#i feel like people must feel when they’ve had too much caffeine except i have had no caffeine

[pentanguine]

For someone who’s sick with a bad cold and a low grade fever, I’ve had an appalling amount of energy all day.

[miraculouscontent]

“Sentibubbler” summary? “Sentibubbler” salt?

Why not both at the same time?

Something a little experimental, though also somewhat reminiscent of some of my past videos. Calling it “summasalt” for now, based on the word “somersault” because this episode was an exercise of my patience.

It’s basically just me going through the episode with my usual episode summary, but salting along the way instead of making you guys read a wall of text without any images or clips or me making snarky comments.

(By the way, yes, I did in fact have caffeine before recording.)

script below for anyone who wants/needs it:

"Sentibubbler" begins with Marinette having food with the Cesaires and I already know this isn't real because Marinette is actually getting to interact with her best friend's family. That's only happened, like--when, two episodes of Season 2? [”Sapotis” and “Anansi”]

Marinette sees Trixx and points out how they're supposed to be a secret, and Alya asks why while calling Marinette "Ladybug." Marinette plays dumb but is told by Nino that everyone already knows her secret. Chloe is also there, chiding Marinette for her identity rule - it's not Marinette's rule but after "Reflekdoll" I've just gotten used to Marinette being blamed for things she didn't do - and Marinette goes to question Chloe's apperance when there's a knock on the balcony door. Alya invites Shadow Moth in and--[Shadow Moth has to duck to come inside]--huh, I thought Sole Crusher was seven episodes ago.

Anyway, now obviously, Marinette is just being ridiculous and overemotional as usual, because why would Marinette ever think that Alya would reveal any information to--["Feast"]--oh yeah, that's right.

Tikki doesn't transform Marinette and says that Marinette shouldn't have trusted Alya with her secret. Enter Chat Blanc, who says that they can be together now without any secrets. Not really sure what this episode is aiming for with the mixed message of "your identity rule sucks" but also "your fault for trusting someone instead of having a mental breakdown," but a’ight. Trixx also gets another dig in on Marinette for giving Alya the fox miraculous.

Marinette wakes up from her nightmare and panics, but Tikki reassures her that Alya is loyal. [”Chameleon”] Mm. Also, that kind of support might've been nice from Tikki literal seasons ago when Marinette could've used a confidant.

Wayzz - I swear, they've had eyelashes more often than not in this season - points out that Trixx is mischievous and Xuppu talks about Trixx being the cause of the Loch Ness monster rumors, which worries Marinette further. Marinette runs out in her pajamas and I can already predict that neither Tom nor Sabine are going to check on her later or care.

Marinette finds the Cesaires looking for something, their words vague enough for Marinette to think that they're talking about Trixx. Alya brushes Marinette off and tells her to help with looking instead of lecturing her.

Marlena makes a comment that reminds Marinette of her nightmare, only increasing Marinette's stress. A tarantula crawls up a ladle and Marinette freaks out when she sees it, which Marlena has a laugh at because Marinette's anxiety, fear, and panic is hilarious, guys!

This is my laughing face. [not a laughing face]

Nino exits, having been too afraid of the spider to leave the room, so Nora compares Marinette to him. Nino tries to play it cool, then changes the subject to point out Marinette's pajamas. Alya wonders aloud why Marinette showed up and Marinette tries to act casual, but Alya sees through it and states that she doesn't usually lose things when someone lends them to her.

I presume the exception is Marinette's trust. OH-HOOOOHHH, we'll get there.

Nora takes a jab at Alya for losing the spider and Marinette drags Alya away to talk. Nino tries to join but Alya states that it's between her and Marinette, which makes Nino sad.

Nino, does the phrase "guys' time" ring a bell by any chance?

Marinette is explaining her nightmare and is simply told to calm down by Alya, though Marinette is briefly startled by a phone ringing. Marinette puts together what she knows that Shadow Moth knows, including that Alya is Rena Rouge, adding on that Shadow Moth could steal the fox necklace if he figured out that Alya has it permanently. Alya reassures her that no one will ever know and Marinette states that this must include Chat Noir. Alya agrees and brings attention to the fanny pack around her waist, which Trixx has been hiding in, and Marinette has Trixx promise not to show up at the dining table like in her nightmare. Tikki tells Marinette that everything will be fine and Marinette admits that it was silly of her to worry, which it was! ...If you ignore all the anxiety, mental scarring, and constant pressure to be perfect or risk Paris lighting itself on fire, much like I presume they accidentally did with their original script for this episode.

Alya tells Marinette to trust her and also herself - I'll be sure to keep that in mind, Alya, thank you - then Alya loses her temper at the phone continuing to ring. She leaves to find an empty living room, then answers the phone only to hear Shadow Moth on the other line. Alya turns upon hearing Marinette scream to see that Marinette has been trapped in a bubble. Cue the reveal/return of the Bubbler, who is definitely Nino akumatized and not--like--a sentimonster, because the episode didn't spoil it at all with the title of Sentibub--

show, this is freaking embarrassing. Why even bother akumatizing someone when you can mold a sentimonster with the exact power you want?

At least they reveal it quickly, though that also means I have to live with the knowledge that Shadow Moth wINKED AT ALYA, NO.

Anyway, Shadow Moth tells Alya that he wants her to betray Ladybug. Marinette, meanwhile, is panicking over being unable to transform while in public, whereas Tikki remains calm and reassures her that Alya will figure something out and it's why Marinette gave Alya the fox miraculous in the first place.

Weird, I thought it was for the show to continuously validate Alya as a worthy choice for a confidant despite repeatedly covering up her sINS and so the show can push for more anxiety on Marinette's part while simultaneously not having to make a new hero model for Alya, which they would have to do if the realistic decision had been made to give Alya a different miraculous due to Shadow Moth knowing her identity as Rena Rouge.

Marinette texts Alya to inform her that the Bubbler is a sentimonster and so Rena can tell Chat not to use Cataclysm on him or the bubbles will burst due to the sentimonster's lack of control.

Hate to burst the show's bubble but Alya could literally see Nino up in the sky and they could see her; the bubbles are in viewing range. Did this even go through a quality check?

Alya goes to look at Marinette's text, but the phone is bubbled away by Sentibubbler. Marinette sees the phone floating by and panics, only to be reassured again to trust Alya and at this point I vaguely wondered if I was watching this episode on repeat. Tikki also adds that Alya has never let her down - [”Ladybug”] MMMM - and Marinette agrees, also certain that Chat Noir will show up soon.

Oh yeah, he exists. Oh no.

Cut to the Agreste mansion where Adrien is watching the news - dude, how is there never anything better on when you need to be told that there's an akuma? here, look, I'll show you [”Silencer” Lukabug clip] there, much better, see? - and it's pointed out that the bubbles are identical to the ones Bubbler had, yet Nino is in one of the bubbles. Adrien readies himself while Plagg is - for once - okay with leaving since his cheese isn't "edible" yet.

I feel like he should be a little more concerned about Marinette being in a bubble.

Meanwhile, Shadow Moth is explaining to Alya that Ladybug will come to give her the fox miraculous due to the bubbled people in the sky - plenty of other choices that aren't within breathing range of the obvious danger zone, but a'ight - and SentiBubbler will catch Ladybug. Alya brings up Chat Noir saving her but Shadow Moth states that she'll create an illusion of Ladybug and Rena to lure Chat Noir, who won't see Sentibubbler coming, at which point Rena will hand Shadow Moth her miraculous. He adds that her loved ones will only be returned once all three miraculouses are in his possession, though if she tries to warn the heroes then Sentibubbler will send the bubbles into space, too far for any hero to save them.

[clip of space power-ups] Hm.

Also, I would've just let her keep the miraculous as an extra bribe since he doesn't need the fox and she wouldn't have time to recharge anyway - at least to his knowledge - but that's just me.

Marinette is relieved that Alya still hasn't been captured--TIKKI, I KNOW, YOU'VE BEEN PARROTING THIS ALL EPISODE, I KNOW--but Marinette changes her tune when she sees Alya blindly calling out for Ladybug's help, unaware that Alya is buying time. Marinette laments the idea of transforming there and having using the rabbit to go back in time to reverse, as that's never a good thing (seconded), but gets the idea for Tikki to take her miraculous to someone else. Tikki rejects the idea, as the earrings won't go through the bubble, and Marinette realizes that Chat Noir is their only hope.

I mean, it was nice knowing them. Sure is interesting how Marinette has only been getting herself into these situations where she requires saving when the show needed to present Alya as a valid choice for a confidant.

Meanwhile, Chat Noir is leaving a message for Ladybug about the bubbles in the sky, saying that he'll wait for her; I already see where this is going and I don't like it.

Alya mutters to Trixx about how they need a plan to release Marinette. Through Alya Vision, we're shown Sentibubbler, a bowl of fruit, and the bathroom door. Alya tells Sentibubbler that she needs to go to the bathroom and - wow, we're really doing this, aren't we? - which Shadow Moth rejects. Shadow Moth is also on top of a building holding a coffee cup which honestly makes about as much sense as the rest of the episode, so whatever. Alya claims that she can't wait and that it'll be awkward for Ladybug to find her like that, which gets Shadow Moth to relent but also remind her of what's at stake if she tries anything. Alya states that she can't do anything without a miraculous anyway, then purposefully falls onto the table, concealing her long enough for her to transform and allowing an illusion of herself to go to the bathroom while she escapes. She detransforms in the twins' room and feeds Trixx with some grapes that she'd picked up.

Alya explains her plan to trick Shadow Moth and Sentibubbler since they don't know that she has a miraculous, though she also has to make sure that Chat won't ruin things. Rena then proceeds to call Chat Noir and claim that Ladybug wanted her to call him with her plan, but adds that it's a two-person plan and Chat himself isn't needed, so he needs to wait for further instructions. Chat demands that Ladybug call him to tell him herself, but Rena insists that she can't, as Ladybug is very busy. She warns him not to use Cataclysm if he sees the Bubbler, as he's a sentimonster, then promises to talk to him later before hanging up.

She uses Mirage again, making the Alya illusion reappear as well as creating a Ladybug. Chat Noir, infuriated at being left out, destroys part of a building with his baton. He then dismisses the action because Miraculous Ladybug will fix it.

Spoiler alert, it will, which is a very fascinating detail! I mean, I can't imagine another situation where a hero did something while there was an akuma going around and Miraculous Ladybug decided to help 'em out, but it just goes to show what happens when you're the writers' pet. Just look a little pitiful and they'll give you all the sympathy in the world.

By the way, didn't expect them to actually confirm my theory that Chat Noir does Chat Noir things because he knows that Miraculous Ladybug will fix it anyway, essentially allowing him to earn brownie points from Ladybug via sacrificing himself regardless of how it affects her mentally, yet here we are and I don't know whether to be sad, angry, disappointed, or a mixture of all three.

Chat Noir sees the Ladybug illusion jumping off and gives chase, refuses to stay where he is. Marinette, seeing that Rena Rouge's illusions are active, panics at the sight of Chat Noir, as the illusion will vanish if Chat touches it.

I like to imagine the immediate concern is the idea that Chat Noir will try to take Ladybug's hand while trying to flirt.

Anyway, Marinette flails inside the bubble in an attempt to reach Chat Noir, while illusion Alya and SentiBubbler get into position. Chat Noir watches what he perceives as Ladybug heading into the Cesaire house with Alya, but Marinette gets to him in order to tell him not to go anywhere. Chat complains about everyone telling him to stay put, but Marinette explains Rena's plan to him. Chat is skeptical of how she knows that, to which Marinette insists that she saw it from where she was. Chat Noir relents with a sigh and stays where he is.

SentiBubbler watches as the illusion of Alya and Ladybug talk to each other, Rena making it look like Ladybug is piecing together what happened and refusing to give Alya a miraculous ever again due to Shadow Moth knowing her identity. She claims that she'll find another holder and give them an even more powerful miraculous, which interests Shadow Moth and gets him to follow after the Ladybug illusion. Once Sentibubbler leaves as well, Chat sees this as his chance to stop the sentimonster, as the Ladybug illusion will vanish if it's touched. Marinette strokes his ego for the token love square moment of the episode, and Chat Noir fights SentiBubbler while Shadow Moth goes after the Ladybug illusion.

I'm noticing a real lack of tension in this episode. Once Alya has her plan, it's kind of a clean sweep from start to finish with no interference or unexpected roadblocks in the way. Even Shadow Moth following the Ladybug illusion goes fine, with Shadow Moth even punching a building thinking that Ladybug actually got away from him.

Dude, it's fine, Miraculous Ladybug will fix it, just put on your best sad face. Maybe Chat Noir gets it from you actually, is treatment from the writers a hereditary thing?

Sentibubbler and Chat Noir are still fighting. Shadow Moth shows up and Marinette tries to warn Chat, but Chat gets caught in a bubble and Marinette apologizes; she doesn't have anything to apologize for but after "Reflekdoll" I--wait I already did this.

Chat Noir uses Cataclysm to escape, only to get caught in another bubble. I'd just like to throw out there that this guy's a hero three seasons going and the love interest for the main character, yet his role in the episode has amounted to complaining about the authority of a hero Ladybug chose, throwing a property-destroying tantrum over being excluded, and wasting his power without a single thought which just got him captured again.

Chat, does the name "Syren" ring any bells by any chance? I'm just sayin', you could always quit. In fact, wasn't it you literally one episode ago saying that you understood if Ladybug couldn't always come get you? Then, after seeing the jump from "Glaciator" to "Frozer," I'm about as shocked as rubber.

Back with the competent one, Alya notes to Trixx that Rena Rouge can no longer be seen by Shadow Moth or else the jig is up. She transforms and texts Marinette to be ready, creating an illusion of Marinette that simultaneously hides the real version, allowing her to transform into Ladybug.

Chat Noir's bubble gets dragged down and Shadow Moth gets SentiBubbler to mute Chat Noir's bubble.

[clip from “Silencer” where Ladybug takes amusement in Chat being muted]

Ladybug uses Lucky Charm and receives a pot, her Lucky Vision spotting Shadow Moth's coffee cup, then SentiBubbler, then the tarantula trapped in a bubble. Ladybug deduces that the cup is the sentimonster's object, then pulls the horse miraculous out of her yoyo and unifies it with the ladybug--oh.

Oh my.

You know, it's times like this where I'm reminded that the show knows nothing about fashion... or girls... or good writing actually--there's just a lot of stuff they don't know.

Sentibubbler does a countdown, then starts sending the civilian bubbles up into the sky. Chat Noir is about to de-transform while PegaBug notices of Shadow Moth's two miraculous, up for grabbin'. She notes that she won't be able to catch everyone, so she forms a portal behind Shadow Moth and goes for the coffee cup first, thus putting her in control of SentiBubbler, who happily brings the bubbles back down at her command.

Shadow Moth erases SentiBubbler from existence though, causing everyone to fall, but Chat and PegaBug manage to catch them. PegaBug de-transforms and presents the Cesaires with the tarantula, which had been trapped inside the lucky charm. Ladybug and Chat Noir watch Shadow Moth escape and Ladybug laments that it could've been the end of Shadow Moth once and for all because it's not a Miraculous episode without Marinette being at fault or feeling guilty in some way! Chat Noir reassures her [*by “reassure,” I mean he might as well have said, “Well, you saved ME, so you did great!”] - wow, that's two token love square moments for the price of one episode, don't I feel spoiled - and Ladybug leaves to retrieve the tarantula's tank.

Rena Rouge is waiting for her and they hug, with Rena repeating that she doesn't lose something that someone gives her. Ladybug states that she never should've doubted the idea of giving Alya a miraculous and Imma just give you guys a counter real quick. [counter that shows that Tikki has complimented Alya four times, Alya has complimented herself/told Marinette to trust her thrice, and Marinette has said that she was wrong thrice]. Miraculous Ladybug is cast and everything returns to normal, with Alya explaining what she did and Marinette being relieved that Shadow Moth won't be going after her anymore. Alya confidently asks if she was smart and Marinette is happy to praise her, confirming it and stating that Alya is a real superhero and honestly? If the narrative wanted to marry Alya this badly, they should've just used some of the budget to buy a ring instead of projecting onto the other characters.

Then again, the apparent budget can't even afford a new hero model nor new akuma to a very noticeable degree, so I guess they're taking what they can get.

Alya praises Marinette as well for her work as PegaBug and they do a fistbump, thus ending the episode. There's also this ever-so-lovely post-episode scene with Gabriel and Nathalie where Gabriel laments the fact that Ladybug never makes mistakes which--I... has he even watched the series at all? Gabe, babe, Babriel Agreste, it's literally part of the show's formula that Marinette makes a mistake in every episode and she felt guilty like a minute ago over not yoinking your miraculouses when she had the chance, where have you been?

But, yeah, anyway, the episode.

Needless to say, not a fan. Like I said, the show seems so intent on immediately validating the choices they make with Alya in order to make her look like a better character. "Gang of Secrets" basically replaced her with someone different at the end of the episode, and the episode immediately afterwards in chronological order, "Mr. Pigeon 72," did everything it could to push Marinette out of her guardian position long enough for Alya to figure out the grimoire despite having zero onscreen experience with it, the episode even trapping Ladybug in a situation that forced Rena Rouge to come into play to validate that decision as well.

And now we have "SentiBubbler" here following immediately after "Optigami," desperate to reassure its audience that Alya is cool, smart, truthworthy, and that not needing to make a new model--sorry, I mean Alya continuing to have the fox--was a good decision. All the while, they continue pushing Alya's flaws under the rug [Note that it’s not even considered that Alya is even remotely at fault for Shadow Moth going after her specifically after her stunt in “Optigami” when no one else but Ladybug and Chat have ever given out a miraculous], hiding them instead of Alya actually acknowledging them, the only reason she did so in "Optigami" being the same as in "Gang of Secrets"; to make her look good while Marinette makes a big decision in their relationship.

The episode tries so hard to drill in this idea that Alya is a good friend who can be trusted, and I'm just not here for how much they try to hammer it in. Marinette's very real anxiety over Shadow Moth's power and ability to plan things is played off as her being silly instead of something to be concerned about, and instead of giving her a hug and trying to help her calm down - [clip from “Heart Hunter” of Luka hugging Marinette] I miss Luka - she's just told to trust and believe and hAVE fAiTh in Alya.

Shadow Moth is an adult; he has abilities that the teenage heroes don't. I'm not even saying that Marinette isn't overreacting [Basically, her concern about Shadow Moth is valid, especially after “Optigami” where her identity was almost found out], but she has anxiety and some obvious trauma over "Chat Blanc." I was already upset that Alya got a free pass to Marinette's identity, but the constant stressing over how much Marinette should trust her just doesn't affect me when I know Alya and I know the kind of stuff she's done that the show blatantly ignored in favor of pushing for her.

But okay, show, I'll give Alya the benefit of the doubt that she doesn't deserve. Let's say that she's turned a new leaf, and has become the reliable, trustworthy, and loyal partner that Marinette deserves. I'm sure that Alya has Marinette's back, and will never go behind said back in order to do something completely unsurprising and wholly indicative of the character I actually know her to be.

Especially not a mere three episodes later...

[theconjugationofyeet]

Iron Dad AU Fic Recs

this is gonna be kinda long

Stark Industries: An American Workplace by fourdaysofrain

“No, I don’t--” The corner of Peter’s mouth twitches down and he looks at something behind the camera. “Mr. Stark doesn’t treat me any differently than the other employees. I don’t know why everyone says he does.” He tugs his sleeve down his wrist and looks to the side. “I’m the receptionist, so he has to talk to me more to like, plan his calendar and stuff.” --- The Office!AU (For the "AU: TV/Movie" square in Irondad Bingo

We’re Alright by writing-in-my-spare-time

When billionaire Tony Stark comes into the cafe late one night to get his caffeine hit, he finds barista Peter busy doing homework. The homework is quite advanced and right up Tony's alley, and the two hit it of immediately over their shared love of science. But when a masked gunman interrupts their bonding session, Tony knows he'll do anything to make sure Peter is alright.

Prompt: Modern Day/No Powers AU

Apartment 43B by @ironfamjam (my most favourite author ever)

After Peter gets stabbed clean through, he knows he can't let May see. His genius plan? Sneak into his best friend's apartment and clean himself up.

The problem?

It's the wrong apartment.

Enter Tony Stark, the ex-CEO that disappeared off the face of the earth three years ago, armed with his handy little first aid kit, custom made coffee machine, and witty anecdotes.

Somehow, the breaking in becomes a habit.

Irondad Bingo Prompt: Hurt/Comfort

Walking The Grey Line by ALittleBattyLady

When Ben Parker dies in his arms, a little piece of Peter dies too. At age 14 he's spiraling down into a hole of emptiness and just can't seem to move forward. Then he accidentally texts the wrong number. Tony thought he could handle whatever the world threw at him, but Steve's betrayal was something he hadn't expected. Months later he's still struggling to pick up the pieces. Then after a wicked bender, he wakes up with a text from a stranger.

They've built themselves a world that exists within nonsensical messages, where Peter finds a father figure he never expected and Tony finds himself worrying for a kid who shouldn't have to suffer so much. Still, the world still exists outside of their bubble of texts. The Avengers have been broken apart, the Accords are nowhere near perfect. Peter's uncle is dead and he's about to be thrown into a world of heroes.

What started as a chance meeting through a strayed text is about to turn into so much more.

AKA The Wrong Number Irondad Au no one asked for, but received

If You’re Going Through Hell, Keep On Going by @baloobird

In a world with no superheroes or powers, Tony Stark turns over a new leaf after his plight with Afghanistan. He goes to therapy and it changes his life, so much so that he decides to open up his own practice and help people that are like him.

His newest client: Eight-year-old Peter Parker

Little did he know that he would actually become attached to one of his patients

What Occurred In Raychester Castle? by @fictionart

Lord Anthony Stark is the Earl of Raychester castle. He inherited it from his father when he died, and soon he'll be married to the lovely Lady Virginia Potts. His life the perfect example of Victorian values, everything was going the way it should have.

Until one day, one of his lower servants worms his way into Tony's heart, and introduces him to a world Tony knew was there, but had never seen, and challenges the very way he viewed the world.

Yet, it doesn't feel like such a mistake.

---

Or a historical AU of Tony Stark and Peter Parker set in 1890s fictional Britain, where Tony is an Earl and Peter is a lowly servant.

Our Pages Flipped In Reverse by @ciaconnaa

Fifteen year old Peter Parker makes headlines when he's captured in a terrorist attack during a Sokovian science convention. Three months later, he's a household name when there's reports he busted out of a cave in some ridiculous iron suit.

With a miniaturized version of Tony Stark's infamous arc reactor in his chest.

Naturally, this means the two have to meet.

Intern Spider by @justme--emily

Penny Parker applied to the pilot Stark Industries internship program before she got her powers. But when Mr. Stark becomes her personal and superhero mentor, she'll have to get creative to keep the two identities separate...and secret.

ever in your favour by @iron-spider

Peter startles awake when someone shakes him.

“Sorry, honey,” May says. Peter blinks a couple times and she comes into focus, her hair pulled back from her face. She’s trying not to look a certain way, but he can see it in her eyes anyway. She clears her throat, keeps talking. “But it’s…” She glances away, wets her lips. “You gotta get ready.”

He remembers what day it is, and his heart beats like a drum at someone’s execution. But he tries to put on a mask, make it all seem normal. It’s everything but, despite the fact that he’s been dealing with reaping day since he was born, between himself, Ben and May. That fear that one of them could be taken away. Sent to surefire slaughter. But now Ben is gone, taken despite never having his name drawn from a bowl, and May’s finally safe. Now Peter’s name is in there alone. The last Parker sitting on the chopping block. He doesn’t know how to be. He doesn’t know what normal is, when the Hunger Games are looming on the horizon.

A Tale As Old As Time by @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars and @femalemarvelfanatic

A selfish man gets cursed into a metal suit, and only a little boy with a dark past and a heart of gold can break the curse. It’s a tale as old as time.

peter’s stars by @parkrstark and IronPengu

Steve and Peter lose their apartment and are kicked out on the streets. Steve has to juggle between jobs to earn whatever money he can, take care of his son while refusing to let him realize how much they're trouble in, and keep them warm and safe on the city streets in winter.

So, he really doesn't have time to date the billionaire that flirts with him everyday as he buys his cup of coffee. Even if he did, he can't let himself fall for the man. Because if he knew that he lived from a backpack and showered in a public bathroom there's no way he'd still want him...right?

Make Way For Tomorrow by @tonystarkstan

Before Ben died, Peter won a booth to present his project at the Stark Expo. But even on the run from the foster care system, he can't pass up the opportunity to attend and show the world his project. It all goes so well, until it doesn't. Trying to avoid being caught, Peter runs out on Tony just as the man is about to make him the offer of a lifetime.

Bold of him to assume Tony won't try to find him.

It All Comes Back To This by @tonystarkstan

After a car accident leaves him hanging somewhere between life and death, Peter must decide whether to stay or die. The answer isn't as easy as he thought it'd be. Luckily, he has his friends and the Avengers there to help him figure it out.

Have Patience, Quick Wit and a Gentle Heart by @ironfamjam

“I’m your fairy-” he scowled, looking pained, “you know what, no. I’m not going to say that. It’s ridiculous and not even accurate. I don’t know who invented those fairy tales you humans love so much, but they’re beyond terrible."

"Wait..." Peter tried to hide his grin, "Are you my fairy godmother?" he laughed, unable to stop no matter how hard he tried.

The man glowered. "Watch it kid. I could turn you into a frog instead."

Or

The Irondad Cinderella AU one person asked for

 More Ancient Than Magic  by ironfamjam

Life isn't exactly normal when your Head of House is also kinda your father-figure and his daughter is kinda sorta your little sister.

It's also not normal when the bad guys your real-life-war-hero-not-actually-dad defeated in The Great War threaten to return and you're still just trying to finish your Charms essay.

But Professor Stark asked him to protect Morgan. And that's what he's going to do.

Even if it breaks him.

The mini Hogwarts AU

The Case Of The Sinister Spider

In New York City, Peter Parker finds his entire life up-ended when he gets a phone call informing him of May Parker's tragic accident. But when new evidence comes to light proving foul play, no one in the NYPD will give Peter the time of day.

No one that is, except genius consulting detective on probation, Tony Stark. But Tony has his own demons to fight. Struggling to maintain his sobriety after a tragedy in London forced him overseas, Tony learns that what mends hearts might not be at the bottom of a bottle, but something like a string of unsolved murders and perhaps even love.

Or, the Elementary AU no one asked for

Only For A Little While by eccentric_artist_221b

Exploring the relationship between Tony Stark and Peter Parker if they had been passengers aboard the Titanic over 106 years ago…. an Irondad AU 

a galaxy far, far away by @madasthesea

a star wars au if tony and peter were master and padawan

___________________________________________________

add to this list if you know any more awesome fics with an au!

[themoonlitsojourner]

Chapter 7: Uncertainty and Exploration

Through starry nights and music lessons, Wanda and Vision rediscover themselves. And begin to discover each other.

Despite the early hour and the fog clouding her brain since she found herself alone in this world, Wanda knows immediately who waits outside her room. Taking a deep breath, she prays for the energy to face this day. She opens the door.

“Good morning.” Her attempt at a smile barely counts, but at least it’s friendly. Anything to soothe her visitor’s nervousness.

“Would you care for a morning beverage?” Vision asks at the exact same moment, his words colliding with hers. He winces, and she’s sure he would blush if he could. “P-pardon me. Good morning.”

Focusing on the mugs in his hands, Vision starts again. “It is customary to consume a heated, caffeinated beverage in the morning. This seems like a practice that would appeal to you, so I have secured two options. I- I am not aware of your preference.” His blue eyes flick to hers. They are skittish, like the eyes of a deer. “Would you prefer green tea or filtered coffee? Or a different product, perhaps?”

“No, no, the coffee is fine.” She wraps her fingers around the warm ceramic and Vision shifts his hand away as soon as she has a secure grip. He is so careful to keep his fingers from brushing against hers. So careful to avoid making contact.

If it were anyone else, Wanda would think it was because of her, a fear of the storm of red that boils just below the surface of her hands. But she has seen inside his head. He is not afraid of her. He is the only one in this building who isn’t.

No, Vision is avoiding human touch, just as he does in the hallways, entering them only when there are fewer people who might brush against him. And the entire time, he keeps his shoulders curled forward, as if to make himself as small as possible.

Why does he avoid even the chance of contact? Why does he fear it so?

Wanda focuses on the mug in her hands, soaking in the heat and the familiar comfort it provides. Steam rises to her nose, but it does not carry the rich, dark scent of fresh coffee. Instead, a burnt and bitter odor greets her. Feeling Vision’s gaze on her, she dares to take a cautious sip.

If Vision made this himself, she knows the first thing they’ll work on.

Wanda’s wrinkled nose must give away her disgust. Vision rushes to assure her, “I have also procured cream and sugar for you to add, if you so wish.” He ducks into the library down the hall, returning with a wooden serving tray.

Wanda pours most of the cream from the little pitcher into her mug, stirring it with the teaspoon he holds out. “Did you get all this yourself?” Her second sip, at least, doesn’t make her cringe. She might have outgrown watered-down coffee years ago, but the cream makes this drink halfway palatable. And if nothing else, the cup will keep her hands warm.

“I retrieved the tray and its implements from the breakfast bar in the dining hall. The teaspoon I selected from the kitchen drawer. The spoons that had been set out for beverage use were not of the proper sort,” Vision explains, expression solemn. “A pot of coffee had already been brewed, but perhaps I should have prepared a new one…” He falls silent, brow furrowed as he watches her sip from the mug.

“It is good,” Wanda lies, and Vision’s shoulders drop in relief. He nods and turns to set the tray down. His golden cape, reaching almost to the floor, ripples around his boots with every step. Wanda follows its lines up his shoulders, frowning at the metal collar joining it to the tight fabric of his suit. None of it looks very comfortable, especially for more than a couple hours.

She looks down into her coffee, idly stirring the pale liquid in slow circles. “You still want my help, yes?” Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Vision turn around slowly.

“Yes.” The river of his thoughts speeds up, tumbling and rushing like rapids over rocks. Anxious. About what, exactly?

Wanda realizes her intrusion and pulls back from his mind, refocusing. “Okay. So...” She takes a deep breath. “Um... the outfit. It is fine for fighting and such, but otherwise you might want something more… relaxed?”

Brow furrowing again, Vision peers down at his clothing. “I must always stand ready to defend.” The phrase is flat. Automatic. Scripted, maybe? His eyes meet hers as he speaks his next words urgently, striving to convince her. Or himself. “It is my purpose and honor to defend and serve.”

Did Stark decide that for him? Is it something S.H.I.E.L.D. told him?

Wanda nods slowly. “It is admirable of you to think that. But there is more than one purpose in life. And things change. Always.” Suddenly, she cannot watch him any longer. Staring down into her coffee, she wills her blurred sight to clear. She has cried enough. “And when they do, there is no other option but to adapt.”

Vision watches her solemnly, eyes soft with sympathy.

Wanda takes a deep breath and forces herself to try another smile. “So. Daily clothing.” The mundane topic is awkward and alien on her tongue. There wasn’t much talk in the last few years about anything other than matters of life, death, and survival. The normal and the everyday belong in her memories. In another lifetime.

Nodding thoughtfully, Vision stares past the wall, irises swirling from one direction to the next.

Is he considering his options? Searching the internet, maybe?

“What would you suggest?” he asks.

Wanda purses her lips. Where in the tower could they find extra clothes… There is nothing she can remember seeing during her brief tour, but she remembers little of that first day. We could ask the Captain. She clenches her sweatshirt sleeves in her fists at the thought of venturing into the floors below.

Then suddenly her musings are swept away. Wanda blinks, brain scrambling to comprehend what she sees as Vision’s clothing seems to ripple and shift, both in style and color. Soon, a loose, plain cotton T-shirt and dark jeans drape his tall form. Not a trace of the suit or cape remains.

Her mouth falls open in astonishment. “How did you do that?”

“I am equipped with a thin layer of nanobots, easily controlled through a mental-cellular interface. I assume their purpose is the formation of clothing.” He holds his arms out to the side. “Do you think this attire will suffice?”

Wanda frowns. Vision’s old-fashioned, formal speech looks jarring alongside the modern style, and his perfect posture disrupts the loose fit. If anything, he stands even stiffer than when he wore the battle suit.

She tilts her head. “Is it… comfortable for you?”

“It is casual, is it not?”

“But are you comfortable? Do you like it?”

The corner of his mouth curves down. “Not… strictly speaking.”

Wanda nods. “Try something else, then. You will want it to fit you.”

Vision’s irises begin twirling, starting with the opposite direction this time. When he does that, what exactly goes on behind those blue eyes? She’s sorely tempted to look.

A moment later, his clothing shifts again.

Wanda examines the dark gray vest and tie over a long-sleeved white shirt with neatly buttoned cuffs. Pressed charcoal slacks and black dress shoes complete the simple, yet elegant outfit.

Vision looks to her, waiting

Wanda bites her lip. Maybe he should loosen the tie. Then again, he is obviously more comfortable dressed formally. His body language alone speaks loudly to that. She nods once. “This is good.”

“Good,” Vision repeats. She wonders if he’s aware that he mimics her nod and tone almost exactly. “Excellent.”

----------

During those first weeks after Pietro’s death, the intensity of the searing, screaming pain had not surprised Wanda. Neither had the crushing cloud of grief, or the red haze of anger that fogged her mind and numbed her senses during those dark nights she spent alone, hiding in the Bartons’ spare room.

Wanda has been through it all before. She knows loss well.

But now the grip of those feelings has started to fade, and what does surprise her is the boredom. The restless, irritable energy, the listless lack of focus. Every day is just the day before, completely identical in every way. Get up, train, meals, train, sleep.

There is no purpose. No drive. No one to hunt down and make pay for her brother’s death. No revenge to lie awake and plan.

She already ripped out the killer’s heart, but it was too late to save her own.

Not even the intense combat training, progressing as rapidly as she can handle, holds her attention. No matter how hard she throws herself into it, how carefully she blocks out everything but the red in her hands, she cannot lose herself in the movements. All the fighting does is bring the memories of her last battle rushing to the surface. Pietro’s last battle. And when each session finishes, it leaves her fighting to hide her pounding heart and the shaking that spreads from her hands.

There is no forgetting for her. No distraction.

Fortunately, Vision seems to have found some direction, or at least something to fill his time with. He must have read every book in the library on their floor once, if not twice, and frequently he phases through the floor with an armful pilfered from elsewhere in the building. Made-up stories, real stories, textbooks, manuals, encyclopedias, he reads them all. His desire to learn is insatiable.

If only Wanda could muster even half that enthusiasm for something. Anything.

Today, the late afternoon sun seeps through the library’s full-length window, illuminating the book in Vision’s lap. Wanda flips through the channels on the TV in the corner, jaw clenched in frustration.

It is Monday, the fifth (or maybe sixth) afternoon in a row they’ve spent in this room, and by far the quietest. They train every morning and evening except for Sunday, but the hours between are their “free time.” It’s a good thing the time is “free” because she has done nothing but waste it.

Wanda drums her fingers petulantly on the arm of her chair, restlessness coiling in her chest. She jabs the remote buttons again.

There is nothing on TV. Even worse, there is nothing to do, and she needs to do something. With a growl, Wanda hits the power button and tosses the remote to the table.

“Did you know mantis shrimp are equipped with sixteen different kinds of cones?” Vision suddenly says.

Wanda turns to look at him.

“That’s thirteen more than humans possess,” he remarks thoughtfully, eyes still tracing the page of the encyclopedia.

This was another new thing, his habit of sharing random facts. There is an unspoken understanding between them that they spend the afternoons here in their library because neither dares venture into the mob of noisy people and hectic thoughts that awaits them downstairs.

Wanda could take the solitude a step farther and stay in her room. Completely cut herself off from the noise. But somehow her room is too quiet. Too empty.

She wonders if he feels the same about his.

So they end up here, sharing each other’s company but rarely speaking. Not knowing what to say is another thing they have in common. Vision wants to talk, though. She can see it in the way he glances up from his book every once in a while, eyes darting to her, just briefly. And she tries to start the conversation sometimes, she really does. But it is frightening to realize how little she remembers of how. This is why Vision breaks the silence and she does her best to keep the conversation rolling.

Wanda tilts her head. “Cones? What cones?”

Vision straightens. “Oh, pardon me for the lack of context. I see this topic requires a little elaboration.” Enthusiasm brightens his eyes as he ponders how best to explain. He really does have nice eyes.

“The organic eye perceives light and color due to a thin layer of neurons and receptors covering its posterior wall. This layer is called the retina. The superficial layer of the retina is composed of photoreceptors, which come in two different varieties, cones and rods.”

Most of the words fly over her head, but Wanda cannot hide an amused smile as Vision adds his hands to his demonstration.

“The rods line the distal edges of the retina, providing sharp vision, while the cones cluster in the middle and supply color vision. Humans have three types of cones, each perceiving a different wavelength of light. Mantis shrimp, on the other hand, have sixteen different varieties.”

“So they see more colors?”

Vision purses his lips. “Oddly enough, no. They can see ultraviolet light, however, and a property of light called polarization. The latter is sort of the orientation of the light waves.” He holds his hands up side by side, first vertically, then horizontally.

“Hmm.” Wanda considers this, searching for a good question to ask. Her mind remains blank. It’s harder to think now that Pietro is gone, like trudging through knee deep snow with every thought.

After a few moments without a reply from Wanda, one corner of Vision’s mouth lifts. The other remains stubbornly flat, allowing him to offer her only an awkward half-smile before he ducks his head and returns to his book. It is the one expression he hasn’t figured out yet, likely because he always seems so unsure about it. As if he’s afraid to commit and show the wrong reaction.

Wanda bites her lip as silence returns to the room.

“It is quieter than usual.” She glances toward the hallway. Normally they can hear the murmur of activity floors below, but today there is an uncanny stillness. It is far quieter than even the weekend, which is only minimally less hectic than the rest of the week.

“Today is President Washington’s Birthday, a federal holiday,” Vision promptly replies.

Wanda stares at him.

He lifts his gaze and clears his throat, a little sheepish. “By which I mean no one except Agent Romanoff is working today.”

“No one else.”

“Correct.”

Wanda fiddles with her sleeves, tentatively reaching across the compound to confirm this. The only minds besides theirs are those of the security guards.

“Would… you be interested in exploring?” Vision traces the cover of his book, stealing a quick glance at Wanda’s face. “I haven’t had the chance to investigate most of the ground floor.”

Wanda looks around the library. There is nothing to do here. And the building is completely empty…

She shrugs. “I guess.”

Vision nods and stands, wiping his hands on his slacks. Despite the formality of the outfit, he looks comfortable in his vest and dress shirt. Still, he does not seem to completely grasp the idea of clothing. He hasn’t switched outfits since picking this one, choosing instead to just change the color every morning.

The moment they step from the elevator into the huge, empty lobby, Vision tenses. His eyes dart across the abandoned floor without seeming to actually see it.

“Let’s, um… Let’s go this direction.” Wanda tips her head toward the right, and Vision nods, blinking a couple times. They walk without talking, resisting the urge to tiptoe as their footsteps echo off the walls.

Most of the doors on the ground floor lead to bland offices, and the two floors above aren’t much better. The rooms are either locked, more offices, or storage.

Her flicker of anticipation for this journey has long died out and Wanda is about to give up, when they stumble across yet another storage room.

Vision examines the label on the door. “Prop storage.”

Wanda lifts an eyebrow. “Props for what?”

With a shrug, Vision opens the door, gesturing for her to enter first. The room isn’t nearly as large as some they’ve found, but it’s stacked floor-to-ceiling with boxes, totes, and assorted junk all the same. For a building only recently built and occupied, the Avengers wasted no time filling it.

Seeing only junk, Wanda turns to exit. But when she doesn’t hear footsteps behind her, she glances over her shoulder to see Vision wandering deeper inside. With a sigh, she follows, fingers trailing idly over the shelving units.

“Theatre props is the first possibility that comes to mind, but I can see no logic in it,” Vision muses, still stuck on the room name.

Smooth leather meets Wanda’s fingertips, and she stops.

Is this…?

Reaching into the shelf, she slides out a black case and sets it on the floor. Her hands find the latch by memory, and she can’t hide the triumphant smile that crosses her face as the lid opens to reveal an acoustic guitar.

“Do you play?” Vision asks, peering over her shoulder.

“I did.” Wanda traces the wooden grain and gives the steel strings a gentle pluck or two. Glancing up, she catches Vision watching her expectantly. “What?”

“Are… Are you going to play it now?” Curiosity gleams in his eyes.

Her arms ache to hold it, her fingers to slot the notes and strum the strings. The need to play it winds together with another familiar ache, just as strong. The memory of her instructor. Her mama.

“No.” Wanda shuts the case.

“Oh.” Vision frowns. “Are you sure? I don’t think anyone would mind.” He glances around the empty room.

Wanda lifts the case and slides it back onto the shelf. “I’m sure.” Her curt tone keeps away any questions.

A few minutes later, they return to the library. But Wanda’s thoughts linger in the cramped props room all day.

The next morning, she is greeted by a black leather case outside her door. Frowning, Wanda eyes the case and searches for Vision’s mind. His thoughts echo from downstairs. Wanda shakes her head and sighs. She told him she wasn’t going to play.

For a moment longer, she stares at the smooth leather, picturing the instrument inside. She bites her lip. Kneeling beside the case, she flips open the lid. The guitar lies there quietly. Inviting. Promising. A soft brush of her fingers breaks the silence with a low hum. It needs to be tuned. Wanda pulls the case into her room and closes the door behind her. Before she can change her mind, she lifts the instrument into her arms.

The guitar is lighter than she expected, than she remembered. Yet it feels just as right. The strings are strong and familiar under her fingers and the ring of the notes resounds in her chest. The ache, the itch to play becomes louder than the need to avoid digging up old grief.

This floor really does belong to her and Vision, so no one will hear if she plays a few chords. None of the other rooms have ever been used, not even the offices, and not a single employee dares journey up here. Wanda feels the frantic spikes of fear in their minds on the rare occasions she enters their domain downstairs; it doesn’t take much to put two and two together and realize she has been isolated on purpose.

Normally, it would anger her. Normally, she would give them a piece of her mind. But she’s tired, and she is grateful for the solitude. For the quiet.

Especially today, when there is no one to hear her and ask questions, such as who taught her to play, or what the song is, or why she chose such a “sad” chord.

Wanda frets a D minor. She strums the waiting strings.

And finally the world fades away as she falls into the music.

----------

If the days are long and suffocating, the nights are worse. Darkness falls and Wanda lies awake, sleeping fitfully or not at all. The nightmares are fewer, but still she can’t sleep. Insomnia, Vision calls it.

But she avoids the subject, because she can’t talk about how her sleeping mind seeks out the comfort of his, diving into the ocean of gold when the nightmares start. Or how even her few good dreams take place on the seashore now. It’s too much, too close. Too personal to put into words.

There’s something about Vision. Wanda doesn’t understand it, but his mind and soul glow brighter than any she’s ever seen before. And somehow he and she are connected.

Yet every morning, she wakes and reminds herself she can’t lean on the comfort and reassurance he so willingly offers. What if she grows to need it? What if she begins to need him, and like everyone else in her life, he is taken away? She’ll be left behind again. Left alone.

She always is.

Wanda stares at the ceiling, her own breath too loud in her ears, nearly as loud as the thoughts burning in her mind. Flinging the covers aside, she slips from bed. There will be no sleep tonight.

The digital clock reads 2:11 AM. She walks just to move, to do something. She can’t outrun her own mind. But she can try.

Wanda tiptoes down the darkened hallway. The elevator looms ahead, and she stops. Down? No. The last thing she wants is to run into an obsessive employee working late into the night.

So up, then.

The doors open onto the rooftop and Wanda steps blinking from the harshly lit elevator. Slowly, her eyes adjust to the gentler light of the night. One by one, like frightened children, stars surface in the sky above, outlining a figure stationed at the building’s edge. His cape swirls softly in the brisk February wind.

She does not have to guess who it is.

Always, she and Vision end up together. In the library. Here. Are they really so similar that they seek the same places? Or did she search for him subconsciously? (She suspects it wouldn’t be the first time.) Or was it the invisible thread pulling them, a connection she can’t comprehend born from the moment she looked into his mind as he lay dreaming in the cradle. Part of him was still Ultron then. But Vision was there. She felt it.

Wanda steps quietly across the concrete. She stops just behind Vision, unwilling to disturb him but reluctant to go inside.

“I was disappointed to hear the New Avengers team would not be based at Stark Tower,” Vision says suddenly.

Stark. Wanda bites back a scoff. His disappointment is not mutual.

“It has nothing to do with Mr. Stark,” Vision continues, guessing her thoughts. “It is only that I have a certain… fondness for his view of the city lights.” He stares out over the dark countryside and she joins him, standing a couple feet from the edge. “They represent the life of the city, spread across the streets below. Still bright despite the hour, shining on both those awake and those peacefully slumbering. Pushing back the night like guardian angels. Providing a sense of comfort and safety.”

Vision’s words have the rhythm of poetry. His eyes glow softly like the light he paints such a reverent picture of. Wanda watches the serene blue spill over his pensive expression. In his light, she sees comfort. Safety. Just as he says. She looks away.

“There are more stars here, though.” Wanda nods toward the sky above. “You can’t see them in the city.”

Vision cranes his neck, searching the galaxies spread across the darkness. “But they’re so very far away,” he whispers. Curling his long legs beneath him, he sinks to the concrete, his head still tilted back to stare above.

Wanda stands in silence. She doesn’t know how to answer. Why his expression is so sorrowful or how to fix it. She doesn’t understand the source of his pain. But the ache of watching stars at night… This she understands. No matter how brightly, how beautifully they shine, they always burn out.

Wanda traces a meteor as it streaks across the sky and disappears from view.

Some stars even fall.

After a moment, Wanda sits beside Vision and pulls her knees to her chest.

The brilliant, glimmering show of the galaxies unfolds above them, millions of light years away. They watch until it melts before the threat of the morning light. Until every trace fades as if it were never there.

They do not say anything.

----------

Knock knock.

Stifling a groan, Wanda rolls out of bed and stumbles to the door.

“Hello.” Vision offers her a smile and a mug of coffee. The smile is as tentative as always, lifting only half his mouth. But a new light in his eyes makes up for it. “Good morning, Miss Maximoff.”

“Wanda,” she reminds him, accepting the steaming cup. She barely remembers to mumble her thanks before taking a long drink. Vision, as it turns out, is a much better coffee brewer than whoever made the burnt, bitter monstrosity.

Vision nods his acknowledgement. Is it just her grogginess, or does he hold his shoulders higher? Not with tension but with… confidence. He meets her eyes eagerly, boldly. As if he truly wants to be here. With her.

But maybe it’s just her imagination.

Vision’s gaze flickers past Wanda and into her room, just briefly. A sudden twinge of guilt twists in her chest. She didn’t join him in the library yesterday. In fact, after he delivered her morning coffee, she didn’t see him at all until nighttime. When they met on the rooftop under the stars.

She had spent all her time with the guitar, letting it pull her in and awaken an all-consuming desire to relearn the sound of the notes and the feel of the rhythm. To reclaim a piece of herself. And to be honest, she has no desire to share something so personal with anyone else. But Vision brought her the instrument. He gave her the push she needed to actually play it. It is only fair she let him hear a little.

Wanda takes another sip of her coffee to hide a sudden smile. With eyes as lively and curious as his, how could she say no? Lowering her mug, she clears her throat. “Also, thank you. For the guitar. I would not have gone back for it myself.”

“You are most welcome.”

She shifts from one foot to the other, suddenly nervous. “Would you… want to hear it?”

“Oh, yes please! If you don’t mind.” Those blue eyes Wanda can’t stop noticing glimmer with childish enthusiasm, and some of her hesitancy fades. She opens the door a bit wider and returns to her seat on the bed. Vision follows, gaze darting across the room, hands wringing. He stops just inside the doorway.

Breathing deeply, Wanda bends her head and focuses on her breathing. With each inhale and exhale, another piece of the world around her fades. Vision’s presence, the hum of activity floors below, the heater’s droning buzz. Her fingers slide down the polished fret. The strings bite into her sore fingertips, but the notes she plucks are clean and crisp.

They ring slowly and distinctly at first, each with a bold and individual voice. After a few measures the melody begins to grow, building and expanding beat by beat. Notes find their places, melding with their harmonies in a tune mounting in complexity. The volume, the tension builds until all the notes weave together, their voices joining in a single resounding chord that ends the song.

Wanda smiles to herself. The hours spent perfecting that piece and her red, aching fingertips are well worth it. Glancing up, she falters at the sight of Vision’s face. His eyes are wide and awestruck, as if she just performed a baffling magic trick. Though quite proud of herself, she must admit the tune isn’t particularly difficult or beautiful. But Vision’s expression says he thinks otherwise.

His gaze leaps from her, to the guitar, and back. “How did you do that?”

“I just… press my fingers here...” Surely he knows how guitars work.

“No, how did your hands move with such swiftness and precision? And in perfect coordination with each other?”

Her face reddens. “It wasn’t perfect.”

He stares at her hands. “It was entrancing.”

Wanda fidgets with the tuning pegs, embarrassed by his unabashed honesty and admiration. “Anyone could learn that.” The image of Vision poring over encyclopedias and old novels jumps to the front of her mind. “You could.”

His eyes snap to hers. “Oh, I truly don’t think so...”

“Would you like to try?”

“I-I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Giving him an encouraging smile, Wanda nods toward the bedspread next to her. The guitar looks small and delicate in Vision’s large hands as he carefully accepts it from her, propping it against his knee in an imitation of her posture. Awkward and uncertain, he looks to Wanda for guidance.

“Alright. The basics are mostly form and knowledge of the notes. The first string is an ‘E.’” She nods to him. He finds and plucks it. “Good. By holding the string against the board there at the top of the neck, you will make another note.” The “F” Vision plucks twangs brassy and flat. “You’ll have to press harder.”

He nods, brow furrowing as he applies more pressure and tries again. The note rings clear and musical.

“Good. To make a chord, press with more than one finger. The E minor is your second and third fingers on the second fret, fifth and fourth strings.” Her fingers curve around the empty air, miming the placement.

It takes her a moment to notice the wide-eyed look he gives her.

Wanda’s about to suggest they stick with single notes for now, when Vision cranes his neck and stares at the fretboard. “Second and third fingers,” he whispers to himself. His long, elegant fingers are strangely clumsy on the strings, fumbling to find the position.

“Second fret,” Wanda reminds him. She bites her lip as she watches him struggle. “Here.” She reaches for his hand. And just a moment too late, she remembers his aversion to touch.

Her fingers brush his and he jumps as if struck by electricity, the instrument nearly slipping from his grasp as he yanks his hand away.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Wanda apologizes, face flushing bright red. Vision set a boundary through his careful actions, and she crossed it. It’s no way to repay someone who has been nothing but overwhelmingly kind to her. I didn’t mean to, I am so sorry-

“No, no, I must apologize. I honestly didn’t mean to respond in such a manner.” Guilt and horror at his own reaction chases the shock from Vision’s face. He looks just as sorry as she feels.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s my fault. I should have asked.” Her entire face burns. He’s so new and inexperienced, more frightened and unsure than she probably knows.

“You only surprised me. I-” Vision stares down at the instrument in his hands. He takes a deep breath and his shoulders loosen downward a fraction of an inch. “I actually would like you to show me. The chord, that is.”

Glancing nervously toward his hands, Wanda bites her lip again. “M-may I?”

Vision’s irises rotate just once. She sees the moment he chooses to trust her. “Yes.”

His fingers are rigid and cold as she gently nudges them in the right direction, trying to keep her own hands from shaking as she explains how the notes fit together. He follows her guidance as best he can, the stiffness never leaving his hands. When Wanda checks out the corner of her eye, his jaw is just as tense as his arms. But then he glances at her, just briefly. And his eyes are soft and open. Longing, almost.

There is so much she does not understand about him. His sorrow the night before, his fear of people and touch. The hidden shame she’s just starting to hear behind his words. But there are some things that make sense now. There are some things she knows.

He trusts her. The realization startles Wanda in how sudden and obvious it is. He talks about his interests to her, lets her see the nervous and scared parts of him. He lets her guide his hand across the strings, despite the measures he takes to avoid even casual contact in the hallway.

Vision trusts her. But he doesn’t trust anyone else, and she knows exactly why. The few instances she’s seen him interact with others flash through her mind. Yes, he chooses to keep his distance, even during conversations, and never once has she seen him shake someone’s hand. But now that she thinks about it, she’s also never seen anyone offer him a handshake.

The people of Sokovia had avoided touching urchins such as Wanda and Pietro like they carried a disease. And isn’t Vision just like they were? Isn’t he new, and uncertain, and afraid, just like a child? Sent into the world alone just like an orphan?

Anger burns in her chest. S.H.I.E.L.D. was supposed to take care of Vision, but they handed him off. Dropped him at the doorstep of the compound, where he is ignored and avoided by every employee. Where he is nothing to the Avengers but another recruit to whip into shape.

Wanda may not know them well, but she is certain the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. would not abandon a child. No, if a child was placed in their care, they would guide and nurture him, providing whatever he needed as he struggled to learn and develop. As he tried to discover who he was. And if they could not provide this, they would place him with someone who could. They would not fail a child the way they have failed Vision.

Do they really not see him?

“Perhaps I am capable of learning to play an instrument,” -Vision���s voice pushes Wanda’s thoughts aside, pulling her back to the present- “But I think I shall leave the music to one with more skill.” He gives her the half-smile, and her heart breaks a little.

She shakes her head slowly, trying to refocus. “You are not so bad.”

Vision passes the guitar to her. “Could I hear another song?” He asks so shyly, and a soft affection fills her heart.

Wanda shrugs, settling the guitar in her lap. “I guess it is not yet time for training. One more.” Her fingers move almost on their own as a flurry of thoughts continues to tumble through her mind. She feels Vision watching her contentedly, open admiration written across his face.

He is so young, so eager and afraid all at once. So desperate to make a connection and find something to hold onto. He needs more than someone to ask questions of and tell unusual facts. He needs direction, to be introduced to experiences and the world outside this building, just as he so strongly desires.

The Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. have failed him, completely. Forgotten him.

Wanda will not.

[amillionsmiles]

get myself together, spend you all of my money (Ellie/Aster)

Title: get myself together, spend you all of my money Summary: “You’d think going to college out of town would have knocked us both down a peg, but instead we ended up pretty pretentious.” / or: Ellie, Aster, and an apartment full of things. A/N: written while listening to Mitski’s cover of “Let’s Get Married” on loop.

[Read and review here] or continue under the cut.

*

Ellie finds Aster Flores again on a Sunday.

So far, the NYC Sublets & Apartments Facebook group has yielded more duds than leads, but she scrolls down and suddenly, there: a corner of Squahamish, waving at her from the screen.

LOOKING FOR: Room to rent, ideally available by August. Recently graduated from art school, so that gives you a sense of my budget, but I’m tidy, respectful, and play well with cats. Any PMs with leads appreciated!  

The profile picture isn’t anything new; Ellie’s pretty sure she scrolled past it and liked it a few weeks ago during the influx of everyone’s graduation photo updates. Aster’s looking over her shoulder at the camera, the quiet joke that always seemed to hide in her eyes in high school now more pronounced. It’s a good picture, from a purely aesthetic standpoint, and that’s the only reason her heartrate picks up when she hovers over Aster’s name to click Message.

She takes a swig from her iced cappuccino and starts to type.

Hey! Long time, less conversation. Haven’t been to church in a minute, but I remember there being a Bible verse saying something about “two are better than one,” and I’m pretty sure that also applies to apartment-hunting. If that seems like something you’d be interested in, let me know.  

Before she can think twice about it, she hits enter.

*

They move in together in July, when the summer heat turns the air liquid and the acrid smell of molten trash bags wafts from the street. For a second, Ellie misses the Pacific Northwest: the greenish tint of light filtered through leaves, the way she could disappear to a nearby watering hole for respite. Even the mudding that Trig and his friends did now seems appealing—on the stairwell, she fantasizes about the cool shock of it against her skin.

“Hey, Ellie?”

Ellie turns from where she’s been sitting on the top step to see that Aster’s finally gotten the door open. Rocking to her feet, she pushes the cardboard box across the floor, stepping inside to get a look at where they’ll be living for the next year.

The first room is spacious, combining a kitchen area with what can become a living room, once they buy a couch. Trailing her fingers along the wall, Ellie wanders into the other bedroom, then tests the lights in the bathroom. She comes back to find Aster eyeing the ceiling, a hammer pulled from her belongings.

“What are you doing?”

“Here.” Aster beckons her closer. “I’m thinking that this space is big enough that if we hang a curtain, part of it can be my room.”

“Oh.” Ellie hadn’t put much thought into it when they’d signed the lease, assuming they’d share the back room, like a college one-room double situation. It seems naïve, now; they’re adults, of course Aster would want her own space. “It doesn’t have to be yours, though. I mean—we can flip a coin or something, to make it fairer.”

Aster shrugs. “I don’t mind. Besides, the back room is more muffled—I’m less likely to hear you clacking your typewriter this way.” She smiles, the two of them both glancing to where Ellie’s Smith Corona peeks out from its bubble wrap packaging, the pale blue paint gleaming in the sunlight.

“It was my mom’s,” Ellie explains, her own memory fond against her lips.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I always wanted to hear more about her, after that time at the spring.”

“She was fun.” The words take her back to Ping-Pong, Paul’s paddle thwacking the ball against the wall.

“As fun as you are?”

Ellie raises an eyebrow. “Am I fun?”

Aster pushes a sweaty lock of hair behind her ear. Overhead, the air conditioning hums.

“Guess we have plenty of time to find out, heathen.”

*

“Saw is not the greatest horror movie of our generation.”

“It is!” protests Aster, sitting next to her on the couch. Waxy cartons from the Georgian restaurant Aster waitresses at litter the table, and Ellie licks her fingers clean of the buttery residue from the kubdari—mm, delicious—as she leans back, waiting for Aster to continue.

“Ignore the sequels. But on its own, it’s this brilliant little clockwork machine of the lengths people will go to when they think they’ve got no time left. And the reveal at the end? I heard you gasp.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that, but a lot of the rest of it feels like torture porn.”

Aster rolls her eyes. “No one watches a horror movie for the butterflies.”

“Except you, apparently,” Ellie points out, because this is a thing they do as roommates, now: watch movies and then discuss them over takeout. So far, they’ve tended toward foreign cinema, art-house, and horror. The last genre is the one Aster engages with most fervently. However, Ellie has started to suspect that Aster can turn nearly anything into a debate, perhaps a side effect of all the time she spent wrestling with God in her head during sermons.

“Whatever. I just don’t think you’re giving it the credit it deserves for how well it feeds on the psyches of all the characters.”

“Cupid and Psyche,” Ellie thinks aloud. “Now there’s a story we could talk about.”

Crinkling her nose, Aster says, “We get it, you read literature.”

“So do you,” says Ellie, nudging her foot. “You’re just as big a nerd as I am.”

At that, Aster laughs, tilting her head back. It makes the column of her throat into the soft marble of a Canova statue.

“You’d think going to college out of town would have knocked us both down a peg, but instead we ended up pretty pretentious.”

Looking around their apartment, Ellie has to agree. There are too many stacks of books lying around, various papers jutting out of them as placeholders so she can flip to the passages she needs when writing essays. Aster keeps bringing back abstract art prints from the showcases she attends. In the corner, there’s a ficus that Ellie took home from work out of guilt (she’d been the only one in the office watering it) which they’ve named Walter Benjamin.

“I kind of like it, though.”

Aster turns to her, cheek pressing against the fabric of the couch. Her gaze is a paperweight: glassy and clear and heavy with something Ellie can’t quite name. “I’m not complaining, either.”

*

Before college, Ellie had considered herself a morning person, simply because she had no reason to be otherwise. Waking up to signal the trains each morning became part of her biorhythm, as natural and unremarkable as her middle part or her thermal underwear. At Grinnell, though, she’d discovered the guilty joy of sleeping in. The downside has been that her body now relies on coffee to function before 10 AM on the weekends.

“Don’t drink that,” says Aster, whisking the tin away from Ellie’s grasp. “I’ve been using it to wash off my brushes.”

Groggily, Ellie leans against the counter, watching Aster bend over the canvas on the kitchen table. She must have been at it for a while—a good third of it is filled in, streaked with purples and browns. After dabbing at a corner, Aster blows a strand of hair out of her face and straightens, reaching to adjust her messy bun.

Ellie squints. “Have you always had that?”

Pausing, Aster feels along the shaved part of her hair, tracing the chevron indented in it. “The undercut? Yeah. A girlfriend did it for me senior year, before we went our separate ways.”

A spike akin to a dose of caffeine shoots through Ellie. She stands a bit taller. “A girlfriend like a girl…?” she trails off, clearing her throat. “Or. A friend.”

The corner of Aster’s mouth twitches. “The first one.”

“Oh. Um.” Ellie swallows. “That’s nice.”

Aster picks up another paintbrush, twirling it between her fingers before deciding against it and setting it back down. When she meets Ellie’s eyes again, the look behind them is bare, vulnerable.

“I haven’t told my parents, though.”

“Is that why you don’t go back to Squahamish?”

Aster’s lips part slightly. “You noticed?”

“The first summer, yeah,” Ellie admits. “After that, I wasn’t around much either. Internships and stuff, you know.”

“And relationships?”

“Some of those, too.”

“Did you seduce all of them wearing flannel?” Aster asks, nodding to the oversized checkered shirt Ellie favors as pajamas. For a second, Ellie just gapes, taken aback by being so thoroughly called out.

“You’re the one with an undercut. Don’t talk to me about queer signaling.”

Aster laughs. It suddenly becomes very important that Ellie turn around and start the coffee machine, right now.

“I like seeing you with your hair down, though,” comes Aster’s voice, drifting over the sound of water straining into a pot.

*

“—And then I thought, what if it’s a temperature thing?” finishes Paul, his face ruddy and proud through the screen. Sensing an opening, Ellie stops worrying the inside of her mouth.  

“Did you know Aster likes girls? Like, officially?” Almost immediately, she cringes from how juvenile her delivery makes her sound.

Paul doesn’t so much as twitch. “Uh, yeah. It’s come up once or twice.”

“Wait, she’s talked about it with you?” Ellie sits up on her mattress. Since when were Paul and Aster confidantes?

“Yeah. Sorry I didn’t say anything, it’s just I read all this stuff about not outing people before they were ready, and I figured if it was important enough to her she’d let you know eventually. Uh, Ellie, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Blinking rapidly, Ellie fights the surge of affection threatening to overtake her. Stupid Paul, making her stupidly proud to have him as a best friend.

“Do you—er. Do you think you might like her?”

“Oh, god, no. And I mean it for real this time,” she says, meeting Paul’s skeptical look. Part of it is pride—it seems like character regression, to return to the source of her teenage fantasies when she’s learned so much about herself since then. “It’s just nice to have a friend who gets both parts of it, you know? The being queer and being from Squahamish.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. Hey, do you guys want a batch of these sausages when I finish tinkering with the recipe? It takes two days to ship cross-country, I checked.”

Ellie laughs. “Yeah, Munsky, send them our way.”  

*

Ellie wets the edges of the dough tucked in her palm, working from the outside in as she crimps the dumpling and places it on a plate. Across from her, Aster works with similar dexterity, a pink sliver of tongue poking out the side of her mouth in concentration.

“You’re good at this.”

Aster sets aside another dumpling, using two fingers to scoop a mound of dough from the bowl between them. “Yeah, I helped my mom a lot with her empanadas, growing up.”

“Say you had kids,” Ellie starts. “What’s one thing you’d teach them, before they turned thirteen?”

Aster considers. “Long division. Except I’d have to get someone else to teach them, because I’m terrible at math.”

“Really?”

“Really. Do you ever think about how smart people have been, to invent the concept of infinity and the concept of zero?”

“Mm. And where would you put the idea of God on that scale?”

“Like, a solid fifty,” says Aster, flicking water at her face.

*

In November, Ellie publishes a short story in the New Yorker, which Aster crows about for a solid week.

“Aster, oh my god, you’re being embarrassing,” she says upon walking into the kitchen and finding her story printed in full, each sheet pinned to the refrigerator door with a bright red magnet.

“You should be proud,” Aster insists.

Paul calls her to discuss it. “Me and your dad read it. I thought it was really good. Are you working on more stuff?”

“Slow your roll, Munsky.” Ellie laughs. “I’m not as prolific as you are, dreaming up new sausage combinations every day.”

Off-camera, the staticky sound of a TV and a faint Ellie? sounds.

“Here, Mr. Chu.” Paul passes the phone to her dad, who is wrapped in his usual robe. The lines by his eyes relax when he sees her face.

“How are you?” she asks in Mandarin. “Are you keeping warm?”

“You should be worried about yourself—it’s colder where you are,” her dad replies. “Paul’s good about keeping me company. He read your piece to me three times. The scene with the swing set, and the little girl…” He switches to English. “Best part. Your mom would be proud.”

“Thanks, Ba,” says Ellie, voice thick. She goes to bed that night and dreams of being sandwiched between her mom and dad, dancing in the living room.

*

She and Aster host a small get-together in December. They put a Santa hat on Walter Benjamin and get everyone drunk on mulled wine until the party devolves into a caroling session, Aster’s friend James competing with Ellie’s friend Larissa to see who can belt “O Holy Night” louder. Afterwards, she and Aster sprawl on Aster’s mattress, limbs loosened from a successful night. The string lights Aster wound through the curtains as decoration for the party flicker, casting the room a soft gold.

“Would you ever get a tattoo?” Ellie asks. It’s been on her mind ever since she noticed the olive branch inked above Larissa’s collarbone. She’s wary of the pain, though.

Beside her, Aster shifts, arm pressing against hers. “I have one, actually.”

“What, really?”

“Yeah.” She props herself up on an elbow, pulling her shirt up to reveal a cluster of flowers just below her rib.

Tracing the lines with her eyes, Ellie asks, “What kind of flowers are they?”

“Asters.”

“You’re joking.”

Aster looks straight back at her. “I’m 100% serious.”

“Isn’t that a bit too on the nose?” Ellie studies the tattoo again and then snorts, shaking her head. “I can’t believe it.” The wine must still be in her system, because the fuzziness of a laugh flushes through her body.

“What?” Aster seems miffed. “Ellie, what’s so funny?”

“Nothing, I’m just— You were so reserved before, and now you’ve got an undercut and a tattoo and. Do you remember— there was that day when Jenny Newman brought in that pink scarf and you all walked down the hallway like something out of a Clique movie, it was ridiculous. I can’t believe I had a crush on you. Oh my god.”

“Stop.” Aster shoves her shoulder, but she’s laughing, too. “Don’t remind me. God. God! What a terrible color, it didn’t match my outfit at all.”

“But it’s okay, because now you’re Aster Flores, hardcore.”

“Well, what about you, Ellie Chu?”

“What what about me?”

Aster sits up. “You’re walking into a tattoo parlor right now. What do you decide to get, and where?”

“Persimmons,” Ellie says, before even fully conceiving the thought. “On my… right shoulder.”

“All right.” Aster gets up and feels around her desk; the next thing Ellie knows, she’s kneeling before her on the mattress, a fine-tipped pen in hand. “I’ll draw it for you.”

“Okay.” Slowly, Ellie sits up, tugging the collar of her shirt down as far as it’ll go to expose the skin needed for Aster’s canvas. The first touch tickles; she tries to hold herself as still as possible while Aster draws, ink flowing in thin lines. She considers watching the process, but it makes her go cross-eyed and dizzy, so she closes her eyes instead and feels: the smoothness of a persimmon skin, the shine of their texture, the sweet crunch of a fruit just barely ripened.

“Done,” Aster whispers, and Ellie leans closer to catch it. It feels like they’re in a confessional booth. Aster caps the pen and bites her lip, but she doesn’t move away.

“Ellie—” Her breath smells of cinnamon and cloves. Like the sharpest part of the forest, like all things good and lovely and too fragile to want.

“I should go to bed,” Ellie says, and it takes every ounce of strength she has to extract herself, to stumble back to her room and sit against the closed door, shaking.

*

“Ellie? Ellie, pick up the phone. It’s about your dad. It’s not—super critical, or anything, but I still think—uh. Just… call me back as soon as you can.”

*

Her carry-on is by the door and she’s set to leave for the airport in an hour. When Aster finds her, she’s cutting and skinning apples in the kitchen—not even to eat, just to have something to do with her hands.

Silently, Aster pulls out some bread, cream cheese, and salmon. When she’s done with the sandwich, she slips it into a plastic bag and holds it out to Ellie.

“For the plane ride.”

“Thanks.” Ellie sets down the knife and goes to put the sandwich away in her backpack. She zips it up.

“Would you come with me, if I asked?”

By the sink, Aster is quiet. Ellie thinks of that awful moment in the ping pong room, when she’d thought Paul had caught on to her.

“You know what, never mind.”

“If I go with you, I’m going to want to be with you.” Aster looks down at her hands as she says it; it’s the first time she’s seemed uncertain in a while. Ellie soaks in the confession, turning it over in her head. It’s brave. It’s honest.

It’s not enough.

“I just.” Aster shrugs, helpless. “I’m not ready for that conversation, yet. With them. For the fallout of what the worst could be.”

Pick me, her heart throbs, selfishly. Pick me pick me pickme. She is a train leaving the station, hoping for someone to catch her. But no time to wait; her dad needs her.

“Take care, Aster,” she says, shrugging her backpack over her shoulder. Aster’s face crumples like snow. Ellie tries not to look back.

*

The hospital discharges her dad after a week. Ellie stays for another two, making sure his cough is gone and all the mucus has loosened from his chest. When he regains enough energy to start fighting back against her fussing, she recruits Paul to make sure he drinks enough fluids every day.

“Pneumonia,” she scolds at the doorway, shaking her head. “Don’t ever scare me like that again!”

“Ch,” her dad says. “You want to talk about scared? How about that time when you were seven and fell off the monkey bars? Nearly cracked your head open.”

Paul looks between them, bewildered. “Okay, Mr. Chu, I’ve gotta get Ellie to the airport. There’s still ice on the roads so driving will be slower than usual.”

In the car, Ellie holds her hands to the heat, touching the pads of her fingertips to each other.

“Do you like it better out east?”

Ellie tilts her head. “City life is different, that’s for sure. It feels freer and lonelier. Not as many people paying attention to you, so you can be anything you want to be. But also: not as many people paying attention to you.”

“Hm, I get that. Like being at my house versus being at yours.”

“You’re saying that the Munskys are New York City and me and my dad are Squahamish?”

“Never mind. I guess my house has all the people New York has, but they’re all jumping down your throat instead of passing you by.”

Ellie laughs. “You love it, though.”

Across the dash, Paul smiles at her. “Yeah, I do.”

“You wouldn’t consider the Midwest? It’d be a happy medium.”

“I did like Iowa, when I visited you.”

“Chicago, then,” Ellie proposes. “In five years. People there buy lots of hot dogs—it’d be good business.”

“I’ll think about it,” Paul promises, pulling up to the curb. He gets out to help with her suitcase, wrapping her in a warm hug. Ellie buries her nose into the center of his chest and inhales. She wonders if it's possible to absorb his courage through her lungs.

“Paul?” she asks, when he starts to pull away. “Can I ask you something?”

His eyes are bright with concern. “Of course.”

“If you loved someone, and they loved you back in the same way, but they said you couldn’t be together, what would you do?”

“Well, I’d ask myself: when I picture being with that person, what does it really look like? Is it okay if the image doesn’t exactly match up? Because then I’d hold on.”

“Never Let Me Go.”

“What?”

“It’s another Kazuo Ishiguro book,” says Ellie, smiling. “You should read it if you get the time.”

“All right, boss,” says Paul, mock-saluting her. “Now go catch your flight.”

*

It’s past midnight when she gets back to the apartment, careful not to make too much noise as she slips past Aster’s room and into her bed. Her head is about to hit the pillow when her phone screen lights up, casting her as a glaring shadow against the bedroom wall.

Aster: Hey, heard you come in. Is your dad okay?

Yeah. I sentenced him to house arrest for the month, with Paul as guard dog.

Aster: All right, Foucault. Discipline & Punish. Aster: I’m glad he’s better, though.

Thanks. Did you miss me much?

Aster: Well, I realized that the cookies disappear at a much slower rate when you’re not around. :P

It’s strange to be talking like this when they’re separated by only a hallway, when for the past six months they’ve seen each other face-to-face every day. And yet, in some ways it’s easier: the crackle of electricity, the dots appearing, then fading, then appearing again.

Aster: Can you come into the hall? Aster: There’s something I want to say.

Ellie sits up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Gently, she cracks open the door to see Aster leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom. Her hair is tangled. She looks beautiful.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Sliding down to the floor, Aster gestures to the spot opposite her. “Sit.”

Dutifully, Ellie obeys, bringing her knees to her chest and resting her chin atop them. The hallway is so narrow that her toes end up tucked under Aster’s legs, crisscrossed in front of her.

“I’ve been thinking about what I said to you right before you left,” says Aster. “And I did some more thinking while I was here alone. And the thing is, I don’t want to be all or nothing with you. I want us to be—something. And I’m wondering if you could be okay with that. If we could take it little by little, and just figure it out as it comes. If you’re willing to wait.”

“Yeah.” Ellie swallows. “We can do that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Nodding, Ellie starts to rise, but Aster gets a determined look in her eyes and suddenly she’s swooping forward, the scent of her hair—vanilla and violets—swinging around them, her hand cupping Ellie’s cheek and her mouth a bright star against Ellie’s, striking deep as a hymn into her bones. Ellie counts to five before opening her eyes, and when she speaks, her voice is hoarse.

“I thought you wanted me to wait.”

“Guess I’m bad at following my own rules,” Aster says, and grins.

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

Hip-Check (Matthew Tkachuk Imagine)

Alright y’all, I finally fixed it! Hopefully this version is more coherent now that I’m not drunk off my ass.

Rating: T

Pairing: Matthew Tkachuk/Reader

Words: 1572

Warnings: none

Requested: yes/no

Summary: You’re just trying to get coffee after a long night at work. You end up getting a little extra.

Your job fucking sucks. Well, it doesn’t really, you’re just in a bad mood after a shitty shift. Spring and summer are the busiest time of year, which is stressful enough, but also everything that could go wrong did go wrong today. A real Murphy’s Law of a shift. Your propane tank had a leak, so your forklift ran out and stopped at the far end of the dock, meaning you had to walk all the way down and back with the tanks since everyone else was too busy to grab one for you. Then the system went down, so you had to run all your bills to and from the supervisor’s desk for them to put in directly. Then approximately eight million pallets needed to be repaired or entirely re-stacked throughout the seven hours you were there. Oh, and your unbearable coworker with an obvious crush on you— while also seeming to think you’re his personal therapist— kept stopping by your trucks to chat. So over all, super fun day. Or night, rather. You get off at 6am, meaning it’s 6:15 when you get to Starbucks to treat yourself to something sugary and caffeinated before going to give your friend’s daughter a lift to school.

The drive-through is packed, so you decide to go inside and wait in that hellish line instead. At least that way you can play on your phone without someone honking at you for not moving up two feet .2 seconds after it opens up. You’re not really in the mood to be around people, especially in a noisy place after a noisy night at work, but whatever. You open the door, and just before you can go through, someone darts inside in front of you, jostling you a bit. Irritating on its own, yes, but what really gets your hackles raised is that they don’t even say anything. No apology, no thank you, no nothing. Just breeze past you, fucking ram into you, and say fuck all about it. Any other day, you’d roll your eyes and let it go, but not today. Not today.

“Hey man,” you call as you come in the door behind them, “What the fuck?” They turn to face you, looking annoyed, and oh shit. You know exactly who that is, and you don’t really want to piss him off. But you started it and now you’ve gotta finish it.

“What?” he demands, standing tall and crossing his arms over his puffed up chest like he’s trying to be intimidating.

“Did you seriously just do that?” it’s not really a question, more like a confirmation. A bit of an aggressive confirmation, but.

“I’m in a hurry,” he says, like that’s a legitimate excuse.

“So am I,” you’re not, “You don’t see me pushing people.” A few people had looked over when you’d first confronted him, but they’ve all looked away by this point, more interested in coffee than you two, so you don’t feel too bad. That’s the beauty of cities: no one gives a shit what you do so long as it doesn’t affect them. Tkachuk stares you down, but when you just fold your arms and stare right back, he huffs and rolls his eyes. He throws out a “whatever” and turns his back on you. Oh hell no. You get in line behind him, because you’re not about to wait longer than necessary, but this definitely isn’t over.

“Are you fucking serious, dude?” you hiss just loud enough for him to hear. He turns back toward you.

“I don’t have time for this,” he snips right in your face. This close up, he’s huge, and it’s more than a bit intimidating, but your spite carries you through.

“Neither do the rest of us,” you spit back, “You can wait like everybody else. There’s a fucking line anyway.” This is so stupid. You would’ve held the door for him if he’d just waited a damn minute. Something changes in his expression, though, and he deflates a bit. The person behind you clears their throat, and the two of you shuffle forward to fill the several-person-wide gap that had formed. With that second to breathe, your anger starts to dissipate pretty quickly. God, you’ve been so rude to the other customers, causing a scene like this. At least it seems like Tkachuk is starting to unwind, which makes it easier for you to regain your composure.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a pause, like apologizing was akin to bathing a cat, “It’s just--” He trails off, looks frustrated, shuffles up in the line, looks frustrated some more.

“My sister is in town and I promised I’d get her Starbucks for her first day here,” he explains, like he’d rather be admitting to murder, “I forgot about it, so I’m trying to get it before she wakes up.” Oh. That’s actually. Sweet? Obviously it’s still a dick move to check someone in a coffee shop, but the fact that he did it for a good cause helps soothe your anger all the more.

“I just want everything to be perfect, y’know?” he finishes, head still held high despite his hunched shoulders and clenched fists. You’re not usually a touchy-feely person, but you’re nearly overwhelmed with the urge to hug him. You wish your brothers cared that much about you. While you don’t hug him, you do touch the outside of his wrist with gentle fingertips, looking up into his eyes when they snap to you. They’re a disarming shade of blue that you hadn’t really noticed before, and you almost forget what you were going to say. Focus.

“I’m sure she’ll be happy just to have her brother around,” you assure him, all annoyance forgotten, “As long as you don’t hip check her through a door.” Okay, maybe not entirely forgotten. It gets him to laugh, shaking his head a bit, and his posture relaxes. You can feel the muscles and tendons in his wrist and forearm go slack, and for some reason his hands going soft makes you want to hold them. You’re gonna end up in love with the dude by time you leave, at this rate.

“I really am sorry about that,” he says, “I thought I had enough room.” You just shrug and straighten back up alongside him.

“Eh, It wasn’t that big of a deal,” you dismiss, “I just had a bad day at work and took it out on you. Sorry about that.” His brows look much cuter when they’re furrowed in confusion rather than anger.

“You had a bad day at work already?” he asks. You huff a laugh.

“I work night shift,” you explain, “So I guess more of a bad night at work.” You watch as realization dawns on his face, his mouth making a silent “oh”. Then you realize you’re still basically holding his wrist, so you bring your hand back to your side and hope he didn’t notice, so you can avoid that embarrassment. Except he stops you with a soft grip on your fingers, pulling you to the counter alongside him. He snags a pen from the counter and scribbles something on the back of your hand while effortlessly rattling off his order to the barista.

“And whatever she wants,” he tacks on at the end, motioning to you with a jerk of his head.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you say, dumbfounded at how far left this interaction has gone. How the hell did you go from wanting to punch him, to him offering to buy your coffee? Damn, you must be charming.

“It’s the least I can do,” he insists, and you’re not about to turn down a free drink. He plunks the pen back onto the counter and pays after you order, still holding your hand. When you look down, you-- oh. That’s. That is his phone number. On your hand. Your hand. After you just chewed him out in public for being rude, and he gave you his number. What the hell.

“I forgot that we have to wait for them to make the drinks, so this doesn’t have the same effect, huh?” he says, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly with one hand, and leading you to the waiting area with the other. Matthew Tkachuk just gave you his phone number. Maybe you got hit in the head with a box on the dock, and this is all a dream. That would make more sense.

“I was gonna say ‘text me’ and walk away all cool, but,” he shrugs, “Doesn’t always work out that way.” He was trying to be cool. He was going to write his number on your hand and walk away “cool”. Well, if he’s going to give you the opportunity, you’re not going to overlook the chance.

“Damn,” you say, shaking your head facetiously, “Gotta work on your timing.” Tkachuk looks mildly devastated until he realizes you’re joking, which makes you feel mildly powerful. He must really want to see you. The both of you chat for a few minutes, the subject switching between hockey and coffee and family until his name is called. He steps forward to take his drinks and when he turns back to you, he looks conflicted.

“Better go give her that coffee,” you say, “I’ll see you later?” A small smile grows on his face.

“Yeah,” he replies, eyes soft, “Yeah, you will.”

[twohearts-hs]

‘Omega’ - Werewolf AU

Words: 6.5k

Pairing: Alpha!Shawn Mendes x Omega!Reader x Alpha!Harry Styles

Warnings: Swearing and a Little Bit of Smut

|| Masterlist in bio ||

It was one small town and two packs that ran it. It was ordered, simple and written in stone; that was until she came along.

The small town in British Columbia was known for the gangs, more as the two wolf packs. There was no rivalry nor bad blood, in honestly they’ve been in peace for years. Shawn Mendes and Harry Styles weren’t friends, but they weren’t enemies; it was humble between them.

Everyone was afraid of Harry. He wasn’t ruthless nor cruel but he knew how to run a pack and he did it very well. Shawn was more new at it, not hundreds of years old like Harry and have been doing this since he can remember. He has been running the West pack for a short ten years and it has been more successful than all his ancestors.

Shawn was more of the guy everyone loved. He was the one that would be invited by all the elders to their grandchildren weddings, he was the one that brought a smile to anyone’s faces. He was a strong alpha, yet everyone loved him.

Y/N was new to the town, herself getting accepted into the local clinic to finish off her medical degree in werewolf health. Ever since a little girl, she’d always dreamt going into this field herself, as she grew up in a werewolf community, herself a werewolf as well; in fact, an omega. She learnt quickly the lack of doctors in the supernatural field, therefore she took it up herself.

She chose not to dabble in vampires or hybrids, as she finds them quite terrifying, therefore she chose the field that she was raised in. Werewolf medicine was quite the same as human except for the exceptional healing powers and the high heart rates. Really, it was just learning more of the wolf anatomy more than the human.

The little town of Tofino in British Columbia was just about to hit two thousand people and merely is a wolf town. The cold water surfer town on the little island was the stereotypical little town where tourist fled in, but everyone knew everyone. Yet, there were two sides to this little town. The East pack run by Harry and the West run by Shawn. The only time they’d cross was in town, otherwise, folks would stay on their side. Y/N screwed all this up.

Harry woke up. The first thing that came to his mind at the moment was pack meeting. Not just his pack, but with Shawn. There was something new here. Something that would cause disruption. His bare, tattooed chest complimented his body, joggers and socks, as he got up from his bed.

A ring-free hand went through his locks as his feet stumbled the wooden floor, travelling in circles as he tried his best to locate this newcomer. Who were they and what do they want? He was afraid, no, Harry was never afraid. After surviving the battle of 1365 with the wolves of the North and South, fear never struck him again. Yet the wolf was in despair, something has entertained the little town and yet he doesn’t know where it is.

Usually, he could locate the trouble, hear it or simply smell it, but he couldn’t. All he knew was that something has entertained their home and he needs to figure it. He needs to figure out without the help of his pack, as he can’t risk scaring them; normal for wandering small packs coming into town to take over.

Shawn felt it too, it was a pull though. Harry felt uneasy, Shawn felt a need to go to this person. Therefore that morning when he woke up, he instantly went out.

-

Y/N whistled her way down the street, turning the corner and hoping to god that she could get her morning coffee. It was not a nice surprise to be greeted with no coffee in the new little flat, therefore she prayed that there was a café in the town somewhere. Though happy, she wasn’t herself till she could feel the hot caffeine flood down her throat. The black liquid giving her more energy than any sleep ever.

The cold wind was brought to her, having her shiver a little. Too many, the winds to them might’ve been cold, but to her, they are just the seas huffing and puffing. Y/N moved for the ocean, loving the cold water and natural forest that was brought on the island. She felt at home for once. It was a dream. She was finally with peace with her life.

A little mumble escapes her lips as she found a local coffee shop. A smile littered her face as she welcomed herself in. The smell of coffee hit her, as she made her way to the counter. A simple order came out fluently from her mouth as she humbly ordered her desire at the moment.

Y/N smiled at the girl, handing her the coffee she so desperately wanted at the moment. It was generous, the tip she left as she hurriedly exited the store. Her inner wolf wanted to be outside, the smell of the ocean and pine just made her smile. So, she went the other route back to her house.

It was a normal winter morning on that side of the island. Fog covered the horizon as gusts of the East winds welcomed themselves in the tourist built town. It was close to a full moon, she noted. The inner wolf inside her preparing to mate, as Omegas do so. Therefore her hormones were getting frisky.

Twenty-four years and no mate. Y/N didn’t rely herself much on that stuff; everything happens for a reason. But, she learnt at school that after a while, the wolf doesn’t function correctly without a mate, as they were made to function together. So, a little piece of her was worried.

“You’re an omega,” she jumped, a voice behind her spoke. Instantly, her hair on her arms raised and she obeyed.

A male stood in front of her, obviously an alpha; tall, broad, strong. The curly haired with the British voice stayed still, watching as Y/N turned around.

“I am,” she mumbled, afraid to look at the stranger.

Harry took a breath, frustration littering his veins as he looked at the female, “What is an omega without a mate, let alone an alpha, doing alone in the woods?”

Y/N tried to open her mouth, but he was right, it wasn’t smart. Harry had a feeling though. He didn’t know how to describe it, but he needed her.

“I am new here,” she looked up, seeing one of the most attractive alphas she’d ever laid eyes on.

Harry raised his eyebrows. He was supposed to come to the woods to meet Shawn to discuss this terror that has entered the town, but he was met with an omega, a beautiful omega which he couldn’t be mad at.

“I’ll tell you something, love. There are two packs here. Pick one, don’t mix yourself with the other,” Y/N scoffed.

“I’m fine…”

“Harry,” he added as she nodded, trying to finish off the sentence.

Y/N turned around, trying her best to finish her walk home with her coffee and to finish off the paperwork she needed to do, but as soon as she looked up, she bumped into someone else; a new figure.

“Hate to agree with him, honey, but a packless omega can’t be alone,” she looked up and was instantly met with these soft honey-coloured eyes. Instantly, she fell in love. Y/N looked behind her and groaned. Two alphas. These must be the pack leaders.

“I just want to go home,” the new figure stepped aside. He was kind, he had soft features but with a jaw that can kill. He was welcoming, while Harry was more traditional...scary even.

“Ok, but I am just warning you,” she told her name and he smiled at her. Harry groaned beginning to walk up to them.

“Don’t fall for those eyes, he’s a flirt,” Y/N tried to calm her nerves down, but as so close to her heat, and the overwhelming alpha smells, her mind wasn’t functioning.

“She’s close to her heat, Shawn,” Harry mumbled, hand going through his hair as he tried to figure something in his mind.

“For fuck’s sake,” she yelled, “don’t you think I know that.” The oddest part about this was the fact that she didn’t feel at all uncomfortable surrounding herself with the two alphas.

“It is not wise for an omega in heat to be alone at that time,” Shawn said, Y/N sighed, this was not what she was planning to do at nine a.m. on a Monday morning.

Harry leant against a tree and just stared at Shawn and her. There was something about her that he just wanted to hold her and kiss her and call him his. She was more than beautiful, her smile was the most amazing thing he saw that day. She was all that and a bag of chips.

Shawn looked at Harry then looked at Y/N, “I see you’ve finished your coffee. Come back to the pack house and I’ll make you one and explain everything to you,” he said to her, smiling. Harry scoffed, classic Shawn.

“I’d like that,” she smiled, beginning to walk with Shawn.

“Are you coming, Harry?” Y/N turned around, voice sounding like honey.

“I’m not stepping into testosterone running dogs’ property,” Y/N looked at him funny and nodded, ignoring the confusing comment.

-

Shawn was sweet. He smiled at her and continued to lead the conversation, making her less nervous. Gradually, his hand has moved from his side to her hip, bringing her into him. She didn’t mind, an alpha being an alpha to omega. It was classic.

Their trip to his place was filled with chatter as they continued their way. Y/N explained her work and Shawn was so thankful for another doctor in the werewolf business. Shawn explained his position in the pack. Yet, he steered clear of the Harry situation.

The minute they opened the door to the wooden log home, there was chatter and laughter. Young people scattered the living room. Y/N smiled, all their noses catching the omega smell and stared at her.

“Let’s go to my office,” he told her, walking past the kitchen. Shawn asked her if she wanted something and she replied, asking for a cup of tea. Eventually, after a few jokes and making the two teas, they were in the office.

“What’s your questions, honey?” Y/N sat down, Shawn was across from her at the desk, eyes full of worry.

“Just tell me everything,” she mumbled, “I can tell there is some serious politics,” Shawn nodded, agreeing and a little laugh left his lips. He turned around, grabbing a map from a drawer and placing it in front of her.

“Harry and I live in peace. We’re the two main packs in this district. He’s the Eastside, I’m the West. The town is neutral,” Y/N followed along, “Harry has been the pack leader for more years than a decade. I am more new to this. But, he is always grumpy and all. That’s beside the point. East pack don’t go on the Westside, it’s law. Harry runs more of the family packs, while I run the millennials, you could say,” Y/N nodded, but his eyes became serious, flashing a deep red colour and back. “You need to pick a side, Y/N. Especially now since you’re about to hit heat. You could get hurt by the surrounding solo alphas that conquer the woods. With an omega smelling as good as you, I can’t let you be by yourself,” he said. Y/N sighed.

“Back at home, it was more simple than this, Shawn. I was part of a pack, there was politics, but not like this,” she told him, “I’ll be fine-”

“Honey, you want me to be honest?” she nodded, “It is taking everything I got right now not to flip you on the desk, ass up and fuck you, because your smell is overriding,” Y/N was speechless.

“Shawn,” she said, getting up and looking at the alpha, “I am going to go now.”

She’s too soft for him. Probably never really experienced things like this before.

“Who ran your pack?” she stopped, turned around and looked at him.

“Jake,” she mumbled, Shawn growled.

“Does he know you moved?” she nodded - such an innocent soul.

“You need to pick a pack right now, honey. That man will haunt you till you’re his. He likes his omegas,”

-

Harry stood on the border of the Westside, hand in his hair as he walked in circles. He heard the whole conversation; a blessing of being a wolf. She was part of that cult. He couldn’t believe it, worry filled his system about that. Y/N was in definite trouble. That man was crazy, he is awful to everyone except omegas.

“Hey!” she beamed, a hop in her step as she walked towards him. Harry smiled but internally groaned to the following member behind him.

“Hi, love,” instantly his voice changed from solemn to happy; that was unusual.

“How are you?” she continued walking, but he had to ask, he had to ask the dying question.

“Why were you in Jake’s pack?” Y/N instantly stopped, turning to Harry and raising her eyebrows.

“I knew you were listening,” Shawn whispered yell, “could smell you.”

“At least I don’t smell like wet dog,” Harry fired back.

“I was an orphan,” she said, standing between the two, “and Jake took me in at the age of two. Are we done?” They both nodded, following behind her as she led the path.

“Hasn’t picked one?” Harry leaned into Shawn as he shook his head.

Y/N spun around, looking at the two mutter sentences to each other, “For the love of baby Jesus, stop whispering about my wellbeing. Jake would never hurt me,” she walked to Shawn, “now you both are too cute to look grumpy, “ she grinned, “now smile, assholes.”

She continued down the path, Harry walking by her and Shawn behind him. “What’s your story, Harry,” she turned around, sitting down onto the dirt, looking out to the ocean.

Harry, smiled, sitting quite close to her, “Not much.” Y/N scoffed, looking out to the waves, as Harry gently pressed his hand on hers and looked at her eyes. Shawn sat down - not delicately - next to her.

“You’ve run your pack for centuries, there must be a story,” she looked at him, hands touching a little blush forming on the wolf’s face.

“My mum was an omega, my dad was an alpha. They died in the pack war in 1365, so I moved to Canada, to get away from the politics. I…” he tried to figure this next part out, “I created this pack with this woman. Then, Shawn’s family moved from Toronto and created their pack, so we went to war again. But, that’s it.”

Y/N looked at him, moving her free had to move a curl out of this face, “You’re not an open book,” she poked his cheek and Harry laughed.

“No, I am not,” they both laughed.

“Shawn?” she turned to him, so he explained his...in much more detail.

Shawn was raised in the little town, learning from a young age how to be alpha as he was destined to take over the Mendes’ pack. He works at the local garage and does music in his free time. He mostly explained how proud he was of his sister, a beta who got herself in university to study fashion.

He looked out to the ocean, and just rambled on. Harry lost interest, but Y/N kept her full attention on him.

“That’s amazing, Shawn,” he nodded, agreeing with her and turning his head to look at her.

“You two sound like you had a good childhood,” Harry laughed, shaking his head.

“I was raised in the twelve hundreds, baby, disease-filled Britain, where everything smelled like shit.”

“I was an orphan, as both my parents were drug addicts and picked drugs over a wolf baby,” they looked at her. “You may think Jake is a pathological crazy man, but he raised me. He is like my dad,” she stopped, looking down and playing with her fingers, “He is my dad, I call him dad. I am his only daughter. So, if you believe the rumours about my pack, then believe them. I just know that I couldn’t ask for a better father. Yes, he was very protective and little strict, but I love him,” she looked at them and shrugged.

“Are the rumours true?” she looked at Shawn.

“There is a reason why I left.”

Harry stayed quiet, he and Jake have an awful history. He hates the man’s guts. That man was the reason with who he is today, dark, twisty, and miserable.

“So, the omegas?”

“I am surprised that I don’t have siblings. He loved his one-night stands with young omega girls,” she laughed, “despite all that, he can be a really nice person.”

She leant her head against Shawn’s shoulder, as she watched the sun slowly go down on the ocean.

“He can be a good guy… the pack is messed up… but he loves me,” she muttered. Harry got up, not happy with the way she was talking about this man. He was truly the devil in disguise and he didn’t want to hear anything to do with him.

“Have to go back to the house, see what the mates are up too. Nice meeting you, love, see you tomorrow,” she smiled as Harry placed a delicate kiss on her head and went the opposite way they came.

Shawn’s hand touched hers, as he heard her gentle breaths from his shoulder. She was it. She was his mate. Now, he just has to fight Harry for her.

-

Shawn and Harry haven’t heard from Y/N in a few days. Harry had to attend business on the mainland, therefore, he didn’t really pay attention. Whereas Shawn, he was starting to get worried.

A few days after, Shawn was at home, with the pack when there was a frantic knock at his door. The smell was her. She was here, but she was in heat.

“You can’t walk to the house alone in heat,” he said sternly as he opened the door and was welcomed to a naked, crying omega.

Y/N looked different, besides the sweet, sweet smell, there was that look in her eyes.

“What happened?” he instantly, grabbed her into a hug and Y/N’s tears flooded her eyes, as Shawn took her in, wrapping her quickly with a jacket.

The house was alerted, hearing the omega cry as Shawn quickly took her to his bedroom, gently sitting, while still holding her.

“Something-” she was trying to make out what happened in between sobs, “something was at my house and I...I just got away. I turned and ran here,” that was the reason why she turned up naked, Shawn held her so tight, letting her cry into the shoulder.

“Who?” he tried to hush her, helping her connect her thoughts and breathing pattern.

“I don’t know. I came home to my house in a mess and a growling,” Shawn didn’t know if it was the suspected terror that is haunting the town or a lone alpha that caught her smell because after all, she was in heat.

“I want you to stay here for a few days, as you’re in heat,” he muttered. Y/N nodded as she looked up at Shawn and smiled, covering his cheek with her hand. Shawn held her naked body close, just remembering by looking down.

“Ok,” she muttered, laying her head on his shoulder as she sat in his lap. Shawn wanted to stay like that for many more seconds, but he needed to get this omega dressed.

“You need clothes,” Y/N nodded, the hormones beginning to kick in, as an aching feeling began to fill between her thighs.

Shawn came back with a pair of his boxers and a t-shirt, handing them to her, as she dropped the coat she was wearing, letting him have a full eyeful of her very goddess-like body.

He knew what she was doing, she felt it too, the attraction for the other. She smirked, as she turned her head to him. The similar aching began to fill him, as he stared at the back of Y/N. Her curves, her round butt and you could see the outline of her gorgeous breasts. It took everything in him to not take her that moment. She was truly too perfect for him.

“I am going to talk to the others about your stay,” he said, trying to form the words, Y/N nodded.

“You’ll come back?” Shawn nodded, seeing her eyes look so defeated with the mention of his absence.

“Always will, honey,” he walked to her, as she turned around. A little breath came out of his mouth, seeing her in that state. He placed his hands on her cheeks, kissing her forehead.

“Take a shower. Use my soap, need to do everything to mask that scent of yours, my sweet omega,” she nodded, obeying instantly.

-

Shawn went downstairs, seeing his lads hanging, drinking, laughing. He stood, glaring at all of them.

“Who’s the omega?” Eric snickered, “Where’d you get her? I’d want to get a bite of her, mind sharing, Mendes?” Shawn growled at him, instantly grabbing his collar and holding him.

“If you dare touch her, I’ll make sure you’re dead by morning,” he dropped him, looking around the room, “I mean it to all of you too. If anyone touches Y/N, I’ll kill you. She’s going to stay for a bit. Be nice, but not too nice. She’s mine,” he growled the last part, as he went back upstairs, hearing the water running.

Y/N stood under the shower, water dripping down her body, as she followed her hands down it too. Her small delicate hands began massaging her breasts, as they continued down her body to her clit, rubbing and playing with it. A moan left her lips, as she grabbed the wall. Her hormones were going crazy and she’ll have nothing to use to get rid of this, just her small fingers.

Shawn heard the little moans. He didn’t know what to do, help her out a bit, or leave her to her business. He did truly believe that she was his potential mate. So, he opened the bathroom door, stripping himself of his clothes, as he opened the shower curtain.

“Shh,” he whispered in her ear, as he guided his hands down her stomach from behind to her pussy, replacing her hand with his. He rubbed a bit, as his other hand went to her breast.

Y/N flung her head back onto his shoulder, as moan after moan came from the lips he so desperately wanted to kiss from. Shawn’s fingers rubbed and eventually went in, fingering her as much as he could.

It was too intimate to have sex with her so this will have to do for now. The constant motion of his fingers, rapidly going in and out as his other hand worked hard with her left breast, made her moans command his member. Something began brushing her butt and she didn’t mind.

Y/N was weak at his touch, turning around and looking at him. Her hands went to his cheeks, as she looked at him. Shawn picked her up, taking her out of the bathroom to the bedroom where he laid her down, looking at such the beautiful body she had and instantly went on top of her, placing his fingers back to where they belong.

It didn’t take long till she rode her high, the scream echoing in his master bedroom, a scream that just made his dick twitch.

Shawn got up, making his way to the bathroom, grabbing some clothes for himself and her, as well as a cloth to help clean her up.

“Here, little one,” he told her, rubbing the cum that went down her legs, as she heavily panted.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, as Shawn past her the clothes.

He watched her as she placed the boxers on and the t-shirt. “You’ve never been touched before?” she shook her head.

“Dad didn’t let a male near me ever, really,” he sat next to her on the bed as he played with her hair, “I was his and only his. Nobody could have me,” she muttered, looking at him, “But, not in a sexual way...gosh that sounded like I had sex with him. Believe me, I didn’t,” Shawn nodded. “What’s Harry history? He has a problem with my father,” Shawn sighed.

“Your father killed his mate,” he muttered, “Ella was in childbirth when your father poisoned her an hour before. She died with the baby,” shock flooded her.

“What?” she muttered, Shawn grabbed her fingers, playing with them. He played with the rings that littered them, as well as holding her hand.

“Your father and Harry ran the two main packs in Canada. Harry ran the East side of Canada, while your father was West. Your father is a greedy man, kill Harry, kill his queen and instantly the pack is his. So, he did that, he killed Ella while in labour, and that is why he is still so cold these days; he’s still mourning her. Even though it has been three hundred years,” Y/N looked at him, grabbing his cheek and bringing their lips together. Shawn pulled away, shaking his head, even though he wants it so bad, “You’re in heat, Y/N, its the hormones,” she shook her head.

“No, I have feelings for you,” she muttered.

Shawn looked at her and couldn’t resist. So, he brought his tender lips to hers, letting them sync as he held her, letting each other explore.

He pulled away, “It's late, you need sleep, my love,” he told her, getting up and pulling the covers away. “I’ll be downstairs,” she rapidly shook her head.

“Stay here,” she was so desperate looking, “please?”

“Ok,” he told her, going under the covers, pulling his shirt off and leaving himself in his boxers.

She slept, arms wrapped around her, as Shawn breathed in her scent. They slept together because they may be meant for each other.

-

Y/N closed the door to the clinic, locking up when she hears footprints behind her. Instantly, the hair on her arms spikes up.

“You smell like the dog?” It was Harry, relief washed through her, turning around and placing her keys in her bag.

“I was at Shawn’s house for a few days,” she told him, smiling, “How was your trip?” she began walking down the street.

Harry completely ignored her question, “Don’t be with Shawn,” Y/N raised her eyebrows, “he fucks his way to the top.” That is impossible, her Shawn was so kind, so gentle with her, “There is a reason why I call him the dog, love,” Harry walked, hands in pockets as he continued down the street with her at his hip. “In the summertime, him and his pack bet how many tourist girls they can bang, Shawn always wins.”

Y/N stopped in her tracks, Harry bit his lip, instantly regretting everything, “You’ve fucked him?” he mumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Not exactly...he like,” she motioned, and Harry laughed and raised his eyebrows.

“Fingered you?” he questioned as she nodded, “You’re so fucking innocent,” she scoffed, hitting his arm as he continued the path while laughing.

“I was in heat, he was just helping,” she mumbled. “How was the meeting with the pack on the mainland?”

-

Y/N didn’t realise where she was until she climbed the steps to Harry’s mansion. He opened the door and was met with nothing, but silence.

“You don’t live with anybody?” she asked, looking around the old, French-traditional house.

“No, it used to be my wife’s dream home. I can’t have anyone pollute it,” he muttered, turning the lights on. Y/N took off her shoes and continued down the hallway, knowing not to question his wife.

“Want a whiskey?” she nodded, coming into the beautiful kitchen.

“Shawn told me about Ella,” Harry looked up to her and frowned.

“Let’s not say her name, love,” Y/N nodded, sitting on the breakfast bar.

“I’m sorry about my father-”

“Look, love, it's in the past, she’s,” he took a minute, “she’s gone now.”

Y/N nodded, taking the sip of the strong whiskey as she joined him on the couch, a smile written on both their faces, “I can’t believe Shawn does that,” Harry shrugged.

“He’s the pack leader for the young fucks. I take care of the families and the reckless young mates go to him,” she nodded, looking at the emerald eyes.

“You’re very pretty, Harry Styles,” she whispered to him after a few drinks, playing with his curls. Harry grabbed her hand and kissed it.

“The person who terrorized you the other night, love,” he started, “he was a member of your father’s clan,” Harry told her. Y/N was confused, why was a member of her past pack haunting her.

“Why?”

“Your father is either unhappy with you leaving him or unhappy with you spending time with me,” he took a sip of his whiskey, “we have a long history, so I don’t think he’d like to know that I have feelings for you,” he let out.

“You have feelings for me?” Harry looked at her and opened his mouth, trying to form the words he needed too.

“Well that’s out,” he muttered and looked away.

“Hey, it’s ok,” she whispered, “I just don’t know where I stand right now between you and Shawn. Too much alpha smells,” she laughed and Harry laughed a little.

“Cheers to that,”

Y/N didn’t leave that night, in fact, she stayed in the guest room of one of Harry’s. They drank to the early morning and she was too intoxicated to walk home alone. So, she rolled into the soft mattress and looked at the ceiling.

It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep and it didn’t take long for her to get woken up. There was a scratching sound coming from the window. A sound as if there was something clawing it. Shivers went up her spine, as she looked at the window terrified. Harry explained that he had this gut feeling for a threat in town, therefore more fear was added to that and she instantly thought of that. But, the growling continued, so she got up, sober as ever in her panties and t-shirt and headed down the hall to Harry’s room.

She knocked, looking down the dark hallway as Harry opened the door, boxers clad, tattoos running across his arms and body.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asked, seeing Y/N standing outside his door.

“There’s something outside,” she muttered. Instantly, Harry turned around and grabbed a pair of joggers and a t-shirt.

“Stay here, climb into my bed. I’m going to check it out,” he told her, kissing her cheek and heading downstairs.

Y/N climbed into the bed of Harry’s and sat there, hearing the growling again, but a new one at the same time. She climbed out of bed instantly, and walked to his big window, watching as a beautiful black wolf was fighting some light brown one.

The black wolf was much bigger than the light brown one and had the upper hand during all this. Y/N watching as they fought, the ripping of flesh and the clawing of the another. It was too much, so she turned away, heading to the bed again.

Ten minutes later, the door closed to the house, as Harry headed up the stairs to his bedroom. When he saw Y/N relief flushed him, but she didn’t care about that, she was more worried about the open wound on his shoulder.

“Bathroom, now,” she told him, as she walked to the ensuite. Y/N fished for the first aid kit as Harry sat on the side of the bathroom.

“Love, automatic heal-”

“Shut up, I’m helping you,” he rolled his eyes, “Who was it?”

“Your father keeps sending people out to you. He wants you home,” he told her, hissing as the alcohol hits his wound.

“Why’d he want me to do that?”

“Because he’s a dick and what is his, is his,” she glared at him.

“Well, I’ll send him a note that I am staying in Tofino, as I found my pack,” Harry perked up, a smile littering his face.

“So you picked me?”

“I haven’t picked, I belong to both packs at the moment,” she told him as she wrapped gauze around his arm.

“I...I can let that slide for you, my love,” he told her.

“I want you to stay with me tonight...to make sure he doesn’t come back,” she nodded, getting up to head to the bed.

-

Y/N sat, looking at the ocean with her notebook. Her mind was in a scramble, and in a literal mess. Shawn thinks she’d his mate and Harry told her he loves her. Her inner wolf was going crazy with all the alpha smells and attention. It was their first in this little town when one omega is ruining the pack treaty. Harry saved her from that random wolf, yet Shawn kissed her. Shawn held her close to him doing her heat, while Harry kept his distance. She was in one hell of a scramble so her only option was to go to the elders.

Marea smiled down at the girl. She sat at her desk by the fire as Y/N sat across from her, still not knowing how to go ahead with all this. So, she told her all this random tension and overwhelming opportunities. Marea, the older woman, found it interesting the exchange of feelings and bonds. In fact, she had to pull out her cards for this.  

The intuitive wolf sat there with her tarot cards, spreading them out, watching them carefully. The cards of many cups and coins laid there, Y/N eagerly waiting for the response.

“The bond between you and the wolves is very strong. Shawn and you share a particular soulmate one, while Harry is very similar but oddly different,” she told her, pointing to a card. Y/N listened carefully. Marea stared at the cards, “Harry’s past is very interesting.”

This sparked her attention. Harry was a closed book, it is so hard to learn about who he is and his past and dreams. He’s a carer, he cares about other people over himself; selfless.

“Awful childhood, a peasant boy, worked at the bakery. His father never loved his mother and filled his days with whores. But, his mother. I see her whenever I see Harry, she’s always with him, every step of the way. His sister still lives in England, with her mate and children,” she continued on. Harry was a different breed of wolf, the kind of immortality, same as her father, same as Marea, which Y/N found interesting as there isn’t many of that breed left.

She continued, explaining how he gained his wealth through trading and working and gaining respect with nobles with his battle work. He fought in the pack war, earning the respect of many people, making him quite popular throughout the British lands. He thought in every war, he has seen everything, been to every country, sailed the seas, yet he speaks so little of it.

“Ella is the one thing he mourns on a daily basis,” she told her, “I was the midwife of Lady Ella. It’s a shame that your father killed her out of spite to ruin Harry,” she told her, “but Harry loves you not as your three-dimensional self, but for your soul,” ‘what could this mean?’ she questioned in her head.

“Your soul…” she began, “is Ella soul,” Y/N’s eyes widened in shock, “your purpose is to merge the packs again, my dear, Y/N. But, Harry doesn’t love you, he does, but in a different way. He loves Ella and he sees Ella in you, as you once were Ella, my dear.”

She was speechless from the Aboriginal woman’s words. Y/N did believe in reincarnation, but all this, it is so hard to understand.    

“He loves you because he recognises your soul, my dear. Shawn is your mate, honey, I see it through his eyes.”      

-

Y/N knocked on Shawn door at two in the morning. Her fingers trembled as she repeated the words in her head. In all honesty, she has no idea what to say. But, with everything and the fact of her soul and all, she needed some comforting. Harry was not an option as she doesn’t know how he’d react. In fact, he was the most confusing soul she has ever met.

“Y/N?” Shawn answered, hair in a curly mess and jogger hanging from his hips. Y/N just stared, not knowing how to respond.

“I pick you,” she blurted. Shawn stood there, confused as hell, sleep still in his eyes as he looks at the omega.

“What?” he opened the door a little more and Y/N didn’t move an inch.

“You’re my mate. I pick you,” she told him. Instantly his eyes opened and body posture has changed.

Shawn grabbed her by the hips, holding her against him as he placed a gentle kiss on her. His smile was more than a couple of words to explain; she has never seen it so big and for so long.

“You are my mate Y/N Y/L/N, and for the love of God I am so thankful for you,” he placed a kiss to her again, “I love you, but now we got to deal with your father.”   

-

Tag list - comment, DM, or inbox to be added :)

@alinashawn @mendesnecessary @i-am-bisexual-and-a-girl @notunlimited @purple-cream-cheese @iimagineloves @ashwarren32 @claredolphinbear24 @shawns-mendess                                                 

[ashsilla]

Losses (Part Two)

Book: Platinum

Ship: Raleigh Carrera (M) x MC (Suiko Hono) with hints of Avery Wilshere (M) x MC

Rating: T

A/N: Suiko doesn’t know who to believe about recent events. Avery attempts to get back in her good graces despite Raleigh’s radio silence. The media is having a great day at her expense. But any press is good press...right? 

Tag List: @lunalixo  @furiouscloddonutpeanut @lovedrakewalker @topsyturvy-dream @padfoot0415 @omgjasminesimone @parkerattano @cordoniasmost @poor-bi-choices @msjpuddleduck @mallorycortez @coffeebeandragon @lizeboredom @perriewinklenerdie @greek-elsa

Other Parts: PART ONE

*

Suiko sat glumly in her apartment, scrolling through the top stories on EE! News.

Most of them mentioned her name.

Raleigh Carrera and Suiko Hono remain suspiciously separate after club debacle.

Avery Wilshere seen leaving Suiko Hono’s apartment — does this smell of rebound?

Avery Wilshere pictured with a black eye and bruised jaw, Raleigh Carrera pictured with bruised knuckles. Has Suiko Hono turned them from friends to foes?

All of the evidence that Avery Wilshere and Suiko Hono could have been in love this whole time.

And then of course, the worst one.

“Raleigh and I are in love”: the R&B superstar’s mystery girl speaks out in an exclusive interview with EE! News!

Suiko sighed and took another sip of her coffee. She’d been drinking way too much lately; already today she’d had three cups, and it was only 11 AM. The caffeine had given her hands a slight tremor. She pressed her shaking fingers to one of the articles and began to read.

We’re sure you’ve seen the pictures — pop icon Avery Wilshere, bruised and quiet after being seen leaving Suiko Hono’s apartment! And don’t forget the second half of the puzzle...the bruised and split knuckles on Raleigh Carrera’s hands as seen in his newest post on Pictagram.

They’ve left us dying to know what happened! Here are two of our favorite theories, as sent in by our readers.

“It’s obvious that Avery made a move on Suiko after Raleigh cheated on her! And Raleigh probably beat him up after. I just wonder if Avery fought back! Also, I kind of ship #Wilshono now.” - @youliftmeup476

“Raleigh and Avery definitely got into a fight over Suiko Hono. I bet Avery told Raleigh he wasn’t treating her right (though if you date someone like Raleigh, you’re kind of asking to be cheated on!!) and then they got into a fight over it. I personally think Avery is better for her but I guess we’ll see what happens! Oh, and if Suiko and Raleigh do break up — hi Raleigh! I’m single!” - @sun.set_skateparkk

One thing is clear: fans seem to have reached the consensus that their new favorite celebrity ship is Avery Wilshere and Suiko Hono. #Wilshono trended in the US on Twitter for almost two days after these pictures surfaced!

As always, check back for the newest updates from this story, only on EE! News. Are you team #Raluiko or team #Wilshono? Tell us in the comments!

The sinking feeling in Suiko’s chest worsened. She was about to click on another article -- that last one, the worst one -- when a sharp and efficient knock sounded at the door.

A knock like that could only be Fiona.

Suiko slouched off of the couch, pulling her fluffy robe tighter around her shoulders as she opened the door. Her manager walked in without invitation, dressed in a pressed gray pantsuit. Her heels clacked on the wooden floor.

“It’s almost noon,” Fiona said briskly, and surveyed Suiko with a scientific gaze. “You should take a shower.”

“Thanks,” Suiko replied, her voice dry.

Fiona smiled a tight-lipped smile. A business smile. “I’m assuming you’ve seen the recent headlines, and seen the response on social media. You’ve gained 100,000 new followers in the last day alone. All of this unresolved love triangle drama is great for your brand. So I need you to play it up.”

The words echoed around the room before Suiko really heard them. “Wait, what? What love triangle?”

“I need you to be seen with both of them. Don’t make anything official. Just make it seem like you can’t make up your mind between them.”

Suiko frowned. “But I --”

“I’ve already called Avery. He’s ready to see you today. Take that shower, please.” Fiona adjusted her jacket and set a folder down on Suiko’s coffee table. “Here are some date ideas, and ideas on what to post on your social media.”

There was no use arguing with Fiona. She was a force of nature.

“Okay,” Suiko said, dread already pooling in her gut.

Another tight-lipped business smile. “I’ll call you after your date,” she said, and left the apartment.

Oh, God.

She hadn’t seen Avery or Raleigh since they had gotten into the fight in her apartment. Avery had sent her a bouquet of peonies with a note attached the day after -- they sat, still blooming, in a vase on her table. The note had been short and sweet, classic Avery.

Suiko, I’m so sorry for what has happened. Please let me know if you need anything. - Avery

It was a nice gesture. The kind of gesture she’d expected of Avery.

And from Raleigh?

Crickets.

Not a single text. Not a single call. 

Some part of her hoped for it. Every morning, she would check her phone, waiting to see something, anything. But he hadn’t texted her since the day that the photos surfaced. 

Suiko sighed, brushing her fingers over the tops of the peonies. If Fiona wanted her to see Avery today, then she would. It was probably time for one of these bandages to be ripped off.

Two hours later she found herself opening the door for Avery.

He looked somewhat nervous. His fingers worried at the sleeves of his soft gray sweater, and his blue eyes clung to hers. “Hello,” he said, stiffly and formally, and Suiko found herself laughing. Relief flashed in his eyes.

“Ready to go?” she asked.

He nodded and offered her his arm. They strolled down to the street like that, ignoring the cameras peeking out from behind cars and planters. Fiona must have tipped off the paparazzi on where to get some good shots. “How’s your face?”

Avery grinned. The shadow of his black eye still purpled his skin, and his jaw was patchy blue-green. “Getting better each day.”

“I have to tell you,” Suiko said, “I never would have hung up posters of you in my bedroom if you’d looked like this in them.”

He let out a surprised bark of laughter. “This sounds like quite an interesting bedroom.”

“Oh, yeah. I had all the best decorations. My Avery posters, pink fairy lights, old Sunset Skatepark albums...”

Avery snorted. “Sunset Skatepark? Really? I didn’t have you down as a boy band kind of girl.”

“The more you know,” Suiko replied airily, flashing a smile.

They turned the corner to find a pair of preteen girls holding cell phones up in front of them. “Oh my God,” one of them gasped.

Suiko turned to look at Avery, pretending not to notice as the girls filmed them as they walked by. She might never get used to that part of the industry. Paparazzi pictures were one thing. Being videotaped by random people was another.

“You read the ‘news’ recently?” she asked.

“I’ve glanced over it.”

“Well, we’re the new hot thing, so I’ve learned.” Suiko frowned. “Sorry Fiona dragged you into all of this.”

Avery smiled gently, and lifted a hand to brush away a few stray hairs that had drifted into her face. Somewhere nearby, a camera clicked madly. “I’m happy to do it, love.”

Suiko glanced down at the sidewalk, hoping that the cameras wouldn’t pick up her blush. It’s not like she was in love with Avery, despite what the tabloids had to say. Still, though. She’d loved him as a fan for so long it was impossible to make all of those old feelings disappear.

They enjoyed a nice lunch at a little Italian restaurant, and then a walk through a museum. It actually was a nice outing, excluding the paparazzi. Avery was a gentleman all around. He held doors and pulled out chairs for her, and at the end of the day, he walked her to her door.

“Thanks for today,” Suiko said.

Avery lifted her hand and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of it. “Any time,” he murmured against her skin.

Her head spun as she entered the apartment. In her mind, there were two very conflicting emotions: wanting to cave and call Raleigh, and wanting to fling the door back open and invite Avery inside.

But both were bad ideas, so instead she grabbed a bottle of wine and collapsed onto her couch, uncorking the drink and taking a swig straight from the bottle.

Avery had been so nice to her today.

He was just a nice person. Always sweet, always kind, always good. Except for when he was brawling in her living room.

When had everything gotten so confusing?

She was halfway done with the wine and halfway through a movie when she heard shattering glass on her stoop.

Suiko froze, pausing the film. Someone was pacing out there. Judging by their steps, they were staggering. On tiptoe, she silently crept to the door and peered through the peephole.

Raleigh leaned against the wall just outside of her apartment, staring at the shards of a bottle at his feet. He looked terrible. His knuckles were gleaming with fresh blood -- what had he just punched? -- and his clothes were wrinkled and looked as if they had not been changed in days. The dark curls she loved to run her fingers through were greasy and disorderly.

She sucked in a tight breath.

Then he swung around and slumped away from her door, swaying on his feet. God, he was really, really drunk.

Suiko stood there a moment more, and then her heart made the decision that her brain had been trying to postpone. Not even bothering to throw on shoes, she shoved the door open and ran outside onto the street.

“Raleigh!” she called, head swiveling to try to catch sight of him.

But he was nowhere on her street. No one stood outside except for her.

Suiko sank down onto her stoop, careful to avoid the broken glass. Her hand reached into her pocket, producing her phone. At last she allowed herself to open the article that had been worrying at the back of her mind all day.

“Raleigh and I are in love”: the R&B superstar’s mystery girl speaks out in an exclusive interview with EE! News!

You’ve seen the pictures. You’ve made your theories. But now, be prepared for the whole truth on what happened between R&B bad boy Raleigh Carrera, innocent starlet Suiko Hono, and the mystery woman seen with Carrera at the Theory nightclub last week.

Here we sit down with Leona Lastrum, who reached out to EE! News for comment on the debacle. Read the whole interview below!

Nancy Chapri with EE! News: So, Leona. How did you meet Raleigh Carrera?

“We met just over a year ago at one of his performances. I’ve always been a huge fan of his, so I bought meet and greet tickets to his concert. Somehow, when we got talking, we just clicked!”

NC: Did you see him after that performance?

“I ended up at a lot of his public appearances after that. Obviously I was attracted to him, and it seemed like he might be interested too. But it was hard to get close to him for long periods of time because of his tour and his schedule.”

NC: How did you feel when you found out about his relationship with Suiko Hono?

“Well, at first, I didn’t even know who she was. I looked her up when I saw the headlines. She’s so new to the industry, I wasn’t sure if what they had was a real relationship or more of a mentoring kind of thing. But then I saw some of the pictures of them on dates and at events, and I felt kind of cheated. Raleigh and I had been slowly building our relationship for the past year and then suddenly he was dating this other girl.”

NC: How do you feel about Suiko and Raleigh’s relationship?

“I’m sad about it of course. Also, it’s kind of strange to picture them together. The Raleigh I know wouldn’t want to settle down with, and I say this out of kindness, an innocent and sweet girl like Suiko Hono. He needs someone who can keep up with him, not someone who will hold him back!”

NC: What exactly happened that night that the pictures were taken at Theory?

“I heard that Raleigh was going to be there, and I went to give him a piece of my mind -- ask why he’d started a new relationship when I’d thought we had something pretty special. But when I got there, it was like both of us forgot about all the time that had passed since we saw each other last, and forgot about everything that had happened in that time. It was like we were meeting for the first time again. That kind of chemistry.”

NC: If you could say anything to Suiko Hono, what would that be?

“I’d tell her to stay away from my man! Just joking, but really. Raleigh and I have been seeing each other since before she even landed in the spotlight. I just wonder how she was able to ever date him without thinking about the fact that he was already kind of in a relationship. Anyways, I think Suiko and I could honestly be good friends once this is all worked out. I have some sweet guys I could set her up with that are more her speed, if you catch my drift!”

NC: Finally, how do you really feel about Raleigh?

“I feel the same way I’ve felt about him since the day we met. I mean, you’ve seen him! What I will tell you is that Raleigh and I are in love.”

[disarmingly]

namgikook request from this open twitter post 

25/8 is your average grocery and drugstore combination in the city except for the 25/8 part. 

for 24 hours out of the day, jungkook knows to expect anyone from the old woman who lives half a block away (jungkook helps her carry her one bag when she lets him), to the afternoon school rush, to the random commuters looking for five different caffeine fixes he desperately hopes they are not imbibing all at once. for the 25th hour he knows to expect anyone from the scaredy-cat vampire who works the overnight shift in the bookstore ten streets away to the owner who only shows up at night anyway to his favorite customers: two witches -- yoongi and namjoon. they also show up on the 8th day, which is a carte blanche 25 hours for all the city's supernatural folk. it's easy too; since it's a day that literally does not exist for others. 

jungkook doesn't go to school or he might be in some real trouble. though namjoon always gets so worried when the subject comes up, until one day yoongi offhandedly says,

"so why don't you teach him."

namjoon doesn't bring the subject up again.

*

things namjoon does: bring him books he recommends as well as music, asks him about his day, tells him he looks nice. things yoongi does: brings him music, brings him random food that turns out to be homecooked leftovers (namjoon outing him as always purposefully making too much), and once a stray cat. 

"and now we're best friends, right gigi?" jungkook turns his face to nose the very flat very soft black cat draped over his shoulder. she purrs: yeah this is fine. coming from a cat, that's high compliments. glancing over at yoongi, jungkook has the humorous thought that he would know all about that by now. 

*

the nature of working in such a place does mean one puts oneself up for more potential danger than usual. jungkook has mishaps that range from being temporarily blind to falling asleep for almost two weeks to becoming an actual rabbit and, for a month or so after that, still being stuck with the ears. so many weird things happen to him he forgets, at a certain point, to be mindful of the more ordinary troubles that fall upon twenty-four hour joints. so when someone holds him at gunpoint for everything in the register, he's so confused he reacts a little stupidly; half pouts half frowns with a tilted head and says,

"no."

*

the first thing namjoon ever buys from the grocery when jungkook starts working there is a lollipop. the first thing yoongi buys is a pack of cigarettes. they're both wearing leather jackets, and namjoon has a long almost shirt-dress underneath his, the fabric expensive looking and pleated in a way that makes him look even taller than he already is. his shoes are well worn leather boots.  it's october. the outside smells like the turning of leaves and lengthening shadows. yoongi is wearing a black t-shirt over something netted. black jeans. and sandals. his jacket is bulky but he wears it well and jungkook likes the way the pair's pastel hair colors play in direct odds against their monochromatic aesthetic. the lollipop namjoon buys is yellow. the lighter yoongi draws out of his pocket is white. 

"anything else?" jungkook asks. 

"how's seokjin?" 

somehow it's not surprising they know jungkook's boss -- the grocery's owner.

"good. traveling," jungkook says, and feels like both of the men in front of him can read the rest of what he's not saying: how seokjin never sets a solid date for return, trusts jungkook entirely with the store, and is maybe kind of definitely letting him live in his apartment above it. but all yoongi says is,

"tell him yoongi and namjoon are alive."

jungkook, bemused, does.

*

the first time yoongi kisses jungkook is when jungkook has the sleep curse cast on him. seokjin suggests in the most blithe way possible: "maybe he needs a kiss from his true love."

at which point, namjoon looks dead-straight at yoongi and vice-versa. they rock-paper-scissors. 

when jungkook wakes up and finds out the method of his antidote, he blushes red to his ears and doesn't come out of his cocoon of blankets for the rest of the evening, clumsily avoiding the truth: how if namjoon had kissed him it would have worked too; how he's got a greedy heart that fell in love both without his permission and without his altogether noticing until now when faced with the subject head-on. 

*

when namjoon kisses jungkook it's also after another mishap -- quiet yet desperate: are you okay are you okay are you okay?

and jungkook kisses him back the only appropriate manner: i am i am i am.

leaning in the doorway to the bedroom, yoongi's arms are folded and his eyes thoughtful.

it's taken jungkook only five days to wake up but asleep due to a sleep curse and unconscious due to a possibly fatal injury are very different things.

later, when namjoon has fallen asleep cradling jungkook as carefully as humanly imaginable, yoongi draws a clean cotton blanket over them -- not too warm, not too little -- and keeps watch.

*

jungkook's favorite part of his job is the interesting patrons -- from the human to the non-human. gigi likes the very non-familiar cats that are permitted to frequent the store though she also likes to assert her dominance by claiming the choicest shelves for herself. in the summer, seokjin suspiciously shows up around jungkook's birthday every year and tells him to 'get out of here!' to which jungkook puts him in a headlock and tells him thank-you and runs off. he used to run to the beach and watch the fireworks of people he did not know far down at the jetty. 

these days he runs to the beach and draws sparklers through the air like magic with his two boyfriends. sometimes they use actual magic to keep the light in the air a little longer and yoongi tells jungkook stories about when he and namjoon were young because they're a lot older than they look. 

*

even the magic folk tend to come in and ask for basics: paper towels, soap, matches, cat food, alcohol, ibuprofen, and so on. but sometimes there are other requests and jungkook places those either with seokjin himself or his partner in crime -- er, business -- jung hoseok. people pick up their spare broom parts (very specific hay, mind you), and sea warding spells, and don't-notice herbs according to a very messy excel sheet jungkook has saved in his phone. the one week during a very busy season wherein his phone finally died for good was actual torture; he never knew when a delivery was coming or being picked up or by whom or what or how. he almost gave ragged diamond to a werewolf who turned out to be allergic to it. he's honestly never felt quite as bad as that time but he apologized so much that the werewolf ended up feeling bad too and told him not to worry. jungkook supposes that's one way to make a friend; he sees taehyung often now, as well as his boyfriend park jimin.

*

"why don't you just move in with them?" seokjin asks one winter when he's home, cooking for both him and jungkook, squinting at the taste from his wooden spoon before adding more garlic and pepper. flopping and rolling on the floor where he was doing stretches just seconds ago, jungkook softly whines.

"i cannnn't!"

seokjin arches a brow. "why not?"

there's a mulish silence.

"jungkook-ah."

"they're together!"

"i think judging on the amount of PDA i have to deal with from the three of you, all three of you are 'together'."

"that was one time hyung!"

"and once was enough."

"but they…" the way jungkook's voice gets tentative is enough for seokjin to turn off the stove and walk over to crouch next to jungkook who has an arm cast over his eyes. peering down at him, seokjin notes the soft waves of his hair and the nervous bite of his lip. 

"hm?" he pets him the way he's gotten used to doing.

"they've been just them...so long...moving in would be...what if it ruins...i'm fine with how things are now."

because jungkook has his face covered he doesn't see how seokjin shakes his head but he does feel him pet him again. he sighs, grateful.

"what if they asked you? would that make it different?"

"no...i don't know. maybe." pause. "besides." he lowers his arm finally, blinks and smiles up at seokjin. "i like living with you."

seokjin doesn't bother pointing out how he's still rarely home, appreciates too much the sentiment of someone enjoying even living in the same space as he sometimes-dwells-in. he pats jungkook one more time before standing back up and extending his hand.

"up." 

*

25/8 is your average grocery and drugstore combination in the city except for the 25/8 part. 

"it's so nice after the renovation!" the old lady from down the block marvels and spends a good twenty minutes perusing the different coffees. jungkook agrees that it's nice but also thinks decor wise it's the same -- the space itself is just bigger, seokjin having bought out the empty space next to them and the apartment over it too. 

"must be nice," yoongi whistled a month ago stepping through the broken down wall that turned seokjin's two-bedroom into a four. seokjin threw the nearest thing at yoongi's head -- an oven mitt and then deemed that insubstantial and threw the spatula at him too, said,

"you're benefiting from this! don't 'must be nice' at me."

seokjin is still almost never there. it's mostly just jungkook, yoongi, and namjoon. and gigi. and gigi's mysterious litter of seven kittens. for some reason, seokjin named them all after spices and namjoon is fairly certain paprika is going to turn out to be more chocolate than red but oh well. 

perks to all of them living over the store: when jungkook needs help, help is already there. when jungkook doesn't need help, they are still there. and maybe most of all, when jungkook 'comes home', they are there. yoongi grumbles about fighting with gigi for the prime spot at jungkook's back. namjoon is content to share the front of jungkook with four kittens -- the other three intent on making their own home at the back of yoongi's neck. 

one of the bedrooms is the work room, filled with spells in process and materials. another one is just for books, for which they have not enough bookshelves, a problem not helped in the least by the fact that namjoon is a serial book buyer and yoongi has half a mind to have the local rare bookstore put an imminent and permanent ban on his face. and the rest of him. 

*

in the winter, jungkook draws things in the fog of the windows and namjoon bespells them so they stay as long as he wants without damaging the glass. in the spring their work room takes on a magical greenhouse environment and several times jungkook catches ivy and other running vines creeping out from under the door to wend lovingly around the legs of the breakfast bar stools. in the summer jungkook sells so much ice cream he's surprised they never run out and eats his fair share too, having found out the hard way that mixing magic with food is not the best of ideas in their household (the 'magic ice cream' was more a mystery food in the end.) in the autumn, they light fires -- yoongi snapping his fingers at the edge of the crumpled newspapers and twigs inside the gigantic metal trashcan -- and roast marshmallows and sweet potatoes and the one time a cop tells them not to, seokjin just offers him a sweet potato and that's the end of that. 

 *

throughout the year, at 25/8 jungkook learns about magic and he learns about people.

thinks: not everyone is born with a home but maybe, if you look long enough, you find one anyway.

"jungkook-ah, jungkook-ah."

the smile jungkook wears when he turns to greet yoongi (and namjoon, right on his heels) is blinding. 

"you're late!" he informs them and launches himself over the counter with his arms spread wide.

they spend the next five minutes or so putting back all of the things jungkook knocks over, yoongi from his spot on the floor, levitating things back into place, and jungkook in a sheepish crouch near the neat stacks of periodicals and the comic books, and namjoon above them, returning the counter to some semblance of its former order. 

*

[grumpyhedgehogs]

Lay Me to Rest in a Bed of Wildflowers

Summary: Various citizens give The Judge flowers. Dep realizes a few things.

Part One: Here Part Two: Here

Notes: This one was a long time in coming. I started work on it a week or so after the first part, had to split it in two, lost the draft, started a new one, found the old draft, stitched them into some Frankenstein’s monster, and spent another three days finishing and editing. At this point, if there are any grammar mistakes they’re just gonna have to stay there. But I had  a lot of fun finishing this trilogy and I hope you enjoy some angst/fluff/flowers! As always, spoilers for Far cry 5 and Far cry New Dawn, please do not read if you are not finished/mind being spoiled. 

P.S.: The titles of the trilogy refer to a trial, execution and funeral. 

~

”You remember the people here. They’re your friends, and you want to help them.”

~

Carmina

Carmina started with cherry blossoms. It was a cherry tree she so often found Dep leaning against- it was the farthest tree on the property, just on the edge between the ranch and the treeline. She knew it made her parents nervous whenever they saw Dep leaning against that old trunk, staring distractedly into the darkness of the forest. Hell, it scared Carmina plenty.

But Dep wouldn’t run now. Not after Carmina’s mother had asked them not to.

That didn’t mean they didn't think about it; Carmina could practically see it in the air around their head as they leaned against the trunk of the cherry tree, unheeding of the twigs and leaves getting caught in their hood. She could feel it, an aura around them when she got too close, needling at the skin.

When Dep got like this the whole house seemed to grind to a halt. She’d caught her father with his hand on the doorknob, frozen between rushing out and leaving them be. Her mother’s grip on the counter as she watched through the open window was white-knuckled and rigid. It was a storm brewing, demanding to be seen but too far away to be touched, too powerful to be warded off.

Carmina plucked a few blossoms from a low-hanging bough as she passed and held them to her nose, eyes never wavering from the dark figure. The tree rarely ever produced fruit these days; it was too old, too twisted, too broken by the bombs to do more than survive. Maybe that was why Dep liked it so much. They’d found a kindred spirit.

They were silent- so out of character!- as she stepped up beside them, but they accepted the flowers readily enough when she offered them.

“You should smell them,” she prompted but wasn’t too disappointed when they simply tilted their head at her. At least Dep wasn’t looking at the dark anymore. “They’re my favorite scent. Besides Mom’s cooking, I guess.”

Dep’s fingers played lightly over the petals for a moment, as if memorizing their texture. They held them back out doubtfully. Carmina smiled, fondness tugging at her chest, and folded the gloved fingers gently over the flowers. “Keep them. They’ll remind you of me.”

Cherry blossoms meant renewal. Carmina figured Dep already knew that.

She gave them lavender next.

Ever since her mother had pointed it out, Carmina couldn’t help but jerk awake every time she heard them creeping out at night. They never seemed to remember the floorboard to the right of the top stair creaked like something out of a haunted house.

She’d lay staring at the ceiling, wide-eyed yet unseeing, until the screen door’s hinges whined again in the early hours and cat-like footsteps crept back up the stairs. Only then did Carmina’s heart stop thumping so very hard against her ribs.

She dropped a sprig of lavender in their hands the next morning. “You’re keeping me up,” she told them, and refused to feel guilty about the slump of their shoulders. The bags under her eyes were heavy. “It helps sleep.” They also meant peace, but again, these were unneeded explanations.

The apple and orange blossoms she actually felt a little bad about, seeing as they could easily have turned to fruit. But- well. The Dep was a little more important.

“For peace,” she murmured when they looked up at her. The summery early evening was just beginning to chill, and Carmina could feel the tip of her nose numbing. The flowers in their yard were fragrant; Dep looked as at peace as she’d ever seen them. Not that that was saying much. “And family. Now come on, Mom’s let Dad break out the grill and I need you around to help put the fire out.”

Carmina didn’t have to look back to know they were just a step behind her the whole way.

~

Grace

Grace found them crouching in the dirt. They were not trying to be sneaky now- she could hear them crunching around in the drying, dead leaves of the late summer. The whole yard around what used to be John Seed’s ranch smelled of green and damp and growth; Grace suspected that just might be what Dep needed right about now.

(She had Nana help her with the flowers. The old woman was surprisingly patient, explaining every color, helping her with textures and structures and arrangement and Grace had never put this much thought into a bunch of dead plants in her entire life.)

It was quiet out in the yard except for the ambient noise of the wilderness. Dep liked birdsong; they used to go out in the early morning and sit on the porch of the Rye’s home, just waiting to hear which bird would be the first to wake. Grace would come around with coffee sometimes.

“Do you remember the birds, Dep?”

They stilled and Grace could hear their labored breathing.

(Kim, when she led Grace outside, had quietly explained the Deputy was trying to build a garden. “It’s the only time they’ve been calm out here,” Kim had confided and Grace’s throat had tightened at the strained tone in her voice.)

They must have been tilling the earth for the new seeds; Grace could smell the fresh soil. It was nice.

Leaves crunched underfoot as the Deputy stood slowly. Grace could almost see their shoulders, thin under such a large jacket (“Like a goddamn bear hide or some shit,” Nick had told her over the radio once, months ago now), tensing up somewhere near their ears. They never liked to be snuck up on.

“Do you remember the bluejays?” She asked, loud in the uneasy quiet. Grace’s ears were straining harder than ever, unseeing eyes darting from side to side; she felt them moving, unbidden, in her skull. But she wasn’t scared of anything but the Dep running. They were so very good at running.

“They were your favorite, Dep,” Grace said, something desperate and hot rising to the base of her throat at their silence. She had never hated the quiet so much as now. “You would point them out every time we hunted together- you- you liked when they were the first ones to sing in the morning.”

A noncommittal grunt. A foot shifting in the dirt. The crunch of dry twigs. Birds singing, branches clattering in a slight breeze. A soft exhale.

“I brought coffee but you preferred tea because caffeine made your hands shake when you held a bow,” Grace tried.

Footsteps padded towards her but stopped a few yards- too far, too far- away. She heard their breath hitch violently in their chest.

She couldn’t cry. She never cried, not even at the end of the goddamn world. “You liked jasmine tea because the flowers were pretty. We shared it. You taught me about the birds every morning.”

Nothing. The birds wouldn’t stop singing. She didn’t know whether that was such a good thing anymore.

Finally, heart in her mouth, Grace stepped forward and thrust out her fist. The flowers would be crushed at the stems, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Nana said you’d probably know what they mean,” Grace’s voice was too fast, too high, God she felt like an idiot. “But I think you need to hear it. So- so, edelweiss for courage and devotion, wallflower for faithfulness in adversity, hyssop for sacrifice, lemon balm for sympathy. And- and magnolia, for- for love of nature.”

She came forward again and again and again and held up her hands when she heard them shift back. Fumbling, Grace caught one thickly gloved hand in hers and wished desperately that she could touch skin, just for a moment. The heat at the back of her throat was spreading, pushing at her mouth, the backs of her eyes, lighting her scalp ablaze. Her legs were gelatinous.

She curled her old friend’s hand gently around the flowers and held their loose fist in both of hers. Grace wished that she could see, that they could talk, that none of this had happened.

“Maybe next you could teach me about the flowers,” she whispered hoarsely, and ignored the lump in her throat at the soft sob coming from somewhere in front of her.

~

Kim

Kim gave them a flower for each day they stayed.

The first one she made a production out of, giving it in the exact same way they left hers for her all those months ago. Dep seemed surprised to come in from their early morning wanderings (it never failed to give Kim a heart attack, seeing their bed empty and made up, crisp cool air where her friend was supposed to be warm and safe- Goddamn Joseph Seed better be rotting in Hell) and find a small bunch of pink and purple petals at their honorary place at the family table.

“Statice,” Kim told them, carefully not looking up from the eggs she was scrambling, “there’s a lot around here. For sympathy. And success.”

The next day, it was peach roses. “Those were a little harder to find,” Kim admitted. She didn’t particularly want to remember that dirty, cramped trek through the woods, or the cursing, or the thorns. “You’re supposed to give them to someone you miss.”

Dep had trembled at that. They’d left the table and were gone for most of the day, the screen door banging shut behind them; for hours, Kim had thought that was it, she’d fucked it all up. But in the end, the sun’s rays were scarcely fading when the Dep had stepped quietly into the kitchen and pressed an apologetic lily-of-the-valley in her palm. Kim kept still as they bowed their head.

“Yes,” she said finally, having to violently tamp down on the overwhelming urge to reach out. “You’re forgiven.Tell us you’re leaving next time.”

Freesia was next. “Thoughtfulness- I thought it was a good fit for you.”

Yellow roses- “Oh, you know you’re supposed to give them to friends. That was a pretty easy one.”

White tulips, which she placed in a box on their windowsill. “For the worthiness part, not the seeking forgiveness part,” Kim had had to justify quickly when the Dep’s head swiveled around as if looking for an exit, “You know you've got nothing to apologize for.”

But they didn’t know, and Kim knew they didn’t. Back to the drawing board.

“Dahlias,” Kim told them later, “they’re for lasting bonds.”

Finally she settled, comfortably, on sunflowers. Hell knew there were tons of them around the house.

“You like yellow, huh?” Kim ventured one day, unsure if the question would cause Dep to flip out. Instead, she got a moment of consideration and then a slow nod. They were a child, unsure if they were going to be granted approval or disappointment. The acid in Kim’s stomach roiled and she hoped the fire burning Joseph Seed’s soul was blistering.

Kim grinned. “Good. They’re supposed to mean happiness.”

She kept a vase of sunflowers on the table after that, and put another one in their dreary bedroom- she’d have to get Carmina’s help redecorating.

And if she had to plant even more sunflowers to keep up a steady flow, well, it’d be worth it when Dep finally took off that damn mask.

~

Hurk

“I didn’t, uh- I mean, I just kinda thought this was better than trying to rip up some weird flowers and accidentally poisoning you or something.”

Dep tilted their head the same as they’d always done- it was reassuring, almost, that the little things hadn’t changed. It at least gave Hurk the strength to keep going.

He hefted the flower pot between his palms and wished the leaves were long enough to obscure his hot face. “Gina said this was fucking stupid, but then she said maybe it’d help you cause she was thinkin’ you got fucked up, like really life-changing fucked up, and I mean, with Seed and all, and you runnin’ around in that mask maybe she was right, right?”

Dep’s mask did not look impressed. They shuffled back a few steps and looked like they were considering shutting the door on him. Somewhere in that house Kim Rye was thinking about throttling him.

“I’m talking too much,” Hurk stated. Dep did not disagree. Their fists were clenching and unclenching slowly at their sides; they were fighting to keep still. “Um. Sorry. Here.”

He shoved the flower pot into their hands unceremoniously. They fumbled, stumbled under the sudden weight, and finally got it secured against their chest. They huffed angrily at him when dirt spilled into their collar and Hurk was suddenly rethinking the whole ‘let’s-give-our-old-friend-who-is-now-a-little-crazy-a-bunch-of-plants’ idea. Carmina had a good heart but Hurk wondered if she thought more with that than her head.

The Deputy shifted the pot in their hands, looking down at it before jerking their head questioningly at him.

“It’s a fern,” Hurk explained helpfully.

They blinked. It was weird to see the mask with only one eye lens in it, but the eyes weren’t as disconcerting as the dried dirt and who knows what else smudging the white painted surface.

“I, uh, didn’t know anything about flowers, so I got you a fern,” Hurk repeated. He desperately wanted to slap himself in the face. “Like I said I didn’t want to poison you or anything. Knowing me, I’d find the only Bliss left around and end up naked and hogtied alone on the bank of a river somewhere. Uh, not that I’m speaking from experience or anything. But yeah, I thought this fern looked nice. I mean, it is a nice fern. Do you like ferns? Am I saying the word ‘fern’ too much? I feel like I’m saying ‘fern’ too much.”

The Deputy set the plant heavily on the floor between their feet. They tilted their head for a moment and slowly reached out to pet one of the fronds lightly. Then Dep backed up and crossed their arms over their chest tightly, like they were hugging themself. Hurk felt as if iron bands were squeezing his ribs.

“It means humility and uh- shelter. I think.”

Dep paused and then nodded. They held themself tighter. Hurk wished fiercely for this all to be a nightmare- couldn’t he just wake up and realize that none of this had ever happened and he was on his mom’s couch waiting for the Dep to come by and take him to fuck up some Peggies just for kicks?

But what was done was done, and all that was left of his friend was going to shatter apart if he didn’t give them this fucking fern.

“And confidence too, apparently. And like, sincerity. That part is about me, too. Cause, like, I’m sincerely your friend and shit.”

Dep’s head hung low; he couldn't tell if they were looking at the fern or not.

“Hey, Dep?” They shuddered. His voice was strained on the next words. “I, uh- I’m really glad you’re back man. Wasn’t the same without you.”

Silence.  He wasn't going to get anything else from them today. Heart like stone in his chest, Hurk turned and reached out to close the door behind him. At least he could tell Gina and Blade he’d tried.

A hand on the door stopped him from closing it. When Hurk turned around, Dep was standing only inches form him- it was always freaky how softly they could move.

Dep hesitated for a split second and then reached out to lay their hand lightly on his bicep. They patted a couple times and then stopped, seeming unsure of what to do next.

His vision blurry, Hurk reached up and closed his fingers around the other’s, movements slow and exaggerated. They blinked at him. He blinked back and ignored the wet warmth on his cheeks.

“Yeah,” he croaked, “I’m real glad you’re back.”

~

Jerome

“I once told you I didn’t know how to speak to you, old friend.”

Jerome came to a careful stop at the edge of the garden; he could sense a sacred space when he was near it, and this was the Deputy’s. The earth was freshly dug in furrows, and holes pockmarked the yard here and there, heralding in a season of new growth for next year.

He hadn’t known that Dep liked to plant vegetables as well, but Jerome could just spy a bag of what looked like pumpkin seeds sticking out of the basket Dep had by their side. A filthy trowel and a shucked pair of torn gloves lay beside them.

Dep looked up sharply at him before straightening (the lethality in that movement was all catlike grace and most likely completely unintentional) slowly. They dropped the last few seeds from their worn palm into the furrow and nudged a bit of dirt into place above them with a boot.

Jerome waited until he could see the glint of a single eye. “I told you our paths had diverged and that I could no longer think of what to say to you because of what you had done, what you had been through. And for that, Deputy, I can only sincerely apologize.”

Dep’s shoulders hitched upward by a fraction of an inch, but Jerome was watching too closely not to notice. They slid one foot back and ended up kicking their basket over. Jerome could see their hands starting to twist together, an old nervous tick he remembered stopping many a time with a calming palm on theirs.

His stomach flipped; it was almost a certainty that Dep would never let him do that now. Maybe never again.

Jerome sighed passed the tightness of his throat and raise a hand, palm out. “Please, let me finish. Please don’t let your past- what he made you think of yourself, perhaps what I helped reinforce through my thoughtlessness, get the best of you. Can I ask that of you, my friend?”

The Deputy visibly wavered for a moment; Jerome could feel his position here, fragile as the last fall leaves clinging to the branches, ready to be swept away at any second. His tongue felt as dry as the Sahara.

After quite possibly the longest pause of the pastor’s life, the person who had once turned out to be the most true friend he’d ever had nodded twice, quickly, as if they were pulling off a band-aid.

Jerome shifted on his feet. “May I-” He didn’t know quite how to finish, how to communicate the deep urge to reach out, the need to be close to someone he’d thought lost long ago, the wish to make sure this wasn’t some dream from which he would be ripped away at any second. The Deputy was sure to reject the confession, anyhow.

Instead, they beckoned with one hand, crossed their legs, and thumped down into the dirt unceremoniously.

Jerome suppressed the bizarre impulse to laugh. There was something softer about them now, surrounded as they were with flowers and gardening equipment. Their pale face- what passed for their face, anyway- tilted up at him expectantly; it reminded Jerome absurdly of a child waiting for storytime.  

Cautiously, wholly frightened of appearing aggressive, he took a seat across from them Indian-style. He abruptly found it hard to meet their eyes over the row of leaves of the freshly grown carrots between them. Instead, he dropped his gaze to the flowers in his lap. They seemed a meager offering now, no matter how much time he’d spent finding them.

“I brought you these,” Jerome told them hoarsely, lifting the bunch halfheartedly. The Deputy was tracking his movements intently, and tipped their head to the side briefly, that single eye blinking slowly at him. It made Jerome’s chest squeeze tight at the sight. This was what Nick meant about the Dep’s old habits shining through at the strangest times.

He held the first one out over the carrots, watching the petals bob and sway in the breeze. It was a moment before ungloved fingers curled tentatively over the stem just above his own. “Gerbera, for loyal love, innocence, and purity.”

There was a quiet exhale from his companion, but still Jerome refused to lift his eyes. “I should have tried harder to communicate with you; I should have known it was you from the start, or figured it out like Nick Rye did. But I think maybe I did know, or I wouldn’t have pushed the notion away so vehemently. I didn’t want to see what Joseph Seed had done to you- what he molded you into. I didn’t think I could take knowing what had been done to so true a heart.”

He passed two more flowers over. He had to wait a few moments before they were accepted. “Sweet William and sweet woodruff mean gallantry and humility. You- you were a hero to us, I hope you know that. You were a hero to me. And I- I wish I’d not turned away from you when you came out of that bunker. You needed us, and none of us realized it until it was almost too late. We left you to fight your demons on your own because you weren’t fighting our battles for us anymore, and you cannot understand- I cannot express to you the shame that brings me.”

Jerome was having a hard time speaking by now, vision blurred into a swirl of watery colors. He persevered, but not for his own sake. “Pink stargazer lily. I know it looks ostentatious, but it- it means honor, prosperity. Deputy-”

He tried to lift his head this time, made a herculean effort to withstand the grief threatening to drown him, but the current pulled him under and he could not meet their eyes. “The sacrifices you made before the bombs dropped, the torment you must have gone through for the sake of us, all to be rewarded with the time you spent under the ground with him- and to come back and help us, and then, to find the strength to fight back against Seed- the story of Job does you justice.”

Finally, the last flowers seemed small, insignificant, a tiny drop of water in the ocean of things he need to spill out to the Deputy, the things they deserved to hear for which Jerome had no words.

“Bachelor buttons,” He said tightly, breathing harsh. They were not accepted for a long moment and Jerome realized they might not ever be. But if this was the last thing he could say to a hurt friend, then by the Lord Almighty Himself, Jerome had better make it count. “For single blessedness. Whatever has been done to you, whatever Seed or I or anyone else has made you believe about yourself, whatever you think about who you are, know this, my friend. You have fought righteously, and you have stood in the way of harm that would have befallen innocents. You’ve withstood hell. Know that you are free now; know that in the eyes of your family and of the Lord you are not damned. You never were.”

There was a moment where Jerome was alone, choking on the silence, drowning in shame and blame and self-flagellation. The garden was still and time could very well have stopped.

And then the flower was pulled from his grip and replace with a hand. Fingers laced with his, and their bare knuckles dropped to rest together on the sun-warmed earth.

Jerome sat with an old friend submerged in a place of growth and life, and let the wind lift the weight from his shoulders, let the sun dry the tears on his face, let the earth turn on and on, inexorably turning away from the past. He hoped the Deputy was doing the same.

They stayed with him (he stayed with them) until the light faded from a friendly sky.

~

Sharky

This was worse than that time when he was fourteen and bought his crush a bunch of flowers to ask her to the Spring Formal. Okay, so he’d swiped them from the neighbor’s yard. Whatever. Point was, he was less nervous back then, when he’d been holding out the stupid flowers and staring her football player boyfriend in the eye, than he was right now.

The Dep’s hood was up like always, but the height of their shoulders and the way they were leaning as far back in their chair as they could told him enough to guess at their expression. He was sweating.

Kim, sitting at the table in her kitchen across from Dep, looked ten seconds away from throttling him. Sharky recognized that vein beating a tempo in her cheek. “Chives, Sharky? Really?”

“The, uh, the book said they mean, like, usefulness and stuff.”

Kim wrinkled her nose. “You busted into my house to tell Dep they’re useful?” Her tone was deliberately calm. Sharky’s heart was beating so fast it might have simply stopped. He didn’t waver from the Dep, though. He wasn't gonna give up his shot now.

“Hey, I know my best friend, all right? They like to be all helpful and useful to people and shit.”

Their shoulders were lowering centimeters at a time. They’d begun breathing again, having stopped when the door slammed against the wall. Nothing like a dramatic Boshaw entrance to get the blood pumping. The hood moved in their classic head tilt. Their fingers twitched against the worn wood of the table.

“There- there’s dill too,” he piped up helpfully, ignoring the urge to scrub at the back of his neck. Drops of sweat rolled into his facial hair. “Just cause, that book- we’ve only got like one fuckin’ book on flowers and plants and shit in the entire county, how fucked is that, huh?- uh, the book said dill means ‘powerful against evil,’ and I mean, that’s you all the way man, so I thought, you’re all flower power these days, maybe you’d like ‘em! I dunno, I guess I should speak your language and shit.”

There was a second of the loudest silence he’d ever heard. That usually didn’t bode well for Sharky.

Kim let out a long breath. “Sharky, I think maybe you should-”

The Dep’s chair scraped back so fast it tipped backward and landed upside down with a clatter. Kim jumped in her seat. The birds outside the windowsill took flight. The Dep’s glass of water was upturned.

Dep took two large steps over to Sharky and threw their arms around his middle. They squeezed too hard and Sharky wheezed for a second, but when they started to withdraw in alarm he planted a firm hand on their back.

“Oh hell no man, you’re good, you’re good.” They smelled like firewood and rich, healthy soil. At first they held themselves away from his body by a few inches until Sharky gently pressed down between their shoulder blades.

His friend almost collapsed boneless against him; Dep was shaking in his arms and Sharky felt the vicious need to dig Joseph Seed’s body out of his grave and set it on fire. Instead, he held very still and let Dep tentatively rest their head on his shoulder. The skin of their forehead was warmer than any fire he’d lit in months; the warmth seeped through the mask and into the cloth of his shirt, burning pleasantly there.

Their shoulders were trembling, although Sharky was unsure if they were actually crying. He tried not to let the plants get crushed by leaning the fist with them in it gently against the back of Dep’s head.

“I, uh.” He croaked, cleared his throat. Kim was frozen on the edge of his vision, hand over her mouth. “I’ve got coriander too; it means ‘hidden worth.’ I thought it was funny, cause like, you hide your face all the time and you're super cool? But, I couldn't find any coriander flowers. So I put coriander powder on everything.”

The Dep huffed against his flannel. Kim snorted.

“Wait til I tell Nick you got the first hug,” she told him, shaking her head ruefully. “He’s gonna be so pissed.”

Sharky grinned wildly.

~

Nick

Nick barely had time to realize that he’d grabbed the wrong wrench and would subsequently have to haul himself out from under the truck to go get the right one when it appeared in his field of vision as if by magic. A gloved hand was wrapped around the handle.

“Oh,” He said, suddenly realizing he’d forgotten how words worked. “Uh. Thanks.”

In the three months they’d been staying with the Ryes, Dep had had trouble staying in the same room as Nick. They still couldn’t look him in the eye. It made something dark and cloying claw at the base of his stomach most days.

The hand retreated and there was a shifting of fabric near his feet. Working mostly on memory and instinct, Nick continued to fiddle with whatever was jamming up the undercarriage of the truck, keeping most of his attention on the dark, dirt-covered boots he could barely make out beside him.

After a relatively companionable five minutes, he couldn’t stand the silence anymore. Nick found himself wishing for the days when Dep knew just the moment to crack a joke to ease his tension. Maybe that was selfish. Yeah, it was probably selfish.

“Hey, uh.” He cleared a suddenly clogged throat gruffly. “I uh, jumped on the bandwagon and got you something. They’re over by the tools, you probably saw them. Go grab them for me, would ya?”

The feet shuffled a bit before their body dropped down with a thump that jarred him badly enough that his knees jerked into the truck’s underside. Nick hissed a little but shook off the concerned noise Dep made. “Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it- happens all the time. You got ‘em?”

Two taps on his shin, and the skin there prickled under his jeans; they hadn’t wanted to look at him, much less touch any of the Ryes in so long...

They were sitting quietly beside the truck now, leaning against the passenger-side door. He could just barely spy the bright splash of color he’d worked so hard on in his periphery.

It must have taken weeks to get the canterbury bells alone. Nick had been afraid he’d do something stupid- spill oil on them or drop ‘em in the mud or something. It was a relief just knowing they’d gotten safely into Dep’s hands.

“Listen,” Nick paused when the wrench clanged loudly against metal. He stilled until the silence rushed back in.

There was a single tap on his leg to signify they heard him. This was the most they’d touched him since he’d tried to tackle them out of some misguided attempt at a peace-offering all those months ago.  “I know this is the part where I explain all the flowers to you, but I got something to say first, yeah?”

A moment of quiet. Nick tightened a lug nut and ignored how slippery the wrench had become in a matter of seconds. Two taps on his shin.

“Cool,” He replied, and had never felt this hot and agitated in his life. The car seemed to be bearing down on him, threatening to crush his lungs with its bulk. He focus instead on the hand tapping light patterns out on the concrete by his knees. “I ain’t gonna sugar coat this, buddy- Joseph Seed got you fucked up.”

A huffed breath and a light shove, barely enough to jostle him. In the old days, Nick might’ve grinned, wrapped an arm around their neck, ribbed them a little more. Now, his heart was beating too loud in his ears to even think straight. “I mean, there are probably better ways to say that, but it is what it is. And I just wanna say- I don’t care.”

Nick was struck with the acute desire to see what the Dep’s expression was at this moment, but it wasn’t like being out from under the car would help him much with that mask still in the way. He thought maybe the truck hiding his face was the reason Dep could even stand being so near him now- that night with the knife really messed them up. Seems like that blade did more harm to them than it ever did to Nick.

“Aw, I don’t mean it like- like that, you know I- I’m not any good at this, at talkin’. You knew that a long time ago, huh?” Nick was wheezing, just slightly. A hand squeezed lightly around his ankle, and he focused on centering his breathing for a moment.

“Thanks. But I mean it, I don’t care. I don’t care what he did to you, or who you think he made you be. I don’t care if you think you’re dangerous or evil, because you know what? You’re wrong. Seed was fucking wrong about you from the start, and he was wrong about you in the end, too. You didn’t start out evil and you’re not ending up evil either.”

The hand withdrew, and over the roaring in his head Nick could hear them stand. For a moment cold fear drenched him with the certainty that they would run; but all they did was begin pacing.

That was pretty much the best permission to continue he was gonna get. “I don’t care what happened because it doesn’t change who you are to me. It don’t change the fact I’m not gonna leave you alone in this- not ever again.”

He wasn’t seeing the undercarriage anymore, not really; in his mind’s eye, Nick could perfectly render the last time he’d seen their face, all sweaty and grave and ready to bring the fight to Seed if it was the last thing they did. In a way he guessed it was, at least for a while.

“You’re my family,” Nick told them simply. “Pretty much always have been. That ain’t ever gonna change, you hear me? Ever since you strolled in here with that stupid Deputy uniform and a smart-ass grin and told John Seed to go fuck himself, you’ve been one of mine. And I ain’t never gonna give up on one of mine.”

The pacing had stopped, and so had the wrench. It was time- he couldn’t put it off anymore. Feeling incredibly undignified and not really giving a shit, Nick rolled on his back to the edge of the truck and scuttled out from underneath it. It took him a bit of a struggle to get himself upright, back twinging in protest all the while. But he got it done.

The flowers lay carefully abandoned by the tools Nick had discarded earlier. Dep was a few feet away, wearing a furrow in his barn’s floor. When they heard him stand they stopped abruptly, back to him.  Their shoulders were hunched inward, trembling. They usually cut a pretty imposing figure without even meaning to; now they just looked small, like a kid playing dress up with their parents’ clothes. They were swamped in the black of their jacket.

Nick hated something about that coat on them- all dark and furred and too heavy. It reeked of corruption, or dominance, and he could just fucking bet it was gifted to them by none other than Joseph fucking Seed. But mostly, Nick hated it because it kept him from seeing his friend in there.

Quietly, careful not to disturb the fragile peace, Nick scooped up the flowers. “Canterbury bells, ‘faith, gratitude.’” He spoke passed the fear clawing its way up his throat, threatening to spill out from his lips. He could just see it, an oil slick down his chin and front, congealing and growing and obscuring his friend from his very eyes. But for every flower Nick took a step forward, surging passed that fear and swallowing it back in defiance.

Dep hadn’t moved.

“Queen Anne’s lace, ‘sanctuary.’ Tiger lilies, ‘happiness, prosperity.’” The last stem Nick offer to them over their shoulder. It was a second before they accepted it. He let his hand fall tentatively- softly so softly, they were like a newborn fawn, ready to bolt at any second- on their shoulder. The coat wrinkled slightly under his fingertips and the fabric almost physically repulsed him.

Instead, Nick gripped just a little tighter, to remind them he wasn’t going anywhere. His palm tingled- this was the first contact with Dep he’d had in- he didn’t know. Hell, for all Nick knew, he could wake up tomorrow and find they’d actually done it, they’d actually run off in the night. Every day he realized it could be the last contact he had with them.

The thought ate away at Nick.

He squeezed lightly again, cleared his throat and in a gravelly voice explained, “Lilac. It’s for family, and innocence. ‘Cause that’s what you are Dep. You’re innocent. And you’re family.”

He couldn’t seem to let go now. Their shoulder moved beneath Nick’s grip, but not quickly, not violently. The muscles shifted, bone creaked. They put their hands to their face, still holding tightly to the bloom he’d given them.

With a larger effort that Sisyphus ever exerted on his stone, Nick dropped his hand; his fingers grazed their hood on the way down. His gaze fell, and he wiped a hand over his own face; he was so very tired.

“So, uh, I guess that’s what I want you to know.” Nick told them, as confidence fled. He kept his hand over his eyes. “I don’t care what happened to you, I’m still with ya to the end of the line. And it’s- it’s okay if it takes a long time. I get it, if you can’t- be around us yet. Be around me yet. I know it’s- it’s gotta be fucking tough as shit. But you’re not alone. You've got me, however long you need, buddy.”

When his hand finally fell from his eyes, Nick was almost too tired to register the eyes looking back at him.

The pair of eyes looking back.

All breath shot out of Nick’s lungs but his body must have realized the importance of the moment, because his muscles locked up before he could ruin it by flailing. He stood, frozen like a deer in the headlights, feeling as if he suddenly acquired lockjaw.

Slowly, deliberately slowly, the Deputy lowered their hood; their hair was rough, and long, and matted as a rat’s nest; it badly needed a cut and it so dirty it could have been any color. Their face was streaked with grime, and pale from lack of sunlight, creating a resemblance to a raccoon around their eyes.

They looked tired.

Dep took hold of the hand Nick had placed on their shoulder and gentle pushed the mask into his palm.

“Fuck that.” Nick sputtered, hurling the mask to the ground. He didn’t even look down to see it shatter to pieces before he’d swept Dep into his arms.

His hand were clutching too tightly to that damn coat, he was leaning too close, probably suffocating them engulfed as they were by his hug, but Nick wouldn’t- goddamn couldn’t- let go.

“You have no fucking clue how good it is to see you again,” Nick told them, and meant it with his whole heart.

They huffed into his neck, hands coming up to hold on just as tightly.

Then the Deputy who had been still stiff, still scared- would that Nick could see the day Dep wasn’t scared anymore- the Deputy who had fought and died and been reborn for them, the Deputy who had run and hid from them, the Deputy who had refused for so long to see the family waiting for them to come back, settled carefully into his arms.

And the Deputy came home.

[booksncoffee]

brooklyn’s first day of work (pre-ums drabble)

Brooklyn is so worried about being late that she skipped her morning routine, which usually involves drinking coffee whilst going through the list of things she must accomplish throughout the day. She convinces herself that she’ll be okay without coffee. It’s her first day, after all, so she can’t risk being late and giving her colleagues a bad impression – those two matter more than a cup of caffeine.  

Oliver had called her earlier before she left her flat to check on her. He knows how much this job means to her and he knows how nervous she is, so he wanted to reassure her that everything would be fine. Beck and Nadine did the same. Brooklyn doesn't know what she’d do without her siblings – they’ve been with her through her ups and her downs.

She’d like to think that landing a job as a journalist at an up-and-coming online magazine company is the highlight of her entire existence.

Positive that she’s got the right building, Brooklyn mutes her mobile phone when she walks into the lift. A few people offer her a polite smile as though they know she’s new around here and the man standing near the life buttons asks her which floor she wants to get to.

So far so good, she tells herself. That is until a boy suddenly sprints to the lift and stops the door from closing before him. Being the one that stands near the door, Brooklyn almost screeches when he crashes into the lift, forcing her to step back and bumping into the man behind her. She hears mumbles coming from people around her, the friendliness she feels from everyone earlier has dissipated.

“Sorry, sorry,” the boy apologises. He’s not wearing a suit like everyone else, which leads her to believe that he might be a visitor. He turns to her, then, and smiles. “Sorry.”

“S’fine.” Her voice comes out as a croak so she clears her throat and tries again, “It’s fine.”

He grins at her and for a moment, she’s taken aback by the glint in his eyes. He looks so happy unlike everyone else who seems miserable, probably suffering from Monday’s blues.

“It’s depressing, I know,” he whispers to her, invading her personal space as if they’ve known each other for a long time.

Brooklyn doesn't say anything as she shifts a little to make sure there’s space between them but it’s pointless because the lift is cramped – no thanks to this way too cheerful boy.

After what feels like an eternity, the lift finally takes her to her floor. Coincidentally the boy steps out as well and he rushes off before she can wonder if he works here as well.

Brooklyn is told to look for someone named Harry Styles as soon as she arrives at the office and that’s what she does. She finds him a few minutes later when he steps out of the lift.

“You must Brooklyn Cooper,” is what he says when he approaches her, sounding a little out of breath. His long hair is pulled back into a small bun and he looks like he’s just woken up from his sleep and rushes here as soon as he realises that he’s going to be late. “Mr Storm told me you’d be coming in today and I’m supposed to show you around.”

“Yes.” Brooklyn smiles.

He reciprocates her smile. “Let’s get started then.”

Harry starts with the break room – the place where everyone loves to go because they can get free coffee or tea here – before he takes her to the upper floor of the office where those working under the creative department reside. Harry introduces her to them and she likes how they make her feel welcomed. They proceed to visiting everyone in different department until it’s finally time for him to take her to her desk.

“You don’t have to worry about feeling like an outsider,” Harry tells her whilst they’re walking down the stairs as if he knows exactly what’s playing on her mind. “This might sound cliché, but we treat one another like family around here.”

“That’s good to know,” Brooklyn says. She doesn't know how working around those who treat you like a family member would be like because she used to work at a place where everyone treats one another like shit.

“Now I’m gonna introduce you to my best mate, Niall.” Harry leads her to an empty desk, which she assumes is hers. Her heart jumps at the sight of that. “He’ll also be your desk partner – well, sort of. His desk is in front of yours so you’ll be seeing his face everyday.”

When they reach her desk, there’s no one in front of hers. It’s empty, except for the jacket hung on the back of the chair.

“He must be in the break room,” Harry comments. “Anyway, this is your desk.”

“Thank you,” she replies before setting down her bag.

“Ah, you must be the new kid.” Brooklyn looks up to see the same boy from the lift advancing towards her and Harry. He puts down the water bottle he’s holding and offers her his hand. “I’m Niall.”

Hesitantly, Brooklyn accepts his hand. “Brooklyn Cooper.”

Harry’s eyes dart from Brooklyn to Niall, a huge smile stretching his lips. “I’m gonna say it: you two are gonna get along well.”

“Too soon to tell, don’t ya think so?” Niall kinks an eyebrow at his friend.

Harry simply shrugs. “Call it best mate’s intuition.”

Despite the eye roll, laughter escapes the boy’s throat. Brooklyn can tell that they’ve been working together for years now. They look comfortable around each other as they recall the things they did over the weekend.

Whilst Harry and Niall talk, Brooklyn decides to set up her desk. She takes out her small notebook – one that she always carries around in her bag – and puts it on the desk before turning on her desktop. Now that she’s settled down, Brooklyn goes through the list she made last night. She’s supposed to buy some groceries after work today and call her siblings to tell them about her first day at work.

“What’re ya up to?” A voice interrupts her. The boy has dragged his chair near her desk, once again invading her space.

“I-Uh, nothing,” she answers. She doesn't know why he makes her nervous.

“Can I call you Cooper?” he asks her suddenly. Before she can give him an answer, he adds, “Y’know what. I’m just gonna call you Cooper.”

This boy is straightforward. “Okay, whatever you like.”

He lets out a chuckle. The sound washes over her like the sun that comes out every now and then. “Is this your first job?”

Brooklyn shakes her head. “Second,” she replies. She’d rather not think or speak about her first job – it’s awful, that’s all she could say.

Niall taps his fingers on her desk as he probably thinks of something else to say. “Have you always wanted to work as a journalist?”

She feels like she’s being interviewed, especially with the way he’s looking at her. “Yeah.”

“Me too,” he replies with a smile. He has a beautiful smile, Brooklyn notices. It’s like his entire face lights up when he does that. “Well I’d love to ask more questions, but I can’t think of one right now. I didn't sleep at all last night so my brain’s not functioning – I bet you know that if you’re a uni student.”

Yeah, Brooklyn is familiar with that.

Niall shoots her a smile before he drags his chair away from hers. Before he can situate himself behind the desk, she asks. “Why?” He looks up, a questioning look written all over his face. “Why didn't you sleep at all?”

Considering that she’ll have to look at his face everyday, Brooklyn figures she should try to be his friend. He seems friendly enough so it wouldn't hurt to try.

“If I tell you this, promise you won’t attempt to try it at home,” he says when he rolls back to her desk.

He sounds so serious so Brooklyn nods her head. “Okay.”

“I forgot that I had to submit an article to Dean-“

“Dean?”

“Mr Storm.”

“Oh.” He definitely has worked here long enough to be able to call their editor-in-chief by his first name.

“Anyway, I forgot that I had an article to submit so I was up all night finishing it.” People who are able to do work in the last minute amaze Brooklyn. She can’t do that. She’ll probably just end up crying if she attempts to write an article a few hours before its deadline. “Felt like I was back in me good ‘ol uni days.”

“That’s amazing.”

“What?”

“That you’re able to finish an article in one night. You must be really good.”

A sheepish smile takes over his face as he runs his fingers through his blond hair. For a moment, the confidence that he’s been wearing since she first met him is put aside and Brooklyn can’t seem to tear her gaze away from his face. He’s… beautiful. Almost like God created him first.  

“Shit,” the word slips past her mouth when that particular thought seeps into her mind. Her cheeks warm up in embarrassment. It’s her first day of job and she’s already crushing on her colleague – she needs to do something about that.

“Something’s wrong?” He asks.

Brooklyn shakes her head. “No, no.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He smiles. He really needs to stop doing that. “I’ll be at my desk if you ever need help.”

As soon as Niall’s back at his desk, Brooklyn sends an SOS text to her twin brother, Beck. She tells him that there’s someone cute at her office and his response consists of laughing emojis, followed by a request for a picture. There’s no way she’s going to secretly snap a picture of Niall. That’s an invasion of privacy on his behalf. Although he doesn't seem to care about hers, she cares about his.

Before Brooklyn can put aside her phone, Beck sends another text saying: nevermind. Bet I’m gonna see him soon.

Brooklyn brushes off that text because there’s no way he’d want to hang around her siblings. He probably has a girlfriend and besides, she’s not here to search for love or anything. She’s here because when she’s fourteen, she tells herself that she’s going to be a writer. And here she is now. She’s not going to mess things up just because she thinks the boy sitting in front of her is cute.

[ask-svt-hearteu]

Soulmate! Jun

Genre: fluff

Word Count: 1160

Summary: in which your soulmate’s first words are tattooed along your arm

part two

you've kind of given up on the whole dating scene

tbh you're too busy finishing school and nobody really catches your eye

lowkey waiting for this whole ‘soulmate’ thing to happen 

but you really don’t know what the hell kinda situation you’d be in for them to say,

‘That wouldn’t be great’

like man what did you do

but since the words were Korean, you purposely applied to a college in South Korea

even though out of the large population, it’s a slim chance

but hey, fate is fate

you stay in a small apartment in Seoul with a decent view

you’re a photography major and the city’s very inspiring

so much to explore, from the gaffiti, to abandoned buildings, to the street vendors

your favorite place is probably this small, aesthetically pleasing, café down the street from your apartment

they've got food, caffeine, everything you need

and damn their wifi is really good

you're a regular there, you often go for breakfast or lunch

and just sit there on your laptop doing school stuff

basically, you live there, even got permission to take pictures

you're walking out of the café one day and notice a group of guys walking into the dance studio across the street

you don't really pay them much attention, except they're all really cute, even with their faces covered

its one of those moments where you can just tell when someone’s good looking

next day you see the café is hiring

and so you go for it, you're a regular, know the menu by heart, and spend all your free time there

might as well make some money off of it, lord knows school isn’t gonna pay itself off

it's really rainy one evening and you're the last employee there 

so you decide to just put your music on blast in the café while cleaning up

and after your that, you're just chillin there like, no one's gonna come in

so when you see someone exit the dance studio and notice they don't have an umbrella

you kind of feel bad but remembered that you have an extra in the back room

and however shy you normally are, you run to grab it

taking a risk of leaving the shop unattended kinda just slips your mind

opening your own umbrella, you step outside in the pouring rain

he watches as you walk over to him, with your cute little café apron still on and an extra umbrella clung firmly in your hand

he can't help but watch you brave the rain storm just to give him an umbrella

"You’ll get sick if you stay drenched" 

you say passing him the black umbrella with a cute cartoon animal on the corner 

"That wouldn’t be great" 

he responds with a slight chuckle before widening his eyes

you process it too, even slower than usual with your foreigner mind

you both stand there all awkward for a nanosecond

“Holy shit” 

you whisper on reflex

you cringe a little, praying he didn’t hear you

your like wtf did I just curse at my soulmate

his eyes crinkle into a smile

“I'm Junhui, Wen Junhui. but you can just call me Jun, for now” he chuckles brightly, eyes lighting up happily

“I’m Y/n L/n” 

you laugh at the situation, but your eyes show your just as happy

“What are you doing out in the rain like this?”

he chuckles sheepishly and flips his hair to the side, small water droplets flying off

“I lost rock paper scissors with my group members, I’m supposed to get them coffee”

you ask him “Group? coffee? at 10:00 at night?”

by then you guys decide it’s best to get out the rain and hey your running a cafe 

and so you make him his coffee, and the 12 other ones he needs

meanwhile you guys avidly get to know one another as much as possible

“I’m sorry you had to live with ‘That wouldn’t be great’ on your arm. especially when my members where saying how I must have a really sweet soulmate”

he's just casually leaning against the counter watching you with a small smile and his head titled a bit sideways

you laugh, “It’s alright. For most of my life, most people didn’t understand anyways”

you learn of his beautiful confidence

“I’ve never listened to Seventeen before but i’ll definitely give it a shot”

“I promise you, there’s no way you won’t like us”

and his eagerness to know you 

“You’re a photography major? That’s so cool! Can I see your work?”

“I have a school project in my bag, I’ll show you when I’m done”

and somehow, everything just clicks

the conversation never lapses

you both can naturally laugh, like when he was teasing some members for not being able to drink coffee

and you can't get over how sweet and light his laugh is

and for the first time, your heart flutters and there are butterflies in your stomach

when your done with the order, you kinda just stand and stare

until he blurts

“Can I have your number?” 

with a blush dusting your cheeks, you type your contact in his phone, boldly labeling it as ‘Jun’s soulmate ;) <3′

and you hand him your phone and he puts 'Y/n's soulmate<3' as his contact name

you both feel a little disappointed as he’s about to leave, then his face lights up excitedly

“How about you just come to the studio! I’m sure the boys wouldn’t mind!”

it's almost 11pm, but

is there any other answer besides yes?

he waits for you to close up, hang your apron up, and grab your bag

as you’re about to open up your umbrella but he stops you, opening the one you gave him

“Let’s share one” he says grinning cheekily, with a hint of shyness

so you both walk to the studio, each carrying a load of drinks

his hand grazing yours

which you're both extremely aware of

and he barges into the studio, his hand around your wrist, stopping all conversation

“I brought your orders and guess what? i got a soulmate for free!” 

CHAOS EVERYWHERE jisoos christ save you

you’re not really understanding half of the gibberish the members are telling you as it’s coming at you so fast

“I want to apologize in advance for his cheesiness”

 “LOVE HYUNG WITH ALL YOUR HEART.”

“Cook hyung lots of spicy food”

“Take care of one of our mothers well”

“Don’t be alarmed if his eyes are open when sleeping”

“Maybe now he’ll call you the fairest of them all”

“Can I call you noona?"

eventually, somehow, the members back off

but you know they love junhui a lot and are ecstatic to meet his soulmate

they give you a moment alone, but unfortunately, he must go back to practice

he tells you to sit down comfortably and listen to the song

he winks,

“Watch me and only me.”

part two

The Seventeen Soulmate AU series:

|| Seungcheol / Pt. 2 || Jeonghan / Pt. 2 || Joshua / Pt.2 || Jun / Pt.2 || Hoshi / Pt.2 || Wonwoo || Woozi / Pt.2 || Seokmin / Pt.2 || Mingyu / Pt.2 || Minghao || Seungkwan || Vernon / Pt.2 || Dino ||

MASTERLIST

[palmettofoxesthings]

I’m worried about your coffee dependency...

Um this is unedited and I wrote it a while ago I’m not 100% sure what happens anymore. Opps? Sorry for inactivity, I’ve been having feelings and yeah led to a life off social media for a while. Anyway, happier things.

So Matt is super nice and takes shifts from coworkers who have essays etc due if they have a night shift so they can do them

And it just works out that a lot of people wanna switch their shifts with him cos they all have assignments due

And Matt really regrets his choice

Like he wants to sleep. And see his girlfriend. And the morning.

He’d really fucking love to see morning again

(It’s for the greater good, he tells himself, but what greater good? Certainly not his grades)

But alas he has about ten nights shifts over the next two weeks and an abundance of assignments due that he’s just not gonna get done

He already vaguely recognises Neil from other shifts as he does a lot of the students cos you learn what people look like working at the 24 hours campus coffee shop

There are a few other regulars he sort of knows but there are honestly so many people he doesn’t really keep that many of them in his mind

But then Neil comes in and it’s 1 am and it’s pretty standard for students pulling all nighters to come for coffee at that time or sum long home after a night out

And he looks a bit off. He’s slightly pale and shaking a little and in a huge ass hoodie but it’s cold out so Matt puts it down to that

And Neil orders a double espresso. And then he hesitates when Matt asks him if he wants anything else and goes ‘actually make that two’ and Matt just nods like uh huh fine probably had an assignment due and needs to get it done

And Neil takes his coffee over to one of the corner tables and pulls out a laptop

And it’s ten minutes later Neil orders another two and matts just like okay must be a super important assignment

After an hour or so Neil gets a phone call and packs up and leaves without ordering another coffee

Matt sees a short blond waiting outside the entrance to the shop who seems to be really annoyed at the kid in the ginormous hoodie and they leave together

And Matt just shrugs cos it’s not the strangest thing he’s ever seen a student do

But what is strange is when Neil comes back at 3am seemingly looking over his shoulder all the time. Matt vaguely wonders if he’s looking for the blond who came by earlier but actually just asks neil what he wants. Which this time is a triple shot latte cos why not coffee is coffee and Andrew only said no more espressos

Neil stays sat there till long after the athletes have stared rolling in and the early lectures have begun

(Cos Andrew knows his boy and also Kevin is a night owl and told him)

(They’re all minorly concerned about him)

Matt had finished his shift around 5am and gone back to see Dan before classes started

When they go to get coffee together at lunch time Matt gets concerned when he sees Neil still hunched in his corner surrounded by scraps of paper and screwed up balls and Matt really wants to know what the hell this kid is working on

But he also needs his time with dan so they order and go sit down

Neil gets a text and looks really super alarmed by it and packs up super quickly with fleeting glances to the door every few seconds

And when everything has been hastily shoved into the bag and almost sprints out of the door

Boy forgot his class was about to start. Also Nicky was warning him Andrew was looking for him

Matt’s not on a shift again that night so he doesn’t know if Neil turned up again or not. He’s curious but he brushes it off cos he really needs to get this assignment done

(Neil is there again. In the same hoodie. Looking slightly paler than last night)

And drinking double espressos till Andrew comes to drag him home to sleep

Neil does not, in fact, sleep

The next two shifts Matt has Neil isn’t there. He hopes this is a good thing because last time he saw the kid walking around campus he was looking a little like a zombie to be honest

Matt also hopes this doesn’t mean he’s just been going at more normal hours of the day cos that would also be bad

It’s Friday night that Matt next sees neil

It’s 2:53 and Matt has had nothing to do for the past hour or so save for one English student who was getting really tired of Shakespeare and needed caffeine to finish Othello for the millionth time

He ordered a double espresso. Then a double latte. Matt felt bad for the girl

So Neil turns up. And this time he’s in a new hoodie. But it’s black and again it’s too big for him. He accidentally picked up Kevin’s on his way out so this time to like wayyyyy too big for him

And Neil looks like absolute death. 💀 like this

The other one is actually andrew’s tho

He has huge dark bags under his eyes

And Matt is like ok this is not good

But Neil only orders one double espresso this time and actually gets a cup of water to drink as well

So Matt feels slightly less bad about giving this small child (cos he is v small) coffee when he’s also having water

What he does not realise is that the water is to clean a cut on his knucles

So Neil squirrels himself away in a corner out of sight with a wad of tissue and cleans the cut

And then drinks the coffee

Matt doesn’t see Neil again for another half hour. Which is definitely an improvement on the last time he was in the shop

He gets a latte this time and gets us to go

And then another espresso and downs that before leaving

Hush child all in good time

Matt is beginning to get concerned

Especially when he goes to clear the table and sees the water not drunk and a bloody tissue on the floor

Neil thought he’d cleared it all

Ok it was an accident

So when Neil comes in the next night and Matt is working he finally says something more than what can I get you

‘Y'know, man cannot live on coffee alone’

'Man can damn well live on coffee’ is Neil’s response

And Matt can’t decide if that grey hoodie he wears is getting baggier or if it’s his imagination

'You look like death, man, what’s your name?’ Matt

'Thanks. I definitely come to the coffee shop for beauty tips’ neil replies monotonously

Matt is not perturbed tho cos it’s Matt and he’s amazing

Seriously though what’s your name. You’re in here so much I feel like I ought to be able to call you something

'Ok, something it is’

Matt frowns at this ball of grumpy in front of him

And thus I sleep

Sorry kid

So Matt is frowning at the smile ball of grumpy in front of him

And wondering what on earth he has done to piss the kid off so much

But he makes the coffee and watches Neil squirrel away in the same corner he always does. Just out of sight but not quite fully this time

And he can just see a bandage poking out of Neil’s left sleeve

And he frowns even more cos his ball of grumpy (no he is not going to call this kid something when he has his own much more accurate description of his own)

His ball of grumpy is hurt and he doesn’t know why and he wasn’t hurt when he came in yesterday so what on earth happened

Except he was and Matt just didn’t see as we know

The next time Neil comes in Matt opens with 'I’m worried about your coffee dependency’

And Neil just stares at him levelly.

'My name is neil’ orders his espresso and walks away

Matt if dumbfounded. Where did that come from. He is so confused

Matt isn’t sure what to say to Neil for the rest of the time he’s there. The kid is too many contradictions (well, he thinks so anyway, not that they’ve really had enough conversations for it to really be something he can say) but he just seems like the walking conundrum type to Matt

The short blond appears again that night to Matt’s surprise. He’d almost forgotten the kid existed since he hadn’t seem him since the first time, but now he’s kind of cowering behind his counter with the glare the kid is wearing and wondering what on earth Neil might have done to piss him off so much. He was now also worried for Neil’s continued life, not just his coffee dependency.

So he moves to intervene when Neil looks up like a deer caught in headlights at the other kid but then as matt approaches he sees that the glare in Andrew’s eyes has softened, only a little, and that Neil doesn’t seem to be scared of him so he kind of just lets it be but stands back close enough to be able to intervene in case something happens

So Matt is lingering behind them and he watches as Andrew reaches out his hand toward Neil’s hurt one but pause before he touches it

He doesn’t hear what he says but we all know that he’s asking for permission

and Andrew slowly unwraps the bandage and Neil’s knuckles are all bloody and Andrew just closes his eyes and leads Neil out of the shop

Matt doesn’t see Neil for a while after that

he’s spotted him around campus a couple of times but never in the right place for him to call him and say hi, they’re both always been rushing somewhere

so when he hears a story from a coworker about the kid with the weird caffeine addiction at 3am he decides it’s time to take more night shifts again

and so Neil comes in as he always does. but this time he has come in with the blond whose name Matt still doesn’t know (he learns it’s Andrew) and a tall dark haired boy who towers over them both

Honestly Matt finds it a little funny how they look together but he does not comment because he is scared of Andrew if he’s being honest with himself

Andrew orders his coffee, and Kevin gets some healthy thing that honestly Matt doesn’t really know how to make but whatever he’ll go with it, And Neil orders his two double espressos (by this point Matt knows to just put them in the same damn cup cos it won’t change how quickly the damn kid drinks them)

'I’m still concerned about your caffeine addiction’

'I thought it was a dependency’ Neil responds and Matt is kind of just like uh what how does the kid remember that I don’t understand what what how

'I think it’s both’ Matt shrugs as he makes the drinks. Neil sends Kevin and Andrew over to his usual table and leans on the counter to talk to Matt

Well, he leans on the counter to hum in response to Matt, same thing right>

Matt slides the drinks over a tray with a glass of water as well. Neil picks up the glass of water between two fingers and stares at it quizzically. Matt just sighs and says 'drink the water or I refuse to serve you’ and Neil is like the fuck man what why are you doing this what did I ever do to you ugh you’re worse than Andrew and I don’t even know you

But Neil takes the drinks and stares Matt down as he drinks the water first and then moves onto the coffee

when matt sees that neil has finished the water he is satisfied and walks back over tot he counter

he positions himself so he can still see the group but not so that it’s obvious

he watches and neil pulls out his laptop and starts typing away furiously

he is actually doing an essay this time

so are andrew and kevin

I say essay, he’s working on some super complex math revision for his exam, Andrew and Kevin are writing the essays

but they would have been happy to write them in the dorms

they just came out to make sure neil didn’t kill himself on the amount of caffeine he’s been consuming

Matt slowly worms his way into neil’s life bit by bit

andrew doesn’t glare at him any less

but he appreciates that while matt is serving the caffeine, he is at least trying to make neil drink water at the same time

then neil comes in and he looks really scared and now matt isn’t worried about his caffeine dependency as he tells neil every time he comes into the shop

he’s worried about actual neil

which to be fair he always has been but  now

neil is so much thinner than he used to be and he looks like he wants to run

and matt sees blood

everywhere

but there’s too much of it to all be neil’s and him still be standing so some of it must be someone else’s

but matt can’t put the pieces together properly in his head so instead he follows neil to his usual tables

and he follows the instructions from neil to turn off the lights

and to duck down behind the table

and then he sees someone with a flashlight walking by

ad they’re shining the light into the coffee shop

and he ca . hear neil’s breathing start to get weaker

and matt is now concerned on immeasurable levels

and there’s a concentration of blood coming from his abdomen and matt is like oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck

so he fumbles and grabs some napkins from the stand nearby while trying not to be seen by anyone outside

but when he pulls his phone out to call 911 neil knocks it out of matt’s hand

and matt is just like ok ok no phones great wonderful what the fuck

but neil pulls his own phone out

and he calls 911 himself

and he just stares matt dead in the eyes and says 'my phone is secure’

and now matt is confused beyond epic proportions

because um ok? Who the hell knows about secure lines anyway

and why does this caffeine addicted/dependent ball of grumpy need or have one

but he takes the phone anyway and talks to the person on the end of the line

but then he realises that neil didn’t actually call 911

he called andrew

who is now preparing to storm down to the coffee shop armed with someone named Abby? Matt thinks and he’s making it sound like he knows what he’s doing but honestly matt is just like

ummmmm

what is happening

so Abby gets there with Andrew but she can’t do anything properly to help

so she has to take him to the hospital

matt and andrew are there when neil wakes up

andrew doesn’t say anything

but matt does. He’s concerned

'how are you?’

but neil doesn’t answer that question

instead he just looks at the boht, and the bandage around his chest

and says

'see, my caffeine addiction saved my life

and matt is spluttering indignantly

and Andrew just says 'junkie’

and matt is in a state of disbelief

and he is still confused as to what is actually going on

but it doesn’t seem like either andrew or neil are going to be very forthcoming with answers

so for now he just settle with the idea from neil that maybe they should hang out some time

when matt isn’t serving him coffee

and from his little ball of grumpy, matt considers that a win

[stereksummerexchange]

Late Night Wanderings

@d-athanasi | AO3 - I hope you enjoy this. I thought doing a diner AU would be a fun change; I hope you like reading it as much as I liked writing it!

by @nightlight9

Stiles doesn’t know how started spending all of his nights hanging out in a forgotten diner instead of getting a good night’s rest. Okay, so maybe he does actually know how he got here, and it might have everything to do with one surly worker with a quiet disposition and a big heart.  

Stiles doesn’t know how he got here. One minute he had been staring aimlessly at his computer screen, going crazy trying to figure out a good argument for his essay, and the next he was in his car, driving around town at 12:34 in the morning. All he wanted was to find something to do that would take his mind off of all the work he was avoiding. Ending up at Pop’s, a 24-hour diner Stiles didn’t even know existed, was a complete accident. But it turned out that it was exactly what he was looking for, even though when he first stumbled inside, all he could hope was that it wasn’t the start of a b-rated horror film featuring his death.

Now, most of his nights are spent at the small diner.

“I’m cutting you off.”

Stiles blinks up at the man towering over him, a pout pulling at his lips. Okay, so maybe he does actually know how he got here, and it might have everything to do with one surly worker.

The first time that Stiles saw Derek, he thought that the older man might be a tragically beautiful serial killer, because even though he was the most attractive man Stiles had ever seen, the frown pulling his lips down suggested violence. Instead he turned out to be the tragically beautiful owner of Pop’s, whose resting face naturally looks violent. And, after that fateful night, he also happens to be Stiles’ favorite unobtainable companion.

Except when he decides it’s his ‘duty to the public’ to cut off Stiles’ caffeine supply.

“That’s not fair,” Stiles whines, tightening his hands around the coffee mug and glaring up at Derek. “I’m a paying customer. You’re supposed to take my money without complaining or questioning my life choices.”

“If you expect that kind of service you should go somewhere else.”

“Derek.” His voice is all whine. “You have to give me more coffee. How else am I going to finish all of this?” He gestures to the counter where several textbooks have been left open.

Derek snorts. “Stiles, you’ve been staring at your books without doing anything for ten minutes.” He grabs Stiles’ discarded pencil (which rolled across the counter and was forgotten) as evidence of his lack of work. “It’s almost 2 o'clock, you haven’t done any work, and you’re cut off. “ Derek reaches over the counter and presses the pencil’s eraser against Stiles’ forehead. “You know, normal people would be thinking about going to bed.”

Stiles bats the pencil away and snorts. “Yeah, well I think we can safely deduce that I am in no way normal. Why else would I be hanging out with you practically every night?”

Surprisingly, Derek doesn’t take the bait. It makes Stiles pout again; he loves the way that they banter and tease each other. But Derek just calmly pries the mug from his fingers and replaces it with a tall glass of water, a smirk teasing his lips. Obediently, though with an eye-roll, Stiles sips at the new drink. In all honesty, he’s not even feeling jittery from all of the coffee. He’s long suspected that Derek swaps his caffeinated coffee with decaf, but he hasn’t been able to prove it. Either way, he’s definitely more than ready to head back to his dorm and sleep for a few hours.

But at the same time, Stiles doesn’t want to leave Derek alone. He knows that he must be used to it; obviously he was alone before Stiles wandered in and kept coming back. But Stiles hates picturing Derek wasting time by himself. The first night they met, Derek had been behind the counter waiting for orders even though no one was there. And he’s never mentioned having anyone to go home to.

That’s why Stiles makes it a habit to go to the diner practically every night. Most of the time, he only stays an hour or two; he does need a healthy amount of sleep on occasion. But once or twice a week, he’ll keep Derek company well into the early morning. And the thing is, Stiles knows that Derek appreciates it that he comes by, knows that spending his nights by himself all of the time made him lonely. Sure, Derek will grip and complain sometimes, but it’s always with an air of fondness.

The change that Derek went through since that first night was miraculous. He had been so closed off to everything that Stiles was saying. But then Stiles had made a joke about Lord of the Rings and the banter was on. Now, Stiles considers him one of his closest friends. Derek knows so much about his life, and even though he doesn’t share much about himself, he seems happy that Stiles lets him in.

Stiles hates leaving him alone at the end of the night. He doesn’t want Derek to be lonely again.

Plus, Stiles never wants to be away from the older man.

It should be concerning how he’s fallen for a random guy, but really the realization isn’t even shocking. Why wouldn’t he like someone who is obviously beautiful, whose humor is wry and dark and perfect, and who cares about others so much that he takes all the night shifts so that they can sleep, or cuts them off when they’ve had too much caffeine? It isn’t surprising at all.

“You’re probably right though,” Stiles mutters after a few moments of companionable silence. “I should head home.” If he sounds miserable at the prospect of leaving, he really can’t be blamed.

Derek offers a small smile and nods. “Yeah, it’s pretty late. Are you awake enough to drive?”

Stiles scoffs and starts cleaning up his textbooks. “Yeah. I mean, before you stole my mug, I drank at least three cups of coffee. So as long as it wasn’t decaf, I’ll be fine.”

In response, Derek’s smile turns sly and he raises his eyebrows. It’s entirely cocky and mocking, and dammit if Stiles doesn’t love it. Instead of patting at Derek’s face like he really wants to, he just scoffs again, finishes his water, and gets to his feet.

Like every night, Derek follows him to the door so that he can make sure Stiles gets to his jeep without any problems. It makes Stiles wonder how he ever thought the man might be a serial killer.

Before he steps outside, he turns back to Derek and smiles. “Alright, buddy. I’m out of here.” He softens his voice, making it more private and intimate, matching the short distance between them. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Derek smiles, just as soft. “I’ll be here.”

———-

It’s understandable that, when the Sheriff finds out what his son is doing at night, he’s concerned. Not only is he worried about Stiles’ health, but he’s also more than a little concerned about who his son is keeping company. It starts an argument in the middle of the grocery store. But then Stiles calls Derek by his name for the first time, and his dad freezes.

His eyes are a little softer when he asks, “Wait, do you mean Derek Hale?”

Stiles blinks, caught of guard by the change. “I-. Yeah. He owns the diner I go to.”

The Sheriff nods slowly, and his expression turns sad. “Right, Pop’s. How did I forget-.” He nods again, and turns down the aisle. “Okay.”

Stiles chases after him. “What just happened,” he demands.

His dad shrugs, picking up a bag of chips and putting them in the cart. “I said okay. I’m not worried about it anymore. Just-make sure that you get enough sleep, kid.”

Replacing the chips with a healthier, baked alternative, he asks, “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“But, why? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy you’re not yelling at me anymore, but I don’t really understand why you-.”

His dad cuts him off. “Don’t worry about it.” He sounds downtrodden and his eyes are sad. “Derek’s a good kid. Just know that I’m not worried anymore.”

Stiles tries to press, tries to figure out why his dad sounds so upset, why just mentioning Derek’s name would elicit such a reaction. But his dad won’t say anything else about it, so he finally lets it go.

One rainy day in March, Stiles finally understands what made his dad sound so sad.

When Stiles pulls up to Pop’s, the sign is dark. Stiles frowns at it as he climbs out of the jeep. “Hey, Derek. You know that your sign is burned-.” As he tries to pull open the door, his body collides with it instead. Moving his gaze from the sign to the door, he frowns and tugs at it again. It doesn’t budge. Looking through the glass, Stiles can see that the kitchen light is on, but the rest of the restaurant is dark.

Never in all of the time that Stiles has been coming to the diner, has it been closed. His frown deepens as he backs away from the door. Turning to scan the parking lot, Stiles recognizes Derek’s Camaro setting in it’s normal space.

It doesn’t make sense. Why would the diner be closed if Derek is here? And if he isn’t here, why is the Camaro? He’s still trying to fit the pieces together when he hears the familiar chime from the door. Derek is standing there when he turns back, but there’s something off about the way his shoulders are curled down and he won’t maintain eye contact.

“Hey.” Even his voice sounds different. “The diner is closed. You-. Um. You’re still welcome to come in though. If you want.”

Obviously, that’s what Stiles wants. But he hesitates, asking, “Do you want me too?”

Something in Derek’s eyes shifts and softens. “Yeah. I would like the company tonight, if you’re not too busy.”

“I’m never too busy for you, buddy.” It sounds too honest, but the words make Derek smile softly.

Stiles follows Derek inside. They sit at the counter together, the lights from the kitchen the only things keeping them from the dark. Derek doesn’t say anything after he sits a mug of hot chocolate down for both of them, and Stiles doesn’t know how to bring it up.

Finally, Derek starts talking. “My family died,” he says without preamble, staring into his mug. It takes a few more minutes for him to say anything else. “My mom was a powerful prosecutor, one of the best. She was good at her job, which made more than a few people angry. One of the men that she helped put behind bars on a double life sentence had a daughter who wanted revenge. She got it.” Derek squeezes his eyes closed. “My older sister has always been my best friend. We did everything together. The night they died, one of her friends was having a party that she wanted to go to. Mom told her she wasn’t allowed to go because it was a school night, so we snuck out. The fire started right after we left. There were eleven people in the house that night: my parents, some siblings, my uncle and his family. Everyone died. Laura and I didn’t even know what had happened until after they were gone. One of my younger sisters had followed Laura and I when we snuck out, but got lost on the way to the party. She helped the police find us to tell us the news. Now, we’re all that’s left.”

Stiles closes his eyes at the heartache, listening as Derek rattles off the details with cold detachment.

“It’s always hard for me when the anniversary comes around. Laura and Cora are in New York. They can’t stand being here. But for some morbid reason, I can’t leave. This is where my family has always been. They’re ingrained in this town, and I can’t leave it behind.” He glances around the diner. “You know, my dad used to run this place. I remember how much he loved it, how he would talk about having one of us take over one day. I just-I wanted to do that for him.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to say. Having lost a parent of his own, he knows how empty condolences can be. So he reaches out and takes Derek’s hand instead. Derek tightens his grip and doesn’t let go. “That’s why I keep this place open at night, even though you’re pretty much the only person who stops by. It was the one thing that my dad insisted on. He wanted to make sure that there was always a place people could go to if they needed company. When he was the owner, a lot of nurses and police officers working night shifts would come by. But I guess it’s kind of an outdated idea. There are places closer to the hospital with cheap food, and most college students are in bed at this hour. Before you, I was always here alone.”

Stiles squeezes his hand. “Hey, I don’t think the idea is outdated. I know I appreciate having a place to go to in the middle of the night. Stumbling upon this place was one of the best things to happen to me, honestly. And I know that your dad would be really proud of you for keeping his idea alive.”

The grip tightens to an uncomfortable level, but Stiles doesn’t pull back. Derek’s eyes are so earnest it makes him ache. “You really think so?”

Stiles smiles. “One hundred percent.”

———-

A plan forms as soon as Stiles leaves Derek’s side (later than he ever has before). He wants to get people back to Pop’s, allow Derek to see how well he’s keeping his dad’s vision alive. Creating as much foot traffic at the diner as possible will hopefully help Derek see how great he’s doing and how much Pop’s and the Hales still mean to the community.

As soon as he’s slept a few hours, Stiles drives to the hospital to have lunch with his best friend’s mom. He tells her about Derek and explains what he wants, and she smiles in a conspiratorial way and agrees immediately. She remembers going to Pop’s when Derek’s father was running it, as do many of the other nurses, so she promises that getting people to start going there again should be easy. He tells his college friends too, and the officers that work with his father. When his dad finds out what he’s doing, he smiles bright and promises to help in anyway he can.

Still, it takes a few days for anything to change. When it does, Stiles is sitting at his usual place at the counter, arguing with Derek about how expressive his eyebrows are. A stream of cars drive into the parking lot, their headlights lighting up the diner’s windows as they park.

Derek stops talking immediately and frowns at the sight, his eyebrows pulling down in confusion. “What?”

And Stiles grins. “I think that’s probably the lunch crowd.” Derek looks at him in confusion. He smiles wider.

When the door opens, Melissa walks in with a huge grin. A group of nurses (some of whom Stiles knows are not on shift) trail after her, each one of them looking genuinely happy to be there.

“Hey, sweetie,” Melissa greets. She kisses Stiles cheek and then asks Derek, “Could we have some menus?”

Wordlessly he passes them over. The door opens again, this time with Stiles’ best friend, Scott leading a group of their friends inside. The people fill the tables and booths, talking amicably and having a good time.

Stiles looks over at Derek and laughs at his dumbstruck expression.

“Stiles, I-. What did you do?”

Stiles shrugs, feeling warm. “I just told a few people about this super cool diner I know. Guess the word spread.” He reaches across the counter and pushes at Derek’s chest. “Now, get on out there and make me proud, young man. It looks like you have orders to fill.”

———-

Within a few nights, the atmosphere of the diner changes. Where Derek had been used to solitude before, now the diner is busy enough that he doesn’t have to spend nights alone. Stiles loves seeing Derek relax into his role, loves seeing him interact with the community. It’s rewarding, knowing that he had a hand in each of Derek’s smiles.

But me misses their time alone together. Sure they still hang out, but Stiles can’t help missing having Derek to himself.

He’s so used to seeing more cars in the parking lot, that when he shows up and the only other car is Derek’s, he’s actually concerned. The door opens when he tugs on it, so he knows that Pop’s isn’t closed, but there’s no one there. It’s just Derek, leaning against the counter with a small smile.

“Derek? Where is everyone?”

Crossing the floor, Derek stops in front of Stiles. He’s dressed nicer than usual and his eyes are bright. “The diner is closed,” he says in response, his smile widening. “I told everyone yesterday that I wasn’t going to open tonight.”

“But-.” He looks around, noticing how fairy lights have been strung up around the diner, casting the room in a soft glow.

“Some of the regulars helped me set this all up,” Derek says in response to Stiles’ unasked question, sounding pleased when he calls the customers ‘regulars.’ “I wanted it to look nice in here. For you.”

Stiles is starting to understand what’s happening, and his heart picks up speed. “For me?” His voice cracks, but he can’t bring himself to mind all that much as Derek takes his hands.

His cheeks are red. “I know it’s a little cheesy, seeing as you’re here every night and it’s technically my place of employment, but I wanted to surprise you and this seemed like the best way.” Now the tips of his ears are red. “And Melissa said it was a good idea, so-.” Derek shrugs. Stiles feels a rush of fondness for him.

Not wanting to get the wrong idea though, Stiles asks, “Is this a thank you for what I did for the diner, or-.” He trails off, feeling himself blush.

Derek laughs, a bright sound in the dark, before squeezing Stiles’ hand. “No, it’s not a thank you, though I am grateful for everything you’ve done for me. Honestly, seeing the effort that you put into bringing people here just because you wanted me to be happy, it made me think that maybe you might have fallen for me the same way that I had for you. It gave me the courage to take a chance.” He shrugs, dropping his gaze to their hands briefly. “I like you a lot, Stiles. And I guess I could go on about how you barreled into my life and made it anything but quiet, and how that was one of the best things to happen to me, but all I really want to say is that I like you. And maybe, if you feel the same, you’ll have dinner with me here tonight, and then let me take you out on a real date.

“You dork.” He says it so affectionately that Derek can’t misunderstand the pet name. “I’ve liked you since that first night, when you growled at me for saying that I preferred the Hobbit movies to the book.” He pulls Derek closer, knocking their shoes together gently. “Honestly, I don’t care where we go. I just like spending time with you.” He shrugs, trying to be nonchalant. “Though I wouldn’t mind being able to make out with you sometimes too.”

The statement makes Derek laugh again, tipping their heads together so that the sound is trapped between them. It feels intimate. It makes Stiles’ buzz in anticipation, until he finally closes the gap between them. It’s soft, warm and gentle, and Stiles can feel it in his toes. Surrounded by the fairy lights, clutching at Derek’s shoulders, Stiles is silently thankful that his late night wandering lead him here, to this place and to this man that means so much to him. Now neither of them will be lonely again.

[pendragonfics]

Good To Be Back

Paring: Mark Watney/Reader

Tags: female reader, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, feels, fluff. 

Summary: You met in college. Married, got to work together at NASA. You're in SatCon, he's in the ARES III astronaut program. But when he's reported dead on Mars, you're more than a wreck. Thank God for your good friend Mindy Park, and a steely-eyed missile man who're working hard with you to bring him home.

Word Count: 1,914

Current Date: 2017-07-05

You can still remember the first thing Mark Watney had said to you, when you met in college – “It’s not as bad as it looks, I’m fine,” because the guy had just fallen down a flight of stairs trying to get from his botany classes to mechanical engineering in time. He’d gotten a bit bruised, sure, and the notes he’d been holding were splattered everywhere, but apart from his ego being a little damaged, the man was fine. He’d said the same thing after his stag’s night for the wedding had gone south (another stag party decided to ramp up the tension, resulting with Mark needing stitches in his eyebrow the day before the wedding), and still, you worried.

But now, he wasn’t there to say those words. Reassure you with puns and silly memes he’d found on his Facebook feed from the other astronauts.

It was completely fantastic how the pair of you had been accepted into the same workplace over the years, brought into the same sphere. Except, while you were the grounded one in the relationship (as always), he was two feet off the ground, and in the astronaut program.

Mr. Sanders, Director of NASA had seen to you personally, since you were his closest family. It killed you to hear it so factually, even if it was your profession in SatCon. His coms unit severed, deceased, and left behind on Mars after the ARES III crew were forced to depart. Smiling to the man in charge of your pay check, you politely excused yourself to the bathroom, and sat yourself on the closed lid of the toilet.

It’s then when the door is shut you feel the tears coming. Back in college on a drunken night in with old friends, they’d mentioned how dangerous the space program was potentially. Of course, you’d all been off your faces, and thought that space travel was as simple as on Star Trek. But damn it, it was 2035, not 1962; NASA had more tech than when the Friendship 7 circled the Earth. You had met Vogel and Johanssen, and they’d promised to keep him safe. He was supposed to be safe. Not dead.

“Damn you, Mark,” you hiss.

“_________?” A co-worker calls out, the sound of the bathroom door opening. Mopping your eyes with toilet paper, you take a deep breath, flushing the toilet before you go. “You just ran off. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Just needed to go.”

---

Sol 37

I’ve figured out how to make water, but I don’t think NASA will like it. They left me on here, so I don’t really care what they think, I just needed water. I mean, it was an accident and all, no hard feelings to Commander Lewis, and all. Anyways. I blew up a lot of shit (namely, almost myself), all in the name of science and survival and all that.

I keep thinking of what they’re thinking of me back on Earth. You know when you’re a moody teenager, wondering about what people will think about you once you’re dead? Well. That’s me now. Except I’m like, a full-grown adult, married and all. I keep thinking of _________, and how she’s doing. Probably not that great. When her grandpa died, she was a mess for ages. I don’t blame her. He was a great guy, always snuck those nice boiled candies into bingo night at the nursing home for his friends.

What I’d give for candy. No. What I’d give to tell my wife I’m not dead.

---

It’s hard to keep going on. Of course, everyone is asking you to take leave, take time off for your grief. You almost consider it. A week goes by, and then you accept it, taking time to cry by yourself in the apartment that barely smells of Mark anymore, remnants of him everywhere. He’d never put his things away; toothbrush laying by the stand, slippers kicked off by the bed, the coffee cup he’d been drinking from, empty and sitting all lonesome on the coaster by the plant on the breakfast bar. There’s no body to bury, there’s nothing but what you’re living in. Every day, you miss Mark, missing him more, and more, and more, until you can’t handle it anymore. Some days, you can’t get out of bed. Sometimes, you can’t open your eyes.

But one day, there’s a phone call.

You’ve been friends with Mindy Park since you both started the SatCon program, sharing numbers ages ago. When her picture starts vibrating on the bedside table, you find some energy, reaching over to answer the call.

“_________?” Her voice is oddly perky, especially for the hour.

You blink, flicking the bedside light on. You had barely any sleep, or maybe too much; you can’t remember, it’s been so scattered, and your eyes feel almost like they’ve been pissed on by a cat and left to burn (not that that’s ever happened to you, but you imagine it to feel incredibly painful).

“Hey,” you croak. “Is something wrong? Did I log something wrong?” You ask her.

Mindy makes a noise, almost like she’s shaking her head, but realising it isn’t a video call, adds, “Nope. Good news. Mark is alive, _________.”

You swallow, “A-alive?” You stammer, and sitting up too fast, you feel the blood drain from your head, and a little woozy. “This isn’t a joke, please, tell me it isn’t a joke, Min,” you almost pray.

“It’s real. And I’m working with Vincent Kapoor, too. You need to get here as soon as you can, we need your brain on this,” She gushes. “_________, Mark Watney is alive, and you can help bring him home. We all are.”

You’re already out of the bed, stumbling toward the shower to get cleaned up. “I’m on my way, Min.”

---

Sol 223

It’s shitty being alone on a planet, but you know what? There can be perks. I don’t have to fight anyone on the music. Except Commander Lewis. When I see her again, I will tell her where she can stick her records. Why nobody else brought music, it baffles me, because I’d kill for anything. German hardcore metal. Those recent pop music things Beck likes. Hell, I’d kill for showtunes.

Now I’ve started talking to NASA, they won’t shut up. Can’t a man just enjoy a life-threatening one-man holiday on Mars? All I’m missing is a pair of schmuck sunglasses and a bottomless piña colada. I’m waiting for them to tell me I can talk to _________. I mean, when all’s good and well on the Hermes and I’m on it, I’ll see her face, and tell her about all the crap I’ve been through. Might even grow this beard out, it might just make the whole desolate final frontier look complete.

I’m not really that upset about the music. I’m just worried about how much TV missing. If they’ve cancelled my show, I swear to –

---

You still feel like shit, but you’re a piece of shit whose brain is working a million miles a minute with the bigwigs of NASA. When he’s able to, you’re given the privilege of contacting Mark, using the messaging system in the Rover.

IT’S NOT AS BAD AS IT LOOKS, I’M FINE.

He tells you, making you laugh. The other people in SatCon don’t get the inside joke, and for a moment, you realise that it’s the first time in ages that you’ve laughed, and it makes you feel warm inside. Like Mark is already home.

DAMN RIGHT YOU ARE. COME BACK FOR ME.

You reply. Vincent Kapoor must take over the communications or there won’t be contact for a while, leaving you back to your desk to observe the weather maps and satellite pictures once more. Except, you’re feeling your heart beating a little faster, your lips perked up at the sides. You’ve still got those bags under your eyes, and your sleep schedule has gone to the shit house, since you’re working double shifts to keep him alive on Mars. You can’t do anything about the overabundance of potatoes, but sure as hell can you warn him about unprecedented sand storms arriving.

“You look pretty happy,” Mindy passes you a cup of coffee, smiling. You’re both at your desks in the SatCon observation area, currently waiting out the seventeen-minute period between the satellite changes. Opening the lid of the disposable cup, you see she’s remembered to add a marshmallow, just like how Mark likes his coffee. “I’ll try and get you more time to talk to him.”

Taking a big sip of your coffee, you sigh in contentment as the caffeine hits you. “You’re a saint, I swear, Mindy Park,” you tell her, resting your head upon her shoulder. Almost closing your eyes, you feel a wave of tiredness wash over you.

“Woah, you’re pooped,” she notes, taking your cup from you. “How about you take a nap, and I cover for your shift?” You nod, not even going to fight her on this. You’ve been up for the last forty hours waiting to talk to Mark. “Sweet dreams.”

---

Sol 512

I’m going to soar. I might sound like that I’m proud to be the fastest man to go in space travel, but I’m scared shitless. There should be some consequence of it, maybe my organs get f*cked up, or my brain turns to custard, I don’t care. I just want to go home.

I just want to go home to _________.

---

You’re faint when you hear the news. He’s on board. He’s safe. He’s coming home. Everyone is cheering. You’re sure the whole world is cheering. Mindy is jumping, and rushes to your side, and hugs you tight enough to maybe have a few ribs broken. You’re breathless, in a daze.

“I’ve got him,” Commander Lewis’ voice over the coms is still ringing in your ears.

It’s still a year, or three before he’s back on the soil of Earth, decontaminated, and briefed and cared for, and back in your arms, in the apartment, but your heart is racing, a million miles a minute, and so is your brain.

“He’s coming home,” you whisper, still incredulous.

“He’s coming home.” Mindy agrees.

---

“Yeah, I know I stink,” He tells the other guys. “Try not showering for a year and a half.”

Johannsen gags, her hands raised in surrender. “No-oo, no thanks.” Vogel nods silently, keeping his distance while the botanist smells like something that needs to be flushed away by the plumbing.

“But Mark, that’s how you usually smell,” Martinez chimes in from the pilot’s seat.

He laughs, glad to be back with the crew. “Screw you, Martinez”

---

His first words to you aren’t the special words he’s used all these years. I’m fine. It’s not as bad as it looks. Nope. His face is lit up, like he’s the star atop the Christmas tree, the beard the team had been telling the NASA coms about shaven off. He smells of soap and Mark and your arms are around him so hard that you wonder if you’re compressing him into a travel size by your vigour. But he doesn’t seem to mind.

“It’s good to be back,” he murmurs into your ear. “I missed you so much, baby.”

Your grip on him loosens, “You’re not going to tell me you’re fine?”

He laughs. “Only if you swear never to make me look at a potato for as long as I live.”

[rachellescheid]

Speaking to Angels (How to listen for your Angels)

Today, I've decided to talk about what it's like to be able to speak to an angel, since I feel as though it is an engaging subject that others might have difficulty understanding, as they also wish to be able to speak to their own angels.

Angels come and do as they will, and you must have an open mind and an open heart to will them to you. I've met many, many kinds of strange angels, angels who tell me the truths and secrets of the past, as well as angels who tell me simply of amazing adventures they've been on, what their tasks are, what they do to assist the world. And every single one of them has been an amazing encounter, from the almighty Seraphim to even my own Guardian angel, Micah. But speaking to them is not always an easy task, and often after I've cut the connection of an angel to me, I am physically drained and in need of plenty of bed rest. Moving energy around is difficult for me to do, for a day or so, and it could be for you, as well. They speak to me through the use of my energy, and root around in my head, memories, thoughts in order to find ways to speak to me, to convey messages, to hold out conversations, and while it's completely enthralling, it tires me out afterwards. Like little kids after a good day of monkeying around on the playground, I had a good time, but when playing is over it's just time to lay out and sleep until tomorrow, and if I'm up to it I might play on the playground again. (But I probably will come back the day after, to be honest, because I'm still just a little too sore for that, now.) They don't always speak to me the same way, sometimes rather than show me a picture in my mind's eye, they whisper in my ear, or they tug at my heartstrings to convey emotions, they place hands on me and allow me to feel their heat or cold, and it's different but usually it is the way they best think I'll understand the emotion. It is the best way they know how to convey something. For some angels, they also speak in what comes easiest to them, as well, but for me my main signs are often: Visible, thought provoked, mental, emotional, and physical. And I'm being rather general in those terms because they can come in as anything. People seem to think in order to really hear an angel you must closely listen, that you will certainly hear the whisper of their voices in your ears, or if you stare hard enough an angel will shape before your eyes, but it's simply not so.

You cannot force an angel to come to you the way you want to see them, they will come to you in the ways that you best understand, and you won't start out the same way that I did. You may not hear them, or feel them, or see them, or touch them, but you might get something else, something entirely your own. You may hear the voice at the back of your head say something you would not normally think but something rather incredibly well thought out and motivational, and it's an angel, speaking to you as best you will respond. Or, you might get an emotional response from something in your stomach, you could feel the softest of touches from hands unseen against your cheeks, and it will be your angel. You must listen for them in every way that your body can, from sense, to smell, to taste, to thought, to hearing, feeling, etc. They're there, I promise you.

Things that hinder speech with angels: Medications, Drugs, Caffeine, Multi-tasking, Wearing Glasses, Being Dehydrated, Having Your Mind Elsewhere, Junk Food, Soda, Too Much Sugar-Intake I've been reprimanded by my angels simply for taking headache medicine, they waggled their finger at me and said, "you've crystallized the connection", which is to say the paths I use to understand their messaging was crystallized and had to be broken down and cleaned off if I wanted a proper connection. They don't like it when I'm eating junk food and talking to them, and they really don't understand what I see in Pepsi. Now, this is not to say you cannot connect with your angels while you're in the use of any of these (except drugs illegal or otherwise, I really wouldn't encourage that) but it does seem to hinder the connection somewhat. It makes things just a little bit more wonky, and the angels seem just a little bit more exasperated with me when I'm insist on eating chips or I'm thinking of something else. They like to be paid attention to, and it could hinder the connection if you really can't multi-task or juggle them into your schedule, as I can. Plus, if you don't know the signs they provide when trying to connect with you, and you're multi-tasking, you're setting yourselves and the connection up for failure. If you aren't paying attention, you will probably miss the signs. So, I would really only say "drink coffee with your angel" when you've already gotten to know how they talk to you.

I'm not sure this was a well-constructed article, but the angels that I'm speaking to currently seem to think so. I've got the stamp of approval to push it off into the open wind and let everyone read it, and the only other thing they want me to add on is that angels really, really, really like sweets, and if you want to, you could put a cup of water on your angel alter with sugar and lemon inside of it, and it would attract them, and they would be really happy if you did it.

Okay, so, thank you for reading, and please remember that I do awesome angel readings. You can find the prices on my commission info page. God bless you all! <3