#let’s just say dull blue and off-white/cream might be two of the colors of all time

[sleepylostboy]

I think if this Christmas taught me anything, it’s that my family has absolutely no idea what colors I like

[bored-storyteller]

Hello! I remember you said you could write for Sally Face even though it's not on your list (if I dreamed of it, excuse me 🙏), since you still look like you're in the fandom... How about the #4 of the prompt list with Sally Face? If you do not write for him I apologize 😭

Hello dear Anon! Yes, Sally Face maybe is the video game I'm most fond of, I can write for him, I just don't always feel like making the requests that come to me about this game. But don't worry! Asking is always fine! Thanks for the request!

P.s. This is more fluff than angst I think, I apologize, is that there is already a lot of angst for him

73- Sally Face, Sal Fisher x Reader

From the prompt list

4- “Do you know what it’s like?”

Gizmo's purr lazily fills the silence in the room, the big cat is taking his ration of free pampering perched in your boyfriend's lap.

His fingers glide absently on the white and tawny fur of the half-asleep feline, while behind his mask you catch nothing but an absent gaze directed at the void between his knees.

By now that beautiful sky-colored eye of his communicates with you without the need for words, and you see how much it seems dull and lost, so much so that it appears almost glass like the one on the right.

Sal is always so sweet and so strong. He has so much weight on his shoulders, yet you always see him accepting everyone else's too. He never complains, he doesn't fidget, and he doesn't scream, not even when he gets angry, and if he does he apologizes as if he's at fault.

You love him, you really love him. You feel it in your guts, especially now, that he is like this.

You don't really know what's troubling him, yet you see how sad he is. His shoulders are bent slightly forward, and his blue hair slips free, covering even more of his usual mask.

Even though you know you are free with him, you are terribly afraid of hurting him. You're afraid of saying something too much, something he doesn't deserve.

As you leave the book you were reading by your side, you try to remember when Sal began to wither.

You noticed it after the last outing you did with the others, but you have no idea if those thoughts that seem to be spinning in his head were already floating around before, and you curse yourself for being so inattentive towards him.

"Give me space Gizmo" you mutter with a playful pout, picking up the lazy cat to move it a little further "I want the cuddles too."

Sal just cooes as his hands remain motionless, letting you nestle your head in his lap.

Once you are comfortable in your new nest, his fingers gently touch your forehead, while you are busy trying to come to terms with the big cat who insists on trying to stay on his master's lap too, at the cost to sit on your face.

“Come on Gizmo. Let me be a little jealous every now and then. " You snort, pushing the royal furry butt away from your nose.

"Are you jealous?" Sal's question is surmounted by the meow of the fake tiger who decides to snuggle in the hollow between your shoulder and your neck.

Your eyes roll up into his gaze and for a moment you don't know how to read that question. You feel him terribly serious, and in a way, you don't know where he is going.

"Yes ... I'm jealous of you ... that is ... is it normal I think?" You know that sincerity is always the best choice with him, but you still bite your tongue, wondering if you are giving the wrong idea.

His caresses have stopped while he silently looks at you, and you don't know what he's thinking, you don't know if you've unknowingly touched a nerve or if you just added a new thought to him.

"Why?" His question comes out as a surrendered sigh "You have no reason ... I say ... it is you who can make others love you, not me."

His words take your breath away for a moment.

"What are you saying…?" You murmur, as you raise a hand to touch his turquoise locks "you know how to make yourself loved even by those who don't even know how to love ..." you whisper softly, yet you don't seem to convince him.

His sigh becomes more impressive in the rumble of his mask, and you look at him patiently, while his hands undo the hooks that block it to his face.

Few people know what lies behind that prosthesis, and it hardly ever happens that he leaves himself so spontaneously in the sight of others. It's because it's you, you know, and it flatters you, yet something so immediate still surprises you.

You believe that his face is something magical, because no matter how grotesque it is, how almost you could say that there is no face, but you love it, you loved it from the first moment you saw it. Maybe because you were already in love with him.

"You were beautiful that night." His words still confuse you, and you force yourself to accept the idea of having entered a minefield. So you were right, was it your last outing that upset him?

"Sal ..." you get up, and now even Gizmo has realized he has to leave space for you, moving to the next pillow.

He doesn't look at you, his eyes are closed, but he continues to keep himself completely exposed to you.

"I really mean it. You are always beautiful to me, but that night ... that night you felt beautiful too, didn't you? You were, you really were, and ... "his shoulders give way a little further forward, as if he were about to collapse under an invisible weight. "And if you hadn't been with me, someone would have come to you. Maybe he would have offered you a drink and then ... "

Your lips part for a few seconds, looking for something to say, but you really don't know what ground you're walking on.

"I'm not really beautiful Sal, I'm just-"

"A normal person. What else do you want?" His abrupt interruption silences you.

In a moment his eye is on you again, alarmed: “Sorry. I'm so sorry. Forgive me, I didn't mean to be bad. "He whispers softly.

Sal Fisher, always so attentive to others even in his moments of despair.

"Only that ... you ... do you know what it’s like? To be like that…"

His voice just trembles, and you forget to breathe. You would like to remove all doubts and insecurities from him, but you cannot do it.

"No ... no Sal, I don't know ..."

"That's okay ..." he murmurs, trying to console the guilt of your tone "I don't know what it is like to be you either, but ... it can't be so pleasant to kiss bare teeth ... right? It must not be pleasant to feel this dead flesh against your skin, and it must not be pleasant to wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare and find this monster a few inches from your face ... I just think ... I just think you should know that you can certainly find someone else ... someone else other than me. "

You have always admired him, also for all the strength he has to live with that weight - one of many - that he carries with him. Perhaps subconsciously he has always found a way to make his flaws simply characteristics, his style. With or without his ponytails, Sal was always recognizable and, in a sense, charismatic.

But you know that even if he is so strong, so resilient, the weight does not disappear.

"Sally Face ..." you murmur softly, as you move your legs to be able to sit astride his lap.

"You know ... I've always looked for many things from life." Your fingers casually play with his tufts of hair "And I swear to you I never thought I'd find what's really essential to me right here."

Your palms rest gently on his rib cage as his slowly brush your hips.

"You might find someone different from me too, Sally Face, but I don't want you to, please." You just smile "Also because ... after a nightmare you are the first thing I look for, and when I find you ..." leaning forward you are greeted by the loving arms of your boyfriend, while you take refuge in his chest, snuggling up to his heart "I do this, and I stay listening to you until I fall asleep again. When you sleep peacefully you never notice, but you always welcome me. "

Curled up there on his chest like now, you have no idea what's in Sal's eyes. All you see are a few blue locks of him falling over your cheeks, while he lets you relax under his chin.

His silence leaves you on alert, and even if you don't move, you look for any clues that might tell you something about his emotions.

A slight tremor in his chest and a restrained sob from him make your heart tremble, but his slowly calming beat just makes you snuggle closer to his body.

"I-" he starts off lightly, but then stops immediately, and when he resumes, you're sure he's changed the subject, but it doesn't matter anymore. "Am I such a heavy sleeper?" He asks, with a shivering chuckle amid the slight gasps of silent tears.

You laugh lightly as you lift yourself up to look at him. In your hands, his cheeks are rough and wet, but even as tears flow from his eyes, he doesn't look agitated or hurt.

"Well, you recover the sleep that all your nightmares take away from you."

Your fingers slide gently under his eyelids to collect his tears. You don't ask him why he cries; you know that in his chest he has a reservoir where he keeps all his emotions and, every now and then, they pretend to come out.

"Wake me up next time you have a nightmare, you're always there when I have mine."

You smile softly as you rest your forehead against him. You wouldn't change him for the world.

"For once, let me take care of you Sal."

His sigh hits your nose as he snuggles a little more against you. Calmly it seems that he can channel his emotions into a single torrent.

"Take care of me?" He murmurs against your lips “How about picking up the phone and ordering a pizza for the two of us? It would make me very, very happy. "

Your cheerful laugh fills the room, while your lips touch what remains of his: "And the ice cream?"

"And the ice cream." He confirms as he accepts your sweet kiss.

There seems to be a long night of pampering with Sal and Gizmo ahead of you, what more could you ask for?

You gently kiss his cheek one last time, before getting up in search of the device to order your dinner.

"Hey ..." before you're too far away, your hand is lovingly held by Sal's "I don't want anyone else next to me."

Your eyes dive into him for a moment, and what you find is nothing but a clear and sincere sky that takes your breath away every time it lands on you.

"Me neither. I wouldn't want anyone else even for a single day of my existence. "

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twenty

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: sorry for the wait yall this month really kicked my ass,, but also we reached part 20!!

tw infertility discussion

***

Gwyn: isn’t he beautiful <3

In the freezing February air outside the tea house, Nesta clicks on the picture attached to Gwyn’s text. It’s a distant shot of a man in his mid-thirties hunched over a library desk while working, unaware that there’s a camera on him. She’ll give it to Gwyn, though—he is a little handsome.

Emerie: the stalker levels are through the roof, gwyneth. seek help.

Gwyn: no i’m gonna marry him

Nesta doesn’t know whether to laugh or be concerned, but she types out a brief response before her thumbs fall off from the cold: Will give my opinion on him later. Got to go.

Gwyn’s crush will have to wait, Nesta thinks as she finally puts her phone away and pushes her way inside the exquisite tea house. Immediately, blasting heat thaws her frozen fingers and toes, and farther inside she spots the table she reserved for three. Right now, only one person sits at it.

Nesta grits her teeth and approaches the round table, heels clicking softly on the parquet floors. Elain doesn’t look up from the menu she’s reading. “This place would be nicer to visit in the spring,” is her only acknowledgment of Nesta.

“I like the winter,” Nesta answers simply, taking her seat across from Elain. She likes how the ice creeps over the garden outside until everything looks frozen in time, and she likes how the colorful flowers and trees become dulled by white snow. Not that her sister would understand or care.

“Of course you do,” Elain mutters, setting down the menu with all the careful elegance of a debutante. “I’m only here for Feyre, anyway.”

It almost saddens Nesta that she doesn’t feel hurt or offense at the words. She thought she would care more about Elain’s opinion than she actually does. “Where is Feyre, then?” she says, looking pointedly at the empty seat between them. “I thought she was coming with you.”

“I’m right here,” a breathless voice says, accompanied by the sound of hurried footsteps. Feyre appears, looking flushed from exertion and the cold. She sets her bag down and joins them at the table, scooting her seat all the way in. “Sorry I’m late. What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Nesta bites. “I was just about to order.”

“So was I.” Elain smiles breezily.

Feyre glances between the two of them, clear concern on her face, but she covers it up and says, “I’m so glad we’re doing this.”

It was Feyre’s idea, of course. After Nesta told her off for never being interested in what she wanted to do, Feyre actually listened. She asked if Nesta wanted to hang out, and then let Nesta fill in the rest of the details on her own terms.

Which brings them to the tea house. Unfortunately for her sisters, however, Nesta doesn’t really know where to go from ordering tea and biscuits.

“How is school going?” Feyre asks her after their drinks arrive.

Nesta sips from her tea, already bored. “It’s been fifteen minutes and you have yet to say anything of substance, Feyre. It makes me miss being alone with Elain and her mood.”

Feyre looks taken aback, and Elain levels a glare at Nesta. An unsurprised, of course you have to ruin everything like this glare.

So Nesta clarifies, “That wasn’t an attack. I just hoped that after driving out here, I would get something better than shallow small talk.”

“And how do you know it was shallow?” Elain steps in harshly. “How do you know she isn’t actually interested in how you’re doing at school?”

Nesta slides blunt blue eyes to Feyre. “If that’s the case, then I commend you. Personally, I wouldn’t give a shit if I was in your position.”

To her surprise, Feyre snorts. She looks resigned when she says, “No, you’re right. I don’t care about what’s going on at school, not if you don’t. What would you rather we talk about then, Nesta?”

Without hesitation, Nesta says, “Ask me something you really care to hear the answer to.”

Elain shuts her mouth and sits back at that. Feyre twists her lips, thinking her next words over carefully. “How is your therapy going?” she finally asks in a cautious tone. “What do you talk about there?”

Remembering that she’s in a formal setting, Nesta stops herself from crossing her arms. She settles on wrapping her fingers delicately around her teacup instead. “We talk about whatever I feel like talking about,” she answers honestly. Although lately her conversations with Lana feel more restrained than usual.

“And what’s that?” Feyre urges.

Nesta shrugs, fitting apathy onto her face like an old mask. “Recently? Childbearing.” But it isn’t her favorite topic of discussion, not at all.

“You’re pregnant?” Elain jumps in, leading Nesta to throw her an unamused look.

“No, idiot,” she says. “My therapist just has the idea that if I end up being infertile it’ll screw me up, mentally and emotionally and whatever. She thinks I should deal with that baggage now instead of saving it for later.” She rolls her eyes thinking about it. How many times does she have to repeat that she doesn’t care about her body’s reproductive abilities until Lana gets it?

Feyre chuckles, confused. “Why would you be infertile?”

Nesta forgot—she didn’t want her sisters knowing anything that has to do with her health. She even made Cassian keep her doctor visits secret from Feyre. But that was months ago, and the sisters are… not exactly in a better place now, but looking for the way there. Nesta thinks she can tell them without any severe regrets. “I have endometriosis.”

When she’s met with silence, she adds, “You know, with the tissue growing on my ovaries and stuff. It might affect all the babies I don’t care to have in the future.”

Elain is the first to speak. “You always wanted to be a mother.” Her voice is soft, almost mourning. It irritates the hell out of Nesta.

“No, I didn’t,” she snaps back.

“You did,” Elain insists. Feyre still hasn’t said anything. “You took care of our cat, Mittens, until the day she died. You taught Feyre her alphabet. You raised me when Mama and Papa were too busy to do it. You never carried dolls around in strollers or anything, but you loved being a mother.”

“I don’t remember any of this,” Feyre says, blinking. “I’m sorry, can we go back to the endometriosis part?”

Nesta sips from her tea, the bitter taste a welcome distraction from Elain’s words. “What about it?”

“How long have you known?” Feyre demands.

“It isn’t cancer. And I’m getting treated, obviously. I’m fine.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Nesta sighs, setting her cup down. “October. Cassian made me go to the doctor because he was worried about my periods, we had a big fight about health insurance, and now I use my salary from your boyfriend to afford medication so I don’t feel like dying every month. Is that everything you wanted to hear?”

Feyre only stares at her, for once revealing no emotion. “I keep forgetting,” she says finally, “that we’re not at a place to share things like that with each other. I keep being surprised every time I realize how much of your life you keep from us.”

“I don’t,” Elain huffs under her breath while she tears a croissant in half.

Nesta is still watching Feyre. “You remember how bad my cycles were? I would cry loud enough at night to wake the house.”

Feyre flinches at the memory, and Elain goes still.

“But no one ever woke up,” Nesta says. They never talked about it before, and she has no desire to keep speaking about it now. If they start to tally all the hurts they’ve dealt to each other, Nesta fears they’ll be here for hours. Worse, she fears she will lose.

She reaches for a lavender macaron and delicately pulls it apart, studying the cream filling inside. “Did you know they make these using the lavender flowers from the garden outside?”

“I hate lavender,” Elain says.

Spying her chance to shift the subject off herself, Nesta goes for it. “Because Azriel smells like lavender?” She pushes one half of the dainty cookie past her lips, chewing. “It’s an interesting cologne choice, I agree.”

“Wait, what are we talking about now?” Feyre looks around, unaware that they’ve moved onto another topic.

Elain’s innocent brown eyes turn into daggers pointed at Nesta, betrayal written across her face. Nesta feels no pity for her—especially not if they’re going to sit around judging each other for keeping secrets.

Feyre’s eyes widen and she turns to Elain. “Is it about your,” she lowers her voice and whispers, “crush?”

Nesta raises a skeptical brow. She doubts whatever Az and Elain have stops at just a crush.

“No, it’s not,” Elain answers determinedly. “God, do you have to bring men into everything, Nesta?”

“I think you’re projecting.”

“Quit it,” Feyre snaps at the both of them. “Or I’ll grab my things and leave.”

Do it, Nesta almost dares. But she has a feeling that Feyre means it, that she won’t submit to being taunted, so Nesta reins the words back from the tip of her tongue. After all, this tea is expensive.

The sisters take a moment to settle, and Feyre is the one to restart the conversation. “Either way,” she tells Nesta, “it looks like counseling is going really well for you. I’m glad.”

“Yeah, it really gives your skin a certain glow,” Elain drawls.

Nesta doesn’t rise to meet her sarcasm. In all seriousness, Elain and Feyre could probably use a therapist themselves. It might make Nesta’s interactions with them less headache-inducing.

“You should visit one day,” she throws the suggestion out without thinking.

“What, like a therapy session?” Feyre says.

Realizing the implications of her terrible idea, Nesta forces herself not to backpedal. “Yes,” she makes herself grit out. “If you’re interested, that is.”

Elain and Feyre share a glance of hesitation and concern. It’s a glance that grates on Nesta’s nerves, but she keeps her mouth shut and waits for a response.

Feyre answers first: “We’ll do it.”

Elain looks more doubtful, but seems to realize that refusing to go would paint her in a negative light. We can’t have that, can we? Nesta thinks wryly. She reaches for some macarons and starts stuffing them into her purse. “Sounds good. Great.” It is not at all great. Having her sisters in the same room as her and Lana might just be terrible enough to ruin Nesta’s next month or two.

“I’ll text you the details whenever I feel like it,” she tells Feyre and Elain as she rises out of her seat. Likely not for as long as possible.

“Where are you going?” Elain demands.

“I’m leaving.” Nesta pointedly drapes her coat over her shoulders, picking up her purse. “I have plans for the rest of the day, sorry.” Plans to get home and rate Gwyn’s work crush on a scale of one to ten. Maybe she’ll rewatch a sitcom if she has time.

“But it’s only been an hour,” Feyre protests.

Did Feyre think they would be spending the whole day together? Nesta wants to shudder at the mere idea of it, but she somehow… feels bad for her sister. “Maybe another time,” she promises vaguely. To provide some sort of reassurance, she adds, “I had fun today. Thanks for pulling this together.” The words are hollow, fake, and she’s probably a hypocrite for not being able to return the same sincerity she demanded from Feyre. But honesty isn’t going to get Nesta very far today, so this false politeness is the best she can manage.

Elain looks somewhat relieved, and Feyre looks disappointed but unsurprised. “Alright.” The girls nod at her. “Get home safe.”

She turns and leaves as soon as she’s given the green light.

A stale scent greets Nesta when she enters her apartment, reminding her that she hasn’t been around in days. In her defense, the winter months are easier to bear in Cassian’s heated cabin than in a poorly insulated basement.

Flicking the lights on, Nesta books it to the thermostat, her teeth nearly chattering out of her body. After turning the heat as high as it can go, she climbs beneath the covers of her bed without bothering to take her coat off. She doesn’t take out her phone to text the groupchat like she promised she would. She doesn’t even get her laptop to turn Netflix on. Rather, her focus is caught on the framed picture of her and Cassian sitting atop the dresser.

Everything was okay as she stepped out of the tea house. It wasn’t until she was inside her car that it came upon her: the whirlwind of emotions that had stayed so carefully hidden while she chatted with her sisters. All throughout the drive home, her mind kept returning to that one topic. Children.

Elain said that Nesta used to genuinely enjoy playing substitute mother when they were children, and she was right. But that was all fun and games, like playing teacher. What Elain left out was what happened after their actual mother died and their father went into debt, leaving all three girls in need of a parent figure. Nesta wasn’t a mother then—or at least, not a good one.

Now, she stares at the picture full of smiley cheeks and windblown hair, remembering the night that she realized she wanted to hold Cassian’s hand in hers.

She can’t imagine Cassian not wanting kids. They’ve never discussed it, but it’s so obvious to anyone who’s ever met him: he has too much love to give away to not one day end up with a whole brood of children. The thought makes Nesta’s stomach churn.

***

“Thanks again, guys.” Cassian shakes hands with his team as they file out of the conference room, all of them dressed professionally while he lingers in his hoodie. As soon as the last worker is out the door, he pulls out his phone, ready to shoot Nesta a message. She met up with her sisters alone today for the first time in a year, and he can’t wait any longer to find out if their brunch ended in a fight or not.

He clicks on his phone to find two texts from his brother, sent not too long ago.

Rhys: You’re in the office today for the monthly check-in, right?

Rhys: Don’t leave after the meeting is over. I’ll be there in an hour to introduce you to the new guy heading the Milan project.

Cassian frowns, confused. Rhys and the new guy are coming all the way up here to meet him? He didn’t know he was that important to the project.

While he waits for his unexpected guests, Cassian texts Nesta twice, and only receives a single short response saying she got home safe. Resolving to call and have a real conversation with her later, he gets up to change into the spare buttondown and pressed slacks he keeps in a locker in his office. If Rhys wants him to play the part of company boss, then he might as well look the part.

He’s adjusting the cuffs of his dark-colored shirt when the door to his office opens without warning, and Rhysand strides in followed by a stiff-looking young man.

Cassian eyes the stranger up and down first, trying to get a read on him the way he’s seen Nesta and Rhys read others. He doesn’t come up with a single thing, as usual, but he hopes he achieved his goal of looking intimidating.

“Cass,” Rhys greets him with a subdued nod, in full CEO mode. “This is our new hire, Keith O’Connell. I snagged him from right under Vanserra & Co.’s noses.” His near-violet eyes gleam with pride. “He’s going to be working out of Milan for us starting this summer.”

“Sounds good to me.” Cassian smiles lazily, and this is something he doesn’t need to fake—confidence. He reaches out to shake Keith���s hand. “Hi. I’m Cassian Madani.”

“Good to meet you.” The other man shakes back, but his grip is too tight, like he’s trying to break Cassian’s hand. Try-hard, a voice that sounds like Nesta tells him. Uses arrogance to cover up his insecurity.

Cassian takes it all into account as he pulls his hand away, seeing Keith through clearer eyes. His dark brown hair is slicked back with copious amounts of hair product, and a shrewd black gaze takes in every detail of the office. He stands like he’s attempting to seem taller than he actually is.

A typical white-collar worker looking for a way up the corporate ladder, Cassian concludes. Nothing he hasn’t seen before, but there must be a reason Rhys is so excited about him.

“Keith is starting here at your branch next week,” Rhys is saying when Cassian refocuses.

He blinks, unsure if he heard correctly. “What, all the way out here?” Away from Velaris in this modest mountain town?

“We agreed it was best if you two work together as closely as possible while preparing for the summer launch. Since you can’t come to Velaris, that means Keith comes here.”

Cassian looks at Rhys in astonishment. He thought that once he rejected the Milan position, he’d cleaned his hands of the job for good. Clearly he was wrong. “Just how involved am I going to be on this project?”

Rhys grins back at him. “You’ll lead from home base, of course.”

Cassian glares. Rhys responds with a look that says they’ll talk about this later.

Keith seems to find the idea of working alongside another person as distasteful as Cassian finds it unexpected, but he says anyway, “I can’t wait to start working together. I have a lot of ideas for the Italian outpost that I think you’ll appreciate.”

“I’m sure I will,” Cassian hums. “When do you start again?”

“Next Monday.”

“Then we should talk then.” Cassian gestures out the door. Keith looks taken aback, likely having expected more out of this meeting. But Cassian can’t meet with this guy until he gets a hold of what the fuck is going on. After shepherding Keith out of the office and shutting the door after him, he turns to Rhys with a raised brow.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Rhys warns. “Your role in this project is serious.”

“This project isn’t even part of my job description. What am I supposed to know about international business conductions?”

“You know enough to keep an eye on that O’Connell kid for me.” Rhys leans against Cassian’s desk as if it’s his own and crosses his feet. “He’s an asset to the company, but he also worked for our competitors up to a couple of months ago. I can’t trust him to manage this thing on his own, and I don’t have the time or resources right now to watch over him myself. That’s why the duty falls to you.”

“I manage security,” Cassian states, in case it wasn’t obvious. “What about Az?”

“Az has his own things to handle.” Rhys waves him off. “Just do what I tell you to, will you? Pay attention to O’Connell for the duration of the Italy venture and make sure he doesn’t steer our ship off course. You’ll get paid triple for the extra hours.”

“I don’t need triple,” Cassian grumbles, but Rhys is no longer listening. He’s typing on his phone and already heading for the door.

“Feyre and I are having dinner here before heading back home,” he calls over his shoulder. “See you later; I believe in you!” The door shuts after him, leaving Cassian alone.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies to the empty room.

Cassian leaves not long after Rhysand does, having no excuse to linger. Outside, he’s greeted with a surprise leaning against the hood of his truck.

Nesta pushes off the hood as soon as he catches notice of her. “Long day?” she asks.

He laughs for the first time all afternoon, the sound surprised and genuine. “I was just thinking about you.”

“That’s why I’m here. I heard your thoughts.” There’s a light in her pale eyes that only burns whenever she looks at him. It’s the same light that powers her ability to make jokes and let her guard down around him in a way she can’t with most others, and Cassian is especially grateful for it today.

Nesta reaches out and takes his hand into hers. He watches the way their palms fit together in endless fascination, his brown fingers a stark contrast against her white ones. He squeezes once and looks back up at her. “How did meeting your sisters go? You never told me.”

The light flickers so briefly Cassian wonders if it’s a trick of his eyes. But then Nesta is there again, at full brightness. She squeezes his hand back. “Take me home. I’ll tell you all about it.”

***

a/n: i love writing stuff related to cassian’s job i’ll just be throwing random words in there and calling it business jargon

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[thatonetimetraveller]

Chapter 1 - Cin Vhetin - Sol

Chapter 1 - Cin Vhetin - Sol

22BBY - 7955

It started out like many of his nightmares. The shriek of blaster fire and explosions deafening, his father holding him tightly to his chest. Shielding his eyes from the hulking black droid and the ever-present red glow of blaster bolts zooming past their heads. The smell of soot, blood, and fear blended into a soup of sickening stench. His heart beating almost loud enough to drown out the cries of agony of the dying and the panic of the still living. His parents ushered him into a cellar, he was shaking with fear as his mother hugged him the last time and his father placed a gentle tear-filled kiss on his temple. Then they shut the heavy metal door, he reached out but he was left in complete darkness. The sounds of the raging battle muted in his dark corner. His breathing was heavy and uncontrolled, his sobs were barely held in. He sat in silence, his red robe a comforting weight on his shoulders.

The door jerked open with a thud. Light flooded in. The shadow of the droid appeared above him, raising his arm. He held his breath for his inevitable death. A blue blaster bolt hit the droid right in its head. It fell with a thud. He glanced up expecting to see the now comfortable armor of his saviors.

The helmet that stared back was white and definitely not Mandalorian.

His savior held out a hand, arm covered in white and orange plastoid instead of beskar’gam and he flinched.

“Ibic cuyir dush” This is wrong. Din mumbled in confusion mostly to himself, but his savior tilted his head and let out a huff barely audible through the voice modulator of his helmet. Din stood and slowly climbed out of the cellar, pulling his robe tighter around himself. It was quiet now. And he glanced around his ruined home, everything was exactly how he remembered yet white troopers swarmed the streets putting down stray droids instead of Mandalorians. The troopers’ armor was painted gold, all of them with differing patterns. He cast an eye back to the cellar then to his savior. His armor was also painted gold, three lines bursting out of his cuirass in a starburst pattern both his pauldrons were completely gold as well, his helmet had extra plastoid around the visor, and an antenna attached to the comm center of the bucket.

“Su’cuy” The man spoke also in Mando’a, Din gaped in shock, his mind reeling as he suddenly noticed the design of the armor was similar to beskar’gam on a closer inspection that one might think he was Mandalorian. Din could sense the man’s gaze behind his visor as he studied him. A familiar feeling of nakedness overwhelmed him as he hid his face behind his red hood and away from the prying eyes of the soldiers nearby. He longed for his buy’ce and beskar’gam.

“Tion gar gai?” What’s your name? The man asked tenderly as he stepped closer to Din and knelt next to him, shielding him from the others. Din blinked at him, still distracted by the dream. He eyed everything with great scrutiny, trying to find a flaw in the dreamscape; blurry edges on the horizon, things that shouldn’t be there or were just missing in general, or anything that wasn’t behaving as it should. He almost groaned when he found nothing, everything seemed real. It took him a moment too long to register the question.

“Din” he answered absentmindedly, his thoughts still distracted by his search, and after this was a dream even if he couldn’t find a flaw or wake. The man seemed to think about something before he introduced himself, Din’s attention snapped back to him.

“Kote” he whispered like a secret. The anxiety that rolled off of Kote made him cringe internally.

Kote took a breath to say something when his wrist comm beeped, he sighed in fondness as he answered

“General”

“Cody, where are you?” A man’s voice came through the comm, it was heavily accented probably from the Core. Why would he dream up people from the Core? He hasn’t been there in over a decade. In a daze, Din returned to his examination of his surroundings, he touched the walls of a nearby building, kicked up some dirt, pointedly didn’t look at the dead that lay only a few feet from him, the ground stained crimson by their blood. Everything was real. He pinched himself in a vain attempt to wake up

“Meg cuyir gar vaabir?” What are you doing? Kote suddenly asked from behind him after he kicked a downed droid particularly hard making it rattle loudly. He grinned at the dark deactivated eyes of the droid in satisfaction.

“Dayn’viinir” Escape he said and picked himself again, his skin turning angry red at the repeated pinches. Kote made a noise behind his bucket.

“Cody, why are you speaking Mando’a?” The General asked through the comm, Kote jolted in surprise and the agitation in the air was prevalent.

“Hojir!” Wake up He cried out in frustration, his dream was really starting to annoy him. Anger coursed through his veins as he kicked the droid so hard that it caved in slightly. The metal crunched under his feet. Pain exploded in his unprotected shins.

“Haar’chak!” he cursed and kicked another droid, the crunching metal and wire only dulled his violent anger. Kote was next to him suddenly as Din seethed, the whispers to destroy them all was all-encompassing and alluring

“Udesii!” Kote shouted through the ringing of rage in his ears. He placed a cautious hand on Din’s shoulder and pulled him closer grounding him. The sudden shaking that seemed to crush him stopped, his breathing leveled out and the anger slowly dissipated. He did not look at Kote for he knew he would find nothing but concern there. The hair on the back of his neck stood as he felt another presence behind him just as Kote called out.

“General!” Din tensed and scrambled away from Kote embarrassment burning through him. He pulled his hood down, so it obscured most of his face and glanced at the approaching General. Kote stood and observed the man. The man was shorter than Kote, he had neatly styled ginger hair and beard. He wore no armor besides the battle-worn vambrace, and a shoulder plate painted with a symbol. Besides that, he was wearing loose cream-colored robes that swayed in the gentle wind. A jetii-kad hung loosely from his belt. The jetii surveyed the destruction around the pair of them - mostly Din’s work in his blind rage - and quirked an eyebrow at Kote then glanced at Din curiously. The ka’ra sang around the General and Din had to avert his eyes from the brightness of it.

“Hello, there” The General greeted with that posh accent of his, as he approached Din and knelt in front of him. Kote made an aborted motion with his hands but didn’t say anything, still, the apprehension and tension were clear to Din. He glanced between the two in confusion unsure why he dreamed up the pair, he never met anyone like them from his subconscious to draw on. The General’s grey eyes seemed to be searching for something, then he felt the General’s mind poking at his. It was a gentle prod barely invasive but Din still sucked in a sharp breath and fought with the disgust rolling in his stomach as the wrongness of another mind settled over him. He grit his teeth and clamped down on his feeble shields trying to keep the invading mind out. The General’s presence gently retreated and Din almost sagged in relief.

“Interesting,” the jetii murmured. Kote glanced at his General in confusion then back to the exhausted Din. He shut his eyes tightly, he really wanted to wake up now.

“Are there any other survivors?” Kote asked in a low voice, concern emanating from him. The jetii sagged in defeat

“No” was barely a whisper but still cut deep into Din’s heart even after all these decades. He took a shaky breath, closed his eyes in pain their memory still fresh on his mind

“Nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaaj’la” Not gone, merely marching away Kote and the jetii stood in silence seeming to honor Din’s remembrance. When Din opened his eyes he found that the jetii was regarding him with great interest. He squirmed under his gaze, missing the comforting weight of his beskar’gam. Instead, he hid in his robe which brought him some comfort, the smell remaining him of his first parents.

“We’ll be leaving soon, young one. You’re welcome to come with us and we’ll take you back to your people or wherever you prefer” The jetii offered kindly and Din knew he wasn’t lying. Kote sucked in a breath of surprise.

“General Kenobi, the kid doesn’t speak Basic” he interjected while Din blinked at the jetii in confusion once he understood what he meant

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

Kenobi only quirked his lips at Kote and finally, Din found his voice among the thousands of questions that flooded his mind

“Me’ven?” He blurted out in his bewilderment. His eyes darting between the two of them in rising panic. Where were the Mandalorians? He isn’t supposed to go with Kote and Kenobi. He’s supposed to be at the Fighting Corps being trained to be a Mando’ad. His breathing accelerated as he blindly lashed out at the forgotten droid at his feet, kicking it as hard as he could. It crumbled into pieces. He couldn’t breathe, his limbs were shaking as he lost the feeling of them entirely. He could only stare at the droid’s black mass as the image of it leveling him with a blaster flashed across his eyes more vivid than it had been in years. He kicked the slowly unrecognizable droid again in panic. He still couldn’t breathe.

“Calm down kid!” Kote was speaking to him in Basic and Din in his panicked haze didn’t understand a word. His mind hyper focused on his goal to escape from the dream or the droid? Din didn’t know. Escape, run away, not again! his mind screamed at him. Someone outside his head was also screaming in a language he once recognized. His heartbeat was loud in his ears as black spots appeared in his vision. He had to get out of here. Hands were placed on his shoulder boxing him in. He struggled. A helmet’s T-visor was leveled with his eyes. The armored man held strong against Din’s increasingly desperate and weak struggles.

“Udesii!” he ordered. The Mando’a cut through the haze of confusion and fear. Din stopped struggling, going completely limp in Kote’s hold besides his still labored breathing. Kote’s presence was like a rock grounding him in his panic.

“Dayn’viinir” He spat out between ragged breaths. His mind still buzzing with lingering fear. Kote’s presence grew concerned as his grip tightened on his shoulders.

“Tion’jor?” Why? Kote asked sorrowfully

“Ne’veman” Not real His breathing was finally under control somewhat, though he was still weak, his limbs felt like jelly and he was lightheaded. His thoughts were in a haze. Din hadn’t lost control like that since he was 12, and he can’t do it again. Shame bubbled from inside him as he worked to even out his breathing and think clearly. The Mandalorians were not coming and he couldn’t stay with the dead so he firmly looked at Kenobi hoping he’ll understand

“Elek” he breathed out and then the world turned black.

oOo

Din woke to a blinding light behind his eyelids and a pounding headache. He blinked his eyes open and had to resist the urge to groan from the sharp pain that erupted in his skull. The subtle beeping of medical equipment filtered through his hazy awareness. Why was he in a medbay? Din’s eyes snapped open to mechanical shuffling next to his bed. A medical droid was standing above him. His heart racing with unrestrained panic, Din shot up from the bed and punched the droid. Metal scrunched under his fist and the droid staggered back in surprise. Dean lunged for the droid, snatching its long arm and tearing it out with a violent tug, the sparks flew everywhere and the droid was saying something in alarm. Din rushed off his bed ripping the IV out of his arm in the process and without a second thought dashed out of the medbay, as shouts of alarm echoed behind him.

The hallway was empty and clean, the metal under his bare feet was cold and biting. The shape and design of the hallway reminded him distinctively of the Imperial Light Cruiser he’d been on and he shivered at the thought. He turned the corner and came face to face with a pair of Stormtroopers. His breath hitched as he confirmed that he’d been captured by the Imps. He ran in the opposite direction trusting his instincts, the Troopers didn’t fire on him which while strange was a blessing at least. He cursed at himself for not having a rifle, blaster, or at least a vibro-knife with him any weapon would do. He slowed to a screeching halt as the missing weight of his beskar’gam registered and new panic took hold of him. How many had seen him? These hut’uun demagolka took his runi away from him. The anger and humiliation of being stripped of his armor were all-encompassing. He wouldn’t be able to call himself a Mando’ad anymore if he was still at the Covert. He’ll have to find his armor, then kill every single one of these cowards. No one will know of his failure.

He turned down a corner and spotted a trooper standing guard. Without his usual set of weapons Din approached the guard from the blindspot he knew all buckets had and kicked him in the back of the knee just as the guard noticed him. The guard grunted in surprise but didn’t buckle like Din expected. Instead, he swung for his head, Din ducked and punched which the guard blocked effortlessly with his arm and he did not punch back. Din backed away, assessing the situation. The guard was bigger than Din so it took some effort for him to build up the momentum to slam into the guard with his whole body. A grunt escaped the armored man as they tumbled down into the ground and Din punched him on the helmet with enough force to knock him out. Din rose to his feet, legs wobbling underneath him for a moment as he keyed open the door the guard was standing in front of. It was an armory filled with blasters of varying kinds, thermal and electrical charges, and vibroblades all stacked neatly on the rows of racks. There was even a set of Z-6 Rotary Blaster Canons which he hadn’t seen in almost a decade. Din pulled on the red hood that was covering his face and ransacked the room, grabbing two smaller pistols which he strapped to his things, a larger DC-15 blaster along with a few vibroknives which he stashed up his long sleeves. He checked around looking for any armor but found nothing so he opened the door with a whoosh and stepped outside more confident with weapons in his hand. The downed trooper was still sprawled out on the floor, his chest rising faintly under the plastoid armor. Din considered finishing him off but he decided against it, his instincts screaming at him not to. So he turned down the hall avoiding the troopers the best he could.

His heart was still beating rapidly in his panic as the absence of his adi’ka settled over his chest. Even the faint feeling of their connection that he chalked up magic osik was missing, leaving Din empty. He reached out to his ad again hoping to feel him, the emptiness almost made him lose his footing and his breaths were coming out rapidly. Still, he poured as much hope and reassurance to them as he could, heart aching at the missing warmth.

“Hold on adi’ka I’ll find you” he promised as he rounded the corner and came face to face with a squad of troopers.

He shot into the group hitting one of the troopers’ squarely in the chest, downing him instantly, the stun dissipating with sizzle. The others scrambled to shoot back, similarly with stun shots. He dodged almost too late behind a supporting pillar, the habit of tanking shots with his beskar’gam was strong in him. He fired back blindly, the wall behind him lit blue by the circular stun shots. He ducked his head out to aim better and fired off a volley of shots - all still circular it hit another trooper. He glanced down at his defective blaster, he was sure he switched off of stun. He made sure to press the switch firmly but the light indicating the stun setting wouldn’t turn off, with a growl he threw the DC-15 away clattering loudly on the floor. He grabbed both of the pistols then dashed out of cover while firing downing the last two troopers, their last shots were too close for comfort. On a whim, he glanced at the squad of troopers and drew to a stop. They were not Stormtrooper armor, a bit bulkier and similar to beskar’gam. Their armor was customized painted with orange in varying designs each similar yet unique in their own way, they couldn’t have done that in the Empire. The color reminded him of Kote’s armor in his dream. Something wasn’t right. He sighed and shook his head clearing his foggy mind. He had to find Grogu - that was the only goal he focused on, the missing feeling of his presence was unsettling. A trooper with familiar armor turned down the corner. Din stared at him in shock. What was Kote doing on an Imperial Cruiser? The haze in his mind was overwhelming, he didn’t know where he was and he couldn’t think.

“Kote?” he blurted out in confusion. Kote raised his blaster and stunned him before he could react or move. He collapsed bonelessly.

oOo

Obi-Wan stared at the boy they picked up on Aq-Vetina through the observation glass. He was sleeping on the bed thrashing and turning in his sleep, Helix was there monitoring and tending to his condition and to make sure the boy didn't attempt another escape since the first thing he did was rip the med-droid’s arm out. The boy was young 12 standard, with soft brown hair and eyes, dressed in the traditional red robes of his home planet, and clearly traumatized by the Separatist attack. He looked like an unassuming child, except for the Force swirled around him strangely and he took down some of the best in the 212th effortlessly like a seasoned warrior far beyond his age, in an attempt to escape. Thankfully none of the troopers were badly injured besides their bruised egos. This child was a mystery Obi-Wan was eager to solve. Cody walked up to him and glanced at the still sleeping boy.

“Do you think this was a Separatist ploy, sir?” Obi-Wan stroked his beard thoughtfully

“No. There is something off about him, but it doesn’t appear to be dangerous” He hadn’t got any warnings from the Force relating to the boy since the weird ripple he felt just before they diverted course to Aq-Vetina. The Force wanted him to find the boy. That Obi-Wan was sure of. But why? Obi-Wan sighed

“Still, I posted Waxer and Crys outside just in case he tries to run again” Obi-Wan gave a small smile of amusement at that. Waxer was just a shiny but he was the one guarding the armory and whom the boy took down with the grace of a seasoned fighter.

“You said he spoke Mando’a?” Obi-Wan turned to face Cody, he nodded but he kept his eyes on the boy

“Yes. More fluent than any vode and with a strange accent. I barely understood him” Cody paused mulling over his thoughts “He said some karking strange things, like he was half mad” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at that prompting his Commander to continue “He was confused, blabbering about escaping as he examined everything in a daze like he was dreaming and expecting to wake up but couldn’t”

“You don’t think it was trauma?” Obi-Wan prodded and Cody shook his head

“No. He was distressed by the sight of us especially when you showed up sir and offered to take him away. He was clearly expecting someone else” Obi-Wan hummed in thought and turned back to the boy. What was a Force sensitive Mandalorian child doing on Aq-Vatina? Why would he accept to come with them then attack them?

A shout and a rattle broke him out of his thoughts. The boy was sitting on top of Helix, eyes dancing around wildly like a caged animal. The Force rippled around him dangerously, as anger, fear and confusion enveloped the room. Obi-Wan put a hand on Cody’s arm without tearing his eyes away from the scene

“Where are they?” The boy asked in a dangerously low and threatening tone even though he had no weapon. When Helix didn’t answer, silenced in his confusion the boy’s glare morphed into ice.

“What have you done to him?”

“Who?” Helix finally found his voice just as Cody wrenched his arm out of his hold, but reluctantly remained in the room since Helix held up a hand to signal to him that everything was under control. Obi-Wan strengthened his shields from the onslaught of negative emotions around him. The boy scoffed as if he didn’t believe him.

“Where is the child?” he questioned, his elbow pressing down threateningly on Helix’s throat, Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow

“What child? There is no child on board besides you” Helix ground out and Cody marched out of the room with a furious expression on his face, he shoved his helmet on his head and busted into the room. Obi-Wan sighed and followed behind though he tried to be less confrontational about his entrance. The boy’s head raised in alarm at the sound of the hissing doors then blinked in confusion at the two of them, relaxing his stance on top of Helix

“Kote?” He whispered. Helix climbed out of the boy’s relaxed hold and glared at them

“What are you doing here? I had it under control” Helix hissed

“Like sith hells you were, vod” After another vicious glare from behind his visor Cody turned to the boy, who was glancing at them suspiciously the anger in the Force evaporating replaced by overwhelming confusion. Cody glared at the boy voice firm under his helmet

“Who are you?” The boy blinked, all fight left him as Cody hauled him and cuffed him to the post of the bed. The boy didn’t answer, only glared at him. Cody continued when it was clear he wouldn't answer.

“Did the Separatists send you?” The boy jolted at that, his face and Force presence morphing through several from fear to anger and then settling back into confusion

“What does the Separatist have to do with any of this?” Bewilderment was evident in his voice as he tugged lower in an attempt to hide his face. Cody glanced at Obi-Wan through his helmet

“You attacked several of my men,” Cody stated. The boy stilled

“I did?” He raised both his eyebrows, and the shock was clear on his face “Those were your men. I don’t understand” he mumbled, then his eyes snapped up to Obi-Wan’s “What’s a jetii doing here on a cruiser?” He asked more venom in his voice and Obi-Wan blinked

“I’m the commanding officer,” Obi-Wan said. The boy glanced around, first to the walls then to Cody and Helix, and finally back to Obi-Wan

“I…That’s not right” he murmured again and examined his hands with strange fascination.

Helix knelt next to the boy and placed a hand on his knee

“Let’s start with something easy,” Helix said, projecting calmness into the Force. The boy’s head perked up and watched Helix with sharp eyes behind the veil of the hood

“How old are you?” He asked and the boy bit his lip in thought

“44,” He said. Cody barely caught a gasp of surprise and Obi-Wan swayed. What happened to this child?

“Alright. Can you tell me where you are?” Helix was still calm, hiding his surprise behind a wall of professionalism. The boy’s nose scrunched up in confusion and he did another cursory glance around the room

“A Light Cruiser, not the kind I thought at first though” Helix nodded

“You’re on the Negotiator, flagship of the 212th Attack Battalion of the GAR” The boy went impossibly still at that his Force presence blanked out then exploded with so much force that Obi-Wan staggered

“Me’ven?” The boy reverted back to Mando’a as he glanced at the three of them then he turned his sharp gaze at Cody and stared into his eyes through the visor

“Am I still dreaming, Kote?” His Commander stiffened, tugged his helmet off, set it on a nearby table, and ran a hand through his regulation cut hair before sighing. He looked at the boy seriously

“No” he stated and the boy deflated, his eyes tracking their positions in the room

“Me’bana?” What happened? He whispered, his posture hunched over his head buried in his hands hiding his face from them. Obi-Wan exchanged a look with Helix.

“You were the only survivor of the attack on Aq-Vetina. We brought you onboard to give you treatment and return you to your family. You woke up about 4 hours ago and tore a med-droid’s arm off and attacked my men” Cody explained gently, making sure to keep his voice steady and clear. The boy stiffened and peeked out from between his fingers

“Ni ceta, Kote” The boy’s voice shook as he kept repeating the apology, tugging at his robes in distress, his breathing slowly increasing in speed and intensity as anxiety, panic, and confusion rolled off of him in the Force. Everyone seemed to be at a loss for words, with no idea how to ground the boy in his sense of reality. Cody stepped closer to the boy telegraphing his movements as the boy lifted his head just enough to peek at Cody with fearful eyes. His apologies had stopped when Cody knelt in front of the child and held out his hand as an offering but the boy shrunk in on himself and did not take it.

“Gar morut’yc” You are safe. Cody murmured voice softer than anything Obi-Wan had heard from him. The boy’s shoulders shook

“K'lamot di'dunla” Apology accepted Cody softly said as he undid the cuffs with a soft click. The boy threw his arms around Cody and hid his face in the pauldron of Cody’s armor. His body shook with silent sobs, Cody murmured low and gentle words to him in Mando’a. The boy whispered something to Cody who tensed for a second before he untangled himself from the mess of limbs. He grabbed his helmet and stared at the T-visor for a long moment. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow as Cody placed the bucket on the boy’s head and gave it a soft affectionate pat. The low constant hum of anxiety that’s been plaguing Obi-Wan since they found the boy finally quieted down to a shimmer.

“Vor entye” Thank you the boy said, his voice deeper and more confident under the helmet’s voice modulator. The boy’s shoulders relaxed as most of the anxiety and tension dissipated into the Force. Cody gave the boy a gentle smile, his presence wavering with intense emotions

“Feeling better?” Cody asked, his voice still low. The boy nodded, his too big bucket wobbled precariously on his head. Obi-Wan let out an amused huff, and Cody smiled softly as the boy placed a hand on it to stabilize it.

Obi-Wan hanged back as Helix moved to kneel next to Cody keeping level with the boy’s T-visor

“Hey kid, my name is Helix,” he said gently, though the hint of fear still lingered in the Force as he said his name, then he pointed to Cody with his thumb

“You know Kote already, but make sure to only call him that around Vode or the General, he is Cody otherwise. And that’s General Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he introduced them. The boy was more alert, both in the Force and in reality now that he had a helmet, nodded to Obi-Wan in greeting though wariness still seeped out of him. Then he turned his head to Cody

“I understand”

“What should we call you?” Helix asked, his voice quiet and conspiratorial barely loud enough for Obi-Wan to hear. He knew names were important and sacred to the Clones; it’s their identity just like their armor. All of their names were chosen by themselves and reflected who they were on some inner level. No Clone called the other something they did not willingly share with the rest. It took months for his own battalion to warm up to him and share their names, Obi-Wan treasured every single one of them to memory and mourned the ones they lost, just like the rest of the Vode. The boy was deep in thought

“Beroya,” He decided. Bounty hunter - interesting choice Obi-Wan thought and Helix hummed

“Alright, Beroya. You don’t have to answer but could you tell us why you were dreaming?” Helix’s voice was gentle as he took one of Beroya’s hand in his own when he sensed the boy pull away from them. Terror spiked in the Force and Obi-Wan had to suppress a flinch as the terrified emotions of Beroya attacked his shields.

“Gar morut’yc” Cody murmured and Beroya sighed barely loud enough for his helmet’s voice modulator to pick up

“It happened before,” he mumbled. Obi-Wan straightened his attention solely focused on the hunched over the boy as he continued to talk “It was different than my usual nightmares, I usually die in them and it was different from the first time where Buir saved me and took me to the Fighting Corps, and I became a Mando’ad. But this time you save me Kote so I thought I must be having a nice dream for once” The boy’s presence grew solemn

“How long have you been having these visions?” Obi-Wan asked, sure that the boy was Force sensitive and suffered from strong realistic visions. Dissociation was and losing a sense of reality was a common side effect of untrained Seers. Beroya cocked his head to the side the helmet banging against his skull with a soft thud

“Visions?” He asked, confused. Obi-Wan sighed and stepped closer making sure not to crowd the boy

“Your dreams” Beroya balked

“The first time was not a dream. It's a memory” Helix’s hand flexed on the boy’s

“When did this happen to you?” He asked, his voice gentle but with a certain edge to it. Beroya hummed in thought

“About 30 years ago” The boy looked about 12 standard but his Force signature was older. And Obi-Wan had to do a double take just to make sure, how had he not noticed this before

“Ok kid, what year is it?” Cody asked and received a confused head tilt

“Uh… 10ABY” Obi-Wan furrowed his eyebrows, that wasn’t a dating system he was familiar with by the confused looks on his troopers neither were they

“ABY?” Helix asked “Sorry kid, not familiar with that system. How about CRC?”

“Hang on” He seemed to be doing some sort of calculation in his head “7987” Obi-Wan sucked in a breath of surprise, that’s 32 years into the future but he could sense no lie from the boy. How tough? Time travel hadn’t been documented in nearly a millennium and could have dangerous far reaching consequences.

“Are you sure?” Helix asked voice probing but betraying nothing of his skepticism

“Ori’haat” It’s the truth Beroya’s voice was unwavering as he stared down the pair of troopers. Cody bolted from his seat and began pacing in the small room, his thoughts a mixture of disbelief and confusion. Beroya tilted his helmet as he followed Cody’s agitated movements.

“You mentioned a child when you woke up. Who is this child you were looking for?” Obi-Wan asked, cutting through the tense atmosphere of the room. The boy’s head snapped to him, the Force around him going through a complicated set of emotions, mainly distrust though. He sighed with weariness that came from a long hard life, not of the 12 year old boy. He tugged on his robes and Cody was staring holes into the side of his head.

“Promise me you won’t hand them over” There was an edge of violence in his voice that could only come from a paternal role. Obi-Wan stroked his beard in thought. Who would want this child? There are many despicable factions out there that would gladly kidnap a youngling, Slaver especially but they were on the edge of Mandalorian space and they were very fond of children, well until the New Mandalorians took power, adoption became less common with them. And Beroya seemed to think that they would put this youngling in harm’s way. That was a troubling thought. But Obi-Wan did not voice any of that, afraid it might cause the distrustful boy to lose what little trust they did build between them, and keep his mouth shut or attempt another escape. So Obi-Wan promised

“They are small, green, have large eyes and ears and their species ages very slowly, I was told they are 50” Beroya began reluctantly and Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow; that sounded an awful lot like a member of Master Yoda’s species. Cody tensed besides Beroya seeming to come to the same conclusion. The boy sensing their mild reaction looked at both of them in surprise

“You know their species?” He asked

“Yes” Obi-Wan did not say anything more but the curiosity in the boy grew

“Please continue. Do they have a name?” Obi-Wan asked. Maybe with a name, he could find this youngling who was most likely Force sensitive.

“They are special he has…” he waved his hand around in a vague gesture “powers, so they want them” He paused as if debating something. Obi-Wan’s list of kidnappers shrunk; not many would kidnap a Force sensitive child, especially one from Yoda’s species unless they wanted the wrath of the Jedi descending on them. He did notice that Beroya left out the youngling’s name.

“He’s supposed to be with the jetii Skywalker, but I don’t feel him anymore so when I woke here I thought the Empire had him”

The room was silent as all three occupants stared at Beroya in shock, then erupted into a mixture of hurried questions

“You don’t feel him?” Helix asked

“Empire?” Cody’s voice was distressed

“What has Anakin done now?” Obi-Wan muttered in exasperation. Knowing his former Padawan, nothing good. Obi-Wan felt the beginning of a headache forming, there was just so much to unpack with that one sentence alone, let alone karking time travel. Mace would have a field day with the amount of shatter point around Beroya. Obi-Wan sighed as the boy blinked in confusion not knowing who to answer first.

“Let’s start with the important one. Empire?” Cody asked again and dread began to build in his stomach at the thought of whatever future the boy came from or witnessed

“Yes. It rose to power after the Clone Wars had ended” Cody sucked in a pained breath

“We lost?” He asked quietly and defeated, Obi-Wan’s heart ached. Beroya shrugged

“I don’t know much but from what rumors I heard it was some sort of coup” Who would have the power to overthrow the Galactic Senate? And why didn’t the Jedi stop them? Force was getting murkier since Master Qui-Gon died and this confirmed some of Obi-Wan deepest fears, a Sith Lord was pulling the string. Dooku told him but he didn’t believe him, it's still hard to believe but he must stay vigilant from now on.

“What I do know was that they killed anyone opposing them, sometimes wiping the populations of a planet” Beroya shuddered “Including turning Manda’yaim into a glass waste and destroying Alderaan” His voice was barely above a whisper as he withdrew himself from the Force. Everyone in the room was deathly silent.

“What do you mean destroyed?” Helix asked with barely restrained horror

“My friend told me, they just blew it to pieces” his voice was hollow under the helmet and everyone reeled back in shock and horror. Cody’s hand twitched with the urge to throw something as a pained expression sat on his face

“What? Where were the Jedi?” Something awfully cold gripped Obi-Wan’s heart and refused to let go. Beroya glanced at his lightsaber for the first time and impossible sorrow emanated from him as he tilted his head to gaze at his own hands, voice barely loud enough for the bucket’s voice modulator to pick up.

“I haven’t heard of the Jedi until about a year ago from the Armorer, she told me that they were enemy sorcerers of the Mando’ade and I only met two” Too many questions filtered through Obi-Wan’s mind. He wanted nothing more than to bolt out of the room and meditate for an entire week.

“Who did you meet?” Obi-Wan’s voice trembled and Cody’s head snapped up at that his eyes boring into the side of his skull

“A Togruta I think her name was Ahsoka and Skywalker” Obi-Wan sighed in relief at least Anakin was okay

“Is the Empire still around, kid?” Cody asked, voice gruff. Beroya shook his head mindful of the wobbling helmet

“No, the Empire fell about 5 years ago” There was only silence in the small room. Everyone was trying to digest the hoard of information thrown at them.

The shrill beeping of Obi-Wan’s comm cut through the silence, he caught from the corner of his eye as Beroya jumped at the sudden noise. Obi-Wan answered the comm with a little apprehension

“Kenobi”

“General, the Jedi Council wants to speak with you” Feedback’s voice filtered through, a bit tense not used to dealing with the Jedi. Obi-Wan sighed

“I’ll be right there,” he thanked the comm’s officer before he shut off his comm unit. He turned to Helix

“Take care of him” he nodded towards the slumping boy, who was nodding off in exhaustion. Helix saluted and Obi-Wan turned to leave Cody following behind. The halls were almost deserted in the night shift

“Transfer all of the recordings to a secure datapad and delete everything from the records” Cody blinked at him

“Sir?” he glanced at his Commander

“No one can know what was said in that room. It could have dangerous and far reaching consequences” The Force sent the boy back for a reason, and Obi-Wan intends to avert the terrible future he saw. Cody stiffened and nodded sharply, his eyes hardening with experience

“Yes, sir!” his voice was firm and Obi-Wan had no doubt it would be done. He stroked his beard thoughtfully

“Ask the quartermaster if he has any appropriate armor for Beroya, discreetly of course” Cody smiled in amusement.

They arrived at the comms center and the holograms of the Jedi Counselors were already present casting the darkened room into a faint blue glow. He stepped up to the holoprojector The Force heavy in the back of his mind. Cody stood behind him just out of sight of the rest of the Jedi, his presence oddly comforting

“Masters” he greeted with a bow

“Master Kenobi, Did you find what you were looking for on Aq-Vetina?” Master Plo Koon asked, his voice probing behind his ventilator. Obi-Wan had sensed a disturbance in the Force - a nexus building for the past couple of weeks. The Jedi Council was reluctant to send someone out to investigate since Aq-Vetina was on the edge of Mandalorian space and the Jedi are spread thin as is. When he felt the pressure in the Force build yesterday so strong that it nearly threw him off his feet, Obi-Wan ordered the Negotiator to Aq-Vetina without hesitation or waiting for the Council’s permission. He only briefed them after they picked up Beroya and that was cut short by his attempted escape. Now he was certain the Force wanted him to find the boy, he smiled ruefully understanding how Master Qui-Gon felt when he found Anakin

“There was a small scale Separatist attack on the planet. We managed to destroy their forces but there was only one survivor” He let the grief pass through him and into the Force. The Jedi were silent mourning the loss of life

“The Nexus?”

“I believe it's the boy we rescued. He is strong with the Force and he had strong and vivid visions to the point of dissociating.” The last time a Jedi so powerful with the Unifying Force had such visions led to the creation of the clones and this subsequent war. Obi-Wan was still unsure if the boy actually came from the future but he wisely kept his mouth shut about that tidbit of information, not wanting to alarm the Council further. Plus the Force was telling him not to, a bad feeling rose in his gut even at the thought of saying anything. Another long silence, this one heavier than the last. Master Windu leaned forward stapling his fingers as he observed Obi-Wan.

“What did the boy See?” he asked after a long pause. Obi-Wan steeled himself, letting the horror of the vision wash over him

“He Saw the fall of the Republic and an Empire rising from its ashes. The Empire destroyed the Jedi and then many worlds including Mandalore and Alderaan” Even summarized, the vision was laced with darkness, like the Force around them. Dark and sticky like tar covering everything that touches it with a sense of dread and unease, suffocating everything in its wake. The silence this time was filled with mute horror as each Jedi tried to release their emotions into the Force

“How would they wipe the Order out?” There were grumblings of displeasure among the Council and Obi-Wan sighed getting ready for a long meeting as an argument broke out between Master Mace and Yoda. They debated the validity of Beroya’s vision to their limited options and even if they should heed his warning

“Always the future in motion is” Master Yoda finished the argument, and the rest of the Council agreed that they needed more information to agree on the next course of action. Obi-Wan wanted to rip out his hair at that expected development as one of the oldest in the Council Master Yoda had the final say in most matters and he often downplayed the significance of visions as he was more aligned with the Living Force, and he had seen too many Jedi fall due to chasing visions and prophecies. Still, it was maddening because of the nature of the information Beroya presented.

Master Yoda regarded him with thoughtful eyes

“More to say, have you?” Obi-Wan tugged his hands into the sleeves of his rope in consideration

“Yes. The boy was looking for a youngling when he woke” He did not tell them about his escape attempt, likely due to not being able to tell vision from reality apart. “He described the youngling as a member of Master Yoda’s species, clearly Force sensitive and about 20-25 standard. I believe he Saw a future with him as their guardian” A flicker of recognition passed through Master Koon

“Initiate Grogu had been quite loud in the past few days” Master Koon rumbled, his voice deep through the ventilator mask. “They appeared to have formed a strong bond with someone and had been insisting on finding them” Obi-Wan stroked his beard in thought and readied himself for the fallout of his next decision

“Master, may I request a meeting between them?” He looked each of the Masters in the eyes confident that his decision was right. The Council erupted into a shouting match as each Master tried to weigh in their voice in the debate. They debated for hours grilling Obi-Wan on his decision and about Beroya, the debate kept circling back to the question of attachment several times

“Bring the boy to the Jedi you will” Finally Master Yoda agreed though by the down turn of his long ears he wasn’t happy. “Test the boy we will. Decide then his relationship with Initiate Grogu” Master Yoda was particularly protective of Grogu since not many of his species were known. Obi-Wan nodded in acceptance

“Thank you Master” He brewed and then sagged in weariness, this Council meeting had been one of the longer ones since the war started. He could feel Cody’s exhaustion through the Force though he stood to attention despite it

“We have considered your petition to appoint a Padawan to knight Skywalker” Master Mundi began. Obi-Wan had to suppress a tired groan, it appears it wasn’t over yet

“While still young the responsibility of a Padawan should teach both of them to become a better Jedi” Master Windu continued. Hope soared in his heart and a small smile crossed his face

“Chosen we have. Initiate Tano meeting you at Christophsis she will” Yoda finished

“Thank you Masters” Obi-Wan bowed, Anakin will freak out at first but he’ll love his new Padawan, he was certain of that. Then the Council briefed them that the aid Senator Organa brought to the planet was in danger of failing due to a blockade around the planet. They’ll have to rendezvous with the 501st and with a stealth ship bring aid to Senator Organa and free the planet if possible. Once the Masters finished briefing him the holocall faded out leaving the room dim and quiet. Obi-Wan sighed and turned to Cody

“Ready the men, we’re being deployed at Christophsis.”

[honey-dewey]

Sound the Bugle Now

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/Medic Reader

Word Count: 2,658

Warnings: Gore, murder of one animal, medical procedures, big Marcus whump, there’s a gladiator fight, Marcus dies for two sentences, don’t worry he’s fine, this is 99% angst, I’m sorry in advance, I promise it has a happy ending.

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Eight months after the kidnapping of Marcus Moreno, and there’s no news. Everyone’s almost given up until a drone captures a photo of Marcus, and he’s definitely in bad shape. So the heroes make a plan, and that plan is sending you into the thick of it to help poor Marcus. What will happen while you’re in the cell with the missing man, and will he pull through in the end? 

“I’m sorry?”

The request seemed crazy, especially coming from Miracle Guy. But he was definitely serious.

“We need you to infiltrate this location and find Marcus,” he repeated.

You took a breath. No one had seen Marcus in months, since he’d been kidnapped on his way home from work. Missy had been with you, as had been instructed in Marcus’s emergency file. She was sad and sullen, but still had hope. “Look. Miracle. We haven’t heard anything about Marcus in literal months. What kind of intel could you possibly have?”

Miracle Guy put a photo up on the projected screen. “That.”

The photo was grainy, clearly taken with a drone camera. It was of an abandoned warehouse outside of town, the roof of the warehouse caved in, allowing the drone to capture the photo. In the circle of rooflessness, you could see two men in a fighting ring, the ground soaked in blood. One man was clearly bigger, and around the ring was a throng of spectators. The smaller man had his hands up, defending himself, but even with all the grain of the photo, you could see that it was clearly Marcus.

“Okay.” You stepped back. “Why me?”

“He’s clearly in critical condition,” Miracle Guy said, pulling the photo down. “We need a medical personnel to go check on him. We’ll send you under the guise of you simply being there to treat him. We intercepted a letter by carrier pigeon, if you can believe it, asking for a doctor for their special guest. We’ll say that’s you, drop you off with a tracker in your bag, and voila, we have Marcus back.”

It was a risky and hole-riddled plan, but it just might work. You suited up the next day, putting on your crisp white coat and loading up your black bag. Adjusting your shoes, you got into the inconspicuous black car and drove off towards the warehouse.

As soon as you pulled up, there were at least six guns on you. A large man with a bunch of tattoos and no hair stepped forward, holding a gun in one hand. You took a breath and gathered yourself, stepping out of the car. “Are the guns necessary?”

The man smirked. “Of course. Who are you?”

You handed over the small letter. “Your doctor. The hero, he needs healing?”

The man took the letter and read it over, eyeing you as he thought. “Fine,” he decided finally. “He’s busy right now. Wanna see?”

It took everything in you to nod as if you didn’t care. The man led you into the building, and you immediately saw the fighting ring. Marcus staggered around, his clothes torn and bloody as he circled with a tiger.

They were making him fight a fucking tiger.

You looked at the man. “Does he fight like this often?”

“Whenever he can,” the man responded, rattling the chain link of the cage and shouting. “Oi! Hero! Finish it already!”

Marcus slipped, nearly tripping. The tiger pounced, and your breath caught in your throat as Marcus weakly grappled with the animal. The man shouted happily, his cries mixing with the crowd’s. Apparently, people were betting on the tiger.

How disappointed they must’ve been when Marcus let out a nasty sob and plunged a jagged piece of metal into the tiger’s heart. He fell limp beside the exotic corpse, chest wracking with sobs. Two men carried him off, and you watched him go with wide and fearful eyes.

The man turned to you. “Isn’t it fun?” He asked.

You shrugged, trying to keep your face emotionless. “It’s interesting. If you want him alive, I should probably see to his injuries. He looked bad.”

“Agreed.”

The man led you down twisting and turning halls before he finally stopped in front of a metal door with a window fitted with bars. He unlocked it and gave you a shove inside.

Marcus was cowered up against the corner, blood pooling across the floor. He looked up when you walked in, and surged forward. In an instant, he was convulsing and backing away, returning to the corner, whimpering as his hands scrambled to claw at something on his neck.

You seethed, feeling rage boil in your blood as the man pulled a remote from his pocket and waved it in front of Marcus, causing him to whine and shy away, pressing himself against the wall even further. They’d outfitted him with a fucking shock collar. Now that you could see and notice it, you saw that the harsh leather of the collar dug into Marcus’s neck, the small black box on the left side of his neck pressing deep against his skin. It was clearly buckled one notch too tight. Eating, breathing, moving his head, it must’ve all been agony for him.

Aside from the collar, to say Marcus was in rough shape would’ve been a gross under exaggeration. He was at least ten, if not fifteen or twenty, pounds lighter than when you’d lost him, his face sunken and sallow, the usual brightness gone and replaced with a sickly pale color indicative of severe blood loss. His lips were chapped to the point of bleeding, his nails nothing more than bloody stubs or missing altogether. His hair was overgrown, greasy and hanging in his face. Even the usual persistent determined shine in his eyes was dull and faint. The conditions of the room, the lack of regulated temperature and light, the heavy smell of vomit and infection, the stains everywhere, nothing was meant to keep him alive. They intended to kill him, but not before they had their fun.

You had to hand it to his captors. They had successfully broken Marcus Moreno.

The man holding you shoved you, and you would’ve fallen flat on your face had your sense of balance not been impeccable. Stumbling and using the wall to keep upright, you glared at the man. “If you want me to fix your broken hero,” you said coolly. “The collar has to go. I can smell the infection from here.”

The man sneered, but he pressed a key card to Marcus’s collar. It beeped, signaling that it could be taken off.

Immediately, you rushed to Marcus’s side, worry replacing every other emotion you had. “Oh Marcus,” you breathed, just looking at his body. “What did they do to you?”

You helped him upright, guiding him to the metal tray you suspected he slept on. It reminded you, with a chill, of the rolling trays you kept bodies on in a morgue.

Marcus shivered as you lay him down, grabbing your bag and digging through it to find your shears. The heavy duty blade was technically meant for surgical procedures, but for now, they chewed through the thick leather of the shock collar with ease. You knew you could just take the collar off, but on the off chance that the man had tricked you, you weren’t about to try it.

Removing the collar led to a host of new challenges. The prongs had burned into Marcus’s skin, leaving two identical wounds that oozed and smelled like burnt flesh and infection.

Trying not to let Marcus see your worry, you continued to catalog injuries, finding severe bruising across his whole body, a few spots where injuries had been left to fester, and a rattling cough that worried you.

You determined a course of action, immediately setting Marcus up with high strength painkillers and a few travel machines that would keep watch on his vitals. The last thing you wanted was to perform CPR on his purple and blue chest.

Running a finger down Marcus’s ribs, you sucked in a breath. He was skin and bones, malnourished to a point where you wondered if he’d ever regain all the weight he’d lost.

“Talk to me,” Marcus croaked out, surprising you. “Please.”

You nodded, tackling the worst of the injuries, the infected burns on Marcus’s neck. “Missy’s been staying with me,” you said softly, putting on gloves and pressing gently against the wounds, face pinching when Marcus suppressed a whine. “She’s good, misses you of course. Anita visits on the weekends and we play board games together.” As you talked, you gave Marcus a hefty dose of infection cream, hoping it would work on the persistent infection until Marcus could be treated properly. Putting a thick bandage on the wound, you moved on to gently treating his other infected cuts in a similar manner, each one just a bit better than the last.

“I can’t do much for these bruises,” you said, running a light finger over a bruise that spanned most of Marcus’s left hand while you wrapped his missing ring fingernail. “Or that cough you’ve got. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Marcus rumbled. “You’re here, aren’t you? And you’re gonna get me out.”

You smiled tightly. “Yeah.” All you could hope was that the tracker in your bag was still working and that the team was on their way. “Here, I’ll get you a blood bag. I don’t like that color on you.”

Marcus grinned, sleepy and lazy. “What do you mean? I think bloodless grey is a perfect color on me.”

That managed a chuckle out of you. “Brink of death, and you’re still making jokes,” you murmured, grabbing a blood bag from your supplies and putting it beside the painkillers. “Hey, you’re bleeding,” you said, eyes snapping to the side of Marcus’s head, where blood was slowly trickling down his ear. He turned, laying his left ear on the metal tray so you could examine his head. He looked past your body, staring at the blank wall behind you.

You parted the hair above his ear, trying to find the source of the bleeding. Thankfully, it wasn’t a hard find. A small scratch that looked worse than it actually was. A few stitches and he’d be good to go.

“Alright, my favorite part of field work,” you said. “Miracle Guy cried last time he had a head wound.”

Marcus snorted. “Wish I could’ve seen that,” he said wistfully.

You smiled. “Maybe next time. Hold still.”  

Marcus watched you as you dug through your bag and produced a small foldable straight razor. It was shoddy and unsteady work, but with a bit of water, some gritty soap, and your deep breathing to keep your hands steady, you got a clear patch above Marcus’s ear, exposing the wound and thankfully not giving him any new ones.

“Okay,” you said, mostly to yourself. “A few stitches. Then we’ll be good to go. Still hanging in there?”

Marcus swallowed thickly and gave you a wavering thumbs up while you threaded a needle. Of all the pain he’d been through, stitches with no anesthesia would be mild.

As you worked, you continued doing what had always kept you grounded during field work. Listing injuries. You needed to know them all for when the heroes arrived and asked what was wrong, how could they help? You slowly started at the top of his head and worked down. A likely concussion, the stitches in his head, the black eye, the split lip, the still oozing wounds that stank of infection in his neck, the scrapes across the raised bumps of his collarbones. So many injuries, and you’d not even gotten below his shoulders yet. You didn’t know what he’d been exposed to here. Was he sick? If so, what did he have? The cough and the rattle in Marcus’s lungs was bad, definitely some kind of upper respiratory infection. His temperature was higher than you’d like, at an even 100. A fever, but not a severe one. His lymph nodes were nearly unfindable amongst the mess of injuries on his neck, but you had no doubt they were swollen.

Marcus’s coughing broke you from your thoughts. You stopped cataloguing, focused now only on the heave of Marcus’s chest. “Marcus? Do you feel okay?”

More coughing, and then it finally died, leaving Marcus heaving for air. He trembled, and you sighed. The rescue team couldn’t get here fast enough.

Unable to do more, you sat back and held Marcus’s hand, trying to rub some color into the almost lifeless skin. Marcus’s stuttering breaths were the only sound, and you tried not to get discouraged.

You had no idea how much time passed before a shout made you jump to your feet. That was a familiar shout. Miracle Guy.

“We’re in here!” You yelled, rushing to the door and pressing yourself to the bars. “Miracle! Please!”

He appeared before you as if you’d summoned him, suit a bit wrinkled, but otherwise unharmed. “Did you find him?”

You nodded, standing back so Miracle Guy could take in Marcus’s state. He was frozen for a few seconds before he blinked and started waving to people down the hall. “The paramedics are here. They’ll keep him safe.”

It took all your willpower not to fight the paramedics as they carted Marcus’s limp body away. His eyes lazily opened when they stuck him with a frighteningly large needle, and he whined, tearing up when they started to move him.

“I know,” you said, smoothing over his dirty and overgrown hair. “I know. Stay strong. Think of Missy. She’s waiting for you.”

Marcus chose that moment to pass out fully, but that was optimal in this scenario.  You followed the paramedics out, numbly stepping over bodies and ignoring the blood seeping into your socks. You were wearing Marcus’s blood from fingertips to waist, a little more wasn’t any worry.

The other heroes helped you recover, cleaning you up and praising you. Missy hugged you for half an hour, every minute filled with tears. You were numb to it all. Nothing could help you now.

Marcus was in critical condition for three weeks. His heart stopped twice, and he needed surgery after surgery to even start to reverse the damage done. Finally, once he’d stabilized, he was allowed visitors.

You and Missy were first.

Marcus looked over as you entered. His eye was no longer swollen and some color had returned to his skin. He was still underweight, but no longer looked skeletal. His head had been completely shaved, and beneath the bandages, you could imagine where they’d had to cut into his skull at one point. His neck, the area you’d been most concerned about, was wrapped in thick bandages, but a nurse had told you they’d finally begun to see improvement in the infection. He still looked terrible, but he was no longer on death’s door.

“Dad,” Missy said softly, stopping in the doorway.

“Missy.” Marcus’s voice was weak, but just that one word was so full of love. “Hey.”

Missy sat on the edge of Marcus’s bed, eyes full of tears. When he raised his arms, she collapsed against him, crying.

You sat silently in a chair, trying to find words that would be appropriate. Missy fell asleep against Marcus, his arm loosely around her shoulders while she slept.

“So,” he finally said. “Thank you. They said you saved my life. Your field work was the deciding factor.”

That, surprisingly, only made you feel worse. “Yeah,” you said softly. “Yeah.”

Marcus’s face knit. “You look worried.”

You shrugged. “I-“ you still had no words. “I dunno,” you finally decided on saying. “What’s retirement like?”

Marcus chuckled. “Fun,” he said. “They’re talking about releasing me in a few months, after I do physical therapy and my weight stabilizes. They said I’d need a properly trained assistant to be with me at all times until I was in good health again.”

“That might be never.”

“Yeah,” Marcus agreed. “So I guess I’d better really like that nurse.”

You smiled. “You better.”

“Would you do it?”

You thought it over. “Yeah.”

A grin split Marcus’s face. “Good. We’ll get through this together.”

Standing and sitting on the edge of the bed, you nodded, smoothing a hand over Missy’s head. “Of course. Together.”

[bonzai-bunny]

An Incomplete Guide to Makeup featuring: The Face

So you walk into a Sephora for the first time and are, understandably, a bit lost. There are so many different brands and colors and tools, it’s all quite dizzying. I think, at its best, makeup can be a wonderful tool of artistry and self expression. I won’t get into makeup at its worst tho….

Anyway, I want to go over the basics in a way that hopefully makes sense to those who want to learn. I’m going break this into sections of face, eyebrows, eyes, and lips. And I want to preface this by saying that makeup has no rules! If you want to wear concealer as eyeshadow whomst am I to stop you? This is just a guide of how things are typically done. So let’s get started!

First things first: Skincare! I won’t pretend to be an expert in skincare, but your skin is important. Keep it moisturized with lotion/cream/gel and protected with sunscreen and please, please, please wash your makeup off before you go to bed! If you exfoliate, don’t do it everyday, no matter what Kylie Jenner says. (I can make a separate post for skincare if y'all want more detail.)

Things you typically wear on your face are primer, foundation, concealer, powder (setting and finishing), blush, bronzer, highlighter, and setting spray. You do not have to wear all of these things at once or, any at all if you don’t want to, but some people do. Just know that, unless you want it to move around your face, any liquid or cream product should be set with powder.

Primer 

So you know how if you need to paint a wall, it needs a primer to help it stick to the wall and to protect the wall? Makeup primer works the same way. It protects the skin and helps the foundation stick (more on foundation later), can control oil, and can blur “imperfections” such as some texture and large pores. There are two main types: silicone based and water based. I’m told that matching the primer brand and foundation brand is good because the products are made to work together but I have never tested this myself. I’ve also been told that you should match silicone based primer and foundation and water based primer and foundation.

Silicone based primers: (If you see words ending in -cone,-methicone, or -siloxane in the first few ingredients then the primer is silicone-based). These have a smooth, kind of thick, texture and are good for blurring pores, fine lines, and texture.

Water based primers: (water is probably the first ingredients). These have a watery texture, are light, and are good for dry skin (1).

These are very Your Mileage May Vary on what works for you.

Foundation

If makeup primer is like paint primer, then foundation is the paint. It gives you a blank canvas to work with. This is your base. It evens skin tone and depending on the coverage, covers blemishes, redness, dark spots. Coverage can vary from BB/CC creams (basically sunscreen/lotion with some tint in it and also very difficult to find in darker shades) to super full cover up your past mistakes type coverage. Just like paint, it comes in a spectrum of matte (no shine) to gloss, called radiant or glow, which is all shine. What you want depends on preference and how oily your skin is. For example, if you have really dry skin, a super mattifying foundation might make your skin *too* dry.

This section primarily focuses on liquid, cream, and stick foundations as I don’t and have never worn powder foundation.

Next, we need to talk shades because the whole point of foundation is that it matches your skin. To find a good match you need to know your undertone, which can be a little complicated. Generally, when makeup says it’s “cool toned” they mean pink, reds, and blues. If they say “warm toned” they mean yellows, golds and peaches. Neutral lands somewhere in the middle. It’s not an exact science but this page may help you.

Shade ranges typically go, from lightest to darkest, Fair -> Light -> Medium -> Tan -> Dark -> Deep

Some drugstore* options with good shade ranges are: Maybelline, Nyx, Colourpop, L’Oreal Paris, Covergirl and E.L.F

Some higher end options with good shade ranges are: Nars, Too Faced, Estee Lauder, Fenty, Lancome, and MAC

Tools for foundation

You can use a brush or a sponge (or both!) to apply foundation. I like to apply with a brush and blend with a damp sponge, but that’s just personal preference. :)

(Image: A picture of 5 different types of foundations brushes that are labeled, from left to right “flat/paddle brush.” “stippling/duo-fiber brush,” “flat-top kabuki brush,” “buffing brush,” and “round-top kabuki brush (good for powder foundation).” In between the buffing brush and round-top kabuki, there is a pink, tear drop shaped sponge.)

Drugstore: Morphe, E.L.F, NYX and Real Techniques

High end: Sigma Beauty, MAC, and Sephora Brand

I think I’ll do another post some other time about techniques with each but moving on!

Concealer

Think of concealer like heavy duty foundation. It is thicker and more full coverage than foundation and more for small areas than the full face. Just like foundation, it does vary in the amount of coverage. It can go above or under foundation. There are three ways to use concealer: Spot covering, color correcting, and highlighting and contouring.

Spot covering is what it sounds like, covering small spots that the foundation might not have covered. Typically done with the same color as the foundation.

Color correcting is taking a color and that isn’t your skin tone to “correct” some blemish or darkness. So brief rundown:

Peach: Dark spots on light to medium skin tones Orange: Dark spots on tan to dark skin tones Red: Dark spots on deep skin tones Green: Persistent redness from acne Yellow: Mild redness Pink: Dark circles and overall dullness on light skin tones Purple: Dark circles and overall dullness on dark skin tones (2)

Highlighting and Contouring** 

Popularized by Kim Kardashian. Highlighting is taking a color that is lighter than your skin tone and, well, using it to direct attention to certain parts of your face (or brighten up the under eye area). Common areas to highlight are under eye/above cheek bone/center forehead/chin/bridge of nose. Can also be used under an eyebrow to help shape it. Contouring is taking a color that is darker and cooler than your skin tone and using it to deepen/chisel your features or create the illusion of shadow. Common areas to contour are under the cheekbones, around perimeter of forehead, around the jawline, and the sides of the nose.

You can highlight and contour with foundation or powders, but it’s often done with concealer.

Drugstore: Maybelline, Colourpop, Milani, L’Oreal, NYX

High End: Nars, Too Faced, CoverFX, Makeup Forever

Can be applied with a sponge or a brush, like the few below. They tend to be smaller than foundation brushes because you use less concealer.

(Image: 5 small brushes shown vertically) (3)

Powders

There are two main types of powders, setting powder and finishing powder. 

Setting powder, which may be loose or pressed in a pan, prevents base makeup from moving and can prevent areas of the face from getting oily and breaking up makeup. Often done with translucent powder. Despite its name, MOST white translucent powders are not actually translucent on dark skin tones. It will appear as a grey cast, but you can get “translucent” powders in tan, beige, and yellow. It can be very hard to find good translucent powder.

Drugstore: Maybelline, Morphe

High End: Laura Mercier, Beauty Bakery, and Fenty Beauty

Finishing powder is what it sounds like. You put it on after all of your makeup is done to get it all nice and airbrushed looking. These are typically are loose powder and aren’t really used as much as setting powder. Sometimes finishing and setting powders are used interchangeably (4). At the end of the day it is just powder that goes on your face.

Drugstore: Colourpop, Maybelline, Morphe, NYX

High End: Sephora Brand, MAC, Ben Nye

Setting powder is typically applied with a sponge (damp or not) and pressed into the oiliest parts or parts you want to highlight, called baking.

Finishing powder is typically dusted over the face with a big fluffy brush like this one.

(Image: A black makeup brush with a round, fluffy, white tip that is widest at its top) (5)

Blush!

This, along with lipstick, is probably one of the most well known aspects of makeup. Blush can be powder, cream, or liquid and is used to bring a bit of flush back to the cheeks (or nose for some people). Can be matte or sparkly. Not all blushes work for all people and this largely depends on skin tones. A light pink blush will look grey on me for example. And yes, blush can work on dark skin, it just depends on the color blush.

Drugstore blushes: Colourpop, NYX, Maybelline, Milani, and Morphe

High end blushes: Nars, Makeup Forever, Lancome, MAC and Bobbi Brown

Cream or liquid blush can be applied with fingers or a sponge. Powder blush is applied with a powder brush, which is also the brush above!

Bronzer

Many people confuse bronzing and contouring. The purpose of contouring is to make your face look more chiseled (or snatched as the kids say). Bronzing is to make you look a little more sun kissed and tan. It’s typically a powder (I have never seen a cream or liquid bronzer but I’m sure it exists) and can be matte or sparkly. It’s applied in about the same place as a contouring might be, but softer and more diffused.

Drugstore bronzers: NYX, Colourpop, Maybelline

High end bronzers: Anastasia Beverly Hills, Nars, Bobbi Brown

Applied with a fluffy powder brush or angle brush or short stipple brush.

(Image, a black brush with a silver hilt and black bristles. The brush is flat on top and angled to the right) (6)

((Note: You can also do a powder contour with that type of brush!))

Highlighter

And here, the shiny champion. 

I don’t know how to describe it other than it’s put on certain spots to make light reflect there. It can be liquid, cream, or powder. Some people want a nice subtle glow. Some people want to look like they’re trying to flag down a plane. It might be put on the cheekbone, under the brow bone, on the tip of the nose or down the nose bridge.

Here is an example of it in use:

(Image, white woman with dark hair in makeup and wearing Stila Glitter and Glow Face Highlighter on her cheek bones, under the brown bone, on the bridge and tip of the nose, in the inner corner of the eye, and on the forehead) 

I find that silvery/white highlighter tends to look washed out on dark skin, but there’s no hard and fast rule on what colors to use. You can go from more traditional colors like gold and silver or you can wear purple or green or blue highlighter. It’s all up to you!

Drugstore highlighters: Physicians Formula, Maybelline, NYX, Colourpop, and ELF

High end highlighters: Anastasia Beverly Hills, Stila, CoverFX, Hourglass, and Laura Geller

If it’s a liquid or cream it might be applied with fingers or a sponge. If it’s a powder, it can be applied with a tapered brush or fan brush like so

(Image, two makeup brushes. One has a round tip that is wider in the middle and slimmer at the top. One has a tip that is shaped like a fan.) (7)

Setting spray

Last but not least! This is spray that helps melt your makeup into your skin/reduce the appearance of powder, and helps your makeup stay put. This is the last step for the face. All you do is just spray it all over your face.

Drugstore: Morphe, E.L.F., Colourpop

High end: Too Faced, Urban Decay, MAC

More parts to come! xx

*I know Colourpop and Morphe are not sold alongside drugstore products but the prices are comparable 

**I can do a post on Highlighting and Contour techniques if anyone wants

[wangxiangiftexchange]

Winter Solstice Gift for koikoipond

For @koikoipond <3

Read on AO3

*****

Call it Crazy, Call it Meant to Be

The morning of the second day Wei Ying met his soulmate, he rolled out of bed and made it halfway to the bus stop before realizing he’d pulled on his bunny slippers, a gag gift from Jiejie, and left his slip-ons haphazardly discarded by the couch. He’d still made it to the bus in time, though just barely, and had to call in Mianmian to take over the newbie’s shift. All in all a normal start to any day he had to open up the coffee shop.

In short, the universe had not prepared his poor heart for the man who strode into Latte Mugs Cafe at five after six, riding the crest of the crisp December air like some sort of angel in a white wool sweater. The door’s bell rang far too muted than was usual.

Wei Ying stared for what his racing heart later deemed a good five minutes before his gaze, somewhat distorted by the glass of the display he was arranging, rose to meet the man’s golden eyes. Oh, crap.

He shot to his feet, waved nonsensically at the man, shouted some rendition of “We’ll be right with you!”, and bolted through the door to the back room, whisper-yelling for Mianmian.

As soon as the door swung shut behind him, Wei Ying put a hand on his wildly thumping heart and paused to calm his breathing. Why is he here? When Mianmian emerged from the storage shelves (only one unit of which was used to stock non-perishables; the rest were filled to the brim with what the employees could only assume were the owner’s personal items, or else the remains of some poor, traditional tea shop, based on the sheer number of handmade tea sets), he ran up to her, putting on his best pout and swinging an arm around her shoulders. She glared at him and he carefully removed it and took a step back. Right. No touching.

“Mianmian!” he panted, eyes swimming with both remembered beauty and mortification equally, “The man- the bell- his eyes- and he just came in!” His voice was rising dangerously, and Mianmian thankfully stopped him before the taco place next door banged on the wall again, or worse, Lan Zhan, heard him.

“Wei Ying. Bi Disaster. Whichever you prefer,” her flat voice cut through his panic and grounded him, like a mother forcing her child into a life jacket against his will. Mianmian was great. “First off, my name is Grandmaster Luo, as per our agreement if I won the bet. Which I did.”

An exclamation of protest came from Wei Ying. It was ignored which was completely unfair because the bet had been who could last the longest without getting drunk, and sure, technically, Wei Ying got drunk first, but Mianmian had just been sipping the same cocktail the whole night!

“Second, who are you talking about and why does it involve me?” Mianmian had closed last night, too. Usually, she was much more pleasant than Wei Ying was in the morning, but today he’d taken one look at her and offered to work the counter. He’d rather not have to file a witness statement for a murder he’d seen committed at six in the morning, thank you very much. His memory was bad on a good day. He contemplated for a moment if Lan Zhan would be able to handle her and vice versa, but he hadn’t seen so much as a wince from him when the man was literally blackout drunk, so Wei Ying was willing to chance it. Who could get mad at such a perfect face anyway?

“Luo-jie,” he whined, “it’s Lan Zhan.”

“What, another ex?” She looked unimpressed.

“No! I haven’t dated anyone since the guitarist, you know that!” The guitarist—Wei Ying had blocked his name, which he remembered to be just as sexy as the rest of him, out of his mind—had been a mistake to begin with; a summer hope that turned out to be all riffs and no harmony.

She just looked confused, now. Well, guess she wasn’t lying when she’d said she tunes him out.

“No, no! Luo-jie, this is Lan Zhan . From the bar. Last week?” He winced at the memory.

“Oh. Your soulmate,” she said, as if this was common knowledge to the man waiting outside.

“Shh! Not so loud, what if he hears?”

The look she gave him this time was beyond tired, the sort of look his old government teacher used to give him when he derailed the discussion for the third time. Fond memories.

She appears to give up on the conversation entirely, brushing past him and moving toward the door. “Wei Ying, we’re talking about this. Later.” She pauses, and before he can embarrass her for caring about him, she says, “I saw him. A man that beautiful doesn’t deserve to be stuck with a soulmark he can’t remember. Even if it is to you.” Ah, there was that smirk he knew and loved!

Mianmian informed him when Lan Zhan left only a few minutes later. Apparently, he had asked for a lemongrass tea and nothing else. He hadn’t said a word about Wei Ying, or even The Insane Barista. Wei Ying was not upset by this, truly. All it meant was that the call he’d received the morning after their...escapades...had been honestly meant. His mind drifted back to Saturday morning as he mindlessly retook his position at the counter and finished his shift.

Wei Ying bolted up, his cheap twin bed creaking in protest as his phone blared the opening bars of Britney Spears’ Toxic—his ringtone—far too loudly. (If he let it keep ringing, it was just the first, really annoying bars, repeated over and over. He was unbearably smug about it.)

He reached over, trying to ignore his pounding head, and nearly dropped the phone before managing to accept the call. He mumbled out, “Hi this is-” before a deep, slightly groggy voice cuts him off.

“I have called to apologize for last night.” Apologize? Wait, was this- “I do not know what I said or did after drinking the alcohol-” Lan Zhan? “-but my brother informs me that you brought me home.” It must be. Though, technically, Jiang Cheng did the actual driving. He, after all, had not been drunk.

“Well, actually-” he was cut off again. Funny, Wei Ying thought sardonically, he remembered Lan Zhan being more polite than this. Even when they’d vandalized  the dumpster together, he’d insisted they leave room for future law breakers.

“I am grateful for that.” There was a pause, evidently for Lan Zhan to gather his thoughts. Wei Ying decided not to test his luck and gather his own as well. His brain typically didn’t wake up till at least nine on the weekends, but here he was—he checked his phone—at seven AM on a Saturday trying to have a conversation with a guy that refused to listen to a thing he said.

He didn’t remember much about last night, but that was normal for him. If past experiences were to be learned from, most of it would come to him later in flashes and pitfalls of regret. Still, he’d thought… He freed his left hand from where it was tangled in the sheets and—just sat there and blinked at it. Yeah, that was a fully-colored soulmark, to be sure. Which was—something he’d never had before.

Just yesterday, the twisting lines that covered his left palm and creeped though his knuckles were black and lifeless. Now, his hand looked like some sort of moving painting. The dull, monotone patterns had shifted, forming blue and white elegant clouds and delicate red lotus petals that swirled around each other as if moved by wind. He bent his fingers to trace the lines.

He hadn’t dreamed it then! He and Lan Zhan were soulmates and he was talking to his soulmate (or his soulmate was talking to him) and take that Jiang Cheng!

Lan Zhan was speaking, “-we should not contact each other again. Goodbye.”

No. No! Lan Zhan didn’t know! “Wait!” but the call had already ended.

He’d needed the whole weekend on his jiejie’s couch with ice cream and soup to feel better about the whole business. See, the thing was, he wanted to talk to Lan Zhan about it. Mianmian was right; it wasn’t fair that the man now had a soulmark and no clue who he was tied to for life—literally. Once found, soulmates lived and died together, unless a powerful enough rejection broke the bond.

Every time Wei Ying opened the contact he’d created on his phone, he found himself shying away, a knot of anxiety coiling in his stomach and threatening to boil over into panic as it bound his hands and prevented any communication with Lan Zhan. He’d studied soulmates before, had taken two elective classes on them his freshman year of college. He knew the fear of a severed bond was merely psychological, a flight reaction to rejection.

Severed bonds were permanent and caused by verbal or otherwise evident rejection of a relationship between soulmates. Physically, soulmarks kept their color but stopped swirling across the skin, an obvious sign which led to the Unmoving’s ever-shifting status in society. Emotionally, the soulmates often sank into depression. And so it was ingrained into the body that such experiences should be avoided. Wei Ying’s worry, the possibility of never seeing Lan Zhan again, the fear that his soulmate didn’t want him, pushed his body to such reactions. The whole thing made it frustratingly difficult to just talk to him.

Mianmian remembered to catch him just as he was leaving. She’d spotted him while on her way to her old mustang and had flagged him down like he was speeding in a school zone.

In typical Mianmian style, she gave him a once over, noted his stressed and slightly shaky appearance and declared, “You need to call him. I know you have his number.” Maybe she did listen, sometimes.

He sighed, a burst of warm air that puffed out before him and chilled, disappearing as surely as his prospects with Lan Zhan. “It’s not that I don’t want to.” A look. “I’m not being evasive! I really, really do want to tell him. I know he doesn’t-” a pause, and he continued quieter, “doesn’t remember me or our bond but he’s so kind, he might accept it anyway. He did seem enthusiastic when he was drunk. But…”

Mianmian’s eyes softened and her face looked completely different. “I know I don’t tell you because frankly your head is usually too large to make it through the door in the morning, but you’re not bad-looking or mean or stupid. I mean, maybe you are sometimes and you can’t expect to match your Lan Zhan for beauty, but it’s not like you don’t have a chance.” The last time he’d heard this tone from her was when he’d had a breakdown in their walk-in refrigerator. It was strangely calming, bringing to mind his sister and her gentle touches.

He smiled, chuckling softly. “It’s not that. I know I’m a catch! Though maybe a ten where Lan Zhan’s off the scale,” he joked, “But I just physically can’t confess or whatever to him. He- he almost rejected me once, though he didn’t know about the bond. And maybe it’s not fair, but I can only picture a still soulmark whenever I consider calling him.” He hated revealing that about himself, but he knew Mianmian. They went out for drinks most Fridays and she could sniff out a lie from him while drunk and flirting with a different dude. Besides, despite her thorny words and genuine annoyance with him, she did care. She’d even treated him to drinks on his birthday.

Mianmian looked at him consideringly and nodded. She understood. “You’re scheduled for most of the morning shifts now since those two students were hired. I’ll try to join you and work the counter for a while.” She turned decisively and got in her car, accepting his thanks with a nod. ”Don’t be late.”

*~*~*~*~*

During the following week, they established a routine. He and Mianmian would arrive at the coffee shop, baking and preparing together until six when they opened. Wei Ying would disappear into the back room, getting blends together and cleaning until Lan Zhan left at around 6:30. He showed up at 6:05 most days, give or take a few minutes. On one notable occasion, he had walked up (he walked! When it was literally freezing outside!) to the cafe at 5:55 and Mianmian had graciously let him in while Wei Ying made himself scarce.

Strangely, not once had Lan Zhan ordered coffee. In the coffee shop! Instead, he asked for infuriatingly healthy teas and protein bars which unfortunately did not include Wei Ying's prized creation: sweet habanero bars. Wei Ying had started to wonder why he even came. Their tea wasn't even that good! Not that Wei Ying liked tea, particularly, so he had to admit that he was perhaps not the best judge.

Still, he wondered if the punctual ringing of the bell had anything to do with the pull in his own hand, in his own mind, that wanted him to be closer to Lan Zhan. That wanted him to touch him, to talk to him, to accept him. Soulmarks, after all, did not care if one knew their soulmate or not. They were connected anyway.

One day, a week after the near-disastrous second meeting, Mianmian had to take off. She'd been applying for jobs recently, hoping to find a secretarial position with stable enough hours and pay to allow her to continue her schooling in law. A place nearby had allowed an interview and she didn't have time to take the morning shift.

So here Wei Ying was at six in the morning, working the counter as an exhausted student he wasn't letting within ten feet of the espresso machine stumbled around in the back room. He was stressed himself, but for once it seemed to work in his favor, tiring him out so completely that he'd fallen asleep while the clock was still on PM. He figured if he had to see his soulmate today, at least he wouldn't look like the zombie he normally did.

Wei Ying watched as a figure in a blue the color of his soulmark— their soulmark, as he'd learned the patterns and colors of pairs tended to be mirrors of each other—strode, sure and steady, through the door right as the grandfather clock in the corner struck 6:05.

A flicker of something passed through those golden eyes—surprise, maybe?—as he approached the counter. Just like before, Wei Ying's heart began beating wildly, echoing loudly in his ears and nearly deafening him. This time, however, he could also feel a slight tug, like a silk string had wrapped itself around his heart and was now gently pulling him closer to its other end. His soulmate.

A deep, quiet voice cut through his thoughts, and he quickly lowered the hand, his left one, that had been slowly reaching out. As he came back to awareness, he was suddenly beyond grateful for the gloves he'd decided to wear today. His mark would be a dead giveaway. "Good morning. Is there a certain tea blend you would suggest?"

For a moment, Wei Ying was taken aback, distracted by the man's voice and lost in his eyes, not completely comprehending the question. "Wh- What?" he stammered. "Oh, um, I'm more of a coffee guy myself, what do you usually get?" He spoke quickly, the words tumbling out of his mouth. Was he revealing too much? Now Lan Zhan knew that Wei Ying knew he was a regular customer! Should he have just said Citrus! Tried and true ?

Lan Zhan's brow furrowed, a minuscule movement that would have been lost had Wei Ying not spent the last eternity staring at his eyes. He opened his mouth and Wei Ying decided that it was best if he focused on something else, in the interest of his own health. "I will take whichever coffee you prefer."

Wei Ying was speechless, a feat not many had achieved. Over the last week, he had used Mianmian as a spy, asking detailed questions about everything that Lan Zhan did. She was a surprisingly good sport about. The point was, Lan Zhan had always ordered tea, a different blend each day, and never anything else.

Lan Zhan turned around, unbothered by Wei Ying's confused and flustered state, and sat down at a two-person table next to the bookshelf. He pulled out a laptop from his bag and began typing away. Wei Ying squinted at the screen in disbelief, but couldn't make out the words from this angle.

He shook himself and went about preparing the mocha, opting to skip over the spice he liked to add. A memory of a truth-or-dare game in which Lan Zhan admitted disliking spicy foods provided a hazy warning. A shame, if you asked Wei Ying, but he hadn't. Wei Ying had told him anyway.

He paused before bringing the drink over to his soulmate. It just looked so sad, both the drink and Lan Zhan, sitting quietly in an empty coffee shop as the sky only just began to awaken. He still didn't think he could properly talk to the man if his performance earlier was anything to go by, but maybe he could...

He reached into the display case, wrapped his gift in a napkin, and delivered Lan Zhan's drink, a little addition tucked neatly beside it. He turned and just about ran to the counter, pulling out a rag and cleaning non-existent spills until Lan Zhan left.

When he finally heard the door close, Wei Ying straightened up from his bunker and drifted, dazed, over to clean Lan Zhan's table, finding only an empty cup. Wei Ying smiled. His heart-shaped ginger cookie hadn't been abandoned, despite the bold way it was offered. Perhaps he wouldn't be, either.

Emboldened by his success, Wei Ying called Mianmian and resumed his position at the counter, a plan formed and ready to be completed. He wasn't sure if it was caused by the civil and promising conversation yesterday or sheer eagerness, but he thought, just maybe, that he'd be able to get himself to talk to Lan Zhan. Hopefully.

*~*~*~*~*

At 6:05, Wei Ying was doubting his chances. He watched as Lan Zhan walked up to the counter, just as confidently as he had the day before, steadily getting closer. As Wei Ying had found tended to happen when one moved. His breathing quickened, the now expected response to his soulmate's presence, and he responded to the sharp tug in his chest by stepping back, just slightly. He was distinctly reminded of a prey animal trapped by a predator.

Instead of biting his head off, Lan Zhan simply stepped up to the counter and examined the fresh pastries sitting in the display case, for whatever reason ignoring the barista's slightly gaping mouth.

Wei Ying swallowed, stood up straighter than he did when he visited Madam Yu, and summoned up this morning's courage that had so suddenly abandoned his poor self.

"Welcome to Latte Mugs Cafe! What can I get you?" There, his voice barely shook!

Lan Zhan hummed—wow, that was way hotter than it should have been—and tilted his head just the slightest bit to glance at the menu on the wall. "I will have a mocha."

He'd liked it then! Wei Ying hadn't pegged Lan Zhan as a chocolate person, but he supposed he might have a secret sweet tooth. "No problem. It'll only take a few minutes. Would you like to make it a Mexican mocha?" He couldn't help but recommend it, not after he'd worked so hard to get it on the menu. He'd written an essay to the owner. Besides, he'd taken Wei Ying’s mocha suggestion and eaten his cookie. He wondered what Lan Zhan would do with something Wei Ying knew he didn’t like.

His stomach turned a little at the thought that he was getting to know more about Lan Zhan and he wondered idly if he could really blame all of this on their soul bond or if he should take responsibility for his traitorous heart. He dismissed the thought. If anything, Lan Zhan should be the one taking responsibility merely by virtue of existing. That thought twisted his insides even more. Ugh .

Lan Zhan gave a little noise that Wei Ying chose to interpret as assent before sitting back down. He stared in surprise for a minute at his turned back before carefully preparing the drink. When it was done, he once again paused before rounding the counter. Surely, Lan Zhan needed to eat something with his coffee. Who knew if he'd even eaten breakfast? He bent down, scanning the available treats, and plucked one from the shelf, placing it carefully on a napkin before bouncing over to Lan Zhan's little table by the bookshelf, trademark grin in place. Courage, don't fail me now.

"Hello, Sir! One mexican mocha right here!" All of his best (and worst) decisions had been made by following his instincts. He pulled the chair around from the other side of the table, scraping it loudly across the rough tile, and decidedly sat down, holding out his bright red offering with only a moderate heart attack. "It's a habanero bar! I made the recipe and it pairs perfectly with the Mexican mocha, trust me. Oh, and I'll pay for it, of course." Technically untrue, but he didn't think he could steal something he'd made.

Lan Zhan looked a little surprised if Wei Ying had interpreted the meaning of that blink correctly. Was he regretting his spicy choices? Still, he reached out a hand and took the treat with an appreciative nod. "Thank you, Wei Ying."

What. "Eh? How'd you know my name?" Oh please for the love of all that is beautiful, don't bring up the bar. Lan Zhan had forgotten. He had! But if he hadn't, then...

"Your name tag."

Oh. Maybe the three coffees he'd had this morning in preparation had...altered his cognitive abilities. At least, that was the story he was going with.

"Well! You have me at a disadvantage, then!” Yeah, because he’s hiding a night of crimes and a soul bond from you. “What might the name of this handsome one be?" Should he be flirting? Where was the button to turn it off?? Then again, Lan Zhan was his soulmate . If there was one person in his life he was supposed to flirt with, surely it was him.

"Lan Zhan." Were his ears red? Was he hot? Was he blushing ? The rest of his face maintained its pale composure, but his ears were gently dusted pink. Lan Zhan had been inside too long to attribute it to the biting wind outside. Wei Ying's grin widened. Not even when the man had woken up wasted had he seen him blush!

"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan," he rolled the well-worn name in his mouth, a teasing lilt to his voice as he tasted how his tongue completed a pleasant circle around the syllables. This time, their flavor was not regretful or drunken or stressed. Simply Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying did not leave. Instead, he just started talking about all sorts of things—his job, his siblings, Mianmian. As he fell into the familiar pattern of rambling for as long as people will listen, he found himself relaxing.

"You'd think we wouldn't be that great of friends. We're coworkers in a coffee shop! But even though she claims I'm an annoying gremlin who wouldn't know his head from a rock in a lineup, she still comes out to get drinks with me—at Marco's, a few minutes away—every Friday. Sometimes, she even brings her new boyfriends! Which is like taking your partner to meet the weird relatives. I think she might use it as some sort of test. I drink them under the table nearly every time, though, so I hope they failed." He realizes, belatedly, that he'd accidentally mentioned the bar. One of literally two subjects to avoid. He discreetly eyed Lan Zhan's face, but there was no reaction, no indication of familiarity, just two golden eyes, gazing at him with interest as his soulmate listened.

Wei Ying’s heart stuttered, dangerously close to giving out altogether.

Eventually, Lan Zhan had to leave, quick movements revealing just how late he was for music lessons—he taught children to play the guqin! For a living!—and Wei Ying smiled brightly as he watched him disappear down the street. See , he thought to himself, there was nothing to be worried about.

The plan had gone off without a hitch. Not only had he managed to talk to Lan Zhan, but he'd also been able to get several responses from him, filling up the part of his memory reserved for the man he wouldn't ever forget.

These new pearls of knowledge he kept close: Lan Zhan was a music teacher and occasional performer with a local traditional music group. He taught and played the guqin most often but had played the violin in his high school orchestra. During his studies for university, he had learned several other string instruments and the french horn. He had an older brother, Lan Huan. He liked rabbits.

During the course of the next week, he learned these things and protected them: Lan Zhan and his brother had been raised by their uncle. They were not religious, but his family was traditional. Lan Zhan had gone to a private school. He hadn't liked it. Lan Zhan's mother was dead. He spoke of his father in the past tense. Both of his parents were Unmoving, their soul bonds broken. Lan Zhan hadn’t known if they were meant for each other or not. He despised lying in all of its forms.

There were also these things which laid soft and fond in Wei Ying's heart: Lan Zhan did not, in fact, like spice. He enjoyed drinking tea and reading a book in the park when it was warm outside. He preferred mysteries. He did not mind Wei Ying's chatter. He adored his students, one of which had little natural talent but had gone to region-wide contests. He was a lover of poetry and a hobbiest composer. He said "Wei Ying" as if the world spun around his name.

Talking with Lan Zhan was an experience greater than words. Many things Lan Zhan meant, he did not say. None of the things he said were to be taken for granted. With him, silence was just as comforting a companion as the loud atmosphere Wei Ying tended to create. It settled peaceful and honest around them. They sat, drank, and ate together as if they were friends of many years and not relative acquaintances. Like there wasn’t a secret resting between them like a viper waiting for its prey.

*~*~*~*~*

A week after their first meeting, it snowed. Flakes drifted down beneath a grey sky, piling up in the cracks on the sidewalks, on the windowsills, dusting the beanie of a certain Lan Zhan that strode in slowly even as he shivered from beneath his coat. Rosy cheeks and ears adorned a normally pale, jade-like face, tousled hair falling down to frame it as he removed the beanie. Wei Ying fell in love a little more at the adorable scene.

Once he’d made Lan Zhan's spiced apple tea, Wei Ying drifted over with his own latte, a chocolate chip cookie in hand.

"Do you own a car, Lan Zhan?" Wei Ying was curious. Surely he could have simply driven here, or even gone straight to work and skipped the weather entirely.

"Mn. I have lessons all over the city and we often perform hours away from here." Then why , Wei Ying thought, would you come here when it’s below freezing outside? He did not voice the question, though, because Lan Zhan's jaw had shifted just slightly, the difference a clear declaration: his mind could not be changed about this. Fine. He’d let Lan Zhan live with his choices.

Wei Ying laughed and changed the subject, reaching out to draw patterns in the cream of Lan Zhan’s coffee with his straw . "When's your next performance?"

Lan Zhan sat for a moment, thinking. "We do not have one lined up. We've been practicing to release an album recently."

"Oh really? Why? Just earlier this week you mentioned that the group didn't have the resources for it." He really hoped they would, though. Maybe with a solo piece from Lan Zhan? He hadn't heard him play yet, a true shame.

"Mn. I found a sound artist." His voice was sure and steady as he stared at Wei Ying, who looked away and chuckled awkwardly.

"You should have told me that was all you needed! I would have done the job for free, as long as you played for me. I have a bachelor's in audio engineering, you know!" To be honest, Wei Ying was a little hurt that he'd not been considered, or else Lan Zhan had tuned him out during one of the times when he had just spewed whatever came to mind.

Before he turned around, he felt a hand on his through his left glove and he flinched at the sensitive contact on his mark. Still, he longed to grasp Lan Zhan’s hand and never let go .  "Wei Ying. It is you," he paused, and slowly removed his hand, the echoes of his fingertips burning trails on Wei Ying's skin even through the fabric. "If you choose to accept." He takes a breath, and says, quieter, "I would like it very much if you did."

Like a lightbulb turned back on, Wei Ying brightened immediately, an obvious flush of embarrassment darkening his cheeks. He leaned forward, throwing his arms around Lan Zhan in a hug both to hide his face and to just get closer. Wei Ying mumbled into his shoulder, "Of course. Of course I accept. Thank you so much!" He leaned back after a too-short moment, looking Lan Zhan in the eyes and smiling. "When do I start?"

They settled all the details. Wei Ying would be attending their 6 PM practice three days a week for a month before recording and editing the final tracks. He would, actually, be paid, though they couldn't afford the usual rates. That was fine with him. Really, he just needed to put something in the ‘Experience’ section of his resume. Well, plus his overwhelming desire to hear Lan Zhan play his guqin.

When Lan Zhan opened the door to leave, Wei Ying called out for him to stop. He stepped forward exactly one step, in a completely normal and not-at-all-nervous way. He opened his mouth, closed it, and blurted out before he could change his mind, "Doyouwannagetdinnerwithme?"

Lan Zhan gave him a flat look, but the mischievous glint in his eyes betrayed his understanding. Wei Ying took a steadying breath, fought the urge to glare, and stated loudly and clearly, "Will you go out with me later tonight?” His face felt like it was on fire. “As thanks for the job?" No one would ever guess the stone-faced man had a sense of humor, but Wei Ying was living evidence of it.

Finally, after a beat of silence during which Wei Ying mourned his stolen heart, Lan Zhan nodded once. "I will pick you up at your house at seven. Where do you live?"

The pure excitement that filled Wei Ying at Lan Zhan’s acceptance prevented any protest about how he was supposed to take Lan Zhan out and gave the man his address. As the ever-present bell marked Lan Zhan's departure, all Wei Ying could think was that he had a date. That he had a chance .

His palm tingled in anticipation as he ran to the back room to tell Mianmian the good news, filled with all the details she couldn’t get while eavesdropping.

*~*~*~*~*

Five minutes after getting in the car, Wei Ying regretted letting Lan Zhan drive. He should have risked his unused license or else simply called a cab because they were nowhere near the restaurant he had suggested, and he didn't know what to tell Lan Zhan if the man picked a nicer place. A barista was only paid so much!

Still, Lan Zhan refused to turn the car around or even explain himself when Wei Ying asked. He simply kept his eyes fixed on the road, staring at it as if it might disappear if refused Lan Zhan’s attention (Wei Ying sympathized). That determined set to his jaw was firmly in place. His eyes narrowed, and Wei Ying had the distinct impression that he was a man on a mission. Wei Ying just wished he'd been given a briefing.

Cars passed in pools of red and white that blended well into the background of a late December metropolis. Only about a week was left until Christmas and the trees were adorned with brightly glowing lights that bathed the streets in a familiar mix of artificial fluorescence and beauty.

He liked this time of year, enjoyed how his apartment complex decorated its buildings, smiled when the granny next door brought him homemade cookies and hot chocolate. He didn't even mind the cold that much, not when branching frost framed the windows and Lan Zhan's cheeks flushed red.

They were stuck in Friday night traffic for longer than he suspected Lan Zhan had planned, based on the finger softly tapping on the wheel, but eventually, Lan Zhan drove into a parking garage a good distance away from any restaurant Wei Ying knew and got out.

They walked a few blocks, glad for the several layers of clothes (Wei Ying actually had a reason to wear gloves, for once), before stopping at the entrance to one of the city's parks. A stone path twisted through the trees, a canopy of a million white stars enclosing the area and welcoming the two of them.

He grinned, turning to Lan Zhan and teasing, "I think we skipped a step. Romantic walks through the woods go after dinner."

A drawn-out, "Mn," the one that meant 'ridiculous', was the only answer he received. Instead, Lan Zhan smiled , which—wow. Illegal.—and offered Wei Ying his arm with far too much confidence. He blushed, hoped it wasn't visible in the lighting, and took it, only feeling slightly like some sort of flustered Victorian maiden.

Did Lan Zhan know what he was doing? Did he take every friend and business associate out to fairy gardens when they asked him to dinner?

Thoroughly confused but aware that Lan Zhan wasn't going to answer any pointed questions, he decided to enjoy the evening and pester him about the food instead.

"Lan Zhaaan," he whined, staring at the way the lights gave Lan Zhan's face an ethereal glow, " “When are you going to feed your poor A-Ying?"

At this, Lan Zhan put his other hand on Wei Ying's where it was nestled in the crook of his elbow in a comforting gesture and reassured, his voice calm, "We are almost there."

Wei Ying spent the rest of the walk as he was accustomed to doing around Lan Zhan—talking his ear off. He admired the lights, expressed his appreciation for Lan Zhan's outfi—a dark blue coat over Wei Ying's favorite knitted white sweater—and asked about the songs his group had chosen for their concert.

He couldn't wait to hear Lan Zhan play. He suspected music was the quieter man's true outlet for expressing his feelings, a language without the burden of words.

Lan Zhan spoke too, not as often or as loud, but he answered and asked questions of his own. Did Wei Ying play an instrument too? He had—flute in high school, though he preferred the piccolo, all the better to annoy people with. Portable, too! Why did he like alcohol? It was the experience, more than the taste, especially at a cheap place like Marco's. Was he planning on getting his Master's? He wasn't sure. He wanted to pay off some of his student loans before getting deeper in debt.

The easy conversation made Wei Ying relax, happy as always to be around Lan Zhan. It was strange to think that a week ago, he’d never met the man. He didn’t think he could live without him now.

Finally, they took a smaller, branching path, and Wei Ying gasped at its end; a white gazebo bathed in soft purple lights sat like a fairy house among gleaming trees.

He released Lan Zhan's elbow and took a step forward before looking back at his companion with an open mouth.

"You...you arranged all of this?" he asked, wonder coloring his voice.

Another "Mn," accompanied by a self-satisfied tightening of the mouth.

Wei Ying had long since given up trying to understand any of Lan Zhan's actions, but he was hopelessly endeared all the same. He grabbed his arm again, this time pulling him up the wooden steps and squealing in glee.

To one side there was a table laden with all sorts of foods, including, he was overjoyed to note, many dyed deliciously red. On the other side of the gazebo, a long, low table sat, a intricately carved, dark guqin resting atop it. A cushion, metal heater, and blanket were laid before the instrument, ready for use.

Impressed, Wei Ying went to inspect the dishes closer, his growling stomach refusing to wait any longer. He wondered at what time today Lan Zhan had time to set all of this up. Had he canceled some of his lessons?

Sitting down, he voiced his question, mouth watering at the appetizing smells.

Lan Zhan filled both of their plates, picking out for him nearly exactly what Wei Ying would have chosen, and answered, "I reserved the gazebo, but my brother set this up less than an hour ago." Wei Ying was incredibly grateful for Lan Huan. His food was still hot!

The meal passed mostly in silence. Though Lan Zhan had no problem talking over tea, he did not like to have a conversation around bites of food. For once, Wei Ying was happy not to say anything, simply appreciating the companionship and good meal.

He tried not to think too much about why Lan Zhan was doing all of this. He wasn't stupid, was in fact painfully and adoringly aware of the romantic setting, but that fear he had thought long since gone crept around his heart, daring him to hope and be crushed in its vindication. So he swallowed his words and ate his food in borrowed peace.

By the time they finished, Wei Ying's stomach was pleasantly full and he beamed at Lan Zhan, thanking him for the meal. Lan Zhan nodded and stood up, helping Wei Ying to his feet and leading him to the waiting cushion and—Wei Ying hoped—the performance.

"You really prepared!" He teased, pulling the blanket over himself.

Lan Zhan turned on the heater—the quiet, expensive kind—and hummed.

Then, he lowered himself onto his own cushion (sans blanket) and reached out to his guqin, warming up for a moment before glancing at Wei Ying, a suddenly hesitant edge to his eyes. "Are you ready?"

Wei Ying's smile softened and he nodded, fondness for the talented man before him almost unbearable. Lan Zhan returned his focus to the instrument and began to play.

It felt like the constant tug around his heart, like the many words that lay behind them and the greater part left unspoken, like 6:05 in the morning and laughter that tastes like coffee beans.

He closed his eyes and let the music fill him, heart thrumming in time with the music and creating  streams of pure feeling that branched out through his body until it reached his left palm. Wei Ying curled his hand in on itself. He wanted to memorize the sensation, its slight pain magnified and singular, but still a pull, a tug on his very soul. The feeling that encouraged him, warned him around Lan Zhan, his longing.

Wei Ying opened his eyes, simply gazing at where Lan Zhan kneeled behind his guqin, the gazebo’s lights framing his form as his graceful hands plucked at the strings, playing a song straight from his soul. He breathed in the cold air, letting it calm him and douse the burning in his veins.

As he played, Wei Ying felt his fear melt in the face of the pure emotion Lan Zhan channeled through the strings, felt his guilt harden into resolve because Lan Zhan didn’t know.

He kept silent for the moment, though. He needed to let Lan Zhan finish the piece, not only because silencing those strings now when all of Lan Zhan’s soul shaped the notes seemed cruel, but also because Wei Ying was greedy, and selfish. He wanted to keep this last, perfect memory, wanted to lock it in his heart like a golden thorn, a stolen parting gift if his words were not welcomed.

And so Lan Zhan played.

Wei Ying could not say how long it was before the song ended, could only center his mind around the swirling clouds that he knew curled across his palm, hidden like a shame when they were anything but. Finally, the last notes faded like acceptance into the cold night, and Wei Ying breathed in, and out, and longed.

“Lan Zhan.” It came out as a whisper, a ghost of a declaration. He needed a barrier between the song and his precipice of honesty. “What-” he stalled, biting back the hope, the despair. “What did you name it?”

Lan Zhan raised his gaze from where it had been fixed on the instrument, seeking out Wei Ying. He stood up in one smooth motion and crossed to where Wei Ying sat, pinned beneath golden eyes filled with something . An emotion he hadn’t seen, hadn’t categorized.

Carefully, Lan Zhan lowered himself to sit on the large cushion. He slid his gaze to Wei Ying’s left hand clenched on his knee, lifting his own and gently taking it, seeming to gauge Wei Ying’s reaction, but he only tilted his head in confusion. Why..?

Lan Zhan began pulling off his glove.

Wei Ying yanked his hand back. He couldn’t- why would he? He was going to tell him about the mark, but why did he want to know? Did he suspect he was Unmoving? Would he hate him if he knew the truth? That Wei Ying had played him for a fool, too cowardly to tell him about their bond?

At the stressed, almost wounded look in Lan Zhan’s eyes, Wei Ying made an aborted movement, reaching to comfort him. “Oh, Lan Zhan…” he breathed. He didn’t touch him, but after a moment of hesitation, offered his hand to his soulmate, palm up. Lan Zhan had merely been braver than he had, after all. The result would be the same.

Lan Zhan’s eyes softened and he carefully tugged off the glove, revealing the incriminating, promising, honest pattern. Twisting designs of blue clouds and red lotuses covered both their palms, side by side, blurred together as his throat closed and breath hitched. He made to move away, to leave Lan Zhan with the knowledge of his lie, but his wrist was gently but firmly held in place.

He sighed. Lan Zhan wanted him to say it, to confess, and suddenly the courage of a few minutes ago seemed out of his reach.

“Lan Zhan, you’re so good. Too good. Too good for me.” His breath caught. “I- I’ve known. This whole time.” He looked Lan Zhan in his clear, gentle eyes. “Lan Zhan. We’re soulmates. We have been since you got drunk at the bar.” He let out a shaky laugh, the first tear making its way down his cheek. “Well, I suppose we’ve been soulmates forever, but I found you then, and fell in love a little. You don’t remember, but you said you were happy. You went around showing random people your mark.” He was rambling again, but he couldn’t stop and nor could he leave.

He released it all, all of the caged words he should have laid at Lan Zhan’s feet a week ago. “I was so excited when you called me that morning. I thought you wanted to talk, to form a real relationship, but then you- you wouldn’t listen and it wasn’t your fault , you’d been drunk for the first time in your life, had a killer hangover I’m sure. But I- I thought if I called you, you’d just do the same thing again and leave me but then we became friends and I didn't want you to leave so I didn’t tell you and-”

“I am not.” Lan Zhan cut him off, voice quiet and pained, but firm.

“What?” he sniffled.

“I have not left you. I am not abandoning you, Wei Ying.” His eyes were pleading, filled with sincerity. He looked—so earnest and Wei Ying froze, uncertain.

“But—you hate lying.”

“I do not like hypocrites either. Wei Ying-” He looked away for the first time and Wei Ying panicked for a brief moment, what did I do wrong , before Lan Zhan spoke again, ears a deeper shade of red. “I knew too. This whole time.”

“What.” What?? Whatever Wei Ying had been expecting, it hadn’t been this.

“My brother was there at the bar. He...told me the next morning, but I did not handle the news well. I am sorry. I was simply surprised, and nervous. I did not remember you.”

Wei Ying was reeling. Lan Zhan knew and didn’t tell him but that was unfair because Wei Ying hadn’t told him either, so they’d both known, separately, and here they were, taking each other on a date and Wei Ying laughed, crazed at first, and desperate, but then an exclamation of pure joy. The atmosphere was romantic, after all.

He laughed and laughed and like a guqin string worn from loving use, the tension broke. He threw himself at his soulmate, at Lan Zhan, and hugged him until Lan Zhan hugged him back, until their eyes stung from tears and their voices grew hoarse from repeating the other’s name.

Wei Ying pulled back, cheeks flushed in the cold and eyes shining as he looked up at a soft smile. He reached out, cupping Lan Zhan’s cheek and resting their foreheads together, the contact burning, melting the longing that had become a permanent fixture  inside of him. Breaths mingled, puffing out in this warm space between them for a timeless moment.

With confidence born not from instinct or daring, but rather a heart securely held, he closed the distance between them, brushing winter-chapped lips against Lan Zhan’s soft ones, his last confession a raw whisper, returned with the same gravity it was given.

From then on, he held this warm truth in his heart: Lan Zhan loved Wei Ying, his soulmate.

Breathless and overwhelmed, he entwined their hands, bared patterns moving against each other, together. Nothing lay between them now, no confessions and no secrets. Only these: a prayer, a completed promise, and a bright future.

Extra:

“So, how did you know?” Wei Ying asked, exploring Lan Zhan’s purse.

He hummed, amused. “You told me yourself.”

“I did not! I’m pretty sure that was, like, goal number one. ‘Don’t tell Lan Zhan!’” he recited, voice playfully serious.

Lan Zhan brushed the hair out of Wei Ying’s eyes and took his left hand, fingers tracing the evidence of their bond.

“You waved.”

“But I had on gloves- oh.” He hadn’t, not yet. He only started wearing them after Lan Zhan had walked in the first day. “So you walked into some random shop and saw your soulmate who immediately disappeared.”

“Mn.” Lips brushed the top of his head.

Wei Ying laughed at himself as he went back to the purse. You could learn a lot from what a person kept in theirs! He pulled out a piece of paper, a half-composed score, handing it to Lan Zhan and looking deeper. Some chapstick (no wonder his lips were so soft!), several pens, a book on music theory, and—what was this? He grabbed it and brought it to the light. One of the cafe’s napkins, something wrapped inside. What? He peeled away the months-old paper, a breath caught in his lungs as the object was revealed.

It was the cookie, the heart-shaped ginger crisp he’d given Lan Zhan the first time he’d taken his order.

“You! What am I going to do with you!” he laughed, the sound bright and joyful as he tackled his soulmate in a hug.

“Marry me.”

“WHAT?!!”

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Falling From Grace- Part 2: Deleted Scenes

Calum, Ashton, Luke, and Michael have a prophecy to fulfill. They might not have always been Calum, Ashton, Luke, and Michael but they have always been brothers in the fight. Mythology!sos. Each guy is a God reincarnated from various mythologies. 

See the full story. 

Enjoy my masterlist

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No one has my permission to repost this fic, including translations. All rights reserved. Copyright © be-ready-when-i-say-go.

_____________________________

He’s known the museum sitting there for years now. He’s just never step foot into it. Felt way too close to home knowing that statues of people he actually knows sit about. But Ashton walts in this time. It could be fun he figures. It’s not like anyone knows him, knows his connection. So with his hair tied back for the moment, Ashton pays admission and starts about the exhibits. Most of the place is way too pristine. The white walls look more like a hospital and it feels like one too but much less sorrowful. He keeps his hands tucked into the pocket of his pants, restricting the yearning to touch some of the frames. 

He misses the frill, the extravagant gold accents on his usual robes. The frames are the closet he’s going to get right now. Ashton follows the line down before rounding the corner and finding him at the door of another exhibit. Busts line the walls and he grins to himself. He recognizes these faces, knows them all too well, even if they are in white marble. Some are chipped, the wear and tear of time never being the most merciful force in the universe. 

Ashton poses in front of the first statue, mimicking the facial expression. He sends the photo to the group chat. This guy was a dick. Or is a dick, still, I guess is more correct. He moves down to the second bust, pulling a face similar to the one sculpted. Less of a dick, he types, grinning to himself. He takes a photo with the last bust, furrowing his brows, and pulling down the corner of his lips. Less of a dick than the first two. Guy’s still not my favorite. 

A couple of minutes later his phone buzzes. Michael’s replied, I’m saving these for evidence. You’ve been warned. 

They hate me anyway, so good luck with that.

Damn it. Why do all the Greek Gods hate each other so fucking much?

Because we do. It’s our Brand™. 

Alright Meme Lord. 

Ashton chuckles, pocketing his phone. As he walks through the rest of the museum he ponders what else to do with the photos? Should they just sit forever in the groupchat? What’s the real harm in posting them? He doesn’t have to put a caption. If he’s going to live in this life then he’s going to live it to its fullest. 

As Ashton settles back onto the cushions of his house, he hovers over the post button. He’s had the pictures sitting for ages in the post. Nothing’s going to happen to him. The Gods aren’t going to smite him, for all their seriousness, humor is not lost on them. Just post it, he thinks to himself. It is not the end of the world. He’s all acquainted with how that goes. His thumb twitches, the posts loads before the screen changes. There, staring back up at him, is his own face next to faces he’s always seen in the flesh. 

Maybe it’s a bad idea. Panic starts to hits his chest. His phone buzzes. It’s Calum. I know you, mate. Saw the photos. They’re funny. Don’t worry. Ashton starts to draft his response, tell them how he needs to delete the photos before another messages comes in. If you delete them, it’s more suspicious. Leave them be. We are human right now. What’s the point of having this humanity and not using it.

Calum is right. Ashton exhales, deleting all the panicked message and replacing it with a simple, Thanks. 

_________

Michael finds himself as the next one in a museum. This time not as accidental as Ashton’s trip. He decided to go out for the day, see some sights, to get away. They need a break. Recording and writing, more writing, more recording. He just wants to shut his brain off for a moment, just enjoy his time while it’s still mostly his. As he’s walking through the exhibits, awestruck by the use of colors and the line work that’s still incorporated into the final details of the piece, he jokingly poses in front of some pieces. He’s only doing it for the jokes, the giggle behind the camera. 

But at the conclusion of his journey through art, he realizes that some of those poses were pretty spot on. He posts the set of recreations with the caption, Immerse yourself. Become art. He wants to add more. You are art. Everyone is art. Everything is art. There’s an art in just existing, in just breathing when everything feels like it’s telling you not to breathe, to not exist. However he figures it best to stay positive, to keep it light and funny. He’s becoming art and that reminds him, even in all the struggle of making this album he still has a duty to himself. 

So he leaves it at just that. Become art. Becoming is the best part of existence. He can become anyone. He can become anything, even if in some ways he is still restricted by another’s diction. He will always becoming something in this human form. He hopes he never stops becoming either, even in the old age when bones are more brittle. 

__ Everyone’s buzzing about Marvel. It’s always somewhere in the corners of the internet the correct way to watch the movies. Calum’s never been one to delve head first into this. But Michael enjoys it and rather than tune out his friend’s interest, he suspends all he knows and finds the action scenes and the comradery admirable. Even if people are robots made out of blue scraps, and someone’s a purple giant, and there’s two green people. But only one’s technically the alien and the other deems himself an abomination.

It’s not very amusing when the interviewer jokes about potentially spoiling the movie. Calum can tell Michael’s a little on edge. So he jokes, “Is Spiderman in it?”

“Yeah, I haven’t even watched the trailer because I don’t wanna spoil it,” Michael replies, looking down at the slight furrowed brow of the brown man slouched, picking at his nails. 

“Is Spiderman in it?” Ashton echoes. 

Calum speaks up again, “Is it Toby?” HIs face in deadpanned. He knows Michael will think he is serious. 

Michael for a second is shocked, voice dripping with disbelief. “What? No.” He watches the very faint smile that overtakes Calum’s face and then laughs. Of course Calum would ask that. He knows it’s not Toby but it got a chuckle out of Michael. 

Calum faces forward, staring directly into the camera, like in The Office. Not too many people will catch onto the joke, the play that just happened. But it’s fine. It’s for Michael anyway. The stab about spoilers wasn’t funny to anyone and rather than let that tension grow, Calum knew he had to break it somehow. This then spurs Ashton onto a rant about how Toby is better. 

Calum interjects, mostly at Michael, “I like Tom, but I like Toby more.”

Later on, after all the interviews are done, they settle into the dark of the theater. They laugh, they gasp, they admittedly cry. Though it only maybe only a couple of tears and no one would admit it, it’s still a shock. Calum pulls out his phone, Why is Gamora? He decides to focus on the positive, on the laughs. Though the question itself is still a very valid one. Why is anyone? Why the question purpose, and sometimes the most difficult one to ask. Why anything? Why the four of them? Why is it so humid in Singapore? The t-shirt, that Calum figured would be thin enough, does not provide much circulation. His pits feel like a swamp, the leather to the couch they’ve been sat on for the last two days takes no prisoners either. 

Calum has learned, however, that he can question why until he turns blue in the face? He could analyze every interaction, every word in existence and it would still only lead him to more questions. He doesn’t let that stop him from question some things but he tries not to question too many things. There is some, while it is scary, serenity in knowing that one does not have all the answers. He is allowed to question Why is Gamora and it is nothing more than a funny piece of dialogue from a widely accepted heart wrenching movie and it will provide answers of its own accord, at its own pace. All he simply must do is walk into a dark theater. 

________

“So we can see, Calum out there has had a long day,” Luke starts, shirtless, watching out onto the balcony where Calum, “on the treacherous waters.”

“He was fishing for Tilapia,” Ashton interjects. 

“Catch Calum on the newest season of Deadliest Catch,” Luke concludes. He doesn’t find himself to be the funniest guy, but every so often he likes to get in a joke. 

Ashton opens the door, “You okay, buddy?” Calum’s earnest glance back makes all three men laugh on camera, including a small chuckle from Andy, who’s behind the camera. It makes Luke happy, that just for a moment, they aren’t too serious. Even though this is work, steaming his voice before a show, and he’s currently unsure of what he’s going to wear tonight, there is some play. 

Later on, after the adventure in Cream Soda, venturing down the dark streets, Luke pulls Michael to the back of the group for an ‘interview’. It quickly goes down south. They continue on down the street. The saying all work and no play makes Jack dull is right. So they make sure to have fun, even if it’s in the backseat of the car, shakily hitting a falsetto about Shake Shack. It reminds them all, but Luke especially to try and shake the bad times off. 

The whole year creating the album broke, and maybe in some ways, created chains and burdens. Expectations is the worst thing they’ve ever faced. They’re always expected to restore balance to the cosmos. That is an old cross they bear. But it is strange now to be so far into the limelight, to be told that they are expected to work almost endlessly day in and day out without allowing themselves the truth of the situation. They grow tired. They grow weary. 

They sing in falsetto though. They make sure to have these small moments to be strange and to be weird to remind themselves they are bound to humanness. They are not exempt from doubt even with the expectation to be superheros in the eye of the music world, even though they know normally they are able in deity form do miracles things, that are incredibly human right now. And it’s okay to have this tender moments. They’ve earned them. 

[siempre-pedro]

My Kid Punched His Kid |5|

Single Dad!Teacher!Ben Hardy x Single Mom!Reader

Summary: A playground fight between two 8-year-olds bring together 2 lonely single parents.

In This Chapter: CUTE/ROMANCE OVERLOAD, you might have to take a break from how fluffy this is. Our favorite single parents first date. will they continue to have a love hate but mostly hate relationship after it? 

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: Here’s part 5 everybody!!! I’m so proud of this and really hope you like it. PLEASE COMMENT, I LOVE THE FEEDBACK!

TAGLIST IS CLOSED

Link to masterlist/playlist (totally recommend reading with the playlist on)

James lazily strolled into Ben’s bedroom Saturday evening with Frankie by his side, his small feet gliding along the dull white colored carpet as he turned the corner to the bathroom “Dad?” he questions. The man looks down and smiles through the thick layer of shaving cream on his face before lifting the boy onto the counter. He returned his attention to the mirror, praying as he brought the razor to his face, tonight was not the night to cut himself.  

“What’s up, mate?” he asks.

“How late are you going to be gone?” James asks between the giggles caused by Frankie licking his toes. Ben turns on the faucet and rises the leftover shaving cream off his face, he looks up and nods approvingly at his smooth skin.

“Not long I promise, just dinner and then I’ll come home. Uncle Gwil is going to put you to bed,” he explains as he helps him off the counter. Ben thinks about his son's tone of voice, did he not want him to go? Is he crying out for attention? Come on parenting! “Do you not want me to go?”  he ends up asking.

The boy shakes his head “No I want you to, dad. I promise,” James defends as he climbs onto the bed “Does she want to go out with you?” he jokes.

Ben cocks his head as he grabs his black suit jacket from off the bed “You know she probably doesn’t. I’m surprised she didn’t cancel,” he thinks aloud. That wasn’t a lie, he’d been waiting the entire week for Y/N to cancel on him with a lame excuse or to pick a fight so they’d be too mad at each other to go out.

“Do you like her?”

Ben starts to smile “Yeah, bud. I do, she’s not like other girls at all,” he says happily. “Alright what do we think?” he asks, slowly spinning around to get the stamp of approval. James eagerly nodded and gave him the thumbs up as he lightly bounced on the plush bed. Ben smiles and puts his phone and wallet in his pockets.

“Benny!” Gwil calls from downstairs. Ben runs and grabs his son who already was chanting to see his favorite uncle. “There’s my favorite 8-year-old!” Gwil cheers as the two descended the staircase.

“Remember to cook him actual food, I don’t want his teeth to rot. He’s into coming down to get cereal at 11 so that’s a no. Homework better be done,” Ben counts off all the instructions and puts James down who was whining at the fact it was a Saturday night and he shouldn’t have to do his homework that was due on Monday. Gwil rolls his eyes and shoves his hands in his pockets. As if he didn’t know the routine, he mocked his friend and nudged him with his shoulder.

“You’re nervous,” Gwil comments with a wide grin.

“Fuck off. I’m going to be late,” Ben brushes him off and heads for the door, a small bundle of nerves emerges from the pit of his stomach. Maybe he was a little nervous, he felt comfortable around her since he saw her almost every day. But this time there wasn’t a plethora of other parents or their own children, hell even alcohol wasn’t involved this time.

“Whatever you say, Mate. Have a good time,” Gwil laughs and shoos him out the door.

A few blocks away Y/N stood in the middle of her bedroom in her black silk robe as she held up different dresses to her audience of judges; Abby and Sampson. Abby wrapped her arm around the black lab’s large body and shook her head at the simple dark blue dress her mom held up. “I’m running out of dresses Abs,” Y/N sighs as she places it back in her closet.

The brunette girl sighs and scrunches her face “What else do you have Mom?” she sighs. Y/N bites her lip and tries to remember if she’d gotten ridden of it. It was a dress she bought with Lucy right after the divorce in an attempt to feel like her old self again. How symbolic, she thinks as she moves over the many hangers to find it in the very back.

She pulls it out and holds it up to herself to see if it would still fit. The dress was a tea length strapless powder blue dress. The pièce de résistance of the dress was the sheer high neck overlay with long sleeves and littered with shiny silver stars “That’s the one!” Abby gasps, getting off the bed to feel it with her own hands. Y/N laughs at her amusement and takes it off the hanger “He’s going to love it,” her daughter cheers.

Y/N takes the dress and slides into it in the bathroom, it fit like a glove. She had to admit that she looked damn good “Ben eat your heart out,” she whispers to herself as she pins back one side of her curly hair with a diamonded studded barrette. Abagail enters the bathroom and places a pair of opened toed block heeled shoes on the counter. “These?” Y/N confirmes, looking down at her. Abagail nods confidently and rejoined her dog on the bed.

Y/N emerges from the bathroom and twirls “He’ll like?”

“He’ll love.”

The doorbell suddenly rings, when the sound reaches the room the girls’ feeling start to shift. Abby clutched a little tighter to Sampson as she watched her mother nervously put her things into her purse. Feelings that were thought to be healed start to come out of a dark place in Abby’s mind. The fact that her mom was going on a date started to scare her, memories of the day she saw her dad strike her mom resurfaced. What if this man did it to her and she never came back? The girls lower lip starts to quiver and her blue eyes start to water. Y/N looks over and sees the sudden change in her daughter and concern washes away the nerves.

“A-Abby? Are you ok, darling?” she asks as she walks up to her. Abby stays still as her chest rises and falls rapidly, the tears starting to fall.

“W-will, h-h-he hurt you?” She asks between loud sobs. Y/N eyebrows knit together and lifts her up off the bed and into her arms. The child wraps her arms and legs around her, clinging to her body for dear life. Her sobs became louder and uncontrollable as she carried her down the stairs to answer the door.

Rami had already let himself in, Mary had begun to set up her sleeping back by the tv “What’s wrong?” he asks in a panic as his friend slowly make her way down the stairs, careful not to trip due to the heels she wore.

She places her hands on the back of Abby’s head and rocks her back and forth like she did when she was younger to comfort her “I-I don’t know,” she answers, “She asked if he’d hurt me…I thought therapy got her over that,” she whispered, trying to keep calm. Rami lovingly rubbed the girls back and sighed softly.

“Did you tell her who it was?”

“No! I thought it would be too confusing! I should cancel, he’s probably going to be late anyway.”

She was wrong. After she stopped speaking the doorbell rang and everyone’s head turned to look at the white door. Abby buried her head into the side of Y/N’s neck and her body clung to her tighter shuttering in fear. Y/N crossed the room and placed her hand on the doorknob reassuring her the whole time.

She was met with Ben’s smiling face but that beautiful smile quickly turned into a frown when he saw the state of one of his star students. Y/N wasn’t even able to take in the sight of how good he looked in a formal suit “What’s wrong?” he mouths.

“Grant,” she whispers simply. The blonde instantly understood what she meant by saying his name “Abby I want you to meet my date,” she coos, rubbing her back. Abby shakes her head and cries harder. “This is Ben.”

Ben’s jaw tightened and he reached out to touch her back “Tabby?” he asks softly as he takes a few steps closer. Abby’s cries soften at the sound of the nickname and the man’s familiar voice “Tabby look at me.” She complies and slowly turns her head, her wet eyes scanning him.

“You’re taking my mom?” she asks shyly, now embarrassed that he saw her cry.

“I-I am. Do you trust me?” he asks her which she nodded in response. “I promise to keep her safe.” The corners of his lips tugged upwards into a kind smile, the one he greeted her with every morning.  She weakly smiled and asked to be let go. Y/N sat her down and bent down to hug her tightly.

“Will you be ok with Rami and Mary?” she asks.

Abby nods and wipes her tears away “I will.”

“Call me if you need me to come home,” she encourages as she stands up and grabs her purse from off the table by the door. Abby just stands there and nods along with her breathing slowly returning to its normal pace. She trusts her teacher and she’d be lying to herself if she thought she didn’t like the idea of her mom going out with him. He was nice and had a kid, she liked James a lot he was as kind as his dad, a little awkward but he was nice.

Y/N rubs her hands together and approaches Rami “Please call me if anything happens,” she whispers pleadingly. The Egyptian nods and smiles at her reassuringly, his arms folded comfortably across his chest.

“Go have a good time, she’ll be fine. If you don’t go Lucy will kill you. I will kill you.”

Her nerves kept itching at her as they left the house “I’m sorry Ben,” she sighs.

“Y/N you have nothing to be sorry about, she’s seen things no kid should ever see. I’m glad you told her it was me,” he reassures opening the car door for her.

It was another gloomy night in London when they reached the heart of the city, the clouds covered the last of the glowing moon when they pulled in front of the restaurant. It was probably foreshadowing how their date would go. Fate had a funny way of setting up something no matter how mundane it was that would trigger a fight. Embarrassing wouldn’t it be to have all those people stare at them just eating at the bit to throw food at each other. The halt of the car brings her out of her thoughts turning her head to the parked car in front of them “Ready?” Ben asks, turning off the car.

Y/N sits up in her seat and quickly gets out, smoothing out her dress before shutting the car door. Ben walks around the car and holds out his arm for her. She raises an eyebrow and stands up straight which makes the teacher grumble and shakes his arm “The road hasn’t been paved in years…I don’t want you to fall,” he says through gritted teeth. Her Y/E/C looks down at the parking lot below her feet, after nodding in cautious agreeance she loops her arm around his.

When they walked inside the restaurant Y/N held back a gasp, her hand clenched onto his forearm a little tighter. This wasn’t a restaurant, it was a palace. The bright chandeliers hung on the cream-colored ceilings that were squared off with gold leaf detailing. Ben let go to walk up to the hostess stand so she took the opportunity to walk around the waiting area, it was like a dream or a ball since all the patrons wore their finest. She comes across the mirror and checks her hair for any fly aways when Ben walks up behind her. He himself is like a dream, like all the ones she’d had about him; beautiful.

She took his arm this time willingly but he didn’t offer it like the last, she turned on her heels and snakes her arm through his that was pressed against his side. The man smiles softly and follows the other man to their table. It was a round table in the middle of the room covered with a long white table cloth. They took their seats and as they opened the velvet menus she asks “How can you afford this place you’re a single father and a teacher?” Ben looks up from his menu with the green eyes lowered grumpily. “Let me help you pay for all this?”

“You’re a single mom and an artist,” he retorts. She lets out a small laugh and leans back in her chair, she looks at the overpriced food in a language she couldn’t understand and nodded along with his comments.

“Touche,” she says.

“I have it covered, I had to dip into the rainy day fund but it’s worth it.” Her eyes shot up at him, his face remained calm as he looked down at the menu.

“You take all your dates here?”

“No just you,” he mumbles as his fingers tap the menu.

A blush graces her cheeks and to hide it she brings her menu higher, before her giddy smile breaks out the waiter approaches with a wine list clutched tightly to his chest “Welcome to Le Loop may I offer our signature wine?” he asks monotone. Ben peered at the red wine with interest the wine list looking more desirable to him.

“Wait,” Y/N interjects, placing the menu on the table, “I want to see if we can do this,” her pointer fingers motons back and forth between them “without alcohol.” Ben’s eyes tear away from the wine and sees her pleading expression.

“Water will be fine, thank you,” he orders and she orders the same. The waiter's lips form a tight smile before walking away swiftly. The pair look at each other briefly with confident smiles, maybe they could actually pull this off without the liquid courage. Maybe was a strong word, fate will prove them wrong probably.

“What are you doing?” Y/N asks with a small twinge of laughter in her voice when Ben’s eyes flip back and forth between the open menu and his cell phone. Ben’s puckers his lips in thought and narrows his eyes as he types into his phone with his thumb.

“Google translate. I can’t understand any of this shit,” he complains keeping his voice down so it doesn’t attract the seething gazes of the people surrounding them. Y/N can’t help but to laugh at his actions, her hand delicately comes up to cover the snickering.  “Like seriously what the bloody hell are these things.” She studied his face as he tried to make out the French words, his messy brows would furrow together when he attempted to speak and how he would push his curls back when he got further in his face journey.

“Get lanières de poulet.”

“What’s that?”

“Chicken strips,” she giggles.

He was slightly embarrassed that he did in fact order the chicken strips, come all this way and spend all this money to get his sons latest obsession. But in his defense they were fancy chicken strips, they had a little sprig of green leaves on top and were served on a gold-rimmed plate. And they were good, hella good “So tell me,” she starts, swirling around mashed potatoes with her fork “How many first dates have you had?”

“Ah, we’re starting with the hardball questions.”

“Yeah so tell me.”

Ben wipes his hand with the cloth napkin and places it on the table “A few, I’ve put myself out there but they never make it past the first date,” he answers.

She leans back in her chair “Why’s that?”

“It all goes downhill when I mention I have a kid. Women love the idea of me but as soon as they know about James they don’t care.” Her heart slumps at his answer, gloom was hovering over their table waiting to ruin the evening, she wouldn’t let it.

“I have a daughter,” she comes back with, the corner of her mouth turned upwards. It got him to smile and laugh a little bit, gloom dissipated as they both laughed together.

“What about you? Any other first dates?”

Y/N simply shakes her head “Nope,” she pops the P and taps her plate gently with her fork. “I haven’t been on one since you know,” her voice suddenly drops and her smile slips. Ben frantically tries to apologize as he sits up in his chair and reaching his hand out for hers. She slowly takes it and runs her thumb over his “You don’t need to apologize, its been years and I need the push to go out…so thanks.”

“Well as your first date since your divorce I hope I’m doing alright,” he tries to lighten the mood.

“You’re doing better than I expected, I thought we would have fought by now and one of us would leave,” she admitted. Ben flashes a charming smile and winks before returning to his dinner, he never let go of her hand the entire time. She didn’t try to pull away either instead, she sat there the whole time as the conversation distracted her from eating with her non-dominant hand so she could hold onto his.

Ben hated this part; the check. He prepared himself for this and she as worth it, goddamn this woman was worth it. Putting on his best game face as the disgruntled waiter places the black book in Ben’s hand, his face was stone cold as he read the total, but a small grunt could be heard. Reluctantly, he slid his credit card into the small clear pouch and watched as his money walked away. “You didn’t have to spend all that money, Ben.”

“I know I didn’t. I wanted too,” he responded, taking his card back and shoving it in his pocket.

As they exited the restaurant she took his arm and used her other to place on his bicep. He looked at the car and then across the street at the lit up the walkway and the glowing yellow lights from Big Ben and other marvels of their city “Ben?” she questions looking up at him.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” he asks with a lopsided grin. He honestly wasn’t ready to go back home it was the first night in a long time where he felt he wasn’t waiting for an excuse to come home like in the past where he’d wanted James to act up so he could leave a terrible date. He prayed she’d say yes.

“Let me check in with Rami,” she says before quickly taking out her phone. It wasn’t a bad idea, he took out his phone and was greeted with 7 texts all from Gwil ‘Have you gotten laid yet?’ ‘car sex is wild mate!’ Ben rolls his eyes at his friend's responses and sends back ‘fuck you. I’ll be out a little longer.’

Y/N’s messages, on the other hand, were the exact opposite ‘Mary and Abby are watching a princess movie marathon. Please enjoy yourself.’ ‘Are you having fun yet?!?! The girls are asleep.’ Y/N smiles and puts her phone away and looks up to meet Ben’s glare on her “Let’s go.”

It was an oddly quiet evening, very few cars drove on the bridge allowing the small talk to echo in their ears. The chill of the water below them rose, her shoulder brushes against his arm, her hand rubbing the warm material of his coat for more warmth. Ben’s green eyes fell upon the look of the clock to the side of them “Second star to the right,” he starts to quote, his voice low as if he didn’t mean it to say out loud.

“And straight on till morning,” Y/N chuckles finishing the quote.

“We’re reading that in class,” he informs her as they stop walking to take in the sight of the landmark. Y/N laughs and rests her head on his shoulder, nodding.

“I know. Abby hates it…she prefers the movie,” she admits.

Ben scoffs in mock offense “You showed her the movie before the book? Y/N as a teacher I’m offended,” he starts. Y/N rolls her eyes and releases her arms to lean on the stone railing of the bridge “James is going to read the entire book first, then the cartoon,” he explains.

She hums in response “Because you know he’ll lose all interest?”

“Precisely.” They start to laugh when he stands next to her, his forearms resting against the cold stones and his hands rubbing together. A sudden smell fills Y/N’s nostrils, it's salty and delicious she examines. The glorious smell makes her turn her head, a pretzel cart was just a few feet ahead of them. Her painted lips form a smile and quickly walks, practically bouncing over to the cart, leaving Ben by himself mid-sentence. The pretzel slowly turning inside the warm glass container was going to make up for the lack of good food she knew they both wanted and didn’t get.

She trots back with the golden brown treat in hand “Want some?” she asks, practically shoving it in his direction. Ben happily takes a chunk of it, reclaiming her arm to continue their slow walk down the bridge. “I was visiting one of my best friends in the States and he had five of these at a Yankees game, God I thought he was going to vomit,” he laughs at the story.

“Gross, we’re only eating one,” she reminds him with a giggle.

With every step and small joke they make he starts to fall for her, they argue over the last chunk and God he loved every last second of he lighthearted argument. Obviously, she had the last bit that thorn in his side. Her pleased and triumphant made his heart skip a beat, and once they got to the other end of the bridge they look up at the buildings.

“In all my years I’ve never truly seen the city like this,” he confesses.

“Abby’s too young to really appreciate it, I-I’m glad I’m here…with you,” her confident voice falters and her eyes are unable to meet his surprised face. Panicked she let’s go and places her hands over her stomach feeling uneasy about admitting her feelings. She rushes over to the edge of the bridge and looks down at her reflection staring back at her in fear of throwing up at the sudden wave of feelings. What the hell was she thinking?

Ben’s reflection enters the scene below them in the dark water only illuminated the street lights. “You never cease to be a pain in my ass Y/N,” he starts making her roll her eyes “But I’m also glad I’m here with you too.” She looks over and smiles up at him which he returns, their eyes are briefly locked only to look down at each other's lips. Gravity was pulling them together, Ben more than Y/N when he takes the final plunge and places his lip over hers.

The kiss was much better than their first the only they shared at the bar with the taste of alcohol and lust on their lips. This one was soft and filled with nerves, they could faintly taste the salt of the pretzel and the bitterness of his cigarettes. She pulls away and drags her tongue over her bottom lip their eyes looking towards the ground “Ben,” she speaks.

“Hmm?”

“Will you kiss me again?” she asks finally looking up at his perfectly flushed face. He nods and places his hands on her waist to pull her in. Wrapping her arms around his neck he places his lips to her again, their chests pressing together. His hands snake around to touch her lower back, fingers gripping the fabric of her dress.

What felt like an eternity later Ben quietly walks through the door of his home, closing and locking the door behind him. Gwil quickly entered the room with a shit eating grin on his face “How’d it go?” he asks clearly amused to hear of the date.

“Mate it was probably the best date I’ve had,” Ben whispers, taking off his jacket and throwing it on the back of the couch. Gwil could see the lovestruck smile on his best friends lips, it was a smile and attitude he hadn’t seen even before Victoria left him.

“Are you falling for her?” he asks seriously.

“I am,” Ben laughs in disbelief “Can you believe it? I’m actually falling for someone, she’s the most irritating thing and I-I can’t get enough of her.” The brunette claps him gently on the shoulder.

“I’m proud of you, Mate.”

In another quiet home, Y/N sat curled on the couch with Rami opposite of her with his daughter groggily sitting in his lap as they talked before they left “You kissed him?”

“I did,” Y/N takes a hair tie and pulls her nicely done hair into a messy ponytail, her heels discarded on the floor.

“This is the same guy you told me a month ago should rot in a hole on the edge of the earth?”

“That’s the one.”

A small silence fills the air as the Egyptian thinks about what to say next, a million thoughts and questions were swirling around his mind “How do you feel about him now?”

“I like him. I still want to punch him in the face but I like Ben.” She placed her head on the couch, a happy smile forming on her lips. Rami reached out and touched her calf before getting up and reminding her to get some sleep. After he left she left her things on the floor and walked up the stairs and peered into her daughter's room to check on her. Abby’s brown curls sprawled on the pink pillow her chest rising and falling peacefully. Y/N closed the door behind her, it was time for well-deserved rest.

taglist: if you have been crossed out Tumblr will not let me tag you! Im so sorry

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[supposed2bfunny]

A Proposition

Quick ficlet for 2D’s birthday below the cut!!!

Pure, unadulterated 2doc fluff ahead.

"Come on, Murdoc, you agreed to this."

“I was drunk when I agreed to it; that doesn’t count.”

“You’re always drunk, you arse. It’s your default setting, ergo, it does count. Now get out of the bloody car.”

Murdoc rapped his long nails against the steering wheel for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of continuing to argue with the singer. Finally, he relented, yanking the keys from the ignition and hefting himself out of their rented convertible. “Did you really just say ‘ergo?’ Using big words now, huh? Is forty-one the year that you become wiser?”

Stuart slung his backpack over one shoulder, his free hand coming to rest at the small of Murdoc’s back as he guided him down the walkway towards the nearest bench where they could sit down and change their shoes. “Piss off, you old goth, and take a seat.”

“I can’t believe I’m about to do this. You’re lucky you’re still so pretty.”

“Believe me, it’s easier than it looks. Once you get the hang of it, it’s totally natural. Like riding a bike!”

“Not sure I ever learned how to do that, actually.”

“Went straight from crawling to hotwiring Astras?”

“Sommat like that,” he conceded, smiling even as he pulled off his Cuban heels.

“Oh, erm…might need a little help,” Stuart paused to give the bassist an imploring look. “Last time I was here Noods helped me out,” he pointed at his feet and Murdoc smiled, sliding down from the park bench to kneel before the singer and tie the laces on his roller skates for him. “Thank you.”

There was softness to the way he said it. Something about the way Murdoc was so willing to kneel before him, to double and then triple-knot his skates so that the laces wouldn’t come undone. Every time he tied the singer’s shoes, he was thorough, making sure his lover wouldn’t trip over the laces later on. Something about the way he’d tied his shoes for him a million times before, it stirred something in the younger man. Especially today, on their trip to Venice Beach for Stuart’s birthday weekend. Exploring the giant redwoods of Humbolt was the following day, and Murdoc had booked a few surprises as well: high-end spas and classy dinners, no doubt.

For today, roller skating through the boardwalk as he’d done without his boyfriend a year ago, recreating the memory, this time together, was what he was most excited for.

“Just putting it out there: I’ll blow you right here in front of whatever tourist wants to look if it means we can skip the part where I have to get into a pair of these.”

“Tempting, Murdoc,” he deadpanned as his second shoe was tied. “But no. Put yours on now. Look, I even got complimentary colors!”

The bassist rolled his eyes and pulled on the skates—white like Stuart’s own, but with blue and red wheels, unlike the singer’s green and red ones. Once he’d tied his own skates and placed his boots in their backpack, he looked at the singer expectantly.

“Now what?”

“Let’s go for a skate around the beach!”

“You get up first,” he challenged.

“Fine,” Stuart gripped the side of the bench cautiously and rose, legs wobbly. “Getting up is the hardest part. But once you find your balance…” he pushed off, rolling forward a few feet, long arms waving for balance. He heard Murdoc shift in the bench behind him, presumably ready to throw himself forward if the singer started to fall. Though, since he was wearing skates too, the results would probably be hilarious. A little momentum was all he needed, and as soon as muscle memory began to take over—he had done this before, he could do this—it became easier. He twirled—pretty gracefully if he did say so himself—to face Murdoc.

Apparently he had in fact been pretty graceful, because he recognized that look of awe on the bassist’s face. “C’mon then, old man. Keep up.”

Murdoc pulled the backpack on securely, then followed the singer’s example, holding the side of the bench and rising on shaking legs. “Shit,” he whispered, grip so tight his knuckles paled.

“Hey, c’mere,” Stuart offered, rolling up and offering his hand.

“Mate, if I grab your hand and then trip, we’re both falling over. I don’t want to bruise the birthday boy.”

“Oh? Since when?” he winked, and for just a moment, the anxiety in Murdoc’s eyes dulled as he matched the singer’s suggestive smirk. “Just trust me,” he insisted. “You just need a little support; you won’t fall.”

Reluctantly, the bassist obeyed, clasping hands with his boyfriend. Stuart pushed off, pulling Murdoc along with him at a snail’s pace, opting not to tease him for how sweaty his palms were already. Murdoc was grossly overdressed for the heat of Venice Beach, sporting a pair of black skinny jeans and a threadbare tee-shirt that he only favored so much because the singer had once commented on how much he liked the dark purple color. Stuart had decided to forgo the short shorts, but still wore a pair of khaki shorts so his legs could breathe, a Pink Floyd tee and a colorful printed vest pulling together his eclectic look. It didn’t matter that they looked utterly ridiculous in their respective outfits, creeping down the sidewalk with frequent arm-waving for balance.

Their skates matched and they looked cute, and this was a nice date.

They were dating now, Stuart reminded himself. Publicly. The details didn’t matter as much as the fact itself: they were together and they were out. And Murdoc had agreed to this and it was wonderful.

As they moved along, he noticed the stares they received, a few people even calling out. He would wave occasionally, but part of the pleasure of California was that most people kept to themselves and respected celebrities, and as long as they looked busy, he knew they wouldn’t be bothered.

“Now you’re getting it,” he encouraged with a grin as Murdoc began to move a bit more confidently on his own and they were able to quicken their pace. “Keep this up and I’ll get you a nice ice cream to celebrate.”

Murdoc rolled his eyes. “If you’re going to patronize me, pick something I’ll actually eat,” he responded, but even as he complained he pushed off a little harder, coming to skate alongside the singer, linking their arms together. “I’ll give you this much: nice view. I always did like palm trees.”

“Ever since Jamaica,” Stuart agreed, remembering the trip, so many years ago. The first sparks of romance that had eventually kindled their lifelong commitment to one another.

“Ever since I fell out of that bloody tall one by the tiki hut,” he chuckled. “We have bad luck with trees, the two of us.”

“Well we’re very clumsy, you see.”

“Yep, two clumsy old oafs. Good thing we’re on wheels right now, eh?”

“Hey smartass, if you’re confident enough to insult me, you can race me. Let’s see who can get to the pier first! And wait till you see all the buff blokes at the outdoor gym; you’re going to love it!” Stuart took off, leaving Murdoc in his dust.

It wasn’t really much of a race. Although Murdoc managed not to fall, he hadn’t mastered the art of skating quickly, and between lack of muscle strength and lack of mobility in the constricting pants (and perhaps also becoming overheated due to said pants) Murdoc could only stagger along behind him, wheezing by the time they reached the corner of the boardwalk, a lifetime of smoking making him sound horrendous.

Stuart pulled out his phone as his boyfriend finally approached him, leaning towards him for a selfie.

“Are you daft? I’m all sweaty! Give me a tic.”

“Muds you’re always gross, just let me get a picture,” he whined. “Please?”

The bassist frowned. “I look like shit,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, chest still heaving. “How’s this? Turn around and take a look at the water. I’ll get a nice candid shot of you enjoying the vista.”

“It’s not candid if you tell me to pose for it.”

“Well, one day when they’re compiling a definitive Gorillaz biography, they won’t have to know that now, will they? Go on then, sunshine, let me get a nice shot of that profile.”

Having photos taken of himself wasn’t really the point: he wanted pictures of him and Murdoc together. Nonetheless, the water was beautiful and the salty breeze felt intoxicating, so he agreed, turning to lean over the railing along the boardwalk as Murdoc fiddled with his phone, snapping a few pictures. For a few minutes there was only the call of gulls and the sound of boomboxes playing like so many syncopated melodies.

“I’m so glad I could be here with you,” Stuart admitted. “Back when we filmed ‘Humility,’ this was a nice distraction, but all I could think about was you. Being with you, seeing the sights with you. I promised myself we’d do it all together sometime.”

“And here we are.”

“I can’t believe you agreed to it.”

Murdoc sighed, fiddled with his phone a bit. “You don’t know the half of what I’d agree to if it would make you happy, dents.”

“Well, for my birthday, this was all I wanted. So thanks, Murdoc.”

“Simply lovely,” the bassist said, rolling over to stand close beside the singer, hand on the railing for balance.

“Wanna show me how they came out?” Stuart asked, as Murdoc was pressing closer and closer into his personal space, phone in hand, presumably to show him the pictures that he had taken.

He didn’t get an answer. Because in the next moment, Murdoc was leaning up to kiss him gently, and everything: the sound of the waves, the heat of the sun, the smell of cotton candy, everything faded out of focus.

Stuart closed his eyes and pressed a little closer, hands coming to rest against Murdoc’s chest as the bassist turned his head, angled their mouths against each other more fully, kissed him like he was trying to teach him a long-lost language.

This was the first time they were engaging in any sort of PDA alone together. The only other times they’d dared share quick kisses, Russel, Noodle, and Ace had been near to distract any paparazzi and onlookers who gave them a hard time. He didn’t feel concerned now though. It was a relief, to be able to kiss Murdoc so openly, to feel in the body language of his lover how comfortable he was at the moment. To trust just how real this all was, and how secure Murdoc was with him. With them.

He didn’t mind the sweat glistening on the shorter man’s neck, or the faint stains under his arms. Didn’t mind at all how the sun blasted them from above. Because all the mattered was this feeling of being so wanted. So completed.

After a few minutes, Murdoc pulled back, pressing one last, soft kiss to the corner of the singer’s mouth and looking at his phone. “Okay I just took like, thirty shots. One of ‘em must’ve come out good.”

“You were taking pictures the whole time?” the singer snapped. “Murdoc!”

“What? Figured you’d like a new lockscreen for your phone. I know I would,” he replied, smirking. “So if anyone starts getting too close, I can check my phone and remind them who I belong with.”

“I hate when you say shit that’s depraved but also makes me feel lovestruck all over again.”

“I know, bluebird, I know,” he answered, hooking an arm around the singer’s waist. “Now then, I believe you mentioned an outdoor gym and some buff blokes that we could ogle together? And then I’m going to need something to drink, be it a pint or a Poland Spring, and you know I don’t say that often. Then maybe we can retire these skates, because they’re starting to give me blisters on my ankles.”

“Okay, slow down, old man, one thing at a time,” he said, but he was leaning into Murdoc’s touch, not the least bit unnerved by the glances they were getting from other beachgoers. Let them stare: he had everything he needed right beside him.

“One thing at a time? We still have a full day ahead of us, Stu! The dinner reservation is for seven, so we’ll need to be back at the hotel at say, six…hm. Five, actually, given our track record for hotel rooms and fucking each other silly. Plus I have to make sure I wrapped your gift…”

“Just propose to me at dinner and that’ll be my present,” he teased. Murdoc’s arm tightened around his waist.

“Propose to you at the beach where you recorded a video without me? Not going to happen, luv. It’d have to be somewhere that we both have history.”

“So proposing’s not off the table then?”

Murdoc skated out in front of him for a moment, slowly turning around so he was facing the singer. He took both of Stuart’s hands in his own.

“Stuart Harold Pot,” he spoke, “would you make me that happiest bloke in the world…” his expression flickered from wide-eyed to shit-eating in a second flat, “and find somewhere shady for us to skate before I fucking melt to death in this heat?”

Stuart snorted. “You’re very funny today, aren’t you?” Nonetheless, he leaned in for a kiss when the bassist tugged him down, even if he wasn’t sure Murdoc deserved it.

“’S my duty to make you smile on your birthday,” Murdoc answered between pecks. “Keeps you young, they say.”

“Smiling does?” Another kiss, then another.

“Yep. Mm…no wait, one more kiss…”

“Gonna be forever young, then. Mm.”

“Stop being cheesy. People’re staring…”

“Let them stare,” Stuart breathed against his lips, kissing his jaw, his mouth, his chin. Murdoc’s breaths came, short and soft against his face as he relaxed into the familiar touches. “Also, there’s shops up ahead with air conditioning inside…you can buy me something nice while you cool down. Last one there has to drive the hotel!”

And just like that he broke away, skating at top speed and leaving Murdoc shouting expletives behind him. They still had plenty of exploring to do, memories to make. Murdoc was right: they still had the whole day ahead of them. If he was lucky, a whole lifetime.

[mx-ishikawa]

F/O February Day 17: Coffee Shop AU

okay but honestly the coffee shop AU is freaking perfect for me and Emmet, so here’s a li’l drabble!

It was like something out of a cheesy fanfiction, really. I was just a tired barista at a rather shabby coffee shop, and all the other employees and all the customers that were served were either just as tired and cynical as I was, worse, or simply didn’t give a damn. I genuinely enjoyed working, as it kept my hands occupied and provided me with some sense of purpose; it was the people that I could do without. I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with people in general, the kind of person who wanted friends but also wanted to be left the hell alone, so I was very awkward in social situations. My co-workers were rather dull, taking their jobs way too seriously, and the customers… oh the customers. Best case scenario, they were cooperative, but weirded out by my attempts at friendliness—I learned that the hard way. Worst case scenario, they chucked their scalding hot coffee order directly at my chest and proceeded to scream at me because I didn’t put just the right amount of creamer in it. It wasn’t exactly a dream career, but it paid the bills as long as I lived alone in a tiny apartment. More often than not, it was very drab.

But then, one fine day, as cliché as it sounds…

He walked in.

He entered the shop with a happy bounce in his walk. He was average in height and build, donning orange safety gear. He had short brown hair and a small nose. But what really grabbed my attention was his smile. A wide, white, genuine smile that showed he was happy just to be here. The kind of smile that flowed into the rest of his face, lighting up his big blue eyes and putting a cute rosy blush to his cheeks. That smile lit up the entire shop, a stark contrast to the neutral faces of everyone else present. In a bigger city, he might’ve been nothing more than a face in the crowd, but in this town of dull colors and detached people, he was the breath of fresh air I didn’t even know I needed. I couldn’t take my eyes off him—never before had I seen such a beautiful smile. But when he turned his head in my direction, I found myself quickly averting his gaze. I didn’t want to come off as a creep for staring.

He happily skipped up to the counter, looking up at the menu displayed above with an innocent expression. Oh no, he’s way too cute. I cleared my throat as quietly as I could before addressing him.

“Hello, may I help you?”

“Oh!” The impossibly adorable man snapped out of his daze to acknowledge me. “I’m still looking, thank you.”

“Take your time, don’t rush,” I smiled.

“I think I’m just gonna get my usual, though.”

“Alright, and what would that usual be?”

“A smooth blend medium roast coffee with just a hint of cream and twenty-five sugars!”

I almost choked on nothing in surprise.

“I’m sorry sir, did you just say twenty-five sugars?”

“…Yyyyeah…?” He tilted his head in confusion as if that wasn’t an insane request. Still, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the cuteness of the action.

“Well alright then.” I moved to start brewing the coffee. “Just don’t complain if you get diabetes.”

He giggled at my joke. “Thanks! I’m used to having lots of sugar, so no worries!”

“Good to hear it!” It felt good to act like a normal, friendly human being and not a damn robot for once in my life. Plus, this guy was freaking cute. For the next minute or two, he was silent as he let me prepare his coffee. When I reached for the creamer, I turned to smile at him and spoke again.

“You might wanna watch me pour the creamer and tell me when to stop, because the last time I made coffee with creamer, I had it thrown back at me because it wasn’t the right amount.”

“Oh no, that sounds terrible!” he gasped, hands flying up to his mouth. I shrugged.

“It’s okay, it only hurt for a couple minutes and I’m used to screwing everything up anyway, haha.”

“Aw, don’t say that! I’m sure it’ll be great! Just put a teeny bit of cream in there, and if it’s too much or too little it’s no big deal!” There was that smile again, this time aimed directly at me. This was too good to be true.

“Haha, thanks…” I put a small splash of creamer in and rung him up. “Here ya go!”

“Thank you!” He paid for the coffee and took a small sip. “Mmm, this is awesome!”

“Really? Thank you.”

“No problem!” He stretched out his free hand that wasn’t holding the coffee. “My name’s Emmet, by the way.”

Emmet, huh? That was pretty cute. A cute name for a cute boy. I shook his hand.

“Call me K.”

After that day, Emmet became the shop’s newest regular, as well as my favorite. He typically ordered his usual brew that was more sugar than coffee, but sometimes he switched it up. Sometimes he also got a black coffee for a friend named Lucy. But he always came into the shop with that bright smile and something nice to say. I found out he was a construction worker, and I became flustered upon realizing this wide-eyed innocent could probably lift me up with ease. Thanks to Emmet, I actually looked forward to work. Needless to say, it didn’t take me long to develop a crush on the cutie, and not much longer after that to fall head-over-heels for him. One day, he brought his friend Lucy into the shop with him. At first, I was discouraged—she was so much cooler and more attractive than I could hope to be, and I felt I didn’t stand a chance against her at winning Emmet’s heart. But it turned out she had a girlfriend she simply called “Sweet”, so that put me at ease. Still, it seemed to take me forever until I could make my feelings for Emmet known to him.

“Here’s your sugar—I mean coffee!” I joked to him one day. This made Emmet laugh, something else impossibly cute about him that gave me the butterflies.

“Thanks, K! You always make my coffee extra sweet, just how I like it!”

“Of course! But you know what’s even sweeter than this sugary coffee?” I asked as smoothly as I could, leaning towards him a bit.

“What’s that?” Emmet asked innocently. I smirked.

“You.”

This seemed to catch him off guard. An adorable squeak escaped his throat as a heavy blush rose to his cheeks. “Oh my gosh…” he giggled, raising a hand to his face.

“It’s true. I hope I’m not coming on too strong, but… I really like you. A lot. And… I’d like to get to know you more outside the shop sometime.”

Emmet smiled that beautiful, perfect smile at me.

“It’s a date.”

[viikollection]

Saturday ㅡ Jin

SingleDad!AU

A/N: IDK how to use apostrophes for things that are possessive so, let me live pls ** A few mature references, but nothing lewd or explicit **

Word Count: 1.8K

   ㅡ  Genre: Fluff, AU

   ㅡ  Teaser: A day at the park brings two unlikely parents together.

The sky was painted pastel blue, adorned with sparse white clouds. The smoldering sun showed itself brazenly, so bright it forced pedestrians to shield their eyes. No wind to brush away the shavings of chalk from the hopscotch drawing upon the asphalt.

“You’re out!” a boisterous voice called teasingly, followed by the disappointed whine of a small child.

A chuckle followed soon after, a father pointedly explaining to his daughter she had to stay within the dusty white lines.

Your heels ached- You’d chosen the wrong day to break in your new shoes when walking Rowley, your miniature Boarder Collie. You chose to remove your earphones, the music you’d been listening too a dull murmur upon your shoulders- As though you’d awaited a reply.

“Slow down,” you repeated, sighing to yourself as he tugged upon his harshness hastily.

“Rowley-” you snapped, snagging his attention for only a moment.

Following his line of sight, you spotted an ice cream truck parked by the curb, young children flocking to it wildly with screams of joy. Panting, Rowley attempted to pull you toward it, like a moth to a flame.

“No,” you groaned, as if he’d listen to you.

Children from the playground beside you noisily hollered at each other, pointing to the colorful truck on the other side of the park. That was when you saw him. He was squatted down, combing a few flyaways from a child's face. His full lips puckered as he spoke, turning his head to follow where her pudgy arm pointed. Gently, he shook his head and although you couldn’t hear their conversation, it didn’t take a genius to guess what had transpired, as the next second her expression was scrunching up in hurt, a long whine sounding from her. Tugging on Rowley’s leash to slow your pace on the walkway, you bit the inside of your cheek to hide a smile as he frantically sprung into action-

“Puppy!” she cried.

The word always caught your attention- You knew it was aimed directly at you... Rowley technically, but his business is your business. You cast Rowley a glance, feeling a small panic bubble within you as he eagerly faced the oncoming child. You were used to it, getting stopped by pedestrians, adult and child alike, to ruffle the silky fur of Rowley.

“I want see puppy!” she called again, her father warily glancing at you before you caught his gaze.

You gave a small smile, seeing as the young girl was already bounding up to you, leaving the bustling playground behind. You squatted, grabbing Rowley by his collar to keep a reign over him as he shifted from paw to paw excitedly. You gave a gentle smile, brows raising as the gorgeous man came bounding along as well, hunching over to clasp a hand over the little girls’ as he pulled her into his long legs.

“Does he bite?” he huffed, taking in a few gulps of air from the sudden exertion, “She?” he added, unsure.

“No,” you chirped, “He really loves kids-”

Rowley was sniffing wildly at the giggling child, pulling on his collar incessantly. With a sigh of relief, the man relinquished the child he held at bay before standing tall. His shoulders were broad, lips full as they parted to release an apologetic sigh.

“Sorry,” he ushered.

“Not at all,” you returned.

The two of you looked down when you heard a shrill giggle, Rowley licking at her face lovingly.

“Stop that,” you scorned gently, reaching down to put your hand over his laving tongue.

He licked at your hand instead, his glassy eyes gazing up at you happily.

“What’s her name?” the young girl asked quietly, twiddling her fingers as she looked up at you shyly.

You squatted, scratching Rowley’s ear in the process.

“He’s a boy,” you began, “His name is Rowley-”

“Hi Rowley,” she greeted, clasping her hands together awkwardly.

You had to contain the squeal trapped in the back of your throat at how adorable she was, her ‘R’ sounding like a childish ‘W’. Glancing up, you felt a blush dust the apples of your cheeks- Feeling as though your current position was a tad compromising considering the front of his pants- Clearing his throat, his mind was obviously on the same track as yours and he quickly pulled the fabric of his pants of by the knees as he squatted as well.

“We should let Rowley and her get back to their walk,” he began, feeling a tad guilty for taking your time.

A curious sound left the child as she looked at you with a forlorn gaze, reaching out towards Rowley once more. She embraced him, her pudgy fingers tangling in his soft fur.

“Why?” she whined, muffled.

Nervously, her father, so you came to assume, gave you a fleeting glance. He reached towards her and you were quick to notice there wasn’t a ring upon his finger-

“It’s okay,” you assured, knowing it was every parents’ dread to have their child throw a tantrum.

The jingle of the ice cream truck sounded again in the distant and you saw her turn her head toward it.

“What’s your name?” you cut in, trying to vie for her attention.

Her father wore a grin of relief as she faced you once more.

“Mae...”

“That’s such a pretty name,” you crooned, accidentally loosing the grip of Rowley’s collar as he plopped down, rolling onto his back invitingly.

Smiling, she reached over, rubbing his belly happily.

“And what might yours be?”

Your attention was snagged by the very man you’d had your eye on. You told him your name, feeling bashful for some reason under his undivided gaze.

“Jin,” he offered, outstretching his hand suddenly to pull his her hands from rubbing too low, “Not there,” he muttered.

It’d be weird to as if he’s her father, wouldn’t it? Perhaps they’re siblings with a large age gap... Or even cousins?

“Um- Are you... I mean is she your uh-”

Sensing you awkward question, he gave a nod, his large hand going to pull at her small ponytail affectionately, “She’s my daughter.”

You smiled a sweet smile, glancing between the two of them to find similarities, but beside their full lips you couldn’t spot any.

“Usually, that scares women off,” he joked gently, seeing as you were still smiling fondly.

“Well, I have my own so-” he hinted, gesturing at Rowley, “I understand-”

He gave a hearty chuckle in return, his chocolate orbs disappearing into crescents.

“Sorry- If you have a boyfriend, I just-”

“I don’t,” you added, unintentionally cutting him off, “Sorry... I uh- I don’t-”

He grinned in return- There was no denying there was a sort of chemistry between the two of you. The exact nature of it you weren’t sure, but you were certain you wanted to meet him again.

“Maybe we could have a playdate sometime-” you begin, before backtracking quickly, “As in them,” you spew, gesturing to the children below.

He laughs at how the blood rushes to your cheeks-

“We could,” he agrees, “I wouldn’t mind a date either,” he adds teasingly.

“I didn’t mean it like that-” you whine gently, unable to hide the small grin taking over your lips.

“Oh- You don’t want to?” 

You can tell from his tone and expression he’s teasing gently and you have the urge to give him a nudge. You let out a small puff of air, his flirtatious advances making you gnaw the inside of your cheek. Suddenly, Rowley is struggling to roll over, clamoring to her feet and before you have time to grab her collar or leash, she’s darting away, barking excitedly at a passing dog. You call after him, scrambling to stand hurriedly. Without even a second thought, Jin is jogging after him, waving his hand at the dog owner to get their attention as Rowley goes barreling toward them. You watch as he gives an apologetic dip of his head towards the elder man walking his dog, reaching down to tug Rowley by his collar. You barely even register the small hand that grasps your own, pulling you in tow to meet her father upon the asphalt half-way. You have to shield your eyes from the blinding sun before shade from a nearby tree greets you.

“You shouldn’t have-” you say, remorseful, “Thank you-”

His chest puffs out in pride, a few huffs of breath later and he’s raking a hand through his black locks. You’re speechless, swallowing thickly at the sight as he wipes the sheen of perspiration from his forehead. He hands you back the leash, shaking his head, “Kids-”

You chuckle as his tone, fingertips grazing his own as you take back the lavender leash.

“Probably needs to get some of his energy out,” Jin remarks, a hand on his hip as he looks down at Rowley.

His brows raise for a moment as he catches sight of Mae’s small hand holding your own before she lets go.

“We’ve held you up for so long,” he apologizes and you feel a frown want to tug at your lips.

“Maybe I could- Get your number?”

You feel excitement brew within you as he withdraws his phone from his back pocket.

“For playdate purposes,” he adds, his eyes lively and playful as ever, indicating it was a teasing remark.

Mae tugs on the pocket of his jeans, her eyes glued to you. Passing his phone, you see he’s opened a new contact- Happily, you input your information and catch the brief glimpse of her waving him down to her height, her hand over her mouth secretively. Instead, he picks her up, letting her sit on his forearm as his other hand cradles her back as she leans up to whisper in his ear. Finished, you pass it back to him, watching as he shares a momentary glance at Mae. She leans in once more as he takes his phone, his brows furrowing to discern what she’s saying. Her whisper is loud enough for you to hear.

“Miss ____ is pretty. Do you like her, daddy?”

You purse your lips to hold in a chuckle and find Jin mirroring your expression before his expression turns a little exasperated once he sees you heard. He lets his eyes close in mock embarrassment before drawing back.

“Hey-” he chides, “You’re supposed to be my wingman!”

Confused, Mae clearly doesn’t understand the situation, looking between the two of you.

“Yes,” he answers promptly, leaning in to put his hand to her ear.

“I think she’s very pretty,” but he’s not whispering, his gaze flitting to you from over his hand.

[alfredosauce50]

Who’s the bad guy? (2p + 1p America x reader) 12

Wordcount: 2,857 The reader is referred to as she/her

Flattening out the volume of your dress, you felt the silky soft ruffles of red glide through your fingers. A lovely shade of crimson it was, its shade comparable to that of blood. Thankfully the skirt didn't take up too much space as it was relatively thinner and a little smaller than what the other women in the hall were adorned in, granting you some more mobility than most. This feature of your outfit embodied undying loyalty to your increasing anxiety in the night as Alfred approached some other groups of people with their heads held high. 

This was because it was easy to move around in it, meaning that you wouldn't have to stumble around like the nervous wreck you were slowly becoming. Clutching tighter onto Alfred's arm he gladly held up for you, a man clad in a cream white tuxedo and his partner, a middle-aged woman decorated with a flowing black dress came into sight.

You nearly tripped over your own pumps as your eyes were preoccupied with the jet-black fabric dotted with rhinestones that poured onto the floor like a mesmerizing pool of the night sky. Shrouded into a moment of self-doubt, you suddenly felt unmatched to everybody's clothes. That was when you felt a little nudge into your side, making you glance up to meet two beads of black. "Don't worry, I'll handle this." A voice whispered quickly, the words entering your right ear in a warm breath. That offered just the smallest speck of reassurance as the two heads just turned to you both simultaneously.  "Alfred! Fantastic party you're hosting." The man let out a hearty laugh, patting him roughly on the shoulder. Alfred chuckled lightly and nodded to him and the lady just beside.  "Yup. I've been looking forward to this all month," He replied with a smile. Letting his gaze wander over their faces, he searched their eyes and facial features before he cleared his throat, the grin plastered on his lips fading just the slightest. He originally intended to greet them with their names, but such titles had flown by his head due to all the different faces he had been smiling at. Now that he took a good look at who they were, it all clicked. "So, how's your business going, Calvin?" He asked. As friendly as it sounded, this was nowhere near the standard required for a civilized conversation in this part of town. The receiver's eye twitched, but the action only lasted a split-second that nobody was able to catch it.  "Very good, I must say." Calvin replied lowly. "What about you?"  The blonde nodded. "Mhm. Stocks are skyrocketing off the charts."  Unbeknownst to most of those attending this celebration, the scandal in the headlines just a few months ago that involved the two business giants in New York was just the tip of the iceberg. Friendly rivalries that were birthed in the early beginnings eventually grew larger in size over time. The holes in their relationship didn't allow any form of transparency needed for cooperation at all. "Ah, that sounds promising. So, who's your date? She's a lovely one, I can tell you that!" He winked at you, making you blush lightly. The gesture was something sent your way in hopes of dissipating any forming tension, unwanted tension that could potentially ruin the ambiance of a party.  "Yep, she's a good friend of mine." Alfred tightened his arm that you hadn't realized was wrapped around your waist. "Her name's (F/N)." You laughed nervously. "It's nice to meet you."  "Likewise. Might I ask what you do as a profession?" Calvin inquired. Your body broke out into a cold sweat and you blinked furiously. That was the one question you didn't want to answer tonight. Business owners, CEO's and New York's building tycoons were scattered all around the grand hall, conversing with fancy economy-related jargon while you originated from somewhere that was considered a major downgrade. "Profession? Well, I own... I own a-"  Alfred cut in with a playful grin plastered across his features. "She owns a toy manufacturing company..." You had not even realized how tense you were with the overwhelming nervousness filling you up until he butted in. Nevertheless, you turned to him quickly with relief. Albeit a little startled, you bore your eyes into him with anticipation, fixating your gaze on the way he moved his lips. He caught a brief glimpse of you staring up at him, and as if to tell you that he knew you were listening with your ears peeled, he flickered his cerulean blues for just a second. "... For adults."  "... Wha-" Your eyes enlarged. "Alfred!" You elbowed him in the side as a few jovial laughs exploded from the couple. The blonde shot you a mischievous wink, seemingly unaffected by that little jab in the ribs. You were just about to scream at him for coming up with something so inappropriate, but that fury bubbling inside simmered down when you realized it was just joy that permeated through the ambiance. Mouth closing as you glanced at the man's big, cloud of a beard jiggle to his howls of laughter, their contagious exchanges of a smile spread to you. "That must be good business for you, aye (F/N)? I can see why you were so hesitant to tell me!"  "I was trying to avoid a topic like this for the night but it's just... Unavoidable considering where we are." You smiled, earning a few nods in response. Tightening your fingers on Alfred's clothed skin, you pinched him hard before twisting your hand. He elicited a little squeak and rubbed the spot. "Ow!" He knitted his brows together and shot you a look. "What was that for? There's nothing wrong with what you do! Everybody needs some kind of relief, right?"  Sighing sharply, you pinched him on the cheek this time. "Whatever, Al." You hissed into his ear. Flashing the couple another warm smile, you excused yourself and dragged Alfred out of the place. Attaching your hand to his head, you pulled him down to your level in a deadlock. "If you're going to lie, don't come up with stuff like that! Oh my god."  Alfred laughed nervously and rubbed the nape of his neck. "Yeah, sorry about that. It was what I could come up with off the top of my head though." He replied with a pout.  "Really?" You mouthed with a tone that was clearly an amused one. "I guess people like you still feel the need to do the thing." You shook your head and dragged him across the polished marble floors to one of the balconies upstairs which overlooked the entire city of New York shrouded in darkness. Minuscule blinking lights or neon red dotted the top of buildings and the wide spectrum of colors that pulsated and danced against the contrasting surroundings of pitch black made it look like a galaxy from your point of view. Upon stepping outside, a soft gust of cold blew your hair all over the place. A few strands of it entered your mouth and you spat it all out by blowing raspberries and waving your hands everywhere. Alfred let out a soft chuckle as you struggled to remove the foreign material so he stepped in to assist you.  "Allow me." He intertwined his fingers with yours and lead you over to the balcony. Holding you there with his taller frame looming over yours, he brushed back the strands away from your lips gently. Clinging onto his suit jacket flaps, you closed your eyes and let him do it. He leaned in without making any noise so that your noses would be grazing each other. It felt so light that you thought it was your hair so you didn't pull away. "You can open your eyes now."  Allen's P.O.V: The world was a slow-motioned blur as he sprawled his limbs all over one of the leather couches near the lobby. A searing pain pounded in his head as he struggled to make out the moving pictures of people, who all suddenly began scrambling away from something when a loud bang went off. Allen was far too smashed to even function, the loud, fearful screams, and chaos of furious shouting entering his ears into a dull, faint buzz. Instead of following suit, he rolled over onto his side and decided to sleep in that position where his eyes would be directed to the entrance. The doors were ajar with a light breeze blowing in through the little gap, tickling his fiery red hair as he laid there comfortably.  In reality, things were not so tranquil as he perceived things to be. Party-attenders' joy melted away into absolute terror as they all bolted upstairs, pushing and shoving each other to get up to safety first. Pearls went flying, jewelry and earrings were ripped off of earlobes followed by the bloodcurdling screams of the unfortunate who met their end with bullets splicing through the air. The auburn haired man groaned at the sounds that disturbed his power nap and was completely unaware of the scene unfolding behind him. "Get out of my way!"  "You old hag, I'm getting up there first! Do you even know who I am!?" The mob of intruders, however, were enjoying this night to their fullest. The leader of the pack, a short, hot-tempered man barked orders at his subordinates to follow whereas he fired shots around the room. "Where the fuck is (F/N)? Somebody tell me right now!" He screamed with malice. They had advanced through the main hall and were herding the guests like frightful cattle, taunting those who ended up in the back with blades of all sorts. No answers were given as a result of everybody's minds seized with unfathomable fear so they trembled with their feet frozen stuck to the ground. They sat on each other on the stairs with their knees pulled to their chests, some with the heads hidden under their arms. "Nobody knows? Guess I'll have to find her myself..." He growled to the bunch. "When I come back, approximately half of you will come into good terms with Giuliana."  He twirled a deep purple throwing knife in between his fingers and stepped over everyone on a disgusted note like they were corpses-- something they would turn into not very long later.  "Now, where could she be?" He sang. Normal P.O.V: Your eyes were still closed, imitating that of the expression one would have as they slept. To Alfred, it was absolutely endearing and pulled him in even more. The whole world around faded away, leaving just the two of you standing by the balcony that overlooked the city of dreams. His starry eyes sparkled as he cupped your cheek and all he heard was his heart pounding in his ears before he closed in on you. He slowly inched closer and closer so that there would be nothing in between your lips, capturing you in a sweet, tender kiss.  Snapping your eyes back open in surprise, they closed again once he began moving his lips against yours. You tried mouthing his name, but all noises were sealed away by his mouth that molded with yours. The wet sound of kissing and thundering heartbeats filled the spaces of silence, causing blood to rush up to flush your face. You slowly accepted the intimate gesture and let him kiss you with a heavy blush, starting to enjoy his touch and scent that dominated your senses. Unable to think properly at the moment, you let your body take over where you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull press closer to him. He responded by enveloping his arms around your lower back and deepened the kiss.  Alfred nipped on your lips before he glided a tongue on them, forcing you to pull away from the ticklish sensation. There was another reason why you pulled away. You knew exactly what would take place after that seemingly playful action. The blonde, however, was more persistent and tilted his head to capture you in another kiss. "Alfred wait..." You whispered breathlessly. He hummed and connected your mouths together again, this time stepping things up a level by sliding his tongue inside your wet cavern. Letting your tongues play together hotly, he swirled them around to make you weak in the knees. For some reason, the pleasure was short lived and your heart sank to the bottom of your stomach.  As he embraced you tightly in the passionate exchange, a familiar face popped up in your mind. A tired and sad smile stretched at his lips as his soft, red eyes stared straight at you. They were filled to the brim with pain and overflowed over the rim into beads of tears that rolled down his tanned complexion. Fractures among fractures cracked your heart and you whimpered into the kiss, finally gathering your will to pull away. "Alfred, stop..." You tore yourself away from him to meet his face that contorted into an expression of hurt.  "What is it? D-did you not like it?" He asked gently.  You shook your head and rubbed at your eyes. "No, it's not that. It's just..." The wind tousled your hair but the clips fastened on your locks prevented it from messing up entirely. Despite its useful function, you reached for them and ripped them out of your hair. Slipping them into his breast pocket, you combed your hand through your tresses to let them fall freely over your shoulders. "... I need to check on Allen." You finished. Lingering your gaze over his still form, you began stepping backwards towards the stairs inside, but he suddenly outstretched his arms to point at something.  Soft footsteps sounded by the double door which was where you were currently heading, but they never made it into the shell of your ear. Instead, you watched Alfred's face pale and pupils dilate. "(F/N)! Come back here, he's got a knife!" He screamed at you with horror. Your heart was racing by then, but that fatal moment where your brain couldn't process his words correctly you burst out into a sprint and ran into someone. Flicking your head to the stranger, you gasped at the poisonous magenta eyes that pierced through your soul. "Oh my god-" You swallowed the bile that rose in your throat.  The man smirked devilishly at you and snaked an arm around your waist. The rich musky scent of cologne filled your nose and choked your lungs. It was nothing like the comforting smell Alfred or Allen had. "Ciao, bella. Beautiful night, isn't it?" He purred, grazing a freezing blade across your cheek. The cold metallic knife wasn't sharp enough to draw blood from that gentle touch, but it still pricked goosebumps all over your body and sent a chill to run down your spine. You bit your lip and pushed against him to get away. "Let go of me, you creep!" You screamed, desperately shoving his body away from yours.  "Oh, I wouldn't call me that if I were you. I was just in a good mood enough to not kill anyone else..." Your blood rain cold and your lips trembled. Tightening his arm around your waist to secure you there, he raised his other and threw that knife behind you. "No-"  A blur of purple sliced through the air and embedded itself into whatever in front. "Shit-"  It ripped through fabric before it sunk deep into flesh, drawing out a fountain of blood to stain a white dress shirt. Alfred's jaw dropped as a sharp pain dug in his shoulder. Turning to the source with shaky breaths, he reached up to pull the knife out. Unfortunately, too much of his strength drained away with his blood, forcing him to collapse onto his knees. You twisted your body around to see what it was, but before you could, he clasped your eyes with his gloved hand and hushed you. "I won't let you see such a... grotesque sight." He whispered into your ear. "It's not really the blood... It's the convulsing that happens after people die." 

Allen's eyes flew open and he gasped. "What the fuck-" He spluttered. The air was thick with the scent of death and it made him gag. Sitting up with his hands rubbing his face, he glanced around with a squint. 

"Where did everybody go?" 

Everything happened in a blur after that chilling statement. You were thrown over his shoulder and carried downstairs, right past Allen resting on a couch still caught in a daze. He reacted a bit late and rolled off the cushions a second after with a string of curses. Staggering up to his feet, he reached out for your form that hung limply over Luciano's shoulder with a fire burning in his intense, red irises. "(F/N)!" He roared. Crashing into the coffee table in front, he shattered the glass surface but pulled himself up in the end. "Get the fuck back here, Vargas! You fucking coward!"

[bbbarneswrites]

Bucharest Diaries | THE LIBRARY

Bucky Barnes x Reader*

Summary: Snapshots of Bucky’s life in Romania. In which he meets someone when he least expects to. Genre: Romance/fluff Rating: T Warnings: Swearings 1,568 words

Notes: OKAY. I’ve been thinking about expanding this whole Bucky in Romania thing and I don’t know what happened today that this came out. It’s really corny though, LMAO. Any Romanian readers out here willing to help a girl out with some info, hmu! The poem down there is originally titled Poveste Sentimentală and both it and the book are written by Nichita Stănescu. Guess that’s it! Happy reading! <3

Tied to The Apartment Chronicles and Two Sides!

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Life in Romania is quiet. Dull. Repetitive, at times.

But even so, Bucky doesn’t complain about it. After the shitshow that his life has been, he’s thankful to be just another face in the crowd, just another body to bump against in the street. Despite the blood stained past, he’s content in rebuilding his life as just another random person.

(As random as he can be, that is. Somewhere deep down, Bucky knows this is likely to not last).

Getting settled in Bucharest had been fairly easy for someone like him.

He gets a job. Heavy manual labor, perfect and low-key, no paperwork needed but with fair pay. He gets an apartment. Small and old in a communist era apartment building but just enough for someone like him. No neighbors or tenants.

And then, with time – Bucky builds a routine.

Sometimes he works during the day. Sometimes at night. Sometimes he gets days off. The free nights are mostly meant for his journals. Re-reading them is a good pastime and it often sparkles his supressed memories. In the free mornings, he likes to sleep-in. To feel the softness of his blanket, watch the sun slip through the newspapers covering the windows of his place.

But It’s different when he’s got the whole day.

He can go to the market that stays two blocks away, visit touristic points that aren’t too crowded, walk around the Old Town and hide in the mass of people.

Or like today, pick a book in one of the local libraries.

Trying to look as inconspicuous as someone like him can be – because he might not be an assassin anymore but he still has a figure – Bucky walks from corridor to corridor, eyes silently scanning every book’s spines.

As he reaches the poetry section, he stops by a title. O viziune a sentimentelor. Though he normally wouldn’t go for a poetry book, the name catches his attention like no other did so far.

His fingers reach out for the cream colored book and just when he’s about to pull it out–

“That’s one of the best Romanian books. Ever.”

Bucky can’t help but freeze at the sudden appearance, hand tightly closed around the book, too startled at not hearing the steps after him.

You don’t seem to notice though, your input falling unasnwered in the empty corridor for a few moments as your attention diverges for a row of books in the opposite shelf, your hands trailing through the dust until finally picking up a bright red one.

The soft, whispered ‘a-ha!’ you let out is enough for Bucky to turn around.

Eyes trailing from your feet and up, he stops midway through it. It’s creepy and it might make you uncomfortable. He knows he doesn’t look like the friendliest of men. Between the white sneakers, lace trimmed shorts and white top that flashed a silver of your skin, Bucky doesn’t look up to your face.

Until you speak up again.

“It took me two weeks to read this book.” You mention to the book in his hands with your own, an amused smile forming on your lips as you roll your eyes. “The Romanian was a bitch to crack through.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything – feeling suddenly torn about striking a conversation or posing as an uneducated son of a bitch.

You don’t mind the brief silence, taking the time to watch him.

Even though the summer is just a few weeks away, he wears a heavy, maroon jacket. You know the gray top underneath is long-sleeved too. Black cap and black glove and jeans, brown hair brushing against the light stubble of his jaw. He’s tall and his broad shoulders are nothing but imposing.

If by chance you’d met him after a night-out in Old Town with your friends, you’d switch for the other sidewalk.

Right now, he looks somehow familiar. Despite everything, he manages to look soft as he finally talks to you.

“My Romanian is rusty.” He says, lips pursing for a small moment as he shrugs and clears his throat, blue eyes settling on you again. “It will be good practice.”

At the realization he speaks English too, you smile. And Bucky swears it lights up your face, the gloss of your lipstick looking more appearent as you do.

In another time of this life, he knows exactly what his old self would do. For the first time in months, he wishes to be like him again – easy with words and blessed with natural charm. To be the guy a pretty girl would give the time of her day.

He’s on the run but he’s not blind. He knows you’re pretty.

(Even more when you bite your lip. Not that he should be noticing all that).

“Then you should have this one.” You shake the book in your hand, cheeks warming up when his gaze lifts from your lips to your eyes again. “For practice.”

You hand him the bright red covered book and Bucky reads in worn golden letters. Poezii by one Mihail Eminescu.

When he looks up again, you have a smirk playing on your lips, fingers pulling another book from the shelf. A green one with similar golden letters. He can’t read the title, not even when you hold it against your chest and start walking backwards and out of the poetry section.

“This one is yours.” Bucky retorts, two books fitting easily between his metal fingers, lips quirking in an unexpected side smile. “I don’t mind waiting one more week.”

The words feel odd at the tip of his tongue – somehow flirty, almost feeling like an invitation, a plead.

And just before you turn around to leave–

“I don’t mind it either.” You tip your head to one side and raise your free hand, pressing a single finger to your smiling lips. “One week.”

An invitation that you take it.

One week that turns into two and then turns into three and soon it’s a month (and a half).

You become friends.

Bucky learns a lot about you in the short period.

He knows you’re an interchange student that switched the last year of your graduation to try your luck somewhere else. He knows you’ve been reading Romanian novels to improve your language skills because you’re terrible at it. He knows you like fashion and he always takes note on your clothes.

He watches – it’s a natural trait of the soldier – and he learns a lot about you in the short period.

Quirks, likes and dislikes, moods.

Bucky draws a line at friendship but it’s hard to ignore the feeling flaring in his chest everytime you smile around him.

You never ask anything about him. As far as it goes, he’s just an American man trying life in different country. Bucky guesses you might think he’s a veteran, a regular soldier with a backstory similar to many men that come back from war.

(He almost wants to be suspicious at your disinterest. But it’s you so he doesn’t).

His routine is a little less dull now. His days off are spent in the library and each time he comes back home with a new novel to read, often Romanian authors you’ve heard in your classes.

Sometimes his late mornings are replaced for early meetings, like today, as he watches you switch from tab to tab in your laptop, sitting in a study desk at the back of the room with books and papers all around you.

And between watching every little detail from you – to the little flowers in your pants to the glitter of your nails, Bucky frowns in confusion when you smile softly at the screen.

“Look at this poem.” You say quietly, turning the laptop screen to his direction with a knowing smile, your shoulder brushing against his as you rest back on the chair. “Nichita Stănescu.”

As he leans closer, words in Romanian come to him as easily as if it’s in English.

Then we met more often. I stood at one side of the hour, you at the other, like two handles of an amphora. Only the words flew between us, back and forth. You could almost see their swirling, and suddenly, I would lower a knee, and touch my elbow to the ground to look at the grass, bent by the falling of some word, as though by the paw of a lion in flight. The words spun between us, back and forth, and the more I loved you, the more they continued, this whirl almost seen, the structure of matter, the beginnings of things.

Ignoring his ridiculously fast beating heart, and how much the poem speaks to both of you, Bucky turns his head to you–

Already looking at him, with your lips miserable inches away from his own. And he doesn’t pull back. Maybe because he’s too startled. Or maybe because he simply doesn’t want to.

“It’s beautiful.”

You sigh and it falls right into his mouth. Bucky recognizes the poem from the book he got when he met you and he knows what it means, how it fits what you have, if there’s something to think of. He pulls back anyway.

“It  is.”

He doesn’t specify what but he knows you know by the way you look at him.

Bucky draws a line.

And he thinks everything will be fine – at least until the nightclub incident happens.

[yeshawrites]

4.

AGENCY, CHAPTER 4. You can find all other works of mine here. NOTES: This story is not always friendly. It contains some graphic content, brief mentions of non-sexual nudity, murder, death, and plenty of language. Please be advised before you read it. Some upsetting content is in this chapter.

Dahlia sat perched on the edge of her bathroom counter, teasing her bubblegum pink, short hair just so. Peering intently into the mirror, she dragged a finger slowly downward under her eye, poking at the skin. Bags? Oh no. That would simply not do. She turned to the left, unlatching a multi-tiered box and sliding the trays out one by one. Pots and pump bottles and lotions of all sorts sat in the bottom, eyeshadows stacked neatly on the second row and more lipsticks, mascaras, and eyeliners than were necessary piled together in the third. Teasing her favorite face cream out, she pumped a dollop onto her finger and set to massaging it in. Exactly two minutes, she reminded herself, then let sit for two minutes. That was what the sales rep said. Makeup had come so far.

Technology as a whole, she mused absently, had come even farther. How long ago was it that they were using telegrams? Now you took a picture on your phone and it was global in mere seconds. It excited her something terribly, but even her exuberance at the newness was tempered with caution. Better technology meant better cameras and heat sensors and traps and communication. She supposed even Jason Voorhees might have been stymied by kids who thought to SnapChat him. But that was where knowledge came in. As quickly as technology had sprung up, her knowledge was still a vast pool, a shark in the water. Cameras were fallible, and heat sensors could be tricked. People made mistakes. Traps sprang without their prey. It was just a matter of patience, caution, and knowledge. Dahlia inspected her skin tone and spread a light color correcting creme over her face, applying a layer of foundation after. Touching up with a hint of blush, she combed her wayward brows and plucked them to perfection. Out came her eyeliner. Oh how she loved eyeliner; back in the day she used so much that these modern sticks would never have lasted her. Now she preferred to keep it simple. She coated her eyelashes with a layer of mascara and applied her lipstick: bright, vibrant pink. Too much pink? She asked herself. No. Never too much pink. She hopped from the counter and pranced through her sunny pink-and-white bedroom, candy cane stripes on her wall and plush pillows on her bed and billowy, pink curtains drawn over long windows. Delving into her closet, Dahlia pried out a pair of jeans and a white top, throwing on a pink necklace to match her sparkly pink nails. She appraised herself in the mirror and blew herself a kiss. How she had ever thought to go out in public before makeup was a continual source of wonder and embarrassment for her. “I’m lovely.” She smiled broadly at herself and did an experimental twirl. Now for shoes. Reaching under her bed, Dahlia pulled out a steamer trunk overflowing with them. She positively, absolutely adored the things. Heels, flats, boots, platforms, wedges--anything was good by Dahlia so long as they were cute. She’d once picked a fight with a Seraph after he broke one of her favorite heels. It had not gone well for her--but it had not gone well for him either, the smug, suit-wearing bastard. Rifling through the packed case, she pulled out a pair of three inch, strappy bubblegum heels with a large stone set on the front of them. How perfect--a perfect outfit for a perfect day. She pulled on her purse and hopped down the stairs two at a time, never afraid of falling. Jangling her keys about in a hand, Dahlia stepped into her living room (also decorated mainly in pink, grey the compliment this time) and peered through the French doors into her dining room. “I’ll be back!” Wiggling her fingers in a wave, she gave a sad smile to the man duct taped to her dining room chair. His eyes were huge with horror, sweat rolling in beads down his forehead. “Now now, don’t sweat all over that chair. It’s an antique, I’ll have you know, straight from Russia. You stay put right there until I get back.” The man had no choice. He tried to say something, but it came through the tape as only a muffled mmmmmmph. “What was that? Oh, I’m sure you can tell me all about it once I come home and deal with you. Toodles!” Popping her pastel pink earbuds into her ears, she turned up her music and bounced out the door, locking it securely behind her. --- Click click click click click click click click click-- Tiffany rested her head against the window, staring directly at Jeremy, wondering when he would turn the damn blinker off. It had been on for the better part of two miles and no sign of stopping yet. Midlothian Turnpike was hell enough without the infernal noise. Click click click click click click click--He hummed something absently and she wondered if he even knew it was on. “Blinker’s on,” she announced finally. He gasped as if shot and smacked it down. “Well that’s embarrassing. I’m becoming an old man.” “You’re twenty-two.” “I’m aaaaancient.” She rocked her head back against the window and stared outside at the yellow street lights flickering by. The sky was an inky black bleeding into blue, the headlights carving a path through the deserted streets. Night shifts sucked, especially in the Midlothian area. At least there was something to look at in Richmond; up in the suburbs, there was nothing but fast food and grocery stores and banks and dentists. They passed a 7-11 converted into a pizza place and Tiffany wondered why it was that the convenience store did so poorly around here. She assumed it had something to do with all the rich people. “You aren’t mad at me or something, are you, girl?” Jeremy asked anxiously. “Huh? No. No, why?” He heaved relief. “Oh, good. You were just quiet is all. I was worried you were annoyed with me or something.” “Over the blinker? Sure,” she joked. “But no. We’re solid. I’m just tired.” “Yeah.” Nodding sympathetically, he took a turn past the gym. “You work hard, lady. You should take a break from that restaurant every once in a while.” “Nah, ‘cause then my parents will really think I’m not doing anything.” “Oh God. Are they still hounding you about college?” “Yep,” she sighed. “I tried to tell them I wanted a year off before I committed.” “Didn’t listen?” “Nope.” “Aw. I’m sure they’ll come around. They love you no matter what.” Tiffany side-eyed Jeremy and wondered what he meant by that. His parents no longer spoke to him. Apparently accepting their daughter as a son was not possible.

“Do you want to play some music?” He offered. “Oh, come on. We never agree on music.” He wrinkled his nose. “Yeah. That’s right. I mean, maybe you’ll like The--” “--If you say ‘Decemberists’, I’ll kindly remind you we listened to that the last six times you were trying to come up with a compromise.” “Two times.” “Two times,” she admitted. “You get what I’m saying.” “Well,” he started slowly. There was a cop ahead of them. Even though their plates would come up with special privileges, Jeremy slowed on instinct. “We could just pop on the radio. It gets dull if no one is talking.” Tiffany thought about it and mentally agreed. They needed something going. Once midnight hit it would be twenty hours awake for her, and she was ready for bed. She punched the radio on and ‘Toxic’ by Britney Spears filled the cab. Her laughter intersected with Jeremy’s squeal of delight. “Oh come ON. You, the hipster king, like Britney Spears?” “I don’t think you understand.” He held up a finger while taking the u-turn near the YMCA, heading right back the way they came. “This was my middle school-slash-high school jam.” “Jer, could you get more stereotypically gay right now?” “I’m pretty sure ‘Toxic’ is a baby gay rite of passage,” He joked. “Anyone who says they didn’t like ‘Toxic’ but still like it up the butt is lying to you.” “Jeremy David--!” The sensor box mounted on the dash glowed fiercely blue, warped into purple, tried to force its way back to green and began squealing. Jeremy stomped on the brakes, the Lincoln screeching to a halt the same time that the sensor outright exploded, bits of wire and plastic casing spraying them. Tiffany screamed and shielded her face, drawing her knees up protectively as Jeremy dove for cover. A moment of silence as the pieces rattled to the floor like hail, and they both surfaced tentatively to inspect the damage. “What the hell was that?” She asked shakily. “No fuckin’ clue,” Jeremy managed. Together they stared out the windows at their surroundings, nearly forgotten in their conversation. To the left, a lake on the edge of an apartment complex lapped silently at walking trails. As one, their gaze shifted slowly to the right and to the mass of trees, a parking lot to a series of pathways leading into pitch blackness under the boughs. “Not the Coal Mines?” Tiffany moaned softly. “Might be.” He reached unsteadily for the radio mounted on the dash. “I’m calling this in.”

[thehusbandmen]

Stations of Passion, I.4

The Husbandmen, Stations of Passion. Book One, Chapter Four. [Go to Next] [Go to Previous] [Go to First]

Rabbit clutched at the bed sheet tangled around him with a start, and he kicked at the bedding to sit upright. His wide eyes darted around the room as he steadied his breathing. He didn’t know this place. A sparsely furnished otherwise vacant room, with a simple bed, simple curtains, a stool beside a mirror vanity, and a nonsensical rug. Sighing, he took the hair elastic from his long, brassy hair and braided it behind him. Someone had to have pulled his hair back for him, as he never left the ponytail loose. Putting the elastic back around the tip, he took notice that his stretched ears did not bob the way he knew them to, and believed the plugs had fallen out.

When his fingers went to trace his earlobes only to become tangled in curls of flesh, he let go and ripped the sheets off him. He stopped breathing as he stared at himself. Now with colorpointed short, soft dull gold-orange fur and a cream-colored front, the markings said everything on their own independent of the recognition of his stylized rodent-like ears, or the long rodent-like tail with its flat but jagged spade-tip. He screwed up his face, only to be soothed by the sensation of rubbing his cheek-glands with the meat of his palms.

The meteor shower did this. But where are we? Where did it transport me? What anomaly overlaid the transit to wherever I am? He huffed and stood. The notion he might now be rightfully considered a Glitch did not sit with him. “--Dinah and Loren have got to be here, too.”

Trying the door, he found it locked, and he slapped the knob and doubled back to slouch at the vanity. He glanced to his long now-digitigrade feet, spreading out the long nimble toes with baffled detachment. Cupping his face in his hands, he growled in exasperation, desperate to fling culpability. It’s Loren’s fault for even taking us up there. But... we were only up there because Dinah wanted to watch the meteor shower. But... I didn’t put up enough objection to it... He persistently rubbed at his cheeks, pale blue-grey eyes lost in his own reflection.

Static built up in his palms in his vacuous resignation. He straightened, hands still on his face, and watched as he slowly pulled his hands away. Of course he had electrical capacity. He couldn’t reasonably be half-Raichu now in appearance only. Again, he stood, and squared up to the doorknob with both hands. Yes, it felt like a magnetic lock, from the panel’s construction. He coaxed the static again, and a most satisfying jolt rang through both arms down his hands as he Thundershocked the metal mechanism. It opened, nearly anticlimactically, and he looked both ways through it before stepping out into the sterile grey hallway.

There were no doors either direction, just two corners, and as he picked a path, he thought that this must be one of the facilities which studied anomalies from the Zone. His intuition stopped him shy of rounding the corner, and he inspected the floor and walls directly in front of him. He’d experienced Warp Points enough in his studies, to know without a doubt through the increase in emotional pressure at this spot that they riddled this facility, and that he had not arrived here on account of one. The Zone had the uncanny property of seemingly random pockets of space which could fold on themselves, and foolhardy Trainers often tried to memorize their outcomes through trial and error and use them for spatial shortcuts. But if the meteor shower had not triggered some kind of large-scale Warp Point, then how had it brought him here?

He doubled back a good distance and crouched, noting how thick his thighs now felt, then sprinted forward using the QuickAttack technique. In a blur he ripped right over the threshold of the anomaly-point, not touching any walls or the floor, and he skidded to stop several dozen feet after it. In an alert caution, he noticed this turn of hall had many doors and side-halls, and he straightened to walk as casually as possible, not even consciously deterred by his nudity.

“Color me impressed,” he heard a low melodic female voice remark.

He turned to find standing in one of the side halls a woman with light blonde hair and blue, blue eyes, wearing all white. She couldn’t have had more than ten or fifteen years on him, and she was a bit taller than Dinah. She unstuck from her start to give him a slow clap.

“This is Heritage Institute, isn’t it?” Rabbit couldn’t hide the peculiar hurt. “Where they study anomalies, try to predict Zone development trends.”

The woman only smiled soothingly at him for a moment.

“My name is Cadence, and you know your Zone studies. Come, walk with me. I’ll arrange for you something to eat, if you like. I feel like we can talk more candidly than I have with the others, considering the scope of your education background.”

“Where’s my brother!”

She’d already begun to walk back down the side-hall she’d appeared in, forcing Rabbit to follow her.

“Erroll, wasn’t it? He’s quite all right. I’m afraid you can’t see him now.”

Rabbit did his best not to snarl.

“What, no. Loren-- Never mind. Why can’t I? If this is what the meteor shower did to me, what did it do to him? And Dinah!”

“My dear Rabbit, they’ve already left, I’m afraid. They all have. You’re the last one to wake.”

Cadence opened the door to a small cafeteria-like room, with two benched metal tables and an à la carte window. She tapped a hand at the counter, and a conveyor belt produced a plate of hot, fresh food, which she brought over to one of the tables. She patted the table to encourage Rabbit to sit, and he sat to inspect the peculiar nearly instantaneous omelette which had appeared at her beckon. A variety of fruits, vegetables, and white cheese filled the thick folded egg. She also brought him a mug of Sitrus juice, and sat across from him, propping her pointed chin on laced fingers.

“Does this...” He took a drink of the complex-tasting neon yellow beverage to push down the lump in his throat. “Does this mean the prefecture considers me an anomaly now? Considers all of us anomalies now?”

Cadence took a moment to form the kindest and most complete reply she could.

“This is, in fact, the Kanto branch of Heritage Institute, as you suspected, and in fact we do specialize in studying Zone phenomena, both benign and anomalous. You are something which the Institute cannot categorize as either, despite rigorous observation. The fifteen of you are something entirely new and unprecedented: you are both human and Pokémon now. And no, Rabbit. I don’t consider you textbook anomalous, either.”

Rabbit stopped eating after a few bites, pausing his appreciation of such a Sweet assortment of fillings to the hot meal. He picked at a slice of deep blue Cornn Berry.

“Kanto. I’m in Kanto. Forgive the expletives, but I can’t believe I’m living proof that the Zones fold on each other. Is this,” he gestured toward himself with both hands, “what happens when someone steps through an anomaly that passes into a different Zone? I feel like I got merged with empty data. Like I’m living some kind of horror movie.”

“Untestable, unfortunately. We... still aren’t wholly certain what caused the condition the fifteen of you exhibit. We’ve just been able to confirm you’re all stable, and not volatile.” She came out of deep thought and looked to him again, attentive but cool. “You mean to tell me that you recall what happened to you, right before you woke up here?”

“I don’t remember much. Just...” His brow furrowed as he set down his knife and fork. “We went up to Mount Peal to watch the meteor shower, my girl and brother. He and I got into an argument, and I... He vanished. Then she vanished. And now I’m here, and they aren’t.”

She could tell he was skirting names.

“You objected to my calling him Erroll. I apologize for the confusion that I didn’t know which was which. I take it you know, then, and that it’s not a recent development?”

“That there’s pieces rattling around in his head? Yeah. That’s nothing new. We’ve had to put up with Erroll for about eleven years now. He’s... really not so bad anymore, to be fair. Can I... confide in you about something?”

“Part of my job position is ‘confidante.’ You have my ears.”

The Raichu took to eating again, and did his best to swallow between statements. From her verbiage, he presumed Cadence could at least tell the two personalities apart.

“I’ve worried for a long time that Erroll had anything to do with the Zone. It was Erroll, not Loren, that walked us through through the Bellchime Woods and up to Mount Peal, like he’d been there a hundred times blindfolded. If Erroll is a byproduct or denizen of the Johto Zone, I... I just hope being in Kanto like this doesn’t endanger Loren. I’ve never been to the Eastern Prefecture. I don’t know how different they really are from experience.”

“You’re a better brother than you let yourself think. While it’s remarkable that his navigation abilities are that sound, I must say I’ve never heard of any nonlethal impact on humans in the Zone like you’ve described. To confide something myself, the fifteen of you were all in a coma approximately ten months. I feel like if the Zone had an effect on Loren, or Erroll, it would have already, and while I didn’t know him before you all came to me, he didn’t strike me as Zone-shocked.”

“You have a natural habit of casually divulging heavy information, don’t you? A coma.” He huffed, drinking half the juice at once. “Heritage doesn’t happen to have the federal clearance to escort any of us through the Silver Pass, or into Saffron, does it?”

“We’re privately operated, unfortunately. None of us has the badge signature required for entry to the Silver Pass. And I’ve urged each of you in turn to avoid Saffron. There’s no telling what the Shield might do to you, if you could gain clearance.”

“So we’re trapped here. And we can’t get home.” He finished off the omelette, stifling rage. “At least tell me Dinah’s all right.”

“Exceptional. She and her Squirtle are traveling together, but she didn’t tell me she was going.” Cadence tried to put a hand atop his, but didn’t succeed. “She worries about you.”

He felt left in the dust, and stewed on it.

“--This just means I’m going to have to finish out my studies here abroad.”

He stood with his plate, and looked around for the return, only for her to chuckle, an odd silver sound.

“Just put it up at the window if you’re finished. And if you like, we can figure out some clothing options that might better suit you. You might be half-Pokémon, but you’ll certainly look more the part of civility and rationality if you dressed the part. You’ve got a true indomitable spirit, I must say. If it helps things, I have a gift for you.”

Quiet over his lack of discomfort over such a thing, he approached Cadence again. and she produced a small white ovoid from her pocket and placed it in his cupped hands. Although entirely in tact, it felt empty, and unbreakable.

“A Lucky Egg,” he marveled. “My Quilava will level up so much faster... My Quilava--”

“My silly Rabbit, it’s for you.” She smiled most warmly as he let her cup his hands in hers. “Something tells me you’ll need it. Now come with me. We’ll discuss the terms of your discharge from the Institute.”

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