makes a sound.

Fury untucks a finger from the crook of his elbow before pointing it between your eyes.

“Culpability.”

Across the room, you flinch in his crosshairs. Standing apart from them, you’re partially slack against one of many steel filing cabinets, using it to prop yourself up in case your knees might give out as vertigo descends.

It’s been a lot to take in. Everything— the night, the morning, emotionally, mentally, physically. The hull is a steel cage, and pilots are well armored, but you’re still hooked up to the robot enduring damage, taking hits at barely .0001 percent, but taking it all the same. You’re bruised up good beneath your clothes— Polidori’s claws leaving four tender imprints of a scratch to Orion’s right shoulder. Your shoulder. Steve’s shoulder.

To your right, he shifts. A tiny hint of pain streaks over his expression before it falls serene again, fixed on Fury.

“Since you’ve been caught—” the marshal squints, “Canoodling With The Allegedly Injured James Barnes, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone’s already halfway finished with digging you up. Forgeries, petty theft, grand larceny, the damn rest of the kitchen sink. So, Ranger…” The way he says it is both lazy and threatening, completely on brand and irritatingly calm.

“Here’s my suggestion: get ahead of this thing before it knocks you on your ass.”

This thing, being any story a 13-year old kid with two thumbs and a twitter account can spin between now and when you let Pepper Potts spin it for you first. There’s not a lot imagination can’t conjure to fill in the blank pixelated space between Bucky standing on the curb and you right behind him wearing his cap and jacket. Not to mention that once speculation goes live, it starts sprouting all sorts of appendages with minds of their own, and no matter how diligently you might cut one off, two would only sprout in its place.

The marshal stands up and takes heavy steps before turning the corner of his desk, absently tapping a pile of folders together like they’re not already in a perfect column. He slips a manila folder out from the stack and it becomes obvious that his suggestion is just buildup to some other type of impetus.

When you open the file up under his sharp gaze, you feel the blood drain from your face and possibly from your entire body.

The bullet he aimed between your eyes hits home. Cue your brains blowing out slow. Impetus met.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky appears over your shoulder, staring at the same grainy photocopied document. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I make a lot of jokes?” Fury leans forward, pointer curving over the top edge, tapping emphatically one, two, three times, even waving it back and forth in front of your unseeing eyes. “I’ve got a good contact inside the PPDC who risked a lot to get this out. They’re just plans for now, dogeared behind other pages, but don’t doubt the Corps’ cowardice for a second. The second this program looks like it might not hold up, they’ll turn their efforts there.”

You’re gone. Trapped between the lines, vehemently scanning the page, reading the same words over and over until they no longer make sense. But it’s not like they made any sense in the first place.

ANTI-KAIJU WALL: CONSTRUCTION AGENDA. SPRING 2020.

The conception of a perimeter stretching around the Pan Pacific—North and Central America, East and South Asia to isolate emerging Kaiju. It’s a fetal skeleton at most, the roughest of outlines for a plan, and truthfully, it’s no plan at all.

It’s shameful. It’s shit.

The so-called Wall of Life implies the portending death of the Program—of all Shatterdomes and Jaegers. It implies no support, no funding, and no repairs. No Kodiak. No juniors. No future.

Back and forth, you’re still desperately inspecting as if the words might shift into a new message, maybe one that didn’t spell out certain extinction, but despair is rippling across your face. Bi Fang and Polidori had wings, and they were only Category II. Bi Fang massacred one of the best pilots you’ve ever known—and it was only a Category II. Any higher and they’d blow through that wall like a ribbon of wet toilet paper.

Hysteria creeps up at the mere thought of it, fear stubbornly lodging itself in your throat. Nuclear-powered automata—the only proven defense against the terror of massive alien attacks are being dismantled in favor of steel rods and cinderblocks. They might as well build it out of Legos.

Anti-Kaiju Wall. A string of ants meeting a boot.

You’re panting softly, tongue swollen in your mouth, shaking with equal parts terror and rage, on the verge of breaking into inappropriate laughter and yelling.

“What—what do they expect?” You croak, “The breach opens, the fucking thing comes out, sees a fence, and what—they think it’s—going to crawl back in…?”

“Hey, calm down,” Bucky curls his fingers around your elbow. His hand and its black plates are peering at you, purring, dull gold bands threading at the knuckles. For a second, the prosthetic disappears. For a second, he’s blood red again.

“Hey!” Bucky grips tightly when you sway. “I’m fine! Don’t—don’t.” Steve’s jaw is set firmly on your other side, arms crossed so severely his biceps bulge with the strain.

“Nick,” He’s abruptly brusque as he eases the file from your grip. “Give us a minute.”

“You’re in my office.” But the marshal’s words hold no bite. He’s already won; he knows. Cornered again, he’s got you same as before in Red Cloud. 

You get the gist: play out your redemption arc and come clean with your record. Win over the public, hoard all the additional support and funding you can because you’ll need every goddamn cent of it when the PPDC rips it away. The gossip. The photos. The headlines. It’s the perfect opportunity for a few hundred million when the media is putting a magnifying glass on your presence in Hong Kong.

Duty. Duty. Duty.

You’re just one small part of this colossal puzzle—a negligible smear of guts across the battlefield trying to keep the rest of the pieces together while the PPDC sits in their panic rooms throttling the entire fucking thing.

Fury steps to the cabinet and slides the file back in its place, keeping the illusion of it being just another unremarkable envelope in a row of hundreds of others. The metal drawer shuts with a clang, housing the most damning piece of information you’ve ever seen. His tact aside, you know he would never show you his hand like this if it wasn’t completely necessary—or pertinent.

Steve was right, you understand now.

The world owes you. And it owns you.

-

The next six—seven?—hours scatter like pulled teeth with your head spinning like a top the entire way. Pepper had been outside the door for the conversation, waiting on standby to whisk you off for princess lessons. Having already (and correctly) predicted your compliance, Fury scheduled an interview for precisely at nine. Then you were off, towed along by Miss Potts and her hasty strut.  

You try to find perspective, reminding yourself that you’ve successfully gone toe-to-toe with the Empire State Building with fifteen rows of teeth seven fucking times and come out on the other side alive and if not in one whole piece, then at least 2-3 relatively serviceable pieces. You’re functional. A little damaged, but fine enough. But there’s also the fact that you’d just hopped out of Orion not even 24 hours ago coupled with how you’re suddenly in the middle of something that feels less like a confused love triangle and more like divine providence at the end of the world.

Fuck. No time to think about it now. The human brain is not programmed to multitask, and you’re hanging on by a mere thread. You prioritize making it through the night just as alive as you can make it out of a drop. Just a couple of hours and you can rest. Just a couple more.

After what felt like an eternity and a half of simulating Q&A, practicing your posture, smiling into a mirror, and one horrible limo ride where you stared dead-eyed out the window—Steve and Bucky’s steely gazes after you—the building finally comes into view.  

Hair. Makeup. Wardrobe. You wear pants. You smile for the camera. You don’t stand in the middle of the group photo.

8:55 and time halts to a near stop. You can hear your heart in your throat, or in your skull. Your eyes feel switched from their sockets, or stomach rotated 30 degrees. Someone fixes your mic wire, your blouse collar, asking you to turn just a little over there. Three cameras are pointed to capture every angle, punitive red dots angry and glaring.

A live broadcast was agreed upon to ensure the least amount of potential edits and skews, as well as the charmingly quaint idea that it’s unscripted. The rub, therein, lies upon the burden of poise and a flawless performance. You rehearsed lines until your jaw felt like it was coming unhinged. Then you did it again. 

Everything requires precision, and you keep that in mind with your hand on the glass of Dom Perignon being constantly refilled. An amicable gesture by the hosts, but their intentions are cunning: loose lips sink ships, and they’re betting on yours to sink the S.S. Orion Bravo.

Out of view, the translator sits with her legs crossed, listening to the questions before turning the words over in English.

You take a sip of champagne and it fires off like a gunshot—Cantonese and English in rapid-fire verses.

<2017 was a fateful year for both the Jaeger Program and the world. Beloved pilot Natasha Romanoff sacrificed her life to protect Alaska’s coast in a final battle against Category 2 Bi Fang. Memorials dedicated to Romanoff’s efforts appeared across every nation to lament her death and celebrate her heroism. Yet, somehow, no one seemed to be asking the million-dollar question: Where is her co-pilot?>

<Two days ago, pictures were taken in Hong Kong of James Barnes and a mysterious woman. Our sources here at TVB have worked tirelessly to uncover her identity.>

<Today we have the pleasure of introducing her to everyone tuning in. This is the first time you’ve ever been in the public eye, and astonishingly, next to two of the best pilots in the Program. There are so many questions, but first, the whole world wants to know…. why keep it secret?>

The host’s open hand urges your reply.

The lights seem to turn up even brighter. Your back starts sweating. The room is about to collapse. In short, naturally­­—infuriatingly—you choke.

Seven hours of droning like a broken wind up toy, already knowing how to answer this question by heart, prepping yourself for the interrogation, the relentless demand to publicize your grief, to placate the people about your relationship with their heroes—and, you choke.

Bucky’s chin tilts microscopically in the corner of your line of vision. You’re fine, he’s saying, you got it. He’s strangely calm, even pleased, as you stutter involuntarily. Like he’s the first to remember an inside joke you’d long forgotten, his grin widens the longer you look at him. Steve turns next. Focus. Don’t fight the drift. The drift is silence.

And suddenly, your shoulders ease. The static in your exhausted brain slides out of your ears.

You sit up tall. You smile. It doesn’t quite feel like your smile, but, it’s a good one. You know this smile; it’s Steve’s smile. Like a seamless assembly, you fall into rhythm.

The white of his teeth slip out from between Steve’s lips. He notices too.

You calmly recite the introductory speech you’d been practicing for the last two hours, feeling out your new voice, borrowing from his bearing—deeper, smoother, certain. The major points get run through: your record and own personality traits keeping you from the spotlight, admitting genuinely that you’re pretty damn uncomfortable now, so they’ll have to forgive you for any slip ups. It goes over well, as Pepper predicted; “candid” blunders made Rangers human—made them likable.

When the subject of Anchorage rolls back around, you can practically feel Steve’s jaw bulging preemptively. You graze his foot with yours as a warning to back off.

<It’s remarkable that you were able to bring the Jaeger back to shore, there has been only one pilot who was capable of that—>

“I’m thankful to have had Stacker Pentecost as my mentor. I owe so much of my resilience to him. It was difficult, but simply put, I had no other choice. I feel so lucky to have survived it.”

<Natasha Romanoff-->

“She was one of a kind.”

<Was it hard to—>

“Yes.”

The host clears his throat, visibly awkward that you’re being so terse, but taking the hint until  Bucky turns into the spotlight, that divorced happiness he’s so skilled at beaming into the lenses. 

Steve easily picks it up, steering the conversation where he wants it to go. He’s disarmingly sincere as he relays the process of Bucky’s injury, replacement, apprehension, and finally success

His bright blue eyes flicker secret messages and you decipher them all.

“The connection was like—"

There’s a bell chiming in your ears. Bright, crisp chirps of it, cutting through laughter and bickering. You taste summer air in your throat, Bucky’s hair flying in the wind. “Riding a bike…”

“Exactly. New bike, same motions, and it worked. It was great. We learned things about each other. Some good, some bad—”

Crosshatched pencil lines of their shared apartment. Smudges of charcoal in a sketchbook. “He’s an unbelievable artist, but—”

“No— don’t say it!”

Bucky smothering a small kitchen fire. Steve throwing a damp rag on him in a frantic attempt to assist. Your voice is bubbling out gleefully. “—an awful cook!”

“It’s true,” Bucky smugly chimes in. “The boy can’t boil water. Breakfast eggs come with shells every time.” You can taste the grit between your molars—crushed grains inside an overdone omelet, Bucky spitting out spinach and feta cheese.

“Oh my god,” you sputter into a sip of champagne. “It’s so bad.”

“Do you see what I have to deal with? Two people knowing my secrets. Two.”

<Fantastic! Already we can see a great friendship here—>

It seems congratulatory, but there’s determination to drive into scandalous territory, poking at any rumor to lance and leak. A sly smile crosses his face as his assistant shows photos of you and Bucky in the city, but the lurid suggestion only gets shrugged off. “We’d gone out for dinner. It was the first time I’d left the Shatterdome after Seigehook and I needed moral support.”

<The jacket tells a different story.>

“I’d give you my jacket if you looked cold.”

<Steve, Ophelia isn’t concerned that your new co-pilot is a woman?>

“No, absolutely not. ‘Lia’s the first person to support Orion—and the loudest. I don’t know what I’d do without her. You don’t have her behind the curtain, too, do you?”

<Well, what about personal memories? Won’t you know everything about each other…? Private things?>

“Sure, but what pair of pilots don’t? You got twins and siblings, not just married couples. Look, here’s the thing: the neural bridge doesn’t take you to a filing cabinet. It’s not open like that. It’s more like—somebody help me—” Bucky snaps his fingers your way, “—what’d you call it the other day?”

You didn’t, but you say, “A dream?”

“Right, a dream. If you think about it, you can pull on it, but if it’s not in the forefront of your mind. It’s a non-issue.”

“We’re all adults here,” Steve confirms.

<Do you plan for James to return to the cockpit? Is that the goal? James, how do you feel about all of this, taken away from your own Jaeger?>

Steve’s palm faces outward as if keeping the host at bay— or, you think, keeping himself at bay.  “Hold on. This isn’t about replacement. Nobody is framing it like a nail in the coffin—we’re in the interim of a period of time, readjusting. Short of death, nothing is going to take him away.”

Sunlight. Recruitment. Ice baths. Training until they had to carry each other to bed. Your eyes flutter, head pilfering through the memories like instinct.

“James is still Orion’s co-pilot.” You agree. Apprehension. Dread. Terror. Confidence in each other even when they didn’t believe in themselves. They were together. Nothing else mattered. “Steve’s co-pilot.”

The tight look on his face is temporarily wiped as he beams proudly, “He’s my Bucky. Always has been, always will be.” He claps Bucky on the back twice and each thump’s echo bounces its way into your chest.

Bucky bristles and sputters, but a healthy pink dusts its way across his cheeks, “Don’t embarrass me, Rogers.”

“Are you blushing?” You tease, elated.

“Don’t you start, either.”

<Well… this is very wonderful. Is there a possibility we’ll be seeing a triple-piloted machine? The Tang triplets have been in talks for a new model.>

Steve shakes his head. “We haven’t discussed it yet. Nothing’s off the table, by any means. Just not priority at the moment.”

<What is priority at the moment?>

“Normalcy, as much as we can get in the middle of all this.” Bucky holds out his hand, closing it into a fist, letting the camera zoom in. “We’re… still working through all the kinks, balancing the personal and global.” 

He flexes his fingers, letting the microphones pick up the drone of machinery, but his meaning is another secret. Clicking Morse codes of well-oiled obsidian plates purring two names. You’ve stopped listening to everything but the echo incandescent in your heart.

You down your glass.

-

Champagne tipsy, you try not to stagger through the lobby. The doorman nods toward the limousine parked faithfully by the curb.

The barrage of questions slowed after it became apparent that there would be no sensationalist headline. There was attention to Bucky’s arm, his handsome face, of course, before the banter quickly devolved into entertaining frivolous sidebar queries. Five flutes bubbled down your throat and by the end of it, you no longer wanted to grab camera one and shake the shit out of it, anger whittled down to a dull hum of annoyance.

Thirty million stupid dollars for inane reels of:

What’s in your purse? What do you eat? How do you stay feminine in a Shatterdome full of testosterone—have you tried any K-beauty skincare routines? Do you have anyone special in your life?

Bucky went in, then, leaning forward until he was nearly rocking off and leveled his glare. You know she’s on the other side of the same robot, buckled up into a ninety-pound rig steering two-hundred tons of—

It took a miracle (see: Steve’s firm hand discreetly on the back of Bucky’s neck and Pepper drawing a sharp line across her throat) to effectively halt the derailing train.

“I can’t believe,” Bucky grouses now, opening the door and waving the driver back to the front. “Those goddamn questions.”  

“Does wiping my sweaty face with my even sweatier shirt count as skincare? What’s the K stand for?”

Bucky smacks the back of your head with one hand, other clumsily yanking the door open with the other. “For Korean—have you been living under a rock? Just—get in the fuckin’ car.”

You slap him back. “Quit it, you invalid.”

“Invalid? I’ll show you a fuckin’—Steve, did you hear—”

“Both of you, get in the car.”

And you shriek, scrambling in and yanking Bucky along by the scruff of his jacket. Mischief courses beneath your skin, encouraged by clever alcohol, now fully buzzed its way to every extremity.

Still giggling and leaning into the thrill of it, you slump over the smooth plastic molding of the door and press your face against the tinted window. It’s a cool reprieve on your warmed cheek, frosting when your temperature meet the glass. Bucky’s easy Cantonese, albeit slurred, is requesting a ride back to base. His hand has found its way into yours, fingers laced large and warm, clasping tight before he lets go.

“Haven’t had a drink—oh--” you murmur, catching yourself as the wheels shift.

“Since Red Cloud.”

“Outta my head, Rogers.”

“Says the person who kept finishing my sentences during that interview.”

“It’s the champagne! It makes me—“

“Stupid?”

“You’re an ass, Barnes.” But you’re laughing at him, at the way he’s smirking— cheeks gone ruddy. Both of them, open beside each other, heads inclined intuitively together. It makes you ache to see—to experience again after disruption—Rogers and Barnes. Barnes and Rogers. Perfectly fitted.

The partition slides up. The sunroof tugs open with a whistling draft.

Hong Kong’s lights are vivid—too much to properly see the extent of space’s beauty, but there are a few twinkles you’re able to make out in the moonless night as light poles and skyscraper tips whiz overhead. They’re brighter than most, simple to spot patterns in the dark.

“Orion’s out tonight,” you mutter, moving to catch the line of its belt, “Look. Beneath his feet is Lepus, the hare, pursued for all time.” From across, Steve follows, also looking to find their hero as your hair rustles wildly, making a hurricane against your ear.

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic,” Bucky scolds. He’s annoyed and comfortable on leather, ankle crossed over opposite knee. “You’re not being chased by anything. Besides, if you were a constellation, you’d probably be the soup ladle.”

You laugh. He’s always playing the part of a stoic so well. “Hey, I’ll have you know the Little Dipper’s got the north star in it. That soup ladle’s gonna be the thing that gets you home when you’re lost.”

The tone shifts—time dragging its pace as you look at them in wonder. The city’s overripe heaviness of the blows through, making goosebumps on heated skin.

“Buck,” Steve says, and Bucky slips his jacket from his shoulders to slide over yours. He tugs the lapels down like he’s trying to keep you on earth and your hands clasp on his wrists for a second before you let go. They’re both sitting up now, watching your bleary gaze unfocus.

Steve and Bucky oscillate in front of your eyes, their lines blurring until it doesn’t really matter who you’re looking at—until they become one. So easy, like this, just them like two sides of the same coin, belonging so seamlessly to each other.

“Sorry,” you blurt in shame, “I feel like I fucked it up. Ruined a thing that wasn’t mine to ruin.”

“Think you put it together,” Steve responds quietly, and the simplicity of his statement throws you off. “We found our way.”

“Soup ladle,” Bucky jokes.

“But, aren’t we just trading one war for another? World peace only made it because of monsters.” Unspoken questions hidden inside large-scale metaphors— symbiosis could only be achieved under the lies of other relationships. Whatever this would be, it wouldn’t be accepted. Steve still retains his supermodel girlfriend and you and Bucky dutifully fall in line for your own packaged little PR lies.

He shrugs. “I’m fine with losing a few battles in this war, but Orion’s got a good track record, doesn’t it, Buck?”

“Twelve— thirteen kills, sweetheart.” Bucky’s grin is lopsided. “Don’t forget you made that happen.”

“Thirteen’s an unlucky number.”

“Feels lucky to me.” Steve’s hand wraps around your wrist, thumb resting on your pulse. He taps your skin, looking genuinely apologetic. “Listen, all I can do is ask— and I’m not good at asking for things. I just want to make them happen.” A quick glance at the watch under his cuffs and he tugs at your arm like a lost child, “So, before we get back… will you come here?”

As he said, he’s not really asking. More like reaching his will out to you, finding you when you’re caught in the undertow and pulling you back to safety. To them. Okay. Okay.

Your footing slips, but they take your hands and turn you carefully, letting you settle in between. Bucky hums a low sound, fingers curling around your waist. Steve does the same to the opposite side and you feel both torn apart and held together by them.

Steve nuzzles your neck, hot on your skin.

“She was wrong,” he whispers, barely audible over the sound of your rising breath, “You know that? She was wrong, and I was wrong. I thought it couldn’t happen—thought I had other priorities, other things to manage and settle and save and... I lost sight of what matters most. But I’m gonna really fix it this time—I’m gonna do it right by you.” 

He looks to Bucky, pained and relieved, “Both of you, I promise.” He takes Bucky’s hand in his own and holds it to his mouth, kissing his knuckles, his palm, saying softly, “I love you, Buck. I’m sorry you waited so long.”

“Hey stupid,” Bucky says shakily when your chin starts to quiver at the sight of them. He’s sniffling and swallowing his syllables, unable to stop himself from staring at Steve’s face in his hand, how Steve kisses the blue pulse in his wrist. “Ain’t you—too pretty to cry?”

The rocking of the car flattens out as Steve gently presses his lips to yours, letting the trail of salt bursting down your cheek into his mouth. He moves to the line of your jaw, promising,

It’s okay. I got you. Nothing’s gonna hurt you anymore.

They kiss you and the world turns itself right.

They kiss you and then they kiss each other. Again and again and again.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Behind Closed Doors

Keanu Reeves x OFC (A/n- And now, I shall make it complicated)

Masterlist

Warnings- Jealousy

Chapter 2 All In a Long Weekend

Saturday

That Saturday morning, breakfast had been done a tad earlier than usual, and afterwards, Emma had stayed back in the kitchen, packing a picnic while Keanu oversaw the children as they got ready for the day's beach trip. Matt and Poppy had been raving about their trip to Malibu for the past two weeks, asking every night before bed if they'd still be going. Each time, Emma had assured them that unless it rained, they were certainly going.

"You look excited," an older woman came up beside Emma, setting down some sodas into the cooler, just as Emma continued preparing sandwiches for the container that was set to be packed into the woven basket. She and Zelda, despite the fifteen or so years between them had become fast friends, always eager to help each other out when possible. The older woman was also sometimes keen of giving Emma little snippets of advice that she thought my be helpful; never go into Keanu's office when he had the door shut, don't give the kids ice pops inside and possibly the one that had saved her the most trouble, always check the allergy list that Keanu had stuck to the fridge before making the kids something new.

Beaming absently at her comment, Emma carried on with her task, making cheese and turkey sandwiches; a favorite among Keanu and his kids, "I am, it's been a while since I've been to the beach, and even if I'm still working, it's gonna be fun." Closing up the Tupperware, Emma set it in the basket, moving on to prepping snacks, just as Zelda started on some frozen treats for the sizable cooler. In retrospect, it might have seemed like a lot, but when you were having a day trip with kids, it was best to prepare for anything. "Plus, it'll be nice to spend some time together, just the four of us."

Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, Zelda paused for a minute, "Five dear," she corrected, a little shocked when Emma didn't understand what she meant.

Certainly, Keanu must have told her!

But really, he hadn't.

Just as Zelda was about to explain though, the sound of the front door opening and shutting, followed by a very loud, and an annoyingly exuberant; "Darling!" After that, it wasn't long before the sound of heels clicking against the floor drew nearer, and out of the long hallway emerged a woman, tall, blonde and just as famous as Keanu.

"Sweet-" Upon seeing the pair, the Miranda Riley, former Victoria Secret model and world famous actress, stopped in her tracks, scrunching her perfectly straight nose as if she'd smelt something terrible, "Oh," her made up face fell, "Its you; Zora and…….the new one."

A little annoyed by her obviously snooty behavior, Emma opened her mouth to speak up, "Actually it's-" Though, when Zelda grabbed her arm, squeezing warningly, she shut up immediately, sealing her lips tightly.

Though, it didn't really seem like any of it greatly affected Miranda, especially when Keanu jogged into the room from the other hall, still bare foot while his worn out t-shirt was soaked at the front, probably from herding the twins into a bath. "Mandy," he grinned, and Emma swore it was stiff and forced. Maybe it was just her imagination though, cause with barely any hesitation, Keanu was taking the woman in his arms, holding her in a more than friendly hug before planting a lengthy kiss on her deep, ruby lips, one of his hands reaching up to cup her face.

The world seemed to slow down as the entire scene unfolded before her; the way he held her, looked at her when they pulled away to speak. A soft, pained gasp seeped past her lips and Emma wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting when Miranda walked into the house, but she did know that the last thing she’d predicted was that it would hurt so much. Her lungs were set ablaze and a similar sensation prickled at her eyes. Rage, betrayal, jealousy, Emma couldn’t tell which it was, but she did know that she wanted to run out of the room and not have to face Keanu for the rest of the day. Hell, maybe even the rest of the month.

Slowly, as if she were just coming up from being submerged in an ice cold bath, Emma brought herself back to the moment, raising her gaze when Keanu sought to introduce them, “Mandy, you remember I told you about Emma, our new nanny.” That was what she was, the nanny; the woman who took care of his kids, nothing more. Even if quieter moments had suggested otherwise. The tension, the long stares and innocent touches that thrilled her nerves, they meant nothing to Keanu. “And Em, this is my girlfriend, Mandy.” Well that didn’t feel like a bullet to the chest at all.

“It’s nice to meet you,” the smile that she plastered on her face was probably the hardest one she’d ever managed, and when Emma offered her hand, it wasn’t difficult to miss the flash of disgust that crossed Miranda’s pale features. Never meet your heroes, they said. For as long as Emma had known herself, Miranda had been an icon in the fashion world, she was well connected, and had set most of the trends that Emma had her friends had desperately wanted to mimic in their teens. It was her, among other inspiring names in the fashion world that had prompted Emma to go to a design institute and not a conventional college. But right then, she might have been happier going back to a time where she’d never crossed paths with Miranda.

Hesitating before offering Emma a toothy, winning grin, Miranda took her hand, shaking quickly over the counter before letting it go again, “Mmm, yes, it's…….nice to meet you too, Emily.”

“Emma,” she corrected, having to bite her tongue so she wouldn’t say anything more. The last thing she’d want was to lose her job after telling off her boss’s out of touch bitch of a girlfriend.

“Right,” Miranda appraised her look, a bright blue sundress, raising an impressed brow, probably only complimenting her to appease Keanu, “Cute dress.”

Before Emma could speak up, Keanu interjected, “She looks lovely doesn’t she? Made it herself,” he didn’t seem remotely aware of the heaviness in the room, or the way Miranda clenched her jaw when another slew of praises for Emma left his lips, “She’s so talented, Poppy is already roping her into making princess dresses for Halloween,” he chuckled, shaking in his head.

After another minute spent gritting her teeth, Miranda sought to change the topic, clearly having had her fill of Keanu’s pride in his nanny, “Where are the little ones anyway? It's nearly ten, we’re going to be late.”

With that, Emma’s head snapped towards Zelda, who'd opted to finish the cooler and snacks in silence, so she wouldn’t have to endure any of the painstaking conversation, “She’s going?” She whispered when Keanu and Miranda weren’t looking, eyes wide and frenzied.

“Yeah,” she nodded, barely looking as Emma when she followed her to the fridge, while Keanu and Miranda spoke, or rather, canoodled in hushed tones, "I feel like I should have told you he has a girlfriend," Zelda paused, just after reaching for a half filled carton of strawberries.

"Ya think?" Emma hissed, glancing backwards at the couple, feeling her heart pinch at how lovey dovey they were. She could have sworn there was something between herself and Keanu. "How hard was it to say 'Hey Em, you know our boss has this girlfriend, and she's like, a total bitch.' What the hell does he even see in her anyway?"

"She's tall and gorgeous?" Zelda shrugged casually, "Look, I don't get it either, but he loves her, they've been together for almost two years and I think she's convinced him to go public by the end of this year." Her face fell at Emma's troubled expression, reaching out to rub her shoulder sympathetically, "I see the way you look at him, and if there's something between you two, then……and I don't mean this harshly at all, maybe you need to back down. Miranda, she's……she's not someone you want to mess with," sighing deeply, Zelda peered over to see if they were being overheard, "She gets what she wants, and right now, she wants Keanu and you don't want to be in her way."

Gritting her teeth, Emma pulled away harshly, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about," she squared her shoulders, "There's nothing between Keanu and I," maybe she was getting more defensive than she needed to be, but Emma didn't care. "I'm gonna go finish getting the twins ready," she announced loudly, stalking out of the room and down the hall, and hopefully, leaving behind whatever she'd started to feel for her boss.

As it turned out, Matt and Poppy had all but put their clothes on over their swimsuits, and they were so excited about going, that they got into their little summery outfits without fuss. Afterwards, tiny feet clad in colorful sandals, they raced each other downstairs, leaving Emma to collect their bags before she headed down.

She was walking towards the stairs, backpacks in hands, really just minding her own business, having just started to calm down after the whole Keanu/Miranda fiasco, when, just as she neared the door of Keanu's home office, she heard it. He was deep in conversation, and had unknowingly left the door just a sliver open, enough for her to catch on to some juicy bits. "I know mom," he sounded exasperated, and when she dared to peek in, Emma found that his back was to her, as he stood facing the window, one hand stuffed into the pocket of his jeans, "But I'm not getting any younger, what do you want me to do? Wait till I'm sixty?" He sighed heavily, shaking his head, "Matt and Poppy need a mother, and Miranda……" he trailed off, listening intently to what his mother had to say. Leaning closer, Emma wished she could be privy to the other end of the call, aching to hear what his mother thought about the succubus that he called a girlfriend. But alas, she'd have to settle for whatever she got.

After a few minutes had passed, Keanu spoke again, turning around, leaving Emma to dash for cover, though still within earshot. For a minute, she held her breath, awaiting the moment where Keanu would poke his head out the door and catch her eavesdropping. But it never came, and instead, he continued, "I think I'm going to do it tomorrow night, we're going to dinner, and the nanny will watch the kids. I have the ring already. I think she might like it."

Ring?

The sirens in Emma's head were going off so loudly that she barely registered his tone, the absence of excitement or joy, things that were usually there when someone was smitten enough to propose. There was too much going on in her head; the irrational fear of never having a chance with Keanu, the more rational fear that Miranda might become her boss too. Tuning out the rest of the conversation, not caring to hear anymore, Emma dragged herself towards the stairs, slinking down towards the kitchen, where she found Zelda entertaining the children.

“Everything okay?” She probed when Emma placed the bags on the counter, next to the cooler and picnic basket, her features still crestfallen.

“Yeah,” she mustered up a smile, inching closer to her friend, her voice dropping an octave, “I think Keanu’s going to propose to Miranda, like tomorrow night.”

“What?” Zelda’s eyes went wide, her jaw hanging slack, and she almost dropped the dishes she had just started putting into the cupboards, “How do you know that, did he tell you?”

“Tell her what?” Speak of the devil. Miranda startled them both, and for a second, Emma was worried that she’d overheard their conversation, though that too was short lived.

“Everyone ready?” Keanu strode into the room, and though Emma wanted to meet his gaze, she restrained herself, not even trying to respond, just going over to gather some of their things, her teary smile faltering when the kids excitedly started following her to the car.

At some point, Miranda had eased Keanu away from where they’d set up their picnic on the beach, urging him into a walk even though the kids had pleaded with him to stay and help them build sandcastles. Emma had taken his place, helping them with their little construction project, highly aware of how upset Poppy still was. “You okay Pop?”

The girl frowned, using her fragile fingers to sweep some hair out of her face, “I wish daddy would have stayed and built it with us,” she mumbled, dumping another bucket of sand to create segment of the castle, though doing it so harshly that the new section just crumbled, “He always leaves when aunt Mandy comes around.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” even if she didn’t like Miranda, if she was going to be Matt and Poppy’s step mother, Emma couldn’t go around bad mouthing her to them, “I’m sure he still spends time with you. And aunt Miranda seems really like you two.”

“Not as much as you,” that was Matt, his expression skewed by his dark mane falling over his face, “She’s always telling us to be quiet. And she’s so boring,” he stressed, lurching forward, only half interested in ranting about Miranda, still very invested in their sandcastle, “She almost made dad stop my swimming lessons.”

“What?” That time, it was a struggle to keep her annoyance at bay. Even if it was just one side, even if Matt couldn’t possibly know the entire truth, it was still enough to rile Emma up. How dare she? Matt was the best on his team! Taking a breath, Emma knew it was time to shift the conversation, and cheer the twins up before she said something that she’d regret, “You know what? Why don’t we give this a break? We can go to the water, have a splash war!”

“Yeah!” They jumped up immediately, barely giving Emma a minute to shimmy out of her sundress, revealing her simple, floral bikini before joining them in the water. It didn’t take long to lift their spirits, and before long, Matt and Poppy were teaming up to out splash Emma. Their gleeful giggles were music to her ears and she adored seeing their wide grins. They’d waited almost a month for that trip, they deserved to enjoy as much as they could, even if Miranda was going to take up most of Keanu’s time.

They probably spent hours past noon in the water, and not once did anyone’s smile falter. Emma gave them ice pops, and insisted that they have some water once or twice, though each time, they accepted without fuss, and she couldn’t tell if was the sugar from their snacks, or just how immersed they were in the games, but even when Keanu and Miranda returned near sunset, they didn’t show signs of tire.

“You guys having all the fun without me?” Keanu let go of Miranda’s hand, standing where the water would wash over his feet, pulling the sand back as it receded.

A pang of anger flared inside of her, making Emma want to remind Keanu that he was the one that left, but she suppressed it. A fight wouldn’t solve anything. She was so caught up in being annoyed with Keanu, that she hadn't noticed how dark his gaze had grown when his eyes fell on her, kneeling in the water, rivulets rolling off her tan skin, the top of her bathing suit pressing her breasts together, a generous amount of her cleavage spilling out voluptuously. “Well why don’t you join in?” She made herself laugh, and while Emma was hardly as much of an actor as the two A listers before her, she’d liked to think she managed pretty well.

“Sounds great,” he didn’t even seem to notice Emma’s irritation, bubbling beneath the surface. In a flash, he was pulling off his t-shirt, tossing it to the sand, getting into water wearing just his swim trunks, and as he drew closer, his cheerful tone faltered, probably realizing that being in the water with her wasn’t going to do him any favors, “Do you guys wanna play chicken fight?” Keanu turned to his kids, only to be met with excited nods, “And maybe Mandy wants to play too?” He turned to her, eyes somewhat hopeful, “And we can let Em have a break,” swallowing thickly.

“Oh, I…..” Miranda seemed perfectly out of her element, smoothing a hand over her stylish, white sundress, and then pushing up the dark tinted sunglasses, which formerly guarded crystal green orbs. It took a minute, but eventually, she conjured up a tight grin, “Chicken fight isn’t really my kind of game,” she laughed nonchalantly, “Besides, the water will ruin my hair. You should let Emily play, childish nonsense seems right up her alley.”

Subduing the urge to roll her eyes and fire a few obscenities towards Miranda, Emma took a breath, gazing between Keanu, who’d gone cold, and Miranda who’s wicked mirth was reflected in her defiant smile, “Like I said this morning, it’s just Emma. And that’s fine, I actually love childish nonsense, its way more fun than sitting on the sand like a……” stuck up bitch, “Boring grown up.”

Amused with her half hearted insult, Matt laughed loudly, while Poppy just giggled, already trying to get up on Emma’s shoulders. Fuming, Miranda turned on her heel, stomping off towards the mat, and it wasn’t long before the rest of them had forgotten the almost-spat, getting on with their game.

Monday

As usual, Emma was up early, preparing breakfast for everyone. It was just past seven am, and since Mondays didn’t promise cartoon reruns, the kids weren’t up yet. Instead, Zelda had come in earlier than usual, saying that she wanted to get a head start on the housework, but really just looking to gossip. They were in the kitchen together, preparing for hash browns, eggs and bacon, working over quiet chatter, “So…” Zelda nudged Emma’s shoulder with her own.

“So?” Emma chuckled, nudging her back, the comfy cotton of her robe brushing against the sleeve of Zelda’s shirt. She knew exactly what her friend was seeking, but truthfully, she didn’t know how Keanu’s proposal had gone. All she knew was that they’d left for dinner around seven, leaving her to make something for Matt and Poppy, and hadn’t returned until the twins had fallen asleep and Emma had stolen away to her room.

“So, is the wicked witch of the west coast going to be out new boss or not?” Zelda teased, continuing with helping Emma shred some potatoes.

“Honestly-” Emma cut herself off when Keanu walked in, sans shirt and with low riding sweat pants. His hair was a mess, and his good morning was punctuated by a tired yawn. "Good morning Keanu," both women greeted in unison, sharing a look.

They both wanted to know so badly that the itch was almost physical, but it wasn't like they could simply ask. With their one question would come a dozen more from Keanu. Though, as faith would have it, the truth they were seeking wasn't far behind a still half asleep Mr. Reeves.

"Darling," an all too familiar voice purred, shuffling into the kitchen, her blonde hair held up in a loose ponytail and her elegant frame wrapped up in fine satin. Unlike Keanu, Miranda didn't even bother with pleasantries, going straight over to where he stood at the integrated refrigerator, holding him in a hug from behind, strategically angling her left hand so the large rock on her finger would be on full display.

"Still wanna know?" Emma whispered near Zelda's ear, their heads almost touching.

Scoffing, Zelda seemed caught between a sarcastic smirk and a frown, "Not any more."

And because the world was such a cruel place and open wounds would be pointless without a little salt, Miranda abruptly turned to them. "Ladies! Have you two seen my ring?" Without warning she thrust her hand towards them, making the engagement ring on her finger hard to avoid, "Gorgeous right? Keke loves to spoil me," her words were perfectly gag worthy and Emma was finding it difficult to keep down the half cup of coffee she'd had. It wasn't like she was opposed to love or affection or anything, she'd really liked to think of herself as well adjusted in that way, but during the one weekend she'd spent around Miranda, her affections for Keanu always seemed so dramatic that it was nothing short of an elaborate farce.

Yet, it wasn't like she had much of a choice when it came to going forward and having to endure it. Jobs in the fashion world were hard to come by and freelancing would hardly be enough to cover living expenses. So, alas, she'd have to put up with Miranda for a quite while to come. "Don't worry Emily," Emma hadn't even realized she'd zoned out until Miranda called her by the wrong name, for probably the dozenth time. At her next words, Miranda's voice dropped below what Keanu could hear, and there was a wicked glimmer in her gaze, "You're pretty enough, I'm sure you can trick a man into buying you a nice ring. Might not be as many carats, but you'll manage."

That little quip was definitely pay back for Saturday. Fuming, Emma longed to just let her have it, but she was growing so versed in holding her tongue that she did again, deciding right then and there that as much as she loved the kids, she was wholly willing to take the next sustaining job as long as Miranda was in the picture.

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

[sapphia]

alright so i don’t write fanfiction anymore and i haven’t even really been in this fandom for years, but if i was writing supernatural, here’s how the destiel thing would have played out: 

they gay plotline would happen about season 9-11, pacing wise. cas and dean are close and have a shared bond, and know each other pretty well at this point, but things haven’t started getting repetitive yet plot wise. the season big bad is irrelevant because lets be honest they’re all pretty much the same. 

dean and cas have spent their time in purgatory together, and i’d move the purgatory reveal flashbacks from season 15 into season 8 alongside the normal flashbacks. 

you have your usual series opener in episode one with the massive conflict semi-resolving but also setting up the season’s big bad. at this point in episode one, cas sacrifices himself for dean specifically, but also helping advance the “mission” - however, while one of them had to die to keep the other alive so the job could be finished, it could have been either of them, not necessarily cas.

this of course spawns a bit of emotional angst, with dean being hit pretty hard by cas’s death. there’s a hint that his reaction is more emotion extreme than say, bobby or jo’s death, but still a bit less than if sam had died - and also notably takes it harder than sam. this sets up the fact that cas is more than just a tag along to dean. 

cas will be brought back about episode 4 (method irrelevant), and there’ll be an emotional reveal, but nothing too out of the ordinary. everyone’s just happy to see him alive again. there’ll be dialogue specific to dean and cas, of course, but just your generic “glad you’re back/what happened while i was away” catch up

episode 5 will have no destiel content, but there will be a minor male character who sort of flirts with dean. dean doesn’t reciprocate, and is flustered, but also doesn’t reject him (perhaps because he’s flustered), setting the stage for dean-is-not-straight-and-has-repressed-bi-feelings, but this is pretty minor and easily overlooked. sam witnesses this moment.

in episode 7, you’ll have a cas/dean centric ep, where they go off and investigate either by themselves or in a way that has sam occupied and away from them for a lot of the episode. they have a mini confrontation early/mid episode where dean says cas shouldn’t have sacrificed himself, that they could have found another way, that cas should have been the one to complete the mission and dean to die. 

cas’s response here will hint at his thoughts in 15x18 regarding what dean’s done for him, but much briefer. he implies that he’d rather dean had lived; dean is a good man, and cas sort of “owes” him this because dean has helped him find his humanity. he doesn’t confess his love or anything, but the implication that cas feels love (of some sort) because of knowing dean is definitely there. 

dean should be a little uncomfortable at the raw emotions of this scene, and pulls back, though castiel will remain earnest and completely unbothered by dean’s difficulty dealing with what he’s saying

the episode continues, and the hunt goes as normal, but towards the end, dean gets injured (head or face wound). cas heals him easily, but there is a moment that lingers a little too long, with cas’s hand on dean’s face. dean is a part of it - he feels it too - but it freaks him out and he ends the moment, pretending it didn’t happen. they carry on packing up/continuing the hunt/whatever they were doing before, but the final shot of the scene is dean looking at cas and wondering - what the hell was that? 

this is going to be played out pretty slow over the series, so in between the core relationship developing episodes there’ll be normal monster of the week episodes with just your normal amount of destiel subtext. the episode following cas and dean’s moment, for example, (episode 8 and 9) will be your average sam/dean/cas hunt with nothing more than a couple of small moments between cas and dean where cas is perhaps a little too intense and dean pulls away, or there’s an awkwardness between them, especially from dean’s side. episode 10 doesn’t have cas in it at all,  because dean has made an excuse to separate himself from cas - i.e. dean jumps at the opportunity to give cas a task that means he’ll be hunting separately to him and sam

episode 11 will be a sam/dean hunt, but in the middle of the episode they find a clue/information that they need cas’s help trying to decode. sam suggests praying for cas to show up, and dean says well go ahead then. sam doesn’t make a fuss about dean not doing it himself (though he may be a bit surprised) and he prays to cas - but nothing happens. dean sighs and rolls his eyes, and says “cas, you there? we need some help” and cas appears. 

sam is (sort of) mock offended that cas comes when dean calls and not him, and cas says that he was busy and would have heard sam eventually if he’d tried praying again later, but dean has an easier time breaking through via prayer than sam (ala the “dean and i share a more profound bond” moment in season 5(?i think). like then, sam is mock offended, but isn’t really surprised. dean is keen to move the conversation past this and get cas’s help with the hunt, which cas provides, and cas decides to stick around to help fight the episode’s monster. 

the episode facilitates a scene where cas and sam are left alone on the hunt with some downtime to talk (perhaps because dean is avoiding cas) and sam brings it up, a bit curious - does cas hear dean better because cas pulled him from hell? cas admits he isn’t sure exactly what the reason is - perhaps it also has something to do with the way dean has affected him as a person. he finds that despite himself, he cares for dean more deeply than anyone else - and his feelings remain unchanged by the fact that dean seems to be avoiding him right now. but he finishes by saying he can’t help that his thoughts are more attuned to dean at all times, and that he finds himself thinking of him far too often, which probably leads to dean’s prayers finding him easier than other people’s. 

sam is pretty shocked/surprised at this - it sounds like cas is saying he’s in love with his brother. cas doesn’t confirm this explicitly, but sort of agrees, saying something along the lines of “that is a possibility”, as though he’s not quite sure. 

sam’s still processing this - can angels even fall in love? cas assures him that they can (maybe gives an example of another angel this has happened to) though it doesn’t happen often and has never really ended well. 

the scene ends either a bit awkwardly, with sam still being “oh my god what is going on” and castiel being earnest and sort of oblivious to sam’s shock, or with an attempt at lightheartedness from sam. the episode continues as normal, though sam now gets to hunt with dean and castiel with the new secret knowledge that one of them is in love with the other one and the other one probably doesn’t know. but he doesn’t really know what to do with that information, so he does nothing, just observes. 

episode 13 has no cas in it again, and it’s a sam/dean hunt. but here’s where it gets interesting - the monster is preying on men at a gay bar. 

the hunt they’re on has people going missing who have recently frequented the bar. one of the bartenders there is obviously gay, and flirts with dean a little bit during their initial questioning, even giving him his number at the end, which throws dean. sam sees the end of this interaction and notes it with amusement. 

they continue investigating - clues (or another disappearance) lead back to the gay bar, so they decide they have to check it out again. when there, they spot the same bar-tender again, and sam makes a joking comment that dean will probably get more out of him than sam will, so dean better go talk to him. dean does, and manages to be a bit more casual now he’s not as taken off-guard. dean gets the information out of him that he needs, but the conversation also hits more casual/personal territory - come comments are about what it’s like doing the job dean does, etc. dean might make a cryptic comment that hints about the supernatural nature of their work, not that the bartender would pick up on it, and answers in a way that’s both true to dean’s actual life but could be mistaken as being a thing an fbi agent would say. the bartender is less flirty during this conversation, but when he does make flirty comments, dean takes it much better and continues the conversation easily, and despite himself dean finds himself warming up to this guy. 

the hunt continues. in the early scenes, when sam and dean roll into town, dean will see two guys heavily making out outside the club, and looks away (in a prudish/not wanting to watch someone’s PDA sort of way). later in the episode, either right before the climax or right after, there will be a moment where dean sees another moment of PDA between two guys (possibly more of a sweeter scene, like holding hands, or canoodling), and dean watches for a moment, somewhat longingly. the episode won’t address it, but this is his moment where internally he starts wondering if maybe he wants that. 

the episode heads towards the conclusion when the monster takes another victim - and lo and behold, it’s our bartender. but dean and sam are getting close to finding it, and they hunt it to it’s lair. sam deals with the monster while dean rescues the bartender. it’s a generic rescue scene, and dean is very compassionate and reassuring, and the bartender is quite freaked out, as to be expected. the wrap up scene, where they take him home/back to his car/wherever, has him asking dean about what else is out there, and dean is honest - there are lots of creatures that lurk in the dark. but hopefully the bartender won’t see any more of them. if he does, here’s dean’s card - call him and dean will come. the bartender makes a joke about using it for a booty-call/to get a date with dean, and dean jokes back in a way that rebuffs that, but in a light and friendly manner. 

the series continues. there is one more dean/sam hunt and then a dean/sam/cas hunt. dean seems a little but more at ease with cas during this.

in episode 16, dean gets a call from the bartender. he picks up the phone and makes a joke about how this wasn’t supposed to be used for booty calls - before turning serious at the bartender’s answer. something is going down in that town again, and he wants dean to come check it out. dean promises he’s on his way and hangs up. 

sam is ready to go with dean, but dean tells him he’s going to go on his own. sam is surprised, but lets him. 

dean goes to the bartender’s town and investigates. something is going down, and this time the bar tender helps him along the way. there is an easy chemistry between the two of them, the sort of familiarity characters have when meeting dean and sam for the second or third time rather than the first. the bartender assists in the investigation, so is around dean a lot, and flirts with him on occasion. in contrast the previous episode, dean is much more at ease with it, he even flirts back a little at one point. but it could still all be in good fun - it doesn’t have to imply anything. 

3/4 of the way through the episode, before they go after and kill the monster, there is a slow/waiting/resting scene where dean and the bartender have the opportunity to just chat. they talk about the monster/hunting/the lifestyle a wee bit - and dean shows him something about the monster on the laptop, or in a book, or gives him a weapon and shows him how to use it - whatever it is, they get physically close for some reason. the bartender makes another flirtatious comment, and dean isn’t too sure how to respond this time. the bartender shrugs it off - it’s just some fun, he knows dean’s straight, it’s fine. 

dean’s mind is racing a hundred miles a minute, and he’s feeling an absolute cascade of emotions. maybe, he croaks out, maybe he isn’t as straight as you might think.

it’s pretty clear where this is going lol. they have a moment, they kiss, idk maybe they have sex, maybe it’s implied or left ambiguous. camera cuts away. 

when we come back to them, the plot has accelerated and it’s time to go after the monster (immediately, right now, before anyone can talk about what just happened). they hunt the monster, dean does the bulk of the work but there’s a crucial moment where bartender saves dean, mirroring the way dean saved him in his first appearance and allowing dean to finish the monster off. 

the wrap up/goodbye scene is a bit awkward, both not too sure where they stand, but there is a moment where dean admits that he liked what happened between them. but it’s pretty obvious it can’t continue - dean has to keep hunting, and the bartender is not here for that life - he likes all his limbs attached. they keep the door open though about seeing each other in future - maybe a comment about where dean’s based, and the bartender says he’s heading through that way in a month or so, maybe he can pop in and say hi, and dean agrees. 

dean goes back to the bunker, reconnects with sam who’s wrapped up his b-plot. dean is deliberately vague about the case details, and sam gets the feeling something’s off. then dean gets a call, and he takes it - but he’s squirrelly about it. 

sam’s suspicious and is worried something is really wrong. he follows dean and listens to his call - he hears dean say “hey [bartender]”, and the conversation that follows, which basically boils down to - the bartender is actually going to be in dean’s area next week instead, it turns out, maybe they could catch up, and dean says sure, but his brother is around, and dean hasn’t exactly told him about what happened or come out to him, so they have to be a bit on the downlow. he doesn’t want to seem sleazy, but maybe they could get a hotel room? cut to sam, looking pretty surprised lmao and sort of creeping away quietly, feeling bad for eavesdropping on such a personal conversation and now processing the fact that his brother is (he thinks) gay. 

ep 17 is a week later and  dean and sam are called to a case miles away - right when the bartender is supposed to visit. dean takes a private call where he regretfully tells the bartender he’s not going to be around - they won’t be able to catch up this time. this secretive behaviour reminds sam (and the audience) of dean’s secret. 

sam sort of spends the whole episode waiting for dean to come out to him, which doesn’t happen because this is still really new to dean and he’s not sure he’s ready for it. it’d be kinda fun/funny if they were fucking around with some sort of truth goddess or something, but regardless there’ll be opportunities for sam to poke dean about general things he might not be saying. sam also drops a couple of massive hints that he thinks gay people are awesome which dean obliviously ignores (or maybe starts cluing into towards the end of the episode). 

but by the time they’ve defeated whatever it is they’re hunting, dean still hasn’t said anything about being gay so while they’re in the impala diving home, sam’s like “you know, if you were gay, i’d be okay with it” and dean’s like “yeah i’m not gay” and sams like “I heard you on the phone with bartender, sounded pretty gay” and dean’s like “okay yeah we banged. but i’m not gay, i’m bi” and sams like “woah. and you never said anything?” and dean talks about how it’s sort of been coming on for a while now but he’s been trying to ignore it because he didn’t think he was that person, or maybe how there was something with a guy a long time ago but he repressed it, etc etc. and sams like “well that’s cool and you’re still my big brother, i still love you, that’s never going to change” yada yada and there’s an awesome emotional scene and they drive off into the sunset. 

BUT we still have the cas/dean plotline to wrap up in the last few episodes. sam know knows cas loves dean and dean’s bi but doesn’t know if dean loves cas and also doesn’t want to say anything in case he shouldn’t. but also wonders whether he should because it seems like dean might have feelings for cas, so as we head towards the final episodes sam keeps trying to push cas and dean into situations alone together but it’s not working very well, although they’re obviously really fucking close and sam can see just how much dean loves cas and cas loves dean but neither of them can actually see it, and eventually (like, one episode from the finale) cas says something implying quite obviously that he has feelings for dean and then leaves and dean’s totally oblivious and sam is practically banging his head against a brick wall out of frustration and just caves and is like “you know cas is in love with you, right?” and deans like “no” and sam is like “well he is. he told me” and dean’s like “whaaaaat” 

but there’s no time for dean to like, talk to cas about this, only a small amount of time where he processes his feelings for him (maybe like one scene together a but a third character is there the whole time, so dean can think about what sam told him, but can’t say anything to cas) and then the finale is really kicking off, and they’re fighting whatever the big bad is, and again there’s comes this point where someone has to sacrifice themselves and this time dean’s like “no cas i told you earlier, i don’t want you sacrificing yourself, this time it’s my turn” and cas is says “no let me, i want to do this” and dean’s like “yeah but i don’t want you to because i love you” and does the thing that should kill him

except at the last minute something else happens which stops that (sam like kills the big bad by taking it by surprise or something) and so dean doesn’t die (maybe he’s a bit injured though and cas has to heal him) and cas goes to him and there’s a very emotional scene where they elaborate on the love confession and kiss each other and sam’s like “i can’t believe a month ago i thought these men were straight”. 

and because this is supernatural something immediately goes wrong and by killing this big bad they’ve actually triggered the rising of the next big bad so there’s your plot for the next season you’re welcome, but hey now they’re gay together you’re welcome SPN writers please pay me to reboot your series in the way dean deserved. 

[icouldntresistit]

I don’t see how anyone can say JK is distancing himself from JM because he “doesn’t want people to assume they’re a couple” when not even 5 months ago, they were heavily suggesting canoodling by a Xmas tree in an official mv. That itself is making a statement (from JK and JM doing it, and BH by publishing it) that I feel like has been already forgotten by a lot of people lol.

Link for the folks in the back please. But yeah, I don’t see why he would even be affectionate at all if he wanted to somehow signal to Jimin to leave him alone for good (which is effectively what that anon was implying)

[fanfic-collection]

The Grandmaster’s Daughter: Pt 2

I don’t even know where I’m going with this and it was hard to write and I was super excited then I had a bad day and now I don’t know what’s going on. Please give me suggestions :(

The door burst open, “How’s my favorite-” The Grandmaster’s words were cut off as he saw the position you and Loki were in.

Loki’s head was between your legs at the apex of your thighs. Though he still wore his clothes, you were completely exposed, still gripping at the sheets in the throes of ecstasy.

The Grandmaster blinked, seemingly at a loss for words as he looked from your shocked expression to Loki’s equally surprised face.

Loki recovered faster, pulling away from you and grabbing the blankets to cover you. He straightened up and wiped at his face with the back of his hand as he looked at the Grandmaster.

“My own daughter?” Grandmaster asked, shocked.

You stumbled to your feet, still wrapped in the blankets and trying to maintain some modicum of decency. Loki stepped in front of you, arm outstretched as he tried to block you from view. You were covered well enough by this point, wrapped in the blanket as you were, but you still fumbled to grab your discarded clothes.

“This, this handsome rogue, canoodling with my only daughter?”

Loki glanced at you and winced, realizing his mistake, “You’re the daughter.” He said flatly.

“I didn’t want you to think of me differently,” you muttered before turning to address your father, “Father, please, it’s not what it seems.”

“My close and personal friend, defiling my only beloved daughter?” Grandmaster glared between the two of you.

Loki fought to roll his eyes in exasperation, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on him. “My friend, I can explain.”

“Ah, ah, ah, no, I will not have this. I knew I couldn’t trust your devilish charm, any other woman I could have forgiven, but my daughter?” The Grandmaster shook his head, “Where is Topaz, I need my melt stick.”

Loki stepped forward angrily and the Grandmaster backtrapped a step, eyeing Loki warily. “I have served you faithfully and by her own choice you would-”

“Father no!” You rushed to his side, stumbling among the wadded up blankets. “Please, papa,” you batted your eyes, the sweeter name had always worked on him as a child. “please, it was my fault, I convinced him.”

The Grandmaster looked at you, then glared back at Loki before returning his gaze to you. Slowly his face softened. “Fine. I won’t kill him.”

You folded your arms as best you could, glaring at his wording. “For me, papa, please?”

“He is banished to the gladiatorial events. I don’t want to see him outside the arena ever again.” As he spoke, Topaz and a number of guards entered, surrounding Loki and cuffing him.

Loki glared murderously at the Grandmaster as he was dragged off.

“I’m so sorry.” You whispered, yet Loki refused to look at you.

-

Loki landed on his knees hard inside a familiar circular room, his hands softening his fall. The door slammed shut behind him and he sighed, straightening up and dusting off his trousers. “Figures.” He muttered.

“Well, well, well, how the mighty have fallen.” Thor greeted Loki, walking up to him with that familiar saunter. He flicked a pebble at Loki and his smile faltered when it bounced off Loki’s chest and fell to the floor. “Brother? What are you doing here?”

Loki sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, “Mistakes were made.” He shook his head. “So this filthy place...”

“Is where we wait.” Thor finished. “Perhaps one of us will face the famed champion.”

“Excellent.”

-

Hours later, the doors opened and guards appeared. Thor lunged at them as they grabbed for Loki. Eventually the numbers overwhelmed the two brothers, unarmed as they were and dragged Loki to a dark room.

Once more he was flung unceremoniously to the floor where he let out a soft groan, followed by a resigned sigh. Would they cut his hair as they had Thor’s? His thoughts turned to the Grandmaster’s daughter, what had become of her, he wondered.

The door opened and a veiled figure rushed in. Loki sat with his back to the wall, watching the figure rush through the open doorway. As soon as it had entered, the door slammed shut with a loud clang and the room grew dark again.

“Loki, please, I am so sorry!” You pleaded, kneeling before him, “Forgive me, I beg you, I had no idea he would react so.”

Loki’s face softened as he saw the tears streaming down your cheeks when the veil fell away. Slowly it hardened again as he registered the blotched marks on your face, signs of fresh bruises.

Loki pushed himself to his feet, still crouched down as his cool hands reached for your face, “What happened to you?” His voice and face were full of concern.

You gripped his hands, wincing at his touch but appreciating the coolness. “I pleaded for your freedom. Father would have none of it and,” more fresh tears fell down your face, “some of his prized fighters entertain themselves by,” you hiccoughed at the memory, “my screams of pain seem to be endearing to some species.”

Loki pulled you to his arms, you rest your face against his chest and sighed, allowing your tears to fall freely. He stroked his hand through your hair, gently shushing you as he tried to calm you.

“I thought, if I could make an alliance with you, I would find freedom form this wretched place.”

Loki clenched his jaw, “You used me?”

“No!” You pulled back, “No, no, no.” You quickly shook your head. “Initially I thought to, but you were so sweet and kind and... and.”

Loki looked at you confused, still clearly hurt.

“I had sought to use you, and for that I plead for your forgiveness but when we were together... I knew I couldn’t. That’s why I never told you who I was. I don’t deserve your forgiveness after what my actions have led to.”

Loki pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and pulled you back into his arms, “I understand doing the wrong thing for the right reasons, love.”

“They’re going to make you fight the lord of thunder, whichever of you wins or survives will face Father’s champion.”

“God of thunder,” Loki corrected quietly, more to himself than you. He chuckled at the thought as you looked up at him in confusion. He shook his head, “nothing, my brother would not approve of the discrepancy to his name.”

“Well if your brother is fool enough to desire to face the champion, how could you stand a chance against him?”

“I’ll worry about that myself.”

“Please, anything to let me help, I put you in this mess and I will face whatever comes of it.”

“No one as fair and lovely as you deserves such a fate. I’ll figure something out, I promise, I always do.”

[royal-writer]

In the Claws of Death

I don’t like the rushed pace of this one. But I’m busy, and don’t feel like fixin it.

We’ll camp here for tonight, he’d said. Yes, because there was nothing better than climbing out of a rickety wooden carriage ride and into the soggy mud as a downpour came down upon them from the heavens. No thunder, no lightning; just a waterfall of rain that appeared to have no end. Luke warm and sticky as humidity clung to the night as it had to the day. It no was no longer leaving a refreshing odor of a summer rain and now reeked only of dirty people and one very soaked dog.

There would be no fire tonight. Setting up the tents would be a nightmare, and even if they managed to hold them together where they wouldn’t collapse from the storm they were going to get wet inside. It was like a monsoon, and they were going to float away with it.

“Can we not ride on until the rain settles?” Essätha whined. She huddled herself into a ball, with raindrops dripping from her hair and down her cheeks and chin.

“I don’t wish to be washed off the road,” Abernathy disagreed, encouraging the sodden ponies to follow the trail towards the campsite.

“Perhaps we should rest in the wagon? And try pitching cover of it then?”

“You afraid of getting more wet?” Penimra moped. “We’re already practically sitting in filthy bathwater, in our attire. What’s the point?”

“The point is that I don’t want to get off this, and into that,” she declared, jabbing a figure down into the liquid soil that was engulfing their wheels. No longer able to budge, and their horses beginning to huff and snort with exhaustion and agitation for all their hard work.

Caesar’s tail began to slap against her leg in a spray of water. With a grumble of displeasure, she held an arm up to cover her face as Maestro trudged through the muck over to the side of the cart. The reason for the large dog’s excitement sitting astride the dark beast.

“We should try to take shelter beneath the trees,” Amon advised. “Their foliage will offer us some protection and the root systems will have firmer ground to keep the cart from washing away.”

“Alright,” Abe relented. “I guess that’s the best we can do for now.” With a click of his tongue and flick of the reigns, the two horses surged forward. Straining themselves as their hooves sank into the dirt, trying their hardest to haul the cart and all its weight from the sludgy terrain. The cart did not move, nor did it rock in its immobile state.

“I’m still not getting out of the wagon to sleep on that,” Essie muttered, crossing her arms in front of her chest as the mastiff leaned over the edge and into her; reaching out his snout to his master.

“Well it looks like we’ll all have to get out, and give the cart a push,” Abe suggested.

“Wonderful.”

Amon offered a sympathetic smile. His facial hair and dark lock drenched, and hanging limply. He extended a hand to stroke the side of Caesar’s face as Maestro shifted closer to the wagon. His one free hand gripped to his cloak; pulling up the edge until it held over Essätha’s head.

She offered him an endearing smile of gratitude. No sooner then she did however, heavy drops of water dripped through the dense fabric, and upon her nose and hair.

Her face soured.

A raspy chuckle emitted from the Illiad Lord. He tried his best to cover it, clearing his throat as he pulled back cloak to let it fall with a wet, sloppy sound against the fabric of his jerkin. One leg swung over the dark mare’s side, as he made to slide off into the river of brown beneath.

“I was trying my best, my dear.”

“I know you were; I’m not making the face at you,” she sighed, placing one leg over the wheel of the wagon. She swallowed tentatively, looking down at the mud sure to swallow her up the moment she stepped off.

Amon patted his equine's side. The gentle mare gave a shake of her wet head, and stepped aside with a whinny. It provided him room to maneuver around her, and reach out to place his hands on Essie’s waist as she lurched forward uncertainly.

“No Caesar, stay.”

The great hound whimpered, having been leaning over the edge of the wagon in a manner that intended to launch himself off. Instead, he ended up sinking back down into the cart with an unpleasant huff. His ears heavy with water, drooped lower than normal as he pouted pitifully up at his master. The mud-river was clearly made for dogs, and he was being punished without reason.

Ignoring the sulky pout of his pooch, Amon held a soft smile as he cradled her close. His hands careful steady as he murmured: “Just hold on to me, I’ve got you.”

Offering a meek little nod, Essie wrapped her arms around his neck and slid off the edge of the wagon.

Just as promised, Amon kept a firm but gentle grasp to her waist. He was a solid wall. Confident and proud; knowing his strength and lacking the arrogance one could easily fall into owning it. His arms were reliable and safe. Protective and trustworthy. And as her boots sank into the mud he held her still; soft breath close, dark gaze hovering just above her lashes. Gloomy clouds may lie above, but the stars came out tonight regardless in his eyes.

His smile curved broad. Distractedly handsome. She had to fight off her own desires with more will then she thought herself capable not to fall into his chest. Let the night melt away with her problems and the storm, and they would be shielded and happy, together.

The nobleman held his secrets on his tongue. Feeling stronger; more understanding, more sincere; he credited it all to her. The world felt different beside her. Tasted of hope and joy all anew, and gave him his fortitude.

Essätha slid her arms timidly from around suitor and cleared her throat. An undeniable heat burned her face as she dropped her hands awkwardly at her side, standing a bit stiff.

“No lovebirds canoodling on the cart!”

“We aren’t on the cart!” she hissed, tossing a glare Adela’s way.

The tiefling shrugged, curling her tail around like a sly cat at play. She kept an impish smile even as she dragged her attention away from them, and stepped around to the back of the vehicle.

With a roll of her eyes, Essie turned around to brace her hands against the corner and side of the cart. A glance over the shoulder, and she spotted Amon taking Maestro’s lead. He spoke calmly to the mare as she braved the slide of swamp-like earth. Trudging on, the pair headed off the path and to the dense treeline.

“I’ll be back to help out once I’ve got Maestro tethered.”

“He’s just leaving all the hard work for us,” Rava accused.

“Between all of us, I think we can manage,” Sulhadur encouraged.

“When do we push?” Pri’cha squeaked, their tiny little hands resting to the bottom of the cart.

Essie smiled, speaking gently, “Pri’cha I don’t think you have to-”

“Push!”

Essätha let out a yelp as flecks of heavy mud flung up from feet and tires, and on her clothes. At least she wasn’t wearing anything worth much, but her lower lip pouted regardless. Her feet sank into the mud, and she shoved hard as she could.

The carriage slid and rocked around in the muck. To her astonishment, Pri was doing an exceptional job with four little arms at boosting the wagon around. Caesar seemed to be far from enjoying the ride however, panting heavily as he paced alone atop the cart. His tongue lolled. He maneuvered around, snuffling and trying to check anyone he could before he’d flatten himself out. Claws scrapping wood, whining as he was tossed about like cargo in a ship’s haul on a stormy night.

“Push!”

The wagon jolted and jumped up. The wheels unsticking from the mud, and rolling forward.

Aylin lost his balance, and face-planted in the mud. Sulhadur followed him, sinking to his knees as many of them went sliding gripping to the edge. Caesar let out a bellowing woof, and fell down before the cart came to a stop.

Still holding to the edge, Essätha shuddered with relief as it stilled. Her hand moved over her face, muffling her voice as she mumbled, “That could have gone smoother.”

“Not as smoothly as this is gonna be.”

A splash of boots carved through the mud. Looking up from where she leaned over the cart, tired and wet, Essätha looked upon the group of men approaching them. Of the bunch of them, two were armed with rapiers, one with a sword, two with bows, three with various sized axes and daggers in each hand, and the remaining dozen seemed to have nothing at all.

“Oh, hello there!” Abernathy greeted. “Are you stuck out in this deluge as well? Perhaps we could help push your cart-”

Barking with laughter, one of the men held up his arms, glowing with pinkish hues.

“We ain’t here for your help, old man,” they sneered. “We here for your charitable donation of all ya money.”

Thank the fates, their luck tonight had just gone from dreadful to disastrous.

“I don’t think so,” Essätha snarled, holding up her hands as plumes of a deep plum purple began to encircle her fingers. She tried to take a step forward and faltered as her boots stuck to the thick, wet ground.

Her eyes darted across the rest of her friends. Sul was struggling to get up from the ground and helping Aylin, and everyone else seemed to be having just as much difficulty standing or even plodding through the goop. Rava alone had her weapon ready. Adela was busy trying to scale up the side of the cart, hoping for a steady surface to work from.

Penimra began to spit out a series of words, and an arrow snapped off someone’s bow and pierced into his hand. He gave a sharp yelp as Pri’cha bounded awkwardly for him.

“Don’t look like you’re gonna have much of a choice now miss,” another sang, curling their green glowing digits in their direction. “Now how’s about you hand off the money, right quick.”

Snarling, Abernathy reached for his axe. He only slid it part of the way from the holster when the nearest man jumped at him; their blade piercing into his foot as he gave a pained shout.

Whispering a few words, Essie launched a series of magic projectiles upon the men standing in front. A mirage like a shield suddenly flickered across the ground, and her very same spell came hurtling back around towards her. She crashed back into the wagon wheel, gasping.

The fur along Caesar’s spine and neck rose despite being drenched. He bared his sharp canines as wrinkles formed upon his muzzle, placing a paw upon the cart’s edge before leaping off.

A spray of mud went flying in every direction. One of the archers raised their bow, aiming for the massive dog as he plowed through the slime.

The arrow missed, and his teeth clamped down upon the individual who stabbed Abe in the foot.

Shaking his leg with panic, the man yanked his weapon free of Abe’s boot as he screamed, “Someone get this fucking dog-”

A mighty roar tore through the last of the man’s words; drowning him out. The ground shook, and brush parted as a bulky mass of matted brown came thundering out from the trees.

“Fucking gods-”

The massive paws of the grizzly bear cut through the wet ground like a till. It snarled as an arrow skipped over its hide, but didn’t slow as it crashed into the closed person. Jaws parted to reveal the length of its teeth as it howled once more, and the beast came crashing down with both forepaws upon the man.

“Run you bloody fools, run!”

As the people began to scatter and run as hard as their feet would allow in the marshy dirt, the bear tossed back its head; victim still pinned beneath its claws. They struggled and squealed in the top note of their voice as the grizzly leaned down close to their face. A deep rumble in their chest, and intelligence gleaming off beady dark eyes.

Essätha watched as it raised its limbs, and made to lunge. Its haunches were not coiled to spring however; a half-hearted facade. It slid forward instead. Mud splashed up upon its underbelly as the cowering man took what he thought to be a streak of luck, and claws himself from beneath the beast with tears streaming down his face.

“Help me please, someone help me!”

The bear snorted, leaning down. Its teeth gripped upon the back of the man’s hood, and raised him up slowly as he cried out. It gave a shake of its head, tossing the man back and forth like a ragdoll before releasing him. They went rolling through the slick sludge, coated from head to toe in mud.

Smirking to herself, Essätha murmured a few words, curling her hand up into a clenched fist. A ghastly skeletal hand formed in the air before one of the men notching an arrow, and latched on to their bow to pull upon the weapon.

They dropped it in alarm, chasing after the others.

A braver soul charged the bear, their sword held in their hand even as they shook. The blade whistled in the air before the beast. It tracked the movement lazily as it stepped back, before raising a paw dripping wet to smack the blade from the man’s hand. It bellowed in their face, still raising its leg to show the large beans of its toes.

The man ripped free a dagger from their side, and threw it.

With a snarling rumble, the grizzly’s claws ripped through the front of the man’s clothes. Shreds of fabric tore away, and blood welted beneath the leather beneath their apparel. They sobbed with pain, back-peddaling as quick as their feet would allow them.

“I said run you morons!” someone screamed. “Leave the lost idiots to the creature!”

A final burst of magic light flashed through the sky; blinding. Essie winched, covering her face for a moment. As the starbursts faded in and out of her vision, she realized that the crowd of men appeared to be gone. Though their bickering could still be heard, rolling down the lane.

“What nonsense,” she muttered, watching as the dog galloped through the mud over to the enormous grizzly. It sniffed along its legs as it plodded on all fours through the mud. Grunting and whining, the flaps of its mouth moving as though it was speaking without words to understand.

Essätha marched through the oozey ground towards the grizzled creature. It circled around in her direction, panting and grumbling as she reached out to it.

“Oh m’lord look at you,” she scolded, lightly grasping upon the bear’s face. “You’re absolutely filthy. You’re going to smell of wet fur and hair. Caesar and you are going to be one in the same tonight, stinky.”

Wrinkling up its muzzle, the bear seemed to grin at her as though mocking.

“Don’t give me that look,” Essie reprimanded. “Looking so proud of yourself. ‘Well you’re going to stink like me later anyway’, I bet that’s what you’re saying. Who says I’m going to lay with you, anyway?”

Blinking its eyes, the bear exhaled roughly against her cheek. She wafted her hand before herself as the beast moved forward, resting its head over for shade from the rain as it breathed heavily.

“Dirty man,” she sighed. Her fingers ran along the side of the beast’s face. To its ears, against its chin and around the muzzle as it closed its eyes in contentment.

Caesar gave out a bark. She inclined her head, spotting the animal bent low against the animal’s belly where a stain of red colored fur and mud.

Her eyes narrowed. Leaning back, she tapped a finger against the bear’s dark leathery nose as it gruffed a few unpleasant sounds.

“Change back, so we might have a look,” she ordered, her face a mixture of worry and authority.

It sniffed loudly upon her fingers for a moment. The rough texture of its tongue ran against against them and she stuck out her own tongue with a short sound of unpleasantness. The bear’s saliva was sticky on her digits as she wiped them to her shirt, watching from her peripheals as the formidable animal began to shrink and reshape.

Eagerly, Caesar bounded around the bear as it changed into a man. He circled around them a few times as they tugged upon their fur-lined collar. They gave a wince, reaching down to the bloodied patch of his soiled clothes.

Essie reached out for him, lower lip trembling.

Lord Amon gingerly caught her hand, a soft smile on his face.

“I’ve got it, he reassured her softly, placing a hand against his chest. A brim of white-light coiled down his body, stitching along fresh patches of skin.

Grabbing the edge of his jerkin instead, she leaned in to kiss the underside of his chin.

“Be more careful.”

“I was. I can handle the bear.”

“I meant be more careful about not getting stabbed,” she muttered, trying to smooth out the wrinkles in his clothes. “I know you can handle the bear. I always knew.”

Amon grinned. An edge of wildness still in his black eyes, and hair in dispensary. He leaned in swiftly, pecking a kiss to her forehead.

“If you two would be so kind to quit snogging over there, we’d like to get out of the rain sometime tonight!” Penimra called out, hands on hip.

“Yes, an old feeble man like me could use some help with this cart,” Abe called out, pushing the squeaking wagon a few inches through the mud.

“Come on,” Amon snorted with amusement, placing an arm around her waist.

They trailed for the carriage, struggling not to slip the whole town as the rain came down with new force. Almost as if the gods themselves were laughing at their misfortune. And though the rain came, the group didn’t truly feel that unlucky, after all.

[debajanfeministuniverse-blog]

Driving while Cell-ibate

Hello! No, it’s not a hoax. It’s not an early April Fool’s prank. It may be an elaborate rouse designed to make us fork out even more money we don’t have to the government. But yes! Barbados’ newest road and traffic safety laws introducing a ban on cell phone use while driving is in effect. 

Lock up your iPhones in your glove compartments and throw your Samsungs out of the window (#iHoe). Barbadians are being stacked with as much as a BDS$2,000 dollar fine or term of imprisonment for up to 18 months (or both) if caught canoodling with their smart devices while drive-oodling.

Amongst the aforementioned prohibited canoodling, is driving with: 

your cellphone to your ear, 

your cellphone on speaker, 

or while using an earpiece or headset. 

Only conversations on cellphones connected to Bluetooth in a vehicle would be allowed.

Now, you might say “But there is nothing wrong with having an amendment prohibiting people from using their cell while driving.” 

You might even quote facts from the World Health Organization stating: “Drivers using mobile phones are approximately 4 times more likely to be involved in a crash than drivers not using a mobile phone. Using a phone while driving slows reaction times (notably braking reaction time, but also reaction to traffic signals), and makes it difficult to keep in the correct lane, and to keep the correct following distances.”

And you’d be right. I’m sure almost every driver, if given the space to be honest with themselves, can recall one “near miss” they knew was the fault of phone based distractions. After all smart phones are designed to be addictive and we are fallible creatures known to sometimes do things that are bad for us simply because it feels good or is convenient. With that said, there is nothing wrong with a government wanting to ensure their citizens safest practice by implementing protective legislation. 

Okay. So we want motorists to be safe while driving. I get that. Seems reasonable. But why is it that we always fall from a place of reason to a place of unconsidered, excessive policing real quick? 

You might’ve heard the outrage and asked yourself, what is this really all about? But the truth of it, is that Bajans are not upset because they can't use their cell phones while they are driving down Highway 2A. Nor are we even that upset that we can't do live videos in traffic (which is actually where a lot of our best social media gems come from) but we are upset because of the statements made by Royal Barbados Police Force, Assistant Superintendent, Roland Stanford who stated:

 “There have been a lot of queries about pulling off to the side of the road and using your cellphone. The law is pretty strict about that also because it says you are still actually driving as long as you are in control of the vehicle and the levers that cause movement of that vehicle. So the only way you are going to use your cell phone is if you are going to actually get out of the vehicle. But if you stay behind the wheel, technically speaking you are still driving.”

Well, I’m having difficulty dealing with the fact that I am now unable to operate a cell phone even when the car is turned off? SERIOUSLY? There is a point where common sense should step in, and we should be able to acknowledge that a car, in park, hand break up, engine off, and a person in the driver’s seat is not in fact a car being driven. 

This excessive flexing of police muscle feels like a violation as it not only heavily constrains our individual movements, but it puts us in harms way. Violence and crime is up in Barbados, and nobody is going to feel safe stepping out of their car to answer or make a phone call late at night on the roadways. I don’t care who you are. We shouldn’t be punished for wanting to keep ourselves safe.  Additionally, this amendment could be seen as particularly oppressive especially that now, if you are stopped by the police and you feel unsafe, you cannot legally film your interactions with them until you step out of your car.

And to those who think: “But these laws exist elsewhere what is the biggie” 

Well, there is a stark difference between our punitive action and those overseas. In New Hampshire, U.S first offenders are given between USD $100 -$250 fines, and repeat offenders receive a USD$500 fine or a 2 year suspension of your license. Compare that to what could be approximately a prison sentence or USD $1,000 fine for the same first offense. Feels excessive right? (And this is compared to America *tilts head and looks into the camera at the FBI agent assigned to me*)

So when we couple this new amendment with the bill calling to amend the Police Act pushing for the expansion of police power, we in Barbados feel like we can't do one shite. Meanwhile there is literal shite in our streets. Here’s to looking at you South Coast. (That you can’t film if you driving through now btw.)

And here’s a question: What about all those instances in which quick thinking drivers filmed speeding drivers, faults with the roadways, interactions with law enforcement (& or other drivers), and weather system impacts? Did they not have value to the RBPF even if their recording helped to locate offenders or impending danger?

And another thing: Will the police be hitting the tourists with their google maps as hard as they hit Bajans? 

Granted this whole bill will affect mostly people with the privilege of driving cars, but it is lenient to those who can afford the luxury of paying a fine or installing blue tooth equipment in their vehicles. Meaning that once again our judicial system upholds classist practices. So those driving their grandad’s 15 year old Nissan who cannot afford the equipment, or the fine, better park their cars, pop the trunk, take out the floor mats and throw their keys into a gully before calling their mudda to ask if she want you stop anywhere and get anything. 

Are we really to just let this regressive policing of the amendment run it’s course and allow our outrage to dissipate to compliance? 

What can we do? How do we resist? Effectively. 

I’ve heard murmurs of a demonstration that involves a mass pulling over on the road to prove a point, but I’ve also heard that it could be seen as a traffic obstruction and is against the law.

I’ve heard suggestions of switching seats from the drivers to the passenger side, but that surely exposes just how much of a fallacy “getting out of the car to prove it can’t be driven” is. 

Writing strongly worded letters to local MPs has been suggested but after it hits the trash can, what is our next step?

What else is there that we can do? Do petitions even work in Barbados? Do we just keep complaining loudly and hope that our displeasure reaches the ears of influence. I don’t know. 

I’m just a girl with some loud thoughts and a laptop. 

But I’m open to suggestions in the comment section below. 

[real-jane]

Mutual, I’m Sure

Who’s helping who? A Christmas Eve Gala at the Ministry has both Hermione and Draco wishing for distraction.

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Draco/Hermione

Rating: T (like two swear words and the rest is fluff)

Disclaimer: I own basically nothing, JKR owns all.

Follow on Ao3 HERE

“Let me go,” she seethed. “Or I’ll scream.”

He swayed them in time to the music, which was both tepid and swelling--at once rendering any true lover of music practically bereft for some good ole’ fashioned violin screeching--but everyone was dancing to the ruckus, and she was liable to leap in Ron Weasley’s direction if he so much as growled at her. His grip on her wrist tightened.

“Would you pretend to have an ounce of civility,” he whispered through clenched teeth. “I love a bloodbath as much as the next wizard, but thatthing is not worth your energy.” For good measure, his fingers curled into the fabric at the base of her spine. Hermione seemed to calm and allow him to lead… but it didn’t stop her from huffing angrily in his ear.

“Draco, I don’t have time for your jokes--”

“Oh, would you rather I allow you to decapitate the man?” he asked lightly. He pulled back just enough to look down at his captive for a moment. She merely glared over his shoulder. Her well-manicured nails dug into the back of his hand. He twirled them in time to a particularly resonant tuba blast so he could observe the offending man.

Lavender Brown stood beside one Ronald Weasley, who was repeatedly glancing in their direction and whispering furiously to his compatriot. “He’s furious that you’re dancing with me,” Draco surmised softly. He adjusted his posture to bring Hermione’s cheek closer to his own. “My, my…” he chuckled. Ron had accidentally made eye contact with him and turned away abruptly, while Lavender tried to comfort him with a tiny hand on his arm. Ron shrugged her away. Lavender’s eyes shone with tears but she merely turned back to watch the dancers. “Just refused comfort from his new witch, even. He’s absolutely chartreuse with envy.”

“I don’t believe you,” Hermione whispered, though her death grip on his hand lessened. Draco spun them around once again so she could observe the scene for herself.

From his vantage point, Draco could see a host of other reasons to want to flee the wretched Christmas-infested gala, namely the presence of his own former fling on the arm of a certain Boy-Who-Lived. He winced as Hermione’s spiked heel tread on his instep.

“That bloody hurt,” he whispered. She glanced up at him for the first time since he had pulled her into the dance and furrowed her eyebrows.

“Sorry,” she said. She tugged on his shoulder expectantly and he got the message. He spun them around once again--this time, being oh so blessed by the sight of Ron snogging the lips off of his poor date.

“Is he trying to take her soul?”

“More like he’s extracting her tonsils,” Hermione said breathily, trying her damndest not to laugh. Draco raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know if he realizes that Doctors can do that now.”

“Maybe he’s a Dementor-in-training,” she suggested. There was marked note of amusement in her voice. Draco flexed his fingers as he tried very hard not to shake with laughter. Hermione quickly relaxed her hand in his and extended her own fingers. “Sorry--didn’t realize I was squeezing the shit out of your hand.”

“I didn’t notice,” he said with a shrug.

The band finally finished the infernal waltz with an unceremonious WOMP and a tepid wave of applause spread amongst the dancers. Draco released his partner and bowed to her slightly--and spied a particularly livid Weasley over her shoulder. He looked hell-bent on giving Hermione a piece of his mind, so much so that he downed a proffered shot of firewhiskey from a startled server and clenched his fists.

Draco stepped into her bubble once again and Hermione held up her hands in surprise. He grasped them and tugged her backwards, deeper into the crowd. She tried to tug her hands free. “Weasley is just itching to get your attention,” he warned. “At least let me extract you from that inevitability for one more dance.”

“And what do you get out of it?” Hermione asked expectantly, though she let her hands fall into his once again. Draco looked down for a moment and shook his head once.

“Why don’t you take this dance as your opportunity to suss out my motives, eh?” he asked. Ron had already tried maneuvering through several couples but the band had struck up a furious polka and he was battered left and right by elbows. He twirled them so Hermione could see that he wasn’t lying about Weasley, and then again, so she could see beyond him into the rest of the ballroom. In his brief time facing her direction, Pansy had stroked Harry Potter’s chest no less than three times. Draco didn’t want to be with her, he didn’t want her attention, but he sure as Salazar didn’t want to see her canoodling with the Ministry’s Golden Boy--especially now that he was the top candidate for Minister of Magic. If their dalliance continued, he’d have to see Pansy’s face in his morning paper, and seeing her again would become routine. A routine that had previously ended, tragically, in a bruised ego and a hardened heart.

“You’re falling asleep on me,” Hermione whispered. “I think we’re supposed to be more… wild during this dance.” She nodded to a few couples nearby, who were a mess of flailing limbs.

Draco chuckled. “I don’t know if I have a truly wild polka in me.”

“I would pay several galleons to see it, however.”

“Or,” he said with a gentle smile, “we could seek out the bar.”

“How many firewhiskeys does it take to coax a wild polka out of you?” Hermione asked with a laugh.

“Roughly seven,” he grinned, “and I prefer mead.”

He gestured to the opposite end of the room, where the bar and buffet lay, beckoning, and conveniently a good distance from both Weasley and Pansy. Hermione nodded and dropped her arms. Draco looped her arm through his and pulled her in the direction of the alcohol. Many, many, many heads turned to watch them walking together through the crowd, as if they had been invisible while dancing--or as if somehow their history and the Malfoy family’s former purity quest somehow just got drowned out by bad music--but now a reel of their mistakes played over their heads as if to say we know what you are.

By the time they reached the bar, Hermione was clutching to his sleeve for dear life, and it was only then that he got a good look at her. She looked absolutely flustered, but her hair was perfectly tamed into long, languid waves. Black was certainly fetching on most, but on her it was forbiddingly elegant. Somehow the fabric was enchanted to sparkle like distant starlight; whether it was layered or just charmed, he couldn’t be sure. The bodice clung in a corseted wrap style around her torso, while the skirt graced her hips and then swirled around her toes. It was an excellent choice. Draco saw her so frequently at work that he felt he could’ve anticipated any choice she had made for a gown, save this one. Suddenly, he couldn’t recall a single other article of clothing that she had ever worn. It was this, this forever.

Hermione blushed under his gaze but she didn’t dare shake him from his reverie. Instead, she ordered for them both--an obscure elven wine for herself, and a mead for him. His hair was still that same recognizable faint blond, but it was carefully coiffed as to be both slicked back and somewhat tousled. Both effortless and calculated. Either way, it suited him. It made his cheekbones stand out ever-sharper, but his face had filled out with muscle since they were teens. So had the rest of him, by the looks of it. Nevermind that she saw him every day--their divisions were close and it meant sharing frequent niceties. She hadn’t noticed him grow up, really.

“Draco,” she whispered, tugging on the cuff of his jacket. He grasped her hand and shook out of his Granger-induced trance, only to follow her gaze. Pansy was making her way over with Potter. Smiling.

“ Fuck ,” he breathed. He breathed out heavily and took a large swig of his mead as soon as she offered it. Hermione released his hand. His heart dropped as she sidled between him and the bar and disappeared into the crowd. Bloody hell. He greeted Potter with a nod and offered the woman on his arm merely a glance.

“Malfoy!” Potter said warmly, clasping him on the arm. “Where’d Hermione run off to?”

“Oh hush,” Pansy giggled. “Surely she just ran off to the lady’s room or some such place, but it isn’t polite to inquire about another man’s date.” She was dripping in red satin, which paired rather oddly against Potter’s blue-green robes. They didn’t look well together at all.

What the hell are you on about now, Parkinson, Draco thought. “Congrats on the nomination,” Draco said to Harry. “Sure you’ll win.”

“Thanks, mate,” Harry said. He held out his hand for Draco to shake, which made Draco wonder just how many hands the Golden Boy had already shaken on his tour of diplomacy. He was universally loved. People would vote for him. He was a shoe-in. Draco shook his hand firmly. “I hope I’ll do some good.” Harry shrugged. Affable. Easy-going. Aloof--no wonder the public ate him up. Draco vomited internally. Oh, he liked Potter just fine as a colleague, but couldn't stomach politicians. Of any sort.

“What is she doing?” Pansy cackled, pointing to the dance floor. Draco turned. Hermione was dodging through couples, pursued by an apoplectic Ron, whose flailing had nothing to do with the music. She was inclining her head to look above people’s heads. When she caught Draco’s eye, she paled and rolled her eyes, darting sharply to her left and towards the massive and gaudy Christmas tree.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. He downed his mead, straightened his sleeves, and strode towards the tree himself, parallel to Granger’s flight path. Lucky for him, his legs were longer than hers, so he beat her by enough steps to formulate a small… plan, so to speak. As soon as she burst through the crowd, he caught her with a chuckle and swung her around in his arms.

“Darling, you simply must let me guess!” he announced joyously. His arms were around her waist and she couldn’t touch the ground. She looked at him like he was insane. “Oh, fine… is it… that train set you know I’ve always wanted?” He baited the hook and raised an eyebrow. Understanding washed over her face, but she said nothing, merely shaking her head.

“It’s not the train… hmmm… it must be the lunar grandfather clock we saw in that antique shop that time!” He slowly lowered her to the ground but his hands remained on her waist. Hermione’s hands settled on his lapel and he realized she couldn’t speak--she was breathing too hard from running away. Ron had caught up to them, but he, too, was panting… though red was a decidedly unflattering tone on him when paired with a jealous complexion. Draco motioned for her not to speak.

“If you insist on keeping it a secret then I’ll just have to keep guessing!” he said with a grin. Hermione shrugged and smiled innocently. Draco simply hugged her close and laughed, a warm and hearty sound, which wrapped Hermione in an aura of wistful loveliness… until she remembered the red-haired man glaring at them.

“What is going on here?” Ron managed, finally. Hermione tapped Draco’s shoulder and he released her, though she kept a grip on his elbow.

“I couldn’t possibly begin to guess what you mean,” she said. Her tone belied a heavy note of sarcasm and yet, a tinge of innocence.

“Darling, I’m not the only one who wants to know,” Draco said with glee.

“Wants to know what?” Ron asked.

“What she got me for Christmas!”

“I--I don’t want to speak to y-you, Malfoy,” Ron spat.

“You asked , my man!” Draco smirked. “I have been trying to convince Hermione to tell me all evening, but she’s simply too good at keeping secrets.”

“Clearly. ‘Mione, I can’t believe you’re here with him , after everything--”

“Don’t blame her, I have been pestering her about the Christmas Eve Gala every single day,” Draco said. “She merely accepted out of pity, I think, but she’s just too nice to tell me. She probably didn’t get my anything for Christmas and she’s just trying to put me off! Really, Hermione, if this isn’t going to work out, you should just let me down easy.”

“Well, ‘Mione? What have you got to say for yourself?” Ron asked, arms crossed.

Draco looked down at her, waiting for some kind of signal to continue his incessant charade. She merely bit her lip and shook her head. Draco held up his hand to elaborate on the scenario he had concocted but Hermione grabbed his hand and lowered it gently.

“It might spoil everything if I tell him,” she said softly. Soft enough that both Ron and Draco sobered.

“Tell me what?” The two men asked in unison. Hermione blushed under their gazes and realized that the entire hall had turned to watch the floor show. She stepped away from Draco and took him in--all six-foot-two of him. Every single day, since he started at the Ministry, he said something kind to her in passing. Even if she was just taking a note to Harry or passing by for the vending machine. Good day, Hermione! I really appreciate your decision on that owl case. Excellent work. And so on. Genuine, true compliments that left her wondering how he had made such a transformation. Just one year of working with the Ministry and he’d more than earned his stripes. He had kind eyes, too. Watery grey pools with a warm, golden center around the iris. He even ate lunch with her and Harry in the lounge. It had become a regular thing. Harry had been distant lately, with his campaign, but Draco hadn’t stopped showing up.

He was a breath of fresh air and probably the one reason she wasn’t sitting in the ladies room, crying her eyes out at the sight of her ex-husband snogging his new girlfriend… well, old girlfriend. They’d apparently been together throughout the entire marriage. Hermione was none the wiser. Dancing with Draco was the most fun she had had in ages, even if it was all a ruse to help her.

She glanced at Ron, who might as well have had steam coming out of his ears. Enough , she thought.

“It’s about time I was going,” she said softly. Draco nodded once and gave her that signature cockeyed smirk. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. His work was done, she was going, that was that.

Hermione gave Ron a hard look. “Please refrain from approaching me in public from now on,” she said in a low whisper. “It’s tacky. And pointless. And I couldn’t care less what you think.” She brushed past him without another word, but she cast one last look back at Draco. Who was checking his watch.

“Bored with her already?” Ron ground out.

“When will you ever learn, Weasley?” Draco straightened his tie, cufflinks, and smoothed the front of his jacket. “A woman like that? I have made that mistake before. I can’t just let her walk away.”

Draco watched Hermione ascend the steps of the grand ballroom and disappear out of sight, but he wasn’t about to let her get far. As he shouldered past the offending man, Ron grabbed his arm in a vice grip. “She didn’t tell you what she did to her parents, then,” Ron spat.

“Mate, I have had lunch with her every single day for the last year. At this point, I know things about her that you’ll never begin to understand.” Draco wrenched his arm out of Ron’s grip and shook out his sleeve. “And I care about her.”

“Hermione doesn’t know what she wants, and she definitely doesn’t want you --”

Draco grabbed Ron by the collar and smirked. “I spent the entire evening trying to keep her from seeing you making a spectacle of yourself, Weasley. She’s moved on. She’s trying. So I’ll thank you to leave her name out of your mouth.” He gave Ron a little shove and released him.

“She moved on to you , then?” Ron asked in disbelief.

“Is it so hard for you to believe that she might be happy alone?” Draco said.

“Draco Malfoy! You can’t resist a public spectacle, can you?” Pansy’s voice pierced through his resolve and Draco turned on her. Potter skirted around him and went to sort out Ron, which looked more like holding Ron back and chastising him quietly.

“As for you,” he seethed at Pansy. “You’re riding the coattails of our national hero--you might even wind up being our Minister’s wife--but you just seem to be obsessed with me. Really, Pansy, it’s embarrassing!” Draco couldn’t help but laugh at the relief of being able to say something to her, even if that only scratched the surface of his grievances. “Really, you two--” he gestured between Pansy and Ron, “--would be bloody perfect for each other.”

He pushed past them and strode through the opening in the crowd that parted quickly. All he wanted to do was have one nice night where his past didn’t get dredged up by an old grudge. He wanted to just dance and not care about making people jealous--he wanted to spend his time with people who actually mattered.

Hermione sat in the foyer of the Ministry, beneath the vast black tiles and busts of famous magical folk, just taking in all of the twinkling lights that had been arranged for the holidays. It was sparkly, true, but the more one stared, the more lights seemed to appear, just hanging there below the magnificent ceiling. It reminded her so much of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but it wasn’t quite as exciting as a freak thunderstorm charm gone awry, or, say, as Draco Malfoy sprinting full speed down the long tile hallway in her direction. Hermione blushed. She stood as he approached and Draco reached out a hand for her to wait, so he could catch his breath.

“Did you run the whole way?” she laughed.

“Whole way,” he confirmed with a gasp. “No reason, though, just like running.”

“Oh, well, if there’s no reason, then I’ll just go--”

Draco grabbed her hand to stop her. “Ha. Funny. Gimme a second.” He sat on the bench that she had previously occupied and ran a hand through his hair. Despite his fast pace, it had hardly budged from it’s perfect coif. Hermione chose to sit beside him in silence. His breathing settled. Her nerves kicked into high gear.

“So… you ran,” she said.

“ You waited.” He raised an eyebrow at her. She looked away and her cheeks were pink.

“How about a less… fraught topic, for now?” Draco suggested. Hermione laughed nervously.

“Yes please.”

“All right. Why were you so shaken up about the Weasel?” he asked, placing a hand over hers. “You’ve never told me about what happened.”

“That would be because you put a moratorium on talking about our love lives!”

“So let’s talk about it now,” Draco said. He squeezed her hand.

She looked up at him. “ That question is supposed to be less fraught?” Draco looked away innocently and shrugged. She sighed. “He couldn’t fathom why I don’t want children,” she said softly. “But after I had to Obliviate my parents, I just… couldn’t stand the thought of them not being able to know my future children. And in Ron’s fantasy dream house, there are at least five babies, if not more. So, he mailed the divorce papers to my office, had my belongings packed up while I was at work, and erased me from his fantasy.”

Draco seemed to digest this solemnly. He squeezed her hand again.

“It’s all right for him now; Lavender wants loads of kids, and she’s really a fantastic woman--”

“But he’s still obsessed with you,” Draco finished. Hermione shrugged.

“I suppose so. He only sees me at functions like this, so he… makes the most of it, shall we say?”

Draco nodded. She pulled her thin wrap tighter around her shoulders. He shrugged out of his black velvet coat and offered it. “Oh, no thank you--”

“Don’t be stupid, Granger. You’re vibrating.” He helped her put her arms through the sleeves and when he was satisfied, he took her wrap and tied it around his neck like a cravat… mostly to make her smile, but also because he thought it a very fine silk and on par with his own taste in neckwear.

“That’s a look,” she laughed.

“Two neckties is all the rage in Paris this season,” he said with a particularly aristocratic air, but his smirk gave him away and she couldn’t help but beam at him. Eventually, the smile settled into a determined pout.

“Are you going to tell me about Pansy?” she asked.

“Is that your way of asking if I want to talk about five years in a Hellscape? Because I don’t,” he said gently. “She likes to pick at me, now that we’re done. Makes her feel powerful. That’s all there is to know.”

“Merlin knows what Harry sees in her,” Hermione sighed.

Draco shook his head. “That’s just it. I do know what he sees. She’s brilliant--mental, unhinged, potentially evil, and definitely knows how beautiful she is--but smart as a whip. She will keep him on his toes. Can I stop talking about her now?”

“Be my guest.”

“Thank you kindly.”

“You’re welcome… congenially.” Hermione struggled for a better word but found none and shrugged. Draco stood and looked up at the same lights with which Hermione had been entranced.

“Why did you stay in the foyer instead of just going home?” he asked, back still to her.

“Why did you run after me?” she countered.

“For your scarf,” he teased, fingering the homemade cravat at his neck. Hermione slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow and found his hand. He clasped it. He looked down at her. “Do you want to go grab some dinner?” he asked. “It’s only seven, and you cannot waste that dress.”

“Do you like it?” she asked with glee. “I worked with Madam Malkin for weeks .”

“Ten out of ten. Dinner?”

“That feels… I don’t know…” She hesitated.

“Too personal?”

“No.” She looked at their entwined fingers. “Logical.”

Draco sputtered. “ Logical ? How do you figure?”

“Well, I have lunch with you every single day, it’s only logical that we make it dinner, too,” she said, smiling.

“I see,” he replied, squeezing her hand. “Besides, you did have a crazy ginger chasing you around that party, I’m sure you’ve worked up an appetite!”

“Please let’s not talk about Ron anymore,” she said, exasperated.

“Like, ever?”

“Never again. Ever. Even if he... becomes Minister of Magic instead of Harry.”

“Even if he invents the cure for cancer and ends world hunger and invents a new type of self-cleaning Quidditch uniform,” Draco suggested.

“Even if that were the case, yes,” Hermione laughed. “Dinner? Where to?”

“How about… I cook for you. At my flat,” he said. “I’m above average, no Michelin stars yet, but I have a sous chef position open right this second, and it’s the only decent place to get a reservation on Christmas Eve.” He took her hands between his own.

“I know my way around a cutting board.”

“You’re hired. You start tonight. Your uniform is this dress and that smile, and let’s get the hell out of here,” Draco said, pulling Hermione into a hug. Hermione pushed back a little bit, to look up at him. “What?”

“Like a fine wine, Malfoy,” she said softly. She leaned up and pressed her lips to his. He hauled her against him, both arms around her waist, and spun her around until she cackled with glee. He held her for what felt like ages, face buried against her neck, absorbing the honest happy moment. Like he was charging up his batteries, or some such thing.

“Good thing I ran,” he whispered.

Woot! Thanks for reading! Just pure fluff.

[le-sejour]

He Said, She Said

Words: 4,356

Pairing: Alexander x Reader

World: Modern/College AU

Warnings: Cursing, drunken canoodling, TJeffs (he’s a warning all on his own), mentions of slut-shaming?, dabbing, p e g g y

Fic Request:  “Hi! Could you write about a jealous reader watching Alexander flirt? Thank you~”

A/N: So. I took this request and ran with it all the way around the world, twice. This turned out way longer and more serious than I anticipated, and contained a lot more angst than I originally planned. Woops. But aaaaaaa first request! 

I really hope this was to your liking, anon! c: 

“I’m too sober for this.”

John, your dear freckled friend, watched you knowingly from his seat beside you. You’ve been nursing your fourth glass of bourbon for a while now, your eyes trying not to stray to a particular figure on the dance floor.

“Well, you haven’t exactly been drinking since your third glass…” He reminded you, an amused lilt to his words. You scowled. The smug bastard may be your closest friend but right now you wanted to punch the smirk off his face.

“Smartass.” Finally, you took a small sip from your glass.

“Thanks, my ass graduated with Latin honors.”

Your face contorted with a mix of confusion and amusement. “What the hell, Laurens?”

“Just trying to cheer you up, babe.” He winked at you before an understanding smile spread across his face. You smiled back weakly. God, was this man an angel amongst mortals.

The only other member of your pity party had already downed his second beer for the night, and was now casually fiddling with the peanuts in front of him while you poured your soul out. You looked down into your drink for the nth time that night.

You felt bad, really you did. You, the boys, and the Schuylers had all agreed to go out tonight to unwind from the hell that was finals week, but all you were doing was wallowing in your own grievances. Now you somehow managed to suck one of them into your sphere of sorrows.

“You don’t have to,” You murmured, swirling your drink around. “You should go have fun tonight; land a hot lay or, I don’t know, get shit faced drunk. Maybe buy another turtle.”

Your eyes strayed to the dance floor, glossing over ever so slightly as you watched your friend chatting up yet another girl who looked way too happy at the attention. You gripped your glass tighter, your knuckles turning white at the pressure. Don’t cry, [Name]. Deep breaths.

“Just do something, anything instead of listening to my sob story.”

John opened his mouth to say something, probably to refute your statement, but was cut off by the one person you really wanted to avoid tonight.

“Hey, bartender! An appletini for this beautiful lady. On me.”

Just your luck. Just your dumb fucking luck.

You swallowed an enraged sob that tickled your throat as Alexander leaned across the bar space beside you; his newest, extremely giggly conquest hanging off of him and playing with his hair.

He had leaned down to whisper something in the brunette’s ear, but due to how inebriated he was, you heard it loud and clear.

“And perhaps have the beautiful lady on me?”

The slurred speech was promptly cut off by his companion pulling him into a deep kiss.

Unbelievable.

Your eyes quickly filled with unshed tears as you slammed a few bills on the shiny, redwood bar top, your cheeks red with indignance. Without waiting for John’s reaction, you picked up your glass and downed the contents in one gulp before making your way outside.

Across the room, the Schuyler sisters were dancing in a small circle with their partners; Angelica was swaying to the beat with Lafayette, the two of them in some sort of conversation, and Eliza was shyly following Maria’s lead as they danced together. Peggy had been performing a variety of iconic (and ironic) dance moves that made Hercules double over laughing.

When you finally made it to the door, the youngest Schuyler paused in her movements. Her brows knitted in concern, thinking you probably had too much to drink as you’ve been at the bar since you arrived. But as her eyes landed on John scrambling to pay for his drinks and Alexander sucking face with some rando, the gears in her mind clicked into place.

Oh no.

“Liza, Angie,” Peggy called out to the other two, her voice laced with concern.  Maybe this outing was a mistake. Her sisters, however, were still caught up in their own bubbles, completely oblivious to what was happening around them.

She rolled her eyes, turning to her own partner instead, “[Name] just left the bar. Alone.”

“What?” Now, despite his intimidating and hulking appearance, Hercules Mulligan had quite the soft spot for you and the Schuylers. He had always treated the four of you like his sisters; looking out for you more, and getting overly protective. “Stay here and tell the others. I’ll go after her.”

Peggy wanted to come with, but ultimately knew the Irishman could handle things better than her. She’d probably suggest clocking Alexander square in the nose anyway. Still, she felt her heart ache for you, unable to imagine what was going on in your mind right now.

You leaned against the nearest lamppost, the cold metal contrasting heavily with your overheated body.

This day was a disaster.

“I should have stayed home,” You mumbled angrily to yourself, tears trailing down your cheeks. “This was a mistake. That party was a mistake. Alex was a goddamned mistake.”

Shaky inhale.

“God, I’m so stupid.”

“We both know that’s not true, [Name].”

You sniffled miserably, slumping to the ground, “I let him lead me on, Herc… I let him kiss me, and make me feel things and-and-!”

Strong, bulky arms wrapped around your shivering body as you let out the sobs you’ve held in for so long.

“I don’t understand! He-He kissed me that night! He showed me he was interested! We made plans for a date before he completely cut me off…” The utter defeat and hurt lacing your voice caused Herc to tighten his grip around you. He tried not to get mad at his friend, knowing he must stay a neutral party for both of your sakes. But what the hell did Alex do?

Moments later, the door to the bar opened to reveal Eliza and Lafayette, the former obviously worried while the latter seemed to be a lot more collected. They made their way over to you, Eliza brushing your hair back behind your ear.

“What’s wrong, [Name]?” You couldn’t help the fresh wave of tears pouring from your eyes as the gentle tone reminded you so much of your mother, and the gesture reminding you so much of Alexander.

“Please tell us what’s wrong, chérie.” Lafayette knelt to level with you, his expression calm but his eyes glazed over in worry. You appreciated how he was always the voice of reason, the rational thoughts to your weepy emotions. He always seemed to be the level-headed one in tense situations, even when other people were running around like headless chickens.

“We have noticed you and le petit lion at odds lately. We have all just brushed it off as how you say.. hellweek stress? But clearly, it is something more.”

“I…” Your breath hitched, lips hesitating to form the words. Eliza nodded encouragingly at you, her hands clasping your own. You kept your eyes trained on hers, her gaze calming you enough to continue. “It was during the sem-ender party. The Debate Society was having it before finals, you know? Because most of the members would be leaving as soon as… as soon as finals ended, and they wanted to distress everyone before final reqs…”

Loud music reverberated throughout the hallways, sometimes shaking a few pictures when the bass drops. You brought your red solo cup to your lips, gulping down the last of whatever concoction your host had put together. It probably contained enough alcohol to knock you out in a few minutes, but hey, it tasted deceivingly like lemonade.

You placed the cup on the protruding window sill, a sigh escaping your painted lips.

It had been a while since you found yourself on the driveway of your teammate’s house, the chilly autumn air raising goosebumps along your arms. The living room had gotten a little too warm and stuffy for you, where, incidentally, most of the party was happening. You turned back to peek through the window, vaguely seeing someone being lifted up by one of your clubmates.

This wasn’t really your scene. Sure, you didn’t turn your nose up at a drink here and there, but you weren’t really that well assimilated with the other members of the Society. You were only here at the insistence of Angelica and Alexander. They, mostly Angelica, had insisted you deserved a little break for the wins you’ve landed this year.

But, you only agreed because of the look Alexander shot you. He seemed genuinely interested in going, so you acquiesced. God knows Alexander needed the break more than you did, and it totally wasn’t because he caused your heart rate to speed up tenfold with just a look.

“Aha! There you are.”

A smile broke through your lips, turning to face the very reason you agreed to this in the first place. He looked a little ruffled, his hair mussed up, his clothes and glasses askew.

You wolf whistled, “Wild night?”

Alexander flushed, his hands going everywhere to try and fix his appearance as quickly as possible, “You left me for dead at the mercy of our ‘friends’! They had Jefferson manhandle me!”

You laughed, your brain quickly connecting the dots from that little scene you saw through the window.

“Ohh, so it was you I saw being held up like a little pup.”

“[Na~ame].” You felt your cheeks getting redder than it already was, finding it cute how he whined your name like that. You only ever saw him this way when his system was shot with alcohol. Normally, he’d be barking angry tirades of how Jefferson was pulling a Julius Caesar to get what he wants and would be better off muzzled, lest he rip the very fabric of your Society to shreds.

“I was just getting some air, Alexander. It was getting a little crowded in there,” You answered after a while of silence, your eyes still trained towards the street. Sensing his suddenly sobering aura, you smiled mischievously, “Thomas’ ego took up half the living room.”

“[Name],” Your smile dropped to a reassuring one. You knew what that tone meant. And while the concern wasn’t unwelcomed, you’d rather he didn’t worry about you on the night both of you were supposed to be relaxing.

“I’m fine, Alexander.”

You felt his fingers brushing the side of your cheek, leaving flames burning in its wake. He had tucked a few loose locks of hair behind your ear before cupping the side of your face, a gesture that made your breath stall. His eyes bore into your own when you finally turned to face him.

His face was close.

You raised a hand to rest against his own, your head leaning into his hold despite yourself.

“You should have come to me, [Name].” He whispered, his thumb stroking your cheek lightly. He had leaned his forehead against your own. “I know what this feels like… We’re in the same spot.”

Your heart threatened to jump out of your chest with how fast it was beating. You tried desperately to calm yourself, willing your breath to go from quick and shallow to slow and deep. This was a side you’ve never seen from him before. He was never this gentle, this intimate. Alexander was an outspoken, hard-headed, loud young man who did everything he could to be seen as someone worth listening to. He was constantly on this uphill climb, he never seemed to have time to slow down or take a break.

But Lord, he smelled so good up close, even when his breath smelled like fruity alcohol. Your lips parted slightly, your pupils blown out in desire.

He was so close.

“Alexander…” You breathed, your eyes closing on their own accord. “What are you doing…?”

“Something I should have done a long time ago.”

He closed the gap between you.

Sparks and tingles ran across your body, overwhelming your systems so much you accidentally let out a soft moan. You pulled away, blushing, stuttering your attempt to apologize. But Alexander had just pulled you back in for another kiss.

Angelica stared at the slowly sobering man in front of her, her gaze hard and unreadable. Alexander sat in front of the eldest Schuyler and Peggy, Maria and John on either side of him, while his little friend nowhere to be found.

“So you decided to be a dick and hook up with Chuckles over there because?” The youngest Schuyler, unlike her sister, was completely readable after the story he just divulged to them. “Seriously, Alex. None of us here gets it. You kiss the girl of your dreams, she doesn’t smack you straight to next week, and then you drop her like a hot potato? What gives?”

The man in question mumbles his response, his eyes dropped to the table as he shifts in his seat.

“What?” John stared at him in disbelief, Maria quirking an eyebrow at what she heard.

“What ‘what’? What did he say?” Peggy looked back and forth between the two, not having heard what was said.

“I said she hooked up with Jefferson.”

Alexander was on cloud nine.

He was practically floating down the halls of the men’s dorm a few days since the party. He may have gotten a bunch of crass and teasing remarks but for once, he didn’t dignify any of them with a response. Why?

Because! You reciprocated his feelings!

He let a goofy smile take over his lips, thoughts of you occupying his mind. You even agreed to go on a date this weekend! He was going to make sure everything was perfect for you. He was even going as far as to enlist the help of James Madison and Aaron Burr. He could try to put their differences aside just this once since they both grew up with you, and most likely knew things neither he nor the others in your little squad knew about.

He rounded the corner to his dorm before he felt the world screech to a halt, his heart plummeting to his feet.

There you were. As beautiful and mesmerizing as always.

Emerging from Jefferson’s dorm room.

“Thanks for the book, T.” You were smiling that bright, sunny smile you always had. As if you didn’t just walk out of his mortal enemy’s room with said enemy half naked. “And, look, I know I was stubborn and gave you shit for it at first, but thanks for last night too. I didn’t know how much I needed that.”

He couldn’t believe his ears.

You- with- But why! He felt so much rage and confusion filling him; he didn’t even notice his sight blurring or the wetness on his cheeks. He wanted to call out to you, demand why in the world you were in that man’s room. But you had your back to him.

Jefferson, however, saw him. And the smirk he threw him had him seeing red.

“No problem, doll,” He heard the Virginian fuckwad drawl out, his hand coming up to brush a lock of your hair behind your ear; reminiscent of how he did that to you just a few days ago. “It was my pleasure. Perhaps we could do it again sometime?”

“Sure, why not?” He heard you answer as you slung your bag over your shoulder. “You’re surprisingly good at what you do, Thomas. I guess I’m lucky you found me when you did, because I probably wouldn’t have finished if it weren’t for you.”

The smug look on Thomas Jefferson’s face had him walking up to you, ready to beat the ever living hell out of him, but your next words stopped him in his tracks.

“And, look, while I do appreciate your help, can you keep this from Alex? He’d flip out if he knew, and I really don’t want to end a relationship before it even started.”

“Oh, trust me darlin’. He won’t hear it from me.”

“Wait, what??”

You had already calmed down enough for Herc to let you stand on your own, but Eliza still had your hand in hers. Lafayette looked troubled.

“Yeah, exactly,” You whispered, your heart still caught in your throat. “Yeah, he… I didn’t think of it anything at first, but the week after the party, I barely saw him. It’s like he suddenly fell off the face of the earth. We made plans to have lunch together, and have study dates, but he just… I thought he was busy!”

A frown pulled at your lips as you exited your last class for the day, ready to just bury your face in bed. You anxiously checked your phone, wondering if Alexander finally had the time to talk to you.

No notifications.

You tried to reassure yourself as you put away your phone. He was probably just really busy. You and the rest of your group knew how Alex could be during finals week. That man was non-stop. You smiled to yourself at the thought before getting a brilliant idea; maybe you could get him to de-stress with you! You’ll get all his favorite snacks and just have an afternoon to yourselves.

You were making your way through the little forested area on the way to grab stuff from your dorm when you heard noises just off the path. Thinking it might have been one of the campus cats, you ventured to check it out.

Boy, you wished you hadn’t.

Your throat ran dry as your eyes started to water.

There was the man you had fallen for since your first year, engaged in a furious make out session with a blonde haired stranger.

You’ve never ran as fast as you had that day.

“Congratulations.”

Everyone at the table stared at Angelica with apprehension. She hasn’t given her thoughts on the matter the whole night, so now that she chose to open her mouth, everyone knew not to get in the way. Maria, however, seemed to let a little smirk slip as she bowed her head. Alexander visibly flinched, knowing whatever she was going to say, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“You’ve invented a new kind of stupid.” She started, her voice level and soft, betraying the actual emotions behind her words. But she just went increasingly biting from there. “A ‘damage you can never undo’ kind of stupid. An ‘open all the cages in the zoo’ kind of stupid.”

The rest of the table stayed quiet, knowing the wrath of Angelica was about to be released. “’Truly, you didn’t think this through’ kind of stupid. Let’s review:”

“Maybe I should have seen this coming…”

The look Eliza gave you made you feel like you just offended her great ancestors and kicked her puppy. You gave a weak laugh.

“Alexander’s always looking to rise above his station. He has big dreams for himself, and I guess he realized I would be pinning him down.” You explained, wringing your hands. Hercules frowned, opening his mouth to rebut that statement but you cut him off.

“We all know he’ll never be satisfied with this kind of life; uncertainty and loans always looming above us. I should just come to terms with it. It wouldn’t have worked out well, anyway.”

“Non, ma chérie, that is not the case.” Lafayette’s voice finally reached your ears for the second time this night, his concerned expression softening to a more comforting one. “That is not the Alexander we know. He is not as shallow as to kiss you and then how you say ‘hook up’ with another femme. There must be something bothering him.”

“Whatever it is, it’s not a reason to ditch [Name] with another woman, Laf. If something was bothering him, he should’ve just talked to [Name] about it.” Hercules crossed his arms, shaking his head in disapproval.  

“Oui, I understand this. I, myself, cannot wrap my head around why Alex would have done what he did, and I know nothing he says would make it excusable. However, the only way to know why he is giving our petite chou the freezing shoulder-“

At this, you couldn’t help the small laugh that left your lips, “It’s cold, Gilbert. Cold shoulder.”

“Ah- Oui, oui, desolée,” The sides of the Frenchman’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, finally glad to see some semblance of the you they’ve come to love resurface. “The cold shoulder. The only way to know why he is giving [Name] the cold shoulder is to have them ah… tête-à-tête. There must be something to this story we’re not seeing.”

“-and you chose to mess around with a bunch of unremarkable women! You even implied to us that she was whorish enough to sleep with Jefferson after admitting her feelings for you! So yes, good luck getting the woman you considered the ‘best thing’ in your life back!” Angelica’s face had gone slightly red at how disgruntled she was by Alexander’s behavior. “Because if she doesn’t want you back, we can all understand why.”

By the end of the rant, Alexander seemed to have shrunk into himself; a first for the typically outspoken young man. For once in his life, he couldn’t seem to find the drive to argue with the woman in front of him. He tried to review the memories of the past weeks. Maybe there was something he was missing? Some angle he didn’t consider?

Angelica was right. By jumping to the conclusion he did, he basically branded you a slut. His throat suddenly felt cottony, his face aflame with shame. How was he going to explain himself to you?

You were now on your way back inside, Lafayette’s suggestion of talking to Alexander had the small group agreeing it was the best course of action. You were skeptical, however. Unsure of how he would react to this. Would he lash out? Brush you off? You clutched Herc’s hand tighter in unease, him squeezing your own in reassurance.

Soon enough, there you were; standing in front of the man that started it all as both of your groups dispersing to grant you some privacy. Well, as much privacy as there is in a bar packed with people.

“[Na-]”

“Alex-“

“No, [Name], wait. I just- I want to apologize for everything. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions about you. I reacted too quickly, failing to give you the time you needed to explain yourself. I’m sorry, [Name]. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I know nothing I say will take away whatever you’ve felt the past few weeks, won’t erase the hell I put you through… I just-  I want you to know how much I regret everything I’ve done.” He breathed a little before looking down. You’ve never seen anyone look so despondent. “But that kiss that night… I don’t regret that. That was the only good thing I’ve done, it seems…”

You remained silent, scooting yourself over in the seat beside him. None of you said a word for a while, just listening to each other’s breathing over the loud music pumping in the bar.

“Can you tell me why, Alex?”

And he did.

He told you about the walk to his dorm, the plans he had about contacting Madison and Burr, him seeing you walk out of Jefferson’s dorm, the conversation he overheard. How the urge to beat up his rival fizzled until all he could do was bury himself even more into his studies.

He told you about the hurt that threatened to spill out of his eyes, how, in the height of emotions, he decided to mess around with girls to spite you and make you jealous. Through everything, you stayed silent at his side, your eyes never leaving the table top.

The end of his story was followed by another barrage of apologies. How he regretted his actions, how childish he was, how he wouldn’t blame you if you decided to go to Jefferson after all. He probably would have continued too, if you hadn’t raised your hand to his mouth.

“[Name]?”

“I was borrowing a book. You knew that, yes? You heard me thank him for it.”

Alexander nodded, his mouth still behind your outstretched hand.

“It was a book I needed for my World History research paper. I was writing about The Arabian Nights and how it contributed to the telling of Asian history. The library’s copy of both The Arabian Nights and Orientalism and The Arabian Nights in Comparative Folk Narrative Research was taken out and has been overdue for 3 weeks prior to my asking for it.“

You sighed, bringing your hand down before pinching the bridge of your nose.

“For the conversation you decided to sexualize: Thomas found me while I was struggling with my design elective. We were tasked to produce at least five alternate designs of items found around campus and I could barely finish one that I was satisfied with. So when help sat its inflated ego down in front of me, how was I going to refuse?

He offered to help me in exchange for being on his team during the first debate next semester- don’t look at me like that, it was a fair enough deal- and we got to work. After a while, we started talking and one thing led to another and I ended up spilling my frustrations over the MIA books for my history class and he offered to lend me his.”

Silence settled over you two like a looming cloud.

“So… were you jealous?”

You glared at him enough to cause balls to recede.

He coughed.

More silence.

“Date this Saturday?”

“Try again, Alexander.”

“Fair enough.”

Your friends, who had gone back to enjoying their night, glanced over at the both of you, some shaking their heads.

“You’d think they’d make up a lot faster considering they never seem to shut up.”

“Maybe we broke them. I know Angie broke Alexander. We haven’t heard a peep from him since her outburst. L m a o”

“Did you actually just say ‘lmao’??”

“Fuck off, turtle-boy, I can say w t f I want. If you don’t like it, g t f o h8r.”

“What the fuck, Peggy.”

“DAB ON THE H8RS”

“Wait, where are you going!”

[where-i-am-being]

The Day Tevita Died

“One morning, in December 2006 I was delivered some of the worst news I have ever heard. Springtime and I sat on the bed in my room at Gilfillan street. I think we were listening to more from my live The Mars Volta collection and canoodling, as we did. My mother came into my room and announced quite directly, but morosely that my brother Jack and some of his friends had gone up on ‘Lion Rock the night before to drink and make merry. For reference, Lion Rock is about 150ft tall and right on the shoreline of one of the best surf beaches in the world. There were very high winds, and this was the night time. My mother said that one of his friends, David Herrick, had gone missing and the assumption was that he’d fallen and was lost. I cried a little bit, but really this David was the kind of person you expect this to happen to. Not that that’s any less important, but it’s less upsetting. 

I shed a few tears and carried on with my day. Springtime left sometime soon after this and I had to go and meet a friend named Sammy G who I had met through the DDD forum. We’d agreed to meet up in a café in Ponsonby, which happened to be very close to his home also. It was a nice afternoon, and since we had not met we walked straight passed each other initially. As we found each other and went into the café to order whatever he was ordering, I got a txt fro my mother saying that it was not David H. that had fallen, but Tevita. I had to turn my numb mode on or I would not make it through the day. There was no possible way this happening. Oh my fucking God. 

It worked. Sammy and I sat and spoke about music for a couple of hours, then he invited me to jam a bit at his place nearby. Normally I’d be sceptical but he was a small guy and I think I could’ve easily taken care of myself had he tried anything. I was there for another couple of hours, then I had to go. I couldn’t hold it together any longer, and I wanted to be with Springtime so bad that it hurt. I wanted to see Jack so bad that it hurt. I wanted to see Tevita so bad that I could not entertain that thought or it would have killed me. Even though I would’ve told you I was, I was not yet at a point where me walking to a nearby bridge instead of a bus stop was totally out of the question. I was very frightened. This was the first time someone I really knew and liked had died suddenly. Angus’ dad was more a peripheral situation, and Luke’s dad I had met perhaps once.

I was texting Springtime from when I left Sammy’s place I think trying to work out some way that I could see her. This was not possible, but what she did was keep in contact with me until she turned up at about 8:30am the next morning, having potentially had to catch a bus as early as 6:45 to get to me at that time. She also brought Trivial Pursuit, a game, which had become a ritual for us at her house. It was one of the only things we could really do for fun under the hawk-eye watch of her mother. This was not resented, but embraced as we found some of the most childish and pure pleasure in a silly board game that we never played to the rules. She was aware enough to know that this would cheer me up at least some and brought it with her, even having gotten up that early in the morning.

She was incredible to me around this period. It was a blessing and a curse though, because while it sussed me out at the time, I invested too much in that and it prevented me from properly dealing with Tevitas death personally. I almost ignored a lot of what I was feeling to focus on what being with Springtime made me feel, which was positive. If it weren’t for Springtime at this point, I wouldn’t have been able to attend the funeral I don’t think, but conversely I would not have found myself in such a particularly bad position about 8 months later either. Oh, yes…. Springtime came to the funeral. She knew Tevita but not too well. They had met at my 16th birthday party. For a reason I can’t remember, she always called him Jasmine. Even after he karcked it.

They didn’t find Tevita’s body for two weeks or more. I spent a lot of time in bed, but Springtime made me spend some time with friends. Everyone was very sympathetic, and I think I probably forgot to thank anyone but Springtime through this period. Funnily, I didn’t see much of Jack. Chames, J-Wah and they had sort of recoiled into their own little group which then included Big Dog and Sean, Nike’s brother, and rarely extended their group to the rest of their friends. Jack started drinking very heavily, and I didn’t think anything of that till months later when it had become a problem. I assumed he would stop once they found Tevita’s body.

When they did I was immediately informed that the funeral was to be held on Christmas Eve and where etc… This was a very dramatic death in that the night he fell, The Mars Volta had been scheduled to play, then subsequently postponed. The boys went out that night as a replacement. I think because of the absurdity of the whole ordeal I was pretty much totally numb till the funeral. I didn’t think I would be able to handle it to be honest. I knew that seeing friends like Nike in that state when I had not spoken to them in a while was going to be too heavy. No one deserves to bury any of their friends before they’re 50. Tevita fell a week or so after graduating from high school. He was 18.

Springtime was happy to come to the funeral with me, and I really needed it. I remember arriving at the church about midday. I probably already knew that this day was going to be how it turned out. But instead of worrying I was only thankful for the people with me. Just outside the church waiting, my brother and another four of Tevita’s best friends: J-Wah, Chames, Big Dog and Sean. They asked me to go inside, and find my seat. So I moved with my mother, sister, and Springtime to find a seat in the huge round church. The high roof, and large pillars daunted me, as I was not familiar with churches. I could see around me some friends had already lost it. Joseph, sitting three rows in front was already in tears. This might have been the first time since he was about 10 I’d seen him cry. And Nike, who was in the exact same position as me was barely able to speak.

Some candles were lit, and the precession began with the choir. An unorthodox choir singing in Tongan. It was beautiful. Passed us came a man carrying a long cross, and three young girls baring wreaths. Close behind followed the coffin. My brother Jack, Sean, J-Wah, Big Dog and Chames were pallbearers. As soon as I saw my brother, I burst into tears. Big Dog, was also already in tears. The other four were staying together. A few people around me lost it just as bad. But I was so, so thankful that the people with me, were with me. The choir quieted when the coffin was placed next to the altar, and the wreaths the girls were carrying placed on top, with photos of him in life. 

His mother, Ana Feki, took the podium to give the opening words. But first the priest started a chant that was soon joined by the twenty-something strong choir. This was brief, and amazing. When Ana spoke, you could hear the pain in her voice. She had lost a son, as we had lost a friend. The words came out in slightly choked Tongan, and although we couldn’t understand what she was saying, her gestures and tone suggested what was being conveyed. We all felt it deep. No one could escape that pain to whatever degree they felt it. He was such an amazing person that it was impossible not to at the very least feel for his family.

Next in line to talk, was Tevita’s older sister, whose grief outweighed her mother’s. She spoke directly about Tevita’s music, and his enormous potential. It was hard to watch, but still the way she made it seem like Tevita was infinitely more important than anything, or anyone else in her life, was spectacular. She, unlike her mother, repeated entire soliloquy in English. No one in the entire church, as large as it was, had a dry eye. It was an impossible concept.

Perhaps it was the colour of the midday sun cutting through the octagonal skylight, or maybe it was sound of the choir, killing the sorrowful silence, that would otherwise consume us. But there was something in the air that day that brought people who had never met each other before to hold each other. I’ve never forgotten that.

The final blessings were said in words I couldn’t make out through the voices in my head, telling me things would be ok. When you lose somebody, all your words get tangled into a mess when you think of them. Everything thing you have ever said that could have been hurtful rings through your ears, what seems like endlessly. It’s a bitter business; death.

The blessings were made, and everyone of faith made their way to the altar, dragging their feet to be communed. Then, again, the pallbearers took to their feet to carry our friend one last time. A sight no one should ever have to witness. Then, the recessional with the choir still in a mournful wail, cutting the silence short. Once the coffin was in the hearse, the friends and family made their way out of the church in as close to unison as we could possibly get through the doors. Now, looking at the coffin with flowers atop in the back of a car, 3 feet from, for some of us, our lost best friend was just too much for anyone. Those who had previously held his or her emotional ground had given up entirely. There was a good 20 minutes we were granted to say our personal goodbyes and honour him in our own way. It morphed into at least 20 years.

After the moment I turned from his bed, made just for him, I remember nothing until reconvening with my brother at the cemetery. When I arrived at the grave, they hadn’t filled it yet and I remember the Tuck And Patti medley of Jimi Hendrix’s “Castles Made Of Sand” and “Little Wing” was played as every single person in attendance fell silent. The beautiful voice, and the slick guitar, somehow captured perfectly every single person’s personal feeling towards the occasion. Despair, regret, fault, remembrance, helplessness or loss. But, even then, no doubt everybody shared the feeling of an endless love for a beautiful person that should never have been let go.

In a way, we never let him go. Tevita was a pure soul. His music was rooted in the earth and his person was ultimate. He looked, and acted almost exactly like Jimi Hendrix. His voice sounded the exact same, too. His guitar playing was reminiscent of nature and rain. He was really one of those people with the Holy Spirit. You could tell just looking at him that he could never do you wrong, and you could never find fault without healthy self-awareness in him. RIP Tevita“

[feelsgood-anon]

Eros - Bar AU Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: THIS PIECE IS A MYSTIC MESSENGER AU.  IT IS HEAVILY INSPIRED BY THE AMERICAN SITCOM CHEERS, A SHOW CENTERED AROUND A BOSTON BAR CALLED CHEERS AND IT’S REGULARS.  EVEN THOUGH I HAVE TRIED TO KEEP AS MUCH OF CANON PERSONALITIES WITH ALL THE MYSTIC MESSENGER CHARACTERS JUST REMEMBER THAT IT IS AN AU AND A FEW THINGS MAY BE DIFFERENT THAN IN GAME OR YOUR HEADCANONS. THIS HAS BEEN FUN TO PLAN AND I HOPE YOU FIND A BIT OF JOY READING IT!  

PG13+ FOR SWEARIN’ AND BOOZIN’.

Ch.1 Pt.1 | Ch. 1 Pt. 2 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4

Tonight I'm gonna have myself a real good time~ I feel alive...and the world I'll turn it inside out - yeah~ And floating around in ecstasy~ So don't. stop. me. now~ Don't stop me - ‘cause I'm having a good time~ Having a good time...~

Queen - Don’t Stop Me Now

“If it’s this much stress, why don’t you just quit?” Duckie turned his head towards Joe as she finished her winded ramblings of her job.

“I can’t just quit, Duckie. If I quit the entire Café would have to be closed. I love that place! It’s my assistant manager that I’m having issues with.” Joe let out a long sigh before she brought the glass of beer to her lips, “And it’s only been lately that she’s had problems. I wish I could find out what’s going on with her.”

Sugar cleared his throat and calmly placed his arms on the counter. His intense gaze was now fixated on the brunette sitting down the way from him, “If I may give you advice, Joe. Fire her and find someone that can handle the job. It isn’t your problem if she’s having personal issues that are stopping her from being productive. In fact, she should be leaving those things behind as soon as she is on the clock.”

Joe gave a long blink before staring in his direction, “I feel sorry for anyone that works under you, Sugar. They must really hate their job.”

“Nonsense. I expect a superior work ethic and if they perform at a satisfactory level I compensate them accordingly. I am neither their friend nor their family, I am their boss. Your stress will decrease exponentially if you replace your employee with one that can handle their emotions.”

“I’m sure they are a little scared of you as well, Sugar. You can be rather uptight,” Clicks let out casually, eyes never leaving the book he was skimming, “It doesn’t hurt to be concerned for your employees.”

“It’s an unnecessary step for me. Why would I expend the energy when I have so many other things to worry about? You’re all too soft.” Sugar huffed and sipped at his wine. He normally would have kept on the subject but he always seemed to shut his mouth once Clicks weaseled into the conversation.

“Joe, if you ever do decide to drop the Café you can always come work for me! I wouldn’t mind having two gorgeous ladies around here!” Zen had come by and replaced her beer mug, eyes twinkling in her direction, “The customers would love you running around!”

Sugar scoffed at the suggestion, “You can’t afford another employee, Zen. Don’t go around offering positions without consulting with me first. If you’d like a stable job where you would be comfortable financially then you can come work for me.”

“No.” Joe shot a glare towards the man, “No offense, Sugar, but I wouldn’t work for you if it were the last job in the world.” Her expression lightened as a smile fell on Zen, “It’s nice of you to offer! I would love to work next to such a handsome bartender! I-I mean…” A blush spread across her cheeks at her haphazard compliment.

Zen chuckled a bit and turned around to pour another drink that had been ordered, “You always flatter me, babe. I’d like to think I’m more than just a pretty face.”

“Obviously it’s the only thing people see you for.” Sugar finished the glass of wine and tapped his fingers along the countertop, indicating he wanted another, “Isn’t that your curse? Being far too beautiful for the world?”

“Coming from you, it sounds ridiculous.”

“It sounds just as ridiculous when you say it as well.”

Zen refilled the glass of wine with minimal enthusiasm, “There is absolutely no problem acknowledging my good looks! Does it bother you, Sugar~, that I am far more good looking than you are?”

“I retract my statement, you sound downright absurd.”

Red slipped between them to grab an empty glass in attempts to stop any argument that may have potentially arose, “Hey, boss! Cannon needs two long islands, you mind making them?”

Zen nodded, being forced to bite his tongue from the retaliation he was planning on, “Of course, of course. Let me mix these things…you know. Something he can’t do.” He nodded his head towards Sugar.

“Oh yes, I forgot. I don’t know how to pour different things into glasses. Should I resign my position as Executive Director at my company? I’ll let you know when you can put in an application.”

Joe waved a hand towards their direction, “Oh, could I get another beer? If it’s not too much trouble, Zen…” He immediately perked at her voice, “Of course you can, princess! Anything for you~” She sighed in relief to have redirected his attention, “Thanks!”

Sugar snickered but was interrupted by a text on his phone. After a few exchanges he gave a heavy sigh and stood from the bar, “As much as I’d love to stay and continue this, there is an emergency at the office. Are you going to stay, Clicks?”

Clicks finally looked up from his book with a smile, “I will for a bit longer, I can call a cab when I need to get home.”

“Nonsense, just give me a call and I will send a driver. If you will excuse me.” Sugar nodded to the others at the bar and walked out. Zen waited for the door to close completely before letting out a cheer, “Alright! He’s gone early! Time to celebrate!” He placed the two drinks he had been making on Red’s tray before pulling out a few shot glasses, pouring vodka into them liberally, “Who wants a shot? Clicks, you in?”

Clicks reached his hand out to catch the shot when it was slid to him, “Why not? But Zen…should you really be drinking on the clock?”

“Come on, friend! It’s just one. You aren’t gonna snitch on me, are yah?” Zen handed out the shots to the few sitting around the bar top, including Duckie and Joe, “Drink up, or I’ll have to take them myself!”

They all cheered each other and downed the alcohol, Duckie coughing a bit, “Ugh…this stuff is so gross. How do you guys do it?”

“The more you drink, the better it tastes, Duckie.” Zen collected the empty glasses before pouring himself another one, “You learn to love the burn!”

“Zen…” Clicks beckoned him over, lowering his voice, “How many drinks have you had tonight?”

“This is my second one, don’t worry-“

“Don’t lie to me, please.”

Zen let in a sharp breath and took the shot, “It’s the third shot but I had two drinks earlier as well. You know I handle my liquor, Clicks. Just don’t tell Sugar, he’ll be on my ass for days.”

Click’s face fell back down to the open book, “Do I need to worry about it to the point of telling him?”

“Clicks.” He gently placed his hand on the top of the pages, “You know I’m good. I appreciate the concern but could you trust me a bit?” Clicks sighed and looked back up to him with a smile, “I do trust you, I just want to make sure you are okay.”

“Boss, I need three beers,” Cannon called from the other side as he leaned on the counter impatiently, “Stop canoodling with patrons.”

Zen twirled around and with a hand to his chest let out a light gasp, “Clicks is not just any patron! He is our dear friend!”

“Then stop canoodling with Clicks.”

“I am not canoodling with-“

“Three beers, boss, before the end of this year? Preferably before the end of this night.”

The bartender let out a huff and moved to make the drinks, “Am I really that big of a target for you guys?”

“Yup.” A chorus of agreement trickled through the patrons.

“You guys~!” He pouted and placed the beers on Cannon’s tray before leaning back towards Joe, “So what about this assistant manager of yours?”

Joe choked a bit on her drink as he suddenly addressed her, “Oh! She’s been really distracted lately. She’s been late every day since last week and has messed up with the counts on the register. I tried talking to her about it but all she does is apologize without telling me what’s wrong.  I’ve always had an open-door policy and it just drives me crazy that I can’t help her.”

“Does she have a boyfriend? A husband?”

“A boyfriend, I believe. They’ve been together since she started working there.”

“Oh, then it’s simple!” He took the moment to pour himself another shot, “She’s pregnant.”

She tilted her head and stared at Zen, “Excuse me? How do you figure that?”

“Just my intuition. Probably not planned. She’s been trying to figure out how to tell him. That kind of thing eats at your thoughts, you know.” He tapped at his head, “If she’s used to talking to you about things, she’ll come around. Poor girl, under all that stress.”

Duckie leaned his arms on the counter as that one shot had already started kicking in for him, “Maybe she’s just fighting with the boyfriend? What if he left the toilet seat up and she fell in during the middle of the night?”

“Or maybe she just hates her job.” Cannon chimed in as he walked by with a few empty glasses to return, “Or maybe she’s just whiney and it’s that time of the month for her. Women can be unbearable then.”

Joe rubbed at her temples. It was times like these when she wondered why she ever came to this place. “I don’t think it’s any of your suggestions.”

“A bet, then!” Zen pat the counter, “I got pregnancy, Duckie has a fight. Cannon, pick between the two you suggested.” Cannon rolled his eyes but thought for a moment, “Time of the month.”

“What about you, Clicks. You in? Two bucks to the winner.”

The turquoise-haired male shook his head, “I’m not one to gamble. But Joe, I do believe she is dealing with a new stressor that she doesn’t know how to handle. If I may throw my two-cents in…just try to be supportive and give her space. If this is the first time she’s been this irresponsible at work then giving her the benefit of the doubt may prove to be the best bet.”

Joe gave him a genuine smile, “Thank you, Clicks. That’s the best advice I’ve gotten tonight. I’m sure she will come around.”

Zen let out a huff as he continued to collect bets around the bar top, “Clicks is too wholesome for this bar. A round of shots to celebrate our golden boy!”

“Cheers!”

A few hours into the night and the bar had filled with patrons, including many females that had Zen’s attention. He had kept taking shots and at this point had his shirt completely unbuttoned.

“Oh Zenny~ You’re so manly!”

“You should dance for us!”

“Yeah! Show us those old moves of yours!”

“Duckie! Go put that one song on the jukebox. You know the one I like!” Zen flicked a quarter towards the blonde who obediently skipped off to find it. Duckie was rather used to the jukebox by now as he often was instructed to go find a song. He had this odd knack for finding the perfect song for any situation.

The tune started playing and the white-haired male started tapping his foot as he stood behind the bar top, “Yeah! I love this song!” He swayed a bit at the slow melodic beginning, baritone voice singing along, but as soon as the hi-hat began he slid over to the girls with a far more fluid movement of his shoulders.

♫ I'm a shooting star leaping through the sky~♫

♫Like a tiger defying the laws of gravity~♫

Zen jumped up onto the counter, singing towards the fawning girls.

♫I'm a racing car passing by like Lady Godiva~♫

♫I'm gonna go go goooooooooo~ There's no stopping me~♫

Everyone in the place was clapping along, cheering for him as he continued to sing along. If asked how many drinks he had, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. He had lost count about an hour prior but in this alcohol induced moment he felt as if all eyes were on him just as in the past and he was loving every moment of it.

Zen bent over to grab a bottle of beer to use as a fake microphone and one of the girls stood up to smack his ass. He straightened up as he felt the sting, letting out a loud howl and gyrating his hips to the beat. He immediately picked up the lyrics where the song had continued, holding the bottle to his face:

♫ I’m a sex machine ready to reload~♫

♫Like an atom bomb about to oh oh oh oh OH OHHHH EXPLODE!♫

The open shirt? Gone. He started swinging it over it his head as he continued to give the patrons a passionate show. As soon as the chorus came back up, he shouted, “Sing with me!”

♫Don't stop me now, I'm having such a good time, I'm having a ball~♫l

♫Don't stop me now , If you wanna have a good time just give me a call~♫

One of the girls pulled at his pant leg to which he looked down and smiled, “Princess~ You want these gone too?” The moment his hand reached to unbuckle his belt Clicks stood up, “Zen! Come here!”

Zen shot a glance over towards the summon with a wicked smile, “Clicks, I didn’t think you’d want to enjoy this. I suppose, for an old friend…” He danced over after dropping his shirt off with one of the ladies and ripped his belt off, snapping it over his head.

“Damnit, Zen get down from there, this is too much!”

Jingle~!

“Come on Clicks, just have a good time~”

“This isn’t a good time, this is a disaster!” The familiar low voice roared over the song and Clicks winced at the sight of Sugar. Red ducked around them, “Uh oh…daddy is home…”

Zen, on the other hand, was far too preoccupied with the chants, coaxing him to chug the beer. He pointed to the bottle in his hand, “You guys mean this one~? Here goes nothing!” He popped the top off and began to drink, easily downing the entire thing in one go. He lifted the rim from his lips and turned it upside-down, showing all of the contents to have been consumed. Applause from the crowd ensued and the male, now only a moment away from stripping his pants, turned to finally meet the angry glare of Sugar. “Oh! I didn’t know you were coming back…”

“Get down from that counter now,” The raven-haired male bellowed as he walked towards him, “We need to talk.”

“Oh calm down! I was just having a little fun! Daddy~ stay a while and loosen up!”

Sugar’s gaze hardened as Zen addressed him as such, “You’re drunk. I’m not pleased.” With long strides he went over to pull Clicks out the door, “We will chat tomorrow, Zen. Don’t you dare avoid me.”

Zen stuck his tongue out and turned back to his small audience, “Now ladies, where were we? My pants?”

“How many drinks did he have?” Sugar finally asked Clicks as they walked out to the car, “Why was he drunk?”

Clicks gave a light shrug at the barrage of questions he was getting, “I was reading most of the evening, I didn’t take notice of how many-”

“Are you covering up for him?” Sugar sighed the moment there was no response. Of course he covered for him, Clicks could never bring himself to get anyone in trouble, especially Zen. “You know that I think this isn’t good.”

This is exactly what he wanted to avoid. He had a lot of money invested in this place and Zen going back to his drinking habits was sure to be the demise of the bar. In truth, he didn’t like visiting that place but in his attempts to keep an eye on the bartender he penciled in certain times of the week to show up and see how things were going. How was he suppose to keep him in check if he couldn’t be there every night?

Not only was it a matter of his assets, but Clicks had wanted to help Zen so badly after his career was destroyed in an attempts to keep him from drowning. Protecting the white-haired male was also on the top of his priorities.

All three of them had known eachother for a good length of time and even though Sugar had a tolerable amount of trust in Zen he couldn’t help but question his loyalty after the spectacle he had just witnessed. “I’ll let this one slide, but if he does this again, you have to tell me. I understand you want to be a supportive friend to him, but you cannot enable him.”

Clicks sighed deeply as he got into the backseat of the car, closely followed by Sugar, “I’m sorry, I should have stopped him earlier. I know it’s an issue but I thought he’d be fine.”

“He used to be an actor and a good one at that. You really think he can’t deceive you?”

“He wouldn’t do anything harmful on purpose!”

“I agree, but he apparently has no self-control.”

Clicks stared out of the window as the vehicle began to move. He couldn’t refute that fact and that made him as anxious as ever, “We’ll just have to keep a better eye on him. What time is it? I need to call my girlfriend when I get home before she throws a fit.”

“You two are together again? Since when?”

“Since this afternoon.”

“Tch.” Sugar looked at his phone in annoyance at the news, “And next week you’ll be broken up again. I don’t really approve of-”

“What you should be worrying about is Zen. Just talk to him tomorrow, I’m sure he has a good reason for his behavior tonight.”

Sugar clicked his tongue while he leaned his arm against the door to stare at Clicks, “Whatever you say, dear.”

                                                                                                         xxxxx

“You alive, Zen?” Duckie spoke over the freshly poured beer, “You had quite a night last night...how many numbers did you get?”

“Hmmm...five. No wait…” He lifted his shirt up slightly to reveal the faded number written in permanent marker on the side of his abs that he wasn’t able to scrub off in the shower, “Six.” His laughter filled the almost empty space as it had been early in the day, “I’m fine~ I handle my liquor well!”

“Right, that’s why you’ve been downing coffee and rubbing at your temples the entire time.” Cannon shot out from the back, Sunny following soon after.

“I heard you had quite a party. I’m upset that I wasn’t invited!” She stifled a laugh as she dumped a few empty glasses on the counter. Zen flashed her a smile and leaned in, letting the buttons that he normally kept undone at the top of his shirt reveal more of his chest, “I’m always open to private shows, if you would like a replay of the night’s events~”

“No thanks. I ate lunch and I’d rather not throw it up.”

Cannon scoffed at the remark as he took a few drinks Red had prepared for him, “Damn, even Sunny gets the jabs in now.” He held his hand out for a high-five when she passed by him, which she responded to proudly.

“Sunny, babe! How can you be so cruel to your lovely Zenny~!”

“She’s not an idiot like the other broads you talk to, that’s how.”

Zen shot a glare towards Cannon, “Interesting that you defend her now, since just a few days ago you were-”

Jingle~!

“Everyone…”

“Joe!”

She quickly walked up to the bar and pointed towards Zen, “You know her, don’t you?”

He turned towards Joe with a confused look, “What? Who? Maybe? Is she cute?”

“My assistant manager! You talk to her!”

“Princess, you know how many women I talk to in a week. It’s possible that she stopped by-”

“You were right! She’s pregnant!”

Groans echoed around the bar top as everyone started pulling out cash. Zen started laughing as he collected the money, “I knew it! Sometimes I even surprise myself, you know?”

Joe sat down and accepted the beer he put in front of her, “How do you do it? Are you psychic or something?”

“I do predict a lot of things, don’t I? Maybe I should turn myself in for scientific research. Being this beautiful and this perceptive is just downright unnatural for regular humans!”

Jingle~!

“Zen. We talk now.”

“Sugar!”

He nodded towards everyone and immediately head for the office, “Don’t keep me waiting, I have a busy schedule.”

Joe pursed her lips as she watched him disappear into the room, “I thought this was one of the days he doesn’t come in?”

“It is…”

Red popped around to grab a bottle of Rum, “So we can rule out psychic, yeah?”

Zen elbowed Red as he frowned, “Ugh...I was hoping he’d forget. Hey Joe, take this, “ He handed her the money from the bet, “Use it to buy your assistant manager something nice for her baby shower, yeah? Tell her it’s from the Eros bar.”

“Oh, how thoughtful of you, I will! Thank you! And good luck in there.” She nodded her head towards the office.

“Luck be a lady tonight~” Zen mused as he stepped from behind the bar.

“Sorry boss,” Red placed another drink order on Sunny’s tray as she came up for an order, “Looks like luck is Sugar tonight and knowing him...you aren’t getting any.”

Zen let out an irritated sigh, “And i was having such a good time…”

let the tags begin! @illneverrecover @zenscrotch @suzunesays @serensama

[mchanzoprompts]

Truth or Dare

If one were to judge from the wreckage strewn across the rec room, the party was a clear and absolute success. In one corner, the Christmas tree technically still stood, albeit listing in its base in a way that suggested the vibrations from one good footstep would send it toppling. It was altogether fortunate that the decorations were made entirely of extruded plastic in appropriately festive colors and glitter-painted craft foam because no one had wanted to risk destroying Reinhardt’s antique blown glass ornaments that he’d had shipped in from Germany. Two dozen strands of lights hung from the ceiling, some colored, some white, along with half a hundred snowflakes cut from white construction paper, all of them dangling from not particularly well disguised wads of industrial strength epoxy. Some of them were even still working, casting a gentle glow over the proceedings taking place below.

  Angela had given the entire affair her tacit blessing by sighing heavily and absenting herself from the rec room with a pot of tea and the hardbound copy of The Collected Works of O. Henry that she found under the tree some hours earlier. Hana and Lucio were curled up together in a fort built out of all the furniture cushions and an assortment of blankets filched from stores; the action in the rec center’s holotank showed they were still awake but the relative silence suggested they had their headphones on. Lena and Emily had given up some time before and retired to their quarters, leaning heavily on one another in order to keep to their feet. Fawkes and Rutledge vanished at some point, with Mei and Zarya in tow, all four giggling drunkenly in a manner that boded perilous for some innocent piece of machinery somewhere in the Watchpoint. Reinhardt lay in the middle of the floor some feet away, half-buried in the detritus of orgiastic gift-opening, head pillowed on a stack of eye-searingly hideous sweaters, snoring thunderously under the influence of his failure at a succession of increasingly ridiculous dares. Genji and Zenyatta were off somewhere canoodling in a manner that everyone would politely mistake for meditation because absolutely no one, even in the heat of a cutthroat game of Truth or Dare or Drink, wanted to take the step of asking either of those two how they actually went about having sex.

  The table was covered in empty or near-empty bottles: a ten year old bottle of whiskey Lena had brought with from London that would not live to see eleven, half the case of schwarzbier that Reinhardt imported from Germany, two bottles filched from Torbjorn’s not as hidden as it could be stash of brännvin, one each of kirschwasser, zwetschgenwasser, and marillenschnaps, some horrifying species of tequila fished out of a sealed storage compartment, and the cooking sherry, which no one had yet condescended to open. Hanzo flatly refused to sacrifice any of his junmai daiginjo-shu to the cause of getting the rest of the team, as Jesse presciently put it, “absolutely shitfaced plastered” though he did drink his own failures from his sakazuki once it was established to hold as much as a standard shot glass. Not for the first time, he wondered somewhat blearily, why a Watchpoint that had been largely abandoned for years had such an enormous collection of novelty shot glasses immediately on hand.

  “….annnnd done.” Jesse flopped back into a chair in a fashion rather too coordinated for the amount of alcohol he had consumed thus far.

  Also distinctly unfair: the fact that he had just successfully completed all three elements of a standard field sobriety test and Hanzo was, himself, sober enough to admit that fact. “That is so.” It took him a moment to remember how to properly formulate what he wanted to say in English. “I think that you must be cheating somehow.”

  “Cheating?” It came out as a laugh, the sort of laugh that did more to warm Hanzo’s insides than all the potables he’d consumed thus far, his dark eyes shining in the lights from above and his smile the sort of thing he charge for by the hour. “How d’you come to that conclusion?”

  “I think,” Hanzo replied, contemplatively, his words spaced in a manner that he knew betrayed the precise state of his inebriation, “that you have had your liver replaced with some sort of super-efficient cybernetic alcohol filtration system. Otherwise, you never would have managed that lift-and-turn maneuver without falling on your very fine ass.”

  Had he said that aloud? Yes, yes he had, and elected to allow it to stand: the man had a ridiculously attractive ass, never more so than when he encased it in close-fitting jeans. Which was the case just now.

  The corners of Jesse’s also very fine mouth curled back in a smile that could only be called wicked. Yes, entirely wicked. “There is another explanation for my ability to drink all y’all under the table. You wanna know what it is?”

  “My curiosity is a searing fire. Do quench it.” When had his mouth gotten so dry? He poured the last of the kirschwasser into his cup and used it to lubricate his tongue for whatever came next. It was his turn, after all.

  “I used to play this game with Morrison and Reyes, one of whom was a legit evil genius, and neither of whom could actually get drunk any more thanks to all the shit the SEP did to them back in the day. Did more to develop my tolerance for alcohol than anything else in the world.” The look in his eyes was, briefly, fond and wistful. “Your turn.”

  “It is.” Hanzo acknowledged, nodding slowly. “Truth.” Because his dignity would absolutely not survive a dare and he doubted his own liver would forgive him another drink so soon after the last.

  “Well, I gotta admit, I’ve had a question for you that I’ve been holdin’ on to for a while now.” That wicked, wicked smile had returned and now he leaned close, dark eyes glittering.

  Hanzo found himself leaning into it, as well, undisturbed by the invasion of his personal space occasioned by Jesse’s hand on his knee, sliding slowly up his thigh, or the warm, whiskey-scented breath against his neck and cheek as Jesse murmured, close against his ear, “When was the last time you were fucked good and proper, darlin’?”

Hanzo pressed the last of the space from between their bodies, reached down and thumbed open that ridiculous belt buckle. “Hopefully tonight.”