#i have a few pencil sketches of her in a notebook but my phone's dead and i cant find the charger

[that-one-raccoon]

A collection of various Magic and Mystery/Coil memes

[evanainsleywriting]

Ghost Warehouse - A Short Story

Here's a short story I wrote a few months ago, it's actually based on a dream I had when I was a kid.

I opened my eyes to find an elderly woman standing in my bedroom. She’s dressed smartly in a gray pinstripe pantsuit with shoulder pads and sensible flats. She wears her gray hair in a bun on the back of her head. She smiles at me when I sit up in bed, her lipstick cracking slightly.

Before I can ask her what she is doing in my bedroom, she waves her hand and two masked guards shimmer into the room. Each is holding a very painful-looking baton.

My mouth snaps shut and she smiles again, this time more pitying.

“Sorry, you looked like you might put up a fight,” she has an English accent.

I try to remember how I got home last night. I remember something weird going on, but my memory was foggy. I think I was scared…

“I’m here to tell you have died and escort you to your afterlife.” She interrupts.

How did I die? Is the first thing I think to ask, but I decide against it.

“What’s my afterlife?” I ask instead.

The woman sighs with relief and the guards shift a bit.

“You will see soon enough. Pack a bag to bring with you. You can bring anything that fits in the bag and nothing more. Your cellular phone will not work where we are going.” She recites as if it’s a script she memorized.

I slowly climb out of bed and put my feet on the ground. I feel much lighter, gravity doesn’t pull as hard when you’re dead. Delete Created with Sketch.

After looking through my closet for a bag, I determined my normal school backpack was the biggest one I could find. I ask the woman, who I assume is the equivalent of the Grim Reaper, if I can go get one of my mother’s huge shopping bags, but she says it has to be one that I own. I didn’t think I “owned” any of my bags, I wasn’t the one who paid for them, but I didn’t want to argue with death.

I empty all of my school things onto the floor by my bed as she and the guards watch me.

“What will I need in the afterlife?” I ask.

“Anything you would need here, minus food and water. Whatever you think could make your stay more comfortable,”

I skip packing clothes, I’m wearing what I’m assuming I died in last night, but I figure since I no longer have a body my clothes will probably never get too dirty.

I grab an empty sketchbook and a mechanical pencil, maybe I’ll want to draw what I see there.

I pick a few of my favorite books, in case I get bored there.

“Will my phone work to play music?” I ask, fearing judgment.

“As long as you don’t need the internet or the WI-FI,” I put my phone and headphones in the bag.

I can’t think of anything else to bring, so I throw in another notebook and pen just for fun. I zip my bag and look at the woman expectantly.

“That’s all you’re bringing?” She raises a thinly plucked eyebrow.

“What do people normally bring?”

“Cherished mementos, nostalgic items, prized possessions,”

I look around my room for anything of emotional value.

I decide on my stuffed bear and my dog’s old name tag. Delete Created with Sketch.

I arrive in the afterlife with no memory of how I got there. The woman is still with me, but she appears to have changed clothes. She’s now wearing a beige pantsuit.

I’m in a very hilly area, with cliffs and rocks overlooking the ocean. California poppies grow among other colorful wildflowers and tall grasses. Butterflies and bees travel between the array of flowers. The ground is made of small pebbles of rock and dirt. I can feel them crunch under my shoe. The sky is spotted with fluffy white clouds. I feel the sun on my skin, it’s the perfect temperature. I find myself with a sense of calm.

The woman starts walking and I follow her.

“Are you god?” I ask her to fill the silence.

“Not in the way you think. I don’t love all people like in your fun little stories, I don’t even like you much. It is simply my job to watch over this planet and its life.”

I don’t feel like asking questions anymore.

Ahead of us, I see a large gray warehouse, looking very out of place in the natural landscape. It has a singular narrow window wrapping around the perimeter of the building, and a singular door with one of the guards from earlier standing in front of it.

As we approach the building, the woman nods to the guard and he unbolts the heavy-looking door.

“What is this place?” I ask as the guard nudges me through the door and I step onto the concentrate floors.

“Your afterlife.” The woman smiles and the door is closed in my face.

I turn to look at the warehouse. The windows are too high on the walls to see anything out of, just to let in sunlight. Looking down toward the opposite side of the building, I notice I can’t see the back wall, the hall seems to go on forever. Many people are speckled around the floor. Some of them have created makeshift tents and shades out of blankets or clothes. Some of them look bothered, but others seem to be enjoying themselves. Laughing with their friends, or just smiling while staring at the wall. I recognize many of the people here… everyone seems to be near my age, and, I’m troubled to say, from my school.

As I begin to wonder what this means, a guy I knew in elementary school, his name is Alex, walks up to me. He’s smiling unsettlingly.

“Hey! Did you just get here?” He asks in a surprisingly friendly way, considering how much of a jerk he was when we were kids.

“Yeah,” I reply cautiously. “Do you know what’s going on? When did you get here?”

He appears to think for a moment.

“Late last night, man, was I shaken up.” He shakes his head.

“And you’re not anymore?”

“Not really? Theirs just something about this place… it makes me feel… calm.” And he’s smiling again.

Putting this information aside, I press on.

“What happened last night that killed us both? I can’t remember,”

“ya know, I’m not sure. But what does it matter anyway? It’s in the past,” he motions for me to follow him and sit near what I’m assuming is his bag.

“I guess so… maybe it’s a coincidence.” I sit down, crossing my legs. This place doesn’t seem all that bad.

A few days later, my Friend Amanda comes through the door.

“Amanda! How are you doing?” I smile and give her a hug when I first see her.

“Well, I died,” she seems a bit confused.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I joke. She almost laughs.

“You seem so happy,” she seems suspicious. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing much, we mostly just sit around and talk. Nothing but a huge warehouse full of ghosts!” I laugh, thinking myself the height of comedy. “I think it’s something about knowing your eternity. Like, I know for a fact this is where I’ll be for the rest of time, so it takes the pressure off. Even though it’s not the wonderful oasis many people hope for, it’s still kind of wonderful.” I shrug.

She smiles back at me. We go sit down and I re-introduce her to Alex.

50 years later

All my old friends from school are here now. I’ve learned in my time here that the occupants of the warehouse are determined by age and location. Everyone here lived in my town and was in my age group. Even if they died when they were 60 instead of 16 like I did, I still see them as how I remembered them. I wonder how they see me.

We find out from one of the guards that in another 43 years will be what they call a cleaning day, they kick everyone out to mop the floors or something. While they’re doing that, we can go wander the earth and do whatever we want until they’re finished, all the while completely invisible to the still-living people.

I think that this “day” is more like “multiple days” because I can’t fathom how they could clean this entire warehouse in only a day. I once tried to walk to the other end of the building and I had to turn around after walking for 4 days without seeing anyone else. Everyone seems to be crowded by the only door.

The guard recommended that on the cleaning day we all meet with our families or whoever we want to see that isn’t in our age group.

I wonder where my parents will be.

43 years after that: Cleaning Day

We’re all laughing about something as we came out the door.

The flowers are the most vibrant thing I’ve ever seen. The smell of the ocean on the wind fills me with excitement.

We take turns sliding down a banister with smiles stretching off of our faces. I’m laughing with Amanda and all my other old and new friends. It’s the happiest I’ve ever been, and the idea that later today I’m going to see my family for the first time in 93 years makes me even happier. As ghosts, we are invisible to the living, so we can do practically whatever we’ve ever wanted to do on earth. A bunch of us are going to sneak on airplanes and travel to all the places we’ve ever wanted to go. I’m going to go meet my parents at my old house, I wonder who’s living there now. After that, I want to explore the deep ocean. It’s not like I can drown, or get crushed by the increased pressure, but I’ll probably bring a flashlight.

After that, I’ll go back to the warehouse with everyone else and wait until the next cleaning day or the end of the universe.

[simmerandwrite]

strangers - steve rogers x reader

Warnings: mentions of sexual harassment and non-consensual touching, swearing.

Word count: 4870

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: When your subway ride home takes a turn for the worst, you hope a stranger in a coffee shop will help you out.

Notes: If you saw a snippet of this the other day, here’s the full thing! I wanted to tackle some ‘in need of saving’ tropes and this just sort of happened. I’ve never posted straight up on Tumblr before but I’m a bit lacking in my experience with reader fics, so I figured this was a good place to share it. no beta, any mistakes are my own! If you like it, let me know - thanks for reading!

—

Steve Rogers liked his days off. Not that he had a set schedule week to week anyway but when things aligned correctly, he could do whatever he wanted. No world saving, no training, no report writing, no meetings.

He had scoped out a small little coffee shop in Brooklyn where he liked to spend these quiet afternoons. Usually with a book in hand (he had so many books to catch up on) or some music loaded to his phone (Nat was currently educating him on 90s punk rock) or a notebook and pencil. People watching served as wonderful inspiration to sketch.

He sipped his cappuccino, eyes tipped downward at the book ahead of him on the table. He was interrupted just moments later as someone dropped into the chair across from him.

Now, Steve wasn’t intentionally hiding out at this hole-in-the-wall cafe. But he did put on his laughable disguise still - a beaten up Yankees cap and his prescription-less thick framed glasses. He liked the anonymity. That didn’t always stop people from recognizing him.

As he opened his mouth to question the person who was suddenly joining him for coffee, she slid her phone across the table to him. Her hand shook. His eyebrows flexed into a curious frown as he looked at the screen displaying a plainly typed note:

‘Do you mind if I sit someone is following me home sorry to disturb you’

—

As if your day hadn’t been absolutely terrible enough, you spotted the gremlin of a man on the subway watching you again. You knew he worked somewhere in the same office building as you because he always trailed a few paces behind you when pushing through the revolving doors in the lobby. It wasn’t uncommon to see the same people on the same subway line at the same time every day, but this man’s presence had become an unwanted downside.

He was always there. Worse than that, he seemed to be always watching you. Today, it was even more obvious that he was following you.

When that thought first occurred to you, it had been really easy to shrug off. He was just a guy taking the subway. But when he happened to be on the later train with you one day, an uncomfortable feeling settled in your stomach.

And now, as the car was filling up even more after the second stop in DUMBO, he had moved to stand and put himself even closer to you.

You had been going through so many Next Steps. God, that phrase was the bane of your existence. Next steps, next steps..

Maybe you could tell him to fuck off. You could make an appointment with Leanna in HR and see if there is a way to figure out the name of this guy - though he didn’t work for your company so that was likely going to be a dead end. You could start taking the bus to the village before grabbing the train. Maybe you could Uber home some days instead of taking the subway. Not that you could afford that but this guy was..

You stiffened immediately.

This guy was touching you. In the midst of the crowded subway car, he was pressed against you entirely. And was he.. His hips were moving against your leg and.. Wait, that was two hands on your hips now.. Hot breath whispered against your neck and -

Fuck.

You threw yourself through the mob as the train came to a stop. With hurried feet you ran onto the platform and up the stairs, doing your best to weave through the flow of people, like a fish trying to make it upstream. You tried not to be obvious but as you snapped your head over your shoulders to look back, you saw him there again.

He was smirking. No, snarling.

Next steps, next steps.

You joined a sea of people crossing the street, taking your first left to try and steer yourself into a particular direction. You were still a far walk from your apartment but with this man on your heels, you didn’t want to lead him anywhere near there.

You grabbed your phone from your jacket pocket, unlocking it quickly and scrolling through the contacts. Surely there had to be someone you could call but even then, what could they do? Offer advice?

It didn’t occur to you until then but would it be valuable to call the cops?

Despite the late day sunlight, you suddenly felt very aware of the emptiness of the sidewalk on that side street. You needed to be around people. It definitely wasn’t logical to be anywhere near alone with this guy and -

It sounded like his footsteps were getting closer. With a panicked gulp, you yanked on the door of a little hole-in-the-wall cafe. Your eyes scanned the space quickly once you were inside. You probably shouldn’t sit alone, you couldn’t run to the bathroom if you aren’t sure where it is or if you needed a key. There were too many variables.

You needed something. Next steps..

You spotted someone sitting at a small table near the window and without thinking, you sent out a silent prayer to whoever might be listening and you rushed over. The man was clearly alone, a half consumed ceramic mug of coffee sitting to the right of his book.

Swallowing hard, you quickly typed on your phone and slid it across the table to him after you sat. You tried your best to stay very calm and hoped that he would play along. God, what if he didn’t play along and -

Behind you, the door chimed once more and you desperately wanted to see if it was that man - if the gremlin had followed you inside. You clasped your hands together in your lap and forced a smile on as you looked at the stranger sitting across from you.

Despite not knowing him, there was a familiarity about his appearance. Behind his thick glasses, soft blue eyes searched you carefully. His eyes flicked to the screen once more, stiffening in his chair as he looked past you towards the rest of the cafe.

With his right hand, he reached into the inside pocket of his coat and took out a small notebook and a pen. He scribbled something quickly and turned the page towards you.

Are you hurt?

You shook your head quickly. He offered you a tight smile and wrote once more.

Buzzcut, grey jacket?

Your eyes blew open wide and you tilted your head into a nod.

I’m Steve

He flipped the notebook closed and extended his hand across the table, palm facing up. He leaned forward just slightly, meeting your eyes with a reassuring smile. “Play along.”

Your eyes flicked to his hand and you slowly unclamped your own, grabbing his on the table instead. He was doing an impressive job splitting his attention between you and his surroundings, eyes scanning the room. He squeezed your hand very gently, brushing his thumb against your knuckles.

“Tell me about your day.”

You sucked in a hard breath. You weren’t entirely sure what his strategy was but something told you this guy was in your corner. Though despite that, you could feel another set of eyes on you.

“Uh,” you started quietly, letting the air escape your lungs. “Surprisingly, I didn’t think it could get worse before I got on the subway after work. I had a review meeting that was not great and we had a free catered lunch that was not vegetarian friendly. Missed an important email and deadline and… well, here I am whining about it and interrupting your day. Listen, I’m going to-

You moved to stand up but Steve shook his head, grasping your hand. “Give it a few more minutes, I think he’ll give up and leave.”

His words were casual but had an authoritative tone. Once more his eyes left you, looking towards the front of the cafe. He raised his free hand and motioned to one of the baristas. You weren’t certain if this was the type of place who served people at their seats but clearly he had a comfortable rapport as the young girl approached with a warm smile on her face.

“Hey Tia, could I get another?”

“Anything for you?” The barista turned her head as she asked, pony tail moving from side to side.

“Uhm.” You paused and thought. You certainly had no desire to even consider a coffee order when you felt someone’s linger gaze boring into you. “A decaf con panna, if that’s possible.” The girl confirmed it was with a nod then left the table side.

“Con panna?” Steve’s lips pulled into a curious smirk. Something about his smile calmed you.

“Espresso with whipped cream on top,” you answered. “Short and sweet.”

“I’ll have to try that next time.”

Steve sure had a soothing smile. When his thumb stopped tracing against your palm - when did that even start? - you felt an empty sadness about the loss. Wow, what did that even say about your standards when a stranger was brushing his thumb against your hand that you were so grateful for? Well, it was a thousand times better than someone rubbing his -

You winced at the memory, biting down as you clutched your bottom lip between your teeth. Though that shameful feeling hadn’t disappeared, you managed to keep it at bay. But now, it seemed to have left an image you were unable to blink away.

The sweet smell of whipped cream and the shuffling of paper cups broke you from your trance. You reached for your bag to fish out a few dollars but when you looked up, Steve was waving a hand to stop you.

It’s not that you didn’t appreciate his kindness. You did. You really, really did. But given the last half hour, you still had a hard time settling your nervous mind.

“Thanks, Tia.” Steve’s eyes were jumping around the place as the barista grabbed the cash he offered. A loud stomp of footsteps drew their attention as the Subway Gremlin saddled up beside the table.

“Sorry to be a bother, darlin’ - any chance I can borrow your phone?”

You couldn’t help but look at him. Though his words were directed at the barista, he made a point to glance over at you.

You felt Steve’s hands grip yours. When you looked towards him, his eyes were very carefully watching the man. How did he manage to -

“Sorry, we don’t have a dedicated line available to customers.” Tia politely shook her head, pointing towards the door. “There’s a CityBank up the street that can help you, I’m sure.” She shrugged and headed back to the coffee counter.

The man stood still, opening his mouth to argue.

Steve sat back, shoulders broad and steady. “Did you need directions there? I think it’s just two blocks. Maybe 500 paces.” His tone was flat. “Just out the door and you’ll be on your way.”

You kept your eyes on Steve. He kept his stare directed at the man. Finally, after what felt like hours of waiting, the man moved his feet. He turned on his heel, though not before stopping to look at you again.

“I will see you tomorrow, dar-

Steve released your hand and pushed his chair back, standing quickly and grasping the man’s shoulder.

Steve towered over him. “You have five seconds.” The man pulled away from Steve’s grip then finally stomped away. You kept your eyes tightly shut until you heard the chime of the bell indicating the movement of the door. Then, you collapsed onto your arms on the edge of the table.

Steve, meanwhile, headed to the door and kept watch for a few more moments to ensure the man actually departed from the area. Then, he stopped at the counter and exchanged a few words with Tia before returning you.

You were still doing your best to encourage the floor to open up and swallow you whole. How had this even escalated? The worst part was your mind seemed clouded with doubt. This man, you hadn’t even interacted with him before. Why was he suddenly so invested in you? To a point where he might follow you home? Were you just another target or had this been intentional?

You considered yourself a fairly observant person and yet..

You twisted your hands together in your lap and tried to consider what was going to happen now. Next steps, next steps..

“Hey.” Steve returned to his chair. Your eyes flicked up towards him, noticing he was sliding a bottle of water towards you. Your sad little espresso and whipped cream treat was deflated next to it. “Are you okay?”

You reached for the water bottle, twisting the cap open and taking a long drink. “I don’t know.” Chewing on your bottom lip, you shook your head. “No, actually. I’m not. It somehow feels like my skin is on fire and my lungs are failing me and I’m sweaty but I’m not and - and -

“Hey, hey. Look at me.” Steve spoke so calmly and evenly. “Just take a slow breath with me, okay?” You closed your eyes once more and followed his instructions as he walked you through a few breathing exercises. “That’s great, you’re doing great-

When he stopped speaking so quickly, you opened one eye to look over at him. His cheeks were a warm shade of pink and his mouth was twisted into a frown. “What?”

“It just occurred to me I didn’t get your name.” He paused, as if to consider his next thought. “Although, given what just happened with that man, you are under no obligation to tell me anything about yourself. I just.. I’d like to help.”

His genuine concern for you was surprising. You allowed a small smile to stretch across your face. “You’re very nice, Steve.”

You gave him your name and he smiled back, repeating it to himself. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Your smile turned downwards when you looked towards your phone. “I should probably get going. Again, I’m really sorry for dragging you into this mess but I appreciate the… solace.” You took a deep breath and pushed your chair back, pausing to tip the lukewarm espresso into your mouth. “I owe you one.”

You winced when you heard yourself and sighed. Why did you say that? This stranger, this friendly, broad shouldered, tall, handsome stranger who’s day you interrupted, did not need your weird backhanded flirting. In fact, even though every signal in your brain seemed on edge after, well, everything, the only thing that seemed to ground you now was the kindness of Steve. So you tried to will yourself not to ruin it with any additional commentary.

You weren’t entirely sure what had driven you down this particular street into this particular cafe and towards this particular man. But, you were certainly grateful. “Actually, do they have gift cards here? I’d love to buy you one to say thank you and -

“Are you going to walk? Wherever you’re going right now?” When you looked over, you saw that Steve had stood, too. You saw his eyes move towards the door and the far windows up the street where the man from the subway had gone. “I don’t want to overstep but I hope you’ll let me walk you home. Or far enough away to have cleared his radar.”

“I feel like I’ve already wasted enough of your time, Steve.” You truly felt worse and worse for interrupting his afternoon.

“Please, I insist.” Steve tilted his head, half a smirk on his lips. “You just said you owe me one, so. I’m cashing in the favour.”

“The favour repayment you’re cashing in is.. you doing me another favour? Do you know how favours are supposed to work?” Admittedly, you knew you would feel a lot safer having someone walk home with you. And something about Steve made you feel very secure, his presence like a comforting shield.

“C’mon,” Steve replied with a laugh, nudging his head towards the door.

When you stepped onto the sidewalk, you stopped to think. “Let’s go this way.” You turned to the right and Steve followed, staying on your shoulder closest to the street. You walked in a comfortable silence - which made you nervous at first. Then, as your steps fell into a pattern, the quiet soothed you.

You pushed your hands into the pockets of your jacket as you turned down the next block. You looked over at Steve, who turned his head towards you as you shifted. “You didn’t ask anything else about the man.. Who followed me.”

A quiet hum came from Steve. “I didn’t think I should. You seemed shaken up enough.” He shrugged, peering down at you through his glasses. “If you want to talk about it..”

“I work in this big office building in Midtown. The Clifton building?”

Steve motioned his hand diagonally. “Little bagel place downstairs? That’s right down from The Avengers tower, isn’t it?”

You nodded along. Right. Stark Tower was The Avengers Tower, now. It was the most iconic landmark on that block. “Yes. Actually, I work on the 40th floor, which makes for a great angle to see Iron Man coming in.” Your smile was fleeting when you continued on. “It’s a huge building. I work in human resources for this pharmaceutical company.. But there’s a law firm in there, too. Insurance companies, start ups.. Hundreds of people in and out all day long. Yet, that man on the subway has managed to..” You stopped yourself before your chest got too tight. “Let’s just say I’ve seen him around before.”

“Do you know his name?”

“That’s the thing!” You couldn’t help but laugh now, shaking your head in dumbfounded confusion. “No. I have no idea who he is. But he often gets on the same subway line as me, watches me from across the crowd then today..” You stopped and dragged a hand down your face. “It’s a sad truth but I would say most of my friends have been.. Touched inappropriately on the subway before. I guess it’s a weird right of passage or something..”

“Wait - what?” Steve stopped in his tracks and reached his hand out to grab yours. You stopped and looked up at his eyes, somehow both soft and dark with concern. “He touched you? What do you mean?”

You raised an eyebrow, wondering if his ask was authentic. When you saw the disappointment in his face, eyes flooded with something you couldn’t quite pinpoint, you realized his reaction was genuine. You opened your mouth to explain but suddenly it seemed impossible to find the words.

Steve let go of your hand as he absorbed your lack of response and reached for his phone. “You can file a police report, right?”

“No, no.” You stopped him, placing your hand on his as he held his phone. “Trust me, that’s just paperwork that goes nowhere. Without the guy's name, absolutely nothing would come from it anyway.” You shook your head. “It’s fine, really. I might just adjust my work hours and change my route home for a few weeks. Maybe he’ll give up.”

Steve muttered something to himself, shaking his head. His face shifted from concern to something else, like his brain was working on a different trail of thoughts. He spoke your name quietly, drawing your attention to him again. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Steve’s kindness was a strange contrast to the entire experience on the subway. How one man could have such questionable intentions while another apologizes with sincerity for it was nearly jarring. Although, it did suddenly occur to you that Steve was just as much of a stranger.

“The worst part is.. men like that sever any opportunity for trust in other people. Especially blind trust. Like me telling you, a stranger, where I work and walking you to where I live. Funny enough though - every wire in my brain should be telling me not to and how it was a bad idea but.. I guess there is something about you.”

Steve sucked in a breath, eyes wide as he considered his response. “When you walked into the coffee shop, you could have asked the barista for help or tried to hide out in the bathroom. But you sat next to me instead. How come?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Like I said, there's just something about you, Steve.”

You walked in silence again, feet falling into a pattern once more. The sky was growing darker, the air cooler. After crossing the street again, you looked at him. “How do you feel about Prezio being traded to the Orioles?” You reached out and tipped up the brim of his Yankees hat. “A tragedy, right?”

A quiet laugh escaped him as he tipped his head. “I think it was a huge mistake. Don’t you think we’ve had a hard enough year as it is?” Your silence was filled with baseball talk instead and it seemed to put both of you at ease.

“This is me.” You stopped outside of a short apartment complex, pointing a thumb to the door.

Steve smiled, one hand in the pocket of his jacket as he studied you. Was this it? After the wild rollercoaster of emotions you had spilled onto him in the last hour, parting with nothing else seemed empty. Lacking. He opened his mouth and closed it, once then twice.

Finally, you cut in. “Thanks again, Steve. Really. If you hadn’t played along and scared him away.. well, I’m not sure where I would be right now. It means a lot that you cared enough about a stranger to make sure I was safe.”

Steve sighed out your name. “I’m sorry your barometer for kindness is so low.”

You sighed. “Yeah, me too.” Part of you wanted to do something. Say something else. Linger a tiny bit longer. But your feet shuffled and your hand reached for the door. “Have a good night, Steve.”

—

“I need a favour.”

“Well, good morning to you, sunshine. Did you lock yourself out of your computer again? FRIDAY can help with that.”

“Tony, this is serious.”

“Okay, okay. I recognize that scowl. How can I help you?”

“If I provided you some video footage from a security camera, can we track someone down? Figure out who they are? For full transparency, it’s just a civilian.”

“Sounds like we’re operating outside of the law, Rogers. Can you provide me with more context? I don’t mind the grey area - I just like the drama, too.”

Steve sighed, then reluctantly explained himself. The cafe. Your panicked message. The stalker of a man. The way you dismissed it all as a normal, unfortunate side effect of existing as a woman. His barista friend provided him with camera footage but he wasn’t sure it was enough.

Tony pinched between his eyes. “Men are scum. And I say that as someone in the practice of trying to be better. Recovering scum, if you will. I’ll see what I can do. FRIDAY, how quietly can we get into the security database at the Clifton building?”

—

Although you hadn’t lied to Steve, it occurred to you on your journey home that your guard should remain up. Which is why you had actually allowed him to walk you to your aunt’s apartment, instead of your own. She was happy to see you burst through the door and insisted you stay for dinner. That was a tiny silver lining to the whole mess.

The next day though, the thought of going into work was suffocating. So you opted to spend the day working from home instead, which your boss had been agreeable to, at least. One day rolled into two and you successfully avoided the office building until the following Monday. But then, you needed a plan. Next steps, next steps.

You took an Uber to the office early and left late at the end of the day, leaving out the back stairway and crossing a few blocks to take a different subway line home. It was unfortunate you had to cater your life to the chance you would run into this goon again, but your sense of security was slowly returning. That had to count for something.

Things shifted later that week. There was a sudden new policy sent out to all the staff in your office outlining new building ownership and training about sexual harassment policies.

“It’s a long time coming,” you heard someone mutter out in the elevator as you headed down towards the lobby.

“Guess Tony Stark just wants to own the whole block,” their coworker chirped back, pulling to loosen his tie.

There was even more commotion when you exited the elevator and walked towards the large glass doors. A team of NYPD officers were standing outside, shoving someone in the back of their cruiser. Your eyes narrowed. You couldn’t be certain but from that angle, you certainly recognized the bad buzzcut. Your eyes darted around the lobby anxiously and across the room, a small crowd of suits and officers had formed near..

Tony Stark, himself.

Before you could even try to understand what was going on, you heard someone calling your name. You turned your head and saw someone who looked a lot like -

“Steve?” You took a few steps towards him, pausing to glance from him back at Tony Stark and.. “Oh my god. You’re Steve Rogers. Why didn’t you say something?”

Captain America had walked you home. Hidden behind glasses and a hat. And you always considered yourself observant.

Steve just smirked, shrugging a shoulder. “I didn’t think it was important.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Should I be thanking you for all of this chaos?”

Steve furrowed his brow in mock confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, maybe I’m extrapolating here but the same day my subway stalker gets taken away in cuffs, Stark Industries buys out this building and mandates a new policy and code of conduct.”

Steve pursed his lips, swallowing back a mischievous smirk. “Here’s the thing. It occurred to me that your best choice of action after that day was changing your entire life to avoid that man. And I couldn’t help but think about how broken that system was.”

You sighed. It had occurred to you, too. While you were relieved to shake the man from your trail, your mind considered he would probably turn his attention to someone else. And that wouldn’t be fair.

“Well, Cap. Job well done. That scum of a man had priors in Jersey, too.” Tony Stark himself had walked to where you and Steve stood. His hand clapped on Steve’s shoulder. “You’re at least going to ask her out, right? I mean, I bought an entire building for you - make a move, pal.”

Steve flushed pink and you couldn’t help but do the same.

“I’m getting a bagel. You want a bagel?” Tony raised an eyebrow from you to Steve again, smiling proudly.

“I’m good. I recommend the poppy seed though!” You called as Tony flitted away, narrowly avoiding a proper looking blonde woman who seemed very tired.

You turned your attention back to Steve. “He seems like a lot.”

“He is.” Steve nodded, motioning his hand. “I know it’s only one thing, maybe a ripple in making a difference but.. I’m hoping one less inappropriate person on the subway can give you peace of mind.”

You smiled again. Though you had seen many appearances by Captain America on the news, seeing the man in person was different. It seemed Steve Rogers walked the walk. After parting ways with him before, though he had crossed your mind, you didn’t anticipate your menial issues leading to this.

“Thanks. Really. Even one person makes a difference.” You reached out and touched his arm. “Thank you, Steve.”

“I’m sorry about Tony, though. His comments about asking you out and.. that certainly wasn’t my goal here.”

“I don’t know. You just did me a huge favour getting rid of that gremlin. I think I owe you.”

Steve caught your cheeky smile and stood up a bit straighter. “Well, in that case, the Yankees are playing the Sox tomorrow night. Tony never uses his tickets and the seats aren’t half bad. What do you say?”

“You’re cashing in this favour to take me on a date? Usually people ask for help moving or a ride to the airport or something.” You let out a dramatic sigh. “Sure. I guess you can take me to the game, Steve. If you ask politely, I’ll probably even hold your hand.”

After work the next day, Steve met you outside and you took the subway together to the stadium. You knew this wasn’t the end of it for you or anyone else worried about their personal boundaries being crossed. But, as you gripped the subway pole and your fingers grazed against Steve’s, you could finally breathe again. For the first time in a while, you weren’t anticipating next steps.

It was just you and the kind stranger from the coffee shop.

[fangirlovestuff]

Butterfly Effect - Steve Rogers x reader

a/n - Hey lovely people! this is for @holylulusworld​​‘s 10,000 followers celebration, congrats!! (even though you have a lot more now lol). the divider is by the amazing @firefly-graphics​. italics are for thoughts / flashbacks, and the first parts are all in chronological order. Enjoy!<3

Summary: The words on Steve’s arm point to the circumstances in which he will meet his soulmate, and they’re very specific, or so he thinks.

Prompt: 11 - soulmate AU

Word Count: ~2,070

Warnings: reader gets a tatoo but basically this is just a huge fluff fest:)

"That's a cute owl you're drawing there."  

These are the words that were imprinted on Steve's arm since the moment he was born. When Steve could finally read, he asked his mother why are the words there.

"These words are very important," Sarah explained. "They are the first words your soulmate will ever say to you."

"What's a soulmate?" asked a confused Steve.

"A soulmate," his mother answered, "is someone you're gonna love very much. They're the person you'd probably choose to spend the rest of your life with. Their soul is connected to yours in inexplicable ways, almost as if they were one and the same. This," she pointed at the words, "is the sign for you to realize when you'll meet them. Somewhere out there, there's someone with the first words you're gonna say to them."

"So I'll be drawing an owl when I meet my soulfriend?" Steve asked.

"It's soulmate, dear. And I guess you probably will."

"And this… soulmate, will they buy me ice cream?" Steve asked hopefully, not quite getting the point.

Sarah giggled at her son. "Yes, I think they will if you'd want that. But also, they would love you so much, and you'll have the most fun in the world with them."

"Was da your soulmate?" Steve asked.

"He is," his mother answered, the smile on her face tinged with a little sadness that Steve hadn't picked up on.

Okay, so two round eyes, and then the body, and I should add some feathers and –

"Mr. Rogers!" the math teacher said sternly. "I haven’t assigned any equations yet, so I would appreciate it if you'd keep your attention on me instead of your notebook, for now."

"Yes, Ms. Williams," Steve replied sheepishly.

"You know you've already met everyone in this class right? No one here is your soulmate," Bucky whispered once their teacher turned back to the board.

"But I still want to get better at it," Steve shrugged defensively. "She's gonna say it's cute, Buck. For that to happen it needs to actually be cute."

"I don't get your whole fuss around soulmates Steve, but whatever. Suit yourself," Bucky rolled his eyes.

"You don't believe in soulmates?" Steve asked.

"Well, I wouldn't strictly say that, it's just… my words are 'watch it, weirdo.' Call me crazy, but I'm not that stoked to find that person," Bucky chuckled.

"Mr. Barnes! Something to share with the rest of us?" Ms. Williams said.

"No Ms. Williams, I'm sorry," Bucky said timidly and Steve snickered.

Steve could draw owls in his sleep if he needed to. Right now, his pencil was sketching over the page, lightly shading the wings of the owl and the –

"Rogers! You're on in five!" the stage manager called out to him.

Steve sighed and snapped his sketchbook shut. He kept hoping that maybe it was one of the girls on tour with him, but so far it wasn't going so well. The government-mandated entertainment had quite enough free time so Steve could draw as many owls as he wanted to in between shows.

He put the notebook aside and slipped on the cowl they had him wear. The Captain was needed on stage.

"So people take art classes… for fun?" Steve asked, puzzled.

"Yeah," Natasha answered. "Lately you're always drawing away in your little notebook, so if you want to, I could help you sign up for a class. Maybe they can teach an old dog some new tricks," she smirked.

"Ha ha," Steve answered dryly. Yet he couldn't help considering the idea.

The thing was, Steve wasn't sure if his soulmate was still out there to be found. You'd think he would feel a difference, some indication if his soulmate was dead, but when he went out of the ice, Steve felt nothing different. There was still a part of him that was hoping that maybe, just maybe, fate planned this. That his soulmate was still out there.

"That's a great color scheme, Steve," the instructor said, and Steve nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Thanks," he smiled, albeit a tad shakily.

This was the fifth class Steve took this month, and yet, no luck. He wasn't even drawing an owl, and yet the start of that sentence made him jump as if he didn't have super… well, everything.

But that doesn't mean he was giving up. His tattoo was still in place, even after all of these years, it hadn't faded. So he had to believe he could still find his soulmate.

These times were a lot more different than his. People here weren't always inclined to live by that philosophy of "soulmates". Some people chose to simply disregard that and find someone they loved regardless. Steve admired that, but he couldn't say he understood. If you're offered your perfect partner, why walk out of that?

"It's called instant gratification," Nat chuckled when he raised that question to her. "People like to have what they want as soon as possible. Besides, some people don't believe it's real, or don't believe it'll work for them. So, they take matters into their own hands."

Steve was more patient than the average person. He waited decades in ice, what's a few more years to find his soulmate?

Bucky had found his soulmate. Steve couldn't believe it.

Sure, he was happy for Bucky. When he came back today from the store with nothing but a small slip of paper, Steve had half a mind to smack him upright the head for not getting anything. Probably forgot his wallet.

But when Bucky showed him the paper he read the words scribbled onto it – "call me, weirdo, xx" and a phone number, Steve pulled Bucky into a tight hug, patting him on the back.

"Congrats, pal," he smiled.

Bucky beamed. Yes, Bucky Barnes, the terrifying Winter Soldier was beaming and his eyes were shining like a high-schooler in love. And Steve wished that could've been him.

He really was happy for Bucky. That's the thing – this was a good thing. Besides from his best friend finding the love of his life, it also meant that Steve's soulmate is almost definitely out there. But he couldn't help feeling a spark of resentment deep inside of him. It made him feel guilty, but he couldn't help the bitter thought that Bucky was never too keen on finding his soulmate while Steve did everything in his power to find them. And yet, Bucky found his while Steve's still in the dark.

So, to get out of his own head a little, Steve decided to go paint in the park.

To be honest, it was a wonder that Steve hadn't gotten awfully tired of drawing by now. But he still loved it, loved the quiet it cultivated in his mind.

Steve set up a canvas and looked around. People weren't noticing him, busy in their own endeavors. He almost started drawing an owl out of instinct, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Steve wanted to forget about the whole soulmate business for a while and just draw.

He saw a butterfly fly over and land on a nearby bush. Steve focused on the butterfly, trying to remember as much as he can. The rest he can improvise. The butterfly fluttered its wings for a few seconds before flying away.

Steve started drawing the butterfly. Once he had the pencil sketch, he started filling it in with the paints he had brought. He started with the little circles on its wings, filling them in so the shade will be just right, and he was about to move on to the rest on the wings when –

"That's a cute owl you're drawing there."

"It's a butterfly," Steve turned around, puzzled, before realizing what you had just said to him.

Your mouth opened in a gentle gasp. Your hair and clothes were a little messy from your long day at work. And at that moment, when you were caught completely off guard, Steve first met you. You were the most beautiful thing he has ever laid eyes on, and he was an artist. He stared at you in utter shock while you returned him a similar look.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" your friend asked, sitting next to you with a worried look.

"I'm tired of looking for my soulmate. Do you know how hard it is to make conversation about butterflies?" you looked back at her. "I want to do this," you told her.

The tattoo artist came closer. "Okay ma'am, you wanted a simple butterfly, right?"

"Yes," you answered decisively. "On my left wrist." Your right hand had your words on it. "It's a butterfly." Maybe if you had a tattoo your soulmate would see it, would find you.

You closed your eyes and braced for what came next.

You weren't sure about this blind date thing, but why not. You trusted your friend that she set you up with a nice guy, at least.

You set up to meet in a park, and from there walk to a nearby restaurant. Right when the guy showed up, there was a butterfly next to you.

"What’s that?" you asked quickly, pointing towards it.

Your date turned his head to look, but by the time he did the butterfly was already flying away. "I don't know, it was probably a bug or something."

You stifled your groan of disappointment. At least you'd get a dinner out of this.

You and Steve were staring at each other in amazement. Finally, you were the one to speak up. "You're Steve Rogers," you said, frowning in disbelief.

"And you're my… soulmate," he returned the same disbelieving look.

You introduced yourself quickly, smiling at him timidly when you finished.

"So, you wanna get ice cream or something?" Steve asked, unsure of what exactly to do. But apparently he said exactly the right thing, because your face lit up.

"Right now though? You're in the middle of your painting and I wouldn't wanna –"

"It doesn't matter," Steve said quickly and stashed the canvas and paints underneath a bench nearby. "No one passes here anyways," he shrugged. "Until today," he smiled and you giggled.

You made your way to an ice cream shop across the street from the park, walking side by side.

"So, what is the great Captain America doing drawing owl-looking butterflies in a local park?" you asked, smiling.

"I was just looking to clear my head a little," Steve said dismissively. "To be honest, the fact that you didn't find me drawing an actual owl is very ironic, looking back," Steve chuckled. "I spent pretty much my entire life drawing owls, attending painting classes, anything I could to find you," his gaze met yours and he smiled softly. "And I find you in a random park while drawing a butterfly."

"Don't underestimate nature's camouflage," you chuckled. "And hey, you think that's ironic? Butterflies are so scarce I got this," you rolled up your left sleeve a little, revealing your butterfly tattoo.

Steve's eyes widened. "It's beautiful," he automatically reached out to trace the lines on your arm, then withdraws his arm when he understands what he's doing. "It's not as beautiful as you," he says with a smile on his face.

You avert your eyes to the ground in front of you. "Thank you," you bashfully say.

You and Steve got your ice cream, and you exchanged plenty of stories of your adventures in search of each other, most of which were devastating when they happened but when you look back at them now, they were actually pretty funny.

"I hope I can see you again," Steve said when it was getting a little late.

He looked so hopeful, but the question in itself made you want to laugh at the obviousness of the answer. Instead, you rose onto your tiptoes, and planted your lips on his soft ones in a sweet kiss.

Once you parted you took a napkin and wrote down your number. "I sure hope to see you soon," you smiled.

"I'll call you, butterfly," Steve grinned and you beamed at the nickname.

And that night you both went home with huge smiles smeared across your faces. Finally, your quest to find your soulmate was at an end, and you could start a new journey, together.

Taglist:  @horny-nd-bored​ @shannon124 @perfectlyharolds​ @wintersoldierslut​ @iceebabies​  @sleepingpapermouse @steverogerswasalwaysworthy @holtzkinnon @angelicl-y @stydia-4-ever @thatoneperson5000 @fangirlfree​ @kaitcordx25 @bequeening​ @steve-barry-damon-logan​ @itscrazycherryblossomcollection​ @hollandxmarvel​ @stargazingfangirl18 @readsreblogsfics @onetwo3000 @beritmetal @harrystylesholland @jazbot2000​

if you wanna join / be removed from this taglist, comment/message me! much love <3

[cadence-talle]

like ask prompts?? ..... because if so I would like to ask for a kam prompt where they’re both strangers on an airplane and one of them falls asleep on the other and the other doesn’t want to wake him up because he looks so comfortable (and he’s hot)

lisTEN anon you can’t just SAY stuff like that-

Word count: 1,437

-/-

Tam hates airplanes. 

They’re cramped and weird-smelling and the cushioned seats seem to be designed to make you as uncomfortable as possible. Airplanes are high up on his list of Terrible Things, only being beaten out by his parents, his sister’s cat, and people in general. 

But unless he wants to drive three days cross-country, he doesn’t have much of a choice. At least the flight is only five hours. 

He sinks down into his seat and leans his head against the cool glass of the tiny airplane window, watching little people in orange vests move back and forth. Someone sits in the seat next to him. Tam doesn’t look up.

“Hi,” a male voice says. “Are you heading to Oregon?”

“Yep,” Tam responds shortly, because obviously he is, he’s on a plane to Oregon. The guy shifts in his seat, presumably buckling his seatbelt. 

“Cool. I like your hair, by the way. How’d you get it so silver?”

“I melted my father’s heirloom ring and dipped my bangs in it,” Tam says. If this guy is going to keep asking stupid questions, he’s going to give short answers. 

The guy hums, murmuring something like okay, that’s a little edgy, and lapses into silence. Tam breathes a sigh of relief- he does not want to be talking to strangers right now- and pops in his earbuds. He might as well finish this audiobook. 

Fifteen minutes and two chapters later, Tam turns away from the window. They’re still on the ground, not even close to the runway yet. He exhales and picks up his phone, tapping absentmindedly through the few texts he’s gotten before switching it to airplane mode. He turns towards the aisle and freezes. 

The guy in the seat next to him, the guy who was just talking his ear off, is really freaking hot. Carefully tousled blond hair that looks like it contains even more product than Tam's, icy blue eyes. He's sketching something in a notebook right now, tongue sticking out at the corner of his mouth. Tam is ashamed at how adorable he finds it. 

Mentally, he slaps himself, shaking his head slightly. Stop looking at him, focus on your book, he thinks. With much effort, he looks out the window again. 

-/-

Half an hour later, they’re finally in the air, Tam’s finished his audiobook, and he hasn’t been able to get Annoying(ly Hot) Plane Guy out of his head. He taps his fingers against the armrest impatiently, wishing they were just in Oregon already. Suddenly, a warm weight settles on his shoulder. 

Annoying(ly Hot) Plane Guy is leaning on him. Annoying(ly Hot) Plane Guy is sleeping. On Tam’s shoulder. 

Tam is about to combust. From anger or awkwardness, he’s not sure.

Gently, he tries to push the guy off of him. Annoying(ly Hot) Plane Guy doesn’t wake up, instead snuggling his head closer to Tam’s neck. The movement causes the notebook in his lap to fall to the ground. 

Accepting that this is, in fact, his life, Tam sighs and picks it up. It’s a simple sketchbook, wirebound, with the name Keefe Sencen written on the top in messy script. Absentmindedly, Tam flips it open. It’s probably snooping, but he doesn’t really care; the owner- Keefe, apparently- is literally sleeping on his shoulder. 

The drawings are beautiful. Most of them are just sketches, black-and-white with the occasional watercolor. Some of them look so real they could leap off the page and Tam would barely be surprised. 

Tam turns to the most recent page, stunned to see it filled with a simple pencil sketch of him. He’s staring out the window, bangs hanging over one eye, and he looks so incredibly calm Tam almost wants to laugh. He’s never that collected in real life.

Still, it feels a little weird to be looking at something so obviously private, so Tam closes the sketchbook and tucks it into the seatback pocket in front of Keefe. 

After that, it’s kind of peaceful. Keefe snores away on his shoulder, Tam listens to music, and it’s fine. 

Of course, then the universe decides to ruin everything again. 

They hit a patch of turbulence just over Missouri, bouncing to and fro so wildly Tam can hear multiple people scream. The pilot comes over the speaker and announces that they will set down in the St Louis airport until things quiet down. 

Keefe wakes up during their descent, startling awake with wide eyes. “What happened?” He asks. Tam raises an eyebrow.

“You fell asleep on my shoulder. Then we hit a storm. We’re stopping in St Louis.”

“Oh.” Keefe’s quiet for a second, cheeks flushing a light pink. “Uh, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Tam says. “My name’s Tam, by the way.”

“Keefe,” Keefe says, and Tam has to remind himself not to sound like a total stalker by saying ‘I know.’

They end up walking side by side as they make their way out of the plane, silently looking around. Every airport looks the same to Tam, but the St Louis one seems to be… older than the one they left from back in New York. 

The plane’s passengers are directed towards a terminal, informed that they’ll be there for at least three hours, and then left alone. Tam groans and sends his sister a quick text informing her of the delay. She sends back a frowny face emoji, and that’s that. 

“Hey,” Keefe says, moving over to where Tam’s sitting. “Do you want to go get food or something? Looks like we’re gonna be here a while, and restaurants are probably crowded. Better to stick together.”

“Sure,” Tam responds, not commenting on the fact that that logic makes absolutely no sense. They consult a highly confusing map, finally decide to just go to McDonald’s, and head down the airport hallway. Halfway there, Keefe skids to a stop with a delighted gasp.

“What is that?” 

The thing in question is a large, obnoxiously yellow vending machine. It’s emblazoned with the words Ted Drewes Frozen Custard and features a picture of an old man smiling and holding a cup of frozen custard practically upside down. It’s the most horrific thing Tam has ever seen.

“I need it,” Keefe says. “I need the frozen custard.”

“Why?” Tam asks. “It’s probably expired and gross, anyway.”

“But Ted Drewes, Tam! He’s so happy with his frozen custard!”

“That man looks like he’s already dead and just being used as a prop,” Tam observes. “You do not need the frozen custard. Let’s go.” 

Keefe pouts, and Tam’s heart does something that would probably qualify it for the olympic gymnastics team. He rolls his eyes. “C’mon. I’ll buy you an ice cream at McDonald’s.”

-/-

Three hours, two McFlurries, and one race around the airport later, they’re boarding the plane again. This time, as soon as they both sit down, Keefe turns to Tam and says,

“Hi. Are you heading to Oregon?”

Tam snorts. “Idiot.”

Keefe gives him a thumbs-up and makes grabby hands at his earbuds. “Can I listen to your audiobook with you?”

Tam blinks. Normally, he’d say no to anyone besides Linh- he’d most definitely say no to a random stranger. Of course, these aren’t exactly normal circumstances.

“Sure,” he decides, handing Keefe the right earbud. The guy lights up like a goddamn christmas tree as Tam starts the chapter.

(Thirty seconds later, he pulls out the headphone to look at Tam incredulously. “What the heck are you reading?”

Tam’s too busy laughing to answer.)

-/-

“So, uh,” Keefe says when they’re standing next to the luggage pickup. Tam knows his sister is waiting somewhere outside the airport, but he figures she can wait a little longer. Keefe’s cheeks flush. “It was… nice? To meet you?”

“You too,” Tam offers a small smile. “I’ll- see you around, maybe.” He won’t, probably, but he doesn’t know what else to say. Keefe nods. 

“Yeah. I should go, but- here.”

He shoves a piece of paper at Tam’s chest and turns away. Tam barely manages a ‘bye’ before he’s gone. He stands there for a moment until he remembers to look at the paper. 

It’s another drawing of him- Tam honestly doesn’t know when Keefe had the time. He’s sitting on one of those seats at the airport gate, typing at his phone. There’s a tiny grin on his face, soft in the way he never lets himself be. Tam wonders how Keefe manages to capture it.

Under the drawing, there are words, and a phone number-

Call me. -K

It’s funny, Tam thinks. He doesn’t hate airplanes so much anymore. 

[miraculous-ladybug-bitches]

College Stress, Drunken Mess

Marinette shrieks. “Tikki, get out of there!”

Tikki pops her head out of the wall from where she had phased.

“Well, you said that you wanted to know who was in the room next to yours,” she responds nonchalantly, shrugging her tiny shoulders.

“Yeah, but I don’t want you phasing through walls and freaking people out!”

Tikki tilts her head. “Why? It’s not like he saw me.”

Marinette sighs and turns back to her sketchbook. “Just don’t make it a habit, okay?”

“Okay, Marinette. But just so you know, it’s this guy who sleeps like a dad, snoring and everything. He has blond hair, but that’s all I could see of him,” Tikki says before biting into a cookie.

“That’s cool,” Marinette says absent-mindedly, absorbed in a sketch.

After a few moments, she finishes it and swivels around in her chair to drape a piece of fabric against a mannequin.

“Perfect!” she exclaims and turns back to fixing up the design in her notebook.

“Marinette, you really should get some rest. You’ll pass out at the rate you’ve been going at.”

“Pssh,” she says dismissively, “sleep is for the weak and I’m the strongest person in this galaxy.”

“Marinette! If you don’t get in bed right now, I’ll call Alya!”

Marinette swivels sharply in her chair to look her kwami dead in the eye.

“If you call her, I will hand you over to Hawkmoth myself.”

Tikki pouts and crosses her arms over her body. Her antennae droop a little bit.

“Fine… but Marinette, you really should get some sleep! You have that design final tomorrow.”

“I know, Tikki, that’s why I’m designing at three a.m. because it’s due at eight!” she replies, her voice increasing in volume with every word.

Tikki drops to sit on her desk. “I’m sorry, Marinette. I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Marinette looks at her crestfallen expression and closes her sketchbook, her pencil still resting inside of it. She pulls her drooping pigtails out, mussing her hair up with her fingers.

“No, I’m sorry, Tikki. I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’ll finish this design and I’ll try to sleep, okay?”

“Alright,” Tikki says with a yawn. She curls up in the tiny bed that Marinette had made her, and Marinette pulls the blanket over her tiny body.

***

Marinette stumbles into class late, which means that she has to sit in the back, far from her normal seat in the front. She ends up sitting next to some guy with a grey beanie.

“Hey there,” he whispers. “Wanna piece of gum?”

Marinette shrugs. “Sure,” she whispers back.

He hands her a piece and she takes it, opening it at quietly as possible.

“What’d I miss?” she asks quietly as she pulls out her binder and folder from her bag.

“Not much, just the review from yesterday. Oh, and she also had us ask any questions and stuff,” he tells her as he takes out a water bottle.

“Cool. Thanks.”

“No problem,” he responds, grinning at her, “what’s your name? I’m Adrien.”

“I’m Marinette.”

They smile and turn back to the board.

***

“Hey, Adrien! Wait up!” Marinette calls after him. Adrien turns around and nearly bumps into Marinette, who was running at him at startling speeds. He catches her before she could fall.

“What are you doing ?” he asks her incredulously. Her arms are filled with boxes from a bakery, and her eyes are frenzied. He slowly pries a few of the boxes from her arms.

“I visited my parents last night and they had apparently been waiting for me and they’re bakers so they baked a bunch of stuff for me and my friends except all of my other friends go to different colleges and you’re my only friend that I could give this to except I know that you’re a model so I have no idea what to do with these-”

Adrien cuts her off with a laugh. “It’s okay, Mari. I’m sure that I could take some and give them to some of the other models during our shoot later. And if you want, we can take my car and drop them off to your other friends.

She instantly brightens and her shoulders relax. She hugs him. “You’re a lifesaver, Adrien. Thank you so, so, so so much.”

He hugs back. “It’s no big deal. I’m happy to help.”

***

“Adriennnnn,” Marinette slurs from her place on the couch. He looks at her.

“Yes? Do you wanna go home now?”

“No! Adrien, Alya’s bein’ mean to me,” she says with a pout. He stifles a laugh at her drunken stupor.

“Oh? What did she say?” he responds, clearly humoring her. He takes a drink of fruit punch.

“She said that you only think I’m your friend,” she replies promptly, spitting the last word.

His brow furrows at her words. “Yeah, I’m your friend. What does she mean?”

“She means that you’ll never like me more than that.”

Oh.

“I like you a lot, Mari,” he hurries to reassure her after he sees tears welling up in her blue, blue eyes. “But how about we have this conversation when you’re sober?”

“No! I need to know now,” and he hugs her before convincing her to go back to their apartments.

“Stay with me? I don’t wanna be alone tonight… it’s his anniversary and I hate him so, so, so much! Don’t leave me like he did,” she pleads with him after they stop in front of her door. He sighs.

“Fine, but I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“Okay,” she says after a moment.

Once Adrien’s sure that he’s asleep, he whispers furiously to Plagg.

“Did you know that she liked me?”

A snicker. “It’d take a real idiot not to see it coming.”

Adrien drops his head into his hands. “I think I like her too. What do I do?”

“Kiss her when she wakes up, I guess,” Plagg says before turning back to his camembert.

“That’s not helpful!” Plagg just shrugs apathetically.

“Adrien?” Marinette asks, poking him for the nth time.

He finally stirs. “Mm, whaddya want, Mari?”

“For you to wake up! We’ll be late to Design 101 and your dad’s supposed to be there!”

He snaps awake on the sofa. He grabs his phone to check the time. “Oh, shit. I have a meeting with him before class in five minutes.”

He fixes his hair somewhat before grabbing a piece of toast from the plate on the table and kisses both her cheeks before sprinting out of the room.

She laughs.

“Hey, Marinette? Can we talk?” Adrien asks later that day when they’re sitting in his room, playing Mecha Strike.

She puts down her controller. “Sure.”

“Um, do you remember what you said last night?”

Marinette feels the blood draining from her face. What had she done last night? She remembers a drunken haze of Adrien half-carrying, half-dragging her up to her flat, but doesn’t remember anything beyond that.

“No…” she says honestly, bracing herself.

He touches her shoulder lightly. “You told me that you liked me? Or at least implied it.”

“Uh. Yeah, that’s true. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, nothing has to change between us-” she mumbles uncomfortably.

“No! I like you too, and in that way. I though about it a lot and realized that I might be a little bit in love with you,” he says, cutting her off. She blushes deeply.

“Oh! Um, in that case, do you wanna maybe go out?” she asks awkwardly. He beams.

“Yes! I want to!” he says with such earnest that her heart melts.

She leans forward, or maybe he does, and they share a soft kiss. She smiles into it, and feels him doing the same, making the kiss close-lipped and odd. They pull apart and smile before kissing again. This was going to work exactly as they wanted.

(Bonus:

“Marinette! Why does Nino get to know about this before I do?”

“Sorry, Alya! Adrien beat me to it!” )

[cubeswhump]

Sunglasses at Night

A weird interpretation of Tooth Knocked Out for my character, Noelle.

So you all know Noelle, maybe not by name, from my profile picture. She was actually one of the first characters on this blog but I’ve neglected to write her until coming up with an actual plotline like two nights ago.

Warnings for mentions of murder (specifically serial killing), blood, some gore, mentions of alcoholic intoxication, violence, kidnapping, discussed sexual abuse, implied sexual abuse, broken bones, minor mouth gore, briefly mentioned racial bias and police brutality, politically incorrect joke that the character is immediately guilted for.

There was regular stupid, and then there was Noelle Alan.

All of five feet and two inches, the girl thoight herself a badass, the Batman of middle of nowhere Florida. But instead of the Joker she fought petty criminals and that one neighbor who hit his kid, and she was dirt-poor with no grappling hook and Noellemobile, just a hockey stick and homemade pepper spray that was starting to smell fermented.

She came home bruised and bloody most nights. People looked at her father with scorn when she stood next to him with black eyes and swollen lips.

"Elle, you're gonna die one of these days," Marshall grumbled when he saw how intently she was looking at her phone, "and I'm gonna piss on your rotting corpse."

"Kinky," she giggled.

"Scratch that. If you were on fire, I wouldn't piss on you."

He had an idea of what she was looking at and a pit formed in his stomach. When the bodies of young women, necks torn and blood drained, had started to be found around town on a weekly basis, not even hidden, Noelle wasn't scared; Marshall recognized the glint in her eye.

"No," he growled, looking over her shpulder at the news article on her phone screen. "Don't you fucking dare."

"I'm hunting a vampire," Noelle murmured, lips stretching into the dumbest smile.

"Vampires aren't fucking real. You're gonna chase after a serial killer and end up raped and dead in a gutter."

Noelle didn't look up from her phone. "Way to sould callous about rape."

Marshall grit his teeth, fists clenched tight. "No, I'm the one actually taking that shit seriously and bringing up an actual risk."

"I'll sharpen my stakes."

Marshall unclenched his fists and granbed her by her shoulders. He shook his overgrown hair out of his face to look her in the eye.

"Your jawline's looking really defined," Noelle tried, but the flattery was ignored. "Is that stubble I see?"

He huffed out a sigh. "Noelle, I will kill you myself."

"Do it, pussy."

"I don't think you're taking this seriously."

"I'm serious all right." Her shit-eating grin was back. "Seriously about to kick some undead ass."

Marshall drew back his hands, face contorting. "I can't fucking stand you sometimes," he said softly, and turned his back to her. "See you in Hell."

He slammed the bedroom door on his way out. Front door opened and slammed as well. He peeled out of the driveway in his beat-up secondhand car.

Okay. That hurt a bit.

Noelle tried to keep her spirits up. She'd apologize to Marshall after she caught a vamp- serial killer. Caught a serial killer.

People often called Noelle stupid but when she wanted answers, she knew how to get them. When she bothered to actually do her work in school she could always find the cause and effect, the author's purpose, subtext, textual evidence. She got scolded for being mouthy. Teachers said she was far too opinionated when she badmouthed authors and mocked bias in her essays. She was in internal suspension more than the mainstream classroom for arguments with teachers and fights with peers.

Her father joked, with a hint of seriousness, that she was the cause of his receding hairline. Some black people rose to the top and lead social change, but where does having a big mouth usually get a black girl from a poor family? All these police shootings terrified the man and Noelle knew it, but she couldn't stay out of trouble.

He thought she was finally behaving when he caught her pouring over notebooks, scribbling with pencils, using up all their printer ink. His frown lines softened. She was doing her homework, and she was working hard.

In actuality, she was printing up police reports and jotting down the hints, connecting all the detaild. This killer stayed within a small radius and his victims, young women of various races (so racial motivation was crossed out) but tending to be on the smaller side, were all last seen at bars (three specific local ones). And all were seen leaving on their own.

This killer made no attempts to hide their bodies. Two were found in a canal less than a mile away from Marshall's house. One was stuffed into a trashcan missing its lid. One was found behind poor Mrs. Johnson's teashop, and she'd told her young, female employees to stay away for their own safety. One, the most brazen display, was tied to a lamppost on the town's busiest intersection.

All victims were found within a five mile radius.

And the manner of the killing stumped Noelle and detectives alike. Police reports and news articles were vague, almost glossing over it in saying that "throats were torn and copious amounts of blood was lost", but Noelle had managed to find and save some leaked photos before they were taken down.

These women didn't just have their throats slit. Despite Noelle's earlier jokes about vampires, there weren't two neat little punctures; throats were ripped open, skin flapping, jugulars severed and windpipes exposed with multiple points of entry. She reasoned that the weapon must be one designed to grasp at the skin and tear.

She sketched designs for metal claws that attach to the hands, designed to bite into the skin and tear it away when the killer drew his (or her, Noelle Alan was no misogynist) arm back. They would have to attach to the fingers for better flexibility and range of motion and they would need to be relatively short, perhaps protruding only an inch past the finger tips, to have a good grasp. Such a cautious design would be needed to attach well and firmly to the fingers without causing harm to the wearer. Would the blades continue down along the fingers? They must. The intricate joints needed to bend with the fingers.

"This is fucking cool," Noelle breathed, imagining such a weapon on her own hands. Mirror-like silver against brown fingers. She would be a viscous tiger-lady clawing at her enemies and protecting the innocent.

Right. Back to the toxicology reports. While finding blood alcohol levels above 0.05% in what little blood remained in each victim, there was something else. A small amount of some foreign substance but there was more of it than blood after the killer got done with these poor women.

Surely the medical examiner would be able to identify any known toxin or poison, so it was nothing like cyanide or chloroform. Perhaps it was something homemade the killer was lacing his (or her!) weapon with? Or, Noelle thought, perhaps he just didn't clean the weapon in between uses and let it build up enough grime to show in blood?

No, that would not only dull a blade, but a medical examiner would recognize simple dirt and bacteria.

Once a week, usually Monday or Tuesday. Girls always seen leaving after two in the morning, dead before three. Bars the girls came from following no pattern, like the killer was picking which of the three at random. So which one would Noelle go to if she couldn't predict the target?

The killer liked small girls, short of stature and narrow shoulders. Noelle's height fit the bill, but she needed clothes that hid her muscles while allowing enough skin exposure (no turtlenecks).

Her wardrobe: tank tops, tank tops, short-shorts, athletic shorts, more tank tops, pajamas, sports bras, running shoes. Why was her middle school uniform still in there? A momentary distraction while she tried it on and found that while she'd gotten wider, she hadn't grown much vertically since seventh grade.

She had to blow her birthday money from that one rich aunt at Goodwill. A green dress that had a good balance of making her butt look fantastic while still allowing movement. A good dress couldn't help her chest though and she stuffed some tissues in her bra. A-cups, while great for athletics, scarcely got noticed.

A cardigan covered the bulk of her arms (and bra straps) and the dress hid her thighs but showed of her calves. She practiced some kicks and defensive stances in the black kitten heels until the clerk threatened to kick her out. They slipped off easily enough, and were only nine dollars, so she'd just kick them off to fight.

She arived at Uncle Tim's Beer Belly (always pick the one with a funny name) at 1AM. She was only eighteen so she wasn't supposed to be in bars but she discovered that she could get away with it by staying away from the bar, hiding in crowds, and acting casual and confident if the bartender looked her way. She couldn't actually get drunk before a fight but she rubbed whiskey in her armpits, behind her ears, and on her wrists and neck and practiced a drunken shamble to look and smell the part.

Each victim seen leaving around two in the morning. Check, Noelle was out the door by 2:10, feeling so stupid shambling down the road that she couldn't help giggling and sticking her arms out in a zombie impression.

She circled the block for a good hour, and only attracted the attention of some catcallers. At least it was fun to yell back at them.

"I'll suck your dick if you suck mine!" she shouted at one in a red car, and immediately felt guilty. Marshall would punch her in her padded boob if he heard her making jokes at the expense of transwomen.

God, she missed Marshall. He hadn't responded to any of memes she sent him the past few days. She knew he'd disapprove of her activities.

She tried the next night and had no luck again. The only difference was that her dad caught her coming in through the window smelling like a bar and freaked out. That was not fun.

That morning, someone found the body of a young woman who had last been seen leaving The Wench's Tavern. Caitlin Weiss, a girl who graduated when Ne was a junior, and an old friend of Marshall. She was so nice to everyone and gushed about how she was going to be a veterinarian, and instead she was found with her skirt hiked up as her lower half dangled out of a dumpster. Neck torn.

Ander boiled inside Noee. Caitlin didn't deserve that. None of them did!

If only Noelle had guessed the right bar, Caitlin might have made it home.

"Fuck fuck fuck!" Noelle yelled. She had to put duct tape over the hole she accidentally kicked in the wall. Hopefully her dad didn't notice that. She was on thin ice already.

She was back next week, and the week after that. She stuck to the Beer Belly. After all, when you're guessing on a multiple-choice test, you're meant to pick all the same letter. Surely a percentage of those A's will be corrext and you'll fail the test if you alternate answers.

For the first time in her life, she was beginning to lose hope. Would she ever catch this scumbag? But she kept going even as that hope dwindled. She kept going even when Marshall responded after countless texts and only said, "I know what you're doing and I want no part in it."

She owed it to Caitlin, Therese Jenkins, Natalie Hernandez, Jessye Zhao, Katy Smith... She ignored the voice in her head telling her she was doing it out if pride, not the innocent lives lost.

She was having a mental debate when she heard footsteps on week four. Heavy footsteps, like a man. Confident footsteps like he wanted to be heard. She wasn't a girl who feared sharing the sidewalk with men. Maybe it was just a courteous young guy walking loudly to let a woman know he was there and avoid her thinking he was following her.

But she didn't believe that.

She waited until she'd taken four right turns and the footsteps continued. Yep, she was heing followed. She snaked a hand in her bag and whipped out the hairspray bottle, spraying the spicy concoction as she spun around. But the man's face was higher up than she expecyed, and he was wearing sunglasses. At night.

I wear my sunglasses at night

So I can, so I can

Watch you weave-

She pushed the stupid song away and reminded herself this wasn't the time.

In the dim light of the streetlight across the street, she could see...wow, he was tall, and not quite fat but plump and round. He raised his hand and swung it at hers, and there was a crack! even before the cannister hit the ground. She shouted and clutched her hand.

Hands that definitely didn't have metal claws pulled her close, pressing her against his body. She struggled but the hold on her back grew painful.

"You've been looking for me, haven't you?" he asked, voice deep and husky. She could hear the smile in his voice, and grit her teeth.

"You're a sick fuck," she spat. If she could just get her throbbung hand in her bag, if she could move just enough to retrieve her knife...

"I like you, girl," he chuckled.

His hands moved to her shoulders, and with the increased space between them, her hand was able to dart into the bag. Bone fragments ground against each other as her bad hand tightened around the handle, and tears stung her eyes.

The man was suddenly coming down toward her, and he was coming down fast. With a shout, she plunged the knife right in between his ribs just as pain blossomed in her neck.

"Help, I'm being fucking murdered!" she screamed, warmth dripping down her neck and chest. "Fire! Fire!"

A muffled laugh. The creep was amused.

Surely the blood was flowing out, but there was an odd pressure like something going in. It felt like getting an injection at the doctor's office, but the needle at the end of the syringe was actually a bear trap.

Noelle was screaming even after the pain faded to tingly numbness that spread to her limbs, until her vocal cords seized. Her hands fell limply from the handle of the knife still sticking out of his ribcage. The only thing holding her up was his mouth on her neck. She fought to keep her eyes open but everything faded to black.

***

There were lucid moments here and there but it was like watching an old, grainy home video. Long fingers that she couldn't see in the darkness wrenching her jaw open. Something thick and bitter pouring down her throat. The taste remained, sticking to her teeth and mouth and throat. She gagged. Darkness.

Alone on a mattress, sitting back on her ankles, never questioning why she could see with the lights off. A chunk of something was on her tongue. She plucked it out wuth her fingers, one hand still throbbing, and her eyes widened at the little white canine tooth. And then there was another, and then a premolar. Fade to black.

She dreamed of tall, pink men with long fingers and metal claws. She dreamed of her skin ripping open and a skeleton bursting out and flying into the night. She dreamed of teeth: white teeth, yellow teeth, rotted teeth with cavities, square teeth, molars, sharp teeth. Very sharp teeth.

[sakura-blossom28]

Heartbroken

Finished this wayyy sooner than I ever thought I would.  Finally some new characters and not as sappy.  Just projecting what I hope happens in the future.  And of course finally some Gaara. Worried he’ll seem out of character too. Let me know what you think! Part 1 /

Sakura was in a good place.  Spring was finally here!  The dead of winter was over, and she was leaving painful memories behind.  She was finally ready to start again.  The cold months turned into bright sunny days that thawed out the growing flowers, reminding Sakura of her gown growth.  Her days passed without much going on, but some days were filled with laughter because of Naruto and Hinata.  The days that she spent with them were her favorite. They would spend nights together in Naurto’s tiny apartment watching as many movies as they could, baking a million treats, and just talking to help Sakura heal. 

Hinata knew how important time away from boys was for Sakura, so she made sure to give her much needed girl time.  They went shopping, stayed up some nights just talking about everything and nothing, and just spent needed time together.  Hinata was a true friend to Sakura.  Anything that Sakura needed, Naruto and Hinata were there for her.  Any time she felt the need to talk after a hard day or wanted to share any good news, those two were there for her.  

Between the times that both Naruto and Hinata were busy, which was pretty regularly since Sakura had long days in the surgery center, she had to entertain herself.  This was the hard part, but Sakura started to enjoy her time alone.  She found that there was a lot to learn about herself.  Baking was one of her favorite things to do.  Naruto and Hinata loved it when she baked the day before they were supposed to hang out.  At the bottom of her list was exercising.  Working out by herself just wasn’t as fun.  She was making some progress, her energy was way up, but she didn’t look any different.  Maybe she should take a class…

XxX

One night Hinata and Sakura were hanging out at Naruto’s apartment.  It was just like any other night when there was a knock on the door. 

“Oh good, they’re finally here!” Naruto exclaimed as he jumped off the couch and Hinata followed.  Sakura thought that it was just going to be the 3 of them as usual.  She wasn’t particularly dressed nicely to meet new people.  Just her usual t-shirt and work out pants, even though she didn’t work out that day.  

Her color had been better since the breakup and she was starting to feel okay.  No word from Sasuke in the months, but she didn’t expect him to.  She could finally think about him and not miss him like she used to.  Dating was still off the table for her, she just didn’t have the desire to open herself up to someone new. Sakura was still trying to find out more about herself. She needed to think more about what she really wanted from a relationship.  Plus the dating scene was just so exhausting.  She and Hinata had spent hours and hours on dating apps with no luck whatsoever.  Mostly it was just fun seeing what guys would post thinking it would help them get a date.  

At the door, there was a big commotion mixed with different voices that Sakura had never heard.  She noticed a male and female voice that she didn’t recognize.  As they walked into the living room where Sakura was she saw who Naruto and Hinata invited in.  

A tall man with brown hair in a ponytail walked in with a woman with blonde hair, they both looked happy and friendly as they chatted with Naruto and Hinata.  

Oh good, they look like they’re dating, was the first thought that popped into Sakura’s mind.  Even though Naruto knew how she felt about dating at this point, it still didn’t stop him from trying to set her up with some of his friends.  Thankfully Hinata was there to steer him in the right direction.  A few times Naruto invited other friends over while Sakura and Hinata were spending time together.  Only one guy that Naruto brought around was stuck in her mind, and not for a good reason.  Lee was kind and sweet, but so intense.  It reminded Sakura that she was so not ready to be dating just yet.  

“Sakura! Sakura! This is my good friend Shikamaru! And his girlfriend Temari! They just got back from vacation!” Naruto said as they all settled on the couches.  

They exchanged their pleasantries and Shikamaru and Temari went into their story about their trip.  He seemed very laid back and she was full of energy, polar opposites, but they looked happy and comfortable with each other.  At one point Sakura thought this is how people must think about her and Sasuke, but she was so wrong.  Shaking her head slightly she focused back onto their words.  

The evening was enjoyable, better than she would have thought if she was told she would spend her night being the fifth wheel.  Temari seemed like the kind of person that Sakura could be friends with.  She was easy going but still fun and feisty.  

“Hey, Sakura, I’m going to visit Temari at her job tomorrow and then hang out. Want to join us for a little girl’s night?” Hinata asked as the conversation was dying down.  

“Sure! I don’t have any plans tomorrow," Sakura wouldn’t turn down a girl’s night for anything.  

“Cool! Do you know the tattoo shop around the corner?” Temari said as she moved over to the couch that Sakura and Hinata were sitting on.  

“Oh yeah! Isn’t that where we went to get your ears pierced a few weeks ago?” Sakura asked.  “Are you a tattoo artist there?”

“Yeah! My brother was probably the guy who did the piercing! We run the shop with a few other people but we’re mostly in charge,” Temari said with a proud grin.  

Sakura couldn’t really remember because she made it a rule to not look at any guy who was remotely close to her age.  She had the bad habit of developing little crushes on any guy who makes eye contact with her.  To focus on herself Sakura could not afford to get attached to anyone while she was getting over Sasuke.  That guy Lee really helped with keeping her focus on herself.  

“Okay so we’ll meet up at 7, my other brother owes me a favor so he’s closing the shop for me,” Temari said smugly.  

“Ugh if you guys are having a girls night I’m gonna take advantage of a quiet apartment,” Shikamaru said from under his arm as he stretched out on the other couch since Temari moved.  

“Oh, you would just love that!” Temari quickly turned on her boyfriend, “Now I’m gonna get drunk and you’ll have to deal with me.”  Shikamaru went stiff, but then quickly relaxed. 

“Fine do what you want,” he said with a smile and Temari laughed too.  Sakura felt a twinge of jealousy at how easy their relationship is.  Had she ever been like that with Sasuke?  With both of them looking happy?  Before her thoughts could upset her and send her spiraling, Sakura felt Hinata gently grab her hand without breaking her conversation with Naruto.  Sakura gave her a small squeeze back as a silent thank you.  

Their plans were set for the next day, meeting up, grabbing some food, and maybe some light shopping.  Sakura could handle that. 

XxX

The tattoo parlor was the same as Sakura remembered. Artwork all over the wall from past clients and well sat in chairs showing how much business the shop did.  The theme was mostly purple and black, but the room was still light and open.  There were chairs and tables that people could get their tattoos and where Hinata got her piercing, while towards the back was an office and rooms for more private tattoos.  

Temari was running back and forth from the front desk and the back office.  She seemed to be yelling at someone. 

"Kankuro I swear if we miss one phone call because of you I'll beat you!" Temari screamed into the office.  They could only hear a low grumbling as a response.  

Temari finally turned towards them and smiled brightly which seemed to be her style.  

"Hey guys! Sorry to keep you waiting. I'm just trying to make closing as easy as possible for them." She then continued to organize the large counter that was past the seating area.  Hinata went over to help Temari while Sakura wandered around the room looking at the artwork.  

Sakura had always admired tattoos and their artist.  Secretly she always wanted a tattoo but couldn't set her heart on anything.  Doodling was the best she could do, and it amazed her that all this work could be done on flesh, the hardest canvas to work on in her mind.  She found different designs, people and flowers mostly up on the wall. 

What really caught her eye was a few sketches that were in a notebook sitting on a low counter.  No color, just all pencil work.  There were people and animals, but mostly small bites of different things like eyes and hands that this person seemed to practice a lot.  It was mesmerizing to see how lifelike everything was. Sakura was so caught up in the book that she didn't notice the front door of the shop open.  

The person immediately walked towards Sakura without her knowing.  They were about to grab the book right out of her hand, but paused at seeing how content she was looking at the pictures.  She had a slight smile on her face as she traced the lines of a pair of eyes filled with sadness.  Curious, the person quietly moved around her towards the end of the counter to face away from her. 

"Gaara there you are! Okay everything is done for you, you just need to turn all the lights off when you're done.  My appointment book is here in case someone comes in, but otherwise you should be fine!" At the sound of Temari's voice Sakura broke out of her trance and walked over towards them.  

Sakura noticed someone at the end of the counter but his back was turned towards her. He had dark red hair, seemed tall but he was leaning on the counter and clearly went to the gym.  Ugh the gym, she thought to herself.  This must be Temari's other brother that she mentioned yesterday. 

Gaara didn't seem to notice their presence because he never turned around to look at them. Temari didn't seem to mind that he wasn't answering, it must be a sibling thing. Sakura took one last look around the tattoo shop as they were walking out.  Right at the door was a huge cork board filled with different flyers and business cards. A bright pink flyer caught Sakura's eye.  

Big bold letters said kickboxing right at the top followed more information. All different levels were offered, even just a women's class. This was perfect! The less males to stare at the better.  She took the small flyer off the board and folded it up and stuck it into her purse. If Sakura had looked up, she would have seen the look of shock that was all over Gaara's face. 

XxX

Sakura quietly made her way to the back seat of Hinata's car, not noticing the excited faces of the other two girls.  She buckled herself in before she even saw their faces which seemed to be bursting at the seams with how they were smiling. She gave a nervous chuckle. 

"Why are you guys smiling like that? You both look crazy," Sakura said, eying them nervously.  

"My brother was so checking you out! He never does stuff like that! You were looking at his sketchbook and he never lets anyone touch it! I swear he was about to rip it out of your hands but he stopped.  He wouldn't take his eyes off of you until you turned around! He's never shy, it's so crazy!" Temari practically screamed. 

"I totally saw it Sakura," Hinata said with a sly smile on her face. Oh she was spending way too much time with Naruto.  

"Well you're both crazy and he definitely wasn't, but hey I saw this flyer inside for kick-boxing! We should really try it out!" Sakura said trying to change the subject. She reached into her purse and handed the slip to Temari.  

Looking it over Temari recognized the gym name immediately.  She smiled slyly to herself.  Playing matchmaker was Temari's favorite thing to do and it was high time her brother landed someone.  He tried not to show it, but he was extremely kind and considerate to his friends and family.  Always going out of his way to do something nice without anyone knowing it was him.  And poor Sakura was heartbroken. Temari could see it clear as day.  Sakura was someone who could appreciate Gaara for his good days and bad.  Communication would be their biggest struggle, but having heard her whole story from Hinata, Temari was sure Sakura was on the upswing.

"Oh awesome! I know the owner of this gym! It's pretty close to my apartment.  I can see if they have room for 3 more tomorrow if you're free!" Temari said, knowing exactly who she was going to text. 

The gym was conveniently located below Gaara's apartment. More importantly, Gaara owned the gym. He would most likely be teaching the class too. Sakura was making this too easy for Temari.  She had to act fast before someone snatched Sakura up. 

"Really? That's almost too good to be true! I really appreciate it, Temari!" Sakura gave her a genuine smile of pure happiness, the first that Temari had seen.  Her heart went out to the poor girl.  She couldn't imagine what it's like to be her, giving everything she's got just to have the person she loves not feel the same way.  Temari had met Sasuke once or twice in passing while his band was hanging out with Shikamaru's.  She could see the attraction, not only was he good looking, he gave off a cool and calm vibe without seeming like a jerk.  Gaara was similar in a way, but he was a bit more direct than Sasuke seemed.  Hopefully he doesn't scare poor Sakura off. 

Temari: Got room for 3 more for your beginner kick-boxing class tomorrow morning? 

Gaara: You finally convinced Shikamaru and Kankuro to join you? I can barely get him out of bed most mornings. 

Temari: NO! I actually have my own friends. Hinata and Sakura that you so rudely ignored want to come.

Temari: Actually it was Sakura, very cute and very SINGLE, girl who found your flyer and wanted to go to a class! 

Gaara: ……

Gaara: Does she know I'm the one teaching the class?

Temari: Haven't told her yet. Figured it would be a good surprise! I'm setting up the shot, you need to take it brother. Plus she didn't get a good look at you since you IGNORED us!! 

Gaara: ….. Fine.  You 3 can come, but don’t run it for the other people.  You know how you get.  This is the last time I’m doing something nice for you.

Temari: You know that’s not true! Love you little bro!!

Temari turned back to Sakura.  She actually looked happy.  Maybe she was looking to try something new.  Temari was glad to help out her new friend. Especially if it meant getting her brother to loosen up for once.  Maybe they could both help each other to open up more.  Sakura seems to be a giving person, but never got the same energy back.  Temari knew Gaara could be up for the challenge, if Sakura could accept him for who he is inside and out.  

“Okay we’re all set for tomorrow morning ladies! I hope you’re ready to get your butts kicked!” Temari said happily.

Maybe kick-boxing wasn’t such a good choice...

Part 3 

[redgillan]

Missed Chances - Part 7

Steve Rogers x Reader ♀️ [// Bucky Barnes x Reader for now]

Summary: 13 Going on 30!AU - Steve Rogers is crazy about you, but he’s afraid his feelings are only one sided and being one of your best friends, he doesn’t want to ruin your friendship… On his 13th birthday, he makes a wish and wakes up in the body of his 30 year old self. The problem is, you’re no longer a part of his life.

Word Count: 3,005

Warnings: The creep is back

A/N: No, this series isn’t dead. In this chapter the reader and Steve discuss her wedding dress and I really wanted to give you a dress you could picture in your heads. So that meant doing a lot of research to find a cut that would flatter all body types and a colour that would look good on all skin tones. It kind of smothered my muse, hence the long break. I hope you enjoy this :’)

“You fell asleep on his couch,” Sam repeated, shaking his head with a bewildered look on his face. A second later, he began laughing hysterically.  

Bucky looked around the bar, smiling awkwardly at the patrons who were staring at them. With a cringe, he took a large gulp of his lukewarm beer. Sam expertly dodged the peanut Bucky threw at him.

“Okay, let me get this straight.” Sam stopped laughing. “You drank two bottles of fancy-ass wine, passed out on the couch and let your girl alone with a super-hot billionaire.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what happened,” Bucky grumbled.

“You’re an idiot.”

Bucky couldn’t help but agree with him.

Sam was Bucky’s only friend. They had met a few years ago when Bucky was a rotisseur, a chef in charge of roasted meats. Sam kept sending his dish back, saying it wasn’t properly cooked, until Bucky had enough and served him raw lamb with a little note that said ‘cook it yourself’.

It hadn’t been professional, but it had made him feel a lot better. Somehow they became friends after that. Go figure...  

“You could have married her three years ago,” Sam continued with a pointed look.

“A City Hall wedding?” Bucky scoffed. “No, she deserves better than that.”

Sam frowned at him. “You need to get off your high horse, man. I got married at City Hall. Granted it’s less flamboyant than a fairy tale wedding, but it doesn’t matter when you’re in love. You only need each other.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I work 12 hours a day, six days a week, Sam. We rarely see each other and we live in a crappy studio apartment. The least I can do is give her a perfect wedding.”

“Whatever you say,” Sam shrugged. He was tired of having the same conversation again and again. “That deal you made with her company... I told you it was too good to be true.”

“You said it was legit,” Bucky reminded him.

“Yeah, it is, but I don't think you've thought this through. They offered to pay for your wedding if Steve Rogers agreed to create your girl’s wedding dress. Rogers said yes, and now their numbers are going up-”

“But it’s a good thing. She’ll keep her job and we’ll get married,” Bucky interrupted him.

“Dude, there’s a billboard in Times Square with your face on it,” Sam continued, undeterred. Bucky whined, he had seen the ad. It wasn’t exactly low-key. “You three are everywhere; Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Youtube... Rogers gave interviews to Good Morning America, Fallon and Ellen. The entire country knows about you, your fiancée and your former childhood best friend turned superstar.”

“You’re right, it’s a little crazy right now,” Bucky admitted. “But it won’t last. People will find a better story. She’s happy. That’s all that matters.”

Sam could have argued that you didn’t look happy the last time he saw you. In fact, you looked tired, stressed and a little disappointed. But he knew better than to tell a man he couldn’t make his girlfriend happy.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

Bucky had no idea what he was doing. Things had been crazy lately, and he couldn’t deny that it was strange to share his thoughts and memories with complete strangers. It was part of the deal. Nothing was private anymore.

“A girl asked for my autograph yesterday,” Bucky revealed, a small smile on his lips. Sam raised a brow at that. “It took me completely by surprise, I just wrote ‘BUCKY’ in capital letters on a blank piece of paper.”

Sam choked on his beer, and coughed several times as the liquid fizzed out of his nose. Bucky pushed a napkin across the bar as Sam’s whole face scrunched up in a mix of pain and laughter.

“That fucking hurts,” Sam said, his eyes shiny with tears. Bucky looked strangely proud of himself. “You’re gonna kill me one day.”

With a mouthful of beer, Bucky got off the stool and threw two twenties on the counter. He took his jacket from the bar and made a show of crossing his fingers at Sam’s comment.

“Ass,” Sam countered, following him out of the bar.

*

Today was the day, your first Bridal appointment. You were beyond nervous, and the fact that this was all business wasn’t helping your nerves. Natasha was sitting next to you, typing away on her tablet while on the phone with Nick Fury. You wished you were that good at multitasking.

Things were moving fast. Natasha had already booked a band, and hired a photographer and a videographer. You were on board with everything, and even pitched the idea of a karaoke entertainment at the reception. She called you a genius and wrote it in her little notebook.

The magazine was thriving, the numbers growing. The first article they published was an exclusive interview of Steve Rogers and a little interview of you and Bucky –to get to know the happy couple.

The following month they revealed that the ceremony would take place at Bucky’s childhood home. It was something you had both agreed upon a long time ago, and Nick thought it matched the whole reunion theme.

Sometimes it felt like it was more their wedding than yours, but you thought I’d be rude to complain since they were paying for the entire ceremony.

“M. Rogers will see you now,” Steve’s assistant appeared before you, pulling you out of your thoughts.

Natasha waved Scott closer. He was standing near the elevator, FaceTiming with his daughter. He saw Natasha, nodded, and quickly wrapped up his conversation. The three of you followed the assistant to Steve’s office.

As soon as Natasha stepped into his office, she began directing everyone into position. Scott and you got so used to being bossed around that you both complied without question.

“Boys, move the couch closer to the window,” she said, looking around the office. “I prefer natural light for the pictures.” Then she turned to you. “This place is a mess, let’s tidy up.”

Steve grumbled something under his breath that made Scott laugh. Natasha gave him a sharp look and they both returned to their task. Once the place looked decent enough, you took a seat on the sofa next to Steve.

Natasha was telling Scott what to do –the kind of pictures she wanted for the Instagram, Twitter and Facebook as well as some pictures for the next article. Scott nodded while he adjusted the camera settings.

“Is she always like this?” Steve whispered in your ear.

A shiver ran down your spine. “Yes, she’s the boss,” you replied with a small laugh.

“She’s scary.”

You were both laughing quietly when you heard the sound of a camera shutter. Steve shifted awkwardly as he met your gaze, his face flushed red. You understood his discomfort.

“A little warning would have been nice,” you told your co-workers.

“Sorry, but the picture looks great,” Scott said, giving you a thumbs up.

“All right, we only have an hour so listen carefully,” Natasha began. “We’re going to take a few pictures and two can pretend you’re working on the dress. Act natural, but don’t forget to smile and don’t look at us. Then we’ll leave you two alone so you can start working on the dress. Questions?”

You both shook your heads. “No, we’re good.”

“Perfect,” she clapped her hands once, “let’s get to work!”

It was a little strange to pose without making it look like you were posing. Natasha was shouting directions at you and Steve while you tried to smile at each other.

Sit straight!

Steve, you’re hiding her face.

Hold that position, the light is perfect.

Finally, after twenty agonizing minutes, she announced that she had everything she needed. You sent up a silent prayer when she left the room. Scott packed up his camera and hurried out of the room when Natasha called out his name.

You slumped back against the sofa and sighed. Steve let out a small laugh as he sank into the cushions. He turned his head to look at you and smiled.

His smile caught you off guard. In that moment, he looked exactly like the boy you used to love and it made your chest tighten painfully. Life could be so cruel sometimes.

“We should probably start working on your dress,” he said, sensing your sudden anguish. He straightened up and fiddled with the sketch pad and mechanical pencil, giving you some time to pull yourself together. “So, do you have an idea of what you’re looking for?”

You sat on the edge of your seat. “Not really. I don’t know how these things work. How are we going to do this?”

Steve was only thirteen, though he looked like he was in his early thirties. He didn’t know anything about fashion, but it was his job and he had to do it right. He had gathered as much information as he possible on Bridal appointments. Internet, so helpful!

“We can look at some wedding dresses,” he told you, sliding a few magazines toward you. “Tell me what you like and I’ll make a sketch. Then my team will make a muslin. It’s just a mock-up. We’ll add the details later. How does that sound?”

He caught your eyes and saw the look of relief on your face. “Sounds great.”

You slowly flipped through the pages of the first magazine, pausing occasionally to show him what you didn’t like. You didn’t want to wear a crinoline, it made the skirt too poofy. The princess style looked beautiful on these models but you didn’t think it matched your personality, and it seemed really unpractical.

Steve listened carefully, jotting down notes in his notebook. “How do you feel about a mermaid-style dress? Remember when your mom took us to the open air theatre? We saw the Little Mermaid and you said it was the best movie you’d ever seen.”

“Yeah.” You giggled. “We were what? Nine, ten years old?”  

“Something like that,” Steve replied with a fond smile.

“Well, I hate to disappoint my nine-year-old self, but I think I’d prefer something a little more like the Muses in Hercules.” You turned the page, only to be distracted by a stunning gown. “Like this one!”

The dress fit closely, hugging the model’s curves in an elegant yet sensual way. It looked right out of a peplum movie.

“Oh yeah, that’s a um...” Steve closed his eyes shut and tried to remember the name of this particular type of dress. “It’s a sheath column dress!” he exclaimed with a huge triumphant smile.

“I like that,” you said, oblivious to his sudden outburst. “Do you think it’d look good on me?”

“Absolutely,” he said a little too quickly, then he cleared his throat and gave you a sheepish smile. “We have your measurements, it will look perfect.”

You made some modifications to the dress in the magazine. With Steve’s help, you chose a boat neckline instead of the heart shape neckline featured on the model.

You hesitated between two colours; alabaster which according to Steve would look good on anyone, and diamond white which was the perfect colour for an outdoor wedding.

“Silk is a good choice,” Steve approved while he finished his sketch. “You might be a little cold though, but we’ll figure something out.”

“Oh, don’t bother,” you said with a wave of your hand, “Natasha has already ordered ten outdoor heaters. It’ll feel like we’re on a tropical island.” Your laughter died in your throat when Steve showed you what your dress would look like. “Steve... that’s.... wow.”

He looked at his drawing with furrowed brows. “I think I messed up the proportions but-”

“It’s gorgeous,” you interrupted him. “I love it!” You took the sketch pad from him to get a better look. This was your dress. Your wedding dress. It all seemed so real now, it made the butterflies in your stomach dance. “So, it’s happening. In six months I’m going to be Mrs Barnes.”

“You can keep your last name,” Steve shrugged. He had been working so hard lately to pass off as a real fashion designer that he had almost forgotten you were going to marry Bucky. He fought against the urge to rip that stupid drawing in half.

“I know,” you said, “it’s just... a little weird, but in a good way.”

A knock at the door made you both jump. Natasha and Scott were back, and judging by the look on Natasha’s face, she must have received some good news.

“We posted that picture of the two of you giggling,” Scott said with a big smile. “People on Instagram are so kinky. You guys should read some of the comments, they’re priceless.”

“Scott,” Natasha said, her tone warning him to drop it.

“It’s crazy, some people even ship you two together. They want you to marry Mr America. That’s his nickname, Mr America! How cool is that?!”

Oh, that couldn’t be good... You really hoped Bucky wouldn’t read these comments. He wasn’t a big fan of social media, and he was too busy to even open the app. Though Sam would definitely call him if he read anything that seemed a little odd.

“Is that the dress?” Natasha asked as she picked up the sketch pad. Her eyes widened for a second before she smiled at Steve. “It’s beautiful. I look forward to seeing it on the bride.”

Steve’s secretary entered the room and informed him that his next appointment had arrived. He shook hands with Natasha and Scott, then turned to you, smiling hesitantly. A handshake seemed too formal, but he wasn’t sure you’d let him hug you.

He opened his arms to you and cocked his head to one side in silent question. You found his bashfulness endearing. He looked so young. You took a step forward to hug him.

“Thank you, Steve, for everything,” you said, making sure Natasha and Scott couldn’t hear you. Steve was warm and muscular, and yet incredibly soft. “You didn’t have to do all this. I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I found you,” he replied before releasing you. “I’ll see you soon.”

“The magazine’s throwing a party next month,” Natasha began as Steve walked the three of you to the door. “Our numbers are skyrocketing. This calls for a celebration. I’ll send you the details. It’ll be the biggest party of the year.”

When you got back to the waiting room, the secretary told you that Steve’s chauffeur would drive you and your colleagues to your apartments. You took a seat and tried to process what had just happened.

Natasha looked ecstatic, and you couldn’t understand why you felt so miserable. You needed to be alone with your thoughts.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” you told Natasha who nodded distractedly.

The waiting room was nicely furnished with comfortable leather sofas, fashion magazines on the marble tables –your magazine was on top of the pile- and a fancy water dispenser near the restroom.

You grabbed a cup and filled it with room temperature water, sipping it slowly as you looked around the room.

“Braceface!”

You felt a shiver come down your spine, the sound of his voice was like having your entire body dunked into ice cold water. He moved into your line of sight, a bright smile on his face. Had he always looked this terrifying?

“Hi, Brock.”

“So you remember me,” he said with a sickening smile, his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. “Sweet.” He paused. “I heard you were getting married.”

“Yeah.”

“If you ever get bored,” he said, stepping into your personal space and handing you his business card. “I love married women, they’re so desperate for a good time.”

You felt trapped, like the day he had cornered you in Steve’s kitchen and asked if you wanted to have sex with him. You could feel the fear building up inside you.

You obediently took the card, your body automatically kicking in to self-preservation mode. Do what he says and he’ll leave you alone.

This part of the waiting room was hidden from view, meaning no one could see you right now. Brock had no shame, coming after you like that even though he knew you were getting married.

You wanted to scream, but you couldn’t move.

“Step away from her.”

You couldn’t see her, but Natasha’s voice held authority as she stood behind Brock with a seemingly calm demeanour. Brock took a step back, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“We were just talking,” he said.

She didn’t even spare him a glance. She searched your face for any sign of pain “You okay?” You nodded, not noticing the tear falling down your cheek. “We’re done here.”

She took a step forward and slung her arm around your shoulders, shielding your body with hers as you moved past Brock. You felt your heartbeat slowly returning to normal as Natasha ushered you toward the elevator.

You slowly came back to your senses, feeling a little embarrassed that you were –once again- the damsel in distress.

“That guy’s a dickhead,” Scott said, glaring daggers at Brock’s retreating figure.

“That guy is the co-founder of the brand, and a big name in the fashion industry,” Natasha mumbled, pressing the ground floor button. “He’s also a notorious creep. I’ll make sure we won’t run into him again.”

“You gonna have him whacked?” Scott asked, his eyes widening.

Natasha crunched up her face, clearly grossed out and confused. “No! I’m going to schedule our meetings at a different time. Have him whacked,” she repeated with a scoff. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“It’s just the way you said it,” Scott shrugged, “it sounded ominous.”

The elevator door slid closed while Natasha and Scott were bickering, but you weren’t listening to them. You wanted to go home.

You wanted Bucky to hold you close and snuggle with you for the rest of the day. But, more than anything, you wanted to know why Brock fucking Rumlow was still working with Steve.

[atinywriting]

Bloody Pen | Wooyoung Serial Killer AU Chapter 4

For the Love of Art

As Hongjoong turned his back and left to question the officers, he was unfortunately unaware of the smirk on Wooyoung’s face. Wooyoung released the breath he held in and curled his fingers. The tension in his body relaxed.

He couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. No one would suspect him.

There was no doubt Hongjoong was smart from the various cases that Wooyoung had worked with him. But... it was also quite easy to manipulate logic. It was easy to fabricate the old trio tale of “motive, means, and opportunity”. After all, the best way to tell a lie was to tell parts of the truth.

Wooyoung was honest and truthful as long as the case didn’t involve himself. If it did involve himself, who would suspect a person helping out with the investigation? Especially one who had helped solve many cases for a long time. No one. No one could ever guess, not even fathom with the idea that he himself had tampered with the evidence.

Wooyoung took a few steps back to admired his handiwork. It was actually the first time he had killed in such a meticulous way.  

And he found it... much, much more fulfilling. More gratifying.

Usually, he’d use a knife. A simple slash to the throat or a few stabs to the abdomen would always do the trick. Strangulation was nice occasionally. Guns weren’t the most interesting weapon. It killed too quickly, but he sometimes used it.

This time Wooyoung had planned it out only minutes after drugging the victim. He had only 8-10 hours before it died from hanging upside down. As soon as it woke up, the fun began.

Since it was hanging upside down, the blood would rush to it’s head and keep it awake. There would be no chance to faint from the pain. Wooyoung slowly dragged it out; cutting, slicing, and slashing into the flesh. It was satisfying hearing the screams, begs and cries. And the final blow, the thing’s eyes popping out of it’s head and gurgling as he cut into the neck. The light leaving its eyes as the blood gushed out and flowed down.

But, it wasn’t just more fun. This kill was also special. It would be the first murder in the project he proudly titled, Bloody Pen. Inspired by you and in dedication to you.

A gift for you, his lovely muse.

He remembered what you had shown him on the second date. Your new book would be about a serial killer whose trademark would be riddles and puzzles.

As he read your words and spent time with you, he couldn’t help but feel something familiar in you. A kindred soul? Just like how you enjoyed writing stories of crime, Wooyoung enjoyed orchestrating a story with each kill he made to pin it on someone else.

Gang related violence. Domestic abuse. An accident. Out of defense. Suicide. Overdose. Poisoning. A drunkard killing their significant other. A crime of passion where one killed out of a fit of rage. Revenge. Jealousy. Greed.

Each kill had their own small details that made it a unique story. And this time, he would weave in your story. He’d end this theme after the fourth or fifth one and continue after sometime.

Indeed, he was having more fun than usual. But, he’d get caught after a while. It was the mistake of many murderers to unconsciously establish a repeated pattern.

Wooyoung hummed as he sealed up each piece of evidence in their proper containers. His job was done. Now, he only needed to transport it all to the forensic center. Another would come by soon to properly preserve and transport the body to the lab later.

Thankfully, Wooyoung wouldn’t have to do any extra work with tampering. The rain from two days ago had diluted and erased all of his traces.

He whistled a cheerful tune as he walked to his vehicle. After dropping the evidence off, he went home and slept peacefully till the alarm clock rang.

The sky was clear. The sun was bright. The birds were singing. Another day. Another kill. Another day he got away scot-free.

As he ate lunch, he hummed as he flipped open the pages to your second book. He only had read the brief summary on the back, but he was already hooked by the premise. In fact, it was inspiration for the next kill.

A serial killer who turned all of their lovers into dolls to keep them company.

In one hand he held a pencil, outlining and sketching the plan out onto his notebook.

Salt. Baking powder... He stopped. Huh, he’d have to do a little bit of his own research into this.

Ping!

He picked up the phone and your name popped up.

My apartment at 1? For help, if you’re not busy please? ^^ I’ll text you my address.

Wooyoung paused, contemplating to himself. He’d most likely be called back to the lab around 3-4 pm. Then again, just two to three hours with you sounded nice.

You bit your lips as you waited for a reply. Hopefully, you weren’t being too annoying. You jumped in your seat as a text came in.

Only for a few hours. Then I gotta work orz

Yes! You quickly sent your address and slumped against the couch. Closing your eyes and enjoying this small moment of happiness—Wait. Your eyes snapped open and looked around your apartment.

It was trash. Utter trash from your laziness to clean up. You also looked like trash with your messy appearance and your rats nest of a hair. And... you only had an hour left till 1.

You immediately rushed: picking up whatever you could into the recycle or trash can, dusting, and sweeping the floor. You glanced at the clock. 5 minutes left. You threw on whatever looked nice enough.

A ring and a few knocks had you running to the door. You smoothed over your hair once more and opened the door. And there stood Wooyoung with his usual bright smile. Your eyes glanced down to his hand. An envelope? He handed it to you and you took it with a questioning look in your eyes.

“The diagrams you wanted,” he explained. “I drew up how different types of wounds looked. I even have bullet points on the back to describe each one. You like it?”

At those words, you practically ripped the top of the envelope off. You slid the papers out and carefully went through it all.

It was bloody. It was disgusting. It was gory with its details.

“I... I love it,” you whispered as your fingertips stroked the papers. You clutched the diagrams close to your chest. Pulling all nighters just to search up the most minuscule of details were practically over. You had Wooyoung now.

“Please marry me.”

Your eyes widened and you covered your mouth. Why did you say that? You peeked up to see him equally surprised before his face had formed the smuggest grin you had ever seen in your life.

He was enjoying this.

“I, uh, I mean...” you fidgeted under his gaze.

Why? You screeched in your head. You wanted to crawl into a ditch. You wanted to curl into a ball and never see the light of day again.

But, Wooyoung was already here in front of you. There was no escaping embarrassment.

You were snapped out of your dazed state when you felt his hand stroking the top of your head. You flushed under his attention.

“Baby steps,” Wooyoung drawled with the ever present smirk on his face. “But I wouldn’t mind marrying you—“

Before he could say any more, you stepped back and flailed your arms. Heat rose to your cheeks. “Do you wanna just come in!?” You squawked.

Wooyoung chuckled and took his shoes off as he stepped in. Your reactions were honestly adorable.

The apartment felt warm and welcoming with cozy simplicity. He sat down on the couch and looked up to where you still stood trying to calm down. He tilted his head. “Are you not joining me?” He asked with a slightly teasing tone. “I can’t help you if you’re all the way over there.”

Right! You scurried to take a seat beside him and flipped open your notepad.

“Tell me exactly how to make the deaths more interesting.”

Wooyoung began, “First of all, I noticed the way you write deaths are either vague or not descriptive enough. You might as well just be saying ‘He stabbed her and she died’. Which isn’t wrong, but that’s also really boring.”

You grumbled with a pout, “Well, it’s not like I could Google this up. Literally, no website goes into detail on this kind of stuff.”

You were dedicated to having as much accuracy as possible. Which was why details were the most agonizing thing to write. Most of the time on the Internet, you could not find it. Either turning up with a vague answer or a blank result. As much as you hated it, you couldn’t dwell on it because it would take forever and you’d probably die before publishing anything. You could only continue on. But now, it was becoming a glaring problem that needed to be fixed.

“Well.” Wooyoung smiled. “You have me for that now.” He wrapped an arm over your shoulder causing your heart to beat faster. “Secondly, how does the killer feel?”

You blinked. “How does the killer feel?” You repeated.

Wooyoung nodded. “When people are reading about serial killers, they’re interested in how a person can be so warped. They hang on to every word. What they think. What they feel.” He gestured to your notepad. “With that in mind, try rewriting your first death scene in the manuscript.”

You pressed the pen against your pursed lips. You ran back and forth to get your manuscript for reference. After minutes of thinking, you wrote it down, occasionally drawing a line through a sentence and scribbling out some words. You handed the notepad to Wooyoung and fidgeted with your fingers.

“Better now?” You looked at him, trying to assess his reaction.

He scanned the small passage. His eyes and mouth was wide. Shivers went up Wooyoung’s spine. He could feel goosebumps rise up on his skin. His breath was taken away.

The room was dimly lit and dead silent. She was strapped to the table. Her mouth stuffed with cloth, her eyes bulging out. I studied my toolbox. Yes, the scalpel would do. A smile crept on my face as I caressed the blade. Her flesh was calling for me. Her fearful face reflected onto the blade before I cut a perfect chunk of flesh out.

He lowered his head, so you couldn’t see his face. He gritted his teeth and bit his lip. The tapping of his leg grew more agitated. It took every fiber of his being to hold his blood lust in. He finally took a deep breath, relaxed and exhaled.

You were incredible.

“Much, much better,” Wooyoung breathed out as he handed the notepad back to you. “I actually felt chills.”

“Yes! Progress!” You screamed. You tackled him, wrapping your arms around Wooyoung and resting your head against his chest. “I love you. I mean—” You quickly corrected yourself. “I love how you’re helping me. Not that I don’t love you, but like it’s way too early to say that when we’ve only known each other for a few weeks and...”

He chuckled hearing your rambles and stroked your head. You really were like a puppy learning new tricks for treats and affection. Your adorableness was such a sharp contrast to the small dark passage you had just written. Honestly, if he hadn’t known you, he would’ve thought you were the same as him.

You released him and cleared your throat. “Anyways, what else could I do to improve?” You asked.

“Not any other obvious thing I can think of.” Wooyoung put his hand to his chin and nodded. “Yeah. Your only real problems was around the deaths. You have the backstory, the motive, the mystery. And now, you have a better idea to write out deaths and you have me for details to spice it up.” He smiled and patted your head. “You’re doing a great job.”

A giggle bubbled from your throat at the praise and affection. You looked at the clock, surprised to see that it had already been past 2 pm. Did time really past that quickly?

It suddenly then dawned on you, you didn’t really know much about him. Other than his profession, you didn’t know why he was in it. Nor did you know his interests. You didn’t know anything about him personally. Wooyoung had work soon, didn’t he? Maybe you could get to know him a bit more in the little time you had left.

“Why did you decide to do forensics?” You felt Wooyoung jump up a little and he stared at you in surprise. “Um, did I accidentally ask a personal question?”

He blinked a few times before replying softly, “No... I’m just surprised you’re interested in me enough to ask. You really want to know more about me?”

“Of course.” Why didn’t he think you would be? You were slightly confused but you brushed it off.

He finally answered your question. “I was always interested in the human body. How it moved. How it functioned. The anatomy. I did so well and had such a knack for biology that a teacher told me I should try out forensics.”

“I see. Don’t answer if you don’t want to, but can you tell me about your family?”

Wooyoung frowned. Family? He looked down at his feet and back at you. His eyes widened.

What?

He stared at you. Flashes of her face merged with yours. No. She was dead. You weren’t her. Sweat beaded his forehead. His body trembled. His breath stuttered. His throat tightened. Why was it getting hard to breathe? He clenched his fist, digging his nails into his palm.

A gentle warm grasp of his hand snatched him out of his state and his eyes snapped to your alarmed eyes.

You rubbed your thumb on his clenched fist. “Are you okay?” You softly asked.

Wooyoung quickly stood up. He had to leave.

“I... I think I need to go out for a bit,” he faintly said. “Get a clear head before working.”

Without a word, Wooyoung went straight for the door. Just as he was about to step out, he almost jumped feeling your warm hand grabbing onto his arm. He turned to meet your soft, concerned eyes.

Why did those soft eyes and your warm touch start to feel so familiar now?

“I’m here for you whenever you need some comfort, you know?”

Wooyoung numbly nodded and you stared as he ran off. You groaned as he finally left your sight. Thoughts swirled through your mind as you closed the door. 

You cursed yourself. Way to go me. You royally have screwed up now.

Hopefully, this didn’t change anything between you two. You’d hate to lose him because of this.

You would have to apologize to him later. For now, you’d give him some space unless he came to you first.

[jaksfanficsaver]

Just Another Number? Chapter 3: I Can't Follow Directions.

A small smile quirked the edge of John's lips at the small kiss.

"I always am." He murmured with a nod.

"You need to stay here, Ms. Y/N," Harold began "Bear can be quite good company, he's very good listener." He chuckled, and with that the left her to her thoughts.

Y/N wondered around for a bit, Bear staying close the whole time.

"Well, what now?" She inquired to her new canine companion, the dog made a soft noise and trotted away. "There goes that." She huffed and plopped into a chair, looking up when he came back with a book. Y/N smiled at the easily recognizable red leather and gently took it while patting the space beside her. "I guess I'll read to you then." she murmured and opened the book a business card of Harold's fell out, she flipped it over quizzically and stared at the phone number scrawled on the back. She looked to the dog then back at the number and pulled out the burner that was given to her.

[Harold?]

John's phone buzzed in his pocket, he pulled it out tapping a quick response before sliding it back into place.

[Would you be disappointed if I said no?]

She bit her lip with a smile, peering over the device to her company "Did you know about the card your dad left?" she laughed lightly when he wagged his tail. Y/N sat curled with Bear in their seat reading aloud for about an hour, the canine was dozing softly as she spoke. She closed the book and stretched with a soft squeak and cleared her throat. "I need to take a break, baby." she murmured patting his head as she got up.

---

"Carter."

"Have you been able to pick out who has been stalking our art student?" Harold's voice rang through the detective's phone.

"Aside from the barista that likes her a little too much? Nothin' so far." Joss grumbled "Isn't this your job anyway?"

"While technically yes, it's a broad list of people who have threatened Ms. Y/N," he supplied.

"God, what did she do?" the woman inquired.

"She's rather into conspiracy forums," He chuckled lightly.

"Like aliens, moon landing, that kind of stuff? You're telling me someone wants to kill a tin hat crazy?"

"She's not as crazy as it sounds, Joss." John butted in.

"I hit a nerve there, John?" she teased gently. The ex-CIA agent frowned at her teasing and rolled his eyes.

"I just.. had a chance to talk to her."

"She is far from crazy, Detective Carter," Harold began "She's quite intelligent, and dangerously spot on in some of her ramblings. That is why they want her dead. Being an eccentric art type can only protect your knowing the truth for so long."

"Wait, so one of those is true?" The detective inquired incredulously.

"I am not at liberty to say, but she needs our protection."

"Sorry to break up this nice conversation, but our wacky art gal just left with the guard dog." Fusco interjected.

---

"You up for an adventure?" Y/n asked Bear, smiling when he hopped up. "I need to get a few things from my apartment, you'll keep me in one piece, right?" he barked in response.

They left the house without rush, not noticing the detective watching the house. She walked at a comfortable pace, confident in the dog that John had tasked with watching her and easily made it to her building. Y/N climbed the stairs and let herself in "It won't take too long Bear," she smiled and flitted about the apartment grabbing a notebook, some pencils and pens before she heard movement. "Bear?" the next thing she heard was the dog going wild and some shouts, she poked her head around the corner to see he had taken down one of the intruders, but the other had noticed her. "Oh shIT!" she ducked back into her room when he came running after her, Y/N launched herself over the bed and grabbed the compound off the wall and quickly knocked an arrow.

"Get back here you little bitch!" the other man came running, Bear barking after him, as soon as he rounded the corner she loosed the arrow nailing him in the shoulder. Not a moment later John and Carter came bursting through the front door with guns drawn, Joss cuffed the first man while John rounded to check the bedroom and found Y/N with another arrow ready and pointed at the door.

"It's me, Y/N," John murmured raising his hands while he pressed his foot on the downed man's shoulder beside the wound. She gently eased the string back and un-knocked the arrow, sliding it back into the quiver.

"Is she okay?" Detective Carter called out joining the two.

"Yes, and proficient with a compound bow." He chuckled lightly.

"Okay... Aim was a little off?" Joss inquired.

"No, I didn't want to kill him." She shrugged, smiling when Bear came trotting back beside her "He did a good job," She smiled up to John as she pat the dog's head.

"Where'd you learn that?" The detective was impressed

"4-H."

---

"What kind of 4-H teaches you to use a bow?" Fusco questioned over his container of fried rice to the h/c woman sitting cross legged across from him.

"The kind from a town where everyone grows up knowing how to protect yourself," she murmured through her noodles "I'm even better with a rifle, I just couldn't get to it in time" she shrugged offhandedly as she dug around for a water chestnut and grinning triumphantly as she found one, Lionel made a noise and scraped his into her container.

"Remind me to never make you mad," he laughed and shook his head,

"Noted," nodding in thanks for the vegetables.

"So what kind of things do you like to draw?" He asked trying to keep the conversation going.

"The lizard people who run the government." She stated without missing a beat, grinning when he froze "I'm kidding, Detective-"

"Lionel."

"Lionel," She sat down her pencil and closed her book before sliding it across the table to him "You can look if you want." she shrugged. He sat down his fork and wiped off his hands before carefully pulling it closer. Fusco flipped through a few pages of stylized characters and photo-realistic birds.

"wow.." he mumbled as he continued to a portrait of a friend of yours and a few more birds "these are impressive," he glanced up for a moment before flipping another page and pausing to look at her, she kept her eyes into her takeout box, "I think this is the best I've ever seen Wonder Boy look." a small flush hit her cheeks at the comment as he flipped to the next page and found sketches of Carter, Harold and himself.

"How long do you think I'll have to hide?" she changed the subject glancing up at him.

"Dunno, it depends on who's really after you." he shrugged "Might be this group, Vigilance."

"Vigilance? I've heard about them in my forums, they're some radical group right? why would they want me?" she paused, crinkling her nose.

"Don't know that either, sweetheart." He sighed out and passed the book back across the table. She shrugged and continued with her drawing of Bear.

Taglist

@sarcasticbitch8

[cookiecuttercritter]

Live Action

In this tribute to artists, dreamers and anime, an autistic daydreamer and a disillusioned baker have a falling out once it’s revealed that the latter has been stealing the former’s art.

Word count: ~3000 (15 screenplay pages)

AN: Happy Autism Acceptance Month, everyone!! Nat is a Japanese-American middle-grader who’s special interest is character art. I’m still learning so please don’t hesitate to let me know if I got anything wrong!

FADE IN:

EXT. REVERIE

Grainy paper and granite-dust fingerprints. A line darts across the frame -- a horizon.

Bits of debris and rubble materialize, populating the landscape. They're partially formed and crude, as if scrawled with an impatient hand.

AURORA, 14, reluctant yet stalwart, stands with her eyes glued to the top of an off-kilter skyscraper. She casts off a tattered seafoam fur-lined coat, raises her hands, conjures ethereal snowflakes between her palms -

She's HIT in the shoulder! She gasps, her ice magic dissipates. She jumps back -- a burnt yellow, amorphous projectile plunges itself into her winter boot, CEMENTING HER TO THE SIDEWALK. It's superheated, she's burned. She screams. Aurora looks back up at the tower, all dismay and pleading eyes now.

               AURORA    Vanilla, please! -

Atop the slanted skyscraper, VANILLA, 13, stands proud, her face hidden in shadow. Her magical girl outfit is decked out with yellow ribbons. She's pulling amber hot sugar with her bare hands, stretching and twisting the strands into a thin baton, which she holds out to cool in the falling snow.

               AURORA    You don't have to -

Vanilla snaps the candy cane over her knee, producing two spear-tipped halves. She levitates the shards to either side of her, takes aim...

Vanilla turns and walks away, leaving the broken shards to JAVELIN toward a defenseless, wide-eyed Aurora -

               AURORA      VANI -

           SMASH CUT TO:

INT. NAT'S BEDROOM - MORNING

NAT's eyes snap open. Soft mint bed sheets rustle in the morning light.

AMANDA, 40, Nat's mother, hollers from beyond the door.

               AMANDA (O.S.)    Nat! Get up already, you're gonna be late again!

Nat just whines in response.

MONTAGE:

- She shoves a sketchbook in her backpack.

- Zips her bag up.

- She pulls on a pastel turquoise sweater.

- She kicks unfinished sketches under her bed, where they join a slew of coloring pencils, markers, gel pens, and old sketchbooks brimming with stick people.

               NAT (V.O.)    My name is Nat Okura. I'm 14 years old. I'm in the 8th grade. And there's something about me that no one -- and I mean, no one -- can know about.

- She stands in her doorway adjusting the straps of her backpack. Her room is plastered wall-to-wall in drawings of cartoons, lined and colored, crude yet dynamic, the very style that came alive in her Reverie. She shuts the door.

- TOAST! She tries to pluck it fresh from the toaster, drops it, hisses with pain.

- Spreads jam on toast.

- Jams toast in her mouth.

MONTAGE END.

INT. FRONT DOOR - MORNING

Nat slips into her shoes at the front door, toast between her teeth.

Amanda descends upon the scene. She's firm but well-meaning. She plucks the bread from Nat's mouth.

               AMANDA    Don't do things in parts or people will get confused. You have to commit.

She pulls Nat in for a hug. Nat stiffens at the sudden contact, she waits out the hug rather than reciprocating.

               AMANDA    Have fun, darling.

EXT. CITY STREET - DAY

Nat speedwalks down the street, making anxious faces and whispering to herself under her breath.

               NAT    "I just wanted to be... somebody..." "I know you did, but one of these days, you're gonna have to learn to be happy with the hand you're dealt..." "One of these..." "One of these days -

An L train RUSHES by, rumbling noisily.

A sound effect bubble RIPS across her path in tandem with the speeding train, 'TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK' etc.

Nat shutters to a stop, takes a step back, narrowly dodging the bubble. It vanishes once the train's passed.

She's tapped on the shoulder. It's MELODY, 13, playing the tap-the-opposite-shoulder prank. Nat falls for it. Melody beams.

               MELODY    See you in class, Aoi-chan!

She zips away, light on her feet, small yet assured in her oversized yellow hoodie. She threads under the L tracks.

FLASHBACK:

INT. L STATION - NIGHT

Amanda pulls a YOUNG NAT, 8, along. College students chatter, music blares from an unseen source, trains pull up and jet off. Text bubbles pops up with each cacophonous addition. They crowd out the already-stifling space. No one else senses them.

Nat wrenches her hands from her mother's and covers her ears, screws her eyes shut. Amanda urges her on, it doesn't work. Amanda grows frustrated, people are starting to look.

Suddenly, Nat is GRABBED from behind and pulled into a hug. She SHRIEKS. It's just a YOUNG MELODY, who lets go immediately.

               YOUNG MELODY    I'm sorry! I'm sorry!

PREEYA, Melody's mom, pulls her away.

               PREEYA    Apologies, she has so much energy...

Nat peers at Melody.

FLASHBACK END.

               NAT    "Tch. You're gonna be late."

Nat forges on toward school. The real world and her Reverie mesh together. Melody, receding into the distance, resembles Vanilla without any of the magical girl embellishments.

A colossal Beast with an untamed mane hidden in shadow rises above the school.

Nat -- Aoi -- transforms into Aurora with a wave of her hand and a burst of light. She parkours effortlessly up to the L, sticking a three-point landing on top of the moving train.

New tracks materialize, redirecting Aurora toward the school, straight toward the monster.

She brandishes a blade, seemingly out of thin air. She leaps off the train, rising impossibly high, swings her sword with a flurry of conjured snowflakes -

INT. CLASSROOM - DAY

Nat blinks. She's back at her desk and she doesn't like it one bit. Her knee bounces restlessly.

Down one side of her lined notebook, there's some 8th grade biology nonsense about the freezing point of water. On the opposite page, she's doodled a katana and written under it, 'SLICICLE?!' and, 'SNOWDROP' and finally, 'SILVER STORM', which is underlined and circled several times.

She sighs, ignoring the lecture, slides her notebook aside, revealing her sketchbook underneath. She starts sketching Aurora posing with her blade.

INT. SCHOOL HALLWAY - DAY

Nat sits on the ground, leaning against her locker, sketchbook propped upright against her knees so as to hide the contents from milling extras. She sketches frantically, head bowed, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

Wispy shadows lash out at her from under the lockers. She glares at them and they scatter.

Melody approaches from the other end of the hall. She chats up other students as she passes, tackle-hugs a few, shares a secret fistbump with one, plays tap-the-opposite-shoulder with free abandon. She pulls to a stop before Nat.

               MELODY    'Sup.

Nat shuts her sketchbook sharply, looks up briefly, then breaks eye contact like it burned.

FLASHBACK:

INT. FRONT DOOR - NIGHT

Amanda answers the front door. Young Melody shoves a tray of brownies in her face. Preeya is there too.

INT. NAT'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Young Nat sits on the floor of her room fidgeting and doodling stick people. Melody creeps over, fully intent on watching. The door's been left open, and Preeya and Amanda are sat in the living room beyond.

               PREEYA    She made those herself, you know? It was all her idea.

               AMANDA    Such a sweet girl.

Melody offers Nat a brownie.

               YOUNG MELODY    Sorry for trying to hug you. I should've asked first.

Nat merely slides her sketchbook back and away.

Melody blinks, bemused, stuffs the brownie in her own mouth.

               AMANDA        (sighing)    Sometimes she doesn't understand what peoples' words mean. Takes things literally. She can be so cold sometimes.

Nat looks up slightly at this, registering it, goes back to drawing. Melody scoots right up to Nat, points at a teal-haired pencil-sketched girl.

               YOUNG MELODY    Is that you?

Nat tries to withdraw but Melody holds the sketchbook fast. Nat squirms as she answers.

               YOUNG NAT    It's Aoi.

               YOUNG MELODY    Aoi?

Nat writes it out in English then in hiragana. Melody watches raptly. And then:

               YOUNG MELODY    Can you draw me?

FLASHBACK END.

Back to the school hallway.

               NAT    Hey.

               MELODY    You good? Wanna head to class?

Nat stands, her open backpack tips upside down, spilling colorful stationary and loose papers EVERYWHERE.

Melody calmly helps pick stuff up but Nat scrambles to shove everything back in her bag, hating every passing second. Text bubbles pop up to accompany her halfhearted mutterings: 'PEOPLE ARE WATCHING...', 'EVERYONE'S STARING AT ME', etc.

She shoulders her bag and speedwalks away.

In her haste, she'd forgotten her sketchbook, which Melody holds up.

               MELODY    Hey Natty -

But it's too late. She's vanished.

Melody's puzzled expression morphs to one of determination. She alone understands the power of the artifact in her hand.

INT. MELODY'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

She rushes over to her desk, switches on the desk lamp, flips open the sketchbook, whips out her phone, snaps off a few photos.

INT. SCHOOL HALLWAY - DAY

Melody mills about a water fountain with JUNE and ANNA, two other students. They're flipping through Nat's sketchbook.

               ANNA    Mel, you drew all of these?

               MELODY    Um. Yup.

               JUNE    What? I had no idea you were a drawer!

Nat marches up to greet Melody, small and skittish. She takes one look at the sketchbook in Melody's hands, stops dead in her tracks. Her mouth falls open. She turns tail and storms back the way she came.

Melody traces Nat's wake as if shocked out of a trance.

EXT. CITY STREET - DAY

Nat marches home, under the L and back.

               NAT    "How could you betray me like that?! I trusted you!"... "I trusted you..."

Behind her, a shadow grows. She glances back. The beast engulfing the school SPROUTS ABOUT A MILLION EYES. They blink in unsettling syncrony. They turn on Nat.

With an assured flick of her wrist, she disappears in a flash of light and reemerges as Aurora, bringing her Reverie to the waking world.

The Beast advances, sluggish yet chilling. Aurora ICE-BLASTS IT IN THE FACE, but to no avail. The amorphous shadows SWAMP HER, blotting out the screen.

Aurora BURSTS from the darkness, gasping for air! She hacks uselessly with Silver Storm before being pulled under again.

INT. MELODY'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

It's dark. Melody flips through the sketchbook. Nat's drawn Aurora and Vanilla in the same poses and situations over and over again. She frowns.

Light washes in from the living room through the open door. Suddenly, a silhouette. Hand-drawn and grainy. Yellow ribbons.

               VANILLA    What were you thinking? You know she doesn't like it when people look at her art before it's done.

Melody looks up briefly, then back to the sketches

               VANILLA    What're you gonna say to her? How are you gonna look her in eye and say, what? That you're sorry?

               MELODY    You -- they're my characters too.

           CUT TO:

OVER BLACK;

The satisfying rustle of pages flipping in rapid succession.

               YOUNG MELODY (V.O)    What happens after they beat the Beast?

               YOUNG NAT (V.O.)    They go back and they do it again the next day.

           SMASH CUT IN:

INT. MELODY'S BEDROOM - MORNING

Yellow morning light floods Melody's bedroom. Her eyes snap open.

               MELODY (V.O.)    Let's take it from the top. My name is Melody Kumar and I'm 13 years old.

INT. LIVING ROOM - MORNING

Melody yawns, stepping into the living room, pulling on her yellow hoodie. She sneaks by her brother, SHIVAM, 17, who's passed out on the couch, game controller in hand. She sidles up to the front door, dejected.

MONTAGE:

- Preeya clicks her tongue.

               PREEYA    My sweet little girl, why can’t you be more like your brother?

- Melody glowers at her homework. Behind her, Shivam plays a game, headphones on, shouting occasionally.

               MELODY (V.O.)    What’s so great about him?

- She glances up from a tin of cupcakes to catch her brother and mother hugging. She pays them no mind, goes back to piping frosting.

               MELODY (V.O.)    I was never gonna be the favorite child. So whatever, I found people who would like me the way I am.

- Young Melody hands out homemade cookies at school.

- Snap to earlier in the week: Melody chatting up multiple cliques, stopping before Nat.

               MELODY (V.O.)    But they don't give medals for being nice.

MONTAGE END.

Standing framed by the front door, she stuffs Nat's sketchbook in her bag.

               MELODY (V.O.)    I needed a real talent. I know I can be more than -

Voices echo in her head:

               AMANDA (V.O.)    ... Such a sweet girl.

               PREEYA (V.O.)    My sweet little girl...

Her face falls just as she’s pulling back the door.

               MELODY (V.O.)    And yet...

FLASHBACK:

INT. NAT'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Young Nat lies on the floor penciling in eyes, hair, a skirt. Young Melody inches closer to look. Nat pulls the notebook away. Moments later, she lays the book flat, revealing a candy-themed magical girl in a yellow costume. She points.

               YOUNG NAT    It’s you.

               YOUNG MELODY    Oh, I don’t know if I’m cut out to be a magical girl.

               YOUNG NAT    Are you kidding me? You’re the nicest person I know. Everyone wants to be friends with you and you put others before yourself. You’re the perfect magical girl.

               YOUNG MELODY    I guess. If you say so.

Nat spins the book back around, chews on the end of her pencil.

               YOUNG NAT    ... "Vanilla."

FLASHBACK END.

INT. NAT'S BEDROOM - DAY

Nat's scrunched up in a corner of her room, hugging a plush polar bear to her chest. She nudges a half-finished drawing of Vanilla, back turned and lording atop a spire, away with her foot.

She's been drawing lots. Her room is covered classic crumpled paper balls and doodles spanning at least three different kinds of paper, some half-colored, half-inked, half-baked.

               NAT (V.O.)    "Don't do things in parts or people will get confused. You have to commit." I don't think this is what she meant, but what do I know? Sometimes I don't understand what peoples’ words mean.

Knock-knock. She pushes the bubbles away. Knock-knock. There it is again. Bubbles fill the room. Nat shrinks in on herself until the congestion becomes unbearable. She stands.

INT. OKURAS' APARTMENT - DAY

NAOKI, Nat's father, 45, stands before Nat's bedroom door with Melody by his side. He's a fidgety sort of fellow, bursting with nervous energy. He speaks as if picking each word with great deliberation.

               NAOKI    She’s been like this for 3 days. She won't talk to us.

Melody raps on the door. Nothing.

               MELODY    Can I try talk to her alone?

Naoki leaves.

               MELODY    Thank you, Mr. Okura!        (leaning toward door)    Nat, are you there? Nat, I'm sorry -

           INTERCUT WITH:

INT. NAT'S BEDROOM - CONTINUOUS

Nat, inches from the door, starts to back down.

               MELODY (O.S.)    ... Aoi-chan?

Nat stops, inhales sharply -

           INTERCUT WITH:

EXT. REVERIE

Close on Aurora's face. She's silhouetted, shrouded in darkness.

               AURORA    I fight every day to live in this world that's not meant for me. And still, you feel the need to make it harder for me.

               MELODY    It's not like that! I-I wasn't thinking straight. I deleted everything, set the record straight -- I told everyone who really drew the art! Look, I brought your book! It'll never happen again -- Nat, are you still there? Nat?!

She puts a hand to Nat's door, rests her head against the wood. She sighs.

               MELODY (V.O.)    Vanilla turns back. She can't believe her eyes, can't believe she ever did that.

Vanilla does just that. She descends the tilted skyscraper bit by bit.

               VANILLA    I'm ...sorry? I can't say I know how you feel, but... I know why you fight the Beast.

Nat's eyes snap open at this. She's leaning against her side of the door, exhausted.

               MELODY (O.S.)    The Beast isn't there to remind you there's bad in the world. You already know that

It's revealed that Vanilla's sugar spears missed Aurora by mere inches. Aurora is unharmed but infuriated nonetheless.

Vanilla vanishes the pulled sugar with a wave of her hand. Aurora stumbles, her foot having suddenly been freed. Vanilla catches her.

               VANILLA    You fight the beast so that you know that you can. Over and over again. Every day. And I don't wanna watch you fight alone anymore. Melody leans against her side of the door.

               AURORA        (too quiet for Vanilla to hear)    So it turns out we both have a little sugar and ice in us.

               MELODY    What was that? Na -- Aoi-chan, are you still with me?

Nat silently nods.

Melody takes a deep breath. The Reverie overtakes them both. Vanilla and Aurora stand back-to-back, as if preparing for battle. They're done this a thousand times before but this time, it's devoid of the fanfare. They're both tired.

               VANILLA    You let me into your world.

The Reverie recedes.

           MATCH CUT TO:

Melody and Nat standing back to back with the bedroom door separating them.

               MELODY    Won't you let me stay? Even if we both know the live action will never be as good?

Nat cracks her door open.

           END INTERCUT.

Melody holds her arms open wide.

               MELODY    Permission?

Nat nods and Melody goes in for the hug. This time, Nat reciprocates.

               MELODY    Nakama?

               NAT    ... Nakama.

They breathe again.

           SMASH CUT TO:

INT. NAT'S BEDROOM - MORNING

Nat's eyes snap open.

MONTAGE:

- Nat kicks unfinished art under her bed where it joins a mass of other unpolished pieces, including but not limited to comic pages of Vanilla turning against Aurora.

- Melody puts yellow ribbons in her hair

- Nat pulls on her signature green sweatshirt.

- Melody snaps pictures of her homemade breakfast scones.

- Nat slips into her shoes. Amanda comes up from behind and shoves her sketchbook in her backpack. She asks Nat if she's okay with a hug today and Nat nods. They embrace.

MONTAGE END.

EXT. CITY STREET - DAY

Melody darts to catch up with Nat on the way to school. She's got a jam-slathered slice of scone sticking out of her mouth, which Nat appraises, then -

               NAT    You're kidding me, right?

Melody shrugs, takes a bite, holds the scone in her hand.

               MELODY    Are we gonna do this or what?

A monstrous shadow creeps toward them.

Nat nods. She flicks her wrist, she and Melody vanish in a burst of light -

Grainy paper scenery. Aurora and Vanilla pose back-to-back, smirking. Vanilla pulls molten sugar into a whip and Aurora swings Silver Storm at the screen -

           CUT TO BLACK.

[doctortreklock]

Drawing with the Dead - September 25, 2019

Part of my Resolution19. Read it on AO3.

Prompt: "Do you believe in ghosts?" (x)

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Words: 1610

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

Clint's head jerked up from where he had been bent over his sketchpad. He hastily pulled the headphones off his ears and looked to his left to see a man sitting on the short wall next to him watching him sketch. "Uh, I'm sorry?" he tried.

The man smiled. It was a nice smile, Clint noted absently. "I was asking if you believe in ghosts," he repeated.

"Not so much," Clint told him with a easy grin. "I have a hard enough time believing in what's in front of me sometimes."

The man hummed and looked like he was giving Clint's off-the-cuff answer serious thought. 

"What about you?" Clint asked quickly. It didn't seem like the man was going to be leaving soon, and if Clint were being honest, he didn't mind the company. It seemed like this end of campus got pretty dead after nine o'clock and he could use the break from sketching.

"I've found that at a certain point, believing becomes unavoidable," the man told him slowly, as if picking his words carefully.

Clint scoffed playfully and adjusted the shading on his rendition of the abstract sculpture in the middle of the art building's atrium. "Seen a lot of ghosts, then?" he asked, sliding his gaze back over to the man.

He couldn't really help it. The man sitting by him was plain, almost the dictionary definition of "unassuming," but there was something about him that Clint liked. Maybe it was the confident, quiet way he held himself, his kind blue eyes, or the well-fitted - if slightly old-fashioned - suit he was wearing. Or maybe it was just the way his lightly lined face and receding hairline played into Clint's predilection for handsome older men.

The smile that played around the man's lips twisted wryly. "Something like that, yes," he said.

"So," Clint drawled, waggling his eyebrows outrageously. "Come here often?" If he asked as ridiculously as possible, he could brush it off as a joke if need be.

From the smirk that tugged at the corners of the man's mouth, Clint didn't think he'd have to downplay the question. "Would you believe me," he asked, "if I told you I didn't get out much and that this was the only place I'd been in a very long time?"

For a moment, Clint wasn't sure if he was serious or not, but the upturned corner of the man's mouth was enough to convince him that it had just been very, very dry humor.

Clint snorted and the other man seemed pleased that he had recognized it as a joke.

"I'm Clint," Clint said, twisting in his seat so he could offer the man his right hand and a dazzling smile. "Clint Barton. Do you want to get a drink with me?" What the hell, might as well, right?

"Phil Coulson," the man said politely, making no move to take Clint's hand. "And I'm afraid I can't, as much as I would like to. Unfortunately, incorporeality does have its drawbacks." He sounded honest-to-god regretful about it.

Well that had stung a bit more than anticipated. Clint drew back quickly and used his outstretched hand to rub the back of his neck. "Ouch," he half-joked. "That's a new one." He glanced over at the sculpture in the center of the atrium again and tried to focus on the lines he'd been sketching.

"Excuse me?" The man - Phil - sounded baffled, but Clint didn't look over to see if his expression matched his tone.

"It's just that usually when a guy doesn't want to go out with me, he just says no." The curve at the top was actually a little rounder than he'd drawn in his sketchbook, Clint noted absently. "He doesn't pretend he's a ghost."

Phil didn't say anything for a moment, so Clint brought his pencil back up with his left hand to gently correct the shape. He'd barely started, though, when a movement caught the corner of his eye. Phil had leaned in and placed one hand gently on Clint's elbow.

Normally, that wouldn't be cause for alarm. However, normally, Clint would have sensed someone leaning into his personal space. And normally, he'd be able to feel where Phil's hand rested on his arm.

Clint stared at the place where his eyes were telling him Phil Coulson was touching him and his arm was telling him Phil damn well was not. His lifted his right hand hesitantly and placed it over Phil's fingers. If Phil were a tangible, physical person, Clint would be clutching at his hand like an Austen heroine. As it was, his fingers hovered over space his eyes were insisting shouldn't be empty before he laid his fingers flat on his own arm.

Immediately, a cold tingle rushed through his hand, instantly putting it to sleep, pins and needles and all.

Clint swore and pulled his hand back abruptly. Phil flinched away as well. Clint shook his hand a few times and swore again as the pins and needles played havoc with his pain perception. "Sorry," he managed, flexing his hand twice to try and dispel the sharp tingling.

"No need to apologize," Phil said. "It's hardly the first time."

He sounded sad. Clint looked over at him to find Phil inspecting his own hand. There was a slump to his shoulders that he could have sworn hadn't been there a few minutes earlier.

"Hey," Clint said softly, his own fading pain forgotten. If Phil had been physical, Clint would have bumped shoulders with him. (Then again, if Phil had been physical, Clint wouldn't have needed to.) "You okay?"

Phil straightened up. "Of course." He straightened his cuffs, carefully not looking in Clint's direction.

Clint had just opened his mouth to say something reassuring (what, he had no idea), when his phone buzzed. Since there were only a few people who might have been texting him this late at night, he pulled his phone out and glanced at it. It was an SOS from Nat.

Before he could have a heart attack (and, boy, wasn't that joke less funny with apparently an honest-to-god ghost sitting right next to him), a second text came through. Apparently she and Bucky had just entered one of the "off" phases of their on-and-off relationship and his presence was required.

Clint sighed and muttered, "Great timing there, Nat." He shot her a quick acknowledgement and looked back over at Phil, who seemed to be attempting to memorize the abstract sculpture if the intensity of his gaze was any indication. His shoulders were stiff.

"Sorry," Clint apologized, closing his notebook and starting to put his drawing supplies back in his backpack. "My best friend just broke up with her boyfriend again and could use some help practicing her knife throwing."

Now Phil just looked concerned. "Are you sure that's the safest..." He trailed off.

Clint didn't notice; he was half-bent-over, trying to squeeze the sketchpad into his backpack. "Nah, it's fine. I was in the circus and I think she was a Russian assassin in a previous life, so we've got it covered." He straightened up and stood, swinging his bag onto his shoulder. "Anyway, I should really be heading out." He hesitated. "Will I see you again?"

Phil was staring at the backpack slug over one shoulder. "You're a student?" he asked faintly.

"Uh, yeah," Clint frowned. "Just started a couple weeks ago." Phil's expression was becoming increasingly dismayed. Clint hitched his bag higher and tried not to let it get to him.

"I usually only talk to the professors," Phil explained. "I thought you were older. An artist-in-residence at the very least." He looked distressed.

Clint had the sinking feeling that now Phil wouldn't want to get a drink with him even if he were physically capable of it. "It's cool," he lied. "I know I'm a bit older than the typical freshman. It was the circus," he added, desperate to explain. "They weren't big on traditional schooling and I had to take some extra time to get caught up." Clint focused on the floor of the atrium and hoped his face wasn't as warm as it felt. Did he really try to reassure the handsome ghost haunting the art building that he wasn't too young to hang out with because he'd been too stupid to get into college at 18?

"Clint."

Clint glanced up again and Phil looked uncomfortable. Before he could say anything, the phone in his hand buzzed again.

"I've got to go," Clint said. "Apparently Nat needs Rocky Road to go with her target practice." He tried to give Phil a smile, but he was pretty sure it came out sad and wonky. "Anyway," he added unnecessarily.

Phil didn't say anything, so Clint took that as his cue to go.

"Clint," Phil said again.

Clint turned back to see him standing next to the low wall where the pair had been sitting. He looked decisive. "Yeah?"

"I can't get a drink with you," the ghost of Phil Coulson told him. "But I would enjoy talking to you again, if that's something you would like." He held Clint's gaze steadily, but Clint could have sworn he saw a hint of a blush on the top of his cheeks.

Clint gave Phil another smile, this one wider and more sincere. "I'd like that."

They looked at each other across the atrium for a moment before Clint threw a hand in the air in a jaunty wave and turned to go. "See you around, Phil," he called.

He didn't look back, but Clint could have sworn he heard an affectionate sigh behind him.

[peacefulwriter88]

Part One: Carried Away in A Chariot

Steve Rogers X Reader WoC, Bucky X Reader WoC

Warnings: None

A/N: This will be in three parts and was inspired by Hades & Persephone Mood board. This occurs after the snap where I optimistically believing Steve survives but how he deals with the PTSD. Half of this, like always, is inspired by @geminimoonbeamx and the other has been on my mind after the Endgame trailer.

How do you kill a god?

You rob them of love and loyalty. They will be alone and unhappy, and eternity will seem like a punishment, but it is not death.

                        - Hera, Queen of the Gods

Disappointment hung over him like a cloud, followed him everywhere. Before it was just his psyche that was attacked by the darkness that loomed over him, promises of death that echoed in his subconscious when he slept; images that haunted his mind when he closed his eyes.

Now he carried it like a weight, burdened on his back as he sloppily navigated through the world. He had no desires anymore.

Life had given him the gift of death. To have to breathe it everyday, bear witness to its effect without the power to change the outcomes. He felt like a ferryman, responsible for the living souls of today with the  promised that he’d have to kiss them goodbye tomorrow. He was death on earth, walking in flesh form and he didn’t know how to console it

And yet he stayed.

No matter how much he fought, no matter whatever the evil was that he had to attack it was death that eluded him - not life. And when he had fixed all that had shifted wrong, turned dust back into bone and flesh, to rewind time and save the world from genocide he still remained.

And thus the disappointment lingered.

He was a walking god of the underworld.

“Perhaps you just need to get away?” Natasha had suggested one evening, walking down the cold narrow streets of New York that no longer held the same color. Now he only saw drab colors of black and blue that tarnished his eyesight, burdened his shoulders.

“Go where? I feel like I spent five years getting away. I’m tired of running. I’m tired.”

Natasha didn’t know the answer.

“Maybe you stop….stop being Captain America Steve. You don’t have to be the man that saves the world all the time.”

This time from Bucky who sat across from him in a coffee shop, the a cup of hot coffee cradling his vibranium and flesh arm as his eyes flickered around the cafe. Eight months after the snap and his friend was operating and functioning like nothing had ever occurred. Despite the explanations that Steve had to communicate with him and the others - how he and a few others had to watch his friend disappear in front of his own eyes - Bucky remembered nothing. Nor Sam or Tony or  T’challa or anyone. Instead, they jumped back into their roles head first, like nothing had ever been wrong.

It made Steve snap.

“Right. So I can sit her and broad more. No thank you.”

He looks out the window at the snow, blistery and wet and painting the streets with its evidence. He hated this time of year, hated when the cold weather moved from being nostalgic and romantic and just became a nuance. It was the kind of snow that was light and consistent, black residue sticking to the roads, splashing onto the concrete sidewalks and the annoyed New Yorker’s who were stuck walking to and from their destination in the wet coldness.

Bucky sighs, Steve knows he wants to tell him something but the bell in the cafe rings again, causes the super soldier to shift his eyes over to the door - to the line where you stood. Steve doesn’t have to look behind him to know that it's you - he can faintly smell your perfume of flora above the smell of milk and coffee. Can hear the soft sounds of Tchaikovsky blare from your headphones, the sound of you pulling off your mitts.

“You should just ask her out.” Steve says lowly and Bucky ducks his head, takes a sip of his coffee.

“No way Steve.”

Steve shrugs,

“Life’s too short to - “ he stops himself, chuckles. What did it matter - Bucky wasn’t going to ask you and Steve stopped caring enough to urge his friend.

“She’d never go for it.” Bucky echoes like he always does, low morose tone and all.

Steve picks up his coffee, takes a sip.

“Your loss.”

He doesn’t understand how one can love something so strongly and yet be annoyed by it. Humanity was wearing on him. Their laughter, their remorse, their desires and their laments. Sam moved out of the tower, decided to get an apartment in uptown and Steve only decided to move in after having to deal with his co-workers for a year after the snap.

They were tiresome.

Tony may have actually lost his fucking mind. Steve wouldn’t put it past the older man - isolated in space for weeks on the verge of starvation sounded like enough to make any one human break into two and Tony was always heavily affected by his emotions. Natasha stoically operated through the world like nothing had ever occurred and for some reason that annoyed him. Wanda walked around in depressive remorse - Vision was gone and gone for good. He didn’t’ know how to tell her that it was the consequence of power - to be given a gift and robbed of loved. Bucky was so love strung over you that it was the last straw for Steve - he had to get out.

Brooklyn wasn’t his Brooklyn so he claimed Astoria with Sam like his own.

It worked out nicely for the pair of them.

He still walked the 17 blocks to the coffee shop he liked to sit at, the black coffee perfectly bitter and warm - the residents not giving him any mind. The Captain America in their mind had died when he saved the world and the man that was operating was foreign to them. He was okay with that. It gave him silence, the refuge he needed.

He does this consecutively for weeks, winter changing into spring,  spring into autumn and autumn into winter. Goes through the motions, alone, a cup of coffee and pencil and pad in his possession that he never touches.

That’s before the shift.

It’s in April and it's cold outside though spring has already tried to combat the winter cold. Buds growing on trees, wind blowing dead grass away to make room for new.  He sits, like he always does in the cafe, alone. His phone lights up, a few texts from Bucky and Sam - a voicemail from Natasha but it doesn’t matter. He wants to draw again, wants the breath of inspiration that allows him to see things - people and humans beyond an ash colored lens but he’s frozen.

He looks over at the ivory paper of his sketch notebook, blank minus the charcoal pencil that laid on top of it and sighs, his hands itching to pick up the drawing device but knowing it was to no avail.

The bell of the cafe door rings, his ears pick up on it and he’s rewarded with your perfume again. Jasmine, it's intoxicating and sweet but he doesn’t turn his head, doesn’t look your way. In fact, he had no idea what you looked like. Identified you only by the sweet smell of your perfume - he hadn’t cared enough to look behind him the first time that Bucky had identified you and all the times after.

You were just background noise.

Except today your smell nears him, dangerously close, until he feels the warmth of your body emanating off of you and you hesitate before you clear your throat,

“Excuse me I don’t mean to interrupt but…..would you mind sharing the table?”

He looks up at you and is greeted with the sun.

Your smile is soft, friendly and your eyes are wide and dangerous, the dark pink tinge of your lipstick a contrast to the hue of your skin, brightens it. Your hair pulled up into a bun, hands holding a book and cup of tea safely.

“Or not. Its justs…...really crowded in here and I’d much rather share a table with you than the old man who is licking his lips at me.”

He stares at you, unable to find words but nods, shifts his notebook to make room for you.

“Thank you,” you move into the seat fluidly, delicately before you place your bag near your leg. A long sliver of pink silk slips out, a sliver of a ballet shoe that you tuck back into the bag before you open your book. “Promise I won’t bother you. Just here to read for a bit.”

And you don’t. He spends the hour watching you, probably borderline ass creepy as Bucky stares out at you and you’re none the wiser, head bent over your book as you sip your tea until it's gone. Then you gather your things, thank him for sharing the table and your gone.

Despite your absence, your smell lingers and he feels something stir in him. It's not until hours later, when he’s standing on his balcony in the safety of darkness that he realizes that its longing.

And that he wants to see you again.

You don’t show up to the cafe for three days and its three days enough that tells him to let you go. That no good come from his new interest. He was a broken man and you were life. Better not to drag you down in flames.

‘Besides, Bucky was in love with you’ he tells himself but he knows that he doesn’t care about that, not really. He had started drawing again. Vivid drawings of the events of the past, dark and treacherous and life like.

“Those are kinda freaky aren’t they Steve?” Sam had noted, looking over the large super soldiers frame one evening and drinking the vivid imagery of the death of  Thanos, noting the rest of the Avengers.

“It's what happened isn’t it?” Steve says lowly and Sam nods, walking away. The drawings were disturbing but at least his friend was drawing again. Sam was worried about Steve. He was different. Curt, abrasive, annoyed. Motivated by missions but not truly invested in the outcomes. He knew he was depressed - understood why. Sam understood that he had died - then come back none the wiser - and could understand that to experience the loss of friends where they couldn’t even remember may play a number on the psyche.

For Steve it was evolving into darkness.  

Steve is aware Sam is worried but doesn’t comment on it. Reads all the PTSD books Sam leaves around, occasionally chats with him but pretends that everything is fine. Knows it doesn’t convince Sam but honestly doesn’t care enough to put on the facade that he should. Instead, he escapes the cages of the indoors and greets spring.  The weather is bright, sunlight emerging and rain showers slowly becoming less frequent. He’s always had an infinity for Central Park but after the defeat of Thanos couldn’t stand the large, expansive area. Reminded him too much of how delicate the life balance was. Now, he liked to sit on benches for hours and watch birds emerge from their wooden sanctuaries and bunnies frolic in the budding grass - moms with babies in carriages and kids who giggle pleasantly as they run in child wonder.

When he’s done he goes to the cafe, orders his coffee, starts sketching. Shadows barely captured by light, fine details of the nightmares that haunt his mind.

“You’re drawing again,”

Your voice is sweet, your tone smooth as you ease through each syllable that slowly falls from your lips. He looks up at you, drinks in the book in hand and tea with a smile dancing on your face.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

He should say no, should leave and give you the table for yourself. But he finds himself smiling, the first time in what feels like years and it feels unfamiliar as he waves his inky hands across the table.

“Please.”

You both sit in silence,  you reading ‘A Cautionary Tale for Young Vampires’ and him drawing, sipping on your beverages pleased to be in a moment where you can step away from your day to day nuances and focus on the small pleasures.

You both order three cups each, share a large coffee cake and are asked nicely by the owner to leave before you escape back into the reality of your worlds.

“It was nice seeing you again,” you say as you walk out in the fresh night air, grabbing your phone - your headphones. “Your drawings are nice. I’m glad you’ve found your….inner-voice again. So to speak”

He nods, smiles at you once more as he drinks in your frame in the waning light. The way the orange, rose and blue blend together, highlighting your silhouette, hair pulled back as your dark eyes glisten in the light. He should pull away, take this gift for what it is and be grateful for it.

But he’s hungry for you, likes the small flame you’ve ignited in his dark heart and he finds his voice to say as you turn to walk away,

“Wait!”

It takes you both off guard and you stop, raise a brow as you look at him.

“How do you feel about zoos?”

You are the light he doesn’t realize he needs. Draws your image for five days until he sees you next.

“Who’s the girl?”  Sam asks one night, Natasha and Wanda peeping into Steve’s studio as he move onto another canvas - onto you. Sam’s happy that Steve’s moved on from the dark images of his nightmares, unable to face them in the safety of the light and Wanda and Natasha want to know who’s inspired this new mood.

“You like her,” Wanda says curiously, her psychic brain reading his betrayed thoughts and it's the first time he’s heard her be so positive. That is, until his brain betrays him and she reads the dark secret of you, tsks disappointedly. “I won’t tell him but you should care. He is your friend.”

“Tell who what?” Natasha asks, following the European redhead who walks away from him, her disappointment obvious.

She never shares.

Instead allows him to meet up with you at Central Park, to watch happy emotions play over your face. You find positivity in everything. From the zoo animals to the families who walk by, to the rain that falls on the both of you as he grabs your hand and pulls you to shelter to the nearest tree he can find as you both leave the zoo.

“This isn't safe.” you say, the dress you were wearing sticking to you. A little pink number that reminds him of a time where he was younger and weaker, the red floral design highlighting your frame. He doesn’t care that he boldly drinks in your nipples that were puckering from the cold or that he could see your panties paint your ass. .

He wants to remember how it feels to touch another human again.

“What isn’t?” he says instead.

“Hiding under a tree. We could get electrocuted. You should know this Captain America.” you laugh, exaggerating his title and though it annoys him he can’t help but give an off handed smile.

There’s a flash of lightning, followed by a dark grumble of thunder that shakes the earth and causes you to jump naturally into his arms, gripping his thick biceps as you turn and look around. He takes the moment to drink in your vulnerable features, the softness of your cheek, the length of your eyelashes as they kiss your cheek. Your arms are strong, reminds him of your dancing physique and the strength that your body carries. When the thunder  passes, rain falling heaver you turn your face up to him. Your lips are plump from you biting them in fear and raindrops fall in disarray down your face greedily and he sighs.

Angels weeped of the inception of your beauty.

“I rebuke death it would seem so if you need safety, you’ll most likely find it in my arms.”

Its meant to be a joke but he knows he fails at the delivery - humor had never been one of his stronger characteristics. You watch him curiously, tilt your head curiously before you whisper,

“Death evades us for as long as we need to learn a lesson from living.”

He’s intrigued by your thoughts but distracted by the way your face has contorted, sadness etched in your faces beauty and he wants to bend down and kiss you while he whispers against your lips that it will be okay. Instead, you break away and look off into the distance,

“I know a bit about that. When the snap happened….I lost everyone and yet I remained. And when they returned -  it was as nothing changed. My mother knew nothing that had happened to me in eight months I had learned to mourn and accept her death. She cradles me still like a child despite the fact I’ve been on my own for ten years and she still doesn’t hear the secret I whisper out into the night. That I’ve blossomed into a woman long before she left and will continue to thrive long after she’s gone.”

Your hands are warm over his arms, even through the layer of his jacket and you blink back up at him and smile,

“You didn’t need to know that. Let’s make a run for it and grab a coffee. Its three and I haven’t had my fourth cup.”

You’re gone from his embrace long before he can mourn it. He stands in wonder  as he watches the way you spritely run through the rain, turning back and smiling at him, your dress dancing along your legs.

Like morning glories that raise their petals to the rays of sunlight he’s found himself drawn to you, needing your spirit to pull out his beauty.

He’s a different man. Still dark and brooding and withdrawn, but there’s something different about him. Bucky can't put his hand on it, watches his best friend operate with the same motions but there’s just something off. He was different. Gone most of the time and even when he was around he wasn’t there. Head buried in a new book or in his sketch pad or speaking lowly on the phone. Bucky’s found leftover ticket stubs to three ballets, had no idea that the romantic in Steve still lived and took him to such shows.  

“I think he’s dating someone.” Natasha finally admits out loud as her, Sam and Bucky lay out on the living room floor one evening, high and watching constellations dance above them from the safety of the tower.

“Steve doesn’t date.” Bucky mumbles, eyes half closed and Sam pauses, hesitates,

“I’d normally agree with you Bucky but…...I don’t know. I caught him ordering flowers and he’s always gone and he’s always drawing her, the mystery woman. I swear I found a stub to the ballet but Steve denies it.”

“Holy shit,” Natasha sits up and looks at them. “So have I!”

“Me too.” Bucky agrees, intertwining his fingers together as he closes his eyes.

It’s Sam who nods and shakes his head,

“Not to mention, he comes home smelling like jasmines. Has to be a girl a woman that’s marked her scent on him.”

Bucky pauses, can’t move. His brain racks back to you -the first time that he saw you. Your scent that had caught his attention in the cafe he and Steve had learned to love. It was an autumn day and you were wearing a flowy skirt, a knit sweater covering your tank top. Ballet shoes slipping out of your bag, listening to Chopin and reading the menu of the coffee shop as the sun hit your face perfectly. You smiled at the elderly couple that asked if they could go before you, not hesitating at all as you offered your spot. You had briefly looked at him, smiled, before returning your eyes back to the menu.

“It’s Jasmine,” Steve had said underneath his breath, blue eyes temporarily meeting Bucky’s before returning out of the window, into the busy streets of New York. Voicing the question that was already on Bucky’s mind.

“She smells like Jasmine.”

Tag List:  @ssweet-empowerment@capsofwinchesters@tacohead13@harleycativy@pietrotheavenger@francezka10@papichulosebastian@obsessionsofmynerdheart@melaninmarvel@avengedqueen26@nasteaxluvgal@winterbuttmunch@nys30@buckyslongasshair@ohlumi @wellthirsted @gifsbysimplysonia @misskenni

[sparrowjaywrites]

Survive We Shall (Chapter 01: What Tomorrow Brings)

Disclaimer: All recognizable Characters, places, and plots belong to those who own the copyright for Walking Dead and Criminal Minds respectfully such as AMC and Robert Kirkman, I do not know all their names.

All new characters such as Kat, The Takers, and Kat’s original group belong to me. Please do not use them or my storyline without my permission.

Warnings:

           This story will contain foul language, nudity, sexual content, graphic violence, mentions of sexual assault, death, abuse, mentions of domestic abuse, partial depictions of sexual assault, depictions of domestic abuse, torture, suicide, depictions of suicidal thoughts, self-harm, PTSD, flash backs and much more.

           Each Chapter will have its own trigger warnings directly below this warning at the start please use these to protect yourself while you read. If there are any issues regarding this please PM me.

Standing Warnings for All Chapters: (These Warnings are used so frequently it is pointless to add them by specific chapter.

           Gore, Graphic Violence, Death, Swearing

Chapter Warnings:

           -See Standing Warnings Above-

AN:

           I started working on this story not long after season nine of Walking Dead started airing in October 2018. This story is technically a crossover between Walking Dead and Criminal Minds but the Criminal Minds characters do not actually come in besides a phone call in this chapter and mentions for at least the first 50 + chapters.

           This story is pre-written through chapter 7 and I will be posting two chapters a week for the time being. The story is structured into chapters with specific themes and story beats. Every chapter will start and end with a quote like an episode of Criminal Minds does.

          This story is also posted on my Fanfiction.net account: Creative Heart 1997, and on my A03 account: Kat_Jay_Sparrow

           With that all out of the way, enjoy the show!

Survive We Shall

Season One

Episode 01: What Tomorrow Brings

---Line Break---

           “And that’s the thing. The day before your whole life changes, forever, it feels just like any other day.” – Unknown

           Kat hummed as she walked around her kitchen making her dinner, roast beef, potatoes, onions, and gravy. Not the healthiest meal, but one of her favorites. For desert a slice of cheesecake. She’d spent the day watching shows on Netflix while working on her next book; the fourth and final instalment of the Silver Star Chronicles.

           ‘How’s the book coming?’ Kat glances at her phone reading the text from her older brother.

           ‘Good, how’s the case?’

           ‘Finished, we’re headed back to DC now. I can’t wait to sleep.’ Kat snorts at the sleeping emoji her brother adds to the end of the text. She’d recently convinced him to get a smart phone and he’d been attempting to use them whenever possible ever since.

           ‘Sleep well, Spence.’ She sends him a heart emoji and gets back to her food. Spencer lived in DC and worked for the FBI as a criminal profiler, a member of the Behavioral Analysis Unit or BAU. He’d been working there for over thirteen years now, over half of Kat’s life. She finishes her dinner settling in to finish bingeing Merlin again.

           Around six in the morning the ringing of her phone woke her. Kat blinks and rolls over with a groan ignoring the phone for a moment before sighing and picking it up.

           “Hello?”

           “Kat? Something’s happening, something bad. I need you to get to DC, as soon as you can. Pack what you want; you may not be home for a very long time. Please catch the next flight out!” Spencer’s terrified voice begs. Kat sits up in her bed putting her glasses on and glancing at her clock.

           “Spencer what’s going on?”

           “I’ll explain when you get here, just… get here.”

           “Okay, I’ll catch the next flight.” Kat agrees the fear in her brother’s voice scaring her. Spencer Reid did not scare easily, over a decade in the job he had made sure of that. So for him to sound so terrified was a bad sign.

           “Call me when you land, one of the team will pick you up. Oh, bring your gun. I love you, Katrina.”

           “I love your too, Spencer, see you in a few hours.” Kat hangs up the phone pausing to take a breath looking around her room. She takes a breath and stands rushing to pack. She grabs a duffle bag stuffing her gun and her ammo in it, she pauses before grabbing her bow locking it in its case and stuffing it and her arrows in her duffle bag as well. If she needed her gun it may come in handy, who knows, plus if she wasn’t coming back she’d want it with her. Rossi would let her practice on his property like when she was a teenager she was sure. She adds her pocket knife and Swiss army knives to the bag before dropping it by the top of the stairs.

           Next was her star trek messenger bag, her laptop, IPod, Nintendo Switch, IPad, and kindle went in there along with the cords, her spare headphones, and her phone cord. She added her sketch books, pencils, and notebooks. Her backpack was next, her favorite pictures being pulled from the walls and taken from their frames to be placed in a Ziploc baggy inside along with her favorite photo album, a Ziploc full of jewelry from her mom or members of Spencer’s team growing up, a small black stuffed cat Spencer had given her for her fifth birthday named Midnight, her high school diploma and Bachelor’s degree in creative writing, and finally the first printed copies of each of her books, seven in total.

           Last was her suit case where she tossed a few pairs of shoes, all her clean socks, underwear, and bras. A few jackets, a few pairs of jeans, shorts, t-shirts, long sleeved shirts, and tank tops. She tossed in her Harry Potter, Twilight, and Edgar Allen Poe books. Lastly she added her first aid kit, and her fifteen pairs of glasses. Kat had taken to owning a lot of different styles of glasses to go with her different outfits, something she’d picked up from Penelope a women who worked with her brother who’d been like an older sister to her since she’d met her.

           Kat pulls out her phone booking the next flight leaving for DC, frowning when the only one available before noon had a layover in Texas. She shakes her head booking the first class ticket and calling a cab. The last thing she wanted to do was leave her truck in airport parking if she didn’t know how long she’d be gone. It being the middle of the week SeaTac was surprisingly more busy than normal; the place was packed with people. Kat quickly got her boarding pass moving to check her bags, having flown with her gun enough times to know the drill.

           Kat got in line. After almost twenty minutes the woman checking bags took a call then shut down her station. Kat watched in confusion as all the terminal’s shut down. People began whispering around her.

           “Attention the state of Washington has just entered a state of emergency. Bags are no longer being checked, if we call your flight number please move to the front and you will be taken to your plane to board; please take your luggage with you. Security measures are being lifted. Thank you.”

           “What the fuck?” Kat mutters as people around her begin to panic.

           “Flight 354 to New York.” Kat watches as people join a worried looking flight attendant who leads them away a few minutes later. “Flight 356 to DC with layover in Houston?” Kat glances at her boarding pass then approaches the flight attendant who glances at her pass before nodding.

           “Uh, I have a gun and permit to carry. I normally check it, what do I do now?” Kat asks her before they head out.

           “It doesn’t matter, keep it on you. We’ve been told to just get everyone on the plane and out. The military showed up twenty minutes ago giving orders, apparently the whole country is under martial law.” The woman says as she begins leading Kat and around twenty others to their boarding gate. Kat shares a worried look with those around her. Before long they are all standing outside the gate, two soldiers stand by the doors asking people questions as they board, something about bites?

           “Ma’am has anyone attacked and or bitten or scratched you in the past twenty four hours?” Kat raises an eyebrow.

           “No… What’s going on?”

           “Please board the plane, Ma’am.” The soldier won’t look her in the eye, though she catches a look of fear before he looks away. Kat sighs but boards taking her seat. She puts her suitcase on the floor in front of the seat beside hers; knowing it won’t fit in the overhead or it was unlikely too and it certainly wouldn’t fit under the seat. She puts her messenger bag, backpack, and duffle bag on the seat with her purse on top. Kat leans her head into the aisle counting around thirty people seated in the normal section; two other people were seated in first class with her so far. Ten more people board before the doors are closed. Their where only around forty passengers it seemed, on a jet that would normally fit at least a hundred and fifty, probably more.

           “Attention passengers this is your captain speaking, please take your seats and prepare for takeoff, safety procedures will be explained once we are at cruising altitude, thank you.” Kat buckles her belt shooting a quick text to Spencer as they taxi onto the runway.

           ‘On plane, something is up, bags where not checked, they had me board with my luggage over an hour before the flight was to take off. They had me board without checking my gun even after I told them about it! They said something about martial law and a state of emergency. What is going on? We’re taking off without safety warnings, there where soldiers asking us if we’d been bitten or scratched as we boarded. I’ll text you once I have Wi-Fi and can.’

           Kat sits back in her seat staring out the window as they reach the runway; she leans over her bags to watch out the window as they take off. As they climb her view of the city widens, her stomach drops as she sees pillars of smoke rising from downtown, and what appear to be military helicopters flying that way. What the fuck was happening? Where they under attack?

           “Attention passengers this is your captain speaking, we have now reached cruising altitude, we should be reaching Houston in approximately four hours. Flight attendants will be by with drinks after they finish their safety instructions. Thank you for flying Alaska.” Kat shakes her head, why wasn’t anyone telling them anything?

           Three hours later a high pitched scream in the back of the plane dragged her attention away from her book. Kat spins around in her seat looking down her aisle along with most of the planes passengers, near the back of the plane two people had jumped up and pulled a woman from her seat. Kat unbuckles sprinting down the aisle to see a woman with what appeared to be a large bite out of the side of her shoulder. A deep guttural growling could be heard from her seat now that she was no longer screaming.

           Suddenly the woman tore herself from the men and dived back into the seat a moment later she was sitting on the floor of the aisle holding a small child in her arms as he struggled. The boy was clawing at his mother and clearly attempting to bite her again, it took Kat a moment to realize the inhuman growling was coming from the boy. One of the men leaned down to tried to pull the boy back; the boy turned his head to look at the man, Kat catching the blood smeared around the boy’s mouth even from where she was.

           “What the fuck!” The man attempts to jump back as the boy suddenly latches onto his arm and bites down viciously, tearing a chunk of skin and muscle from his arm, chewing then swallowing. Kat stumbles back in horror as people quickly back away from the boy and the now screaming man. The woman is trying to yell over the man, she pulls the boy back into her arms, trying to restrain him.

           A few seconds later the mother is dragged back from the child from behind by another passenger. As soon as she losses her grip the boy is up and stumbling down the aisle towards a woman who was leaning around the edge of her seat to look. She moves to pull back just as the boy reaches her sinking his teeth into her neck, her garbled scream joining the other horrified screams and yelling throughout the plane.

           The screams all cut off as if muted when the deafening crack of gunshot has all eyes moving from the boy to a man standing behind the mother in the aisle. Kat’s eyes flicker back to the boy… or more correctly the body of the boy lying only around fifteen feet in front of her. The woman he’d attacked was hanging out of her seat motionless, blood dripping onto the boy’s corpse.

           “NO! No, not my baby, no!” The mother shrieks. The man holding her back lets her go stumbling into the middle row of seats. The man with the gun lowers it looking a bit ill.

           “I’m Jacob Moore, air marshal.” He holds up his credentials, not that Kat could read them from where she was. “I’m sorry Ma’am but your boy was infected… I didn’t have a choice.”

           “Infected?” A man standing in the other aisle of the plane asks looking confused.

           “You… You killed my boy… my Bradley…” The mother shouts stumbling to her feet towards Moore.

           “How many of you saw the news this morning?” Three hands go up. Moore sighs running a hand through his hair. “There’s some kind of virus going around, once infected people die… they die and then they come back… they come back from the dead and eat people… like zombies, but real.” He explains his face completely serious.

           “Is that why the soldiers were asking us about bites?” A woman asks fearfully, a young toddler clutched in her arms.

           “Yes.”

           “You killed my boy!” The mother had approached Moore without anyone really noticing, or if they had they hadn’t said anything. She suddenly punches him dead in the face; snatching his gun from his belt she aims it at him as she backs herself into the row of seats behind her until her back hits the window.

��          “Ma’am he was already dead, please drop the gun.” Moore pleads from his spot on the ground slowly standing up his hands held in front of him as blood trickles down his face. The woman glares at him then presses the gun against the plane window. Kat freezes in place as her eyes widen.

           “Your all with him, he killed my boy but your listening to him.” She mutters crazily. If she pulled that trigger the plane would depressurize and they would all die.

           “Ma’am please, you’ll kill us all, yourself included.” Moore pleads his eyes wide. Kat backs down the aisle until she reaches her seat, she glances at her stuff her eyes landing on her duffle bag… she had good aim… maybe? Kat slides into her seat and slips her gun from her duffle bag quickly checking it was loaded before standing up and slowly moving down the aisle of the plane. The woman was muttering to herself now, her finger firmly on the trigger. Kat keeps the gun at her side as she gets closer. She stops a few feet from the kid’s body not willing to get too close.

           Kat grabs a magazine from the seat beside her and waves it to get Moore’s attention he glances at her. She moves the gun so he can see it and nods to the woman. Moore stares at her for a moment then nods.

           “If you don’t drop the gun we won’t have a choice but to hurt you Ma’am.” Kat takes a breath raising the gun as the woman turns to look at Moore as he talks. She flicks off the safety and lines up the shot.

           “I’ll kill all of you! You killed my Bradley. Mommy’s coming baby.” She raises the gun to the window again. Kat pulls the trigger. The woman slumps to the ground, blood spraying the wall and seats behind her. Moore quickly moves forward retrieving his gun as people scream. Kat turns back on her safety lowering her gun as she stares at it… she just killed a woman.

           “Thank you, Miss, what’s your name?” Moore approaches her slowly; he steps over the boy placing a hand over hers on her gun. Kat looks up at his face blinking the world seeming to disappear around her, her vision tunneling to focus only on him and the gun in her hand.

           “Kat, er Katrina Reid.”

           “You did well, Kat. Why don’t we sit down, alright?” Moore takes the gun from her hand and leads her back to her seat… how did he know which was her seat? “Kat you need to breathe slower, follow my breathes… Kat?” Moore said something more but she couldn’t make it out as the world spun around her suddenly going dark.

---Line Break---

           Kat blinked, her eyes slowly adjusting to the light around her. Someone was patting her cheek; her eyes focus the memories of the last ten minutes coming back to her all at once. Moore smiles as she blinks up at him.

           “Welcome back, do you know where you are?” Kat nods sitting up straighter and looking around. She can hear people crying and talking throughout the plane. The two other first class passengers are both standing peering over at her from the middle row of seats.

           “I shot someone…” Kat whispers feeling like she was going to be sick.

           “You saved us.” A man with greying silvery short hair from first class speaks up.

           “You did.” Moore agrees.

           “Here you are Ma’am.” A flight attendant hands her a glass of water shakily. Kat takes it with a shaky nod of her own.

           “Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”

           “My brothers taught me… they’re FBI agents…” Kat says quietly.

           “I’m going to give you this back, please put it away.” Moore hands her, her gun. Kat puts it in her duffle bag zipping it closed.

           “Attention passengers, we would like to ask everyone in economy class in seats A and B to please move to seats behind row twenty and in front of row fifteen. Thank you. Please follow Air Marshal Moore and the Flight Attendants orders; we will hopefully be landing soon.” The captain comes on the intercom.

           “I’m going to go calm people down.” Moore pats her arm giving a nod to the other two people in first class before moving into the back of the plane. Kat sits in her seat staring at the seat in front of her sipping the water to keep from puking.

           “Attention passengers, I’m sorry to say we will not be landing in Houston… it seems the airport is not responding. We will be continuing directly to DC.” Kat turns to look at the silver haired man a few seats away from her.

           “That can’t be good.” He mutters with a shake of his head. Kat shakes her head mutely. The plane should hold enough fuel to make it to DC… but that was only if they’d been fully fueled before taking off, and with their rush to send planes out the chances of that where slim. Kat pulls out her phone connecting to the inflight Wi-Fi. A strange sound behind her catches her attention before she can dial. She turns around in her seat her face paling as she sees the woman the boy had bitten moving. The same guttural growls the boy had been making issuing from her lips as she attempts to reach for a woman a few seats in front of hers.

           “Moore!” Kat yells unbuckling quickly and jumping to her feet. Moore quickly runs into the first class slipping between the seats to move to her aisle from the other one.

           “What? What is it?” Kat points at the woman… or corpse. Its eyes where clouded, face pale from the blood lose from having the boy biting out its neck.

           “Oh shit, she was bit. Does anyone have a knife?” He calls looking around. Kat nods turning and quickly pulling her pocket knife from her bag and handing it to him.

           “How many weapons do you have?”

           “Five… gun, pocket knife, bow, and two Swiss army knives.” Kat answers with a shrug. “My brother called me panicked and said to get to DC that something was happening and to bring my gun… my brother doesn’t panic. So I brought my gun… plus some.” Kat was surprised by how calm she felt… she wasn’t sure if she was going back into shock or if her emotions where too overloaded at that point to work or what, but despite her fear she was calming down.

           “Well we’re all lucky you came prepared.” Moore snorts and moves swiftly up to the corpse. It grabs at his clothing while he grabs the top of its head forcing it’s face down against the armrest while he stabs it in the back of the head at the base of the skull. The corpse slumps down, dead… again.

           “The mother was bitten too… Will she… turn?” Kat asks not completely sure what word to use.

           “No you shot her in the head… what I saw on TV seemed to suggest that if you kill the brain these things stay dead.” Moore cleans off the knife with the woman’s shirt before handing it back to her. Kat stares at it before nodding slowly and putting it back in her bag. Kat sits back down picking back up her phone she quickly dials Spencer’s number.

           “Hello? Kat?”

           “Spencer, what the fuck is going on? The air marshal said there is some kind of virus going around… It kills people then they come back to life as some kind of fucked up zombie?”

           “He’s right.” Spencer says quietly his voice resigned.

           “I know he is! A kid bit a woman’s neck out; she just came back to fucking life!” Kat snaps.

           “What? Are you okay, did you get bit?” Spencer asks franticly.

           “Is that Kat? Why are you asking her that? What’s happening, Reid?” Kat can hear Morgan, one of her brother’s coworkers and their unofficial older brother ask.

           “No, I… I’m okay. We dealt with it… but the boy’s mother she lost it when Moore had to shoot him… She… she took his gun and was threatening to kill us… I.” Kat falls silent taking a breath. “She aimed it at the window; she would have killed everyone on board. I had to shoot her, Spence… I shot her, I killed someone.”

           “Oh god…” Spencer whispers clearly to himself, he takes a shaky breath. “Katrina listen to me, you did what you had to do. Okay? You didn’t have a choice. It will be okay.”

           “I… I know. But Spence what is this?” Kat asks blinking back tears as she tries to hold it together. She just wanted to be in DC already, to hug her big brother and pretend none of this had happened.

           “We don’t know. How long until you land?”

           “I don’t know we took off early then we were supposed to land for a layover in Houston but the pilot said the airport wasn’t responding so we’re coming straight to DC. I’m guessing at least two to four hours.”

           “The airport wasn’t responding?” Spencer asks his voice tense.

           “That’s what he said…” Kat frowns why hadn’t it responded… oh. It was gone; the airport was probably over run by those… those things. “Spence, how bad is this thing?”

           “It’s everywhere, all over the world. We’ve just been told to go home or to the refugee center the military is setting up downtown. Apparently both Seattle and New York have already been overrun.”

           “Seattle? That’s what the smoke was then… Chaos as those… things took over.”

           “Probably.” Kat frowns as Spencer’s voice crackles.

           “Spence? Your breaking up.”

           “I’m losing signal… the cell towers have been being over loaded… I’m… lose you. When you land get to Rossi’s.” Spencer’s voice gets more and more staticky as he talks.

           “Spence? Spencer?”

           “Get to Rossi’s, I love you…”

           “I love you too.” Kat says franticly as the connection gets worse.

           “Get… Rossi’s.” The call goes dead.

           “Spencer? Spencer?” Kat whispers desperately into the phone. She closes her eyes leaning her head against the seat in front of her. Get to Rossi’s… Get to Rossi’s… She could do that, couldn’t she?

           “Attention passengers please return to your seats and buckle up. We seem to be running low on fuel and will be making an emergency landing. Please prepare.” Kat bites her lip buckling in and wrapping the seat beside hers buckle through the handles of her bags hopefully to keep them from flying around and hitting her if things got too bumpy.

           Kat grips the arms of her seat as she stares out the plane window as they begin a rapid decent. Trees grow bigger as they fly very close over them until finally they touch down with a lot of jerks and bumps before finally coming to a stop in what appears to be a field.

           “We have landed safely somewhere in Georgia. Please remain seated. We will come and get you and your belongings row by row as soon as the emergency slide is in place.” Kat takes a shaky breath loosening her grip on the seat arms. She gathers her stuff, not planning to leave her stuff behind.

           “Ma’am your next. Please bring your stuff and make your way to where the captain is waiting.” The flight attendant who brought her water before motions her to go to the door. Kat makes her way over there.

           “You’re the one who shot the woman who had the gun right?” The captain asks. Kat nods. “Thank you. We will slide your luggage down to my co-pilot first then you, alright?”

           “Okay.” Kat slides one bag at a time down the slide then sits at the edge; she takes a breath and slides down, grateful for the helping hand of the co-pilot as she reaches the bottom. She takes her bags and moves to the side looking around. There was no way she was going to be able to lug all these bags all the way from middle of nowhere Georgia to DC.

           Within an hour the plane was empty, Moore and a few flight attendants lowering what food, water, blankets, pillows, and other useful items they found while searching the plane down before coming down themselves.

           “Now what do we do?” Someone yells.

           “Survive?” Moore suggests with a shrug.

           “Whatever this is, it’s everywhere.” Kat speaks up deciding to share what Spencer told her with the others. “They’re setting up a refugee center in downtown DC. It’s a ways but if we can make it there we may be safe? Or safe-ish…” Kat shakes her head with a frown.

           “And how do you know that?” A woman asks in a snide tone.

           “My brother is an FBI agent he lives in DC. I talked to him a few hours ago, he said this virus is everywhere all over the world. They sent the agents home or to the center.” Kat explains glaring at the woman.

           “Why should we listen to the murderer?” One man yells. Kat frowns and shakes her head turning to grab her bags.

           “She saved all our lives so you can shut your mouth!” Silver haired guy speaks up.

           “She shouldn’t have even had a gun on board!” A woman retorts.

           “I normally check it, as is the law, but they told me to just get on just like they did you, I told them I had it.” Kat snaps.

           “Enough! Look we’re on our own. Help isn’t coming. So we need to get moving. If there is a center in DC then there may be one in Atlanta. We should head there.” The co-pilot suggests. A few people nod.

           “My brother said both Seattle and New York where overrun who’s to say Atlanta isn’t either? I think DC is our best shot.” Kat argues.

           “And how exactly do you propose we get to DC? Walk?” Another man asks.

           “Yeah if we have to, just like how we’d get to Atlanta.” Kat points out.

           “I agree with Kat, we should head to DC.” Moore sides with her.

           “Well I ain’t going anywhere, when our plane doesn’t show up someone will come looking.” One woman says sitting down, a few people follow suit.

           “How about we split into groups, those going to Atlanta will go with Jeffery.” The captain motions to the co-pilot. “Those going to DC can go with me, Moore, and Kat. And those who want to stay can?” People nod seemingly liking that plan.

           “We’ll split the food and water evenly into three groups then split into groups.” Jeffery says people nod. The flight attendants, Jeffery, and the captain split up the food. The captain bringing a bag full over to Kat and Moore. Jeffery gives a bag to the people who clearly have decided to stay and takes the third with him.

           “Okay split into your groups.” Silver hair guy and the other first class passenger join Kat’s group along with three of the five flight attendants, the woman with the toddler, a teenager and a young girl, and two others.

           “Why don’t we all start with introducing ourselves?” The captain suggests. “I’m Daniel Blake.”

           “Jacob Moore.”

           “Katrina Reid, most people call me Kat.”

           “Johnathon Thomas, call me Tom.” Silver hair says.

           “Mia Jones.” The flight attendant who gave Kat the glass of water speaks up.

           “Olivia Charles.”

           “Tiffany Dunge.” The other two flight attendants speak up.

           “Tommy Myers.” The other man from first class says.

           “Matilda June, people call me Tilly, this is Lillian.” The woman with a toddler speaks up introducing the little girl in her arms.

           “I’m John Francis; this is my sister Taylor Francis.” The teen introduces himself and the little girl.

           “Isabella Johnson.”

           “Marcus Brown.” Kat surveys their group looking each person over closely.

           Daniel had short neatly cut black hair with a few streaks of grey, he was around fifty years old, with pale skin, and looked to be biracial half white, half Asian, around Kat’s height. Moore was younger nearer her age, maybe a few years older in his early thirties, he had curly brown hair cut short, inquisitive brown eyes, and pale skin with freckles sprinkled across his face, he was tall and lanky, probably over six foot, he reminded her of Spencer. Tom had silvery greying hair a silver beard with a slight mustache and a scar on his right cheek, tall about six foot.

           Mia had blonde hair, was shorter then Kat by an inch or two maybe five-five. Olivia had black very curly hair held close to her head by a tight bun, she was African American with a very dark complexion, a few freckles along her nose, she was around Kat’s height. Tiffany was Asian, very short around five foot with black long hair held in a ponytail and dark brown eyes. Tommy had bright red carrot orange hair, freckles across his face, and startling blue eyes, he was tall and lanky at around 6 foot.

           Tilly was young around Kat’s age, maybe a year older so around twenty-eight. She had dark brown hair like Kat’s and emerald green eyes; she was Kat’s height almost exactly so about five-seven. Lillian looked like her mom with curly brown hair pulled back into two pigtails she was about three with the same emerald green eyes.

           John was pale, around five-ten, clearly about sixteen or seventeen years old, he had long black hair that reached just past his shoulders, an earring in his left ear. Taylor had long wavy golden blonde hair pulled back in a braid like Kat’s, she had bright blue eyes and seemed to be around ten or eleven.

           Isabella was a bottle blonde with brown roots just starting to show, she was pale with hazel eyes, and was chewing gum. Marcus was the tallest well over six foot Kat guessed around six-five, he had brood shoulders, dark skin, and a shaved head.

           “Let’s see if we can find a house or road so we can figure out where we are and maybe find a map.” Daniel suggests. They all grab their bags and follow him. Kat lugs her bags after him, she was going to have to figure out a better solution to carrying her stuff and soon if she was going to make it to DC.

           “Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.” – Winston Churchill

---Line Break---

AN:

           I hope you all enjoyed! I’m looking forward to working on this story for a long time. I have plans to continue this far into the future possibly even reaching the time period the show is currently set it. Let me know what you think! Follow me to be notified when a new chapter is posted or to be notified when I post a new story or update my other current stories!

           Any kind of review that is nice even a Good Chapter or a smiley face is appreciated!

– Kat

[fallinfor-youreyes]

I'd like to request 6 & 13 for the drabble challenge with whatever ship strikes your fancy :)

6. “I just like proving you wrong”

13. “Looks like we’re going to be stuck here for a while”   

These two fit so well together that I used them both. It got a little long so let’s just say I did two drabbles in one! :)

If there is one thing Rosaline does not understand, it’s howtenth graders go through her art supplies so fast.  It is only the beginning of November, but allof her markers are dead or missing, her crayons a disgrace, and her coloredpencils so far sharpened, they are past the point of no return.  

To make matters worse, she teaches history, and art suppliesare only used for projects, which so far have been pretty few.

And, she promised Juliet she would help out with thecheerleading teams homecoming poster making event tonight night, by supplyingthe art supplies, and the last thing she wants to do is let Juliet down. Whichmeans there is only one thing to do, and Rosaline would rather spend all of herallotted school supplies savings than go and speak to him. But she already used all her allotted savings for pencils andpaper and other things to make her classroom a little more accessible lastmonth.

It’s her lunch break, which she knows she shares with him, becausethey run into each other in the parking too often for her taste.

She steels herself and walks across the hall to the artroom. Where Benvolio Montague sits idly, munching on a grape and sketching inhis sketchbook.

He lifts his eyes to her slowly, and the polite questioninglook on his face melts into a glare.

“What do you want Capulet?” He snaps his book shut and leansforward, resting his head on his hands.

“I need supplies.” She says. She crosses her arms andrefuses to let him get to her. They had been rivals for quite some time.Classrooms directly across from each other, parking spots right next to each other.He would often loudly make fun of her class to his students, and in return, shewould take up some of his parking space.

It was petty, but they had been fighting for so long now,Rosaline can’t really remember why. But she does know that she isn’t going tobe the one to back down first.

“What kind of supplies?”

“Markers, crayons, pencils. I swear the 10thgraders are like kindergarteners sometimes the way they go through my stuff.”

Benvolio raises a single eyebrow. “What makes you think Iwill just hand over my supplies to you?”

Rosaline narrows her eyes. “Last May, I gave you all of myposter boards, large paper, and glue. You owe me. Said so yourself.”

“Shit.” Benvolio groans and leans back in his chair. “Iwould, but as you said, high schoolers tend to be like kindergarteners. I’veonly been doing painting projects with them or clay, because the school paysfor those. I’m out of the supplies you need.”

Rosaline sighs and tries to think. She doesn’t want to flakeon Juliet.

“What about the supply closest in the basement. When I washired they told me that whatever was in there was for my use. I pretty surethat it included art supplies.” She says. She personally had never been to thesupply closet, but maybe he had.

Benvolio laughs. “Are you asking for a death wish. There’s areason no one goes down there. Even the custodians don’t. I’m pretty sure thelast time someone was there was in the 80’s.”

“Are you saying it’s haunted, Montague?” She asks.

“No.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes at her. “I’m saying,according to all accounts the lights are all broken or barely working, thedoors get stuck all the time, and the supplies down there is so old it’sunusable. Plus, all the dust and the spiders.”

“I guess I’ll have to see for myself.” She says, spinningaway from him.

“Capulet, wait!” He catches her arm before she leaves hisclassroom, and Rosaline is so startled by it, she almost trips.

“Excuse me?”

“There’s only 20 minutes till the next period starts, and Idon’t want to have to go and find you when you’re late.” He drops her arm andtakes a step back.

“I can take care of myself, thank you.”

Benvolio holds up his hands and turns away from her,shutting his classroom door as he does.

“Miss. Capulet?” There’s a student standing at her door,papers in hand. “I was wondering if you could help me with my essay.”

He’s waiting for her outside of her classroom at the end ofthe day. She brushes past him, fully intent on ignoring him, but he easilyfalls into step next to her.

“Are you seriously going through with this?” He asks, as shepushes open the doors to the stairwell.

“Yes. You can disappear when you best see fit.” She says.

“Nah.” He rushes forward to get the door before she does. “Idon’t want your death on my head. And, I just like proving you wrong.”

Rosaline scoffs. “Proving me wrong! How?”

“When nothing good comes out of this trip, and we waste ourprecious Friday afternoon on a goose chase.”

“You weren’t invited.” She reminds him.

“You are my cousin’s girlfriend’s cousin. If anythinghappened to you, and Juliet finds out I knew, she would have my head on a stick.”He explains. They round the corner to the last set of stairs, and it’sinstantly darker.

The light near the door flickers. Benvolio wrinkles hisnose.

“It’s not too late to turn back you know.” He whispers.

“If I don’t get these markers, Juliet will have my head.”

Benvolio nods. “This endeavor makes a lot more sense now.”

Rosaline rolls her eyes and pushes the basement door open.

It’s dark, and the few lights that are working only show howmuch dust is in the air. There’s old lunch trays in the corner, an entire stackof broken desks and chairs, a bookshelf covered in grammar books from the 50’s.

Rosaline flicks the flashlight on her phone on, noting thatthere is zero service, and makes her way toward the closet labeled supplies.The door is heavy enough that it takes both of them to get it open, and inside,it’s like a different world. There’s shelves filled with various different supplies,from notebooks to art supplies to old deflated basketballs and footballs.

Rosaline, slightly in awe, moves into the room, and finds abox full of marker packs.

“Ha! I told you!” She says, spinning to face Benvolio, justin time to see the door swing shut.

The noise is so loud, it causes Benvolio to jump and dropthe tube of paint in his hand.

He slowly turns toward the door like its personally offendedhim, before snapping his eyes back to her.

“How much would you pay me right now to not tell you I toldyou so.” He asks, a wicked grin on his face.

“None, because you already said it.” She flashes him a smilebefore turning back to the shelf she was inspecting. Out of the corner of hereye, she watches him make his way back toward the door, and twist the knob,only for nothing to happen. He tries again, this time pushing his shoulderagainst the door, but it doesn’t budge. Rosaline sticks her head out from theshelves and watches him.

“You can stop fooling around now, Montague. I don’t need youacting like one of my tenth graders.” She says.

Benvolio stops and turns to her, but there’s no humor on hisface.

“It’s stuck.”

Rosaline rolls her eyes while walking toward him. “I said tostop fooling around.” She grabs the door knob and pushes, but the door doesn’t move.He presses his shoulder against the door and she follows suit, but nothinghappens.

And then, the panic sets in.

“You came with me so I wouldn’t ‘get hurt’ but now I’m goingto die! Locked in a room! With a Montague!” She screams, grabbing a book offthe closest shelf and whacking his arm with it. “Why didn’t you check the door!”

“Me! Capulet, why did insist on coming down here!” He glancesat his phone and tries to call someone, but the call doesn’t go through.

“Why did you insist on coming with me!” She says, takinganother step closer to him.

They are close now, close enough that when puffs air out ofhis nose it ruffles her hair. He takes a step back, and sighs. “I texted Romeobefore we left and told him we were coming down here, and if I didn’t contacthim in two hours, to send help.” He runs his hand through his hair, obviouslystill angry at her. “Looks like we are going to be stuck here for a while.”

She glares at him before grabbing a pack of markers andmarching to the other side of the room, where most of the old sports equipmentwas organized.

The markers miraculously work and are not half bad atcoloring when she tests them. She can hear Benvolio at the other side of theroom, but she ignores him, and instead decides to explore the room. She findsthe old cheerleading uniform and pompoms and grabs them, thinking they mightmake a nice addition to Juliet’s poster party for Homecoming.

She wanders through the stacks, almost in awe of all theforgotten things.

“There’s stuff in here older than when were in High School.”Rosaline says when she finds her way back to the front, no longer as angry asbefore.

Benvolio glances up at her from his spot on the floor, wherehe has some of the supplies laid out, various sketches and doodled paintings onsome of the papers surround him.

“We haven’t even reached out 10 year reunion yet, Capulet.Stop trying to make me feel old.” He pats the ground next to him, and she joinshim, pulling her knees up to her chest.

“Sorry about before. You know, yelling at you, and hittingyou with a book.” She says. She’s calmed down now, and the fact that he ishere, with her, is a little bit comforting. “And, I’m glad you are here. Andthat I’m not alone, stuck in this sort of creepy supply room by myself.”

Benvolio stops sketching.

And then he stands and walks away without so much of a word,and Rosaline would be lying if she said it didn’t hurt.  

Rosaline sighs, and moves to collect the supplies she needsto restock her room and for Juliet’s girls to have enough for the posters, whenBenvolio comes back, brandishing one of the old football jerseys.

“This is the closest thing I could get to a white flag.” Hesays. He waves it in the air for a second, and then tosses it at her. “Truce?”

Rosaline catches the jersey, and smiles.

“I wouldn’t want to share my hallway with anyone else.” Hesays.

They spend the next hour and half talking, and laughing, andat one point, his arm brushes against hers, and Rosaline is suddenly veryscrewed because she might be getting a crush on her sworn rival. Which is veryhigh school, and almost makes her start to hate him again.

He’s just starting to show her some of his sketches when thedoor heaves open, and Rosaline can hear her cousin calling her name.

“Romeo! I found them!” Juliet leaps into Rosaline arms andsqueezes her tight. “Oh, I was so worried when Romeo told me about Ben’s text.Are you guys okay? What happened?”

Rosaline explains while she gathers her things and finallyescapes the supply closet, Benvolio close on her heels.

Romeo and Juliet say they will meet them by the car so theycan go and get their things before the poster party, and Rosaline feels likesomething has changed between her and Benvolio as they walk back to theirclassrooms.

“I proved you wrong.” She says, just before she turns awayfrom him to go into her own class.

“What?”

“You said, that we would not find anything useful, and itwould be a waste of our time. And I proved you wrong.”

“You did.” Benvolio says, taking two steps so he’s closer toher. “And what, Miss. Capulet, do you win for proving me wrong?” He asks. He’strying to be vision of cool and collected, but Rosaline can see the slightestbit of pink on his cheeks.

“Oh, I don’t know Mr. Montague. Dinner might be nice.”

His smile intensifies, and Rosaline’s stupid crush onlygrows.

“I’ll pick you up, at 7. Tomorrow?” He asks, and there’s abit of hope in his voice that makes her feel a little giddy.

“That sounds perfect.”