#i’m bored and i saw all my moots do this not long ago

[cherrysurf]

all my moots send me ur name pick either

-a sailor moon character i would associate with you (send 💙 for this one)

-or a mood board based off the vibes you give me (send 💜 for this one)

[ynsvnte]

New year, new …

pairing: stranger!hoon x fem!reader

Synopsis: having the year coming to end, you’re still a hopeless romantic unfortunately, but that’s until a special someone shows up — Genre: strangers to lovers, smut (18+ MDNI!!), fluff (towards the end), oneshot— warnings under cut

Word count: 1.6k+ (1670)

A/n: yall I forgot I did Sunghoon last time.. um last fic for the year!! 2024 was such a odd year, good and bad, but I hope 2025 goes well for everyone!! Ty for the love and support everyone has showed and my moots 💪🏼💪🏼 love you all 🤭

Masterlist

Warnings: swearing, p in v, bathroom sex, unprotected sex, kissing, pet names, praising, oral (fem.), creampie, possessive, hickeys (marking), slight fingering, A bit of after care.

You leaned onto the counter in the middle of the kitchen, groaning, you still didn’t know why you agreed to come to the end of the year party. Like sure the year was coming to an end, but you’d rather be home. Unfortunately the nagging of one of your friends worked, and.. here you are now. Miserable. 2024 definitely wasn’t your year. Taking back what you said at the beginning.

31/12/2023

“2024 is going to be my year. No more single me first. I will be getting a man.” You giggle, while sitting under the table, eating the grapes manifesting.

Present

Just at the thought, you just cringe like when a man punches a wall. Clearly you're currently single. Maybe 2025 will be your year. You think to yourself. But you don’t want to get your hopes up since what happened last year. Taking a sip of your drink. You scrunch your face in slight disgust. The burning of the alcoholic drink in your throat. You put your cup onto the counter. Lost in thought, while you stare at the crowd dancing, while more like more people grinding into one another. But that’s not the point.

Your eyes stay at this one person. He seems to be like you. Bored, and out of place. Friends all gone to who knows where. You continue staring, admiring his features. Taking one minute to admire each one. From his moles, to his vampire-like teeth. You weren’t in your right state of mind and looked away. Wait what if he had a girlfriend, and here you were looking at him shamelessly. You shake your head. You don’t even know what to do. Might as well leave. Yeah that sounds like a good idea. But… you don’t have a ride.

Maybe an uber. Nah who would pick up someone on New Year’s Eve.. you sigh and just get on your phone. Trying to find a way to pass time. You look at the time. “10:47” just 1 hour and 13 minutes left. What could you do?

What you didn’t know was that. The guy you were staring at. Was now looking at you. Poor you, seemed so lonely. The guy, named Sunghoon to be exact. Adored you from afar. Maybe he could keep you company. He noticed you staring, and tried to act like he was busy talking to one of his friends. He could care less what he had to say. He was focused on you. The way your eyes move from one spot to another. He smiles at the thought of your cute habit. He watched his friend get dragged along somewhere. He takes the chance and starts going over where you’re. You don’t seem to notice. Distracted by your phone. He sets his drink next to yours, grabbing your attention.

You felt the presence of someone. You thought it was your friend until you looked up and saw it’s him. The guy you were staring at not too long ago. Your eyes widened.

“Uh- I- hello?” You stammer over your words. Great first impression! You thought to yourself. He smiles at you. “The name is Sunghoon.” Such a suitable name for him. “I- nice to meet you” you say. He asks for your name. And once your name. His smiles widened. “Suits you very well.” You get flustered at his comment. Hoping he wouldn’t notice. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?” He asks you, taking you a bit off guard.

“Well.. I was convinced to be brought here by my friend, but I have no idea where she went.. sorry I’m not much of a party person.” You explain the situation. “That’s fine I’m not much of a party person either.” That’s one thing in common. “Yeah..” you felt the tension rise for some reason, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. You could feel him staring as you took a sip of your drink. “Is there something wrong?” You asked, slightly nervous if you had done something wrong.

“Yeah there is..” He said quietly, eyes still on you. You could feel your heartbeat quicken. You tried to hide the fact that you were nervous, but Sunghoon caught on.

He leaned down next to your ear whispering in a low voice. “Do I make you nervous?” His voice sent shivers down your spine. He barely pulled away, but his face was so close to yours. Practically almost forcing you to keep eye contact with him. You stare into his eyes, up close this time. “I-..” words caught up in your throat. You could help but stare at him. Sunghoon only starts to slightly smirk. Knowing the effect he had on you. He leans in closer, touching one another. Before he closes the empty space between you both. Crashing lips. You were taken aback from his actions. You kiss him back. Arms automatically wrapping themselves around his neck. Sunghoon takes this as a sign and holds you closer by holding you at the waist. You kissed what felt like hours, you don’t know how long. You couldn’t process anything yet, not even knowing that Sunghoon was dragging you to the bathroom nearby. He closes the door and locks it. You don’t even know what’s even happening next, but you feel your back hit the door as you continue to make out with one another. He hands traveling down further.

He holds one of your thighs, forcing your legs to open. “Do you mind” you shake your head no, knowing you want as much as he wants it. He carries you, placing you on the bathroom counter , kissing his way down, legs spread open, he smirks seeing your soak through panties. “Awee baby wet just from kissing?” He snickers, pushing your skirt up, giving him more access. He lightly traces over your covered clit, causing you to buck your hips slightly. “She's begging me to eat her out,” he giggles. Placing a kiss on top. “Please..” you beg. “Please what..?” He asks, acting clueless. “Please.. stop teasing” He looks up at you, as he leans in, giving your clit a long lick. He pushes your panties to the side and begins to eat your pussy. The sounds of him slurping your pussy, and your moans mix in the tight bathroom. The loud music thankfully covers up the sounds. “Fuck, you tatse divine” he praises. As eats you like a starved man. Which you don’t mind.

You couldn’t help but wish for more friction, as you slightly begin to grind your pussy into his face. You run your hand through his hair. “Mhm.. Sunghoon..” your moan his name. Holding your thighs apart.. he begins to shove his tongue in and out of your hole. You let out a loud moan. The new feeling getting you closer to your high. “Already close!” You warn him. “Come on then baby come on my face.” You do as he says. Sunghoon groans at the feeling of you coming on his face. He didn’t expect his night like this. Eating out with the prettiest girl ever on New Year’s Eve. He gets up from his knees and kisses you eagerly. “You’re so perfect.” Sunghoon speaks into the kiss before removing your top. Revealing your breast to him. He smiles, taking one in his mouth. He let’s go with a pop. Saliva connecting from his mouth to your tits

“If I’m not in you within in a few seconds, I’ll lose my mind.” Sunghoon helps you off the bathroom counter and flips you over.. he bends you over the counter. He unbuckles his pants, lets it drop to the floor and you seem to notice a wet patch on his boxers. “Eating you out made me cum.. hmm see what you do to me..” Sunghoon pushes his boxers down. Letting his cock spring out, he fingers you a bit to make sure you feel comfortable to take him.

“You ready baby?” He asks you. You nod your head, desperate to have him inside. He grabs the base.. lining up and pushes himself in. He groans at the feeling of your velvet walls clenching around him. “So tight, just f’me” he was already losing his mind. He hasn’t even moved an inch and yet he felt close to coming. He begins slowly. But as minutes pass by his pace gets more brutal. Your moans mixing together. Sunghoon arm wrapped around your waist keeping you close as he fucks you.

The sound of skin clapping getting louder and louder. He buries his face onto your neck sucking on the skin. “Marking you up. Gotta let everyone know you’re mine.” He whispers. Making you clench around him. “Baby are you close.?” Sunghoon asks, you reply with a nod before he smirks and his fingers trial down to your clit rubbing it.

You let out a whine. “Come on. Cum for me. Cum around this cock.” His hips have a mind of their own. His cock abusing your cervix and with one final thrust. You clench around him tightly, cumming. You grip the counter.. the feeling being too much. Not long behind Sunghoon reaches his own high. “Going to cum.. in this tight pussy.” He speaks while kissing your necks. Within 3 thrust you can feel him cum in you. Overstimulated you. You whine at the feeling. “Sunghoon fuck..” you moan.. he says in the same spot.. regaining consciousness. “I’m here..” he holds you close. Enjoying your warmth.

He pulls out. Watching cum drop out. “Fuck.. made a mess..” he grabs a near by a towel and gets it slightly wet before cleaning you up. As you get dressed Sunghoon pulls you in for a kiss. Nothing before being disrupted by the sound of your phone going off.

“2025!!” The alarm rang. He stares at the screen reading the time 12

“Well that’s a way to start a new year..” Sunghoon smiles and pecks your lips. “I guess so..” you speak softly. “Happy new year baby.”

© ynsvnte copyright 2024

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Revelation

Breach Masterlist

Warnings: non/dubcon sex (series), general angst, some blood and anger this chapter.

This is dark!Winter Soldier/Bucky and explicit. 18+ only.

Note: SURPRISE! I somehow got this done this morning so voila!

I won’t demand but do ask for feedback; likes, reblogs, replies, comments, asks, especially on this series, but again, enjoy in your own way! <3 Love you!

A six-hour car ride and a brief flight saw you at a second safehouse; bigger and isolated from the world in a nest of trees. Steve accompanied you alone as Howard disappeared to ‘sort out business’. You watched and listened to it all, always keeping Luka close.

Your room was as big as one of the houses you’d lived in during your days in South America. Luka wanted to stay with you and you wouldn’t have let him sleep anywhere else. James, or Bucky, whoever he was those days, looked grim as he commented how nice it would be for you to have your privacy. You didn’t dare ask him to stay in the room though you wanted it. You had grown used to his presence.

You slept the first night soundly, waking only once or twice to look at the door. The usual shadow wasn’t there. That made you frown and run your fingers through Luka’s hair. You were safe now but that wouldn’t last, it never did.

You woke yawning, the hours of sleep reminding your body of its long-hewn fatigue. You could have slept for days. You peeked out into the hallway and Luka pushed past you, sprinting out the door. You followed him and called him back to you with a reprimand. He was excited about all the new places.

“Mishka, you stay close, we’re only going to get some breakfast,” you said as you took his hand.

“Mama, this place is so big! I wanna stay here forever,” he sang as he tugged on your arm.

“Why, so you can tear the walls down?” you tutted, “What has gotten into you?”

“Papa’s friend, Steve, he told me he fights the bad guys,” Luka swung your arm, “will he fight the ones who hurt you and Papa?”

You stopped just outside the kitchen. You turned Luka to you and bent to look him in his face. “What men, mishka?”

“The one’s we’re running from,” he said innocently.

You gulped and cradled his face in your hands, “don’t you worry about that, my love, me and your father will always keep you safe.”

The boy looked confused but didn’t ask more, he only nodded and you stood with a sigh. You took his hand again and pulled him into the kitchen. You sat him on one of the tall chairs along the island counter and searched the fridge. You poured each of you a bowl of Cheerios and pushed his across to him as you leaned on the other side of the counter and spooned up the cereal.

“You’re here,” James’ voice startled you as he came to a sharp stop just inside the doorway, “you weren’t in your room, I was--”

“You said we’re safe here,” you lowered your spoon, “Luka was hungry.”

“We are safe,” he exhaled and slowly crossed the room to stand at the end of the counter.

“You want some?” you shook the box at him.

“Eat,” he took it and grabbed a bowl of his own, “I’ll get it.”

He added milk and sat beside Luka. Your son smiled at him and received a goofy look in return. There were moments James wasn’t so guarded but those were always reserved for your son, never you. When he looked at you, you only saw his guilt and pain.

“Howard will be here at noon,” James said as he turned back to you and stirred his bowl, “I’ll talk to them first.”

“Talk?” you asked.

“They need to know… everything,” he said reluctantly, “you watch over Luka while I’m with them and try not to worry. We can trust Steve.”

You nodded and scooped another spoonful into your mouth. You chewed and stared at the counter. That wasn’t what you were worried about, how could you explain all that had happened?

✰

After you ate, you took Luka to the living room and Bucky left you again. After some giddy pleas from your son, you turned on the television. There were few times in his life, and yours, that you had the luxury of a screen. You sat and watched puppets spell and count for a while before you grew bored.

Luka tired of the wooden car he’d outgrown a while ago and jumped on the couch. You tried to get him to stop but only found yourself out of breath.

“Mishka! You will break it,” you caught him mid-leap and swung him down onto his feet, “why don’t we play a game?”

“Oooh, hide and seek!” he chimed.

“I don’t know, that might not--”

“Please, papa hates that game but it’s so fun,” he clapped, “please, mama.”

“It is fun when you can only hide in the broom closet. You will get lost in here.”

“Promise, mama, I will not go far, please?”

You sniffed and stared into his hopeful eyes, James’ eyes. “You stay on this floor and do not go past the stairs, understood?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he squealed, “now mama, you have to close your eyes. No peeking.”

“I know how this game works,” you sat and covered your face with your hands, “thirty seconds, mishka.”

“Thirty?” he whined.

“Twenty-nine, twenty-eight…”

You heard his feet stamp away and you smiled, counting louder with each number. When you reached one you got up and went to the hall. You looked up and down for any telltale sign of him. Nothing was different.

You went to the kitchen and searched all the cupboards and the pantry. He wasn’t in there. As you checked the closets and still did not find him, you felt the panic rising in your throat. Your heart hammered as you ran around the stairs, he hadn’t listened!

You heard a voice, a high pitch you knew well. The front door was open just a crack and you ripped it open as you followed Luka’s sing-song. He sang a Russian tune you taught him as he was carried on the back of a dark-haired man. You ran across the porch and past the armored car in the lot.

You tore Luka from the stranger’s back and both cried out in surprise. You put your son down as the man turned to you. You grabbed the collar of his shirt and punched him as hard as you could, just as James taught you. You heard the crack of his nose as you pulled back again.

“You take my son!” you snarled as he put his arm up to block your next strike and your hand gleaned off his chin, “my son! I will kill you.”

“Mama, mama,” you felt Luka tugging at your pants.

“Go inside, Luka,” you barked ready to strangle the man.

“He’s wasn’t taking me, mama, we were playing,” Luka begged, “he’s just a kid, like me.”

You stopped and looked the man in the face. Luka was right, he was sixteen, maybe seventeen, familiar even. You growled and let him go hesitantly. You pulled Luka close to you.

“Who are you?”

“I should ask you the same,” the adolescent stemmed the blood leaking from his nostrils with the heel of his hand and tilted his head back, “you sure pack a punch, lady.”

“Who?” you stepped forward again and he backed away.

“Tony,” he snorted and turned to spit up blood onto the ground, “Tony Stark, Howard’s son.”

“Howard?” you blinked, “oh, I--” you looked down at Luka who looked terrified, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I-- let me help you clean up.”

“Uh, I don’t think so,” he chuckled and backed away from you, “I think I can handle this.”

“Mama,” Luka huffed.

“I’m sorry, mishka, I did not know,” you grimaced, “I so very sorry, I really--” you looked at Tony again.

“I’m fine,” he pulled his cuff up to his nose, “really, I shouldn’t have just taken the kid.”

“I couldn’t find him, I was so scared, I--”

“Luka,” James’ voice drew you around. He stood on the porch and descended the steps carefully as he took in the scene, “what’s going on? What are you doing out here?”

“Playing a game,” you said as Tony shook his head.

“What happened to the kid?” James asked as he pointed at the bloodied teen.

“Your wife, that’s what happened,” Tony spat.

“She’s not--

“I thought he was taking Luka,” you interrupted James, “I’m sorry, I--”

“It’s okay,” he took Luka’s hand and pulled the boy close, “you did what I showed you,” he turned to the younger Stark, “you should get that cleaned up or it’ll stay crooked.”

“Uh huh,” Tony dragged his feet through the dirt towards the house, “such a pleasant little family.”

You watched him go and hung your head. You felt awful and held up your shaky hand, your knuckles sore from the assault. Bucky took your hand and looked it over.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I hurt him,” you said, “I hurt a kid.”

“He’s fine,” James assured, “I’ll talk to Stark, it’s fine.”

“I’m sorry, papa, we were playing hide and seek and I didn’t tell mama I was going outside--”

“I told you not to play that game,” James looked down at Luka, “this is why, because you scare us.”

“I’m sorry,” Luka repeated.

“Well, everyone’s safe so…” he rubbed his forehead with his gloved hand as his eyes met yours, “it’s your turn, I’ll keep and eye on Luka.”

“My turn?”

“Upstairs, they’re waiting,” James said and raised his hand as if he would touch your shoulder but instead dropped it, “answer the question but you don’t need to talk about what you don’t want to.”

You nodded and swallowed as you looked past him to the front door. There were no questions they could ask that you didn’t dread.

✰

Howard and Steve sat on the other side of the table. It felt like a real interrogation, like you’d done something wrong. And yet, as you explained your time at Hydra, from employee to experiment, neither seemed to flinch, they listened and took notes but did not show the horror you felt.

“Do you know what they were doing to your son the day of your escape?” Stark asked.

“No, I was… sedated for much of it, they took him from me and--” you shook your head, “I was so angry, I never been so angry and when I woke I felt invincible and when the doctor came, I would’ve killed him, I think.”

“And I know it’s probably a moot question but you don’t know what they were giving you? The capsules, the drip?”

“I never seen the charts,” you shrugged and looked down. 

Your hands were trembling and you were overwhelmed. It was the first time you said any of it aloud and once you started, it streamed out like a river. Now that it was all out, the emotions began to flow too.

Then the realisation and the fear. It was, easy even for you, to guess what Hydra intended for your son. He was to be like his father, more efficient than his father. You lifted your head, terrified, and glanced between the men furtively.

“My son is not a weapon,” you said, “know that and do not make him one.”

“That is not our intent,” Steve assured softly, “that is not the type of weapon we use. That’s why we’re here, away from SHIELD, away from Hydra, we can’t let this happen to anyone else but given what we know, this experiment wasn’t just shelved. There are others out there and we need to get to them before another Winter Soldier appears.”

“But how… me and James hide for so long,” you said, “we cannot possibly know--”

Steve’s throat constricted and he looked at Howard. They weren’t telling you something.

“What you have told us today is all we need from you,” Stark said evenly, “It is a start for us to uncover the rest.”

“Uncover?” you blinked and frowned, “what do you mean uncover?”

“You and James have given us locations, details, security procedure,” Stark continued, “with that, we can gain access to the information we do need and find out where they’ve moved their new Soldat operation--”

“No,” you snapped as your chest squeezed, “you would send him back there?”

“We didn’t say--”

“You don’t tell me but you think I am stupid. I know James and I know he feels so bad he would go back to die,” you snarled, “he did nothing wrong. It was not him!”

“But… you, uh, he--” Howard began awkwardly.

“Hydra did that, Hydra made him that monster and he doesn’t not owe you anything. He killed the men who would take my child from me and he kept Luka safe, he is done.”

“Look, Bucky is my best friend and I understand, it wasn’t him, but he did those things, even if it wasn’t his choice and this is what we can do, this is the deal we can offer you. He gets us that intel and you get your safe haven.”

“And if he doesn’t come back?” you stood and slammed your hands on the table, “you would kill him all over again, Steven.”

Steve reeled as if you’d slapped him and Howard raised as brow as he looked at him from the corner of his eye.

“You friend? Really?” your English became more fractured as your rage rose and you hit the table again, this time leaving a dent in the metal, “you no friend to know what you send him back to. They not kill him, not his body, and they torture his mind.”

“Please, ma’am,” Howard said calmly, “it was his idea--”

“I don’t care, you let him!” you shouted, “You think him evil but I know he not. He save me and he has son. You would let a father die.”

“Just calm--” Steve intoned.

“No, no be calm,” you began to rant in Russian as you turned and stormed to the door.

“Where-- Wait!’ The men stood and followed after you.

“I go James!” you hollered as you strode out into the hall, “he trouble!”

[therenlover]

The Doctor Is In (Part Two of Till Forever Falls Apart, A Peter Maximoff/Reader Series)

Synopsis: Peter’s first few days in his new home are mostly uneventful, so he decides it’s the perfect time to dust off his running goggles and steal some shit. The building with the massive circular stained glass window seems like a great place to start! People with buildings that lavish are usually rich and weak, so what could possibly go wrong?

Tags: Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn, Falling in Love, Attempted Theft, Secrets, Suspicions, 

Rating: T

Warnings: Mild Language, Slight Sexual Innuendo

Word Count: 2800~

This work, as well as the other completed parts of this series, have been crossposted to my AO3! 

-----

To Peter’s credit, it had all started with good intentions… okay, semi-good intentions, but that was the best defense he had to offer.

One moment he’s speeding into a funky building with a cool glass window looking for a knick-knack to take home to Y/N and the next he’s falling through endless darkness, searching for anything he could possibly grab onto. It was hell. Worst of all, though, he couldn’t use his speed. The world was only emptiness and darkness for as far as he could reach. Well, it was until he hit the ground.

It was a sudden jolt after what felt like hours of captivity when Peter hit the cool tiles of the flooring below him. The bright light after total darkness burned his eyes. He winced against it, lifting his arms to shield his face. There was no time to acclimate to his new surroundings, though, which were definitely not part of the building he had been inside before he might add, because the second his vision came back into focus a booming voice rang out from behind him.

“Peter Maximoff, what purpose did you have for breaking into the Sanctum Sanctorum?”

Peter spun around quickly on the ground to find a man floating behind him. Wait, floating? He didn’t even have time to question how the stranger knew his name while he was questioning what the hell he was. Was he a mutant? The man looked furious, his red cape billowing out behind him in an almost menacing manner while he stroked his goatee, eyebrows pinched together with rage. Peter had no clue what his deal was or who the hell he was looking at but he did know he had to calm him down fast if he wanted to avert disaster.

Apparently, he was thinking too long though because he wasn’t fast enough.

“I’ll ask you one last time,” the man’s hands came down to chest level, whirring with some sort of orange power, “why did you break into the Sanctum Sanctorum? This is your last chance,”

Somewhere in the distance, a dull thud sounded against the tile, like someone dropping a purse or bag. Peter didn’t have time to think about that, though. He was too busy saving his own life. All he had to do was get to his feet so he could run off! Unfortunately, that was better said than done.

“Woah, Woah, Woah!” he scrambled backward trying to stand but found his feet bound with the same orange sparks that were growing by the second in his attacker’s hands, “I have no clue what the hell a Sanctum Sanctorum is! I think you’ve got the wrong guy, man,”

His assailant cocked his head to the side. “So you’re telling me some other inhumanly fast kleptomaniac mutant from another dimension broke through all of my wards and tried to steal priceless magical artifacts from the Sanctum?”

Peter shrugged nonchalantly. “Magical artifacts? Dude, magic isn’t real. You’ve got the wrong guy,”

Thankfully, the man sighed in exhaustion, letting the orange sparks in his palms disappear as he pinched the bridge of his nose leaving only the ones around Peter’s ankles remaining. For the first time in his life, Peter was glad to be annoying.

“Jesus, I should have had my coffee before dealing with you…”

“I know right?” Peter propped himself up on his hands, “it’s always tragic when you catch the wrong guy, but I’m sure you’ll find your thief eventually. In fact, I think I saw some super speedy dude running towards Central Park when I was walking past that fancy building with the big circle window. That’s so weird! Maybe you should let me go so you can go find your guy,”

The man only seemed to get more pissed off the further Peter dug himself into his own grave. “Oh, I’m not planning on letting you go any time soon. I’m just avoiding a reckoning by letting your keeper know I’m taking you into the Avenger’s custody before we go,”

He was so screwed. “That’s not a-”

Before Peter could even finish his sentence, a crash echoed from across the room.

“STEPHEN STRANGE,”

Now, Peter couldn’t decide if he was saved or even more screwed than before.

There, across the room of what he had now gathered to be a large exhibit at some sort of museum, was Y/N. To say she looked furious would be an understatement.

The art on the walls seemed to shake in her wake as she stormed into the open center of the room, eyes boring holes into Peter’s assailant as she rolled up the sleeves of her paint-stained denim button-up. He could only imagine that this was the reckoning the magic dude was trying to avoid.

The man, Stephen, didn’t waver despite Y/N’s entrance. “Would it kill you to just use my title? I got my doctorate for a reason, you know,” His tone was flat and almost bored as Y/N seethed.

“Fuck you,” she spat, “what the hell are you doing with Peter? And bringing him here of all places? I thought you were supposed to be the responsible Avenger,”

“And I thought you were supposed to keep this menace under control. It looks like we both have a few responsibilities we aren’t keeping up with, huh?”

Across the floor, Peter winced. He hadn’t intended on getting anyone in trouble, he was just looking for a little fun to pass the time and maybe a housewarming gift that would fit in with the rest of Y/N’s antique decor. How was he supposed to know that a crazy, magic, floating guy would take him to what he could only assume was magic prison for breaking into his wizard’s lair? Surprisingly, Y/N picked up his movement.

“Peter, are you okay?” Her eyes never left Strange, flaming with a ferocity that bordered on homicidal, but her voice softened considerably as she spoke to him. He was quick to respond.

“I’m all good! A little tied up at the moment, but it’s nothing I can’t handle!” He shouted back.

Y/N nodded. “Good, just stick tight while I deal with this asshole,”

As the last words left her lips all the softness she had mustered for Peter’s sake dissolved, leaving behind pure, unbridled anger once more.

“You had no right to take him, Strange. We made a deal,”

“You’re right, we did make a deal,” Stephen responded, floating to the ground and taking a step closer to Y/N, “but my duties as Sorcerer Supreme will always come first,”

“That has nothing to do with him! He poses no threat to this universe!”

“He was attempting to steal extremely powerful magical artifacts, Y/N! If a mutant from another dimension had gotten their hands on the Book of Vishanti or the Clock of the Ages who knows what might have happened?”

Y/N stilled. “Peter,” her voice wasn’t the same as it had been when she was shouting at Strange, but it also wasn’t half as gentle as it has been before, “did you steal anything from Stephen?”

Peter, still dazed from the entirety of the experience, was quick to defend himself.

“No! No, I didn’t steal anything!”

One sharp look from Stephen and Y/N sent him spiraling for an excuse.

“Okay, I went in with the intention of stealing, but I had no idea that stuff was magical! I didn’t even know wizards existed! Witches I understood but wizards too? In the middle of New York? Besides, all of this is a moot point! I didn’t actually take anything,”

Surprisingly, Y/N’s expression seemed to soften once again. “See, Stephen? Peter didn’t mean any harm. Now let him go, and this can all be a thing of the past,” As she spoke, he could have sworn that her eyes began to faintly glow.

“I still don’t think it’s a great idea to let him roam free,” Stephen ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair and the restraints around Peter’s ankles tightened slightly.

“Then you’ll have to take him from me,” Y/N brought her hands up, small rippling balls of light beginning to grow in her palms. Peter had never been so scared and aroused in his life. Was this the ‘small power’ she had mentioned to him when he moved in?

“I have remained civil with you and the mages of your order, Strange, but you have no power over me, especially on my own home turf. You lack the time stone now, so you know what will happen if you and I go toe to toe again. Besides, none of that matters. Peter is mine. Mine to protect and defend until he returns to his rightful place in his universe. So, will you let him go, or will we have to settle this the old-fashioned way?”

Y/N’s eyes were definitely glowing now, a brilliant green gleaming from within her as a rough breeze began flowing in from the door across the room. Stephen made no move to attack though. Instead, he heaved a sigh. “You can have your man child back Y/N, calm down,”

Slowly, the glow dissipated, the orbs of light shrinking into nothingness as she lowered her hands. “Thank you, Stephen,”

In an instant, it was as if the pair had gotten along the whole time.

He nodded. “Don’t thank me, just keep him away from ancient magical secrets next time,” Strange paused as if he was finished speaking, but then chuckled softly. It was the most human Peter had ever seen him. “You know how this ends, Y/N. We both do. Are you really sure you want to go through with this?”

It was Y/N’s turn to nod. “I appreciate that you’re looking out for me, but I made my choice a long time ago. There has never been another path for me. Please respect that,”

Peter was clueless as to what any of their exchange meant, too busy rubbing the ache out of his newly freed ankles to think too deeply about whatever deep exchange was happening in front of him, but a nagging feeling in his chest made him think that it must have something to do with him.

Then, in a burst of golden light, Stephen Strange was gone, leaving Y/N and Peter alone as they took in everything that had just happened. It was silent for a moment, the two of them caught between being stunned and glad to see each other, before Y/N’s angry facade melted away.

“What a fucking asshole,” she snickered, making her way over to Peter and offering him a hand, “I hate that guy,”

Peter took her hand and, with a soft pull, was finally upright again. “I know, right? He seems like a total douchebag,”

“Right? Like, yeah it’s terrible enough to kidnap you and try to take you into Avengers custody, but trying to get me to hand you over at my job? That’s just rude on a whole new level,”

“You work here?” Peter gestured at the art on the walls, making Y/N smile.

“Yeah, this is where I go every day. Welcome to the Brooklyn Museum!” She began to lead him out towards the door, linking her arm around his in a strangely intimate act. Peter was sure that she didn’t mean it like that but something about her closeness made his heart flutter.

He guffawed as they walked, passing happy couples and exhibits packed full. “It’s cool here, but I just assumed you worked somewhere… I dunno, more hero-y?”

Y/N laughed. “Everyone always does, but I’ve been attached to restoring paintings since before I ever took up the whole hero gig. I guess it’s the one stable thing I’ve had for my whole life.”

Watching Y/N’s face light up almost made Peter forget that less than an hour earlier he’d been shoved in an infinite dark dimension and threatened with imprisonment by a wizard. It was like she was the only thing worth seeing in a building full of priceless art.

“I’ve always felt strangely comfortable in museums,” she continued, hand brushing against Peter’s bicep in what he could only assume was an accident, “being surrounded by history just feels right to me. It’s like coming home,” Peter couldn’t help but grin, holding back a snicker.

“I’m guessing that’s the real reason you offered to take me in,” he teased, gently ribbing Y/N and making her giggle, “just couldn’t help but bring home a blast from the past who still has their youthful good looks,”

“You caught me! I just couldn’t resist your elderly charms,”

In a moment of poor judgment, Peter found himself leaning into her touch but was surprised to find her leaning right back into him. His heart began to pound faster. He could only hope she couldn’t tell. The feeling of being close to Y/N, listening to her laugh, being the shoulder she leaned on… it was like nothing Peter had ever felt before.

The short remainder of their walk to Y/N’s destination was mostly quiet, but neither of them tried to pull away from the other. Their moment only ended when they reached a large door labeled ‘Staff Only’. Y/N finally unlinked her arm from Peter’s before turning to face him. He was proud to note the flush on her face.

“I’m gonna go grab my bag,” she muttered, worrying the edge of her lip with her teeth, “do you mind taking me home? Traveling with you would probably be faster than hailing a taxi, and way less expensive,”

Between the thought of getting to be close to Y/N again and the excitement of getting to show off his powers, Peter was eager to please. “Sure thing! Do you want me to grab your bag for you? I’m sure I’d be quicker?” He emphasized his statement with a wink. Unfortunately, it didn’t have the desired effect.

Instead, Y/N looked almost nervous as she shook her head no. “I’ve got it, Peter,” she insisted.

He quirked up an eyebrow in surprise. “You sure? We could be home in a minute tops, just say the word,”

“There’s just a lot of important museum stuff back there! I trust you Peter, but this is priceless art we’re talking about, so I’d rather not take any chances. I’ll be back in a second!”

She slowly backed towards the door, offering him one last smile before disappearing into the darkness beyond. Something about her expression turned Peter’s stomach. It wasn’t unfamiliar, she had acted similarly in a few days Peter had known her at seemingly random times, but it just seemed… suspicious, like there was something he should definitely know that he was being kept in the dark about. Despite everything, he shook off the feeling, chalking it up to him not understanding all the intricacies of this new universe. If love made him blind, he was willing to take that chance.

It only took a few minutes for Y/N to emerge, a small messenger bag in hand, but when she did she was joyful once again, offering Peter an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. Did I miss anything while I was gone?”

He shook his head, pulling down his goggles and offering her his hand. “Not much, just the end of the world,”

She giggled. “So do I just hop on your back or what?”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat. In a second he was down on his knee. “All aboard,” He did his best to keep still as Y/N settled herself on his back, then he was lifting her easily, arms hooked under her knees as she giggled into his hair. “What’s so funny?”

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders securely as he stood. “I just expected you to call yourself the Bohner express,”

It took all of Peter’s strength to keep his laughter under control. “You tell me that now? After the opportunity to use it has passed?”

Y/N squeezed him a little tighter. “I’m sure you’ll get to use it next time,”

The thought of a next time sent Peter’s heart rate through the roof. Oh, it was on.

“I’d hold on if I were you,” he said, smirking, “the Bohner express is leaving the station,”

Y/N was quick to snap back. “Let’s hope it doesn’t disappoint,”

“Oh Y/N, the Bohner express never disappoints,”

“Prove it,”

Peter had them back to the brownstone in record time.

[salvejoon]

Lost - kth | M

⇒ Summary: Getting lost in the wilderness of Norway wasn’t exactly a good idea. Getting lost with Kim Taehyung, the biggest fuckboy of them all, was an even worse idea... Or so you thought.

⇒ Pairing: Taehyung x female reader

⇒ Genre: A bit of fluff, angst and smut.

⇒ Rating: 18+

⇒ Word count: 4.7k

⇒ Warnings: mentions of loss of parents, Taehyung is an asshole in one bit of the story, reader has a potty mouth, otherwise it’s just filth containing grinding, fingering, unprotected sex (remember to wrap it up, folks) and creampie.

⇒ A/N: Hello my precious beans! I wrote this piece as a celebration for hitting another milestone a couple of weeks ago. I cannot express the happiness I feel nor the amount of love I have for all of you, followers and moots alike! I hope you enjoy this smol gift of my appreciation! xoxo

“Go away.” 

You heard a deep chuckle behind you, followed with, “I really have no where else to go.” 

“You can go back to that cliff and jump off it.” You sneered, taking a step further up the steep hill, your hand reaching out for a tree thrunk to stabilize yourself, “That, in fact, would make me very happy.” 

Another chuckle, “But then who will protect you from the wolves, Y/N?” 

“There’s no wolves in these parts of the forest, idiot. If you’d done your research you would’ve known that.” Just as you took another step, your foot slipped and you tilted backward, only to fall into a strong body, arms going around your shoulders. You looked up at the smirking face above you and you narrowed your eyes.

“I had an inkling feeling that you did all this just to get me alone.” He said, one of his brows shooting upward provocatively as his hands shifted and ended up at your hips, “But all you had to do was ask, baby.” 

“Get your hands off me!” You exclaimed and twisted your body in his hold, “As if I would ever do that just to be alone with you.” You growled and glared at him as you created some distance between you, “God! Do you ever think about anything else than fucking?” 

The smirk vanished from his lips and he gave you a one-shouldered shrug, “Not really.” 

“Ugh!” You shuddered as you continued up the hill, cursing your luck to be lost in the midst of Norway’s forests with the Kim Taehyung. 

You’ve had the ‘pleasure’ of knowing him for almost 5 years now. The two of you met in College when your best friend, Denise, started dating his best friend Jimin. Already from the beginning you could tell Taehyung was what you classified as a Grade A Fuckboy. You had a ranking system and he was at the top of the list. There was nothing and no one he wouldn’t have sex with as long as it was humanoid, had a heartbeat and a pussy. You and Denise had kept number of how many women he’d played throughout College and the final number was something you needed four pairs of hands to count, when you graduated. 

And in his wake, he left broken hearts. 

God, the amount of women you’d seen show up at his door, crying, begging him to take them back, that they’d change for him, they would do anything, just as long as he took them back. Most times he would dismiss them coldly but other times, he would take them back, only to use them a bit more until he got bored and they’d be back to square one. 

You couldn’t really blame them. Taehyung was taken out of a model magazine. His hair looked soft and well kept, his skin was clearer and brighter than your future with no pimple in sight. His eyes were this deep brown, almost black in the right lighting and they were sharp, so sharp in fact that you sometimes feared he could look straight into your eyes and see all your secrets. He could intimidate even the smartest of smartasses with a simple leveled stare. 

His nose were sculpted by the Gods themselves, fuck the whole man was, but it just had the perfect proportions, the soft bridge, the sharp tip. God, you hated his nose.  

And his lips, ugh, they just looked so soft and pliable. Not that you had fantasized about kissing them or anything, nope. 

His body stood tall and lean. The man’s S shape was to kill for. You hadn’t imagined what he looked like underneath his designer clothes, ever. You were a proper woman, after all. 

You were also a big fat liar. The amount of hours, days, month, years you had crushed on the motherfucker was something you didn’t want to say out loud. But you told yourself that it was alright. You were single, hadn’t felt the touch of a man in so long you were pretty sure there was cobwebs down there and it didn’t help that Taehyung was the epitome of perfection. 

You wanted to be selfish and hope your best friend’s relationship with Jimin would end quickly but no, luck wasn’t on your side because here you were, 5 years later, lost in the woods with the man you secretly wanted to fuck you stupid. 

You have problems, girlie. You are lost in the middle of nowhere, no town in the near vicinity, the sun is setting, your phone is dead and the only thing you can think about is dick. Holy fuck, I need a therapist. 

“Woman, slow down.” You heard Taehyung call out behind you and you glanced over your shoulder. He had fallen behind as you had been lost in your thoughts. 

“Keep up, idiot. We need to find somewhere to rest before the sun goes down.” You yelled back, a smirk tugging on your lips as you saw how his chest was heaving, “Perhaps you should work on your stamina when we get back home.” You told him as he reached you, leaning against a tree with a hand. 

Despite his heavy breathing, he raised his head to look at you, a teasing grin on his lips, “Oh, I have plenty of stamina.” 

You sighed and continued upwards. 

“Let’s keep going. We only have an hour or so before the daylight is gone.” 

“You’re kinda sexy when bossy, Y/N.”

“Shut the fuck up and keep walking.” 

You sat down with a sigh, leaning against a tree as Taehyung lit a small campfire he’d made. The man wasn’t as useless as you’d first thought, this being his first hike and all. You slid the straps of your bag off your shoulders and placed it between your legs. 

“I’m hungry.” Taehyung said, poking the fire with a stick. 

“I have something, just give me a second.” You rummaged around your bag, smiling a little when you found what you were looking for and pulled out the items. 

Taehyung frowned upon seeing what was in your hand, “You can’t be serious.” 

“That’s all I have because Jimin is the one with the bag full of food.” You told him coldly and threw the Snickers bar at him, “I have a couple more but I reckon you also want some food tomorrow since it’s a good 15 kilometer walk from here to the nearest town.” 

He didn’t answer but he pouted and for a second you were about to coo at how cute he looked but you fought the sound back. 

None of you uttered a word as you ate the chocolate bars. It had been a hellish day and you couldn’t wait to just put up your one-man tent and get some sleep. 

It didn’t occur to you right away but when it did, you stiffened. 

“Alright, should we set up the tent?” He asked, standing up, looking at you expectantly. 

Your eyes snapped to his and you opened your mouth, only to close it again. 

“Y/N?” 

Okay, calm down. The tent isn’t that small. There’s plenty of space for the two of you. Also it’s not like he has to share your sleeping bag, you dumb hoe.

“Oh fuck.” You heard him murmur as he fiddled with his own bag.

“What?” You asked, slowly standing up.

“I think I lost my sleeping bag when I fell earlier.” 

“YOU WHAT?!” 

Taehyung shushed you, “Don’t scream like that. The wolves might hear you.” 

You groaned loudly and grabbed your bag, loosening the straps that held your tent, “I can’t believe you’ve lost your sleeping bag. Just how stupid are you?” 

“I didn’t do it on purpose, y’know. I’m not that much of a degenerate.” He huffed and folded his arms across his chest. 

You mumbled curses under your breath as you began to assemble the tent, snarling at Taehyung to just leave you alone. 

It was just your luck. Nights out here were cold, especially in the altitude you were at and the thin walls of the tent wasn’t going to be enough to keep a person warm. 

You could just let him freeze to death… Or you could give in and share that delicious body heat with him. 

The first thing you planned on doing when you got back home was to call a therapist. 

With the tent finally assembled, you crawled inside and laid out your sleeping bag and pillow. You felt his presence behind you, in the opening and you glanced back. His eyes were watching whatever it was you were doing and his eyes widened as he saw only one sleeping bag and one pillow. 

“Where am I supposed to sleep?” He asked, eyes rising to meet yours. 

You shrugged and tried to look stoic, “On the ground, I guess.” 

“But it’s getting colder, Y/N. Surely you can’t mean that.” He said, his tone soft and confused. You rolled your eyes and patted your pillow for good measure before taking off your cap, throwing it in the corner. 

“Y/N.” He whined. 

“Shouldn’t have lost your sleeping bag.” 

You moved and sat down on your sleeping bag and took off your jacket as Taehyung crawled into the tent and sat down next to you on the sleeping bag. 

“We’re gonna have to share.” He said, glancing at you. 

“No, we are not.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because,” You began as you crawled to the entrance to zip up the entrance, closing it, “You can’t keep your hands to yourself.” 

Taehyung snorted and shook his head, “What? You think I would touch you like that? Tch, you aren’t exactly my type.” 

You pretended that his words didn’t hurt you, “You’d fuck anything with a pulse and a hole, Taehyung.” 

“Except you.” 

It wasn’t the words themselves that hurt you the most, it was the way he said them: with utter disgust. You ignored how your heart sped up, hammering in your chest and you felt the stingy feeling of tears threatening to appear as you roughly shoved him off your sleeping bag and laid down with your back to him. 

“So that’s it? You’re not gonna-”

“Fuck you, asshole.”

He didn’t say a word after that. Thankfully, you had your back to him, so he didn’t see the few stray tears that fell and you angrily wiped them away. You closed your eyes and tried to fall asleep but your heart just kept hammering in your chest, almost painfully. 

Did he find you that unattractive? Why would he flirt with you then? Did you read too much into it? What did he mean with ‘not his type’ considering he isn’t particularly picky? All those questions kept being repeated over and over for what felt like an eternity. You sighed heavily and moved to enter the sleeping bag, zipping it close without even sparing a glance at Taehyung. 

Outside the winds picked up and soon the sound of pitter-patter on the tent lulled you to sleep. 

You were jolted awake by Taehyung roughly shaking your shoulder, “Wake up!” 

“Wha-” You paused when a flash of light lit up the tent and you saw his panicked expression, soon the familiar rumbling of thunder sounded above you. 

“There’s a storm.” 

“Obviously. Now can I go back to sleep?” You snarled, glaring at him just as another flash of light happened and you saw him freeze up in the second it happened. 

Was he scared of lightning?

Then you heard him draw a shaky breath and you finally noticed how his hand, which was still on your shoulder, were trembling. 

He really was scared of lightning. 

“Are you scared?” You asked him, sitting up in the sleeping back. Taehyung averted his eyes to the roof of the tent where the rain was pouring. He swallowed thickly and nodded. 

You couldn’t help to chuckle when he flinched at another flash. 

“It’s not funny.” He murmured, glaring weakly at you. 

“Just a little.” 

The wind picked up speed and jostled the tent, making him scoot closer to you until his hands brushed against yours on the ground. That’s when you felt how cold he was and the regret immediately took a hold of your stomach, churning it into knots and a lump formed in your throat. 

You really are a bitch, huh? Look at him. Shivering and scared and you actually laugh at him. 

He yelped and that brought your attention to his face. He was trembling so bad and you couldn’t decipher if it was from fear or being cold. He looked so out of it, a look you’ve never seen on him before. 

Without thinking, you zipped open the bag and held it open, “Crawl in.” You told him. 

Taehyung whipped his head around to look at you so fast, muttering, “What?” 

“I said, crawl in.”

“B-But I thought you-”

“Taehyung, shut up and get in the sleeping bag.” 

He nodded and crawled into the bag quickly, mumbling an apology as he hit your stomach with his elbow. You laid back down and heard the zipper as he closed the bag. It was a tight fit, alright. He was laying half-way on top of you and you could barely move. 

“It might be easier if we lay on our sides.” You said and rolled over with a bit of a struggle, “Roll over.” 

“Alright, alright.” 

You expected him to roll the opposite way so you would lie back to back but nope, he rolled over so he was spooning you. You stiffened when you felt him put an arm over your midsection, his loud exhale tickling the baby hairs on your neck.

“W-What are you doing?” You asked, having to swallow thickly as you felt him get more comfortable by wiggling his hips, scooting ever closer to you.

“Getting comfortable.” He answered casually. 

“Don’t get any ideas.” You mumbled. 

“I won’t. Promise.” 

Another flash of lightning struck close to the tent and you felt the earth tremble at the sheer force. Taehyung tensed up immediately, his arm drawing you closer to his chest in response. You maneuvered your arm so that you could place it over his, your fingers drawing circles on his forearm and that seemed to help him calm down a little. 

“Since when have you been scared of thunderstorms?” You asked him, trying to get him to distracted to the storm outside. 

“Since I was eight.” You wondered if that was all he would say about it but he continued, “I lost my parents in a car crash. We crashed during a thunderstorm… Since then I haven’t been the biggest fan of them.” 

Another lightning struck and he tensed up again. You kept on drawing circles on his skin. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He let out a breathy chuckle, “It’s okay. My grandparents raised me after that and I am grateful to them.” You had met his grandparents a handful of times and while his grandfather was very reserved, his grandmother on the other hand was the sweetest elderly woman you had ever met, always caring and giving Taehyung too much food so he has to share it with Jimin.

“I like your grandmother’s bibimbap.” You said, “I tried it once when I was visiting Jimin.” While you couldn’t see it, you could almost feel him smile. 

“Yeah, she makes killer bibimbap.” 

“She does.” 

“I’m sure she’d love to cook some for you, Y/N. She likes you.” 

“She does?” You turned your head to look at him, straining your neck, “I mean you always tell me I’m a bitch but-”

“That’s because you are a bitch but my grandma happens to like you, so…” He raised his head, resting it on his other arm, his eyes looking down at you and then he grinned.

You rolled your eyes but you couldn’t help but smile, “Good to know.” 

The rain was slowing down and the thunder seemed to slowly move away as the two of you looked at each other. You had never seen him so up close and you hated to admit but he was even more beautiful. 

Taehyung stared down at you when his arm moved slightly on your midsection, “Can I ask you something?” He whispered, biting his lip nervously. 

You shrugged but nodded. 

“Do you hate me?” 

Did you hate him? No. “It’s just you keep on saying that you hate me, so I’ve always wondered if you really do hate me, y’know?” 

You bit your lip as well, before wetting them, “I don’t hate you, Taehyung.” His eyes lit up at your words, “But you’re a pain in the ass and have been since the day we met. You’re self-centered, arrogant and a fuckboy but I don’t hate you.” 

You felt his arm move and then his hand grasped yours, interlocking your fingers, “I’m sorry for what I said earlier.” 

“You’ve said many things that pissed me off, idiot. Be more specific.” You knew what he was talking about but you weren’t going to let him off that easily. 

“When I said you weren’t my type…” He trailed off as you hummed, waiting, “I lied.” His hand clenched yours as he slowly descended to graze your lips with his. 

Your eyes went wide and you moved your head, “What are you doing?” 

“Kissing you?” 

“No, what are you doing? I am not to be another check-off on your list, Taehyung.” You tried to move but his arm simply tightened around you, “Fuck off with that shit or you can sleep on the cold ground.” 

“What if I told you that I like you?” At his words, you scoffed and rolled your eyes, “I mean it, Y/N.” 

“Then I’d say I don’t believe you. I’ve heard you say that one too many times to other women to let that fool me. Now stop talking and go to sleep. Let’s pretend this never happened.” You laid your head back down.

“But I don’t want to pretend-”

“But I do!” You snapped, head turning up to look at him, “I do! I am not dealing with your bullshit. I don’t want a single night or maybe a handful of nights with you. I will not let myself get hurt simply because I allowed my stupid crush to grow into to something bigger, you got it?” 

“What crush?” 

You shook your head and let it fall to the pillow, extracting your hand from his, “I am going to sleep now.” You announced. 

Taehyung shook his head, “No, you’re not! What were you talking about?” 

“I find you attractive, you dumbass, and thus are attracted to you, now shut the hell up and sleep.” 

That seemed to shut him up and you closed your eyes, trying to get comfortable in the sleeping bag but all this talking has gotten your blood pumping way to fast to fall asleep, “Fuck.” You muttered under your breath. 

Then you felt him move, wiggling his hips and you were about to tell him to cut that shit when you felt it. Eyes snapping open, you gaped as he pressed his crotch against your ass. 

“Are you…” You swallowed thickly, “Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“What?” 

“Your dick is hard.”

“And?” 

“And… And?!” You grit your teeth, “You’re unbelievable.” 

He grumbled something you didn’t quite catch, “I’m sorry but all the talk about you finding me attractive made him all excited. I can’t exactly control it.” 

“Stop pressing your dick against my ass.” You tried to move away from him but the sleeping bag just wasn’t big enough. 

“Stop wiggling your ass then if you don’t want to get poked, Y/N.” His voice came out as a huff, voice laced with desire but you kept on moving until he moved his hand to your hips and grasped it hard, “I said stop.” 

The bolt of desire that shot through you and pooled between your legs at his commanding tone and the way his fingers dug into your hip was undeniably hard to ignore. You bit your lips trying to contain a whine when his fingers loosened but you couldn’t stop your body from pressing against his crotch. It seemed to have a mind of it’s own while you struggled. You felt his eyes bore into your face as you bit your lip, pressing your thighs together, hoping he wouldn’t notice. 

But he did notice. How could he not for the hand on your hip moved to the apex of your thighs and this time, you whined softly. 

“Do you have something you want to say?” He leaned down to whisper in your ear as his hand moved slowly further down between your legs, “Maybe you do want me.” 

“N-No.” Was your weak response. 

He huffed behind you and you felt him nose the skin behind your ear, “Then why are you squirming?” He whispered before planting a soft kiss there. 

“I…” You trailed off as his hand moved to cup your mound, “Tae.” You sighed as you moved your hair, giving him better access to your neck, goosebumps spreading as he kissed his way down your neck until he reached your shoulder where he nipped your skin. 

He ground his hard cock against your ass and you returned the movement with pushing back against him, causing him to growl. He snaked his other arm around your shoulders, his hand grabbing your throat gently without squeezing. 

You grinded against each other, filling the tent with whimpers and growls, the rain and storm long forgotten as it rolled by. You moved an arm behind you, delving your fingers into his hair and tugged, causing him to groan out. 

“Fuck, you like that?” You asked, trying to steal a glance at him. 

He hummed, his chest vibrating against your back at the sound, “Tease.” He growled as he moved his hand from your center to the hem of your t-shirt, yanking it up and you moaned when you finally felt his fingers on your bare skin, “So soft.” 

Taehyung rolled his hips faster, grinding his cock against you and slid his hands down your loose pants, his finger seaking out your soaked pussy and he muttered a soft ‘fuck’ as he felt how drenched you were. 

“You’re so wet, babe. All this, just for me?” 

“Shut up and fuck me.” 

“But I want to taste you.” 

“Another time, now hurry up before I get bored.” 

“What about a condom?”

“It’s fine, I have an IUD. Go ham.” 

He moved the hand on your throat and grasped your chin with his long fingers, tilting your head upwards and kissed you gently. Your mind was hazy from the lust and pleasure and all you could do was moan as his tongue seeked out yours as you opened your mouth to him. He swallowed the sounds you made as he sunk one finger into you whilst his thumb drew lazy circles around your clit. You began riding his hand as he inserted a second finger, making you keen. 

“Enough.” You mumbled against his lips, “I want you inside me.”

He withdrew his hand from your pants and quickly got to work on his own whilst you wriggled to pull your pants down with one hand, curling in on yourself to slide them off your legs. You were pushed as he struggled to get his pants down and once he did, he sighed in relief as his cock sprang free. 

“That good?” You asked with a small smile, one which he returned as he adjusted himself to lay beside you more comfortably. 

“You try wearing jeans when your dick is hard.” 

“No thanks.” 

Taehyung chuckled and gave you a quick pick on the lips before you felt him line up with your entrance, “You good?” 

You grabbed his forearm and nodded. You hadn’t seen his dick but it felt big when the tip brushed against your sobbing hole and you had to bite your lip to contain a whimper when he finally sunk into you. 

“Jesus fucking, ah.” You cursed and he let out a breathless chuckle. 

“Does it hurt?” 

“It stings a little but I don’t mind it.” 

He raised a brow, “So you’re into pain?” 

You elbowed him in his chest, causing him to grunt, “Just fuck me already, dumbass.” Another hum came from him and he snapped his hips, bottoming out in one movement, causing you to choke on a breath as he quickly set a punishing pace. His cock split open your walls with ease as your wetness gushed around him, creating the most lewd sounds barely muffled by the sleeping bag. 

Your one hand found purchase in his hair again, tugging and pulling with each thrust of his hips and you let out breathy moans as he fucked you. 

“Ah, shit.” Taehyung threw his head back when you clenched around him as his cock hit a particularly spot inside you, “Fuck, you’re tight.” 

“Don’t you dare stop until I cum, Tae.” You managed to say as his pace didn’t let up. His hand moved your leg to lie above his as his other hand that was around your shoulders moved up under your t-shirt, seeking out your bouncing breasts. You cried out as he pinched a nipple harshly, clawing at his forearm. 

“You really like pain, huh?” His statement went unanswered as you didn’t have the brainpower to form words. All you could think about was his cock drilling into you over and over and over until drool began to run from your mouth and onto the pillow. 

“F-fuh-fuck, I’m gonna - Ah!” A loud cry erupted from you as you felt him rub your clit with his thumb. Taehyung growled as your walls clenched around his cock, your entire body going rigid in his arms as the band in your belly finally snapped. He let out a huff and grabbed your throat, clenching slightly as he chased down his own high. 

You could only hold on for the ride as he jackhammered you into next week, fucking you stupid, just like you had dreamt of. 

“Can I - Fuck - Inside?” He kissed your jaw, “Please.” 

“Christ, yes, do it.” You whined in response and twisted your neck to kiss him as he gave you one last thrust, burying himself deeply and he groaned into the kiss as he painted your inner walls with his cum. The kiss ended as his cock slowly softened inside you. 

You stayed there, both of you catching your breaths. 

“I do like you, Y/N.” 

“Show me, Tae. I need to see if you really mean it.” 

“Great idea, how about we go for another round and then I can ask you out for dinner?” 

Around 4 PM, you and Taehyung finally arrived in the town, immediately seeking out the hotel you were going to stay at, hoping to find Jimin and Denise there. 

You found your friends in the bar and once they spotted you, they ran to the two of you, engulfing you in hugs. 

“Are you okay?” Denise asked as she checked you over for any injuries, “I am so sorry. You must have been so scared.” 

You snorted and patted her cheek, “I’m alright, Deni. I had the dumbass to watch over me.” 

“You didn’t happen to see or hear any wolves, did you?” Jimin asked, gesturing to the TV, “It was just on the news that wolves were spotted in that particular area.” 

You didn’t need to look at Taehyung to know that he was wearing a smug grin, instead opting to brush past your friends and over to the bar, in dire need of a drink. 

“Hey Y/N, I’m going to head up and take a shower. Don’t be late!” Taeyung called out as he left the area. Denise raised a brow as she sat down next to you, looking at you expectantly. 

“Don’t be late for what?” She asked. 

You shrugged and waved the bartender over, “Our date.” 

“Date? The Kim Taehyung asked you out on a date?” 

“Yeah, after we fucked, what, three? Four times? Something like that.” 

“You WHAT?!” 

“Right. Time to go.” You quickly kissed her cheek and dashed towards the elevators. You didn’t even try to hide your smile as the doors opened to the elevator. 

You were really looking forward to said date.

[navigatrixnarrations]

The Same Constellations

Word Count: 1922

Warnings: Some profanity, mentions of violence. They’re pirates.

Set between Parts 4 and 5 of @whenimaunicorn’s epic The Heart of Admiration series, we’ve got angsty Vane, voice of reason Jack, and firmly in denial Hope. Are these disaster pirates learning to talk to one another?

Jack Rackham shakes his head in disappointment at the fresh cuts and bruises on Charles Vane’s face. “At this rate, by week’s end it will be a minor miracle if you have any skin left at all. I suppose I should just be grateful you’re leaving the opium alone.”

Instead of answering verbally, or even sitting up, Vane lobs an empty rum bottle past his quartermaster’s head. Both men are well aware that he missed on purpose.

Unperturbed, Jack continues. “If you need to work off some, shall we say, frustration, the men have glowing things to say about the local brothels.”

Vane just glowers at Jack. He already tried that back in Nassau. Whores who bore any physical resemblance whatsoever to Hope. Whores who looked as dissimilar to Hope as possible. Somehow he felt even worse afterwards. Emptier.

“That motherfucker said Hope needs to be taken down a peg.”

“So you felt a need to take on him and several of his men all at once. Was she even present when he said whatever he said?”

Vane drags himself upright. “No.”

“Then maybe a better use of your energies would be spending time with her.”

Vane acts as though he didn’t hear a word of it.

Jack lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Chaz, Hope isn’t Eleanor. She isn’t going to betray you because she wants to get ahead or because she’s bored or because it’s Thursday.”

“Fuck you, Jack.”

Jack throws up his hands. “By all means, continue to get in brawls with all of Tortuga. That is certainly more sensible than, oh, as a brief example, talking to her. I’m sure she’ll be very grateful that she lost her old crew only for you to get yourself killed in some idiotic fight.”

Vane’s chin juts out dangerously. Jack doesn’t know what it was like when he was a child and the overseers made sure to take away anything they even thought he and the other slaves wanted. How Eleanor did more of the same, used everything he even hinted at wanting against him, just to prove she could. But Vane has to begrudgingly admit that Jack, damn the man, is right about one thing: Hope isn’t at all like Eleanor. “Seems likely she’d be relieved.”

“I highly doubt that.” Jack pauses, and though Vane’s thin lips curl in a silent snarl, he’s listening. “The night we backed up Mackinaw on the beach, she stood with you.”

“She told me I was foolish.”

“Yet she stood with you anyway. You didn’t see her face when she lost sight of you in the scrum, or when she saw you were still standing. I did.”

And she caught him when he stumbled on his wounded leg. The memory of her body tucked warm under his arm as she steadied him, her hand over his heart, was something that kept him awake, made him restless. Her voice, telling him he had been foolish, but noble...“And?”

“And she’s currently at the Cat’s Head eating her supper and assisting me in hunting up leads. Perhaps you would like to clean yourself up and join her.”

----------

Tortuga hadn’t changed much while she was in Nassau, and Hope feels no small relief to be back in its familiar surroundings, where she isn’t a newcomer yet to learn the major players and where, she thinks dryly as she finishes her meal, she hasn’t made enemies of the tavern owner or fence. Out of the corner of her eye, Hope glimpses a blond man in the clothes of a working pirate strolling toward her. She turns her head to meet a pair of green eyes and a broad grin and oh, son of a bitch, what are the odds that Liam O'Malley would be here with some of his crew.

"Hope Wickham! I didn’t know you were back in Tortuga!”

"Temporarily. Are you still on the Shrike?"

"Aye, got elected Captain a couple of months ago. You don't happen to be looking for a position, by any chance?"

“I appreciate the offer, but I've got one."

"That's a shame. I could use a good navigator. You're not still with Fisher's crew?"

“No, Charles Vane’s.”

O’Malley lets out a low whistle. “Look at you, then. Well, if you change your mind, you know how to find me.” She gives him a friendly hug and promises to have a proper catch-up soon.

She turns around to see Vane standing several paces away, watching, body stiff and his face a thundercloud. He gives her a hard stare then turns on his heel and storms off.

Hope excuses herself to follow her captain, hurrying after his long strides, wondering what set him off. She’s relieved to see that he’s no longer favoring his injured leg; when she asked if he needed help getting the stitches out, he grumbled at her to stop fussing. She later learned that he made a temporary truce with Doctor Mills, the ship’s surgeon, to assist him with that task, though immediately thereafter the two men each returned to pretending that the other did not exist.

She catches up with him on the jetty, where he’s leaning his forearms on the railing and staring out to sea. Hope senses a kind of bleakness radiating from him. He turns his head at her approach, then goes back to watching the tide roll in.

Hope comes to a halt beside him and furrows her brows as she examines the new injuries to his face. “Who did this to you?”

He grunts. “Does it matter?”

She rolls her eyes heavenward, refusing to dignify that with a response. “If you were planning on getting in fights, you could have told me.”

“So you could try to talk me out of it?”

“And so I could have your back if that didn’t work.”

Vane turns toward her with guarded eyes and his jaw clenched tight. “The men I fought insulted you.”

“Captain Vane, I didn’t go to sea because I wanted an easy life or a safe one. I know there are men who will always resent me and talk shit about me because of my sex. If you try to fight them all, you’ll never have time to eat or piss.” She never considered Charles Vane the type to defend a woman’s honor like that, and she most certainly does not need him to defend hers, but she’s surprised by how touched she is that he felt a need to stand up for her when she wasn’t there.

“Are you going to sign your friend’s articles?”

Hope doesn’t try to hide her shock. He thought she accepted O’Malley’s offer? "I told him I’m not looking for another position."

“Do you think he’ll leave it at that?”

“It’s not at all up to him, but yes, he will. We go way back.”

Vane merely raises his scarred brow.

She takes a deep breath and attempts to summon her patience. "If you're wondering whether I used to be with O'Malley, the answer is no. He's a friend, and we used to sail together when we were both apprenticing, but things were never...like that between us." She isn’t sure why she needs Vane to know this. It’s none of his business that she has never been with O’Malley, or for that matter, with any other man, just as it would not be his business if she had bedded every man on Tortuga.

He looks at her coolly. “It isn’t that.”

Hope feels her heart jump, but she refuses to back down. "What then?" She meets his blue eyes squarely.

"I’m concerned for you."

It’s Hope’s turn to arch a brow.

"I know some of his men from Nassau. They're shits, and you would be a woman alone with them."

She lets out an exasperated sigh. "I can look after myself." How is the man so consistently irritating? And why does she feel a pang in her chest when she recalls the look of hurt that flickered across his face, fleeting as it was, when he saw her hugging O’Malley?

Vane's scowl lessens. "I know you can. But you shouldn't have to, not amongst your own."

"It's a moot point anyway. Unless you're firing me, I have no intention of leaving your crew."

She swears she sees some of the tension go out of his shoulders.

"You always have a place with me." His voice is quiet, as gentle as that scraping rasp allows.

Hope wasn’t worried that her position was in any danger to begin with, so why does she feel so...warmed by his words? It makes no sense. There is no calculation she can run or measurement she can take to solve this puzzle. The words tumble from her mouth before she can think to stop them. “Then that is exactly where I’ll be.”

A smile crosses his face, bright as a flash of sunlight on the water and just as brief, before his expression turns grave once more. “So long as you recall that you have a choice.” He needs her to know she isn’t trapped. He needs to know that she knows she isn’t trapped.

"That you give me the choice is exactly why I stay on with you." She pauses, trying to figure out how to explain. “The moment you realized you had not given me free choice to be on your crew, you made it right. You listened to me, and you made it right. That means a great deal.”

Vane nods. Exhales slowly. They stand side by side in companionable silence. After a time, she speaks again. "When I first went on the account, I sailed with a man from Timbuktu. He told wondrous stories about his homeland, of vast ever-shifting seas of burning sand where the only way to navigate is by the stars, same as we do at sea. He'd speak to me at night while I was working, because he had a daughter about my age who he missed terribly. We used the same stars to find the way, he and I, but we called them by different names. We used the same constellations but saw in them different creatures. Neither of us were wrong, and we got to the same answers, but if asked to explain how we did it, we would say very different things." Hope turns her head so she can look him in the eye, not in challenge, but trying to will him to understand.

“You think when we disagree, we’re sometimes looking at the same thing in different ways.”

“Just so.”

Vane’s hand reaches over to cover hers. He starts to step closer, ever so slightly, when a breathless, sweaty-faced Jack comes running down the jetty towards them. “I’ve got it, Charles! I’ve got the lead we were seeking. But there are people...” His eyes slide over to Vane’s hand, which is still wrapped firmly around Hope’s. He startles and nearly jumps backwards a pace when he realizes that he interrupted them.

“Then we’d best go talk to those people,” Vane growls. He glances down at Hope with the faintest shadow of a grin. “Luckily we’ve got a skilled negotiator who isn’t afraid to knife a man.”

Hope snorts and makes a wry face. He has never before mentioned the corpse she’d left in his cabin during the first raid she went on with him.

As she walks beside her captain, his words keep ringing in her ears. You always have a place with me.

[oddcoupler222]

Merry Christmas! I’m a big TWW fan and in anticipation for the published version I was wondering if you could share us the scene in the epilogue where Marg surprises Prof Sansa mid lesson. I vaguely remember the funny twitterverse pic you made for this scene but would love a written version! 😊🎁

Merry Christmas back!

for reference :)

--------------

Eliza didn’t sign up for Women in Contemporary Westerosi Lit merely because Professor Stark was teaching it -- she wasn’t weirdly obsessed with the woman. But she wouldn’t say she didn’t jump at the class when she’d seen that her favorite professor was teaching it.

Even though this was officially Professor Stark’s first semester teaching, Eliza would never forget how she’d been the TA in her first year in university. Dr. Lannister had been a great professor but intimidating at times, whereas Sansa - as a grad student in her final semester - had always had time, patience, and a perfect way of explaining to 18-and 19- year old freshmen about how to go about analyzing literature.

And now, two years later, she was finding out that the internship or whatever, wherever Sansa had gone had made her teaching even better. 

Did you know that Colleen was in this class? Oh wait. Of course you did.

The note her friend, Sara, slid across their shared table jarred her out of taking notes as Professor Stark lectured.

She flipped Sara off as discreetly as she could even as her eyes flickered two rows ahead of her own and three seats to the left. And a wistful sigh escaped her. 

It’s not like she’d known Colleen would be in the class for certain - even though she had a work study job at the registrar office. But she’d thought it would be a pretty good bet, considering Colleen Durand had been in almost all of the social lit electives most semesters. She knew, because of all of these shared classes, that Colleen’s minor was in literature, just like Eliza’s was.

Though Colleen was an Anthropology major, unlike herself. She liked that about her, enough to have spent about two hours reading about what the fuck economic anthropology -- Colleen’s specialty -- was a year and a half ago, when they first shared a class. The first time she’d tossed back her honey blonde hair all perfectly tousled and readjusted her perfect posture as she sat in a front row seat and took immaculate notes -

(notes that Eliza had managed the courage last semester to ask to borrow even though she hadn’t needed them. Using it as a conversation starter was pretty much moot, though, when she then psyched herself out and like. She borrowed the notes, which meant that now, Colleen thought she was dumb or something? Like she couldn’t take her own notes? And then her dumbass roommate at the time had spilled coffee on her desk and got it on Colleen’s pristine notebook)

Peeking up to make sure she wasn’t about to be caught sneaking notes like she was in fourth grade, she scrawled back, We’ve been in class for three weeks and you’re just noticing?

Sara had no qualms about being caught. Well, unlike you, I don’t have a radar for her. It’s not my head that pops up the second she steps into the dining hall, like some bloodhound who caught a scent.

You make me sound like a stalker. Now shut up before Prof Stark notices.

Calm down. She’s chill as fuck. And you make yourself sound like a stalker. golden haired goddess. the light dusting of freckles on her nose. her cute cardigans. those perfectly elegant long fingers that write those amazing notes -

The last thing Eliza wanted was to lose any respect from Sansa and definitely didn’t want to get called out in front of Colleen, who most assuredly already thought she was a dumbass.

Even if she had 0 chances with that gorgeous specimen of a woman, she didn’t want her to think she was a true moron. Also:

YOU PROMISED ME YOU WOULD NEVER BRING UP DRUNK ELIZA’S POETIC WAXING

Shit u right. But I never promised I wouldn’t bring up drunk Eliza being upsetti spaghetti - “i bet shes probably straight. i hate that she prob thinks im dumb. i have an internship in the red keep!!!!! shes not the kind of person who would care about my twitter. i have over 10000 followers!! i am FUNNY! but she is too good for my dumb lesbian human humor!” what does that even mean -

Friendship canceled, thanks for your service. Your severance package is the nothing you deserve.

She turned to rip the paper away from Sara before she could write anything back, just in time to notice the back door to the room creak open. Which was kinda weird because -- what is the point of coming to class if you’re a half hour late?

She flickered her eyes to the front of the room, noticing that Professor Stark’s back was to the room as she wrote on the SmartBoard. This interloper was pretty fucking luck-

“Holy shit,” she breathed, eyes wide.

She started hitting Sara’s thigh under the table, in rapid succession. She and Sara met two years ago, when they’d joined the LGBT Alliance on campus and they’d bonded immediately. For several reasons, one of which being that they were both political science majors.

Political science majors who’d both moved to King’s Landing for college and met the year that Margaery Tyrell came out as a lesbian and won the Small Council election and announced very publicly that she was dating the very professor standing in the front of the room at this very moment.

To say that she (and Sara) spearheaded the online community when it came to freaking out over Margaery Tyrell and Sansa Stark’s relationship as two stunning, brilliant, fucking amazing women who were soft as fuck together, would be an understatement. And despite the facts that they lived in the same city, that she took a class with 1/2 of the ultimate power couple, and that she had an internship at the workplace of the other, she’d yet to see them in the same physical space.

Until now.

“Seven hells, what,” Sara hissed in a whisper as she grabbed the hand slapping her thigh.

All she could do was point behind Sara, as Margaery fucking Tyrell - as gorgeous as ever - slid discreetly into the seat in the back corner of the room.

-------------

Margaery had enjoyed King’s Landing University in her time here. She’d enjoyed her courses for the most part and some of her peers. Mostly, she’d enjoyed conquering college as a part of conquering yet another step on the journey of her life.

But for as much as she enjoyed her time here when she was done, she hadn’t looked back. It was a footnote on her way to the rest of her life, regardless of how fun or successful a footnote it was.

The first time she’d stepped back into the KLU campus had been almost three years ago, that first fateful time she’d tracked down Sansa after they’d had sex. Back when Sansa had been a TA stuck in her little office, looking unbearably hot and cute all at once in her glasses and sweater.

Now, Sansa was still looking hot and cute all at once, as she commanded this class. Her girlfriend stood in the front of the tiered seats and she no longer was flustered or seemed at all nervous about being in front of the group. No, she was in control, and the form-fitting black top with her hair pulled over her shoulder was just doing delicious things to Margaery.

She paused in the middle of her lecture to laugh at a comment made by a studious looking blonde sitting in the front row. And Margaery sighed, unable and unwilling to stop the smile that took over her face as she turned her head to watch Sansa.

Even though her girlfriend had been officially teaching at KLU for almost a month, this was the first time Margaery’s schedule allowed for her to witness it.

She’d seen Sansa pace around their apartment in the evenings before starting the 3 courses she was teaching, practicing bits and pieces of her analysis. She’d laid in their bed, stroking her hand over Sansa’s stomach, as her girlfriend had excitedly told her about her students and the insights they’d had.

Moving in together a few months ago was truly the most genius idea Margaery had ever had.

But today? Her Small Council meeting had been pushed back for two hours. Which perfectly opened up the time for her to witness the final hour of Sansa leading her Women in Contemporary Westerosi Lit class.

“Thank you, Jess, for bringing up Lauren Ambrose’s use of metaphor. I want you to break into your new groups that I emailed to you over the weekend and spend five minutes going over the notes you should have from last weeks reading to come up with any metaphors you found and then we’re going to play a little game with them. Eliza, Colleen, and Michael. Sara, Alysanne, Jon. So on and so forth.”

The students rearranged themselves as Margaery stayed hidden in the back of the room, watching with rapt attention. As Sansa turned from lecture to analyzing the text through a question-dodgeball type game she must have made up.

Even though Margaery hadn’t expected to be bored - because she could watch Sansa do anything and everything and not be bored. Even brushing her teeth, somehow. But she was actually interested in the material, the way Sansa spoke about it.

The hour flew by and at the end of it, as everyone was starting to pack up their belongings, Margaery made her move.

She cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Professor Stark. Any homework?”

She was fairly certain she heard one student state, “I’m dying,” but she was mostly focused on the way Sansa turned, eyebrows already high on her forehead because Margaery knew she recognized her voice.

Gods, but she loved those blue eyes and the way they widened. She smirked as she saw the way her girlfriend’s lightly glossed lips parted in surprise.

“What...” Sansa held her eyes for a long moment before she shook her head. She ran her eyes over her students who were starting to depart. “Um - your assigned reading is online. You all know my office hours if you have any questions about your next paper. Thanks for the, um,” those eyes flickered back to Margaery’s and held, “The discussion.”

She waited a few moments, just watching Sansa make her hands busy by gathering her papers at the front desk, furtively throwing looks over at Margaery. She waited until the majority of the students were gone, with just a couple young women taking their time in the front, before she gathered her jacket over her arm and slid her bag over her shoulder and made her way down.

“What are you doing here? It’s Tuesday, you have your Small Council meeting at 10:30?” 

She never thought she would love having someone know her schedule by heart and check in with her about it. But damn, she loved that Sansa knew it all.

She loved knowing Sansa’s. She loved knowing she could look up at the clock on a given day and know, in general, what Sansa was up to. She even loved sharing a Google calendar.

“It was postponed, so I hightailed it to see my -” she slid her gaze to the group of students that she clocked as purposefully taking forever to pack up, and held back the myriad of adjectives that she would save for when they didn’t have an audience. It was something they were still getting used to. “- beautiful girlfriend. I just really wanted to see you in action.”

Sansa did that biting her lip and swaying a little closer thing that Margaery still adored, “What’d you think?”

She swayed a little closer and consciously lowered her voice. “I think... that I absolutely understand what exactly you meant when you say that watching me in action does something to you.”

Sansa, always genius, keenly caught on to keeping her voice so low and mirrored her, “Oh yeah? You want me to talk about metaphor in the bedroom?”

Margaery lifted an eyebrow, considering. “You know... I wouldn’t hate it.”

The giggle-snort that left Sansa made her stomach dip as she laughed.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Do you have time for lunch?” Sansa reached out and tangled their fingers easily, Margaery’s hand instinctively turning to take her girlfriends.

It was the worst timing for her watch to beep, signifying the timer she’d left for herself in order to cut back through the city to the Keep in time for her meeting.

Genuinely regretful - they didn’t get enough lunches together lately - she sighed. “Not today. But dinner - I’ll bring it.”

Sansa smiled warmly at her, squeezing her hand. She gave her students a fleeting look, before she tugged Margaery in and pressed those soft, pink lips to hers.

She hummed in contentment as she pulled back. “I’ll see you at home, darling.”

She stole another kiss before she left with a grin.

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Let Them Eat Cake (Ethan x f!MC)

Summary: Ethan and Naomi have their own private cake tasting

Rating: T/M. Kind of suggestive, but not fully explicit. I really did try to stop myself from going full on NSFW

Word Count: ~3,000 

Tag List: I’ll just use the tag list from my last fic. Let me know if you want to be tagged in the future. @canknot @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @choicesobsessedd @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @sparklinglilac  @cream-ray @perriewinklenerdie @barricades-of-freedom @dr-brianna-casey-valentine

~~/~~

It’s almost midnight when Ethan Ramsey is forced out of his sleep by a sharp knock on his front door. Jenner wakes up as well, barking to get Ethan’s attention. He ignores it for a few seconds, rolling over in bed, but the knocking only gets louder, more insistent.

“What the hell?”

He throws the comforter back and gets out of bed. He wanders out of the room and down the hallway, Jenner hot on his heels, barking loudly. He’s ready to attack any potential intruder. Whoever was knocking on the door is fully banging on it now.

Ethan unlocks the front door and is greeted by four young women, one of whom happens to be his fiancé. The rest are her friends.

“Rookie? What are you doing here?”

His fiancé, Dr. Naomi Valentine smiles brightly upon seeing Ethan. “Ethan! You’re up!”

He can tell by her dilated pupils and extreme lack of balance that she’s drunk. “You’re drunk.” He turns to her friends, who are all staring at him, speechless. He looks down and sees that he’s not wearing anything, except a pair of cotton pajama bottoms. They did not expect Ethan to look like that underneath all of those boring button ups. “What’s going on? Is she okay?”

“Turns out, Naomi can’t handle her red wine very well,” Aurora says with a huff.

“Why are you bringing her back here?” Ethan asks. Not that he doesn’t mind having his fiancée at home with him, but it’s Jackie’s birthday, and they were supposed to be having a girls’ weekend. “I thought she was spending the night at her old place with you guys.”

“That was the plan, but she’s been asking for you for the past two hours,” Sienna says. 

“We got tired of her whining. And we aren’t babysitting her drunk ass,” Jackie adds. Kyra elbows her in the side. “Ow! What? It’s the truth.”

Aurora loosens her grip on Naomi and shoves her through the doorway. “There you are, Ethan. We’ve returned her to you, safe and in one piece.”

Ethan grabs Naomi by the waist and pulls her into his side. She instantly turns her body and cuddles him. “Thank you. Are you guys good to leave? Do you need me to call a cab?”

Sienna shakes her head. “I’m the designated driver tonight, so we’re good, but thank you for the offer.”

“Alright then. Enjoy the rest of your night, ladies.”

“Goodnight. And good luck.”

Ethan closes the front door and locks it. He feels Naomi release herself from his grip and when he turns around to see what she’s doing, she’s taking off her heels. When her feet finally touch the carpeted floor, she sighs. “I’m so happy to not have those shoes on anymore.”

He and Naomi have been together for almost two years, but he’s never seen her drunk. A little tipsy? Sure, but never drunk. This is uncharted territory for him. “How did you manage to get so drunk?”

“We went to a wine bar,” Naomi answers. She bends down to scratch Jenner behind the ears. “I told them I rarely drink wine because it hits me hard but Jackie insisted because she’s the birthday girl. Now I’m here.” She fully gave her attention to Jenner, pulling the dog into a hug. “Jenner, I missed you! Did you miss me?” He sniffs Naomi’s hand before nuzzling in closer to her. “Are you the best boy ever? I think you are!” Jenner barks. “Yes you are!”

Ethan smiles at the sight of Naomi interacting with their dog. Even when she’s drunk, the bond between her and Jenner is one that can’t be broken.

Naomi gets up and walks back over to Ethan. She wraps her arms around him, burying her face into his chest. “I missed you.”

“You saw me earlier today, sweetheart,” Ethan points out. He drops a kiss on her forehead.

“That was so long ago,” Naomi murmurs. “I just want to be with you forever.”

“You are going to be with me forever, Rookie. In case you forgot, we’re getting married in a few months.”

“You know what I’m saying,” Naomi slurs, annoyed that he wasn’t picking up what she was putting down. “I want to be with you 24/7.”

So Naomi is a clingy drunk, Ethan concludes.

“In a perfect world, that would be lovely. But we can’t because we have lives, we have jobs.”

“You’re rich,” Naomi deadpans. “You can quit working, and so can I.”

Ethan chuckles. “Money may be no object, but I work because I love medicine. I love helping people, as do you. We can’t quit.”

Naomi pouts. “You’re no fun.”

“That’s why I’m with you, you’re the fun one.”

Naomi pushes herself off of Ethan’s chest, giving herself some space. “I’m tired of being dressed.”

“Okay, why don’t you go change into your pajamas and get into bed,” Ethan suggests.

Naomi ignores Ethan and starts stripping out of her clothes right in the living room. She tugs her jeans down and tosses them over her shoulder, uninterested in wherever they landed. Next is the silver tank top and bra she’s been wearing all night. Ethan watches her in amusement. Even sober, Naomi had the tendency to strip as soon as she made it through the threshold of their condo, so of course tonight was no different.

Leaving her clothes discarded on the floor, she slips off to their bedroom in search of something to wear. After digging through their walk-in closet for a minute, she settles on one of Ethan’s old college sweatshirts, and no pants. Once she’s comfortable with the choice, Naomi heads back into the common area of their condo and sees Ethan has moved from the living room to the kitchen. She joins him, silently watching as he searched for something to make.

“Did you at least have a nice time with your friends today?” Ethan asks.

“I did. Jackie got hit on by a guy at the bar, but he was gross.”

“Why was he gross?”

“Because he had dirty fingernails, he reeked of cheap cologne, and he wore a fake gold pinky ring.”

“That doesn’t make someone gross,” Ethan argues, with a chuckle. “It just makes them tacky.”

“He was gross,” Naomi insists. She opens the refrigerator and zeroes in on a platter of cake. Yesterday, she and Ethan did their cake tasting, and settled on white cake with raspberry filling and buttercream frosting, but they were able to go home with tons of samples. She takes the platter out and removes the protective cling wrap. “I’m so glad the bakery let us go home with all this cake.”

“You’re going to eat that?”

“Yeah.” Naomi hops on top of the kitchen island. “And you’re going to eat some with me.”

“Oh, am I?”

“You are.”

“You’re so bossy.”

“You love it.”

“I love you,” Ethan corrects.

“Even better.” Ethan rummages through the drawer that contains all of their cutlery and grabs two forks. He passes one to Naomi who doesn’t take it. “I don’t need it.”

“How else are you going to eat?” Ethan watches as Naomi uses her fingers to break off a piece of cake and bite into it. “Naomi, take the fork.”

“Nope.”

“I’m going to be the grown up in this scenario and actually use my utensils.”

Naomi grabs another slice with her fingers—almond cake—holds it out for Ethan to grab. “Let me feed you a slice. It’s practice for our actual reception.”

Ethan sighs, but he relents. Arguing with her would be a moot point. He opens his mouth and accepts the bite that she’s holding out for him. “I’m glad we didn’t pick this one.”

“It’s so boring!”

“I was just going to say it was the weakest of all of the cakes we tasted, but sure, it was boring.”

“My turn.” Naomi holds out the platter for Ethan to pick a slice.

Ethan opts for the chocolate cake with salted caramel filling and breaks off a piece for Naomi to eat. He lifts it to her lips and she accepts, but before he can pull his hand away, she catches his wrist. Naomi captures his thumb between her lips and sucks on it greedily, licking off whatever remaining frosting was still on his finger. She lets go of his thumb with a resounding pop. “Delicious.”

In that moment, Ethan is sure he’s lost the ability to form coherent thoughts. 

“Fucking hell.” 

Naomi takes a fingers and swipes a generous amount of icing off of one of the slices of cake—she doesn’t bother checking this time, and she doesn’t care in the slightest—and traces a random pattern onto Ethan’s chest and stomach. This time, she makes a show out of it, locking eyes with Ethan as her tongue follows the trail she left. She’ll never get tired of this, exploring him at her leisure. She can feel just how tense he is, his entire body rigid with restraint. She giggles, mostly to herself and places a soft kiss next to his navel. “You’re so tense. You need to learn how to relax more, Doctor.”

Ethan grabs a fistful of Naomi’s hair and yanks her head back, forcing her to look at him. Naomi winces at the sensation, but her eyes darken and the small smirk on her lips tell Ethan all he needs to know. This woman was a fucking minx. “You’re going to be the absolute death of me, Rookie.”

His voice is hoarse and he all but growls at her, and Naomi knows she has him right where she wants him. “Then you shall die a happy man.”

Ethan takes his own slice of cake and puts some in Naomi’s mouth. Not giving her the chance to eat it, he bends down and kisses her fiercely, tasting the sweet dessert on her lips. He captures her full bottom lip between his teeth. Naomi’s hands fly to his hair, grabbing a handful. She tugs, and Ethan groans into her mouth. “Exquisite.”

“Me or the cake?” Naomi asks, teasing him.

“I didn’t even register what that cake tasted like,” Ethan says honestly. Was it strawberry? Maybe carrot cake? “You. It’s always you.”

He reaches out traces nonsensical patterns on Naomi’s bare thighs until his fingers find their way underneath the oversized shirt she’s wearing, settling on her ribcage. Goosebumps break out all over the skin and Naomi shivers involuntarily. 

Naomi’s eyes flutter shut at his touch. “You’re such a smooth operator.”

“Everything I’m saying is the truth. I love you.”

Naomi smiles brightly. She’ll always love hearing that. “I love you, too.” 

Ethan leans forward and kisses her again, slower this time. Every kiss makes him dizzy, like he’s drunk. His tongue glides against her lips until it finds purchase in her mouth, melding against her own. And he doesn’t want to stop, even though his lungs are burning and constricting, and he really should come up for air, but he doesn’t want to separate. He’s just as addicted to her as she is to him. His hand continues their journey north, settling on her breast. He calloused fingers pull at her erect nipple, pinching the tiny nub between his thumb and index finger. Naomi arches her back trying to get even closer to him.

Naomi’s nails rake down his naked chest, leaving scratch marks in their wake. She stops once she reached the waistband of his pajama pants. Ethan’s breath caught in his throat as her fingers dip beneath the waistband of his pants and boxers, lightly scratching his hip.

She breaks the kiss and moves to his neck and jaw, enjoying the feel of his stubble. Ethan drops his head into the crook of her neck, panting loudly. “I have a question for you, Doctor Ramsey.”

Her fingers slowly make their way to the front of his body and she slowly strokes his hard length in her palm, her thumb just barely grazing the tip. His hips buck forward and his grip on her body tightens. “Anything, Naomi. Ask me anything.”

Naomi stops stroking him, earning a desperate whimper from the usually put together attending. “When are you going to stop this game and take me to bed?” 

Before a moment could pass, Ethan easily lifts Naomi up by the backs of her thighs, making her yelp in surprise. She locks her ankles behind his back as he all but runs down the hall to their bedroom.

As soon as they’re in their room, Ethan fosses Naomi onto the center of the bed. She sighs in content at the soft mattress hitting her back.

Ethan tries to touch and kiss every inch of skin available to him. Her face, her neck, her thighs, everything. But he hears a sound that stops him dead in his tracks. Snoring.

“Rookie?” He looks up and sure enough, Naomi is out like a light. “Naomi? Naomi?”

She doesn’t respond, she only rolls over.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ethan doesn’t know if he wants to laugh at the speed of which his fiancée fell asleep, or if he wants to pull his hair out in extreme frustration. 

He hooks his arms underneath her neck and the backs of her knees, lifting her up so he can actually get her into bed. He places her on her side, and pulls the comforter over her body. Ethan then shuffles into their en-suite, in search of where Naomi keeps her makeup. He finds her makeup wipes tucked in a corner and he grabs a few. Naomi is extremely diligent and rigid when it comes to her bedtime routine and she’d be upset if she woke up and realized she went to bed with a full face on. The least he can do is semi-help.

Walking back to their bed, Ethan takes one of the wipes and runs it across Naomi’s face. He does this a few times, until he’s confident he’s taken off most of her makeup. He also put her hair into a sloppy ponytail using a satin scrunchie—not a hair tie, as she’s told him many times, as those pull out her hair. Naomi can critique him in the morning, but for now he’s proud of how well he’s done.

Ethan crawls into bed next to her, and she instantly curls into him, her head resting on his chest. “Sweet dreams, Rookie.”

~~/~~

The next day, Naomi is pulled out of her sleep, by something wet touching her hand. She opens her eyes to see that it’s just Jenner, licking her. “Jenner, what are you doing?” He just barks in reply.

The second thing that hits her is just how fucking bright their bedroom is. The sunlight pierces through, making Naomi squint. The bright light is doing nothing for her headache.

“Good morning, Rookie!” Naomi looks up and sees Ethan standing in the doorway, arms crossed, a smirk on his lips.

“Why are you so loud?”

“I’m not loud. You’re just sensitive to noise.” Ethan enters the room and hands Naomi a bottle of water and three Advil tablets. 

“And light,” Naomi adds. “We’re investing in some good blackout curtains.”

Ethan sits down next to Naomi and gives her a proper kiss as a greeting. “The floor to ceiling windows and that view cost me a fortune.”

“I don’t care,” Naomi groans. “I want curtains. It shouldn’t be so bright this early in the morning.”

“It’s not morning. It’s 12:30.”

“What?” Naomi checks the alarm clock on her bedside table and sure enough, it’s afternoon. “I slept this late?”

“I couldn’t wake you up if I tried. You were like a log.”

Naomi opens her water, and chugs it. “Last thing I remember is drinking with the girls. How did I get here? I was supposed to spend the night at my old apartment and go to brunch with the gang today.”

“They dropped you off because you got drunk and they didn’t want to watch you. Then you proceeded to get naked in our living room–”

“That sounds pretty on-brand.”

“Then you tried to seduce me.”

“What?”

“You don’t remember eating cake off of me?”

“What, those wedding cake samples?”

Ethan nods. “Oh yeah. You wanted to eat the cake samples, and you wanted me to feed them to you, and it spiraled from there.”

Naomi vaguely remembers what he’s talking about. She gets flashes of them in the kitchen, making out like two restless teenagers. “You said tried, so I can assume my seduction failed? You were able to resist me?”

“Oh, absolutely not. I fully intended on ravishing you, but you passed out as soon as we made it to bed.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You were dead to the world as soon as your back hit the mattress. I managed to semi wipe your makeup off and tie up your hair. Sometime in the middle of the night, Jenner got in bed with us, and he stole you away from me.”

“This is why I don’t drink wine. It puts me to sleep.”

“It also makes you quite the temptress. Not that I mind at all.”

Naomi wraps her arms around Ethan’s midsection. “Well, thank you for taking care of me last night. I have the best fiancé in the world.”

“You don’t have to thank me, darling.”

“I do. I appreciate you.”

Naomi gets out of the bed, and stretches her arms and legs until she feels a satisfying ‘pop’ in her joints. “I’m going to take an extremely hot shower.”

“Okay. Are you hungry? Because I can make you a late breakfast.”

“No. Because you’re going to join me.”

“Oh, am I?”

Naomi lifts her shirt over her head and drops it to the floor. “That’s only if you think you can keep up with me.”

Ethan’s eyes darken at the challenge. “Rookie, you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into just now.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

Naomi turns around and winks at him. “Well, come out your money where your mouth is, old man.”

Ethan jumps out of bed so fast, Naomi barely has time to register it before he’s hoisting her up in his arms. She laughs as he races off to the bathroom.

She and Ethan don’t leave their bedroom all day. They’ll have to make it up to Jackie by buying her a very expensive birthday gift.

[lilacmoon83]

Lightning in a Bottle

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 14: Dinner Party

David straightened his crooked bowtie, but no matter how many times he tried to get it to stay straight, it seemed to defy him. He sighed and turned, as he heard Margaret come out of the bathroom. And as usual, he was stunned by her incredible beauty.

"Wow…" he uttered, as she floated to him in a white evening dress that glittered. It had a collar that dipped into a subtle v and was sleeveless with modest straps. The bodice hugged her supple curves and stopped at her knees, allowing a generous view of her beautiful legs and she wore matching low heels.

"I take it you like?" she asked.

"Like is an understatement...you take my breath away, but then you always have," he replied, as he slipped his arms around her waist. She smiled and managed to straighten his bowtie and it stayed.

Ready for this?" he asked.

"Oh...definitely not, but I still want to go," she replied. He nodded.

"Me too and hopefully, he's genuinely happy for our reunion and not out to make a buck on the story or something," he said.

"He has one last chance and if he blows it...then that's it. I'll never speak to him again," she replied.

"Well, I hope for your sake that you don't have to do that," he said.

"Me too...but I don't even know him anymore and my life is with you and our children. Tonight is mainly about making sure that he doesn't attempt to hurt the people I love by exploiting the fact that he's the father-in-law and grandfather to two of the returning passengers," she replied.

"Well…I didn't want to say it, but I'm a little worried about that. But maybe more worried that it's our son he might exploit. Henry is already attracting a lot of attention with the media, being that he was dying before the plane and when he came back...there's a cure now," he lamented.

"And if one camera takes a picture of my baby...I'll roast him and them," she promised and he chuckled.

"Is it bad that I'd love to see that?" he asked and she gave him a sultry kiss.

"What? That you like seeing your wife be a badass?" she teased and he pulled her close.

"Yeah...that…" he purred, as they kissed again.

"Not at all. I mean, I know I get turned on when you get all protective," she said, as she nuzzled her nose against his. Their lips met again and the kiss grew passionate, until they heard the door open.

"Yep...you were right, Ollie. They're making out again!" Henry called and their lips parted.

"Very funny, mister. Where is your bowtie?" Margaret asked.

"Do I have to wear it?" Henry whined.

"Yes...and you'll look so handsome, just like daddy," Margaret said, as she helped him with it and then kissed his cheek.

"Wow...look at you," David said, as he saw his daughter in a maroon dress and she looked down shyly.

"You look beautiful," he said wistfully.

"Thanks Dad ," she said, as they made their way out to the car.

"Isn't Aunt Emma coming?" Henry asked.

"She's meeting us there," David replied, as he backed out of the driveway and they drove away.

~*~

Mr. Gold stared at the photo once more, as he sat in the briefing room. They were going over the same simulation of the described conditions on that night, according to the pilot and co-pilot. Severe turbulence, wild, dark lightning, and a massive storm that had seemingly come out of nowhere.

"Mr. Gold...you've certainly been quiet. Do you have anything to add?" Vance questioned. He looked up and pocketed the photo again.

"No…I have no wild theories about wormholes or alternate dimensions to throw out. You all seem to have that covered," he expressed.

"I take it you don't subscribe to either of those possibilities," one of the Generals asked.

"Well, perhaps they are more likely than the tabloid stories about the passengers being demons or aliens. And personally, part of me would cheer if this ended up being some sort of...magic. But I think discussing all this is moot," he replied.

"So sorry we're boring you, Mr. Gold," Vance said, as they shared a look.

"It's moot until we get the autopsy results on Tisbe Taylor. I mean, that's what we've all been waiting for, am I correct? A passenger body to slice and dice," he added.

"That is enough, Mr. Gold. If you want to continue to consult on this case, then you'll start offering constructive input," the General said.

"Oh don't fret, dearies...I assure you that I plan to gather plenty of intel. But I think mine will come from the living passengers," Gold replied.

"Remind me again why this man is consulting with us at all, Director Vance?" the General asked impatiently.

"You know the answer to that, General. He's good at what he does and dealing with the unexplained," Vance offered, as the meeting continued. Truthfully, he would normally have no interest in working with the government on anything, but he had his own personal mystery to get solved and somehow, he knew the plane was connected. And more so, he had an intense feeling that the Nolan family would be the ones to solve it for him.

~*~

"Wow Em...that's a great dress," Margaret complimented, as she arrived right behind them in a wine colored dress.

"You two...damn MM," she commented.

"I know...she looks incredible, but then you always do," David said, as he wrapped his arms around her. They noticed the multitude of cars, but thankfully no reporter vans, so they approached the door. A man answered, the butler, they assumed, and allowed them in.

"Mary Margaret," Leopold said and she gave him a sharp look.

"Ah...forgive me, old habits die hard. Margaret," he corrected himself.

"It's so good to see you," he said, as he turned to David.

"And David...you've pulled off quite the miracle it seems. I am happy that my Margaret has you back," he added, as he offered his hand. David shook it with skepticism in his eyes.

"Me too…" he replied.

"And these must be my grandchildren…" he said. Margaret nodded.

"Father...this is Henry and Olive," she said.

"It's very nice to finally meet you, Henry and Olive. Come...dinner is nearly ready," he replied, as they followed him into the dining room and saw a woman approach.

"Hello dear," Cora cooed, as she brought him a glass of wine.

"Thank you, my dear," he said, as he accepted the drink.

"Leopold...aren't you going to introduce me?" she asked.

"Of course, forgive me. Margaret...this is my wife, Cora," he replied.

"Oh, it's lovely to meet you, dear," she said, though to Margaret it seemed fake.

"You are lovely...just like your mother," the woman mentioned.

"You...you knew my mother?" Margaret questioned.

"Oh yes...I knew your parents, long before I married Leopold," she said.

"Yes…Cora has been a member of our circle for a long time. She was married to the son of a former business associate of mine from years ago. After your mother died...we reconnected after her divorce," he explained.

"Convenient," Margaret muttered, as they heard another voice.

"David? Margaret?" Regina asked, as she saw them and used it as an excuse to escape the stuffy Wall Street mogul that her mother had pushed her to converse with.

"Regina?" she asked.

"Oh...you know each other?" Cora questioned, feigning ignorance.

"Henry is one of my patients," Regina replied.

"And you were on the plane together. Such a small world," Cora said.

"Yes...so it would seem," Regina replied, as Cora and Leopold took their seats at the table.

"Cora is your mother?" Margaret asked.

"Unfortunately. I take it that Leopold is your father," Regina replied.

"Estranged father...we only came here to see what he was up to. We expected reporters or something," Margaret replied.

"And instead, you got a step-sister and an evil step-mother," Regina quipped.

"That bad, huh?" Emma asked.

"Don't let my mother's fake sweetness fool you. She's up to something...she's always up to something," Regina replied.

"Usually my father is too," Margaret warned.

"Well...this dinner should be a blast," Olive quipped.

"But it's like a spy mission still, right?" Henry asked. David chuckled.

"Oh definitely, kid...because something is going on here," he replied, as they took their seats at the dinner table. There was already staring among Leopold's friends and colleagues, which was uncomfortable at best.

"So...Emma is it? You are David's sister?" Leopold asked.

"Yep," she replied.

"And what is it that you do for a living?" Leopold questioned.

"I'm a cop," he replied,

"Oh...how terribly grisly," Cora commented, but Emma took it in stride.

"It has those moments, but it's really rewarding when you put bad people behind bars," the blonde said.

"Yes...and David, what is it that you do again?" Leopold asked.

"Um, well...before the plane, I was an associate professor," David replied.

"David has a master's degree in mathematics," Margaret boasted.

"Ah, a number's man. I have many of those on my team," Leopold said.

"Yes, quite an advanced degree, like my Regina," Cora commented, earning her an eyebrow raise from the doctor. Her mother had never before expressed that she approved or understood Regina's profession. In fact, when Regina had insisted on going to med school, Cora had attempted to talk her out of it and wanted her to pursue in high finance, stating that she could become like a Queen if she got in with the right people.

"But teaching...I'm not sure I would have the patience for that," Cora added.

"Uh well...Margaret and I love teaching. We feel like we're at least making a difference, for some kids anyway," he replied awkwardly, as he noticed the pensive look on his wife's face. He could almost see the gears turning in her head and was hardly surprised by her next question.

"You know...I'm still surprised that you knew my mother. She never mentioned you," Margaret said, looking Cora in the eyes. The older woman stared back, engaged in a battle of wills with the raven haired beauty.

"Well...you were so young, dear. And Eva and I were not close...just acquaintances," Cora answered.

"I was young...but I remember everything about my mother," Margaret said, almost as if she was challenging the woman to argue with her.

"Of course you do," Cora said with a fake sweetness.

"Hey Mom...can we go out into the garden?" Henry asked, as he pointed at other guests mingling in the lit garden. As always, like her husband, he was swooping in to save her. Her big Charming and her little Charming.

"Sure sweetie...I think a little fresh air sounds nice," she said, as she got up and took his hand.

"I'm all for that," Emma agreed, as David and Olive got up with her.

"Yes...a nightcap in the garden sounds lovely," Leopold agreed, as they followed, with their wine in hand, and mingled with some of their other guests, while the tight knit Nolan family gathered by the lit fountain in the garden.

"I am so sorry about my mother. I love her, but she's a really terrible person sometimes," Regina admitted. Margaret nodded.

"It's not your fault...and my father fits in very well with her," she said. Regina snorted.

"No argument there. I bolted from my mother's house the moment I got accepted into medical school," she said. Margaret nodded.

"I left this house...after my mother died mostly. I spent most of my time at David and Emma's house. Robert is more of a father to me than Leopold ever was, even at his worst," she said sadly and felt David's arms around her waist. She leaned back against him and took solace in his embrace.

"Maybe this was a bad idea...let me take us home," he suggested. She was about to agree when Regina gasped and dropped her glass.

"Save him," the gray, stone angel said that was suddenly in her line of vision.

"Regina...are you okay?" Margaret asked in concern, trying to stay quiet to keep the other guests attention off them.

"You saw something...didn't you?" David whispered.

"You say that like it's a common thing," Regina said, as she got her bearings back.

"Darling, are you okay?" Cora asked, with concern.

"I'm fine, mother...the glass slipped from my hand," Regina replied. Thankfully, one of the guests called for Cora's attention and she left them.

"You came to the hanger too, when the plane exploded. You're getting them too," David said.

"Getting what?" Regina asked.

"Feelings...sometimes voices…" he whispered and she gave him a look.

"I know what it sounds like, but it's okay. David and Emma have been having them too, but it's not crazy," Margaret said.

"I wish I could believe that, but you didn't see it," Regina argued.

"Then what did you see?" Emma asked.

"I'm...I'm not even sure, but it was like a statue of an angel or something. Except it was talking to me and telling me to "save him"," she said in a hushed whisper.

"A calling…" Emma said.

"What?" Regina asked.

"It's something Tisbe Taylor kept saying before she was killed. I think that's as good of a name as any for...whatever this is," Emma replied. Regina sighed.

"Well…I was going to wait to talk to you about some of my findings until morning, but then I didn't expect to see all of you here," she said.

"What findings?" David asked curiously.

"Not here...I know my mother. She cannot know that any of us are having visions," Regina warned. Margaret nodded.

"My father too...he'll make a spectacle of the people I love most and I won't have that," she said. As she turned, she was proven right, as a camera flashed in her face.

"What the hell?" David asked the man.

"Ah, forgive me...this is a good friend of mine from the New York Times. I promised him an interview about being reunited with my lovely daughter," Leopold replied.

"Yes...it's quite a story. A mother, who lost her 828 daughter and a father, whose estranged daughter lost three members of her family to the plane as well. And now, you've all come together. People love a puff piece like this," the reporter said.

"I knew it…" Margaret said angrily.

"Margaret please…" Leopold said sternly.

"I wish I could say that I can't believe that you would do this and use my family for some media stunt, but I expected this actually. I just hoped I was wrong," she said sadly.

"Margaret...I live my life in the public eye and there is no denying that you are the center of quite possibly the biggest mystery of the century. It is something I have to address. I am unable to go into a meeting without being asked about my son-in-law and my grandson, the passengers. I thought one interview would give my investors assurance they need," Leopold stated.

"No...you want fame, but we do not. My family will not be the gossip for you and your rich friends," she spat.

"Oh you've long ago been the spectacle in my circle, ever since you ran away to live with your boyfriend at twelve and were sleeping in his bed by sixteen. You made yourself the spectacle a long time ago," he said sternly.

"Okay...you're done. You're not going to talk to my wife like that," David said, as he got in the old man's face. Leopold smirked.

"She is my daughter...I'll speak to her as I please," he replied.

"No...she hasn't been your daughter in a very long time. But she is my heart and soul and this was never about reuniting with her. This was about getting some kind of sick revenge and blowing up our lives in the media," he said. Leopold smirked and didn't deny it.

"But it isn't going to work. My wife and daughter went through hell for five years, but now we have a second chance and no one, least of you, is going to ruin that. So do your worst, old man...because you'll never destroy our love," he hissed, as they stared each other down.

"I see there is no hope for amends then," Leopold said.

"You never wanted amends. You want headlines," David retorted, as Margaret slipped her hand in his and they walked out. Regina followed them, until Cora stopped her for a moment.

"Regina…" she said, but she shrugged her mother off.

"Did you really think I'd want to talk to the press?" she hissed.

"Sweetheart...this is an amazing story. Think of all the good that could come from telling them about your cure for cancer," Cora reasoned.

"You don't care about my cure...and I'm not letting you and your husband exploit one of my patients to the cameras. He's just a little boy...and your husband is disgusting for the way he just treated his own daughter and her family," Regina hissed.

"Well, I was hoping you'd be different than that little tramp, but I see that's not going to happen," Cora said. Regina narrowed her gaze.

"What do you have against Margaret? You just met her," Regina said.

"Yes...and everything Leopold told me about her seems to be true," Cora replied. Regina scoffed and walked away, before catching up to the Nolans at their car.

"I'm so sorry about her…" she apologized.

"It's not your fault. But you didn't get to finish telling us what you found," Margaret mentioned. She nodded.

"We could get ice cream and then she can tell us," Henry chimed in and they chuckled, as he effectively dissolved the tension.

"You know, that sounds good. Why don't we pick some up and you can come to our house," Margaret suggested. Regina nodded.

"I'll follow you," she said, as they got into their cars and drove off, leaving Leopold's mansion behind without another thought.

[corescorner]

Charmberry Cove Chapter Five.

Chapter Title: Funerals and Forging Friendships.

Wordcount: 4,645

AO3

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4.

Taglist: @unsocialchapeau @aularei @softest-emo

Today is the funeral.

His grandmother’s funeral, his grandmother who he doesn't really know. He's not sure how to feel about it, he's sad that he didn't know her and he's sad that he won't be able to anymore.

He doesn't really know what's going to happen at the funeral, it was planned three days ago so he's not really expecting anyone but his family to be there, who would know about it in such short notice?

Maybe he should have invited Patton, they seemed close.

Great, now he feels like a jackass for not thinking of that sooner.

He's in his room with the lights off except the fairy lights, he’s slumped in his computer chair with his head resting on the back of it; staring into the ceiling rafters.

Hex is sleeping on top of the computer monitor; never too far away from Virgil.

He lolls his head to look at his alarm clock to check how much time he has before they have to leave, not too long it seems.

He hasn't changed from his sleep clothes all day, hasn't really felt like it.

But, he should probably get ready so he trudges his way to his dresser to find some suitable clothing. Dad said he didn't need to dress for a funeral, to just dress regularly cause it was supposed to be more of a celebration of life and not the mourning of death.

But he thinks that's kind of a moot point considering all his clothes are dark anyway.

He does have some colours, purples, reds, dark blues. But he chooses all black anyway it just seems like he should, he feels it matches his feelings right now with everything going on.

So a simple black t-shirt with a spider web pattern and a baggy hoodie should be fine with jeans. Dad did say it didn't matter he doesn't need to be fancy.

He makes his way upstairs (Hex shadows him) to not be bored in his room anymore, he'll just be bored in the living room instead. It makes logical sense, shush.

Flopping on to his chair, he waits in silence. Hex joins him on his chest and curls up; her purrs start immediately.

It's quiet here with Dad gone.

He wonders what Dad and Uncle Dice are doing and if they're still arguing over whatever they were the other day.

It's quiet...

“Hey there sleepy head” Pops softly shakes Virgil awake, he didn't even realize he fell asleep. “We need to head out soon, are ya ready?” He's crouched in front of Virgil's chair to be eye level with him and smiling softy.

Virgil slowly nods.

“Alrighty then, let’s get our shoes on them hm?” Pops has been talking to him with soft tones and in question form since Monday, which okay sure, Virgil hasn't uttered a word since then, but that isn't really anything new or different.

It's not uncommon for him to not be able to talk for multiple days. Though, then Virgil usually just signs at that point and Pops always tries to help him through whatever is bothering him. Virgil hasn't even signed anything to him, how could he? He can't just bring up what he heard, what Dad and Uncle Dice were talking about! And he defiantly can't just tell him that he doesn't know what’s bothering him, Pops always knows when he's lying. Not that he lies to his parents often.

So he just stays silent. Silent is safe, no room for messing up what you wanna say.

No wonder Pops is worried. Damn it Virgil, why do you have to be this way?

They head to the car. Virgil has his hands in his hoodie pockets with the hood up, he’s trailing behind his father as they walk down the walkway to the driveway.

They head to the only funeral home in town, which is at the other side of town and in twenty minutes they're there.

Virgil is floored looking over the expanse of the property.

The cemetery is huge. The wide field of tombstones end with forest baring it on all sides, like wherever you go in this town you'll eventually be stopped by a forest barrier.

The cemetery is overwhelming in and of itself, but the large Gothic house that is practically a mansion looms just in front of the cemetery gates.

The sign in the front of the pathway leading up to the house reads:

                                            Ainsworth Cemetery.

                                               Funeral Home.

                                               Crematorium.

                                                   Mortuary.

                                                   Open 24/7

                                                   Est. 1766

 He was so distracted by everything that he didn't notice how many cars were situated in the parking lot and all around the property.

And there are a lot of cars, it looks like most of the town is attending.

They walk up the path and up the stairs to the porch.

Right beside the large double doors a poster board with a picture of his grandmother in her twenties-ish is propped up. Her wild mane of red curls frames her freckled face, she has a bright toothy smile in place and a very familiar pair of sun glasses perched on her forehead.

The poster board simply reads:

 Clementine Tempest.

Loved by all.

1853 – 2012

 1853? That, that must be some kind of typo right? It can't be right cause according to that she would have to have been about a hundred and fifty years old.

He turns to Emile confused, and is about to tap the board in question, but Pops just slips his hand into Virgil's.

“There's gonna be an overwhelming amount of people in there, you wanna stay by my side?” He asks gently.

Virgil's eyes go wide, an overwhelming amount? How do they all know it was today the funeral was just planned!

His hold on Pops tightens and they walk through the ornate doors, down some hallways towards the back of the mansion.

They step through another pair of ornate doors, and holy wow. It is like half the town is here, there are way too many people.

The room is large enough to hold all of them and then some, like a ball room. There are large ceiling length windows lining the back walls that look over into the cemetery and the almost set sun. Under the middle window the casket stands on a pedestal surrounded by an abundance of different colourful flowers.

The left side of the room is situated with tables a myriad of food items on the long ones and smaller tables scattered around for you to eat at. The right side of the room holds what looks like an open bar.

It was more of a party than a funeral, some people wore black but not in a mourning type way, more like that's what their style is anyway, there’s a lot of colour to be seen in the crowd.

People are chatting light heartedly and laughing, children are running around and dancing to the soft upbeat music playing and everyone seems to be having a great time despite the circumstances.

Pops still holding onto Virgil's hand, tugs him lightly “let’s go find your father yea?”

Virgil doesn't answer him, he just points to Dad who is already on his way over to them.

When he reaches them he slumps against Pops, his head resting on Emile's shoulder.

“Uugh, I am so glad that you guys are here my brother is driving me freakin insane, like stop please for two seconds.” He whines into Pops’ neck, Emile pets Remy's head. “I'm coming home tonight, I just can't deal with him anymore” he mumbles.

Pops hugs him he drags Virgil into it as well and they stay like that for about half a minute as the party continues around them, that's fine though.

Dad is the one who breaks the embrace with a tired sigh, he looks at Virgil “how you holdin' up Pumpkin?”

Virgil shrugs one shoulder, looking up at him behind his bangs.

Dad looks tired.

“I think I saw your friend Patton over by the bar, why don't you go chill with him?” Remy suggests.

Pops squeezes his hand encouragingly then loosens his grip, but still holding on to let Virgil make the decision.

He lets go and makes a not so convincing smile, heart thudding in his chest as he walks out of his fathers grasp and into the throng of people he heads towards the bar.

He hears loud light laughter the closer he gets and he sees Patton perched on a bar stool, hand on the shoulder of the kid next to him who seems exasperated at the antics of the kid that is next to him.

As he gets closer he can hear their conversation.

“Do you think I can steal some booze when the bartender isn't looking?”

“Remus no!”

“Remus yes!”

“Please don't” Patton says.

The boy on the far side puts his hand on Remus'? Shoulder, he sighs dramatically.

“You guys are no fuuun” He whines.

Patton shakes his head but there's a smile on his face. That’s when he notices Virgil heading there and his face brightens even more, waving at him gesturing him over like that's not exactly what he was doing.

“Virgil! I was wondering when you'd get here! Guys this is who I was talking about the other day!” He gestures to Virgil.

They all swivel around in their stools to look at him.

No pressure or anything, everyone is just staring at him. He two finger salutes the group, not being able to talk at the moment, not that in this particular situation he'd be able to anyway. He's not going to be able to handle this, they're all gonna hate him, he can't speak for gods sake!

A small sense of calm suddenly pokes at him.

Patton gestures to his friends. “Guys this is Virgil!”

“Yea, no duh” the one next to Patton murmurs, Patton looks at him with a cute scowl/pout but otherwise ignores him.

He gestures next to him, the boy in a white shirt with red accents and a little crown on the breast pocket. “This is Roman! And next to him is his twin brother Remus!” He announces.

Remus is wearing a dark green shirt that hangs low on one shoulder, the shirt reads 'good mourning' and there's a picture of a skeleton waking up in a coffin. How appropriate. Remus waves madly his smile wide.

“And on the end there is Logan!” Patton says.

Logan, in a simple black polo and a shiny dark blue tie nods his head in Virgil's direction.

“Come sit with us!” Patton says excitedly patting the stool next to himself.

Virgil hopes the smile he wears is welcoming and nice but he has a feeling it's more strained than anything.

He climbs on to the stool and the others swirl theirs back towards the bar.

Roman leans forwards on the bar to look at Virgil “so, what's your deal?”

His deal? What does he mean by that?

Virgil narrows his eyes, a scowl in place and tries to answer but no sound comes out only a scoff, well this is going to be a disaster isn't it? And he actually liked being around Patton too.

“Patton gave us the impression that you could speak, was that false or are you just really shy?” Roman says.

“He's just nervous around new people! I had to push a little emotion into our first conversation before he was comfortable” Patton says brightly but pointedly.

Roman doesn't look impressed, Virgil gets the feeling he doesn't like him too much...

“Why would you say it like that Pat? If he's living here he's going to know sooner rather than later.”

Know what?

Patton swerves his head towards Roman “well maybe I'm not ready to tell him yet” he says a little uneasily, a little scared.

More people not telling him things.

“Okay! Enough of your petty bullshit Ro!” Remus says smacking the bar top.

Roman lets out an offended noise, hand at his chest. “Ugh, petty bullshit? excuse you!”

Remus ignores his brother “Virgil, why the fuck are you here?”

“Remus!” Patton scolds.

Logan clears his throat “I am sorry about that Virgil, we do not meet many new people, if at all any. It’s a very small town and we don't usually leave for long periods of time.”

“Kay, sure yea but it was a serious question! He just moved here, how does he know the dead person?” Remus defends.

“She was my grandmother” he whispers. Finally, words.

“And he speaks” Roman says waving a hand.

Patton sends Virgil a soft smile, Logan looks down at the bar uncomfortably, Remus is staring at him. 

“I am... Sorry” Roman says quietly.

“Eeeyea, me too I didn't know” Remus says.

Virgil shrugs, whatever it's not like he expected them to know.

Patton is the one to lift the mood.

“Whadda want to drink Virge?”

Drink? At the bar? What. They're twelve.

He cocks his head to the side to see what everyone else is drinking.

Patton has a root beer float, alright then. Roman’s drink looks like a sunset, he has no idea what that could be. Remus has a dark red, syrupy looking drink and Logan has a tea cup.

Okay so, they're presumably not drinking alcohol, good he wouldn't know what to do if they were. What even is the drinking age around here? Probably not anywhere near twelve that's for sure.

“Uh, I don't know... It's okay I'm good” he murmurs.

The bartender sets a glass in front of him, it looks like an iced latte of some sort whipped cream and raspberries topping it.

What? Looking at it he realizes that, yea this is actually what he really wanted, how did she know that before he did?

Patton smiles up at her “thanks Kate!”

She salutes him and moves on to the other end of the bar.

No one questions this behaviour, no one even seems confused by it.  

Virgil sips at his drink, pumpkin spiced. Nice. The raspberries are a nice touch too, he loves raspberries.

The four other boys continue to talk amongst themselves, Virgil is content to just listen in on the conversation at hand.

He can get used to this whole, group thing, he’s used to having only one friend so being in a group is going to be a weird difference

A bell chimes all around the large room and everyone turns towards the casket where the sound originated.

A man and a woman in very nice clothing are standing there in front of the casket, the woman speaks.

“Good evening, I would like to inform everyone that all the guests who is coming has arrived, we will start the ceremony shortly so please when the seats raise be seated.”

She claps her hands and everyone moves to the sides as the floor slowly splits down the middle and a platform of pews rise.

No one seems surprised, they all moved like it was the norm for a room to transform itself with the clap of the hands.

What is up with this town?

As the pews platform clicks into place people start taking their seats.

The man at the front stands next to the bench right at the front and announces.

“Would the family of the deceased sit in the front please.”

And although he said 'please' Virgil doesn't think he meant it as a question or request.

He fidgets in his seat, being in the front? That's too much. He'd much rather spectate in the back than everyone watch him even walk to the front, nonetheless be seated in front of all of them. He wishes he knew where his fathers were, it'd be easier to walk down that aisle with someone.

Patton lays a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, more comforting than it really should have been, but it does relax him enough for him to get up.

He takes a deep breath, eyes closed and releases it, okay he’s ready.

As much as he says that he'd be fine to himself, he's still kind of nervous but he does it anyway. He walks down the aisles of people, trying to ignore them, and when he gets to the front there sits his two favourite people in the world and his anxieties lessen.

He sits in between them, they both put their arms around him on the back of the bench and scooting their bodies closer together in a comforting shelter.

The ceremony like everything else lately is weird and confusing.

There’s a lot of burning strong smelling things and sing chanting in another language.

His family is sprayed with some type of  light purple mist that smells good and then when it’s all over people are allowed to go up to the front to speak.

There are many people who spoke of the cafe fondly and how his grandmother always made them feel welcomed and secure.

There are people who, to Virgil were spouting absolute nonsense, stuff he didn't understand and couldn't decipher the meanings of.

Some things were hard to keep track of, but he listened anyway.

Patton went up, teary eyed and said how much he was going to miss her, they were pretty close, Clem taught him a lot of things but he couldn't seem to continue everything he wanted to say cause he just began crying through his words, Roman escorted him away from the podium, arms around his shoulders.

Both his fathers went up at the same time, regaling the great times that they shared and reminiscing about their lives with her, how supportive she was. Pops cried when he was talking about how much she changed his life and how he'll never be able to repay her.

She was, is and forever will be loved it seems.

Surprisingly, Uncle Dice didn't go up, he just sat there uncharacteristically quiet.

After the ceremony the sky was black and the stars were shining brightly with the full moon hanging proudly in the sky.

The view from the windows on looking the cemetery was breathtaking.

People started to leave the hall and he noticed when most of them were gone, Patton and his group stayed. They were the only other people there, besides some other kid who looked like they were cleaning up.

The group started to walk towards him so he met them in the middle, Patton put his arms around him and squeezed.

Remy sauntered up to them.

“Damn, okay so who here wants some freakin milkshakes?” He says.

“That'd be great” Patton chirps.

“Fuuuck yess” Remus hollers.

“Wonderful!” Roman lilts out.

“That would be satisfactory” Logan replies.

Well, they're quite the group huh, he guesses he's part of that now?

Remy smiles at the young teens, turning to address Virgil he says “She left you something, though you can't use it till you're like sixteen so, like we'll just use it till you can, and right now with this entourage it's gonna be useful, come it's outside.”

They all follow him outside to the parking lot and they stop in front of a hippy looking van, kinda like the Mystery Machine, but painted in different shades of purples and blues with the odd reds and yellows swirling through.

Pops is sitting in the passenger seat already, looking nostalgic.

Dad opens the side door for the boys to get in, there are no back seats just a bunch of comfortable looking pillows with cushy flooring and fairy lights strung up.

They all climb in and settle themselves before Dad starts the van.

Virgil sits in the middle of the two front seats facing his, friends?

“Hey Dad, why'd she give me this van?” he whispers.

“Well, she gave your uncle and I the cafe, that he thank Goood signed over to me. But this van was also a big part of her life, she lived in this van for quite a while, she probably just wanted to give you a piece of herself.”

He doesn't know how to feel about that, it's great, it's unexpected and he wishes not for the first time that he actually knew his grandmother.

Virgil sits there on the floor of his van (weird) his head is leaning on Pops’ chair, he scratches at Virgil’s scalp soothingly, his eyes close as he listens to the soft chatter the others.

His friends.

 ~0~

Patton hasn't been in the cafe since Clem died, even before Remy closed it and they were still open and running despite its owner dying.

He just didn't feel right going in anymore without her there, it hurt too much.

And now here he is standing in front of it with his friends like it was a normal Friday night for them.

All the lights inside were obviously off, it being closed and all, but the lights in the apartment upstairs were on shining lightly and slightly cutting the darkness.

He hasn’t seen those lights on since, well it’s occupant died.

Remy unlocks the doors and keeps it open for them and gestures for them to go in.

Virgil fidgets but goes in first, leading the rest of them in.

The swirl of emotions he feels from everyone as they all stand in the darkened cafe almost makes him cry again. He pushes against the sad feelings but doesn't push it out into the air, he doesn’t think now is a good time to shift the rooms emotion.

Doesn't mean he can't do it to himself.

Their usual spot is at the largest bay window with a round table nestled up to the windows seat and two comfortable chairs sitting on the other side of it.

They take their seats like they always do, Roman on one side of the window with Patton next to him, his legs are usually stretched out on the window seat with him leaning his back against the wall but not this time as Virgil sits next to Patton. Logan and Remus each takes one of the chairs.

Remy walks up to them, Emile right behind him and they stop in front of their table, Emile snakes his arms around his husband and lays his chin on Remy’s shoulder, eyes closing.

“So, like what do you guys want?” He addresses them.

“Is the menu still the same?” Logan asks.

Remy taps his chin thinking “hmm, well for the sake of this being easy, yea sure. But like I don't care, ask for anything and I'll conjure it up for you.”

Remus gasps loudly, Remy raises an eyebrow.

“Oh god, don't tell him that!” Roman protests.

Patton giggles.

“Why not?” Virgil asks slowly his eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Well, Remus has a very unique set of taste buds” Patton explains.

“That's a nice way of saying the stuff he likes is disgusting” Roman says.

“Pshh, bitch please” is all Remus responds with.

“Do you wanna know what some of his favourite snacks are?” Roman prompts but continues speaking without waiting for an answer “frozen fish sticks that are still frozen!” he throws his hands up in the air.

Virgil's head does a weird little head jiggle of confusion and he looks at Remus.

“What, I... What? Those are frozen, you don't eat those frozen” he says baffled.

“Maybe you don't” Remus rolls his eyes.

“Another one” Roman pipes up “is Nutella and tater tots!”

“That one is actually quite good” Logan says everyone looks to him, Remus is beaming. “What? The crispy, savoury, saltiness of the tater tots complement the sweet, chocolate nuttiness of the Nutella, I highly suggest you try it before dismissing it” he says fixing his glasses.

“I keep telling him that! As someone who prefers sweet and salty mixtures you'd think he would try it too!” Remus throws his hands up.

“Sounds like a new menu item” Remy says, that makes Remus whirl in his direction making his chair rock a bit, his eyes shining with excitement.

“Really?” He shouts.

“Totes kid” he says, Patton giggles

“Don'tcha mean 'tots'?” he says giggling even more.

Logan closes his eyes and breathes deeply, Remus looks amused, Roman lets out a soft 'oof' but he's smiling and Virgil is looking like he doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or scowl.

“Anyway, what the heck do you guys want, milkshake wise cause that's what I'm feelin like experimenting with right now. Nothing is off the table go wild.”

“Fuuuuck yes!” Remus shouts again.

Roman groans, Virgil and Logan snicker.

“I dunno how adventurous I am” Patton says.

Remy shrugs. “It's whatever, if you want something on the menu I won't like stop you.”

“Mm, okay I want birthday cake then.”

“Do you have any Crofters on hand?” Logan asks.

“Sure kid.”

Logan's eyes widen a bit, surprise comes off of him, it probably went against his probability.

“Would you perhaps be able to make a milkshake with it?”

“Don't see why not, and hey if it's good I'll so put it on the menu too.”

“I, I. Yes okay, that is”- he clears his throat and adjusts his tie -“acceptable.”  

“Okay me now!” Remus grabs their attention “I've been thinking on this” he says.

“Oh that's always a good sign” Roman groans.

Remus kicks him from under the table making Roman squawk but continues like he didn't just do that. “I want something with pickles!”

“Ew, you are disgusting, how are we twins?” Roman says flailing his arms up, almost hitting Patton in the face he knocks his glasses slightly, Patton puts a hand on Roman's hand gently lowering it and keeping it there. Roman looks at him apologetically.

Remy hums “so like pickle juice incorporated into it or?”

“Yea! But also some chunks I want a crunch!”

“Alrighty you funky little weirdo” he says affectionately.

“I cannot believe you are humouring this... Well, whatever. I'll have peanut butter and chocolate one please” Roman says.

“Pumpkin spiced” Virgil says, Remy hums knowingly.

“I'll be back with those. Have fuun” he says turning towards the kitchen with Emile, who looks really tired.

Things are unusually quiet for a few seconds until Virgil jerks upwards, looking from him to Logan.

“Hey, you have the same glasses!”

Remus and Roman both burst out laughing, Patton snickers.

Logan looks at him and nods slightly while fixing his glasses “yep” is all he says to that.

Virgil is becoming a part of the group, slowly but it's happening he can feel it. He smiles at the fact that Virgil won’t have to be the new kid who's alone at school.

School starts pretty soon, which means this weekend is...

“Oh!” Patton smacks his hands onto the table top startling everyone. “School is starting soon! This weekend, guys guys, this weekend!” he says jumping in place with excitement looking around at everyone then pointedly nudging his head in Virgil's direction.

“Yes Patton, I think that's a wonderful idea” Logan says.

Roman sighs but agrees “of course he can join.”

“Yea! One more for an orgy!” Remus declares.

“You did not have to say it like that, that's gross.” Roman whines.

Remus just shrugs, laughing.

“Anyway...” Patton begins, turning to Virgil he explains. “Okay so we have this tradition we started when we were around eight where the last weekend of the summer we have a weekend long slumber party starting on Friday! We always change who's house it's at, and since you're new we're not gonna make you play host, but do you wanna start coming to them? You're our friend after all!”

Everyone looks at Virgil, anxiety rolls off of him, he's looking around at everyone panicked, trying to find something and apparently doesn't find anything malicious on any of their faces.

“Uh, yea sure. Sounds like fun.”

Patton claps “This is going to be great Virge, you'll see!”

[themadlostgirl]

Not Dead Yet (Part 84)

*This is a little number I like to call: condensing events for the purpose of pushing this story forward so we can finally get to the motherflipping end chapter! For real tho next chapter is last one. Let’s do this!*

Pairing: Reader x Peter Pan

Warnings: language

We burned Devin’s body. I didn’t have the emotional energy to bury anyone else. Neither did the boys. Placing his body in the bonfire was easier and I feel like it was what he would prefer.

Days went by. After losing Peter and killing Devin I stayed away from camp. I didn’t want to be around anyone. I needed to process this entire shit week. I stayed in the cavern underneath Peter’s Thinking Tree mainly. One day I got curious and went to Skull Rock. The giant golden hourglass was still there. It didn’t glow with magic anymore and the never-ending flow of sand was piled in the bottom.

This was Peter’s life. It wasn’t right. He was so much more than a pile of dirt in a glorified time keeper. I focused on all my anger and all my sadness and punched it straight through that stupid hourglass. It burst into shards. Maybe one day I’ll be able to erase this entire rock from the island.

I kept my mourning down to a week. I can’t spend my entire life mourning, though I feel like a part of me always will. Who knows. Maybe one day I’ll finally bite the big one and I’ll find Peter in the Underworld. We’ll take over and become the king and queen of hell.

As the boys went about getting used to the island without Peter around I was trying to get the handle of my new powers. It seemed every little thing I did somehow affected the island in some way. I did a lot of tests making clouds roll in and out and changing the temperature. It was easy to do physical things like make the wind blow but the one time I tried to conjure my dagger into my hand from my sheath I only managed to stab it through my hand. Trying to heal it after that didn’t go well either.

How does Peter do that?

Or did…

Stop thinking about it. I’m only going to make myself sadder. Let’s try to get rid of Skull Rock again.

~~~

It was hard to keep time in the Underworld. You would have thought Peter was used to not telling the days apart after spending centuries on Neverland. There though it didn’t matter cause he was spending everyday having fun. Here though...there was nothing to do but bum around the town.

Peter spent most days walking through the forest. Being surrounded by trees and not being able to see the bloody red sky made it easier to pretend he was home. Devin’s sudden appearance not too long ago only made it more so.

He had been worried when he saw one of his former Lost Boys show up in the Underworld not twenty four hours after Peter’s death. He thought that the transfer with Y/N hadn’t held and that Neverland had plunged into the ocean and killed everyone. It was a relief when Devin told him that Y/N had killed him.

That sounded bad.

He was a martyr for a good cause. To kill everyone in Storybrooke. What better cause was there?

Not that it actually worked because there was no one from that town in the Underworld now. His Lost Girl gave it a good effort though.

He knew it was selfish to think but part of Peter hoped that she would come down here. He waited twenty eight years to get her back now he was incapable of waiting any longer. He wanted to see her again. To hold her in his arms, kiss her...talk to her.

Peter pulled out the drawing of Y/N again.

“Pretty girl,” the voice behind Peter made him jump. It took a talented person to sneak up on him and even more so to startle him.

The man behind Peter was tall with fiery red hair and a boring face. “She yours?”

“What’s it to you?” Peter folded the drawing again but the man snatched it out of his hands before he could tuck it away. “Give that back!”

“Oh, I know this one. Her name is Y/N, isn’t it?” He inspected the picture closer, “The many times I felt her soul start to enter this domain but never did. Multiple near death experiences make people like you and her such teases. I was starting to worry that I’d never see you down here.”

Peter tore the picture out of the man’s hands and made sure it wasn’t damaged. “Who the hell are you? How do you know about Y/N?”

“Well as the god of death I know a lot about who sends me more souls and even more about those that vigorously avoid my realm.”

“You’re the god of the Underworld?” Peter scanned him from head to toe. “Have something against looking god-like?”

“We appear as we are most comfortable. Some of us prefer to be distinguished by age and a fine pressed suit. Others seem to be content as a whiny teenager in dirt smelling rags.”

“Was there a point to this or did you just want to insult me?” Peter snapped.

“I’m here to offer you a deal, Peter Pan. You are probably one of the longest living beings in the realms. Even more so than the Dark One. I know you have considerable skills and I would like to put them to use. Best to keep the mind sharp while waiting for lost love.”

“Put them to use, how?”

“A little this, a little that. General causing mayhem and other odds and ends. Interested?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I can give you comfort here.” The god wrapped an arm around his shoulders but there was nothing kind about it, “A nice little place to call your own and my seal of protection. You’ve brought a lot of angry souls here while you were alive. It’s only a matter of time till they find out you’re here.”

“I can take care of myself.” Peter shoved him off.

“Okay, okay, I see where you’re coming from. You can but also consider this, up until the very moment of your death you were supposed to be wallowing in eternal agony as a bunch of particles in the River of Souls. That little lovey dovey kiss from your girl gave you an out but it can’t stop me from dumping your carcass in the river now. Thoughts?”

“Threatening me...I’d say I’d kill you but I guess that’d be a moot point.” Peter scoffed. “Fine. What do you want me to do?”

“Come to my office, we’ll talk more there. I already know exactly where I’m gonna set you up too. There is the nicest pawn shop on main street that would be perfect for you.” The god continued to talk his ear off as they walked down the street.

At least it was something to do.

~~~

It took over a year but I had finally truly mastered my new powers. I could bend everything on the island to my will, blink in and out throughout the island, heal myself, conjure fireballs and other cool stuff. I was still working on wiping out Skull Rock. It had been such a permanent fixture in the realm it was proving stubborn to get rid of. Reminds me of someone…

Living without Peter was still hard. I kept waking up expecting him to be right by my side. He never was though. Was this what he went through when I was missing? Day after day of misery and emptiness?

Neverland is my home but without any Peter it wasn’t the same. It was like the heart of the island was missing. Waiting for it’s real leader to come back and breathe life into it again.

Things had been going well despite how empty I felt. The boys were great fun, Felix was a good second in command, and Candace was still a wonderful pet. I didn’t hang out with Tigerlily as much anymore but sometimes I’d come across her while taking a walk and we’d catch up. She was the only person I felt like I could talk to about Peter. Everyone else didn’t want to focus on sad things long enough to have any real conversations about him.

I only visited Wendy once. She looked older and seemed a lot happier. Her brothers didn’t like the sight of me but considering how well I got along with their sister I got a pass. I hope Wendy is doing okay. I don’t think I’ll be able to muster the courage to visit her again. I don’t want to see her grow old and die. I want to remember her as the nervous yet energetic girl I rescued from the waves all those years ago.

I brought the pipes to my lips and blew a soft note. An old song from a time I can’t even remember anymore drifting up from the depths of my subconscious and floating out through the air. I think Peter and I danced to it once…

~~~

Peter had to admit. Being in Hades’ employ had its perks.

He got pretty much anything he wanted in reason. The one time he asked the god for anything major Peter had to make a deal. He’d trade in his usual Neverland jungle attire for a fitted suit like Hades wore. It was awkward at first but Peter had to admit it looked rather nice.

It made him think back to a time when he dressed up to sneak into a wedding reception with Y/N. They drank and danced and kissed and it felt like the world couldn’t touch them. He wished he could go back to that night. He’d never let the dance end if he could.

As used to the new additions to the Underworld Peter was it turned out he could still find some surprises. Like Hades telling Peter that one Captain Killian Jones had up and died. Peter got hopeful thinking Y/N had finally done the pirate in. No such luck.

His arrival was fortunate because the desperate residents of Storybrooke banded together to bring him back to the world of the living. Too bad it was impossible. Trust him, Peter tried. He tried again and again to find a way back to the living. They never worked out.

Then before Peter could wreak his havoc on him and the foolish heroes that ventured to the Underworld they were just as quickly gone without a trace and took Hook with them. How was it that someone so undeserving could cheat death?

Oh boohoo! The Saviour’s pirate that she’s only known for maybe four years died? Peter had been with Y/N for decades. Decades! If anyone deserved to be reunited with who they loved it sure as hell wasn’t that crusty pirate.

If Hook could get out though then maybe there was still hope Peter could too. He’d mention it to Hades when he was in a better mood.

~~~

Hook can say that he had sincerely wished to never have to return to Neverland. Not that it was his choice this time around. An increasingly absurd number of circumstances and wrong turns and here he was with no way out. What was even worse? He was tied to a pole about to be burned at the stake.

“Stop!” a voice hushed the hooting Lost Boys. “I leave for one day and you all turn into brainless baboons? What’s going on here?”

Hook’s heart dropped into his stomach as a figure parted the boys. She stared at him with a wicked knowing smirk. “Oh my. Well isn’t this a treat? An old seadog washed ashore.” the boys lowered their weapons as their leader stepped toward the pirate, “Hello Hook.”

“Hello Y/N.” he muttered.

“We have got to stop meeting like this. You tied up, me wanting to kill you, such unfortunate circumstances.”

“I agree. So how’s about you cut me loose, love, for old times sake.”

She let out a small chuckle, “There’s that strange sense of humor of yours. You’re not going anywhere just yet.” The playful smile dropped from her face as she turned back to the Lost Boys. “I want whomever was leading this idiot circus in front of me right now.” she barked at the boys.

No one came forward immediately. “I said,” the sky crackled with lightning, “Now!”

The boy that tied him up stumbled forward and dropped to one knee in front of Y/N. “Get up Verne, you embarrass yourself.” The boy quickly stood back up. “You started this?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s one of the people that killed Pan! Surely you must want--”

Slap! “What I want is to be respected. Yet, with my absence you plan a burning without my permission nor my inclusion. For this act of idiocy you can spend a couple nights in the cages.”

“But Y/N I was only doing what I thought you would--”

“And for arguing with me it is now a week. Now go to your cage or it shall be a month. Understood?” The boy dropped his gaze and shuffled into the jungle.

“What about Tigerlily?” one of the boys shouted. “She was helping the pirate!”

“Tigerlily,” Y/N sighed, “Is this true?”

“I needed to. To help the Saviour! Otherwise I would never have betrayed you, you know that.”

“I know but it hurts to think that one of my closest friends would do this to me.” Y/N started cutting away the ropes binding the former fairy.

“She needs help to win the final battle! The realms are in danger!”

“The saviour is the reason Peter is dead. Why would I ever want to help her?”

“Y/N, please, don’t harm the lass.” Hook said.

“I would never hurt her. I brought her here to protect her.” Y/N turned back toward Hook, “But you hold no such affection. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t burn you alive right now.”

“Because you’re incomplete.” he whispered so the words only reached her ears, “You may be the new ruthless leader of these boys and this island but it isn’t enough. No amount of treasure, adventure, followers, magic, or rum can fill that empty void. The one he left.”

She curled her lip up at him. With one swift motion she pulled the dagger off her belt and lashed at him. Hook closed his eyes expecting pain but was surprised to feel the ropes tying him loosen. He looked down as the ropes dropped to the ground.

Y/N sheathed her dagger once more. “Let’s take a walk captain. No tricks. No escape attempts. Just a walk between the two of us.”

“As the lady wishes.” Hook stepped down from his perch and followed Y/N into the jungle. The Lost Boys watched them disappear in confusion. Surely they must think that their leader was taking the pirate to be killed somewhere else. The idea wouldn’t surprise him one bit.

They trudged through the jungle in silence. What was she waiting for?

They stopped in front of a massive tree. Pan’s old Thinking Tree if he was correct. Y/N knelt to the ground in front of it. At first he didn’t realize what she was doing until he saw the stone marking the head of a grave.

“I try to forget.” Y/N murmured to the grave, “I leave, I play the pipes, I look for amnesia in the bottom of a bottle but no matter what I find myself right back here everyday. I come back here and think of how I could have changed things. How I could have saved him but failed. All those times he saved me and it was finally my turn and I couldn’t do it.”

“If you want me to feel sorry for what happened I won’t.”

“I don’t expect anything. You’re a hero now. It’s what you people do.”

“Why’d you bring me here?”

“You hear many stories when you travel as much as I. I heard you came back from the dead.” Oh no. He could tell where this was going and it was nowhere good, “That your hero buddies traveled to the Underworld to bring you back.”

“They did. But if you think that you can bring him back then you should know it’s not possible.”

“I know. I’m not naive enough to think I can just travel to the Underworld and pull someone back into life. That’s not the point I was getting to.” she took in a deep breath, “I wanted to know, was he there?”

“Aye, he was.” Hook answered. He never saw the demon boy himself but he knew he was there.

“Did he say anything?”

Hook was torn between telling her that he never said a word to the demon or giving her the closure she so obviously craved. In the end the latter won out. Hook knelt next to her. “In between his attempts to make it back to the land of the living he did tell me something. That if ever I found myself sailing these waters again for any reason to tell you that he wished you happiness in your life.”

“Thank you,” she muttered, “It’s a blatant lie but thank you.”

“Alright, I never actually spoke to him. I just thought it was something you may have wanted to hear.”

“Trying to butter me up?”

“Of course. How else would I make it off this island alive?”

“I don’t want you here. I don’t want you dead. I just want you gone.” she whistled to the sky and a dark shadow swooped down. “She’ll take you home. Stay there and never show your face here again or I will kill you myself. Is that understood?”

“Transparently.”

“Good. Now get the hell off my island.”

Hook didn’t feel like testing his luck by questioning why she was letting him leave and took the shadow’s outstretched hand. Soon he was far above the trees and the spot where Y/N sat in front of a grave was a pinprick in his vision. Despite all the hell she had put him through he couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for the lonely Lost Girl.

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[taotrooper]

In fine feather: chapter 1

On AO3

Title: In Fine Feather Characters: Mainly Wei Wuxian. In this chapter, Jiang Fengmian, Jiang Yanli, and Jiang Cheng Pairings: eventual wangxian down the road Genres: Wingfic, Fantasy AU, Youkai AU (sorta), Modern AU with Magic, Fish out of Water, Family Dynamics, Comedy, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Adopted Siblings, Changelings, Misunderstandings, Coming of Age, Slice of Life Summary: Wei Ying thought he was a normal orphan boy until one night, while still a child, a pair of black wings burst out from his back. After he discovers he's a member of a race of spirits and is taken by a family of winged beings, he has to adapt to a new culture and species which isn't easy. Always charming and clever, he gets to heal his traumas and be loved by his new relatives, he learns how to fly and cast magic spells, he makes friends with other kids his age, he confuses everyone with his references from the human world. Most importantly, he learns his own worth. And much later as he grows, he finds love in a friend, and eccentric ways to bridge the mystical mountains with the good things he left behind Notes: CW references of children being violent and abusive towards another kid. It's not that graphic, and beyond the first couple of chapters I doubt this will come up again, but still merits a warning

When little Wei Ying came to his senses, he wasn't on the ground anymore.

The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was a clear night sky and stars that flickered like freckles of light in infinity. It was daytime when he had fallen asleep in a forgotten corner, in a lonely alley, yet this wasn't the strangest part. How was he even seeing so much sky, not blocked by a single building or part of a ceiling? Yet no, it was all wide and endless.

The cold wind hit his face immediately; it made his back pain worse, but it refreshed his burning skin. He was moving somehow and his body was slowly swaying up and down like a boat. He then realized there were arms that held him tight, on the crook under his knees and carefully around his shoulders.

He couldn't see the face of the person well. By the size, it had to be an adult. Alarmed, the boy tried to get away —which hurt plenty, in his state—, but when he looked below he changed his mind and froze his brusque movements.

He saw shiny city lights below. Not only that, they looked distant: he was meters and meters above the land. Neither ground to stand on or feet were visible.

Scared and too sore to jerk again, he raised his head to take a look at what he imagined was a kidnapper. The face was obscured by the darkness, but he could perceive two things. First, long hair and broad shoulders. That wasn't much to work with, but the next observation made him forget these features.

Something flapped behind the figure. Wings! Wings like a bird's on his back!

"Relax," a soothing masculine voice came from the face's direction. "Don't stir or you'll fall. You're safe now."

Was this real or a dream? Was this a delirium from his fever? Was this a personification of death coming for him?

Or was this man... someone like him?

The arms still retained his back, still made indirect contact with the fuzzy origin of his pain.

Wei Ying was too weak to ask, too sleepy to worry, too sick to think. He closed his eyes again without noticing, and dozed off for the rest of the flight.

*****

The next time the boy opened his eyes, he was on a soft bed and lying on his stomach. Sunshine filled an unknown room and birds could be heard singing outside. His head, propped upwards by a tall pillow underneath, felt lighter and refreshed. His back still pulsed in a deaf pain, but not remotely as severe as before. There was a pressure that restricted his movements: he felt the bandages across his torso and backside that someone had dressed him with. He also wasn't wearing his dirty ragged clothes or blanket anymore, but some sort of flowing robes with big sleeves.

He tried to turn on his side to get up, but it was uncomfortable. They had bandaged those things too, completely immobilized.

Still partially asleep, and not knowing exactly what had happened to him and what had been a dream, he felt goosebumps across his arms and panic swirling in his stomach. Was he in danger? Should he run away? Could he run away?

He didn't need to make a choice, since the door opened slowly and a girl came inside with a tray in her hands and a smile on her face.

She was probably a couple of years older than Wei Ying. She had long hair braided in two elaborate buns and wore a pretty hanfu dress. But what really drew Wei Ying's attention was the two feathered wings folded behind her back. They were of a beautiful shade of purple, iridescent feathers like a hummingbird's.

"Oh, you're awake!" she beamed, as though Wei Ying was someone precious and him being there was a blessing. That confused him, but his defenses immediately went down against his will with her aura. "Hi, how are you feeling?"

"...Better?" The boy rested his chin on the pillow to see her with more clarity. Then he waited until she grabbed a chair and sat down, resting the tray on her thighs. She put a hand on his forehead, like Miss Shu used to do to measure temperature when someone had a cold. "Uh, who are you? Are you an angel?"

The girl tilted her head. "Oh, sorry, you must be so confused. My name is Jiang Yanli and it's very nice to meet you! What's an angel?" She put down the lid on top of a ceramic bowl. A good, comforting smell reached his nose. "You must be starving, the poor thing. Please don't get up or move from there, I'll feed you."

Jiang Yanli grabbed a spoon and took a spoonful of soup towards Wei Ying's mouth. He lifted his torso as much as he could and opened his jaw wide. It was the most delicious broth he had ever had. She giggled after seeing his satisfied expression.

"Let me explain. My father found you and took you home three days ago."

"So that winged man was real!" he gasped.

"Of course he was." She kept refilling the spoon and giving Wei Ying more food. He licked his lips after each time. "You had a fever and an infection and one of your wings was broken. Well, still is. The doctor said you have to stay in bed until it heals."

"But I'm..." He swallowed his original argument along with the lotus root he was offered since it was moot: they had those things on their back, just like he did. They wouldn't think of him as a monster if they were just the same as him, right? But was he even worth staying in such a pretty house? They even called a doctor. They were spending money on him. Assuming they used money at all.

"No buts. Please be a good kid and rest. Here, drink this medicine."

Softly but firmly she gave him an elixir that was also on the tray. It was bitter and ruined the taste of pork and lotus roots in his mouth.

"Um," he finally said. "I don't have any money or gold or bird seed or whatever you use. I can't repay you. Is it really okay that I stay?"

Without saying a word, Jiang Yanli placed her hand on Wei Ying's head and caressed him, tousling his short dark hair with her fingers. He felt a pang in the chest that was unrelated to the tight bandages, and before he knew it he felt tears running through his cheeks. How embarrassing.

"Don't worry about that. Just focus on getting better, okay? If you need to cry, go ahead. I won't tell anyone!"

She kept comforting him for a while until he let go of all the sadness and loss he had felt in the last week or so.

"Thank you, big sis. You're so kind," he said between sobs, moved. "Are you sure I didn't die and this isn't Heaven?"

"Not at all, you're in Yushan, the Feather Mountains," she said with a serious tone but still with a smile.

These bird people aren't really that good at names, Wei Ying thought. Then again, the same could be said of him, as he remembered how he called his old toys. Maybe that's where he got it from.

"Dad should be back in the evening." She raised the tray and got up. "He knows the whole story and he'll be better at explaining everything. So just rest and sleep until he returns."

"Okay, okay. Got it. I'll be a good boy for big sis. And the soup was the best I've ever had!" He also smiled.

"You're already a good boy, A-Xian. See you later, okay?"

After a pat on the head, Jiang Yanli left him alone in the big room with more questions than answers.

"Wait, why did you call me A-Xian?" he asked out loud.

He felt like the room, so illuminated and warm while the girl barged in, suddenly turned darker with her absence.

*****

Wei Ying didn't notice when he had fallen asleep again. The then almost familiar pain kicked in at full force again and he bit his lip. He realized he was probably given a painkiller and the effect must have passed already. He felt sharpness like knives where the wings met his back's open skin, and even the most infinitesimal move in his body made him wince. It made sense, though. Those were deep cuts after all. Even if these bird people had patched it in, it was still a wound.

The broken wing also throbbed underneath the bandages, but it wasn't as bad as his back.

The boy was bored out of his mind. All he could do was examining the room from his fancy bed. The furniture, the window, the door, it all looked old-fashioned and traditional. There were no electric lamps or appliances, much less a TV set or a radio to entertain himself with. Even hospitals had those sort of things. This patient was going to die from a different condition if he couldn't find a distraction.

All he could do was reliving that night in his head, over and over. The agony and impotence at the pain. The blood he couldn't see but felt dripping down his back. The terrible sensation of those things bursting out of his flesh, his skin and muscles feeling like torn part by the new limbs all of a sudden. The deafening screams got louder as bones he shouldn't have grew and formed, covered in bloodied feathers.

The faces of horror and nausea of his roommates and friends echoing and amplifying the emotions in his chest. Yells, tears, hands dragging him out of the bunk bed. Poor Miss Shu, staring with wide eyes and covering her mouth with her hand before running to call for help, not knowing what was going to happen when she left them alone. Then... the insults, the punches, the kicks coming from the older boys. The pain getting worse, not only on his back but in his heart. Escaping as fast as he could.

Even inside that room, even after he met others like him, he couldn't shake that fear and hatred away yet. Every pang since that night was a reminder he was not human anymore. Had he even been a human being at any point, he wondered?

Oh well, he couldn't do anything about it if he was a monster. At least he wasn't the only one!

Later in the afternoon, the door opened again.

A child around his age charged in, his posture upright as if he owed the place. Or at least Wei Ying though he was a boy because of his outfit and scowl, since his hairstyle —long and tied in a bun— was not something he had seen yet in children of his gender outside of TV. While he also wore hanfu clothing, they looked masculine and he was wearing trousers unlike Yanli and her flowing dress. Everything and everyone in that house seemed like they came out of a period drama.

But that wasn't the most shocking part about the kid: He had no wings.

"Huh? There's a human here?" Wei Ying blurted out and blinked.

The boy in hanfu reacted as though he had been slapped in the face.

"What did you say? Who are you calling a human?!" the boy cried.

"Well, aren't you? I mean, you don't have wings like that guy and that girl."

The boy rushed to stand in front of Wei Ying's face and crossed his arms.

"I see, so you're not only rude and dirty but stupid as well."

"What? Why? Who are you calling stupid?"

It was Wei Ying's turn to pout and get annoyed. Why was he the rude one when the other boy was the one insulting his intelligence? In fact, he had been one of the cleverest kids in the House and prided himself from not having to study much or at all for most tests. He had the multiplication table memorized up to 12 perfectly.

"Don't call me a filthy human or I'll break your other wing!! I'm as much as a dianshen as you are. Even more!"

Wei Ying blinked again. "I'm sorry, a what now?"

"That's the name of our people." The boy rolled his eyes. "You really don't know anything, do you?"

"Ah, I thought we were just bird monsters or demons or something." He hadn't heard the words well, but the first part sounded like heaven, tian, and the second as god or spirit, shen. "Are we... gods?"

"Hmph, do I have to explain even that to you? No, we're not gods, but we're so much more than humans. We're high-leveled spiritual beings."

"Oh, spirits? Like fairies and crap?"

"Yes, but we're much cooler than the other fairy species." The boy grinned and raised his chin.

Wei Ying hummed. Well, it was nice to be told exactly what kind of creature he was. "Okay. But if you're one of those tianshen things..."

"DIANshen!" The kid stomped his foot. "Spirit of the mountain summon!"

"Yeah, whatever. Show me the characters later. If you're one of those, then why don't you have wings?"

The boy hit his forehead with his palm.

"No one is born with them, idiot. You didn't have wings until now, remember? We grow them when we're between 9 and 11."

Suddenly everything made sense. He was nine years old. "...Ah! That's why!" Instinctively, Wei Ying tried to rise up, and he felt a terrible cramp in the wound at the root of his wings.

The boy suppressed a snicker and sat on the chair by the bed. "I should wing any time soon, in any case. And mine will be stronger than yours."

"Yeah, sure, whatever you say." After that boast, even though he didn't like his wings at all and one had been broken, Wei Ying wanted to accept that challenge just to show him. In any case, the guy being all proud at tiny things was cute, and insults aside he was amusing when he was angry. Wei Ying wouldn't mind becoming his friend, considering he had lost all of his previous ones. So he smiled at him as warmly as he could with his backache killing him. "Hey, let's start this again. I'm Wei Ying. What's your name?

"Jiang Cheng, courtesy name Jiang Wanyin."

"Ah, Jiang like Jiang Yanli, the cute sweet sister with the delicious soup."

"Yanli's my big sister." Jiang Cheng seemed pleased by the fact Wei Ying liked her.

"Ah, you're the young lord of the house? Ahahaha! Nice to meet you, Jiang Cheng."

"Can't say the same, you're kind of rude and dumb."

"Pffft. Don't be such a sour bird."

It took Wei Ying a big effort, but still lying down he reached out with one arm, hoping to shake hands with the other boy. Jiang Cheng just stared at the offered hand and didn't take it.

"See, to me that's rude," Wei Ying retorted without losing his good humor.

"What do you want me to do? Stretch my arm too?"

Wei Ying suddenly understood the problem. That was a modern human custom imported from the West. Of course these vintage Chinese fairy bird spirits would not know how to deal with it.

"Ah, right. Grab it and squeeze it," he explained. Jiang Cheng sighed and did as told, and let Wei Ying move his hand up and down a couple of times.

"That's a bit silly," Jiang Cheng said. "Besides, you're the one who should learn how to greet our way."

"Of course, I'll do that. But for that you gotta teach me how, dude," Wei Ying beamed wider.

The boy closed one hand in a fist and touched his other hand's open palm with it. Then he made a bow. It looked incredibly old-fashioned from Wei Ying's point of view, just like the decoration and the clothes.

"Pardon my manners. I want to do it, but I'm in pain and I don't think the bandages would let me bow," Wei Ying said with honesty.

Jiang Cheng glanced at Wei Ying's back even though it was covered by the bedsheets. It looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end he sighed and never did.

"I should get going," he muttered instead. "I have a lesson coming up now and I'll be late."

"Aww, too bad. Can't you skip class? I'm so bored here... And I need help to pee..."

Jiang Cheng shook his head. "I'm not getting in trouble with my mother for someone this dumb. And I doubt I can get you up! I'll send someone to help, pain killers, and a book because you certainly need more culture."

"Thanks, dude. Do you dianshen have comic books?"

"I have never heard of those," Jiang Cheng got up.

"Fine, a normal book will do. I actually like those too, believe it or not. Thank you for everything, young master." Wei Ying tapped his palm with his fist without folding his arms or bowing, the best he could.

"You're learning fast." Jiang Cheng's grin as he opened the door felt less cynical than before.

*****

It wasn't until the sun was setting down that he met the enigmatic winged man again. He arrived with a bright lamp which he set on a table. Wei Ying wondered how it worked, since a candle would be dimmer and he doubted they had any electric batteries.

"Good evening, young master Wei" he said as he sat at the border of the bed to check on the bandages. "I heard you finally woke up."

If his children looked like extras in a wuxia movie, that guy could be one of the main characters. His hair was long with parts tied up in a topknot and two perfect side braids. If the bird men had shampoo commercials, that length would be perfect for one. His outfit was quite fancy, too. His face was good-looking, but most importantly it irradiated serenity. Also, now Wei Ying could see his wings were violet. Not as shiny as Yanli's but the hue was still a cool color.

"Um, hello," Wei Ying stammered.

"Hello to you too, I'm happy to meet you at last." He gave him a tender smile. "My name is Jiang Fengmian and it's a pleasure."

"Same here." Wei Ying did his best to do as much of the greeting as he could.

"Ah, don't overdue it. I'm afraid you'll have to rest and move very little for days to come." Just as he had feared. Since the boy looked sad, Jiang Fengmian continued. "So I heard you already met my children. You seem to have caused an opposite impression on A-Li and A-Cheng."

With that comment, Wei Ying knew that Jiang Cheng had described him to his father as stupid and rude. He was not surprised. He wondered if he should say something to disprove it, like reciting the hardest multiplication tables, but he felt unusually shy around this person. And he had so many questions as well.

"A-Xian, you must be confused. Please tell me what's on your mind, and ask me anything you don't understand, no matter how small."

In that case... "Yeah, well. How did you find me in the middle of a city? Why did you save me? Where is this place? Why are you guys calling me A-Xian? How come the cameras on satellites have not caught dianshen flying on video?"

The man laughed, but not in a mocking manner.

"I cannot answer to the last one unless you give me a translation, but let's start with the others. Do you... Do you remember your parents?"

Wei Ying stirred inside the bedclothes. "Not really. When I was little, they found me with a wound in my head in the middle of nowhere. It was pretty weird. All I could remember was my own name. I was told they notified the cops but there was no report of a missing boy with my name or description, so I was sent to the closest orphanage." As he went through the earliest memories he held, he started to tie things together with the knowledge he was not human. "Did I, um... fall from the sky or something?"

"That was indeed the case," Jiang Fengmian sighed. "I can enlighten you but unfortunately it's not going to be a happy story."

It already wasn't, so Wei Ying shrugged.

"I knew you and your parents. Your father was Wei Changze and he was my best friend since childhood. Your mother was Cangse Sanren. They were good people and they loved you, their only child, very much. Your family liked to travel and meet new places. You were even born during one of those trips. I think your family was likely happy and free."

Wei Changze. Cangse Sanren. Wei Ying repeated the names in his head a few times, hoping he wouldn't forget again.

"But something happened," he said.

"As much as we can predict and sometimes even control the weather, sometimes it's too much even for us." Jiang Fengmian's face showed distress. "A hurricane knocked your traveling carriage over. We managed to track Changze-xiong's whereabouts but it was too late. Madam Cangse was found miles away and passed away before we could move her. But you, Wei Wuxian, were not near either of your parents' bodies. The whirlwind must have tossed you away from them and quite far, considering you ended up in a human city."

He felt chills down his spine. He wasn't expecting it to sound so tragic.

"Oh, there it is again. A-Xian, Wuxian. Why?"

"Our kind uses two names, my boy. Wei Ying was your birth name. Wei Wuxian was the courtesy name that your parents had chosen for you once you had your wings."

Jiang Fengmian took an object from his pocket and gave it to him. It was a silver bell with a red tassle, the three characters of his courtesy name engraved on its round surface. He twirled it between his fingers. Wei Ying's heart started to ache as an echo of his wings', for those parents he couldn't remember anymore.

"We couldn't find you until now. A dianshen's spiritual energy is not strong enough until we are truly complete. The tracking spell started to react as soon as you winged, as soon as you had magic in your body we could locate. I must apologize, though. I wasn't fast enough and had to wait until nighttime to search in town. You were hurt and sick."

Wei Ying opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.

"Why do you apologize, sir? Just the fact you arrived is... I don't deserve this kindness."

"You do. And I owe it to my friends as well."

Jiang Fengmian ruffled Wei Ying's hair. Then he examined his broken wing more closely, with a serious expression.

"May I ask how it happened?" he inquired.

Wei Ying stiffened.

"Um, I don't remember well," he lied, "these days were a blur. It was totally my fault, though! I think I fell down on my wing and it twisted with the weight."

He just couldn't tell him the truth. What if this massive fairy bird man went to the House and tried to kick the boys' asses? Or even worse? He just couldn't allow it, no matter how cruel their treatment had been or if they deserved it.

Jiang Fengmian didn't look convinced, but he didn't push it. He just seemed lost in thought for a minute before he shook his head.

"You should be more careful, as newly formed wings are delicate." After covering Wei Ying's body with the bedsheets again, he got up. "Don't worry about anything, A-Xian. Your only concern should be staying put and resting so you can heal faster. Just say so if there's anything you want."

"Um, quick question. Is that lotus root and pork rib soup too expensive? Because that was really good."

"A-Li will be glad to hear!" Jiang Fengmian smiled. "There should still be more so I'll tell her to bring it to you for dinner."

"Okay... Ah! Can Jiang Cheng skip his stupid classes to come and hang out longer?"

"Ah, A-Xian, my wife won't allow it." That mysterious lady of the house was starting to scare him a bit. Every guy seemed determined not to upset her and that couldn't be a good sign. "I'll tell him to come by daily, but not at the expense of his lessons. Is that okay by you?"

"Probably not by him, but alright," Wei Ying laughed. Jiang Fengmian stared at him, stunned. It was probably the first time he had smiled at him. He returned it with a soft chuckle.

"Just be patient, boy. You'll get out of that bed soon."

Before he left the room, Wei Ying called him back: "Uncle Jiang?"

"...Yes?" There was a light in his eyes when he heard the way the boy had called him.

"I... Thank you very much for... dunno, everything. And sorry." His cheeks blushed.

"Don't mention it." The man smiled and closed the door.

Wei Ying stared at the silver bell and then collapsed his face against the pillow, letting out a groan of pain and annoyance. He felt burdened with wings he never asked for, a past he couldn't remember, and parents who hadn't abandoned him. Things were much simpler before he woke up.

Orphans usually have this dream. A dream that someday, a person who was a relative or connected to their parents would swoop in, assure them they had been loved, and take them to a big house with lovely people to live happy forever. So Wei Ying was a monster fairy spirit thing, sure, but that fantasy came true or so it seemed for the time being.

Then why didn't he feel happier? Why was he hollow inside?

And he had more questions than before! What kind of miracle had happened so he had survived a hurricane, and one that killed two adults, with only a head injury? Did he understand Mr. Jiang correctly and these birds had flying carriages? Tracking spells? Were his wings something that showed up in a fairy radar? Where did they get lotus roots and pork for that soup? How did that rectangular, traditional-looking lamp in the corner of the room even work?!

Was the Jiang family going to kick him out after his wings healed?

Putting the bell under his pillow, he just closed his eyes and took a nap until dinner time. His body and his heart were fragile and weaker than his mind. Unable to keep up with his confusing thoughts, he dreamed about old times when he could run and laugh with friends.

*****

Extra

A young man was sitting in front of a mirror and humming a song. Gray stormy eyes looked at his own hair while a comb danced through inky black that continued down to the middle of his back. He grabbed two tresses from each side of his head and joined them together, to then tie the hair between them all up in a half ponytail with a striking red ribbon. He looked at the result but, not satisfied, he undid it and started again. It took him three tries for the hairdo to look symmetrical.

He turned his head to each profile to make sure. Finally pleased, he stared at himself and practiced a wink and a seductive smile. Yet he couldn't stand it for long and ended up laughing at his own silliness.

"Good, now that's a handsome wuxia hero in a shampoo commercial," he teased himself for his vanity. He was wearing his favorite black and red flowing robes, the ones he affectionately called his 'cool leather jacket for bird fairies' —to most people's confusion.

Wei Wuxian went on a gait through the hallway. By then he had lived half of his life in that cozy big mansion in the mountains. Soul and wing had healed long ago even if there was still a tiny crack in both he did his best to ignore. He could still fly better and smile brighter than most people despite the crooked wing tip and sad memory that remained. All he could do was to embrace the past and forgive.

He reached the living room area where his two siblings sat in peace.

"Wei Wuxian, are you finally ready?" Jiang Cheng got up with a sneer. "Why do you either take like an hour to groom or just go outside the same way you got up in the morning, never in between?"

"The duality of man," he chirped. Then he turned around to the young lady. "Sis, do you want to come? We're having dinner with the gang in town. It'll be fun!"

"I'd love to, A-Xian, but I have a date tonight."

"Bring your peacock fiancé, then! The more, the merrier!"

"You always say that, but you end up almost punching Jin Zixuan every time," Jiang Cheng covered his forehead with his palm.

"Hey, there was one time when you almost did, too! Wen Ning is my witness that he had to stop us both from ruffling serious golden feathers."

"It was one time and he wasn't in love with her yet." He grabbed Wei Wuxian's shoulder. "Honestly, let them spend time alone. The less boyfriends my siblings bring, the less it ruins these relaxing nights."

"Bad news then: Lan Zhan is coming."

"The problem isn't him coming, it's you both acting annoying!"

Wei Wuxian wasn't planning to stop saying shameless things or displaying his affection just because his brother was embarrassed or possibly jealous. Besides, Lan Wangji was part of his social circle (or The Flock, as he liked to call his boys) regardless of their current relationship.

He pushed Jiang Cheng towards the front yard, hands on bright purple wings, ignoring protests.

"Let's not dawdle with your protests. Let's go, let's go!! Bye, sis!"

"Have fun, A-Cheng, A-Xian!" the girl smiled and waved goodbye.

"Hey sour bird, do we go downtown or do we go to the Nies' place first?"

"Screw Nie Huaisang, I say. He takes even longer to get ready than you."

"Fine, then let's leave..." A cheeky smile was on his face. "Last one who gets there is a winged monkey!"

Quickly, he spread his black wings and took off to the dusk sky. Behind him he heard Jiang Cheng's loud curse and the sounds of feathery flaps approaching fast. He chuckled and flew faster, not minding that the wind was tousling his hairdo.

Notes:

The dianshen (巔神, forgive me if it makes no sense in actual Chinese) are made up for this fic and don't really exist in Chinese mythology but take inspiration on several legends like mainly the Japanese tengu (which is why I tagged it as youkai even though it's not quite), with some of the Chinese shen, the fae, and even an air to Buddhist immortals. Yushan, obvious name and all, is an actual place in legends, though!

[my-proof-is-you]

Healing You - Ch. 4

Summary: You were pretty close to dying, you were sure. It was going to be over, and what would you have to show for it?

A great career as a nurse, sure. But you lacked passion and romance in your life.

Luckily, a handsome man with piercing green eyes saves you. While you were sure you’d never see him again, life had other plans for you.

Series Masterlist

Dean

“So what’re you saying?” Dean asked his brother indignantly.

“I’m just saying that Y/N is pretty badass. Not to mention beautiful,” Sam replied. The brothers were driving home from a simple salt-and-burn, Dean’s music playing softly in the background.

“So?” Dean said.

“So, it wouldn’t be the worst thing to admit that you’ve been thinking about her.”

Dean rolled his eyes. As much as he would never admit it to his brother, he had been thinking about you a lot since you walked out his door a week ago. He had thought countless times about how your y/h/c hair fell lightly over your face as you worked to remove his bullet; how your light and sweet scent mixed with the sterile smell of the hospital’s hand soap; how you had a small smile on your face when you told him about your job.

He shook his head to clear it. “So what if I have?”

“Then you should call her!” Sam exclaimed.

“Sammy, the point is moot. One, Y/N has a life and a job, she doesn’t need to be pulled into our mess. And B, even if I did like her, there’s no saying she is even remotely interested in me.”

Sam sighed. “You are such a wimp.”

“I’m not a wimp, bitch,” Dean replied.

“Jerk.” With that the brothers were quiet. Dean’s mind, however, wondered back to you again. He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, bringing one hand to rub the stubble on his chin. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what to think. He did think you were pretty cool, and Sam was right--you were hot. But dating wasn’t really his thing. He usually did hookups.

And besides, you had a job and a life. It’s not like you’d want to spend time with what basically amounts to a drifter. Sure, they had the bunker. But they were in and out a lot. Not exactly the kind of ride you’d want to hitch your wagon to.

So Dean tamped down any feelings he had rolling around his stomach. He couldn’t have you, and that was it. It was just easier that way.

You

You huffed out a sigh and sat down at the nurses’ station, resting your head in your arms on the counter.

“You okay?” Jenny asked, shuffling papers on the other side of the counter.

“Can I go home yet?” you asked, your voice muffled by your arms.

“Hmm I think a twelve-hour shift is supposed to be twelve hours,” she said.

“I guess,” you said, lifting your head.

“Been a rough shift?”

“Actually, I’m kind of bored,” you replied.

“Bored? There was a ten car pile-up today. You’ve been running around like a crazy person till now,” she said incredulously.

“I know. And I love my job, I do. But something is just...missing.”

Jenny’s face softened. “Well I hope you find whatever you’re looking for.” She paused. “But until then, there’s a crotchety old man in 605 that is impossible to stick.”

You rolled your eyes with a chuckle. “I’m on it,” you said, preparing yourself to try to put an IV in a man that would probably act like a toddler.

When you got home that night, you took a long, hot bath to get the stench of hospital off of you and relax. You were pensive as the suds floated around you, as you often were when you took a bath. There was something about the relaxation that cleared your mind of all the little things so you could think about things that were really on your mind.

You closed your eyes and leaned your head back, the wispy hairs that had fallen from your ponytail getting wet. A picture sprang before your mind’s eye, one that had been bothering you often.

Fangs.

Not only did you see the fangs of the vampires that held you captive, but you saw the entire situation. It wasn’t even that the monsters had scared you that much. You weren’t sure why, but it was really more the feelings that came with it. It was the fear of death that really scared you.

You squeezed your eyes tight, willing the image to go away. Popping up in its place were a pair of fantastic green eyes, light freckles, and a chiseled jaw.

You smiled to yourself. Regardless of how little you actually knew him, that man was fine.

You picked up your phone from the ledge beside you. You held it for a moment, focusing on your crossed ankles and wiggling toes at the other end of the tub. Deciding you didn’t have much to lose, you opened the messaging app and selected the number that had called you two weeks prior.

Y/N: How’s that shoulder?

You rolled your eyes at yourself after you hit ‘send.’ You hadn’t known how else to start a conversation, though.

You were about to put your phone down and write the idea off when it pinged in your hand.

D: I’ve had worse.

You smiled, sure that what he said was true. Your phone pinged again.

D: Never woulda healed so well without your help, though.

Y/N: Oh, you know, just doing my job. Sam didn’t slip into a coma after I left, did he?

D: No, unfortunately he’s back to his normal smartass self.

Y/N: Come now, where’s the brotherly love?

D: I used it all up patiently listening to him babble the entire four hour road trip we just took.

Y/N: I see.

You didn’t know what else to say, but luckily Dean beat you to the punch.

D: What’ve you been up to?

Y/N: Oh, you know, saving lives, rinsing bedpans...the usual.

D: That sounds...great.

You smiled at his sarcasm.

Y/N: Hey, it’s not like being covered in vampire guts is much better.

D: You got me there, sweetheart.

You felt a little flutter in your stomach at the use of the pet name.

Y/N: Well, anyway, I’m just taking a bath after a long shift.

You wondered momentarily if that was too much information, but shrugged as you sent the text anyway.

D: Mmm, a bath? Any chance I’ll get to see some pics? ;)

Your heart sped up. This was definitely becoming flirty, and you didn’t mind at all. You opened your camera and took a quick snapshot.

Y/N: You mean like this?

You had attached a picture of your feet and calves.

D:   :-|

Y/N: Ohhh, you thought…

D: Yeah, no, that’s exactly what I meant. I love feet. But not in the gross way.

Y/N: Well, that’s all you’re gettin, bub.

D: That’s okay. They’re pretty cute feet.

You felt yourself blush, and you were surprised. Jesus, Y/N, get it together. All he did was compliment your feet for God’s sakes.

The two of you continued to text for a while, and pretty soon you noticed that your water had gone cold.

Y/N: Dude, I gotta get out of this tub and into bed. I’m freezing.

D: Well you shoulda got out a long time ago!

Y/N: You’re right...cough cough...I think...I’ve caught...the consumption…

D: Wow. Four stars, great show.

Y/N: ;) Well, I’m going to bed. Thanks for keeping me company, Dean.

D: It was my pleasure. Sleep tight, sweetheart.

Y/N: Night.

You dried off and slipped on an oversized tee, crawling into bed to warm up. You smiled to yourself, and while you had been having nightmares filled with fangs and death lately, you were pretty sure you would sleep soundly that night.

Dean

Dean smiled at his phone and leaned back in his chair. He was sitting in the library doing research when you texted him.

“Took my advice, huh?”

Dean jumped in his seat. Sam chuckled, standing up to his full height after crouching behind Dean.

“Don’t do that! That’s a good way to get a swift punch to the face,” Dean said, running his hand through his short hair and waiting for his heart rate to return to normal.

“Oh, you’re fine. I knew you’d contact her,” he said with a smirk.

“For your information, she texted me.”

“You really wanna admit to that?” Sam said with an eyebrow raised.

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Shut up,” he said, defeated. “Besides, it’s just texting. Not like we’re walkin’ down the aisle.”

“That’s how it all starts nowadays, old man.” Sam said. He sat across from Dean at the library table, resting his long legs on it.

“Whatever, man, she was just checking to see how our injuries are.”

“Yeah, that’s why you’ve been sitting here for the last twenty minutes grinning like an idiot,” he replied sarcastically.

“No I have n—shut up!” Dean yelled at his brother. He got up and walked out, ignoring Sam’s snickering as he left.

He couldn’t deny, he had been flirting with you. And you gave it right back. It made him excited, and he hadn’t felt that way about a girl in a long time.

Dean went to bed that night contemplating how he could strike up another conversation as soon as possible.

[theartofbeinganerd]

So, @jcmmavclours prompted me for “pen pals finally meeting each other” ages ago, and here it finally is! Thanks, and I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long to get to! :)

Also, I would be willing to write another part to this, fyi, it just started to get really long as it was - I do have ideas for more, though...

(Ao3)

-

“Has the post arrived yet?” Jemma asked as soon as she was through the front door, backpack still slung over her shoulders.

“It’s on the dining room table!” her mother called from the kitchen, amusement obvious in her tone.

Dropping her bag by the staircase leading up to the second floor, Jemma dashed into the dining room, shuffling through the mail until she saw ‘Jemma Simmons’ written in the familiar, scribbled handwriting. Excitedly, she flipped it over, unsealing the flap carefully and taking out the folded paper inside the envelope. Eagerly, she unfolded it, and scanned the words written there.

Jemma,

I wish we could go to each other’s graduation ceremonies too – I can’t believe that they’re on the same day! Although, to be honest, I’m not sure that my mum would let me go all the way to England by myself so close to graduation, anyway, so I suppose the point is moot. You’ll have to send me a copy of your valedictorian speech, though. And, before you ask, I’ll send you a copy of mine.

Do you have any plans for the summer yet? I know my mum’s already planning to have me working with her in the yard every spare moment that I’m not waiting tables. Exciting, I know. Don’t be too jealous, now. From past years, I imagine that your summer’s going to be a lot more exciting than mine. I’m still pretty envious of that trip your family took to Italy, I’ll have you know. The thought of all the food you had there still has me salivating every time I think about it.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve been counting down the days until MIT – as of today, it’s 105. Can you believe it? Just 105 days until we’re finally going to meet. Well…it’ll be less by the time you get this, but…you know what I mean.

Just thinking about all the things we can do, the experiments, the Doctor Who marathons, having an argument that doesn’t take two weeks to finish…

I can’t wait.

You?

Fitz

“Of course,” Jemma mumbled to herself as she finished Fitz’s letter, rolling her eyes at the thought that she wasn’t excited to finally meet her longtime pen pal in person. It had been six years, after all – she wouldn’t still be talking to him if she wasn’t at least slightly interested in meeting him!

She’d been in her last year of primary school when her class had become part of a project connecting students as pen pals across the UK. At the time, she hadn’t been very interested in the idea, and had instead been more concerned with her school work and learning everything that she possibly could about her passion in life, science.

However, when she’d been paired up with a boy from Scotland named Fitz that, amazingly, seemed to love science just as much as she did, Jemma had suddenly become much more invested in the project.

She and Fitz had exchanged nearly a hundred letters by the time the school year was over, and though most of the other students in her class hadn’t kept up with their pen pals afterwards, Jemma had made sure that she didn’t lose Fitz simply because they weren’t required to talk to each other anymore.

Though Jemma had friends in school, they just weren’t like Fitz, who seemed to understand her in a way that no one else ever had. Over the years, they had come to know everything about each other; they told each about their families, about their passions, shared exciting stories, complained about bad days, revealed secrets.

Jemma wasn’t ashamed to admit that Fitz was her best friend, despite never having spoken to him in person.

And, when they’d both applied and gotten into MIT for the fall semester, it was clear that it was finally their chance to actually spend time together. So, much like Fitz, Jemma couldn’t wait – even if September did feel very far away.

“I can’t believe that you’re more excited about getting a letter than it being your last day of school,” her younger sister, Charlotte, commented as she plopped down at the dining room table and started spreading her homework out on top of it.

“Oh, hush,” Jemma shot back, carefully folding up Fitz’s letter and replacing it in the envelope.

“So, how’s Fitz?” her mother asked from behind her, and Jemma turned to find her leaning up against the doorframe between the kitchen and the dining room, her arms folded over her chest and an amused smile quirking her lips.

“Good,” she replied, “excited about the fall, of course. He says that he’s counting down the days.”

Chuckling, her mother teased, “Now, if only he knew about the calendar that you keep in your room, crossing off the days until you leave for MIT.”

“Mum!”

“Sorry, sorry!” her mother apologized, holding up her hands, though it didn’t seem very sincere, given that she was laughing. “I’ll leave you be.” She turned to head back into the kitchen, but then paused and glanced back over her shoulder to say, “Oh, by the way girls, your father and I were talking about renting the old cottage again this year. Remember, the one that we used to visit every summer when you were young?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Charlotte agreed easily, not looking up from her homework.

Jemma, however, felt her heart briefly skip a beat as she asked slightly breathlessly, “The cottage in…Perthshire?”

“Yes,” her mother confirmed with a nod. “Goodness, you always loved to sit under that tree in the backyard and read your science textbooks until the sun went down.”

With a quiet scoff, Charlotte added, “Yeah, it was so boring – you never wanted to play with me.”

“That’s…” Jemma started, her hands starting to shake slightly, Fitz’s letter still held within them. “Yes. Yes. Going to the cottage would be wonderful.”

“Alright; it’s done deal, then,” her mother told them, offering them a warm smile before she disappeared into the kitchen.

And, Jemma didn’t waste another second rushing up to her bedroom to sit down and write a letter back to Fitz.

Maybe they wouldn’t have to wait until September after all.

-

When Fitz rolled out of bed around mid-morning on the day of his graduation, the immediate excitement that cut through his lethargy had little to do with the ceremony, and instead very much had to do with what should be arriving in the mail that day, if his calculations were correct (and they always were).

So, with his curls still in disarray and his pajamas still in place, Fitz jogged down the stairs and called to his mother as he opened the front door, “Getting the post!”

At the end of their driveway, he opened the postbox and grabbed the contents from inside, hurriedly sifting through them. There were a couple of envelopes addressed to him, no doubt cards congratulating him on his graduation, but he skipped right past them for the moment.

Finally, he paused on the neat, curvy handwriting spelling out, ‘Leopold Fitz’, and grinned at the sight of it. With the letter held protectively in hand, he hurried back inside and dropped the rest of the post on a table by the door, then tore into the envelope.

Fitz,

Happy Graduation Day! (If I got the timing right – you never know how the post is going to be.) Congratulations, Fitz, and I hope you have a wonderful day!

Yes, I imagine that your mother would have some objections, but it’s the thought that counts. I’ve enclosed a copy of my speech, and I fully expect to be getting one of yours in your next letter. You’ll also have to tell me how it goes!

I’ll have you know that I can’t wait for MIT either, and I can hardly believe that it’s so close now, but still seems so far away. As for summer plans, I think that yours sound very…well, I’m sure that you’ll have fun spending time with your mum, right? After all, you may deny it, but I know that you’ll miss her terribly once we’re in the States. Don’t worry, I’m going to miss my family too.

Speaking of my family, my mum told me and Charlotte today what she and my dad have decided to do for the summer. Do you remember when I told you about those summers that I spent at a cottage in Perthshire? Well, it turns out that we’re going back there for a couple of weeks.

Do you know what that means? Fitz, we might not have to wait until MIT! I’ll talk to my parents, and you talk to your mum, but I can’t imagine that they’ll be opposed to us meeting up somehow when we’re so close to each other.

Just think about it! We could be seeing each other in a matter of weeks, rather than months!

Oh Fitz, write me back as soon as you can, alright? I want to know as soon as possible if it’s going to work out, and then we can start making plans.

Talk to you soon (and hopefully, see you soon!).

Jemma

“Oh my god,” Fitz whispered under his breath, the hand holding the letter dropping to his side as his wide eyes stared straight ahead.

Jemma was going to be in Scotland.

Jemma was going to be in Scotland soon.

“Oh my god,” he repeated, his free hand coming up to drag through his hair, and he struggled to catch his breath for a moment. This felt too good to be true.

Ever since he’d gotten that first letter from her back when he was eleven, Jemma Simmons had been Fitz’s best friend in the whole world. There was something about her, something unique, that he’d never been able to find in the any of the kids that he went to school with. Seemingly without any effort at all, as though it was as easy to her as breathing, she simply got him.

They liked all of the same things, they had intelligent conversations (and arguments), he knew that he could trust her with anything, and she always seemed to know exactly what to say. She was, without a doubt, the most incredible person that he’d ever known, and he’d been fortunate enough to be paired up with her all that time ago, out of all the other kids involved with the pen pal project.

Truthfully, Fitz couldn’t help but feel sometimes like the luckiest person on the planet because of that.

He’d been keeping a constant countdown of the days left until they arrived at MIT and could finally meet, the date circled on his calendar in red ink, but to think that it could be so much sooner…

“Mum!” Fitz called, unable to help the slightly frantic tone to his voice as he began to glance around for her, hurrying into the living room, then the kitchen, which were both empty. “Mum, where are you?”

Just barely, he heard, “Out here!” through one of the open windows in the kitchen.

Hastily, Fitz went back through the house to get to the front door, stepping outside once more and going around the side of the house to get to the backyard. His mother was on her knees there in the grass, working in her garden, but she glanced up at his approach.

Squinting in the sunlight from beneath her wide-brimmed hand, and holding a hand up to shield her eyes, she asked in concern, “What is the matter, Leo? You came running out here like a bat out of hell.”

“Jemma,” Fitz gasped as he fought to catch his breath, weakly waving the letter, “summer – Perthshire – Scotland – here.”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise, but then a little smile began to tug at her lips. “Ah. So, Jemma’s coming to Perthshire over the summer?” When he nodded quickly, she gave an understanding nod of her own. “Well, what do you know?”

Making a face in his frustration, Fitz gestured to his letter with his free hand, asking pointedly, “So? Can I…I can go meet her? I’ll make sure to get the time off of work well in advance, and I promise I’ll help you with the yard work every other day I have off, okay?”

His mother laughed, shaking her head and waving a hand at him. “Oh Leo, sweetheart, of course you can go. I can’t imagine having any reason against you finally meeting that sweet girl.”

Fitz let out a long, relieved breath, his shoulders sagging with it. “Mum, thank you. Thank you.”

Chuckling to herself, she replied, “Of course, dear,” even as she went back to her gardening.

For a moment, Fitz just stared dazedly down at Jemma’s letter in his slightly shaky hands, his mind struggling to catch up to what was now his reality. Suddenly, any excitement that he had for his graduation later that day had vanished, instead every ounce of the emotion in his body going to what would be occurring in a matter of weeks.

He was finally going to meet Jemma.

-

It was a handful of weeks and the exchange of several increasingly excited letters later that Jemma found herself standing in front of the little closet in her room at the cottage in Perthshire. Fidgeting anxiously with the hem of her tank top, she admitted over her shoulder, “I…don’t know what to wear.”

On her bed, Charlotte gave a little, amused scoff. “Clothes would probably be a good idea,” she teased.

Jemma groaned at the very unhelpful answer, whirling on her heel and planting on her hips to glare at her sister. “Charlotte!”

“Fine, fine,” she replied, hopping off of the bed and coming to stand beside Jemma in front of the closet. She leafed through the clothes hanging there that Jemma had brought with her, humming in consideration every so often. Finally, she offered, “What about this?”

“Really?” Jemma asked hesitantly, taking the hanger from Charlotte, on which a white, floral-patterned sundress was hanging. “You think I should wear a dress?”

Charlotte shrugged expressively, shaking her head. “Well I don’t know, Jem. I’m not sure if you just want to look nice, or if you want to look cute, or –”

“Cute?” Jemma repeated, her voice raising an octave as her eyebrows shot up her forehead. “Why would I want to look cute? Fitz is just – he’s my friend. It’s not…it’s not like that, Char.”

Shooting her a slightly incredulous look, Charlotte replied flatly, “Okay. Sure.” She was quiet a moment, then said, “But, I still think you should wear the dress.”

Jemma glanced down at the dress still in her hands, considering it. “Well…”

“And, I think it’d look great with those strappy sandals that you were wearing the other day,” Charlotte added pointedly, arching her eyebrows at her.

Spending another moment gazing down at the dress, Jemma then nodded in agreement. “Okay. Okay, I’ll…try it on, at least.”

“Good.” Charlotte flopped back on her bed as she began moving about the room, gathering the sandals and the bag of makeup that she’d brought on vacation with her. She’d just sat down at the desk in her room and started in on her makeup when Charlotte spoke up once more to say thoughtfully, “You know, I still can’t believe that you’ve talked to this guy for six years, and you don’t have any idea what he looks like.”

Frowning and pausing in the process of applying her eyeshadow, Jemma reminded her, “What he looks like isn’t important, Char; I don’t need to know that to know that Fitz is a wonderful person.”

It was quiet for a moment, but then Charlotte replied, “Oh yeah? Well, try saying that to me again if he’s cute.”

The image of her rolling her eyes was reflected back to Jemma in the little mirror that she was using to apply her makeup (though, she refused to acknowledge the light flush that she could also see spreading across her cheeks). “Don’t you have something better to be doing?”

Without missing a beat, Charlotte answered simply, “Not really.”

Letting out a little huff, Jemma shook her head at her sister and went back to getting ready. She only had so much time before Fitz would be there, after all.

-

“Shit, shit, shit,” Fitz whispered to himself under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair as he stared helplessly into his closet. Everything had been going perfectly that morning, not a hitch in sight – up until he’d gone to get dressed and realized that he didn’t have the first clue what to wear.

Was there some kind of dress code for meeting your pen pal, for meeting the person that you considered to be your best friend in the whole world for the first time?

…Should he wear a tie?

“Leo?”

Startled, Fitz glanced over at the door to his bedroom, finding his mother peering in through the small gap between it and the doorframe. He saw her brow furrow in concern, just before she pushed the door open further so that she could step into the room with him.

“If you don’t leave soon, you’ll be late,” she reminded him.

Sighing heavily, Fitz planted his hands on his hips and replied, “I know, Mum. I just…” Trailing off, he waved a helpless hand toward his closet.

His mother glanced between him and his open closet for a moment, then understanding lit her expression. “Ah. Having trouble deciding what to wear?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, his shoulders sagging in defeat as he dropped his hands to his sides.

Taking a couple of steps so that she was standing beside him, his mother placed a supportive hand on his shoulder and told him gently, “Leo, just be yourself. Jemma already knows just about everything there is to know about you, right? And she likes you for who that person is; I doubt that she’ll change her mind about you just because of what you’re wearing.”

Though Fitz knew that his mother was just trying to ease his worries, he definitely did not agree with her and in fact found her words very unhelpful. What if Jemma did change her mind about him just because of what he was wearing?

“Thanks, Mum,” he muttered, “I’ll…um, be down in a couple minutes, alright?”

“Alright,” she agreed, giving his shoulder a little squeeze before leaving his room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

After another handful of minutes spent agonizing over the decision, Fitz finally just went with jeans and the MIT t-shirt that his mother had ordered online for him after he’d been accepted. He figured that that had to be safe enough, given that it was something that he and Jemma had in common.

Stopping briefly to run a comb through his messy curls, Fitz then rushed downstairs, accepting the keys to his mother’s car from her with the explicit promise to be careful. Already half out the door, he called over his shoulder, “Bye, Mum! I’ll be back later!”

“Call me when you’re leaving Jemma’s!” she reminded him, and once he’d agreed, he shut the front door behind him and jogged down the driveway to where her car was parked.

Opening the door and climbing in, Fitz had to take a moment to grip the steering wheel and catch his breath as his current reality hit him like a ton of bricks. He was on his way to finally, actually meet Jemma in person.

-

Checking her watch yet again, Jemma turned for another pace around the living room, wringing her hands together in front of her. She shot a glance out the front windows of the cottage, which had a clear view of the stone driveway and the road leading up to it, but they were still empty.

“Calm down, Jem – you’re going to wear a rut in the floorboards,” Charlotte commented from where she was now sprawled on the couch, reading a book (or, possibly pretending to read a book while she watched her sister quietly freak out – Jemma wasn’t quite sure).

“He’s late,” Jemma explained, pausing in her pacing to turn fully to Charlotte, gesturing to her watch. “He was supposed to be here for noon.”

Charlotte glanced over at a clock on the wall, her eyebrows darting up as she pointed out, “Jemma, that was ten minutes ago. Give the boy a break, will you?”

“I know, I know, I’m just…anxious,” Jemma confessed, bouncing on her toes slightly and turning back around to gaze out the window. What if he had decided not to come? What if he didn’t want to meet her anymore? Or, even worse, what if something had happened to him on his way there?

Laughing lightly, Charlotte teased, “Could’ve fooled me. Don’t worry, he’ll be here soon. Why don’t you come sit down and stop pacing, though? You’re only making yourself more anxious.”

Darting one last glance out the window, Jemma sighed and agreed, “Alright.” She was relieved to have Charlotte there to keep her calm, at least; her parents had gone to spend some time with the couple that rented the cottage next door, who they’d befriended when her family used to vacation there years ago. She knew that they were giving her and Fitz space, trying not overwhelm him (while not giving them too much space, as they’d said, much to her embarrassment), but if Charlotte hadn’t been there, she would’ve been likely to descend into full-on panic mode.

Just as she was about to perch on the couch beside her sister, she heard the familiar crunch of tires on the driveway, and her heart immediately lurched into her throat.

“He’s here,” she gasped, whirling back around and hurrying to the front door.

Her hands were shaking horribly as she grasped the doorknob and turned it, and she felt her breath catch in her throat when she threw open the door and caught sight of him just closing the car door ebhind. Then, he turned to face her, and a brilliant smile spread across her lips.

“Fitz,” she breathed.

An awed grin tugged at his lips in response, and she could just barely hear him murmur, “Jemma.”

And then, as though a switch had been flicked, she was moving, jogging down the porch steps and racing toward him, throwing her arms around him in a hug. His arms automatically came up to catch her, to return her embrace, and even though it was their first time meeting face-to-face, you would’ve never known it – Jemma was quite sure that she’d never been so instantly comfortable around anyone in her whole life.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Jemma mumbled into his shoulder, giving a little shake of her head. He was so warm and solid and real, and she just couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the fact that it was really him. “I can’t believe I’m hugging you.”

“I know, I know,” Fitz said, his arms tightening briefly around her waist. “God, Jemma…”

Unable quite help it, Jemma felt a little shiver race up her spine at hearing him whisper her name so close to her ear, and clung to him a bit more fiercely. For a moment, she wasn’t even sure that she could let go, not now that she finally had him right there in front of her.

Finally, though, she forced herself to release him, taking a half-step back to get a better look at him up close. He had curly hair and the bluest eyes that she’d ever seen, and his smile was shy and awkward in a way that made her heart do a strange little flip in her chest. When she noticed his t-shirt, though, she laughed, reaching out to poke the words in the middle of his chest. “MIT, huh? Couldn’t wait till September?”

He chuckled, a light flush spreading across his cheeks that had her smile growing. Reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, he replied, “Ah, I guess, yeah.” Fitz cleared his throat then, the flush reaching his ears now as he dropped his gaze to the driveway between them and mumbled, “You, ah, you look really…nice.”

“Oh.” Jemma felt her own cheeks warming then as she absently grasped at the skirt of her dress. “Thank you, Fitz.” There was a beat, then she thumbed over her shoulder and offered, “It’s…it’s such a nice day; would you like to sit out in the backyard and…talk?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’d be great,” Fitz agreed, nodding quickly.

Smiling in relief, she murmured, “Great.”

-

A bit dazedly, Fitz followed Jemma back into the little cottage that her family was staying in, still struggling to believe that he was finally in the same place as her, finally talking to her, touching her, hearing her laugh.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected her to look like – he’d imagined quite a few different options over the years – but he’d never once thought that she’d be so…so…well, pretty. The way that her hair fell across her freckled cheek, the way that her brown eyes sparkled in the sunlight, the way that she just seemed to glow when she smiled at him…

It was all just too much for Fitz to take, really. Sure, he’d always been rather aware of the fact that the person that he was talking to was a girl and it had never mattered, but it was only just now that he was realizing that she was a girl.

“Oh,” Jemma said suddenly, abruptly drawing him back from the daze that he’d slipped into, “this is my sister, Charlotte.”

Fitz glanced at the girl that was basically a younger version of Jemma that was nodding at him in greeting from the couch, offering her a small smile and a nod of his own. “Uh, hey, nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Probably not as much as I’ve heard about you,” Charlotte replied, quirking a brow as her lips curved into a little smirk.

“Ignore her,” Jemma advised him, rolling her eyes and grasping his wrist to lead him through the rest of the house.

He felt his heart give a little skip as her fingers pressed against his skin, and he stumbled slightly over his feet. He heard Charlotte’s muffled laughter following them, and it had his cheeks filling with heat, but he resolved to do as Jemma had said and simply ignore it.

Jemma slid open the door that lead to the backyard, leading him out onto the little porch and down the steps to a thick-trunked tree in the middle of the grassy yard. “Here we are,” she said, and he felt a little flare of loss as she released his wrist to plop down onto the ground in the shade of the tree.

Briefly, he became distracted by the sight of her curled up there in the grass, her pretty white dress a direct contrast to the green all around her, and he was struck by how she looked almost like the subject of a painting or something. It left him feeling entirely underwhelming in comparison, not to mention that it had him light-headed, had his hands beginning to shake slightly.

Knowing that he’d probably been staring dumbly at her for too long, he cleared his throat and blurted out, “It’s uh, it’s really beautiful here,” as he finally dropped down to sit beside her. Folding his hands in his lap so that maybe they’d stop trembling, he threw a glance around at the well-kept gardens there, thinking that his mother would’ve loved them.

“Yes, it is,” Jemma agreed with a nod, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I used to love to sit out here when I was younger and do some reading. It was always so quiet and peaceful.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

There was a beat of silence then, as though neither of them was really sure what to say to the other, which Fitz thought was patently ridiculous – they’d always been able to talk to each other so easily, had always had a million things to say to one another in their letters. What was so different about doing it now in person?

But, then Jemma finally broke the silence to say softly, “I’m just…I’m so glad that you’re here, Fitz.” He turned to look at her then, and felt his breath catch slightly at the sight of her peering shyly up at him through her lashes, as though she couldn’t quite meet his eyes as she said the words.

“Me too,” he murmured, and when a smile spread across her lips in response, her eyes almost seeming to light up with her joy, his heart picked up speed until he could hear it ringing in his ears.

Then, she reached out to place her hand over his where it lay in the grass between them, curling her surprisingly cold fingers around his palm, and Fitz had the abrupt realization that there was nowhere else in the world that he would rather be than sitting beside Jemma Simmons, his hand held within hers.

And, he was also quite sure that now that he’d met her in person, his life would never be same – and he was completely and utterly fine with that.

[theeurekaproject]

Mortuus Reginae

“I will never understand your insatiable desire for attention.” “I will never understand your propensity for completely unnecessary insults.” “It’s just banter. You’re oversensitive.” “Banter is tasteless.” “Who are you, the Imperatrix of Eleutheria?” “Yes.”

Andromeda groaned. “Fine. I surrender. I still don’t get why all of this is needed, though.” Acidalia’s landing had been as theatrical and overly dramatic as she could possibly make it; the Revelation’s white exterior glimmered in Base Alpha’s fluorescent lighting like a beacon that screamed I’m Acidalia Cipher, come and get me. That ship had top-notch cloaking systems, but the extravagant flamboyance and beauty of its design made them kind of moot; sure, enemy ships couldn’t track it from a distance, but anyone with eyes could see the massive white mansion-with-an-engine hovering in front of them. If Acidalia had gotten ambushed and murdered on her way back from her impromptu journey to Mars, Andromeda wouldn’t have been the least bit sympathetic.

Then again, she wasn’t too sympathetic of Acidalia on a day-to-day basis, anyway—but Acidalia didn’t to know that. It was really better for her and everyone else if the Imperatrix Ceasarina continued to think of Andromeda as her right-hand-man, and honestly, there was no harm in that; they were on the same side, and they were brilliant leaders with levels of genius the rest of the movement could hardly hope to aspire to. If them getting along meant that Andromeda had to continue to pretend that she actually enjoyed spending time with this insufferable, melodramatic, over-glorified princess with more money than God, then so be it. She’d met worse people before.

Still, she grated her teeth a little bit as Acidalia’s face came into her field of vision. Maybe it was Andromeda’s high-definition cybernetic eye that made Acidalia look more annoying than she actually was… or maybe it was just her obnoxious, holier-than-thou personality.

Well, her absence had been nice while it lasted.

Acidalia was dressed in a long, sweeping dress intricate enough to be a wedding gown, because of course she was. If marriage was still a thing in Eleutheria, she’d have looked exactly like a bride. A delicate, sheer veil was draped over her perfectly-curled hair—a symbol of mourning that wouldn’t be obvious to anyone who didn’t know her intimately enough to understand that she was exactly the type to still use mourning veils, but only when they were bleached white enough to match her style. Andromeda almost wanted to ask what the point of a bleached-white mourning veil was—didn’t its brightness kind of defeat the purpose?—but she already knew the answer; like everything else Acidalia ever did, it was for the aesthetic.

“You look absolutely ridiculous,” she snapped, motioning to the veil. She realized suddenly that it was topped by a pearlescent quartz tiara studded with diamond flowers, and mentally facepalmed.

“My brother is dead,” Acidalia said cooly. Next to her, David Seren shot Andromeda an ugly glare. She’d have told him to stuff a sock in it if his daughter wasn’t standing right next to him.

“Then I guess we’re on even footing,” Andromeda shrugged.

Acidalia’s expression didn’t even change. “You never had any brothers,” she said.

“And now you don’t, either. See?” The see? at the end was unnecessary, but being patronizing felt good, and Andromeda had no time for this type of sentimental bullshit. Acidalia may as well have weighted herself down with six feet of black crape like the widows of old. Leave it to the Imperatrix to turn the death of a seventeen-year-old—who was, naturally, in no way special in any sense of the word when his relationship to Acidalia was removed from the picture—into a whole big elaborate production combined with a fashion statement.

Acidalia’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You know that witnessing a sibling’s death and being born an only child are two objectively different things, Praetor.”

Andromeda groaned internally at the use of her title, which Acidalia only used when she was trying to be quietly passive-aggressive. It carried the same weight as a parent referring to their child by her first, middle, and caste name all at the same time, and she had a sudden flashback of hearing someone yell Andromeda Amalura, Labora! and knowing she was in trouble. When most people called her a Praetor, she felt powerful—it was the highest military rank anyone in the Revolution could achieve, and she was quite proud of it—but Acidalia managed to make it seem infantilizing, and perhaps the most infuriating thing was that Andromeda responding to it would only make her look more childish.

“Everyone here has lost someone,” she said, hoping she was coming across as stern instead of angry. “You know how many seventeen-year-old boys die on a daily basis? T wasn’t special.”

“Every person’s life is special,” David Seren said with faux-fatherly wisdom.

Andromeda rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’m so very sorry for not dropping everything to mourn some random kid who was exactly as special as every other random kid who ever dropped dead. It’s almost like I don’t place any extra value on his life just because he was related to a powerful woman… or I thought that’s what you wanted? Unless nepotism is acceptable now.” “I never said that. Stop putting words in my mouth—“ “She’s right, David,” Acidalia interrupted, sighing. “More people are going to die if we don’t start coming back from this, and none of those soldiers’ lives are inherently more valuable than T’s was. If he were still alive, he never would have wanted more boys being sent off to their doom because the leadership couldn’t get its lives together.” David’s expression softened, but he still didn’t look entirely too pleased with Andromeda, who decided not to dignify him with a response. She could not possibly care less about the opinions of a random Martian farmer—or secretary of agriculture, whatever the hell that was—when it came to her relationship with Acidalia and her job. “Okay,” she said briskly. “Now that we’ve got that conversation over with, we should probably focus on the imminent military threats, which are much more important to me personally than the death of a guy whose body we can’t even recover. Anyone else agree?” “Yes,” Acidalia said, “but you don’t have to be so crass about it.” “More like you don’t have to be an asshole about it,” murmured a random girl Andromeda had never met before in her life. She was about to retort, but Acidalia said softly, “she’s just being pragmatic, Athena.” “Why do you defend her?” David asked.

“Because her heart’s in the right place, and she’s a military genius.” Andromeda smiled. That’s more like it.

“Can’t argue with that,” David said, “but—“ “No buts,” Andromeda interrupted. “We’re going to the Scorpio. Move.”

***

The Scorpio was the exact opposite of the Revelation in every way, and that was just how Andromeda liked it.

It always astounded her how this military ship—a ship that was pretty much held together with duct tape, no less—managed to be more welcoming and human than the most expensive cruiser the entirety of the solar system had to offer. The Scorpio was a monument to Andromeda’s achievements, but it was organic, living, full of humanity—not some stiff white statue dedicated to short-lived Imperial beauty. She loved it like she’d love her own child—if she liked children, which she didn’t—and she felt that the affection was well-deserved; this ship had seen so many battles and bore so many scars on its steely black hull that it practically warranted its own Purple Heart.

Acidalia, of course, didn’t see it that way. She hated the Scorpio, but she was too infuriatingly polite to say so, and Andromeda didn’t know if that made it better or worse.

As they crossed the threshold of the ship, Andromeda felt everything in the left side of her body settle. Her cybernetics liked this place, and they had enough of a mind of their own that Andromeda thought it best to keep them happy. Human or otherwise, she was more than ready to grant rights to the systems that controlled her labored breathing and the pulse of her overworked heart (hearts? She’d lost track of her organs years ago—they were too numerous and fickle for her to remember any of them, anyway.) The mechanical half of her brain emitted a surge of dopamine, or something like it, in the same way a cat purred in contentment, and Andromeda’s organic mind had to agree with it—the Scorpio was home.

“Take your shoes off,” she called to the crowd behind her. (Why were there so many people here? she wondered. Acidalia and David, of course, and David’s teenage daughter—but who had invited two Scientias, a mutant cantrix, and a random AX-class to this meeting?) Nonetheless, they all complied, even Acidalia—who, Andromeda noticed with annoyance, was wearing ridiculously tall high-heeled shoes that probably cost more than this entire base. She zoomed in on one of them with her left eye and saw diamond fire flickering in the center of each tiny gemstone—yep, those shoes were definitely worth somewhere in the millions to billions of dollars. And Acidalia had just casually tossed them to the side like they were $10 clearance pumps she bought from a department store. Of course she did—if a single jewel broke, she could have a dozen new pairs made for her by tomorrow, each more diamond-studded and more valuable than the last.

“You seem frustrated,” Acidalia said, deliberately non-confrontationally.

“Yeah, well, I’d like to get this show on the road before all of Terra gets invaded by blue alien fish people,” Andromeda replied pointedly. She couldn’t do much, not when Acidalia was mourning a brother and dressed like an overgrown flower girl—anything Andromeda could possibly say would make her look like an asshole. If there was anything Acidalia excelled at, it was delicate, verbal manipulation, and she would have everyone convinced she was the victim within thirty seconds of being insulted. So Andromeda had to speak like a military commander who was worried about her movement instead of an irritated peer who didn’t like the notion of spending millions of credits on shoes, and nobody would judge Acidalia at all. Such is life—or, as Acidalia herself would have said, c’est la vie (because of course she spoke fluent Francogallicus, a language that had been dead for over ten centuries. Again, aesthetic.)

Andromeda shook her head, trying to clear it. She was a Praetor, above all—and that meant that, unlike the Imperatrix, she actually had to do things other than flee from danger and look pretty on camera. She couldn’t afford to be thinking like this any more than Acidalia could afford to grieve for her dead family. There was danger in the upper atmosphere and work to be done, and rationality and logic had to rise above anger and resentment, at least until the threat was gone.  

She sat at the head of the table and pressed the big metal button at the center, changing the windows from translucent to opaque. The Scorpio was one of the most technologically advanced starships in the galaxy, and she could easily replace every mechanical switch with sleek holographics, but there was something visceral and satisfying about physically changing things with her fists, and exposed wires and motherboards scared her guests more than plastic and glass ever could. At the clicking sound of the button, the Cantator jumped, and Andromeda felt a wave of sympathy for her—she’d been like that once, too, in another lifetime.

Acidalia sat at her right hand side and David at her left, and that probably meant something, etiquette-wise, but Andromeda had no idea what it was. The others arranged themselves around the three seats of power awkwardly, like they’d never been in this type of situation before—save for Cressida Seren, who sat right next to her father with an air of arrogance and immediately started examining her fingernails in the universal sign of “I’m bored.” Andromeda surveyed them all from left to right: a very clean-cut looking Scientia with short ombré gray hair and understated makeup, a significantly more disheveled Scientia with a bored smirk, a frightened and clearly genetically modified Cantator, and a soldier boy with tears in his eyes. “First order of business,” she said, “who are these people?” “David Seren, Cressida Seren, Carina, Athena, Lyra, and Ace,” Acidalia said, rattling off the names like an Auctor teacher would say words on a spelling test. “David is the Secretary of Agriculture on Mars, quite obviously, and Cressida is his daughter. Athena and Carina are both astrophysicists who risked their lives to warn me about the assassination attempt staged by Cassiopeia. Lyra is a new recruit who accompanied Ace to Mars as a plan to safeguard him from Alestra, and Ace is my late brother’s best friend, who saved me at the coronation. Each one of these people deserves to be commended for their bravery—they’re risking everything they’ve ever known just by being around me.”

Andromeda looked at them again. None of them looked particularly brave, and she was about 75 percent sure that Athena had stolen good sticking out of her pockets. Cressida was already scrolling through a Martian social networking website on her metadit, clearly not paying attention to anything that was being said, and Carina was rubbing the back of her neck like she didn’t quite know what to do with herself. There was a decent chance that Acidalia had simply taken a personal liking to them and exaggerated their backstories for their sakes, but Andromeda decided not to question that—after all, these six strangers were the only people on the planet who knew Acidalia was alive, and that would be supremely important later.

“Okay,” Andromeda huffed. “I’m assuming you’re all trustworthy, right?” It really didn’t matter if they weren’t—this meeting wasn’t exactly a secret. Acidalia nodded, though she did glance quickly at Athena’s overflowing pockets and shot Andromeda a look that said, leave it be.

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Andromeda continued. “So, second order of business: we might be getting invaded by aliens.”

If that news surprised Acidalia at all, she didn’t show it, but everyone else around the table jumped—save for Cressida, who had transitioned from Martian social media to a cheap mobile game with lots of flashing lights and obnoxious noises. “What do you mean?” David asked.

“I mean that the interstellar mermaid gladiator people who have been orbiting our planet for decades have finally made landfall,” Andromeda said. “Look.” She pulled up a map of Appalachia City and pointed to a glowing dot that hovered somewhere around the Imperial District. “That ship isn’t Terran or Martian, and the signals I’m getting from it are showing me that it belongs to the Mira.” “How many are there?” Acidalia asked, concerned. “Just the one, but that could change. We’ve been on even footing for a while, but now that our army is fighting itself, I think they’ve found the chinks in our armor. This might be their opportunity to land.”

“Well, have they deployed any weapons?” Acidalia asked, “or done anything to indicate they want to harm us?”

“They’re Mira, of course they want to harm us.” “But they wouldn’t have sent just one ship if that were the case, would they?” Acidalia tilted her head in a pointed way, not exactly self-satisfied but close to it, and a surge of anger shot through Andromeda’s body again. She was so infuriatingly good at being eruditely snobby without making herself snobby at all, and it bothered Andromeda because she knew damn well that her level of politesse was simply not high enough to counter Acidalia’s. It didn’t matter what she thought or said or did, every conversation she could possibly have with the Imperatrix Ceasarina would wind up making her look like an imbecile and Acidalia like an eloquent space queen.

“We don’t know,” Andromeda said, gritting her teeth. “They sent us a message, but I don’t trust it.” “Play it for me,” Acidalia said.

“It’s written. Like an email.” Andromeda pulled it up anyway and handed it off to Acidalia, who read it quietly for a few minutes. It was nothing remarkable—mostly it was an extraordinarily generic statement about wanting to meet with an Eleutherian diplomat, the type of thing any sovereign would send to another leader in the hopes of forging some kind of political relationship. If it hadn’t come from an alien civilization Terra had been in a war of attrition with for the past God-knows-how-long, it wouldn’t have rung any alarm bells.

“Well,” Acidalia said, “they definitely know just what to say. This entire letter is written in Roman Latin too, did you notice that?” Andomeda hadn’t noticed that, but now that she was looking right at the words, it was obvious—the grammar was perfect. Eleutherian Latin didn’t even bother with any sort of grammar as long as the speaker could get their point across, but Roman Latin was fancy and full of itself, with complex systems of declensions and phonemes and other linguistic words she could only half-remember. Not even the Imperials spoke in Roman Latin outside of very, very formal events, none of which Andromeda was privy to, and even then it was purely ceremonial—nobody actually put effort into speaking in that archaic dialect of a dead language. And yet, the Mira had put in all that effort.

“How would they even know what ancient Romans spoke like, anyway?” Athena asked, voicing what Andromeda was thinking. “Nobody even talks to the Mira. The cultural exchange between us is like, zilch.”

“Well, it’s not quite zero,” Acidalia replied, “as we do know some things about them… namely that they’re significantly weaker than us physically, and also much more aggressive, it seems. But that’s all stereotypical and based on the experiences of a few men. They don’t like to take prisoners and they most certainly don’t like to be prisoners, so contact has been limited, to say the least. I do wonder why, out of all things, they would choose to learn an extremely antiquated form of Latin. Perhaps it’s for the sake of getting our attention?”

“If they wanted attention, why are they just sitting there quietly?” Andromeda pointed out. “I think they’re trying to lure either you or Alestra there, and then kill you. I mean, think about it: they have the perfect opportunity now. Eleutheria is tearing itself to pieces, you and your mother are both desperate to get the upper hand, and they’ve managed to breech our defenses, land in our capitol city, and bring a whole ship with them—not just a tiny fighter. If they want to occupy Terra, this is a good time. All they have to do is bring in their army and clear us out, and that starts with the leadership.” Acidalia frowned. “You may be right.”

“Aren’t I always?” David rolled his eyes. “I think you’re being a little pessimistic here. They aren’t doing anything just yet—I think they might genuinely want to talk to us. If they want Acidalia dead, why haven’t they hunted her down already?” “Because she’s in one of the most secure places on the planet? Not even the Nova have access to this base, and they’re just as Terran as we are. The Mira are aliens. How could they possibly find it?” Andromeda said. “They’re just waiting for Acidalia to come out of the woodworks.” “Doesn’t the entire planet think Acidalia’s already dead?” David asked.

Oh, right, Andromeda thought. Shit. With the Imperatrix sitting right here in front of her, she’d completely forgotten the fact that Alestra had announced the demise of her daughter to the entire planet just a few hours ago.

Acidalia sighed. “Do we know how much the Mira know? Because that could change everything. If they think I’m dead, then they wouldn’t be trying to kill me, and they’re not after Andromeda, either, because they have no idea she exists.” “Don’t know she exists?” David said incredulously. “Isn’t she like your equivalent of a general?”

“Yes, and I am a very, very, very secretive general,” Andromeda replied. “If a job is well-done, people won’t even realize that it was done in the first place. You know how many ‘accidental’ deaths were a result of me?” Her mechanical arm sprang to life, LEDs blinking like sleep-clouded eyes, and she flexed her hand to show off the metal. “I’ve got built in tasers and brass knuckles, plus a cybernetically reenforced steel skeleton. I’m about seven times stronger than the average man, and just as fast. I can beat someone to a bloody pulp and be gone before anyone saw me, and in case I need a little more subtlety than what a cyborg soldier can offer, I have the whole damn Revolution underneath me—including the spies. I can do whatever I want and nobody has to know.”

David looked nervous. “Great,” he said, sounding forced. “That’s… cool.”

“And,” Acidalia continued, “they have no reason to want anyone else dead, either. I mean, they could be targeting Alestra, but again, why wouldn’t they just kill her? We know she’s not buried in some hidden Nova base—she was giving a speech about my ‘unavoidable and tragic accidental death’ a couple of hours ago, and she was standing right on the palace balcony. Surely they could have killed her then if they wanted to really cause chaos.”

“There’s still Mars,” David said. “What about Arlen Tycho?” “Do you really think they give a shit about Mars?” Andromeda laughed. “Come on, man. It’s Mars. Not even Martians care about Mars. Besides, we all know the presidents are all doomed. Didn’t the last guy die in office after he was rude to Alestra in public?” “Last four,” Acidalia corrected. “And their vice presidents shortly thereafter. I believe President Tycho was… President pro tempore of the Senate? He was third or fourth in line; my mother murdered all of his predecessors.”

“Jesus,” Athena huffed. “I never imagined the bureaucracy could be so exciting.”

Before David could respond to that, Acidalia effortlessly inserted herself back into the conversation, interrupting so fluidly that it didn’t feel like she was interrupting at all. “Either way,” she said, “I think we’ve come to the conclusion that they don’t want to kill us. I think we should send a diplomat.” “Or we could nuke them to death and forget the whole thing,” Andromeda shrugged.

Acidalia practically gasped. “Have you gone mad? That’s what landed us in this war in the first place.”

“What?!” Andromeda snapped. “It’s an effective display of power, at the very least. It’ll show them we mean business. And, for the record, they have committed a crime—they’e trespassing on Imperial territory without permission.”

“That is absolutely 100% not a nuke-worthy crime,” David said, as if Andromeda would ever care about his opinion at all.

“I just think that sending a diplomat to this is dangerous and ridiculous,” Andromeda said. “Who knows what they want? It’s an eat-or-be-eaten world out there, literally. They kill us or we kill them.” “Not everything has to come down to that,” Acidalia replied. “But I do agree that this is a mine field. This situation that calls for civility and grace, not nuclear bombs and indiscriminate murder. So, if we do send a diplomat, I propose that I go myself.”

A chorus of questions acme from the rest of the table. “You can’t do that,” David said. “It’s too risky, and we need you.” “But it’s a power play, and it gets them on our side,” Acidalia argued. “Look at it this way. They’re currently staring at a war-torn city on a planet they’ve thought of as backwards and barbaric for the past few centuries at the very least. They don’t see a noble cause fighting against tyrannical overlords; they see two equally bad warring factions killing each other in a brutal and bloody civil war. But if we could get them to see us as friends and my mother as the enemy, two things happen: one, this war of attrition might end and they’ll stop trying to hurt Terra, and two, we gain someone on our side, backing us up. But imagine what would happen if my mother got to them first. Either she kills them all and makes them angrier than ever, and all of Eleutheria falls to pieces because divided we fall, or she gains an ally. Both are bad.” David groaned. “I hate that you’re right about this." “And,” Acidalia continued, “if I go myself, that immediately shows them that Alestra—and, by extension, the Nova—is duplicitous, manipulative, and all-around untrustworthy. What better way to showcase that than by proving that they lied about the death of an enemy leader? The Mira aren’t dumb, and I’m sure they’ve had their suspicions for a while, but this will confirm them. And, hopefully, we can make them sympathetic to us. But it’s going to take an expert politician to navigate this, which is why I propose that I go. Not to sound arrogant, but—" Andromeda started playing white noise in her ears and promptly stopped paying attention. Whatever Acidalia was about to say after that but was not worth listening to—she’d learned that much. Listening to her talk about how good at politics she was was could bore any sane human being to tears, and it was especially grating to Andromeda, who had to put up with it almost constantly. She waited until Acidalia’s sparkly red lips stopped moving, then returned to the conversation, hoping nobody had noticed her brief vacation from having to listen to the Imperatrix talk. Honestly, though, even if they had, she wouldn’t care.

“I still think this is inordinately risky,” David said. “Even if they’re benevolent towards Acidalia, and that’s a big if,  what if they also just genuinely want our planet for their own? It’s not like we can do anything now when the whole Earth is divided in two.”

“We can still nuke them,” Andromeda said again. Next to her, Acidalia rolled her eyes in annoyance. “What?” Andromeda asked. “Got any better solutions?”

“Yes. Diplomacy.”

“And what if they kill you?” “The planet already thinks I’m dead. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me. It matters to the Revolution.”

“You’ll get over it.” “The scientists won’t.” Acidalia sighed, looking very overburdened, and stared off into the distance—or, at least, she tried to. It would have come across as less spacey if she wasn’t looking blankly at the Scorpio’s opaque windows. “That’s true,” she admitted, her voice soft. “But they could learn.” “They won’t learn without someone to teach them,” Andromeda said, hoping she looked more enthusiastic than she felt. She had seen this type of thing before in dozens of people; one person died and suddenly everyone was borderline suicidal. Acidalia, for all her high-and-mighty queenliness, was not as immune to grief as she thought she was.

“You are right,” Acidalia said, “but they aren’t going to kill me. I’ll go, and I’ll take a guard and an entourage. It would look suspicious if I showed up alone, anyway—I want them to see me as a legitimate leader ousted from the palace, not a bastard rebel out for blood because my pure-bred little sister is getting the throne. Why doesn’t David come with me?” David sat up straight as a board, looking panicked. “What? Me?!” “You’re much physically stronger than I am,” Acidalia said, “and I can’t exactly bring anyone else, seeing as no one has any idea I’m alive. I suppose I could reveal myself now, but I’d rather stay silent and make a big show of it later—that way, if I should die before the victory comes, nobody will have known I was alive to begin with. As it stands, I’m a martyr and the Revolution is mourning me—they’ll fight harder than they ever have before, because it’s personal this time, and they’re angry. So guards are out of the question..” “But its been years since I was in the army,” David stammered. “I’m not as tough as Andromeda, and I’m not a real a politician like you.” Andromeda snorted. “You’re the minister of farming on a planet known for its farms, how is that not political?” “Secretary of agriculture,” Acidalia corrected. “But she’s right; you are a politician.” “In name only! Mars is a meritocracy built around a computer program created a thousand years ago by some religious fanatics; the only reason I ever got power to begin with was because the whole internet thought my baby daughter was cute and that drove up my social points so much that my boss named me as his successor, and then my boss got shot and here I am. It was all just luck! Besides, nobody in the Martian government does any actual work—the Algorithm runs everything, we all just stand there and look handsome.” Beads of sweat poured down from his curly hair into his unshaven stubble, and Andromeda wondered not for the first time where Acidalia was even finding these people. David Seren was like a bad one-credit-store, off-brand version of someone respectable—what help could he possibly be? And it wasn’t like anyone else here would be useful, either—both of the Scientias seemed absolutely clueless, Cressida was still playing on her phone, and Lyra and Ace looked too sad to serve any real purpose.

Fucking fantastic. We’re supposed to be meeting aliens and this is the team we have? When Andromeda was sixteen, she’d escaped from a jail cell with a crack team made up of four stim addicts and three separate men who had been arrested for public indecency, and every single person in that little cohort still managed to be more competent than any of the supposedly high-ranking, important officials standing around blankly right now. Andromeda had never felt smarter—probably because her IQ drove the mean of the people in this room up by at least ten points. She couldn’t possibly let all of these morons go off to meet the Mira alone—with her luck, they’d all manage to stumble into the path of an asteroid or fall off a cliff or meet some other hilariously unlikely and horrible fate, because the universe just didn’t seem to like them very much.

“You know what?” Andromeda said. “Fine. Fine. We’ll go talk to the Mira, and David can stay on the ship and wait and see if they want a Martian representative before he gets off. And we can bring this disphit—“ she gestured to Ace—“because one immune is better than nothing. As for the rest of you, do what you want—just be quiet about it. And I’m coming.”

“You?” Acidalia asked, alarmed. “We can’t have the both of us go; it’s far too risky. We’re putting all of our eggs in one basket, and there is no designated survivor or line of succession here. They think I’m already dead, but you—you’re one of the biggest assets we have, we can’t lose you and me both.” “Well, if I don’t go, all of you are going to get your asses kicked,” Andromeda snapped. “I mean, look at you. Acidalia, you’re an excellent shot, but you’re a twig. You got all cut up just from Ace trying to protect you—imagine what you’d look like if someone really wanted to hurt you. And these other people are, what, Scientias? Cantatores? They’re not made for fighting. The only physically strong people here are Ace and David, and even David might be pushing it a little with that dadbod. You need someone to smash those blue fuckers’ skulls in if things get dangerous.”

“I have smashed plenty of skulls in throughout the course of my life, for the record,” Acidalia said, “but if you’d like to accompany me, I have no real qualms with that. I’m just concerned that both of us will—“ “‘Both of us die? Anyone who wants me dead will have to fight me first.” Andromeda flexed her metal arm. “No offense, but carbon nantoubule bones and steel muscle are a little harder to break than weak-ass myoblast fibers covering osteoporotic calcium bones.” “I am not osteoporotic, my ancestors were just accustomed to lower gravity—“ “Doesn’t matter, the point has been made.” Andromeda leant back and put her feet up on the table, partially to establish her dominance in the room and partially to show off her fancy new 3D-printed, custom-made metal prosthetics. Noir-black titanium alloys just seemed so much more intimidating than pasty pale flesh and blood, and they were prettier than the brusied, burnt skin that used to cover her body. “I’m going with you.” Acidalia looked like she wanted to protest, but she didn’t. Instead, she swallowed her words and looked down at the holographic pinpoint representing the starship, examining it with uncomfortable closeness. “We should leave soon,” she said finally, “before they assume we aren’t coming. I’ll draft a response to their letter.” “Sounds good,” Andromeda said. “And as for the rest of you people, do what you want. Nobody here cares if you live or die, so you’re free to make your own decisions.”

Ace and the girls at the table looked at each other, semi-alarmed, as Andromeda strode away. It must be freeing, she thought, to live like that—to be a teenager with no real connections to anybody and no responsibilities. She’d never had the luxury of freedom; her entire life had just been falling from one type of slavery into another. Being a wage slave to the Revolution was better than being an actual slave to the Eleutherian government, but it still wasn’t true freedom the way she’d always envisioned it—she was still trapped here, forever working. Serving the state and serving a master were not entirely different things, especially when she still had to put up with people as dumb as David Seren and as infuriating as Acidalia Cipher. And sure, this job allowed her to use her strategic mind a little more, but what was even the point if she wasn’t allowed to play with her favorite toys? Nuclear bombs were horrific and useful, and they seemed about as appropriate a response to an alien landing as anything else.

But Acidalia said no, and that meant no.

Andromeda tried not to think about her as she stormed off down the landing ramps. Acidalia would get her dues someday, when she tried to fix some problem with friendly diplomacy but her enemies brought guns to a knife fight. Then she’d be sorry—sorry that she hadn’t listened to Andromeda, the military genius who’d won every war she’d ever fought, and sorry that she’d been so inordinately idealistic about war, where everything is fair and the victors make the only rules long after the fight has ended. Andromeda played with fire, but she did it well; Acidalia just sat there surrounded by gasoline and matches, wondering what she should do.

Whatever. There was a time for diplomatic relations and a time for mushroom clouds, and Andromeda would be getting her way soon. If there was anything her life had taught her, it was that there are some situations where violence is the only answer—and if this war continued on the trajectory it was heading towards, it would be time for mushroom clouds very soon.

[skepticaloccultist]

The Bookshop as a Meeting Place

Treadwell's Books has been a part of London occult life for more than a decade. A center for London's disparate and motley occultists, witches, and magicians of every ilk and path to celebrate and meet.

Between weekly events, book launches and tarot readings Treadwell's is a home away from home for occultists the world over. From regular lectures and presentations by Phil Hine, Michael Staley, Hannah Sanders, Chris Josiffe, Robert Wallis, Owen Davies and dozens more to walking tours of the British Museum and Bloomsbury's occult history it's a place to linger, searching for that rare bit of booklore, meeting others on their own path. Some incredible people have found their way through Treadwell's door, a couple of friend's even found each other and eventually married because of Treadwell's. Its a magical place in many ways.

Having moved seven years ago from its first location in Covent Garden it is now tucked away down Store Street in Bloomsbury. A bigger space upstairs and downstairs lends itself to more events, with a comfortable downstairs that is even available for lettings for various group functions, public and private.

Behind Treadwell's is proprietor and "presiding spirit" Christina Oakley Harrington. In between her sold out Magical Bloomsbury Walking Tour and otherwise busy schedule I managed to chat with her about London occulture, her passion for books and running a bookshop in 21st century London.

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Christina Oakley Harrington of Treadwell's

While Treadwell's has only been in London since 2003 it seems to be a fixture that is much more firmly rooted in the occulture of London than its teenaged years belie. How have you come to be so central to the occult community of London?

Gosh, are we really? I have to give the credit to the wonderful people who've come through the doors of Treadwells for that. I've been hugely inspired by London's history of occult communities and in particular, the exciting occult renaissance of the 1880s and 1890s, when the Order of the Golden Dawn and the Theosophical Society had hundreds of members and there were gatherings, rituals and conversations happening every night of the week. I saw that such a renaissance might be possible in our own day if there was a bookshop which was actually a meeting place -- and I saw from history that such a place needed to offer a combination of hospitality, friendship-building and events space.

We hosted our first event within a few months of opening our doors. Since then, it's never been fewer than three nights a week that we're here. That's why we can't open any earlier than 11 am during the week and at weekends we certainly couldn't start any earlier than noon. All our late nights here!

What misbegotten adventure led you to opening an occult bookshop?

I got involved in paganism and the esoteric community in 1987 in the US, where I lived for eleven years. In 1989 I moved to London. It was the Atlantis Bookshop under the ownership of Caroline Wise which was the hub of activity and occult community creativity -- she was a force of nature, hosting conferences, promoting groups, advertising pub moots, and generally making me (and other young people) welcome and feel so inspired. Through her we got to meet magical orders, attend rituals, learn about magic from practitioners. She kept the channels flowing. If you went into her shop, she'd bombard you with recommendations, hand-made fliers, posters and postcards. So I opened Treadwells just as she was retiring from owning Atlantis, and felt that in that regard, she passed on the baton to us. Caroline's been a huge supporter of Treadwells and she's my personal inspiration of what an occult bookshop owner should be.

Do you collect books yourself?

I do! My collection is pretty eclectic. I don't have the completist gene, so I don't need to own full sets of things, mercifully. Then I get bored. I collected all of Dion Fortune's first editions, then once I had the full set, I didn't care anymore, so I sold them. I now have her work in paperback, which I've marked up with my marginal notes and personal opinions in the front and rear covers. So I work most of my books pretty hard. It's from my days as an historian, that I have opinions on what I'm reading and want to debate with the authors, or agree with them. So the margins of my books show that.

In the corner of my study is a shelf of books mentioning Treadwells, signed by their authors. Authors sometimes mention the shop in their novels, or in their guidebooks. Occasionally students and scholars mention Treadwells in the acknowledgments if we've helped them with their research - and that's so lovely. We have a commitment to assisting scholarly research where we can.

My collection is a working library of books containing ideas I love, historical research that inspires me, and lots of poetry -- which I use in contemplative reading and adopt into rituals I write. Big subjects I read are witchcraft, sapphic writers from Sappho through the 1920s, Renaissance planetary magic, and biographies of magicians of previous centuries. I've got an entire room for my books at home, and most often there are lots of them piled up on the desk with bookmarks stuck in, and intermingled are my various notebooks with quotes scrawled from the books I'm reading.

You mentioned a background as a historian, were you an academic before becoming a bookseller?

I was! I was a medieval historian. I taught for eleven years at a college of the University of Surrey. My PhD was at University College London with supplementary study at Jesus College, Oxford. The links between the world of scholarship and magical practice have grown wonderfully over the past fifteen years, so I relish reading the recent academic articles and studies of medieval magical texts and practice.

Do you recall the first book of, or on, magic you remember owning? Not a library book, but something that was your own?

I am sure I had children's books with witches as a very young child, as I was crazy about witches, and always wanted to try to do spells, and I even pretended to be able to fly (I had a children's storybook called No Flying in the House). However, I was very taken with a book whose name I can't recall, which I took from my parents' bookshelves, on superstitions and charms. I would copy the best charms -- in my opinion -- into a notebook, which I called my spellbook. I must have been about six, seven years old....

What rare items have come through Treadwells shelves over the years?

I'm so fortunate to see treasures coming through here. We have had a good smattering of Aleister Crowley first editions, Gerald Gardner first editions and books signed by Kenneth Grant. These are the staples of occult rare bookselling. But I love the offbeat stuff - we've got awesome zines. Zines are overlooked but are truly collectible as they're snapshots of the occult community at a particular moment, at the working coal-face, as it were. A faintingly exciting moment was when we got a very early Rider-Waite tarot deck, from a lady who had it in her attic, and had inherited it from her grandmother. We had people coming in just to look at it before we sold it to its current owner - during those two weeks we were honoured to be able to let tarot-lovers view it and appreciate it.

Some rare items are new - we've launched very limited edition items here -- nocturnal parties for books which are individually consecrated and inscribed and of which only one or two hundred copies are made. Those events are very magical, as it's just a small group of guests, lots of incense billowing, and good red wine flowing.

How has occult bookselling and publishing changed from your perspective over the last 14 years?

Bookselling now is a harder living than even twenty years ago, with London rents being high and with people having the option of purchasing on Amazon. But it's still vibrant, and getting even moreso. Reading occult literature inspires people to want to practice and meet others -- that's where the bookshop is crucial, and always will be. A bookseller is a curator, an advisor, and a bit of a therapist even, at times. I love that it's a continuity, a continuity of over 200 years.

Has the environment changed since the store moved to its current location several years back? Do you feel the community has grown?

We've been here at Store Street for seven years, having moved here after seven years in Covent Garden. I find it hard to believe we've been in Store Street just as long as we were in the old address. So uncanny! The community is different here than there -- and well, times change. In 2003 there was a tight connected community of people, and newcomers entered that network of people, socially. Now, it's much more open, less a community than a wider base of many many individuals who have overlapping interests. They will meet likeminded people at more niche events. I think it's because the era of subcultures is largely over, or so it seems to me. But Treadwells itself is a kind of community of regulars -- we get to know people whose vibe is in tune with ours and they keep coming back so next thing you know, we know all their kids' names and are invited to their art openings. But we are keen not to behave like a clique. So many occult-oriented people were outsiders at school that honestly, we don't need to replicate that in adulthood. A friendly gesture and a welcoming hello for our customers and new acquaintances: that's essential.

So many occultists I know scattered around the world have stories to tell about Treadwell's, visits on trips, meeting future spouses there, finding some bit of rarity they had long sought. Any insights into the future of occult bookselling in London and in general? Where does the plot take us from here?

I'm very excited about a new bookshop/occult event space in Seattle, Mortlake & Co, run by a wonderful chap named William Kiesel (of Ouroboros Press fame). It's got not only a range of rare books, but it also hosts intimate, intellectually-engaged soirees. I think occult bookselling is at its most exciting when it overlaps, not with the New Age, but with history and anthropology. By which I mean to say, when we widen our interest from the practice itself to include the people and the cultures that produced it. As an example, if you you love Enochian magic, check out Elizabethan court life. If you are drawn to hoodoo, learn about how African Americans lived in the era of slavery. If you practice traditional witchcraft, read a book on old cunningmen.

Any upcoming events or releases you would like to mention?

I'm particularly proud of our commitment to traditional, classic tarot reading. The art of reading the cards takes over a decade to master, but one can learn enough to have a meaningful experience in a single day. We offer one-day workshops, eight-week courses and even intermediate brush-up days. Tarot cards came out of the Italian Renaissance, so the symbolism is rich and deep, and it's the same symbol code you find embedded in Renaissance art. If you study the tarot cards, your trips to art museums suddenly become much more exciting.

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Discover Treadwell's Bookshop for yourself:

Treadwell's Books 33 Store Street, Bloomsbury, London www.treadwells-london.com/