#looking a bit like a sad little wet cat in case he comes across you? or. Working really hard and being more useful than everyone else?

[lgbtlunaverse]

Thinking of the Nie disciple that told Nie Mingjue it was Meng Yao who stayed behind to clean up corpses on the battlefield today.

Nie Mingjue didn't just randomly stumble upon poor lil meowyao eating bread in the novel, he was already looking for him to thank and reward him for his work.

That's what makes it so fun that nieyao's first conflict will end up being about someone else taking credit for Meng Yao's work.

And I'm sure that Nie Mingjue's actual opinions on plagiarism are a lot more nuanced, all we really get from him in this scene is "well you shouldn't kill someone over it!" which leaves a lot of room for what punishments he thinks are appropiate. But I bet that it isn't occuring to him in this moment that the only reason he knows Meng Yao at all, the only reason he got such a capable deputy, is that he noticed someone was taking care of the dead and cared enough to want to know their name. And then the Nie disciples didn't lie to him. The disciple he asked could have said "it was me, Zongzhu" to rise in the ranks himself, but he didn't. He went and asked others, who all also could have taken the credit, but they didn't. Someone saw Meng Yao working and decided to be honest about it and that simple decision is the catalyst for Meng Yao becoming Nie Mingjue's deputy.

Meng Yao can't just work hard to get results, others have to acknowledge that work. If they don't, it's as if he didn't do anything at all.

[katsukikitten]

Hello friends! Here is my contribution to the Bakugou Birthday Bash! The master link will be linked here ! Please enjoy my bit of an angsty fic! And all of the other art and works that are on the master list! Enjoy the big bakugou blow out and remember to leave a comment on your favorite pieces! Happy birthday ya shitty man! (Lowkey become 3d please)

Warning: he's 28 btw 😂 (my fic says so also)

It shouldn't be this fucking hard to get groceries and booze. It's a quick and easy errand. Everything already pre-ordered for an important birthday that just needed to be picked up. And yet here you were crying in your car trying to get it together before the attendant asked for the order name. Honestly you had texted out "I can't do this today. Sorry." Several times before deleting it, telling yourself not to hit send. But you would have to be having the worst mental day of your life wouldn't you? Today of all days, how fucking selfish of you.

Especially with the amount of time and effort you and Kirishima had put into this idea. Since New Year's actually, months and months of planning after the two of you had gotten shit faced at Denki and Mina's new years party, creating the brain child. All after bonding over switching patrol partners six months before, you had gotten Bakugou and he had gotten Ashido. Kirishima and yourself giggle over stupid things to the side of the party, people watching as you took shots. Kirishima points towards a normally grumpy blonde.

"Wow I think he's actually having fun." You snort, as you watch Bakugou hide his rare cat smile behind a sip of his beer as Mina makes Denki the butt of a joke.

"He actually loves parties. He never says it so people just think he's a wet blanket." Kirishima laughs, pouring the two of you another shot. Bakugou lets out a particularly loud laugh after 'Dunce Face' proves Mina's point. I guess that would be the time that it started.

When you started to fall. His laugh makes your cheeks deepen in hue and burn, to want to hear it again, to watch it again and learn all of the other sides of your patrol partner that he obviously only reserved for his closest friends.

"Let's throw him a great birthday party." You say, holding up your shot as a devilish smile spreads over sharp teeth. The mountainous man clinks your shot glass before he adds.

"Let's." In unison the two of you down the burning liquid as the plan comes into fruition.

Four months, four months and nineteen days of you thinking of nothing but your patrol partner with whom you got extremely close with since New Year's. So why? Why today of all days were you struggling? Why would normal everyday tasks feel more as if you were wading through mud than the breeze they should have been? You flip down the visor, looking yourself in the eye through little square mirror as you grit your teeth hissing

"Get your shit together."

Your little pep talk helps you get the several cakes and the cart full of booze that everyone requested, planning to make this the best birthday ever. Helping Kirishima set his house up with decorations, setting out the snacks, catering and even pouring some drinks as guests began to arrive to set down their gifts and help with the last minute touches before hiding. Masking through the pit in your stomach as you smiled at all of your friends as they poured in through Kirishima's door. Through the weighted emptiness you felt as each one wrapped you into a tight hug, already praising you and Kirishima for the amazing effort, that Bakugou would be so surprised when it was more than just you and Kirishima here. . Finally you had to go and get the guest of honor just before sundown to catch him before he went to bed. A much needed breather from the constant smiling and forcing a laugh that everyone thought sounded genuine.

Enjoying the silence of the evening train as it pulled you across town to the unsuspecting blonde. And maybe you could have made it through the night from your shitty pep talk or at least through getting the freshly 28 year old to his party but instead you catch your reflection in the window. Your facial features weighted with exhaustion, shoulders hunched allowing your body to continue to produce cortisol. Tears prick your eyes as you deep low, too low. Remembering everything and nothing all at once, steeping in guilt as you beg yourself for just a few more hours. That the depression episode can happen when you're home and alone, after the party goes off without a hitch. Tears fall anyway and they do all the way to Bakugou's until you finally get enough control to step out of yourself for a moment. Ringing the doorbell several times as a smile is plastered on your face, the door swings open. Bakugou's eyes narrow as they take you in, he notices that something is off. Your smile is a little too wide, your eyes rimmed red but he says nothing about it. Instead he lets his initial anger come forth.

"Oi! I told you to fuckin' text me when you were on the train so I could meet you at the station!" He growls, slamming his door shut and pocketing his keys. Deadly and sweaty hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket as his palms itch to hold onto something else. Garnet eyes track your own hands as you reach over your head stretching.

"Yea yea, I hear you Dad." You tease giving him a look, "I still made it okay."

"Kirishima should have come instead of you that fuckin hair for brains." He snarls keeping pace with you as he always does on patrol.

"I know Dad must be sad cause his favorite didn't come to pick him up." You try not to sound dejected, nudging him in the ribs to distract from the crack in your voice, "Happy birthday ya big lug."

Bakugou cuts you a glare, mind racing before his barks out a "Thanks."

Comfortable silence stretches between the two of you before you two hit the train station, passing a corner store.

"Was shitty hair burning dinner? Do I need to stop for back up?" His thumb hooks over his shoulder towards the neon as he stands idle waiting for you to jog your memory. Kirishima had burned the last friend's dinner making Bakugou so angry he walked six blocks to make something that was 'FUCKIN EDIBLE!' while you tried to air out his apartment. You laugh loudly, genuinely for the first time that day causing Bakugou's shoulders to sag with relief. In the ten months he had been working with you he had only seen you faking a smile or laugh once or twice. Then the time after that you were absent from work the next day or two forcing him to patrol with Denki but worse yet...making him worry.

"Guess I'll grab something just in case." He gave you his back so you wouldn't see his face or the faint blush that dusted his cheeks.

"No, no! I ordered out this time. From that famous chef you like." Bakugou glares your way, digging in his back pocket for his wallet.

"How much." He demands through gritted teeth while you show him the palms of your hands in surrender.

"Woah woah! It's your birthday gift! You can't pay me back for dinner! I'd sooner burn the money before I'd accept it from you!" Your watch dings with a message from Kirishima asking for an ETA. You grab onto Bakugou's hand pulling him along into a run as you shout over your shoulder.

"We're gonna be late!"

Oh how Bakugou wished you hadn't done that, he was already struggling to keep his heart beat even when you were around and now to grab onto him. To pull him along in a hurry like those cheesy insta posts that couples did on their "grand adventure" together. He swallows the lump in his throat as he reminds himself that you are nothing more than his patrol partner. His friend at best.

Even though the train was mostly empty Bakugou stood closely by you, as he always did when the two of you were in a crowded space. He had seen how most men took advantage of the situation and he hated the idea of that happening to you although he knew you were more than capable of handling it on your own. Hell you could kick even his ass but he would die before ever admitting that. Instead he watches you talk about what you ordered for dinner and how you got the cake from that bakery Sato works part time at, the same one he got your birthday cake from but he doesn't hear a word. Instead all he can see is the golden light from the setting sun worshiping you. Kissing your skin to make it glow, giving your eyes a hue that makes his heart fall into his stomach and illuminating you in a true light. A radiant ethereal thing is what you were and Bakugou was just lucky enough to be standing by you. So out of it he doesn't realize the two of you are at your stop.

"Uh Suki?" Your voice is soft paired with the setting sun has him acting weird. He leans closer to you, pulled by some invisible force before he stops himself as he watches you look up at him beneath long lashes.

"You okay?" You ask almost nervously from his proximity, the smell of spice and caramel wrap around you making you feel warm and fuzzy. Temporarily making you forget that you were trying to act on the train, making you relax as you just talked to Bakugou. He sucks his teeth as he picks up your bag to sling over his shoulder.

"Yea but you were gonna forget your whole damn purse like you always do." He huffs, this time he was the one pulling at your hand in a rush before the doors closed to trap you two on the train. His hand feels warm in yours, his grip tight as he drags you along before pulling you within his sight, another habit of his you happened to notice. Almost reluctantly he lets go of you hand as Kirishima's house comes into view.

"We better have a good time tonight patrol Princess or you owe me a special birthday gift." He laughs causing you to roll your eyes at his stupid nickname that stuck after your first day with him, adamant that the two of you take your route instead of his it was a huge argument. But it was a good thing he listened to the "princess", it put the two of you smack dab in the middle of a robbery. You stick out your tongue.

"Trust me. You're gonna have a good time!" You push him up the steps as he bats away your hands. Opening the front door before everyone jumps out of various and bad hiding spots.

"SURPRISE!!" All of the alumni of class A and some of B shout, a select few already slurring their words. Bakugou's scowl turns into a smirk before he looks over his shoulder at you.

"Aw you did this to me?" His voice is teasing but his eyes almost sparkle, you nod encouraging him to go deeper into the party. As he does people flock to him laughing and yelling out happy birthday until he's sick of hearing it. All the while your smile wanes with the night. Until an hour in that heavy episode hits you full force. Numbness setting in where happiness should be, rotting as it turns to shame and guilt as you watch your friend, your crush, enjoy his night. Bringing a glass bottle to his lips as he talks with Kirishima, who then presses a shot into his hands. Bodies dancing to the house music that beat out of the speakers competing with chatter and laughter.

It felt weird to watch everyone truly enjoying themselves while you felt low. It felt more as if you were standing outside of the house, looking in through the window to see everyone enjoying themselves, no one even knowing who you were as you stared in.

You felt distant, alone. What a shitty way to feel in a room full of people, none of it being their fault and so the guilt pressed harder. Eyes watering as they lingered on the blonde who deserved this celebration and more. Making you decide to give the best birthday gift of them all.

To slip away upstairs and onto the roof, to give the room space to breathe when you felt like suffocating.

Crying to no one but the moon.

And no one noticed. Two hours slip by before Kirishima insists that Bakugou make a wish and eat cake before everyone gets too drunk too. The entire house drunkenly sings happy birthday but Bakugou notices a voice missing. Yours that's just a touch off key, not to mention he didn't hear you say the stupid nickname 'Suki' where his name should be in the song. Plus you weren't one to miss out on dessert. For as long as Bakugou has been working with you, you never turned down the opportunity for sweets. Whether that was taking the long way back to the agency to try to catch a certain street vendor or to hover by the deserts at a party to pick the very best treat.

And if it was a birthday party, you never could shut up that y'all could not leave until after they blew out the candles and made a wish.

His eyes linger for a second longer, making sure he didn't miss you before his heart sinks. He takes in a sharp inhale, thinks on his wish and blows out the candles.

Meanwhile you hear the cheers of everyone down stairs and sob into your knees. You missed your favorite part of birthdays. Of hoping they make a wish that comes true, of watching their face as they think of something quickly or how some people tear up when they finally realize just how loved they are on their birthday.

It isn't long after that do you hear the sound of combat boots on shingles. Whipping your head up in the direction of the sound. Stomach clenching with guilt as you watch Bakugou walking towards you with a slice of cake.

"Brought ya some cake, since I didn't hear you sing off key to me." He says sinking down beside you as you furiously wipe at your tears.

"I'm-um."

"You don't gotta explain yourself to me." He snarls as you stare dumbly at your cake, "You know that."

"I know…" Silence passes slowly, the moon shines overhead and the party carries on below.

"Well, I'm waiting!" Bakugou says dramatically, "You gonna sing or am I gonna have to sing to myself?"

"Oh." It makes you giggle a bit before you blush, realizing he is serious. You take a deep breath before singing "just off key" when you don't, to him.

"Sukiiiiii!" Relief washes over his features when he hears the dumb ass name, "Happy birthday to youuuuuu!"

"Okay, now you can eat the damn cake." He grunts, his smile never wavering as he looks to the empty street below. You follow his eyes, chewing the inside of your lip, setting the cake down.

"What'd you wish for…" Curiosity gets the better of you and earns his intense gaze. He smirks, scoffing at the end.

"You always say you shouldn't tell or it won't come true." He laughs at your pout, before he finally admits "I wished for courage."

With a furrowed brow you give him a puzzled look, he just holds your gaze.

"Why? You're like the bravest hero I know!" Bakugou can hear the truth in your voice, you aren't saying it just to fucking stroke his ego.

You actually meant it, making this conversation that much harder.

"Yea except when it comes to this one thing I want to do. Its fuckin easy and I've done it hundreds of times just as I'm about to do it I fucking back down cause I'm probably fuckin reading into things too much." He leans in closer, again his smell mesmerizes you, causing your body to visibly relax, "Too much of a fuckin bitch, thinking she doesn't want me like I want her. So I wished for the courage to follow through. To fuckin' just do it."

Your heart is racing out of your chest before one of his hands finds the nape of your neck pulling you into a feverish kiss. Teeth gnashing from the passion, lips perfectly modeling to the other before tongues lightly dance around one another. Lengthening seconds into hours with just a few head tilts and plush lips. You moan into his mouth, he pulls away, eyes clouded with lust as a string of spit connects your tongues. He pants, face flushed and his hand warm, almost burning at the nape of your neck, the shingle by his hand charred from restraint as he pants out.

"I wished for you."

[l4verq]

fight back | b.b

bucky barnes x enhanced!reader

in which bucky won’t lay a hand on you no matter what :(

tags : a little brawl, fluff cause icanthelpmyself, mentions of blood, john walker (idk if we're supposed to like him now ??) bucky is a cat lady okk

fic : one shot

a/n : inspired by that scene in the final ep of tfatws when karli is screaming at sam to fight back lol😳

|| gif by @unearthlydust ||

-

one world, one people.

you repeat it in your head one more time, when he comes into view, vibranium gleaming onyx with loops of gold.

you know that he knows you’re here, back to the wall a few feet away, peeking at him.

he doesn’t know that you let him know.

doesn’t know that you laid out a trap and just like the foolish mouse, he walked right into the lion’s den.

although you’re not sure who the fool actually is, when you meet his eyes, knees almost buckling at the sight just cause of how long it’s been without them.

“y/n.” he breathes out, almost in disbelief.

it’s been fourteen months since he woke up to an empty bed and a handwritten goodbye letter folded in a clean white envelope, tucked under a pillow still marked by the soft indentation of your head.

fourteen months since you took off in the dead of night, pulling your- his hood over your head, the cold wind nipping at your skin, almost like it was punishing you.

maybe, it saw what you did.

oh, but fred definitely saw what you did, that damn cat always followed you two around even though it’s owner was the blonde next door. her name wasn’t even fred, bucky came up with it after the third time it snuck into the apartment.

he swore he hated it but always seemed to have a treat lying around in case it did come.

and it did, a lot. neglected by it’s owner, it chose to seek comfort in the couple next door, and sometimes a meal or two.

“sorry, no treat today bub.”

fred scowled - honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if an actual human was living in it - mewling as it came up to you for the usual chin rubs and cooes.

you sighed, caving into it’s antics, squatting to pet it.

cradling it’s head into your palm, she was purring, a very uncommon sight. fred doesn’t purr, she scratches and hisses at anything and everything that moves.

“you’re particularly nice today.” you commented, getting up. it mewled even louder this time but you turned on your heels and headed for the stairs.

you were already late.

your legs picked up pace quickly, easily crossing multiple blocks over in a few long strides owing to the blue serum coursing through your veins.

though your mind remained stationary, fixated on a single face, how it’d crumble at the sight of the letter, how he’d probably end up hating you.

“took you long enough.”

her auburn locks were tied into a loose braid that curved around her neck, the tip sat just below her collarbone, a piss poor job held together by a thin maroon colored band.

it was quintessentially her, the lack of utter patience to spend two minutes looping three knots of hair one over the other.

you jogged over to the other side of the black suv, noticing a stark white rectangle where a liscence plate should be.

“he’s knocked out cold,” you asked as soon as you grabbed the door handle open, “how?”

lazropthalein.

it came in the mail in a brown package, no return address. bucky wasn’t home, he had a scheduled therapy session down the block.

just a pinch is enough.

the text from the unknown number read.

it had no odour, a clean, white colour to it that blended in seamlessly with the flour.

“you baked without me?” bucky gasped, dramatically, hand covering his gaping mouth. his other hand carried two plastic bags, filled to the brim, a purple razor was poking out the top.

he even had to drop the poor bags on the floor, just to emphasize the utter shock he felt.

“i got bored.” you giggled, wiping the countertop with a wet cloth, remnants of flour on the sleek marble turning goopy under it.

“traitor.”

“it’s just cupcakes.”

“still a cake.”

you sighed, “you’re a five year old.”

he huffed, trudging towards the living room, shoulders hunched to really hone in on just how devastating this was for him.

“don’t i get a hug?” you held your arms out, making grabby hands, following him.

apparently, the devastation was to the point where he had to bring out the big guns, the sad baby blues.

the act lasted for another minute? at best. hours later, he was happily munching away.

“i know why it tastes so good.” he moaned, smacking his lips.

your smile faltered a little, did he kn- no, there’s no way he could have known. you burned that little plastic bag as soon as you dumped a pinch in.

“yea?”

he grinned, popping the last bit left in “it was made with your love.”

“how did it work?” your voice rose several octaves higher, amplified further by the cool, silent night.

drugs and sedatives don’t work on supersoldiers yet a certain blue eyed one was back home, unmoving even if you screamed right into his ears.

“dr wilfred, he invented it. the power broker wanted something to balance out our,” she flared her hands at both of you, “super-soldierness, so that we don’t have an upper hand when all’s said and done.”

would the either of you even be alive when all was said and done?

“look, i know you didn’t want to do this but james, he won’t understand. he’s not one o-..”

“yea, can we jus- let’s just get out of here.” you get in beside her, whipping the seatbelt over your torso.

the car was stuffy, felt like a choke around your neck that only seemed to tighten more and more.

“if we go now, there’s no coming back.” she glances at you, hand curled over the gearstick ready to position it in place.

she was giving you an out, one last chance. karli was a lot of things and having a heart inside that cold, bitchy exterior was one.

“i know.”

you sunk deeper into your seat, the hoodie had a faint smell of burnt toast and that cologne which was on sale, almost half off if you cut out the taxes.

it smelled like him, too much like him.

until it didn’t after a few days. but you still slept with it, just outright refusing to wash it despite karli’s snarky remarks about hygiene.

hygiene could go fuck herself, for all you know.

compared to the motels and basements you guys shifted around in, that hoodie was a doctor’s scrubs.

when the moon hung low on the black sky, you tried not to think about him too much. the silence didn’t help, you needed something to drown out your thoughts. that’s when the ‘socialising’ with the other flag smashers started. they were nice.

nice cause you were the leader’s little sister. but also a huge fucking liability because of a certain supersoldier hot on their heels in search of you, ruining every goddamn plan so their niceness was.. limited.

karli was a natural when it came to it, all of it. the talking, rallying of supporters - fuck, she just had a way with words. she could make you believe she hung up the stars in the sky.

probably how she convinced you that holding a room chock full of council members hostage right smack in the middle of nyc was a good idea.

the only idea, more precisely.

you guys had the upper hand, more than a handful supersoldiers at your disposal, capable of taking down the entire military force if you so pleased.

the only playing card they had was one supersoldier, who was better off distracted, kept off the field.

so who better to send to do the deed than the love of his life.

“fred had a baby. multiple babies, spawn of the devil if you ask me. always running around, thrashing the place up.” he takes small steps towards you, slow and calculated, as if a lion stalking around a prey.

“you shouldn’t be here.” you lie through your teeth, a tiny white compared to the ones that’ve rolled off your tongue before.

“i think the neighbours call me a cat lady now,” his eyes shift around and he leans in to whisper, “they haven’t even seen my knitting skills yet.”

“stop.” you think you said it or much rather whispered it, your voice was failing you. he’s getting close, too close for your liking so why aren’t you backing away from him?

“fred misses you, you know. she wonders where you went.” he smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

the hairs on your neck shoot up, a slight twitch of your brow. the way bucky’s ear perk up, you realise it’s not just you and him here anymore.

someone else has arrived.

“i’ve got it handled, john.” bucky turns around, plants him directly infront of you, blocking john’s view of you.

sure enough, it’s john limping in, a nasty gash across his chest.

your blood runs cold because this isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

john isn’t supposed to be here, he’s supposed to be fighting.. oh god. you notice the various splatters of blood on his cowl, on his boot, on his shield.

it’s too much blood from a guy who’s barely bleeding.

“really? i was thinking you should do more than just talk.” he spits on the ground and wipes his mouth.

you notice, the spit’s all blood too.

“i’m giving you a chance to walk away, right now.”

john snorts, leaning sideways to get a view of you, neck craned out.

“and leave this prize all to yourself?” he grins, “i’d be an idiot.”

“you have a death wish then.” you lift your chin a little higher, praying your quickening heartbeat doesn’t give away your calm exterior.

john whistles, grimacing as he straightens, “so, she does talk.”

you scowl, crossing your arms.

he’s in bad shape. he has no chance, not that he ever did even in his best shape. he knows that too yet he’s still here. that sends a chill up your spine.

“go, i got this.” bucky tips his head, glancing at you.

“i don’t need you to save me.” you hiss at him, which comes out a little harsher than you intended. an apology dies in your throat as he flinches just the slightest.

“trouble in paradise?” john’s barely finished saying it before he’s reached behind his back and swinging the vibranium

you hear it before you see it stopped mid air by a gloved hand. then you charge.

it’s all a hazy mix of blue and red until your fist connects with his jaw, sound of something breaking ringing in your ear.

something pulls your waist back, a grip far too strong to be just flesh.

“go, i’ll ta-..” bucky’s barely said anything before an upward cut from john connects to his neck, violent coughs ensuing.

you grip john’s arm before he’s even retracted it back, jump up his back, settling around his neck and twist until you hear a crack and a bloodcurling scream following suit.

he whips his head back right into your stomach, seizes that moment when the wind knocks out of you to pull you by your hair off him.

“i told you to go.” bucky growls, kicking john right in the shin that makes him kneel and you almost fall off but you keep your fingers tightly looped around john’s hair, pulling as hard you can.

but he’s relentless.

your head hits something hard and you realise you’re on the ground now, legs loosely around john’s shoulders, him also on the ground.

it’s like the both of you realise at the same time but you’re quicker. your legs tighten around his neck, against the spot where a thick neck muscle throbs. he claws desperately around, straining for oxygen

soon, his hands lull down, the dull thud on the ground confirming his unconsciousness.

“are you hurt?” bucky’s hovering over you, seemingly unfazed by john’s neck in a chokehold by your legs right now.

you reject his hand he extends and push yourself off the gravelly concrete on to your feet.

“this was a mistake.” you trail off, saying it more to your own self.

you weren’t the lion, you were the stupid fox who thought it was.

stupid enough to believe you were over bucky and that everything wouldn’t come rushing back as soon as you laid eyes on him.

he whips you around by your hand and before you know it, he’s already caught your other fist heading for his sternum. you barely feel the grip, it’s soft, just so incredibly soft and fits so right.

you hate it.

rage bubbles inside you, mostly at yourself. partly at him because he’s not screaming at you or slamming you against the wall or jus- anything.

you wrench your hand away, land a swing which he does nothing to block. his grip on your other hand loosens and he still does nothing when another hit to the jaw leaves him staggering,

instead, he looks at you softly as if resigning himself to your anger, to let it simmer off.

“fight back!” you scream, outstretched palms pushing him back.

he stumbles a few steps back, hands reaching out to yours resting on his chest, fingers intertwining yours tightly.

“stop.” it’s a soft plead, tears spiking the corners of his eyes.

“hit me!” you’re practically begging at this point, thrashing your arms around.

his hands grapple at your shoulders, bringing you to his chest, “it’s okay.”

he smells so sweet, just so sweet that you almost believe him.

“i drugged you and i left you and i-,” you inhale sharply, “i killed so many people, bucky.”

the last fourteen months had escalated quickly from doing what’s right to doing what’s needed, lines blurred between moral ethics and survival.

“it’s okay.” he repeats, hand patting your hair, gentle and soothing. your body betrays you, sinking into his touch, his warmth.

“you should hate me.” you whimper.

you wouldn’t blame him if he did. you doubt he could hate you more than you already did yourself.

he pulls back, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “i couldn’t if i tried.”

god, why does he have to be so.. bucky?

frustated, you spit out, “this? this was a distraction to separate you and sam.”

you don’t say it but it’s understood, understood that you wouldn’t have met him if not for it.

the inner corners of his brows angle up slightly, a ghost of a smile on his lips, “i know.”

your breath hitches, if he knows then wh-

“then, why..?”

you finally look up at him, vision blurry because of the stupid tears pooling at your eyes.

his thumb wipes away a tear dribbling down your cheek, the coldness of the metal a clear contrast to the warm moisture, “you know why.”

-

a/n : this one’s been sitting pretty, collecting cobwebs in my drafts so thought i’d take it out lol, also haven’t been posting fics in a whileeee cause im dumb and i’ve been working on multiple things all at once lol yea this is me rambling and also i just wanna say that i. love. folklore. sm. that whole album has me crying and sad and just :((

[pillow-anime-talk]

protective villain.

synopsis: When you are hurt, your partner isn’t too gentle and forgiving with his own subordinates who made you sad.

# tags: headcanons; human!s/o; current relationships; bullying; mild drama/angst; bit of fluff; rather sfw

includes: gender neutral reader ft. muzan kibutsuji {kny} & meruem {hxh}

— MUZAN

↘ You ran as fast as you could, almost stumbling over your colorful yukata, which at the bottom of the material was already torn and dirty with mud. You’d never really think that any of the demons would attack you, want to kill you and devour you later. But here you are, running towards the house with face wet with bitter tears and red because of hot blushes.

↘ When you noticed the lights on in the whole house, you breathed a little, but you still felt the demon’s cold breath on your sweaty neck. Although he isn’t too strong, could easily cut your body in half. It terrified you so bad.

↘ When you were at the foot of the mountain, your shoe got caught in the protruding roots. A scream spread through the woods and your body fell onto the hard litter, smearing the tops of your clothes, hands, and chin. You screamed again, covering your head with your both hands, and waited for death that should come within the next few, short seconds.

↘ However, nothing like that came. Silence reverberated around you so you turned away, still sniffling. And then you saw him. Muzan. Your beloved partner with the unknown demon’s head in his pale hand.

↘ “Are you okay?” He asked quietly, throwing out the trash that slowly turned to dark ash. Then he walked over to your lying figure and helped you stand up. 

↘ But before you did it, you hugged his chest, letting yourself release a few more heavy tears.

↘ “I w-was so scared, Muzan. I thought I was going to d-die... And I would never see you again...” You grunted weakly and he stroked your head lightly.

↘ “Don’t worry, my love. I will always protect you. Also I’ll kill any human and any demon that harms you or has the intention to do it. Now, let’s go to home, I’ll take care of you, okay?” He kissed you on the forehead, helped you get up once again, and led you to your minka to clean your wounds and prepare you warm bath.

— MERUEM

↘ You were waiting for Meruem in the big, throne room, playing with the fabric of your white shirt, and Neferpitou and Shaiapouf were standing close to you; their job was to keep an eye on you at that time. At one point, however, you got a little sleepy, so you closed your eyes and curled up on throne, breathing calmly.

↘ You didn’t feel threatened because you knew that the Royal Guard would help you in case of problems. That’s why you fell asleep for a short while; completely vulnerable and fragile.

↘ Meanwhile, Pouf was watching you closely; you couldn’t hear his thoughts, which only spoke of how much he hates you and how jealous he is that you had HIS Ant King. He was upset by the fact that you called Your Highness by his name, that you touched him, that his Lord and Ruler smiled at you and always ministered to you, even though you were only a useless and meaningless person.

↘ Pitou sensed his blood lust, immediately looking at him in surprise. A ant who looks like a cat whispered to him from across the room to calm him down, but the second guard only clenched his fists, snorting. If he came up to you now... he could cut your throat or tear your head off... And it was an extremely tempting vision.

↘ Before he could take even the smallest step towards your sleeping figure, he felt his cheek be painfully hit by the King’s sting.

↘ “... L-Lord!”

↘ “Do you realize that I can feel your all intentions?” He asked rhetorically, staring at him blankly. “If you think about Y/N in the wrong way once again, I will personally kill you.”

↘ “O-Of course! It will never happen again, Your Majesty!”

↘ “I hope so. Now, both of you, leave us alone.” He turned and walked towards the throne, taking your tiny body in his arms. You woke up just as he sat down with you on his lap. You smiled warmly at him, stroking his green head.

↘ Only next to you, Meruem was happy, so he was able to kill anyone who thought otherwise.

[cheeriecherry]

Ty for answering that -w- I wanted to make sure of your comfort zones before I asked this. What are your HC for when some of our favorite UA teachers realize they have a thing for a student (who they may or may not have realized have a crush on them back)

Ofc! I should make an official list of thing I’m comfy writing/uncomfy writing <:3c

Anyhoo! I’m assuming our fav teachers are the same, but in case not, this post includes Aizawa, Yamada, and Yagi!

Warnings: Depictions of student x teacher! This is a work of fiction, and in no way represents how I feel about the matter irl. Please read at your own discretion. 

AIZAWA SHOUTA|ERASERHEAD

-He has an ‘oh fuck’ moment XD 

-At first you were just one of his most tolerable students; kind, hardworking, level headed. He sees a lot of potential in you, so he does his best to train you well.

-You have a habit of always wishing him a good afternoon when class is over and you’re headed out the door. He keeps a straight face, but deep down he finds it charming that you always take the time to say goodbye.

-Probably doesn’t realize how deep his feelings for you actually run until you’re older, maybe a second or third year. You come back to his classroom after summer break, and the moment you walk in the door, laughing with a few friends, his heart clenches in his chest. It fucks him up for the rest of the lesson.

-I think he’d let it stew for a while, anger and shame pressing at the back of his mind. Every day he sees you he falls deeper, whether you’re laughing and smiling with friends, or concentrating hard while studying, or even just meandering around the campus. Everything about you draws him in.

-He’d never act on his feelings, not while you’re a student. Besides the fact that he could lose his job if you got caught, he wouldn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize your future. He cares about you too much, and you’ve worked too hard to have it ruined.

-Until he notices you staring at him in class. The moment he catches your eye, you look away and pretend to be interested in something else, but that specific moment sticks out in his mind. It’s the first of many.

-Sometimes you fluster when you get caught looking at him, other times you’re so lost in thought that you don’t even realize he figured you out. It’s usually when you’re daydreaming that Aizawa gets a good look at you; pretty features, soft skin, cute lips wrapped around the end of your pencil as you think about him-

-The moment the bell sings and everyone starts leaving for the day, he beckons you over. Probably sprouts some kind of nonsense about how you’re distracted in class, and how you need to pay more attention or your grades will start to suffer. It’s complete bullshit, but coming from him it sounds serious.

-At least, it would to anyone else but you.

-You sit on the edge of his desk, leaning back casually and swinging your legs, and you look at him in a way that almost makes him feel like prey. 

- “If my grades suffer, you could always give me some extra credit~” you say with a coy smile.

He’s deadpan as always when he replies, “Your grades haven’t dipped. Not yet, at least. This is a warning, Y/N.”

You pout a little, and sigh. You’re obviously dejected about something, but he’s got no idea why you’d be sad about having good grades...

“Pity,” you mumble, “a private tutoring session could have been fun.”

-You slide off his desk and make your way towards the door, and only then does it click for him. You like him, the same way he likes you.

-He calls out to you right before you slide the door open, and motions you back over. You huff and do as he says, and move to sit back on his desk, but just as you’re getting settled, he reaches forward and pulls you into his lap. It feels a little awkward at first, while you squirm and get comfortable, but once you find a good seat it’s actually pretty comfortable.

-You’ve got an arm tossed over his shoulders, and you’re leaning against his chest with your face tucked up by his neck. He resists a shudder at the feeling of your warm breath against his skin, instead looping an arm around your waist to keep you steady.

- “You’ve been flirting with me,” he says, and it’s not a question.

He can feel a smile break out across your face, before your lips press tenderly against his throat. “I have been for the past eight months, but thanks for noticing.”

He deadpans and pinches your thigh gently, earning a muffled squeak from you, a noise he decides he likes very much.

-But the overall question looms over him. What to do now? He didn’t want to put your future at risk, not to simply sate his own desires. He loved you too much to do that to you.

- “We can’t do this,” he says, and he feels you freeze against him. “Not yet, at least.” He feels you relax.

“I figured as much,” you grumble, but there’s no malice in your tone. “I’m gonna wait for you, you know that, right? The moment I graduate, I’m jumping you. I see the way you look at me when you think no one’s watching; you want me just as much as I want you.”

-He doesn’t deny it, simply holds you tighter.

-You smile softly and take his face in your hands. “If it’s gonna be a while until we can do this again, then...a kiss for the road?”

-It’s sweet, and warm, and a little bit desperate. It’s been a long time since he’s had anyone with him like this, and you’re spectacularly warm and pliant. It’s not a kiss he’ll soon forget, and will only serve to make you both yearn for more, but it’s worth it to feel your lips against his.

-You keep things on the down low after that, sneaking conversations here and there and whenever you can. He gives you his phone number in case you ever need anything, but you mostly use it to send him cat memes and suggestive texts.

-He scolds you every single time, but you both know his heart isn’t in it.

-He takes you out on an official date not three days after your graduate.

YAMADA HIZASHI|PRESENT MIC

-Unlike Aizawa, he does not have an ‘oh fuck’ moment. His feelings for you culminate slowly, and he’s quite aware of them, just the same as he’s aware of your feelings.

-He notices your lingering glances, small smiles, and cheerful greetings whenever he’s around. You’re not obvious about it, not being more than friendly from everyone else’s point of view, but he’s perceptive, especially when it comes to people.

-A little piece of him hopes you get over your crush on him, so that he in turn could get over you too, but the big emotions part of his heart wants you to keep loving him in hopes that he might have you some day.

-He tries rationalizing it when he’s on his own, telling himself that he’s really not that much older than you, and that he’s seen larger age gaps, and that after you graduate you’ll just be another hero. He knows he shouldn’t be harboring such strong feelings for one of his students, which is why he doesn’t tell anyone, but he figures that as long as he doesn’t act on it then no one will get hurt.

-But it’s very hard. By the time you’re in your third year, you’re openly flirting with him. He doesn’t necessarily encourage it, but he doesn’t dissuade it either. If anyone ever questions him on the matter, he’ll say that he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings or embarrass you so it’s best to let you work through your feelings on your own.

-He absolutely plays favourites, though. He only calls on you in class when he knows you know the answer to something, and always offers helpful advice about your classes when he’s able to. Some of your classmates grumble about ‘special treatment’ but none of them take it any further than that.

-It all comes to a head one rainy afternoon when he finds you curled up under a tree, looking very, very sad. He hasn’t got anywhere to be, but even if he did, he’d still come over. You’re still his student, even on weekends, and he cares about you a lot.

-You’re surprised when the rain suddenly stops dripping on you, and you look up to find Yamada holding an umbrella over your head, while the rain starts to soak him. You scold him lightly, complaining that you’re already wet so it doesn’t matter if you don’t have an umbrella. He has none of it though, and offers a hand to you.

-He pulls you to your feet and carefully arranges the umbrella so you’re both under it, and after a couple beats of silence, he finally asks what’s got you looking so down.

-You fidget a little, chewing your lip in consideration and wringing your hands. But you’re almost a graduate, you tell yourself, so it shouldn’t matter now if he knows. You’re pretty certain he likes you back, anyways, but on the off chance he doesn’t, you can cope with a month or so of awkwardness.

-You sigh deeply, and explain to him that your classmates were teasing the shit out of your earlier, on a subject that is very near and dear to your heart. You’d had enough of their antics, so you’d left to dorms to get some fresh air, and it had started raining. You’d hoped to get some respite beneath a tree, to no avail.

-He looks you up and down quickly, just now fully realizing how soaked you were. Your clothes cling to your skin in a way he never sees you dress, and it’s a little unsettling how something so mundane gets his heart racing.

-But he pushes through, and rests a hand on your shoulder, going on about how other people’s opinions can hurt but ultimately don’t matter, and that it’s most important how you feel about yourself. He tells you that you’re deserving of kindness and respect, and praises you lightly for being his favourite student and a bright young hero.

-Less than two seconds after he finishes speaking, your lips are on his. Soft and damp, and your fingertips are cool against his jaw where you’re holding him, but he doesn’t mind. Not in the slightest. He drops the umbrella in lieu of gripping at your hips, pulling you flush against him so he can kiss you back.

-You stay there for a few moments, rain soaking further and further into your clothes as your lips mold and slide against each other. He has half a mind to push you back against the nearest surface and deepen the kiss, but he remember that you’re still in public, and you’re still his student.

-He pulls away slowly, grinning inwardly when he sees how breathless and hazy you are. He presses one last kiss against your nose, before he’s grabbing the umbrella off the ground and tugging you along. 

- “That can’t happen again,” he tells you, “Not while you’re still a student here. Okay?”

You begrudgingly agree, even though you know it’s for the best. you really do love him, and you don’t want him to lose his job -or worse- over something like this.

“Understood,” you mumble sadly. “I’ll try to get over it, and I’ll stop flirting with you in class.”

-He tilts his head slightly, a questioning gesture, and gently laces his fingers with yours. Just once, out here in the rain, where no one can see.

“I said ‘while you’re a student’,” his tone is playful. “Sweetheart, the moment you graduate, I’m wining and dining you like it’s nobody’s business.”

-Your heart soars after that, and your anticipation for what’s to come makes your last month of school -and your friends’ teasing- more bearable. That, and the fact that you get to text him whenever you feel like, and how your sweet private conversations. He chides you when you get too lewd about something, either in your words or in photos you send him, and tells you to be patient.

-By the time you graduate, you’re just about ready to say fuck it and dive on him, but he beats you to the punch. After the official ceremony, he scoops you up and spins you around a couple times, asking you how it feels to be an official hero.

-You simply kiss him.

YAGI TOSHINORI|ALL MIGHT

-Most concerned out of the bunch. He’s got one hell of an image to uphold, and he never wants to put any of his students in harms way. He probably notices really early on the way his heart flutters around you, the way his stomach twists up in knots when he hears you laugh, the way it’s hard to breathe when he watches you train. Ngl, it scares him a bit.

-Having feelings like that is one thing, but having feelings like that for a student? That’s got bad news written all over it. And it’s especially bad when he realizes you don’t treat him like you do your other teachers; you’re kinder, softer, more interested in lessons.

-Sure, you could just think he was a good teacher, but he’s had many a people crushing on him over the years, so he knows the signs. You like him.

-He hides himself away from you at first, keeping you at an arms length, a curt distance, a professional ways away. He realizes that he may be coming off a little harshly towards you, often keeping any one on one time to a minimum and overlooking you in class.

-You thought he felt bad for liking you? Look how shitty he feels when he realizes he’s made you sad. The day you seek him out after class and ask him why he dislikes you so much, it feels like someone has stepped on his heart and ground it into the pavement with their heel.

-The way you hold yourself to appear smaller and less threatening, the way you avoid his gaze like you’re afraid of his judgement. He decides then and there to be honest with you. You’re almost done your second year in school, so you’re a little more mature, a little more capable of handling what he has to tell you.

-And tell you he does. He explains the way you make him happy, how he enjoys your company, how your smile warms his heart. He also tells you about the guilt he feels for looking at a student in such a way, and how he wouldn’t be offended if you never wanted to speak with him again.

-You, of course, have not been subtle about your feelings towards him. Strange as the situation is, it’s comforting to know he thinks of you the same way. You take his hand gently, marveling a little at how it dwarfs yours, and assure him that you don’t think less of him, even if he thinks you should.

-You can tell that he’s genuine and serious about having feelings for you. You’d never want to put him at risk for anything, so you quietly ask him if he’d be willing to wait for you, until you graduate. After that, you’ll no longer be his student, there’ll no longer be any risk associated with your relationship, and you can be together.

-He’s got his reservations still, but you talk about it more throughout the months, convincing him by the beginning of your third year to pursue something more after you finish school. Once that’s decided, he finds it difficult to keep you at an appropriate distance, but he does his best. From time to time he’ll keep you after class to ask how things are going, how you’re doing, etc. almost always ending with a gentle kiss on the forehead.

-From the outside, it looks like you’ve patched up whatever hole was formed between you, with only the two of you sharing knowing and longing glances across the room. He tutors you and gives you extra lessons when he’s able to, wanting to make sure you come out of this with as much skill as possible.

-The year is long and every day is more difficult that the last, but the weekend after you graduate, the two of you are curled up on his couch watching a movie after eating dinner, sharing sweet kisses and basking in each other’s presence.

[mirkwoodshewolf]

My little Panther; T’Challa x POC!child reader

*Author’s note*

The world is devastated right now. I had read the news last night and I’ve done my mourning, now it’s time for the tribute. I’ve had this on my Wattpad for a good couple of years but never transferred it to here. But hearing the loss of Chadwick, I knew I had to finally post this fic onto my tumblr so that you all can have a read of it. 

We all miss you Chadwick and you were taken away from us FAR. TOO. EARLY. But you didn’t let your cancer define you, you kept working and helped bring such an iconic character to life, as well as sharing the stories of SO. MANY. REAL. LIFE. PEOPLE (Marshall and Jackie Robinson) to screens worldwide. You will be deeply missed and will always be an inspiration to everyone. You and Stan ‘the man’ Lee are once again together in Heaven awaiting for the rest of the Avengers to Assemble.

Long. Live. King. Chadwick. Boseman.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@ixchel-9275​

@queensdivas​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@platawnic​

____________________________________________________________

I was hiding within the den eating the food that my mother had collected. All I remember from my old home was fire and death, I remember running to find my parents but then I had gotten lost in the jungle. It was then I came upon a cave, well a den really of a black panther and her cubs. Ever since then I have lived with my mother and three brothers.

I ate the antelope just like my brothers, wrestled like them and slept like them curled up next to my mother's fur. Even though I was different than them and didn't look like them, my mother treated me like I was one of her own and treated me no less. I was currently being bathed by my mother when we heard something outside.

She went on the defense position and gathered me and my brothers up and pushed us closer to the den as she went outside and stalked to whatever it was that was close to our den. I know I shouldn't have but I got curious so I stepped out of the den and peeked over the log to see my mother roaring and swiping her massive paws at another black panther, but this one was different.

This Black Panther mainly stood on two legs, and its fur didn't look like fur and its eyes were not the pure golden cat eyes like my mother's. Mama roared and swiped her paw again at this intruding Black Panther and the other Black Panther backed away and submitted to my mother before turning and walking away but then I saw it look right at me.

I ducked behind the log and raced back into the den just as mother came back inside. She then nudged me towards her back, I got on and soon she led me and my brothers out of the den and we all searched for a new one. Knowing that we had been found, we couldn't stay in the same place for long. Mama always wants us to move if ever any predator found our den in order to ensure our survival.

*T'Challa's POV*

After arriving back to the palace, I couldn't help but think about that child I had seen in the jungle. It was a simple border patrol but what I wasn't aware was that I had stumbled upon a mother panther's den. I had activated my suit just in case but I didn't engage against the mother for I knew she was probably protecting her cubs. That's when I saw the child hiding within the bushes.

After that I had backed away from the mother panther slowly to show her that I wasn't a threat to her or her cubs. Once I was far enough from the den, I decided that it would be best to head back to the palace since there was no sign of trouble, but still my mind kept going back to that child. Who was she? How long has she been in the jungle? Did she have a family?

"Ther. Brother!" My sister's voice snapped me out of my state of mind and she sassed at me, "Did you listen to a word I said?"

"So sorry Shuri, I just—I was thinking about that child".

"A child?"

"Yes, while I was patrolling the jungle to check and make sure our borders were still safe from any weapons traders, I came across this child in the jungle".

"Was she Wakandan?"

"Possible, she definitely wasn't an outsider I know that much".

"I'll see if I can any records on any villages that have been attacked".

"Thank you Shuri". It was then my kimoyo beads activated.

"Ohh your girlfriend calling you?"

"Stop it!" I then allowed the image to come up and up came Okoye.

"My King" she stated.

"What is it Okoye?"

"Trouble by the river province, poachers are approaching the reserve".

"I am on my way". Okoye's image then disappeared. Before I walked out, Shuri stopped me. She then handed me the updated AMP beads.

"Take these with you, they are a much better improvement than the last ones".

"Thank you Shuri". She nodded then I took off running out of the lab.

*My POV*

After finding our new home, I was outside our new den playing with my brothers when I took notice of something shiny just ahead of me. While my two brothers were busy playing with each other and my mother was bathing my other one, I walked away and followed the shiny bright light.

I tried to catch it in my hands but for some reason it didn't want to be caught. I was so caught up in trying to catch the light that I didn't realize that someone was hiding behind the tall grass. As I caught the light one last time, I heard a shot and I was soon caught in a trap.

I cried and snarled out before three men picked me up and one of them spoke.

"She may not be an animal but she'll still sell for a big price".

"Put her in the trunk with the others" another spoke. I thrashed around and let out a cry for help to my Mama. The men put me in this large metal machine and soon took off. I kept crying and crying until I saw my Mama running just behind roaring up at me. She ran faster and faster until she lept in the car.

I tried to reach out for her but the metal trap they put me in kept me from reaching my mama. She managed to get herself in and she walked towards me and used her teeth to free me, but it was then one of the men held a gun in their hands and a loud bang was heard again. Next thing I saw was my mama rolling outside on the ground.

I cried out for her when suddenly the large machine stopped and I along with a few other animals were tossed around.

*3rd Person POV*

The poachers came out of the truck after their car broke down and crashed into a tree. They all complained to each other pointing the blame on the other when the leader silenced them and ordered them to get into defense position.

The men spread out with their guns drawn and as one of them held out his gun he heard a twig snap and turned to see nothing. That was until he looked up and saw a man in a cat suit.

Next thing the poachers, one of their men was tossed at the truck leaving a huge dent in the door. The Black Panther soon showed up and attacked another one of the poachers. T'Challa now stood before the remaining two and as the leader and his second in command were firing at T'Challa. He merely just walked towards them before striking the second in command.

The leader took out his knife and tried to stab T'Challa but he managed to dodge every swing until he grabbed the poacher's hand that was holding the knife and twisted it until he let go and heard it snap. The leader screamed in agony and T'Challa told him venomously.

"Poaching is illegal in these lands, you will be brought before the council and faced with the consequences". T'Challa then knocked the leader unconscious and walked towards the back to see the animals that were inside but was surprised to see another thing in the truck, or rather someone.

It was the child he had seen earlier today.

*My POV*

As I tried to get out of my cage, I saw the same Black Panther that my Mama faced earlier today come around into view. I froze in my spot just staring at him. It was then his panther face disappeared and it showed that he was actually a man.

He had deep dirty brown eyes and fur along his lips and chin and on top of his head. He almost reminded me of a growing lion. As he got closer to me, I snarled and hissed at him trying to be brave like my Mama.

"Easy, easy. I'm not going to hurt you". He held out his hands to me as he slowly came closer and closer to my cage. He then unlocked them and opened it up and proceeded to back away. "It's okay now, come on out now". I sniffed curiously and slowly crawled out of the cage. "That's it, it's okay. I won't hurt you". As I got out of the cage more, I looked between him and my way of escape.

Then like a shot I took off running as fast as I could with the Panther man behind me crying out for me. I raced down the trail until I came to my Mama. She was still down and there was red stuff around her head and fur. I walked up to her and nuzzled her fur and roared out to her. I shook her with my hands and bit into her ear but she still wouldn't wake up.

I roared at her as I felt wetness come down from my eyes then I curled up underneath my mama's paw and nuzzled her head as the wetness continued to come down my face. The Panther man soon came up close to me and I looked up at him and he looked at me with sad eyes.

"I am sorry". He then proceeded to come closer to me and my Mama but I stood over her growling and roaring at him. I let out a hiss but he raised his hands and said to me, "I won't hurt her, I promise". I glared at him. It was because of his kind that my Mama was dead.

Mama always warned us that ape-like creatures called Humans were always to blame for territory loss, stealing our food and killing us to extinction. Now because of his kind, my Mama is gone. But yet looking at his eyes, I felt like I could trust him. I ceased my snarling and just held onto my mama's body.

*T'Challa's POV*

As I looked down at this mother black panther, my heart sunk. She was only trying to save her cub, even though this was a human child, this mother panther looked at her like she was one of her own cubs. For her memory I decided to call this Pantheress "Kamunyak" meaning "Blessed One". I knew it would be dark soon and I had to get this child back to the palace to get her some warmth before the cold settled in.

Wakanda maybe the hottest places in Africa, but its nights are unpredictable. Some nights it would be cool enough to sleep outside, but sometimes they would be so unbearable cold. I gently touched her shoulders and could feel her fighting against me as I picked her up.

"Shhh, shh. Calm down, calm down" I told her in Wakandan. I had to get her calm because I didn't want her to hurt herself. She was raised to believe that she is a panther and I don't want her to bite into my suit and allow the Vibranium to hurt her. I placed her close to my chest and rubbed her back calming her in Wakandan. When it seemed to work, I kept her close and headed back to the jet to take her back to the palace.

When we arrived back at the palace, I had her put in a special room with a bed and warm food so that she could eat real food. And not knowing how long she has been in the jungle or when her last meal was, I took the liberty to give her the best and healthiest foods Wakanda has to offer.

As I observed her, my sister came back with some news. She pulled up on the screen as she stated.

"It turns out this girl comes from a village near Wakanda. It was attacked by some of Klaue's men and burned to the ground. She must've found a way to escape and has been living in the jungle since. How she's managed to survive for 5 years I do not know".

"A Mother panther raised her as one of her own cubs, it would seem Bast herself came down and decided to protect this child as if she were her own". I said out loud.

"You're telling me we have ourselves a Mowgli? Like that story and movie Baba showed us".

"It would seem so Shuri".

"What do you suggest then my King?" Okoye soon stated out.

"She is a child with no family to call her own, and her adoptive mother was shot and killed in front of her. This child needs the best care and only we can offer it".

"Brother are you suggesting that you are going to raise her?"

"I feel responsible for this child's mother's death. I cannot just let her die with no one to take care of her, knowing that we can teach her who she really is". I stated firmly. My general and sister looked at me then Okoye bowed her head and said.

"Just don't freeze when her feral stage comes back".

"What are you talking about? I never freeze" I stated. I then turned my attention back to the girl and decided to talk to her. I opened the door and shut it behind me. She instantly became alert of my presence and she got down in defense position baring her teeth at me. "Easy little one, I am not here to hurt you, may I sit down?" She seemed to understand me which was a good sign, at least then I knew she could understand me.

I took a seat far enough from her but kept my eyes on her in case anything were to happen.

"My name is T'Challa, do you remember your name?" She remained quiet and poked around the fruit and sniffing them like a cat would. I took a deep sigh and told her, "I know losing your Mama was hard, I lost my Baba not too long ago, and I would give anything to save him too. But I swear to you on my Baba's soul and that of your mother's, I will look after you and protect you. You will never be alone". She then looked up at me and I remained still as I saw her actually coming up towards me.

Slowly and cautiously, but sure enough she came right in front of me until she wrapped her arms around me and nuzzled into my chest. I placed my hand on top of her head and stroked her hair and slowly wrapped my arm around her to pick her up and place her in my lap and hold her in my arms as she nuzzled deeper into my chest.

Within several months of teaching and immense patience, I had given her the name (y/n) was soon learning how to be a human girl, learning how to eat properly, how to walk, learning the history of Wakanda, even learning how to speak both in English and Wakandan.

I along with Nakia and Shuri taught her everything she needed to know and were there to give her the love she deserved and needed. As night fell, I tucked (y/n) in after a long day of staying with Auntie Shuri in her lab while I dealt with some political matters after opening up Wakanda to the rest of the world. I stroked her hair and kissed her forehead and whispered to her.

"Goodnight my little panther cub". And as I turned off her light and was about to shut the door, I heard her voice say.

"Goodnight Baba". I let a warm smile take over me as I shut the door behind me and decided to turn in for the night myself.

[chris-evans-indian-fanfic]

Longing

Chapter 1

Description: Chris Evans becomes obsessed with you when he realises he can't have you. Eager to be with you in some form or the other, he starts writing fanfiction, where both of you are passionately in love with each other. But what happens when his imagination starts to merge with his reality in his subconsciousness?

Warnings: This entire mini-series will contain smut, bad language and angst. ONLY PROCEED IF YOU ARE 18+

This first chapter is inspired by the GIF below from @navybrat817 and @stargazingfangirl18 's ShamelessHoesForChris writing challenge. Click here to know more

A/N: I do not know Chris Evans personally. This fic is a work of imagination and should only be used as such. It doesn't comment on Chris or anybody else personally. It is also not meant to destroy his reputation or paint him in a bad light. I admire the guy and he really seems like a genuinely nice person. Again, I repeat, THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION SO TREAT IT AS SUCH!

A/N 2: I did search quite a lot on the internet and didn't come across a fic like this. Which makes me nervous and also kind of excited that I get to do something unique? Please please give me your criticism and feedback on this! Would love to hear your thoughts.

A/N 3: I have used a few big words throughout the series because this fic is from Chris' POV and we all know that he's a bit of a wordsmith 😅 I had never even heard these words before in my life. So please let me know if I have used them in an incorrect manner. 

My Main Masterlist

I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but Tumblr and AO3, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

…

The best thing about shooting Defending Jacob? Chris got to stay in his house in Boston. The worst part about working on the set? He was currently stuck in a room engulfed in hot, angry flames of fire. The fire had abruptly started due to a short circuit and spread across the set in the blink of an eye. Coughing, Chris doubled down on the floor, his breathing becoming more laboured with each second. 

The smoke stung his eyes as he looked around for a fire extinguisher. He tried calling for help, but only small grunts managed to escape his lips. Just as he was on the verge of losing consciousness, he heard a voice. Your voice.

"Is anyone here?" you called out, your voice faint in his ears. "Hello?" 

Chris tried to shout again, but only sank further towards the floor.

Luckily, you opened the door of his room and found his almost crumpled body on the ground. Using the fire extinguisher, you managed to douse as many flames as you could, while also covering Chris with a thick blanket. As the room was still filled with smoke, you pressed a wet towel on his face, asking him to breathe through his nose. 

Slowly, you managed to drag him out of the room and into the corridor, the fire reduced to embers in most places thanks to your fire extinguisher. Chris being a heavy man, you tried your best to support his weight as much as you could, your body almost stooping to form a right angle.

Just as you thought you might be in the clear, you heard a crack from above. Looking up, you realised that the ceiling was about to cave in and so, on impulse, you pushed Chris out of the way, as portions of the false ceiling fell on you, knocking you unconscious. 

Chris, in his state, vaguely realised what happened, before he lost his balance and fell to the ground a few feet away from you, his left arm stretched towards your limp body, as if reaching out.

Sirens of the firetruck and the ambulance filled the heavy air. A deep groan escaped his lips as he attempted to crawl towards you, a failed effort. Where did it all go so wrong? he thought. I was supposed to be the one to save you angel! You should be falling in love with me!! And break-up with your good for nothing fiancé! 

Overwhelmed with emotions, Chris started drifting off to sleep, your name leaving his lips in the form of a desperate whisper.

🔥

8 MONTHS AGO

Chris met you for the first time at the table read for Defending Jacob. You didn't strike him as anyone special. Being the Junior Assistant Scriptwriter for the series, you were just in the room as a formality. It was your job to jot down the minutes of the meeting, and have the parts of the script marked which were supposed to be changed slightly. 

You managed to stay invisible for more such meetings. An introvert by nature, you kept to yourself even when the shooting started. 

It was in the Week 4 of the shooting when Chris actually started to notice you. He realised you were always absent from his house parties, never stayed around on the set for after-work shenanigans and, you never hung out with any of your crew-mates for a drink.

What really drove his attention towards you were your random acts of kindness. He once saw you feeding a homeless man in the alley behind the set. Unknown to you, it was where Chris often hid from his cast and crew to smoke. 

Then there was the bit with setting up of a mobile blood donation camp on the set, which was completely your idea. He had also seen you distribute fliers for animal adoption centres and NGOs who fought for climate preservation.

You always made sure everyone on the set ate before you did, and the ones who couldn't due to work, you were sure to help them and share their load so they could have lunch.

But one particular incident made him see that you were no ordinary woman. 

It was a particularly tough day on the set. They were shooting the 35-second sex scene between him and Michelle. While these scenes looked easy on the screen, they always made Chris feel uneasy about himself. "What if my body is not upto the mark?" , "I don't want to hurt Michelle in any way" , "God I hope I don't touch her inappropriately by mistake" and more such troubling thoughts clawed at his mind. After the scene finally ended, he felt the lustful eyes of the crew feasting on him, admiring his body on display. 

He hurried towards his van, avoiding to look at anyone, until his eyes met yours for a total of 5 seconds. He expected to see the same smirk to be reflected in your eyes as everyone else's. Instead, he saw a completely different emotion. He saw sadness, sympathy, and most importantly, recognition of his discomfort etched on your face.

After that, Chris started to keep a close eye on you. You always wore comfortable clothes, with loads of pockets. Yet somehow, they always fit you well. He also noticed that you always got your own lunch, refusing to eat the food available on the set. 

A few days after filming the sex scene, he decided to try to speak with you. Palms sweaty, he headed towards you and gently said your name. 

"Hi," he said, and stopped. 

"Hello Mr Evans," you greeted him back, a little surprised that he knew your name. 

He continued to look at you, bright cerulean eyes bearing into yours, apparently lost. You blinked twice, unfazed, and a little uncomfortable, "Can I help you sir?"

Chris shook his head slightly. He was so used to women fawning all over him, that your utter lack of excitement on seeing him deterred him a bit. 

He cleared his throat, a little flustered, *Ahem yeah… I wanted to ask… something… karaoke!" he managed to mumble, "It's karaoke night at my house. Tomorrow. Will you come? At night?"

"Umm… No Mr Evans. I am sorry I will not be able to make it," you politely declined while taking a small step back.

"Oh. Uhh… well we can have it any other night if you want," he cleared his throat again, sweat starting to gather on his forehead as he noticed your movement, "You never visit any of my house-parties."

You smiled a bit, "I like to go home early. I want to spend as much time as I can with my fiancé and my cat."

Chris raised his eyebrows at that revelation, "Fiancé? I… I don't see a ring."

"That's because there isn't one," your smile widened as you pulled the chain around your neck and revealed a locket. It was an intricately carved sunflower locket, with small, delicate curls nestled inside the petals. 

Chris glanced at it with disdain. It looked hand-made, cheap, "Is that… is it made from clay?"

"Yes Mr Evans," you beamed at the locket, admiring it with love and pride, "My fiancé is a potter and he made this himself. It took him over 6 hours just to carve all the petals. But he still made it because he knows how much I love sunflowers."

"So he's too poor to give you an appropriate ring?" Chris snapped at you. 

Offended, you looked at him in shock and anger as he continued. "You deserve someone who can afford to give you an expensive engagement ring. Not some cheap craft project."

You grit your teeth at his comment, "Unlike some people, I don't look at the price of the gifts, I look at their value. While this," you held the locket in front of his eyes, "is worthless for you, it is priceless for me."

You placed the locket back inside your shirt and walked away. Chris stood rooted at the spot, biting his cheek hollow. He hadn't meant to drive you away. He had just wanted you to see him as a prospective partner. 

As he turned towards his trailer, an idea popped into his head.

🔥

Next Friday saw you and your fiancé walk into the bowling alley. The production house had organised a "Bring Your Partner to Work Day" and you both were excited to step out of your routine lives. 

A few people on the set recognised your fiancé Aiden from his YouTube channel. Kenneth, an Assistant Set Designer, drooled over him, "Maaahhnnn! I love your pottery videos! They are so calming dude. How do you make them so relaxing?"

The ever shy and soft-spoken Aiden gushed at the compliment, turning a shade of red which you always found adorable. Aiden was almost the same height as you, with a lean figure and a kind, freckled face. Your friends always told you that Aiden's looks were nothing to brag about, but you disagreed. Because for you, this man was the most handsomest, cutest and sexiest person in the world. 

And you knew he felt the same way about you. That's why, even after being together for almost 5 years now, you two still looked at each other with heart eyes.

As the party progressed, you made sure to avoid Chris, and so far, you were successful. That was until he softly said your name. 

With dread in your stomach, you and Aiden turned around to face the man. Aiden knew of your previous encounter with Chris, and tried to square his shoulders as much as possible, but Chris' towering physique and personality literally made it impossible for Aiden to appear tough.

You gave Chris a curt nod and received a sweet smile in response. 

"I believe I owe you an apology," he confessed, "I am sorry. My behavior that day was inexcusable." He paused for reaction, but looking at your hesitant faces, he continued, "It was quite a hectic day on the set and I guess I took it all out on you," he looked towards you, "You know I am capricious by nature. It takes me some time to become gregarious. But," he raised his hands in the air, "I repeat, the way I acted was inexcusable. I am sorry."

He extended his arm towards Aiden, "You are a porter I believe."

"Potter, sir," Aiden corrected while shaking his hand and introducing himself.

You bit your tongue, knowing that Chris was mocking you with his false apology. 

He invited Megan to join the conversation, "Megan loves handmade ceramics. Maybe she would be interested in your work."

Introductions were made again, and as the conversation pursued, it arrived at the topic of your marriage.

"Have you guys decided on a date yet?" asked Megan as Chris looked at you. 

"We are planning to get married as soon as the shooting ends for DJ," you smiled.

"Oh really? Wow that's… unusual," Megan tried her best to hide her surprise.

"We don't know exactly when will the shooting end," Chris said with a frown on his face.

"That's not an issue Mr Evans. We are actually planning to get married at the courthouse," revealed Aiden.

"You know if money is an issue then we would be more than happy to help you guys out," Chris offered in a sincere tone. 

"Oh no no Mr Evans. Money isn't an issue," you clarified, "We have decided to donate the money we had intended to spend on the wedding."

"But thank you so much for the generous offer, we really appreciate it," Aiden added with a sincere smile.

"You know a lot of couples are doing that nowadays. It's a trend I believe," Megan commented, "Where are you going to make the donation?"

"The local orphanage where I grew up. We both love kids and, it just seemed to be the perfect choice," Aiden beamed at you. 

You mirrored his expression while Chris scowled. "I think everybody should get the wedding of their dreams, and you" he stated, pointing towards you, "deserve much more than a courthouse wedding. Don't you want to get married in a beautiful church? Walk down the aisle in a gorgeous white gown? And get married to a man who can actually fulfill your wishes and desires?"

Squaring your shoulders, you looked at Chris dead in the eye, "I am marrying the man of my dreams Mr Evans. The wedding ceremony doesn't matter to me. What does matter is the beautiful life we will begin together. Now if you will excuse us," you linked your arm with Aiden's, "we need to leave."

Chris watched you leave as Megan tried to distract him with something else. Tonight did not go the way he had anticipated.

He left the party shortly after you, directly heading for his home. Standing under the cold shower, he tried to reason with himself. He was acting out of character. There was no reason for his behavior. You had made it ample clear that you loved your fiancé and that nobody in the world could sway you.

Then why was he so hell-bent on claiming you as his?

Because she's perfect for you, a voice answered him. 

Yeah, but she belongs to someone else, he argued.

So what?, the voice urged, Fight for her. You saw her wimp of a fiancé. You can break him into two pieces without breaking a sweat. She is made for you. Just you, and nobody else.

"I… Just… No," Chris stammered loudly as he shook his head, trying to get rid of the voice in his mind.

He tried to meditate, but it didn't work. Dodger too, was unable to distract him. Even his books on self-help and mental health were of no use.

As a last resort, he opened his laptop, but his fingers halted at the search bar, the cursor blinking back at him.

He was too tempted to search for you again. The last time he had Googled you, he had been satisfied with the results. You often volunteered with a few NGOs, coordinated multiple donation drives, visited orphanages and taught underprivileged children. His heart had melted at a particular photograph- you were holding an 8-month-old girl in your arms, while looking over a painting drawn by a 4-year-old boy as the child looked up at you with a toothy smile. 

It reminded him of everything he wanted to have, but still couldn't. 

He closed his eyes and started kneading his forehead with his palms. Everybody he knew always only had the best things about him. Right from Scarlett to Mark to Olivia to every fucking person he had ever worked with, everybody said he deserved to have a loving wife, a stable family. 

And yet, here he was, on a Friday night, home alone with a beer bottle, on the verge of anxiety. 

Was it just anxiety though?

Who the fuck is Aiden and why does he deserve to be with her? the voice in his head was back.

They love each other, they want to get married, Chris reasoned.

He doesn't hold a candle next to you, the voice persisted, People love money more than they love others. She will come to you. But you need to let her know you are available. You need to take her to-

"No," Chris interrupted the voice loudly, "No. This is unhealthy. No."

Reaching for his phone, he searched for his therapist's number, when the voice chuckled, You really think a shrink is going to help you with this? Eh? They are only going to ask you to fuck another pussy, or read more books. And I will be damned before you touch another book about trees. 

Chris shook his head again, but in vain. Unable to find the number in his contacts, he turned to Google for the second time that night and started searching for therapists in his area. The voice tut-ted, Yeah, as if the psycho doctor is going to shut their trap about Chris Evans crying over a girl.

Chris almost crushed his bottle in frustration. He couldn't let the voice take over. Not now. Not after working his ass off to get where wanted in his career. Taking a deep breath, he looked at the screen again and came across the headline- "Why Do People Write Fanfiction?" The word fanfiction seemed vaguely familiar to him. He was going to ignore the article and scroll downwards, but the brief underneath the headline made him stop- …mostly, people write fanfiction to stay in touch with the characters they love," says leading Psychologist Andrea Williams.

Intrigued, he opened the article and started reading. Then he opened another, and another and by the time he was done, he had read 6-7 articles on the concept of fanfiction and what it entailed.

Sighing, he opened a new word document. He was reluctant to type a letter, let alone a whole fictional story. He had tried everything and yet, you chose to occupy a rent-free space in his mind. 

Now all he needed was a reference.

He minimised the document, and opened a new tab on his browser. His hesitant fingers typed the words - Chris Evans Fanfiction - into the search bar, and he instantly winced.

Millions of search results were displayed before him, and as he read the descriptions of each one of them, he realised that 99% of these stories were porn. There was no sugar-coating it. On the 5th page of the search results, he luckily found a story sans the erotica. It was a cute one-shot about him going on a first date with the reader. He read it with squinted eyes, afraid that a sex scene might jump out of the blue, but luckily, nothing of the sort happened. 

Chris liked reading it. It was an innocent story filled with romance. 

But the only problem? It was written from the reader's point of view. He checked a few others, and realised they were all written from the women's perspective, not his.

He sat back in his chair, turning his head such that he was looking at the ceiling, contemplating his options. 

You want her, the voice whispered.

Reluctantly, he typed the first word that came to his mind. Your name. 

Chris rested his chin on his palm, wondering where to start. If this were fiction, would tonight have gone different? Would you have visited his house for karaoke that night? 

Tapping his fingers on the desk, he bit his tongue in thought. Thinking it was better to start at the beginning, he started typing from his POV-

The first time I saw her I thought she was pretty. I saw her during meetings and the shooting. Then one day I saw her giving food to a homeless man-

Deleting his words, Chris shook his head. This was insane! Right? You were a real human being and it was unethical of him to write this! He needed to learn to handle his feelings. 

If you don't have the balls to fight for her, then be with her in the stories you write. Grow a spine Evans, whispered the insulting voice.

Hesitating, he tried to write another paragraph, which ended up getting deleted. 

Try again, the voice coaxed him. Pour your heart into this. Write better. 

Taking a sip of the beer, Chris started typing again-

It was lunchtime when I saw her arranging some equipment on the table. Her back was facing me as I carefully approached her, afraid to startle her. I breathed in her scent, light, floral and fresh, before whispering her name.

She turned around, a bit surprised to see me, but she smiled nevertheless. Oh gosh her smile. I had seen her smile a few times on the set, but in person, it took my breath away. 

"Hi," I managed to greet her shyly. She matched my response.

"I was wondering if you would like to sing karaoke with me? There's a karaoke party tonight at my house if you would like to come," I asked her hopefully.

Her expression turned remorseful as she apologised, "I cannot come Mr Evans. My fiancé won't let me."

Imagine my surprise when I found out about her fiancé. "I didn't know about your fiancé. Why won't he let you come?" I asked her, concerned as she started sniffing a bit.

"He's… he's very strict Mr Evans. He doesn't like it when I go out with my fri-friends or co-workers," she shared between her light sobs.

My heart broke into pieces on hearing her confession. I had often noticed her taciturn behaviour on the set, but I had no idea about the reason behind it.

I raised my hands to cup her face. I was itching to wipe her tears with my lips, but instead, I used my thumbs. 

"I want to help you. Please let me," I requested.

"Nobody can help me Mr Evans. I am stuck with a monster." She pulled a chain from underneath her shirt and I got a glimpse at the marks on her neck. "Aiden gave me this chain and locket instead of an engagement ring. He said it will be better than a ring. And now he-" she started sobbing harder. I pulled her into my chest, running my right hand through her hair as my left hand soothed her back.

"And now he uses it as a leash," my angel whispered, horrified, "he says I do not deserve a ring."

I hugged her tighter and thankfully, she buried her face in my chest, "You are no longer stuck with him. Are you listening to me?" I bent my face to bring my lips near her ears, "I will make sure that you are free of him."

She shook her head, reluctantly pulling away from me, "No Mr Evans. I cannot-"

"Yes you can," I interrupted her. "You are going to come to my house for karaoke tonight. Message Aiden right now, and tell him that I will be dropping you home. Okay?"

After some coaxing, she agreed. I held her close as she typed out the message, her hands shaking around her mobile phone. Finally she clicked on the SEND button.

I brushed a kiss on her forehead, "Wait for me in the back alley after the shoot, okay? I will pick you up from there."

She nodded gratefully in response.

I couldn't wait for the shoot to be over that day. In my eagerness, I even messed up a few takes, mumbling over my lines like an idiot. But eventually, I got through the day. 

I was excited when I picked her up after the shoot. I could see she was nervous and maybe a little bit scared, but she still entered my car anyway. So I made small talk with her and tried to put her mind at ease.

Finally, when we reached my house, she was in awe. 

"This is the most beautiful house I have ever seen Mr Evans," she gasped as I led her inside, "I don't think I have ever seen anything like it before!"

I chuckled, "I am happy you like it. It… it just feels empty sometimes, you know? I find loneliness ubiquitous in this house."

You looked at her puzzled expression and smiled. "Ubi-what was that word Mr Evans?" 

"Ubiquitous," I replied, "it means something that is present and is found everywhere."

"Ahh okay," she nodded, "thank you for teaching me."

"I will accept your gratitude only on one condition."

She tilted her head ever so slightly, "And what would that be Mr Evans?"

I smiled as I slightly bent down and held her hand, "You need to start calling me Christopher."

Visibly flustered, my angel looked down at her feet. "I-I can't Mr Evans," she said in a low voice.

"Why can't you?"

"I respect you too much sir," she confessed.

"Hey," I gently nudged her forehead with mine, "I want you to say my name. Please?" 

I stared into her eyes as she met mine. God.

There was something about her eyes that was absolutely riveting. The depth of her eyes pulled me in towards her as I read the plethora of emotions hidden within them. Her gaze searched my face for malice, deceit, but only found love and trust in return.

I slowly cupped her face as her breath hitched in her chest. I could feel my own heart race. Bringing my face as close as I could to hers, I whispered, the distance between our lips fast closing, "Please."

She parted her lips ever so slightly. I felt her warm breath on mine as she obliged, "Christopher."

I closed my eyes as I heard the most melodious symphony, my name draped in her sweet voice.

I dipped my head to kiss her, feel the shape of her lips, but she stepped back.

"I-I am st-still engaged Chris-Christopher," she stammered.

I straightened myself, my hands no longer cupping her face, "I understand. I am sorry. Would you like-"

Before I could finish, a car honked outside. While I was curious at the intrusion, her eyes widened with fear. 

"That's him," she gasped, "Aiden is here. He found me."

"How is that possible?"

"He has a location app installed on my phone through which he tracks my location," she revealed, visibly shaking at the thought of greeting her fiancé.

"Stay here. You will be safe inside. Let me handle him," I said, squeezing her shoulders.

I walked out of the house and towards the car. The vehicle didn't look in good shape, it's owner even more so.

Aiden manually rolled down his window and spat on the ground. Fumes of cheep alcohol and stale cigarette smoke escaped through the window. "Where is she?" he hollered.

"That's not your concern anymore. She's breaking up with you," I crossed my arms and stood facing him. "If you know what's good for you, you will leave her alone and stay out of her life."

Aiden exited the car at that threat, the door of the vehicle rattled as he opened it. "She said that?" he scoffed, "Color me surprised, I thought the little mouse had no fight left in her. Bring her out here. I want to hear," he wriggled a finger at me, "whatever the fuck you are saying from her own fucking mouth."

"Not going to happen Aiden. You followed her here against her own wishes. Now scoot off before I call the cops," I warned.

"You think I will be scared of some Hollywood prick who shits diamonds?" he sneered. 

"No. But you should be scared of the law. You are currently harassing the owner of this private property, not to mention you have clearly abused your girlfriend mentally, emotionally and physically. So be sensible," I took a step towards him, "and fuck off."

"STOP," she shouted as she trusted towards us. She stood in front of me, as if to guard me from her monster of a fiancé, "Please don't hurt him. I will come with you. Just let him be," she pleaded with him as he smirked. 

Before he could react, I pulled her behind me, making sure my body was shielding her from Aiden.

"She's a gold-digging bitch. You stay away from her," he pointed at me as he tried to reach her. 

I pushed him away once and kept my hand on his weak, thin torso. Turning my head, I asked her for the last time, "Are you sure you want to go with him? I can save you. I will protect you, provide for you and keep you happy!" I urged her.

She looked at me with hope and helplessness. Slowly, she glanced at Aiden who looked like he was ready to commit murder. Sobbing uncontrollably, she removed the chain with the sunflower locket and threw it at his feet. 

"Leave me alone," she managed to mumble at him.

Furious, Aiden growled and tried to pounce at her. Fortunately, I intervened on time and punched his sorry excuse of a face into the ground. 

She gasped as Aiden fell with a thud. Embarrassed, he slowly got up and dusted himself, muttering under his breath as he sat inside his wreck of a car. 

"Don't bother coming back to gather your stuff! I am burning it all tonight you cock-sucking bitch!" and with that outburst, Aiden was finally gone.

She was sobbing and shaking uncontrollably at what had just transpired. I wrapped her in my arms to let her know she was safe. Within moments, I felt her ease into my body. 

I closed my eyes and smiled, my nose buried into her hair. My angel was safe. My angel was mine.

Chris blinked his eyes as he re-read his story. He already felt a whole lot lighter, his anxiety at ease, and mind exhausted. Clicking on SAVE, he finished the last of his beer and went to sleep, hoping that this was the end to his problems. Little did he know about the horrors that awaited him, behind the door he had just opened by writing that fictional story.

__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__

Permanent tag: @donutloverxo

Chris Evans and his characters taglist: @onetwo3000

This story: @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @carpediemm-18

(If you guys don't want to be tagged in this, just let me know. No hard feelings 😊)

Taglists are open! Just comment, send an ask or a message!

[daydream-believin]

The Never-Ending Roadtrip (kmart’s haunted)

Summary: (part 1) Reader has joined Douxie on the quest for Nari’s safety. He’ll need company. (part 2) - Missouri 1     (part 3)

Warnings: swearing, very light spooky?

Word Count: 2245

A/N: so we’ve established that Doux wasn’t the one who burnt the bookstore, but they don’t know that. look, have you been in a Kmart recently? its apocalyptic. also, you know that post about people repeating their default work greetings by accident? yeah

“Do you want me to split the bill or?” The waitress asked, not sure if the group at the table was a young couple and their child or just three college kids hanging out. It was kind of hard to tell. On one hand, that one kid was so small, wearing a little deer costume, and had been helped to order. The other two radiated the energy of an old married couple and talked mainly to each other. But on the other hand, college kids are just like that sometimes.

“Nah, I got it.”

“What? No. I’m paying for us.” Douxie insisted.

“I have the cash, Doux.” (Name) turned to the waitress. She put some honey in her voice. “Just bring us one bill, please.” The waitress nodded nervously before heading off.

“No. I don’t want you paying for too many things while we’re traveling. You’re unemployed.”

“And who’s fault is that Mr. Mephits-Are-Vulnerable-To-Fire? You fucking burned down the store and put us both out of work here.” Nari was squirming at the negative vibes going on. It helped that she didn’t exactly understand what was going on.

“It was magic fire!” Douxie interjected in outrage. He looked so cute when he got defensive.

“Yeah, okay, sure.” (Name) shook her head, looking up to the ceiling. She let out a huff, “look, I invited myself onto this trip, Douxie. I want to pull my own weight. You’re going to have to let me pay for something eventually.”

“We’ll see about that, Love,” he said as he grabbed the ticket from the waitress’s hands as quick as lightning, tucked his card in and gave it right back before (Name) could further protest.

“Ugh! FINE! Then I’m getting the tip.” She pulled out a tenner and slapped it onto the table. She glared right back into Douxie’s hazel eyes. He glared right back into hers with a matched intensity. Nari looked back and forth between the two and whimpered. (Name) broke the standoff to assure Nari that they weren’t actually angry at each other so she shouldn’t be worried. That seemed to ease the forest child a bit but not by too much. She could still feel the weird aura they were putting off.

“Okay! So here’s your check back and here’s that lox bagel you ordered to go.” The waitress handed (Name) a doggy bag.

(Name) took the bag gingerly. A big fake smile spread across her face as she was momentarily possessed by that good spirit of customer service. “Thank you! I hope your experience was spellbinding! Have a magical day!” (Name) said on autopilot in that high-pitched voice and winked exaggeratedly. It was like she was an NPC and her talk button had been accidentally pushed. The waitress laughed forcibly and scurried away to the kitchen. Douxie cracked up.

“You do know that when I told you to say all that stuff after ringing people up, I was hazing you, right?”

“Oh yes, I am completely aware, Doux. Did you think I’d not pick up on how ridiculous that sounds? But I still say it to spite you.”

He shook his head. “Of course.”

***

Archie scarfed down his bagel sandwich with almost disturbing speed. It was like watching the void consume, well, a bagel sandwich. It just disappeared. Down his furry maw and out of existence. Being a dragon works up an appetite, after all. (Name) was a bit baffled and asked him if she should go get him another bagel. He assured her that the one was just fine and said something about trying to catch some birds later. She leaned back on her elbows against the boat’s railing, trying and failing to not think about the details of that.

Douxie cleared his throat. “So,” He folded his hands together for emphasis, “Since the subject of money came up earlier, I think we should also discuss the topic of our accommodations.”

“Well, you two obviously cannot afford lodging every night.” Archie snarked, flicking his tail.

“Thank you, for that, Arch. No, I was thinking more along the lines of a tent.”

“A tent?” the cat asked incredulously.

“Oh, that could work.” (Name) pointed at Douxie animatedly, “keep us close to nature for Nari. And also could keep our possible property damage bills down. Good idea, Doux.”

“Thank you,” Douxie puffed up, “see Arch? Someone appreciates my ideas-”

“Wait. That’ll be a short-term solution. We’re just barely into September. It’s going to be much, much colder in about a month. By October it’ll be too cold to bear. Even if we all huddle together like penguins.”

Doux looked away to hide his blush at the suggestion. “That is a problem. Okay, um-”

“Maybe we could just cross that bridge when we get there? Who knows what could happen between now and then. We could find so temp work in a little town somewhere.” (Name) shrugged, smirking at Doux. She didn’t want to admit that ‘we could be dead by then’ was also definitely a possibility on the table, so she tried to further distract from that thought. “Maybe we’ll find a creepy abandoned cabin in the woods we can squat in. Maybe some nice trolls will take us in as novelty pets. Maybe my rich Aunty Josie could just suddenly die under some ‘mysterious circumstances’ and leave her lavish fortune to her beloved niece,” she smirked at Doux, “I dunno, just spit ballin’ here.”

“I’m electing to ignore that you just suggested we ice your aunt because you were onto something there.”

“I was?” Her tone was a mixture of sarcasm and disbelief.

“Yes! New Jersey!

“New Jersey?” The wheels turned. “Oh! New Jersey!”

Nari looked confused. “What is special about this ‘New Jersey’?” she asked

Both Douxie and (Name) turned to her, “Trolls.” They said in sync.

***

(Name) stood there with her hands in her pockets. Somehow this Kmart was still standing, out here in The-Middle-Of-Fucking-Nowhere, Missouri. She was standing here, in a Kmart. It might as well have been 1986. There was barely anything on the shelves. Half the shelves themselves were missing. The floor had a layer of grime to it, in spite of the wet floor sign along with the shiny patches that said that it had clearly been mopped recently. The air smelled like something (Name) couldn’t quite place, but it was nostalgic. A strange scent that took her back to her childhood. Or at least she thought it was her childhood. It had to have been. Taking deep breaths, she couldn’t quite get enough of it.

Continuing that vibe, a muzak 80’s tune played over the speakers. Funny enough, despite (Name)’s brain seeming to recognize that it was playing a song from the 80’s, she just couldn’t quite put her finger on it as to which. Every time she thought she’d figured it out, she’d hear a few notes that would somehow change her mind. It was a pop song at least, to narrow it down. It’d been going on for about six minutes now. Must be one of those extended tracks.

She’d ask Douxie what he thought the song was. She turned her attention to him and noticed he was still just staring at that same shelf like he had been for, what, ten minutes now? Even though this fucking Kmart barely had any shelving in it, by some miracle it not only had exactly what they were looking for but an entire aisle of them. How lucky was that.

Douxie was taking very careful consideration into this tent purchase. This was going to be their new home, after all. He just couldn’t decide which one was best. They all had fancy camping terms on the packages that meant nothing to him. He’d been trying to decipher the code. The secret outdoorsman code. Nari shifted uncomfortably in the basket.

“Hisirdoux, you should maybe, hurry this along?” She sounded strained.

But she was right. He should just pick one already. It’s all a gamble anyway. He decided on a dark green one that boasted a water-proof material. Good natural color, not easily spotted, and it wouldn’t soak through with rain. That should work well enough, he figured.

“I’ve hurried along. Sorry Nari.” He casually tossed the box into the cart next to her. She sniffed the box and nodded to him.

Now that they had their goal item, the quest party started for the checkouts. Douxie could have sworn that it had been on the side of the store they were in. They had passed it when they came in. Now it was completely across by the other door. Did he get turned around? Or maybe they did come in from that side of the store. He actually couldn’t remember.

As they walked, a few things caught (Name)’s eye. They passed a display of dark leafy plants in oddly shaped pots, a table stacked high with various books and a clearance sign, a knife case that had been left open, a candle display with a few that had already been lit and were dripping wax, a bargain bin of CDs, and lastly a sad box of no-longer-in-season pool noodles. There was a sale on bloodmeal apparently. Perfect for perking up those roses after the summer heat.

They arrived at the checkout after what felt like an endless journey. (Name) hadn’t noticed any other customers the entire time they had been there, and yet the line for the only check open had seven people in it. She grabbed a couple bags of red licorice from the impulse shelf to add to their cart while waiting.

Nari was really interested in that checker. (Name) took her in. The teen was taller than most and had very, very long blonde hair that cascaded down her back like a shiny golden waterfall. Her cheeks were slightly sunken in. Must be going through a diet phase. Poor girl.

The young woman was obviously not one for small talk. Name couldn’t blame her. Retail sucks. Her perfect red fingernails clicked against the keys of the register in a practiced beat. She turned around and told them their total in a bored monotone. As Douxie fiddled with his wallet and payed, (Name) found herself staring right into the cashier’s eyes. They were such a light icy blue, they were almost white. It was striking. (Name) was almost in a trance. It was broken as the cashier turned around swiftly to rip off the receipt off the machine, and, in an uncharacteristically cheery voice, told them to have a nice night. Night?

They returned the cart back to the stack, grabbing their one singular shopping bag and helping Nari out. Of course Nari could easily just jump out herself, but that wouldn’t be something a human child could do. They didn’t need to draw any unnecessary attention to themselves here. They made their way to the automatic sliding doors that lagged so that they didn’t open until you were standing right in front of them. This allowed Douxie time to catch a glimpse of the reflection in the glass. The reflection of the store was completely devoid of people. Not even the checker was at her station. He sucked in a breath. After walking through those first doors, he stopped. He took a moment to turn back. There she was, right where she should be, checking out another customer with three more in the line.

Douxie hurried along the doorway to catch up to (Name) and Nari. It was darker outside than he expected, and he was taken aback. He found them right outside the store, waiting for him. In one hand, (Name) was holding Nari’s, in the other, the plastic shopping bag. Her head was tipped up to the sky, transfixed by the moon. He came over, grabbing her shoulder as he pulled her along, in an attempt to urge her away from this place. She looked back at him, eyes wide with distress. He tried to convey that he understood with his eyes. All three of them instinctually knew not to say anything more why they were still in this parking lot.

It had barely been half past noon when they had started this little Kmart side quest. It was now at least seven by the looks of it. They had spent six and a half hours in a Kmart? How had they spent six and a half hours in a Kmart. There went their entire travel day. But no time to dwell on this, they needed to get back to Archie and the boat as soon as possible.

As they walked back towards the ship, (Name) and Douxie both took one of Nari’s hands so that she was in the middle, like how those couples walk with their children. The streetlights glared up at them in the slick pavement. Apparently, it had rained while they were in shopping limbo. Poor Arch. (Name) let out a puff of air.

“Well. That sure was something.”

Douxie nervously chuckled, “If we had stayed in there any longer, I think we might have died.” (Name) mirrored that nervous chuckle.

“Oh, no, dying would be much simpler than what would have happened to us.” Nari said sweetly, like what she was saying was somehow better. Nari liked being helpful. (Name) put on her best fake smile.

“Thank you, Nari.” She tried her best to sound as sincere as possible to spare the veggie lady’s feelings.

[fandom-sheep]

Eret 11 MAY 21

Cat and DSMP Part 1/1

Cat! Goose!

Goose my beloved.

Eret’s streaming very late for me again. So I’m not staying the whole time.

Hello Elaina. Enjoy Goose.

Fundy! Kinda...

Fundy hearing the donations. LOL.

Fundy enters a stream and it starts to scuffed. Scuffed just follows Fundy wherever he goes.

A wild my beloved on the cube.

The Drista stairs.

Wait what. Why is the tower gone?

I have missed some lore.

Ah... it’s part of the nightmare thing.

Eret offering Fundy housing like a good almost adoptive parent.

Sneeze? OH WOW SNEEZE.

Sounds like Fundy about lost a lung. Good gracious.

The bargaining between these two.

Cat, Handsome, said cube was massive

You know what that works.

It’s hard to keep the audio right for Eret’s stream for my headphones. It’s either too quiet or the loudest my headphones can go and my family can hear it.

On stream explosions. Noice.

Wow youtooz. Not super cool. Permission is usually a good thing.

Eret keeps on sizzling.

Getting dirt for scaffolding. Going old fashioned Minecraft for this.

“Why is the Cube kinda hot” cue Eret losing faith in her chats sanity.

Cube go poof.

Oh. Red stone. That’s dangerous.

I like this song. Oh klahoma. Gorgeous song.

Love joy is such a fun band. I want to make a plushy of the cat.

It’s kinda sad that Eret can’t see themselves the way chat and their little fandom sees them. Most all of us think they look fabulous.

Not Arson. Just bombing. A bit of anarchy by the king.

Demolition. Now there’s the word.

Controlled ish demolition.

Ah I’ve almost saved enough channel points for water. Nice. I’m not going to redeem it I’m just going to keep hoarding the points.

Flame Arrow. Nice.

Eret cleaning up the SMP eye sours.

Watch me attempt to sleep to Eret here in an hour or so, but keep getting distracted.

Explosion time.

Someone get ready to clip it.

Bye Bye Cube. Let’s go.

Gotta get a song that fits the vibe.

Hayloft. Time to go poof.

Turning up my brightness just to watch this explosion in the best way possible.

Still wearing the red dress I see.

I hope the music isn’t too loud to get this part muted.

Drum roll...

Drum roll continues...

Drum roll still going...

THERE GOES THE CUBE!

That was so smooth and good looking!

Overall a very good explosion.

Just a little bit of a hole in the other building.

Twitch Pr-

Poor being’s so confused with his hair. Someone help them.

Twitch bleep.

Everyone attempting to give hair styling advice. Everyone’s trying to help the being.

That bird is majestic. I remember seeing that tiktok.

Animals just decided Eret was the animal whisperer.

Yes! Disney Princess Eret fanart! Someone make it, I shall reblog all of it.

Likes to hug cute animals and cute animals like being hugged by her. Nice.

It’s alright. Names are difficult. I have to like put name tags on people to learn who they are. That or name tags on their space (like on campers bunks and door decs on dorms)

It does feel very February. But I’m very ready for summer because that means I get to do my favorite job.

Hooray. I hit 15k points.

Eret trying to prove to us a ponytail won’t work. Like we aren’t going to hype them up no matter what.

Gotta heart in the chat. All Eret’s chat does is hearts and encourage. It’s a lovely place.

Oh Eret forgot his cat ear sub goal. It’s alright I know I forgot.

Pride is next month. Nice.

Oh. We’re almost halfway already. Why does the world spin so quickly?

We forgot a dirt tower. Whoops.

I would wear Eret merch. I like it when people release merch around Christmas. Then I can ask for it as a gift.

Oh it wasn’t a dirt tower.

Just looking at Elaina’s stream in the stream selection screen it like very cozy.

All the way up the Drista stairs.

Look it’s the museum!

Eret’s got most of the builds around there. The museum. The fortress. Nice.

Some things are too historical to remove. Somethings are historical because they are being removed.

Oh no. L’sandburg.

It’s taking over the summer home.

Ah the lore is coming. It just seemed to be too early.

Hello unofficial ranboo Raiders.

Foolish making the awesome tall thingy!

Foolish’s builds are so neat. I want to watch Foolish’s streams more. Maybe just in the background but I start wanting to delayed liveblog and that requires attention.

Oh the giant portal turned out well. Sorry that was the lady’s foolish stream I watched.

Shulkers. The forbidden mob.

Eret with just a pit in the desert filled with llamas. Bones. And discus.

The mansion has been finished?

Alright is better than bad. It’s alright to be alright.

Lucky being not getting tired. I got the Johnson and Johnson vaccine and I was so so tired. I also had just no appetite.

Eret doing an smp tour. And looking at foolish’s builds.

Flickering the switch on the rainbow beacons.

Eret just knowing where everything is.

Kinoko is super pretty. Just for the aesthetic value of the kingdom I appreciate it.

Yeet. Just defenestrated himself out the window.

Oh? Spectator fly over the smp?

That would be really neat to like. Watch in VR. I think I’ve only used VR maybe twice.

Pretty Rainbow beacons.

The nurse who gave me my vaccine hid the needle from me because I mentioned to her that I was afraid of needles. It wasn’t a big deal at all.

30 minutes till I attempt sleep. Woo.

Goose my beloved. Someone make the gif because I’m not quite sure how to make it.

Oh yeah. Goose in Marvel. I hear MCU and think Minecraft cinematic universe. Not marvel.

Ghibli is so nice. It really romanticize small moments of life.

Yeah the characters are all really supportive in Ghibli movies.

Someone subbed for nine months “that’s enough to make a child” -Eret

That mansion is like a maze. I’m so lost already.

Everyone encouraging Eret and telling her she looks pretty. Good.

Eret needs all the hype and encouragement.

Antarctic empties flag. Yeah it does have a similar color pallet.

Michelle! Hello!

Fortress work. Nice.

Do it. I’ll listen the Eret play other games.

I don’t usually watch game play for non Minecraft games. But I’ll listen to it all.

Hbomb and Eret living in the same city feels like two worlds that shouldn’t meet. But it’s awesome that they have.

TOS means against twitches terms of service. Nice. Glad to finally have an explanation of what that means.

Look at our handsome and pretty streamer. All the hype.

I keep turning down the stream to hear the show my mama has on because I’m curious about what happens.

Yeah. Backseat gaming can be annoying. That’s part of why I share my thoughts here just in case I do start backseat gaming.

Almost to the sub goal. Hooray!

Ooo food.

No no. I see where they are coming from. Eret does give a bit of cat bus vibes. I can’t explain it but the vibes are there.

Creeper causing issues at the fortress.

Ed Sheepran my beloved.

I should draw more ferrets. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe I’ll draw us doing stuffs.

Actually I kinda want to make a little animatic of some heels walking across the screen followed by a hoard of ferrets. I think it’ll look cool. But I need the artistic ability and the ability to not scream making that.

Woop. Ad time. Off to the void of where ever the ads game me.

OH THE NEW VOID LOOKS COOL!

Bread. Flowers. Ted. Crown. And of course Eret.

We V O I D and get our streamer bits.

Hush the chat is V O I D and the occasional emoji or emote.

The void being centered looks good. Maybe that’s just the symmetry speaking but it’s good.

Oh. We hear the being. The being in void mode. And spooky mode.

Chat just starts yelling corpse.

Hydration. I try to stay hydrated. But I fail often if I’m not doing something active.

Tree!

Casually makes and snags tree.

Eret does read chat often. It’s strange. And it is weird how often it ends up being you.

You can tell I’m a tumblr peep. I may say stuff in chat but I’m fully not expecting or wanting to be noticed by the streamer.

Others hitting darkness o’clock and saying goodnight.

It’s sleep to the stream hours y’all. Whoop.

I need to visit the parks out west. I’ve only really seen the eastern US ones. But I have been to the Great Smokey Mountain park which is gorgeous.

Eret thinking of his friends triggers when naming his cat.

Eret’s builds are so casually pretty. Not like Foolish’s which are intricately pretty. Not like Phil’s or Sam’s which are complicated pretty. All pretty. Just different breeds of pretty.

Alrighty. It’s sleepy hours for me. As much as I love Eret I want to read some fanfiction and daydream a bit before I head to sleep.

Have a good rest everyone and may all your coming meals be delicious.

Wait no is it our turn with goose?

OUR TURN WITH GOOSE!

Eret honey that’s the ceiling.

Cat stream. Cat stream.

Sleepy kitty. A cat cam would be good.

Yeah. That happens with cats. Especially strays.

Goose captured the computer mouse.

Goose straight up chose Eret and Elaina.

Goose really just chose not to leave.

Oh my stream connection is acting sad. But I want Goose content.

I want to draw Goose now.

Maybe I’ll do water color for Goose. I know I tried to do that with Boots (Fundy’s cat)

Hopefully there will be some Goose face screenshots I can see. Maybe I can see him well in the Tiktok.

Artists just violently refusing payment. Sounds about right. The MCYT artists just kinda go “yeah give credit and we cool”

Cowboy cat. Nice.

I want to paint Goose in the cowboy hat.

Hype train! That we are zooming.

Bucket sponge?

WATER BUCKET FROM WET SPONGE! Tiktok people giving all the cool info.

Go Goose. Catch the computer mouse and the screen mouse.

Just sitting here at 11:30 at night getting screen shots of Goose for painting purposes.

Goose please. Look at the camera babe.

My phone is dying. And I can’t charge it and type.

Alright the camera is off the cat. The cat is also blocking the screen.

But no cat on camera means I’m getting some sleep. If I do any of the projects I’ve mentioned I’ll let y’all know.

Have a good rest everyone.

[crybabyjam]

ship: todochako 

rating: g

length: 3k

summary: Todoroki picks up hitch-hiker!Uraraka.

c/w parental death (past), joking about murder

deleted from twitter, written for a former friend

---

The sun beats down heavy as Ochako tightens the straps of her backpack. In it was three changes of clothes, some stale bread, her dead phone.

It was only mid-morning but already she was sweating her absolute ass off.

She runs her fingers through her choppy hair, uneven on one edge because she hadn't had a mirror when she'd taken a rusty pair of scissors to them. Now she wishes she'd just shaved it all off, if only to save herself from a sweaty, overheated neck now.

Her parents had loved it when she'd had long hair.

Ochako remembers how her mom would wash the long strands for her every weekend, even when Ochako huffed and puffed and said she could do it herself.

Her mom always took the time to wash it gently, and condition with something sweet smelling— "Because a sweet girl like you deserves sweet hair, too."

And how her dad would braid it every time she visited, even when Ochako would have to undo it the next day. He would take his strong, worker's hands and lift each length of hair carefully so that he didn't tug on her tender scalp.

Now that they were gone, Ochako didn't see the point in keeping her hair long. It just slowed her down. It just made her /sad/.

She sighs, and steps out of the way when a car plows through a puddle right beside her.

Her legs get soaked, but it isn't anything worse than the day prior, when a truck had soaked her from head to toe.

Ochako just sighs and brushes the muddy water droplets from her already dirty legs.

It's a good thing she was out of socks, or else she'd have to start worrying about her shoes molding at this point.

She's just begun kicking her shoe off, to finish the rest of the trek up to the next city barefoot, when a car pulls up to a stop beside her.

"Are you alright?" A low voice asks, to her left. Ochako startles and twists on her heel.

She almost ignores it, because cars like that didn't stop for hitch-hikers like her.

But the car follows her a few more feet as she slows to a stop.

When she looks over her shoulder, confused, the man in the car tilts his head at her and nods.

"Are you alright?" He repeats. "I saw you get wet."

"Ah!" Ochako yells, and then lowers her voice. Geez, where are your manners, Uraraka? "I'm fine! Sorry."

The man blinks, and Ochako belatedly notices that he has the most stunning, grey eyes. Like darkened silver.

"Why should you be sorry?" He asks with a frown.

And then, he shakes his head.

"Do you need a ride? It's dangerous to get in a stranger's car, but you shouldn't walk around barefoot. Glass would hurt." He pauses, and then adds. "Probably less than murder, but I promise not to murder you."

Ochako is speechless.

But not speechless enough not to /laugh/ at the absurdity of the stranger.

She feels it bubble up in her chest like boiling water, and it floats out of her ugly, like when a pot spills the water and burns on the stove burner.

The man just watches, silent, as she wipes tears from her eye and keeps on laughing. He just leans against the steering wheel and waits patiently, face completely deadpan.

He's /serious/, and that just makes it funnier.

She gasps for breath as she leans against his car, one shoe falling to the pavement and skipping beneath the undercarriage, shit.

Ochako's laugh starts up again as she drops to her knees to retrieve it.

When she comes back up, knees blackened by sidewalk dust, and hands darkened by asphalt, the man is smiling. Just barely.

"I guess murder /would/ hurt more than stepping on glass." She agrees. "Depending on the type of murder."

He murmurs the words underneath his breath, eyebrows furrowing.

"You're right," he says, troubled.

She leans into the rolled down window, arms crossing to hide the ripped hem of t-shirt.

"You sure you /promise/ not to murder me? I kind of need my life."

Well. All things considering, it was pretty much all she had left. She couldn't exactly afford the house after her parents died. They hadn't been able to finish the down payments, and none of them (including Ochako) had enough savings to keep her afloat.

So, hitch-hiking. Walking to nowhere and hoping for more.

A few miles in an air-conditioned car was more than what she had, so she'll take it.

The man turns serious, though. The smile wipes off of his face— not replaced with a frown, but replaced with another deadpan look. He nods his head, making eye-contact the entire time, and says,

"I promise not to murder you."

Well.

He promised, at least. Ochako still had a little bit of mace in her pocket, if she needed it.

So she gets in the car.

---

His name is Todoroki Shouto and he has an open duffle bag of yen, two pillows with embroidered pillowcases, a shattered phone, and a half-full photo album in his backseat.

Ochako stares at the photo album instead of the other three things, because she definitely does not want to get murdered, thank you very much.

He was a cute baby. Two-toned hair from birth, and big eyes that only had one expression: wide. Ochako traces her ragged thumb nail across one of the pictures, where he's covered in cake frosting at his second birthday, and accidentally creases the polaroid image.

She hurriedly flips the page.

"Are you hungry?"

"I'm fine," Ochako mumbles, ignoring her tummy which immediately begins to grumble in argument. She flips another page to muffle the noise, and comes across more empty pockets than full ones.

From the way there's the edge of one polaroid still caught in one of the slots, Ochako assumes that they used to be just as full as the rest.

She flips to the back, and a roll of film flops into her lap.

"Do you even still have a camera for this?" Ochako asks, holding the strange, almost novel-looking thing up to the waxing light of the returning sun. Then she brings it back down to the shadows in case that might ruin the film inside, oops.

"At home," Todoroki says, low. Her shoes are in his lap, because he wanted her to have more room to look at the photo album. Ochako had tried to just place them on the floor of the car, but he looked so earnest in his offer that she hadn't been able to say no without feeling bad.

Besides, she had a feeling he was pretty harmless. Weird, but who wasn't?

"Oh, are you moving or something?" Ochako asks, and then immediately grimaces at the invasion of privacy. "I mean… 'cause of the stuff in your backseat."

"Moving…" Todoroki repeats, focusing on the road. They're driving slow enough that almost everyone passes by them, but Ochako got pretty motion-sick so she appreciated it.

Todoroki leans back in his seat, both hands at the very apex of the steering wheel. It's outlined in a leather cover and is so shiny that it almost looks metallic. Expensive as fuck, probably.

Everything about him looked pretty expensive, actually. The car was brand new, from this year. Still had the new smell and everything.

Ochako was actually pretty glad he insisted on the shoe-thing, if only to prevent mud stains.

Although his pants /did/ look pretty designer. Ah, fuck.

"Yes," Todoroki says, after the long moments of silence. "I'm moving."

"Oh! That's… fun. That's fun!" Ochako nods.

Todoroki turns them off of the road, and pulls into a parking spot. Ochako blinks past the raindrops on her side of the window, and squints out at the illuminated signs.

A restaurant. Ah, /fuck/. Ochako pats her shorts for her wallet, as if she could even /pretend/ it had money in it. All it had was her ID (almost expired) and a coupon for leg waxing.

"Do you want to come in with me?" Todoroki asks, turning to her completely. The seatbelt gets caught, and it does that thingy it does where it locks and gets tighter until you take it all the way off. He doesn't seem to mind.

Ochako smiles, though even she can feel how strained it is. "Ah, I'm fine. I should probably go actually, but thank you for the ride. The rain should stop soon, so…"

"Oh."

Todoroki frowns, glancing at the arm rest between them. He's engaged the parking brake even though they aren't on an incline, and Ochako's smile relaxes to something more real.

"It was really nice to meet you," she says. "I'd give you my phone number but I kinda didn't pay the bill." (Since, uh, last year, but he didn't need to know that.)

"It was nice to meet you too," Todoroki says. "I can buy you food."

"Oh," Ochako parrots, dumbly. Her eyes dart to the yen-bag and she hurries to shake her head. "I couldn't—"

"I don't mind. It's my dad's money— and he hates me. And I hate him, so." Todoroki finally takes off his too-tight seatbelt and it rattles noisily as it smacks against the car door.

"I…"

Ochako isn't sure how to approach /that/ particular landmine. Nor is she sure how she's supposed to resist free food. When had she last eaten. Two days ago, or something? She'd kinda been ignoring it, but the walking helped.

Now that she's technically resting, she can feel her tummy about to throw a conniption.

Todoroki blinks his wide eyes at her as he waits, not making a move. His blinks are slow, like a cat, and his eyes flicker back and forth between her own.

She sighs heavily, but a grin is already parting her lips. "You're a strange one, Todoroki."

"Am I?"

"I don't have any money, so you have to pay for all of it," she warns.

"I will."

"And I eat a lot! I haven't eaten in a while."

"Okay."

"And… and I want my shoes back."

Todoroki hands her the shoes. There's mud residue on his pants and the bottom of his shirt.

But he has a small smile on his face as he watches her struggle to put her shoes on in the closed space, so maybe it was alright.

---

Shouto watches as Uraraka stuffs two donut holes in her mouth, licking away the powdered sugar that paints across her lips. It looks like snow when it dusts down to her shorts, and smears chalky residue on her thighs.

He hands her a napkin, and she blushes pretty like a sunset paints ocean water pink when it sets at night.

"Sorry for the mess," she says quietly.

"It's okay. Is it good?"

"It's good!" She wiggles in her seat, and it reminds Shouto of a really happy hamster. "Do you want some?"

She's very beautiful. Her hair is cut in a way he's never really seen before, but it frames her face nicely. He likes it more than his almost-bowl cut. Some of her hair tickles across her shoulder, but she ignores it as she holds a donut hole out to him with a toothpick.

She keeps holding it as he bites down on the warm, cooked dough. He'd never really been fed by someone before. Well, as a baby— sure. But he had a feeling this was different. Was it different?

Shouto chews thoughtfully, and Uraraka smiles at him. She doesn't seem to mind feeding him. She stabs another one with the same toothpick and holds it out for him again, one hand underneath to catch the crumbs.

"Yummy, right? Thanks for buying them! I'll…" She flinches, interrupting herself. Her smile dims a little, like she'd lost power. "I'd offer to pay you back but, uh… ahaha, you know?"

Shouto /doesn't/ know, but he nods anyway. "I can buy you more," he says, soft. "You can take them with you. When you leave."

She uses the toothpick to prod and poke at the remaining few donut holes. They roll in the leftover powdered sugar at the bottom of the box.

"I'll be alright. But thank you." Her eyes get watery at the bottom lashes, and Shouto frowns. "You've been really kind."

When she laughs next, it's thick like she's close to sobbing. Her voice is shaky. Shouto doesn't like it- liked it much better when she was laughing /happily/ instead.

"Thanks for not murdering me," she adds. "This is probably the most fun I've had in a while."

"You can stay. I can drive you anywhere you want."

"Oh!" Uraraka jumps in her seat, as if he'd yelled it. He hadn't really spoken any louder than before, but he clears his throat and speaks even softer anyway.

"We just met, but I can take you anywhere you need to go. And I have enough money for the both of us. I really enjoy your company."

They're pulled off at an empty lot near a supermarket. Somewhere off in the distance is a park. The children there are loud, voices echoing in the evening ambiance.

Uraraka looks out towards the noise, but he can see her swallow heavily.

"That's kind of dangerous, isn't it? We just met."

She says it like how she says other things that are meant to be teasing. He nods anyway.

"It is. You can drive, if that makes you feel better. Or you can sit in the backseat. I would have bought a bigger car if I knew I would meet you today."

She laughs again, starting with a snort and ending with a giggle. It makes his heart beat faster in his chest, and he isn't sure if he's nervous or happy to hear it.

"What if /I'm/ the murderer?" Uraraka stabs one of the donut holes and brings it up to her mouth. She smiles at him when he frowns, and then smiles wider when he shrugs.

"If it happens, it happens."

"/Todoroki/." She slaps her palm against her forehead and sinks down in her seat. "That's the most dangerous mindset I've ever heard."

"I'm sorry?" He glances down at her the further she sinks, but she doesn't seem particularly angry. It looks like she's fighting, but on the inside. "It's not that dangerous."

"It's pretty dangerous."

She brushes her legs clean. Sits up straight and looks out the window again. Her breath fans out across the glass, fogging it.

He rolls the window down for her, and she does that snorting laugh again.

"You're a funny guy, Todoroki."

"Am I?"

"You are." Uraraka shifts in her seat, to pull her legs cross-crossed. There's one donut hole left in the box, and she rolls it around a few more times before she pokes it with that same toothpick and shoves it in her mouth.

As she chews, she glares at him. Almost like she can't see him and needs glasses. He leans in closer so that she can find what she's looking for.

"You're funny in both ways. Weird… but you make me laugh."

She closes up the box, fitting the toothpick between her teeth so that she can absently chew on it.

"So you're… 'moving'," she says, finally. "- and I don't have a home anymore. Where would we even go?"

Shouto glances past the parking lot, at the semi-distant street that is starting to pile with traffic after a brief lull. But his eyes inevitably drag back over to her.

Uraraka stares back, cheeks pink. A small smile grows on her face. She runs her fingernail across the edge of the empty donut box. He'd have to figure out a place to recycle it if he could.

There are so many places they could go. Somewhere warm, towards a beach. Or somewhere quiet, with wide hills and short buildings. To a festival. To a shoe store.

"Everywhere?"

"/Everywhere/?" Uraraka shakes her head, exasperated. "What about when we run out of money?"

Shouto shrugs. Uraraka laughs again. Her hand drifts to the middle console, palm up, and Shouto watches it for a while.

Then she leans over to grab his hand. Her fingers are warm, rough at the tips but soft everywhere else. She would look pretty in nail polish. /Prettier/, rather- if it were possible.

He maybe had a crush on her. Was this what love felt like? Soft hands and warm smiles? He liked it.

"I-"

She interrupts by leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. It's soft, like a feather landing on snow. "Take me everywhere, then. And then I'll give you my answer."

Shouto, dazed, touches his fingers to his cheek. He forgets to stop holding her hand, so hers come along with it. She doesn't seem to mind. "Your answer?"

"On whether or not I'll stay," she says, cheeky. "So you'd better make it a fun ride."

Shouto squeezes his other hand down on the steering wheel, if only to keep his heartbeat in his veins so that the organ doesn't leap out of his chest and act a fool. He accidentally steps on the gas, and the car revs in protest.

Uraraka laughs again. She tightens her hold on his hand and pulls it back down between them. He squeezes it back.

And when they get back on the road again, fifteen minutes later, Uraraka has gone from laughing to singing loud to the radio and dancing in her seat. She's pure joy.

---

It stops raining, and the world feels brighter.

[that-one-girl-behind-you]

Illicio 21/?

Part 20

"Jon? Did you- oh!" Martin's voice says above them. Gerry looks up at him, taking in his slightly confused smile. "What's happening?"

"We're planning a garden, apparently," Jon says before Gerry can respond.

Martin's eyebrows arch, and his mouth forms a little 'o' of surprise. "That sounds lovely actually."

"Any requests?" Gerry asks. It's a bit ridiculous how happy this makes him, that the two of them just... hopped into his dumb idea. It feels hopeful, like they too want to plan for a future together.

Martin rests his chin on his crossed arms on the windowsill, and gives them a smile just the slightest bit mischievous.

"I think we should plant lavender."

XXI

Martin doesn't wake up with a start. His heart isn't hammering in his chest and his breathing isn't shallow and hurried; his nightmares are not the kind that makes you feel in danger, the kind your body wants to wake up from.

They're... gentle.

Calm walks down into a soft grey expanse where he knows nothing can hurt him, because he is alone asides from his thoughts, and the sadness that permeates his every step.

He guesses it must show somehow when he's dreaming of the Lonely, because he usually wakes up to Jon or Gerry's gently concerned voices, and a hand nudging at his shoulder until he decides it's time to come back.

Funnily enough, it's the lack of those what does it this time; if neither of the two is waking him up, that means it's one of those rare, blessed nights in which the three of them were able to sleep, and they're going to be pretty sad if they wake up and find that Martin dreamt himself into the Lonely.

He wants to think they'd be at least, even if it's a bit selfish.

It's with that want that he opens his eyes to the darkness of the bedroom, and he turns to Jon with a slow-spreading smile when he hears him muttering something about a cat in his sleep. He doesn't Watch people's nightmares on the nights Gerry feeds him, and it's nice to know he's just having a regular dream. It feels... normal. Like what Martin wants the rest of their lives to be.

He looks over Jon's shoulder, to see how Gerry's doing, and his stomach flips when he notices the man is not in bed with them.

It's okay, it doesn't have to be something ominous, Martin thinks. His heartbeat is speeding up now though, as he climbs off the bed and investigates the empty bathroom, before risking the rest of the cottage. People go for midnight snacks, that's a normal thing to do. Even if Gerry doesn't get hungry, he still likes to eat.

He jokes and says it makes him feel like a person, though Martin thinks he's the most human of the three of them, whenever he watches him hold Jon in his arms, looking down at the man like he's surprised he's still there, and the soft light of the cottage projecting a golden hue over his dark hair, making Martin's hands itch for a notepad and a pen.

His stomach knots tighter and tighter over itself, when he moves down the corridor towards the kitchen, and finds the entire cottage is encased in darkness.

"Martin?" a voice asks from the pitch-black kitchen, and Martin jumps, his chest flooding with the mix of exasperation and relief that has become synonym with Gerry in his mind.

"Why are you in the dark?" Martin asks, his voice soft. It feels important, for some reason, that they don't disturb the silence too much. As Martin's eyes get accustomed to the darkness, he can make out Gerry's form against the far end of the kitchen, his hair messed from restless sleep, his face tired, a steaming mug in his hand.

"Don't need it to see," Gerry whispers back with a shrug. "Why are you up?"

Martin makes his way over to him, leans on the counter by his side. It's hard to say if Gerry's radiating warmth, or if Martin is just too cold. "Nightmares."

"...Ah. Sorry." Gerry reaches over to place his mug on the table, and turns to face Martin. "Are you- I could make you a cup of tea. Can't promise it'll be any good, though."

His tone is genuinely apologetic, and Martin feels his lips curl into a smile. "Well, you had to be bad at something, didn't you?"

"Is my lack of tea-brewing ability a deal-breaker?" Gerry's voice carries the hint of a smile now, and his fingers brush against Martin's on the counter. "I'm willing to take some lessons, if that's the case. I happen know the perfect teacher."

"It apparently isn't a deal breaker, because you're both hopeless at it." It's mind-blowing, to think they're just... here.

Alive, standing at the kitchen in the middle of the night, the scent of coffee curling around them like a blanket as they make quiet jokes about a relationship that they haven't discussed, but that is somehow there anyways. The tension of looks exchanged over Jon's head, of brushes of skin that feel loaded with electricity and the knowledge that the other will be there, steady and reliable like the sunrise every morning.

"Well... the offer still stands, or if you want some of my coffee-"

"I shouldn't." Martin shakes his head. "It gives me anxiety, and I was hoping to go back to sleep."

"Oh." Gerry looks sideways and up at him, looking at a loss of what to do. Martin finds it endearing; of course Gerry can't deal with the thought of not fixing something; can't even fathom the thought that just his presence is doing wonders to ground him. "Can I do something, then?"

Martin looks down at him, at the faintest gleam of moonlight that comes across the dusty windows -they need to clean that before Jon takes it upon himself to do it- to only insinuate the beautiful mix of blue and green of his sweet, concerned eyes.

"You could kiss me, Mister Keay."

The embarrassment of being so blunt is more than worth it, when Gerry's eyes fly wide open, and a surprised chuckle escapes him, almost sounding like it was punched out of him.

"I- would that help?" he asks, but he can't keep the smile off his lips and Martin is so taken by the sight of him that he nearly leans down to do it himself.

"I think there's one way to find out." Martin smiles.

Gerry's hands are careful when they finally land on him; one on the back of his neck, one on his cheek, just like he's seen him touch Jon a handful of times before they kiss. Martin's heartbeat speeds up, and he might be drunk on the feeling already, the thought of being wanted almost as intoxicating as its counterpart.

He lets himself be pulled down, lets his face be tilted to the side, and the hand on his cheek pushes his glasses up his forehead so they don't get in the way.

It's a bit poetic, to kiss this ghost of pain and ink and love under the quiet glow of moonlight, and know that the only lonely thing in this kitchen is the mug of coffee cooling on the table.

They separate slowly, like waking up on a lazy morning, and Martin's wet lips tingle with want and with the weight of words it's far too soon to say.

"Did that help?" Gerry sounds cocky and pleased, but also a little bit breathless, and Martin rolls his eyes as a wave of warmth washes over him.

"You know, I'm not so sure," Martin taps a finger against his chin. "We might have to try again to confirm."

Gerry laughs quietly, probably to avoid waking Jon up, Martin thinks, and the words threaten to spill from his lips again. "Well, we have to be certain, don't we?"

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

"She knew these were not her children, and this was not her home. But they kept calling her mum, and there were many, many pictures on the mantle showing the happy life they lived. Feeding the ducks at St. John's, having a picnic by the lake, playing at the beach, practically every moment of their life documented in carefully crafted snapshots. She did not remember having a spouse that captured those moments either, but surely the pictures couldn't be lying to her, could they? She'd had a bad night's sleep, she was confused, and she needed to make breakfast for her children, what kind of mother would let them go hungry? She swore she'd never be like her own." Gerry readjusts his arms as Jon shifts on his chest in seek of a more comfortable position, and he reaches forward to kiss the crown of his head before continuing. "She started breakfast as she usually did, eggs on toast, and two slices of grilled ham, one for her and one for Dusty. Her hands stilled over the sizzling pan as she contemplated the name that felt so natural in her mind but that didn't fit with the reality she was currently living. She had two children, a house, and a lovely spouse with a lens for a face. She did not have a playful little mutt with ash-colored fur and a long lolling tongue, always with a chewed up stick by his awkardly large paws-"

"So what you're saying is you can escape the fears with the power of quiche and the power of puppies?" Martin asks, his voice tinged with amusement.

"That's exactly what I'm getting from it too, Martin, thank you." Jon snorts, and Gerry squeezes him in retaliation before looking at Martin. He finds him by the window, sitting at the little table they dragged there, with a notepad and a steaming cup of tea before him.

"Don't encourage him, that's how you end up having to pull him from coffins and alternate dimensions."

"In his defense, it was hardly his fault that he got hit on the face with that bat."

"See? Martin knows when things are my fault, that one wasn't."

"The coffin was definitely your fault, though." Martin points at him with the spoon he used to stir some sugar into his drink. "Is this a mixed one?"

"It definitely sounds like it. Spiral, Stranger, Eye... I'm thinking it's the house itself." Jon shifts some more on his chest to look at Martin too, before squeezing Gerry's forearm. "We'd known if someone would just finish the statement."

"So demanding." Gerry rolls his eyes.

"The hungry, hungry Archivist," Martin mutters under his breath as he blows on his cup of tea, and Gerry snorts over Jon's offended 'Martin!'. It's- it's good to see Marting feeling comfortable enough to joke around. "Sorry, sorry! Finish it, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Don't apologize," Gerry chuckles. "Where was I?"

"The power of puppies," Jon grumbles.

"I'm going to stop feeding you, sir."

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

"You should treat me to lunch or something, I've been sitting on a bus for eleven hours," Tim groans as he stretches his arms over his head to pop the kinks in his back.

"That's kind of your fault though," Martin chuckles. His shoulder feels cold where he bumps it against Tim's, a reminder that none of them really escaped the Institute intact. "You could've come through Helen."

"And miss the chance to feel like a regular human being? Martin, please." Tim bumps his shoulder right back as they walk down the main street. The little town is quaint and quiet, picturesque in a way Tim knows both Martin and Jon are suckers for, which he supposes is good enough. Martin deserves to end his story in a place like this. "How have you been?"

"Hm? Oh, we've- we're doing well. It's- it's good. We're good." There's a spot of color to Martin's face when he smiles, and Tim rolls his eyes. "What?"

"You've really got the worst taste in men, it explains why you were never into me."

"I hope you'll be able to forgive me," Martin laughs. "How are things back home?"

Tim shrugs, shifting the cardboard box he's carrying to support it on his hip instead. "It's going. Elias is still nowhere to be found, not that the police are really looking for him anyways. Basira could probably find him, but she's got other things to worry about now."

Martin lets out a slow exhale, his shoulders growing a bit heavier. "Still no luck with Daisy?"

"She knows how to find her just fine, and Daisy's leaving a trail of dead avatars that's pretty clear to follow even for regular people." Tim sighs as well, running a hand through his hair. "Daisy moves too fast though. There's no way to predict where she's going next, she's not following any pattern."

"Yeah... Jon said as much. He's tried- he says the things he Sees in her mind make no sense, it's all impulse and instinct, nothing logical that he could understand."

"That sounds about right," Tim mutters. The thing that broke out of Daisy's skin, that launched down the tunnels in a clash of claws and fangs and blood along with the other two... he doubts there's much human thinking going on with any of the hunters right now. "I suppose it's not too bad as long as she's only hunting avatars, isn't it?"

"I don't know," Martin says quietly. "I don't- things don't feel as black and white anymore, if you ask me."

Tim snorts.

"Some of your best friends are avatars?" He asks. Martin arches an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look, and Tim feels the teasing smirk on his face turn pleased instead. "Yeah. Okay."

-------

The place looks nice enough, a little stone fence with a wrought iron gate and a path made of stepping stones leading to a door whose blue paint has long since chipped and faded under sun and wind and rain. It looks... inoffensive, a little slice of the countryside to escape the chaos of the city, or whatever terrible plans your eldricht monster of a boss has weaved for you. Cozy and warm and welcoming, a place where one could make a home.

Martin pushes the door open, and Tim freezes at the very familiar scent coming from inside.

"...Tim?" Martin turns back to look at him when he doesn't follow him in. "What's wrong?"

How to explain it to Martin that nothing is wrong, or rather nothing he can put to words?

He remembers this smell, and the last time he felt it, the sound of rain spattering on the windows, and a movie on the background. He remembers teasing (back when he thought he was healing, that maybe one day there would be more to his life than just mourning his brother) about feeling like he was being set up for something, and then the hurried announcement and yes, don't be ridiculous, of course I'll move to the Archives with you, does that mean I have to call you boss now?

The thrill of being a safe space for someone, even broken as he was.

"Tim, are you-"

"Martin? Did you bring- oh." Jon stops just short of actually stepping out of the kitchen, looking at him like he's a ghost and the Desolation inside him burns, though whether it's Jon's sorrow or his own that he's feeding off of is anyone's best guess. "I'm- hi."

I hate you. I miss you.

"Hey," Tim pushes through a dry throat. "You- you made barg?"

Jon nods slowly. "I understand, if you don't want to eat with m-"

"It would be very stupid, though," interrupts a third voice, and Gerry's stepping out into the living room from somewhere deeper into the cottage. "You'd have to go all the way back to town to find yourself a sandwich or something. You look like crap, but I guess a long bus ride will do that to anyone, even fear avatars huh?"

His voice is somewhat terse, and Tim wonders if he can feel the hurt in Jon's voice just as intensely as Tim himself can. The air in the room grows heavy as every eye settles on Tim, waiting for him to reply.

"I'm- yeah. I think I'll ask Helen to give me a ride back. I can stay in her for a while to make it up to her," he says finally. Things are never going to be the same. Tim doesn't want them to be the same. The friendship they shared once was rooted in pain too, but this is different. "I could eat something, I guess."

-----

"I'm- I brought some statements," he says later that night, after they've had dinner and cleared the plates away.

"Oh?" Martin arches an eyebrow where he's dropping an armful of blankets and a pillow on the sofa.

Tim averts his eyes.

"I just- I know you have other ways to feed now, but I thought it would be a good idea to keep your boyfriend from running dry too soon." He can feel their eyes on him, but he keeps his gaze on the little radio on the table by the window. "We don't want you going out to hunt random people."

"Thank you, Tim." Jon says quietly, carefully. Tim doesn't have to look up to guess Jon isn't looking at him either, or the small lopsided smile.

"Hm," he says. "Dinner- it was good. Thank you."

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

"Gerry? Martin wants to know if- what are you doing?" Jon's words taste like surprise and laughter, like warm honey, like so many emotions Gerry has never had aimed at him before, and that feel like coming home. "You've got dirt on your nose."

Gerry looks up to find Jon leaning out the open window, looking down at him with bright eyes and a brighter smile. He's suddenly very aware of how he must look, the aforementioned dirt on his nose, and his hair done up into a messy bun to keep it out of his face, kneeling on the ground with a pile of badly pulled weeds by his side.

"I'm- I've never had a garden before." Gerry shrugs. It's not so much the words he's embarrassed about, but the implications. Like painting the door, like oiling the gate, building a garden is not something one does for a temporary place. "I just thought it would be fun to try- whoa, careful!"

He reaches up to hold Jon's forearm as he all but climbs out the window and comes to crouch down by his side.

"Have you started thinking about what you will plant yet?" Jon asks. There's not a hint of compulsion in the question, despite his eyes lighting up with the eerie green of his powers. "Maybe a raspberry bush, carrots... some potatoes later on?"

Gerry snorts. "Did you just use the Beholding to Know what veggies we could grow?"

"It's high time it was useful for something." Jon shrugs, giving him a coy little grin. When Gerry reaches over to pull him against his chest he comes easily enough, laughing. "You're going to get dirt on me."

"Get used to it." Gerry presses a kiss to his cheek. "I love you."

Jon turns his head then, to kiss the corner of his lips. "I love you too," he says.

The words pour into Gerry like warm water over a sore muscle, and they settle in his chest right where his heart should be, bright and warm and so sweet with emotion that Gerry can't bring himself to answer in any way other than squeezing Jon tighter against his chest, burying his face in Jon's mess of soft dark and grey hair.

"Jon? Did you- oh!" Martin's voice says above them. Gerry looks up at him, taking in his slightly confused smile. "What's happening?"

"We're planning a garden, apparently," Jon says before Gerry can respond.

Martin's eyebrows arch, and his mouth forms a little 'o' of surprise. "That sounds lovely actually."

"Any requests?" Gerry asks. It's a bit ridiculous how happy this makes him, that the two of them just... hopped into his dumb idea. It feels hopeful, like they too want to plan for a future together.

Martin rests his chin on his crossed arms on the windowsill, and gives them a smile just the slightest bit mischievous.

"I think we should plant lavender."

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

"I thought you were done with the pining, sir," Gerry whispers into his ear, the grin clear in his voice.

Jon merely smiles and moves along on the sofa to make some space for him, before he turns back to look at Martin.

He's practically nose-deep in the old transistor radio they found back at the toolshed, his sleeves rolled back over his forearms and a streak of dust across his forehead where he scratched absentmindedly a few minutes ago.

"I'll give it to you, it is a nice view," Gerry adds. He's got no regards for subtlety of course, and Jon smiles wider as Martin's cheeks flush a little, though he keeps his gaze stubbornly focused on the inside of the radio. "Are you sure you don't want us to get a new one?"

"This one is perfectly good, thank you." Martin rolls his eyes. "It just needed some cleaning."

The satisfied smile on his lips when he flips the switch and the speakers crackle to life is a memory Jon will treasure for a long while.

"You continue to surprise me, mister Blackwood." Gerry chuckles. "What are we listening to?"

"I don't really- oh, this is good." Martin smiles again when the radio picks up a frequency. The music is somewhat static-y, but still recognizable as some old 70s rock. The tempo is fairly upbeat and cheerful, and Martin bounces a leg to it. "The silence was starting to get to me."

"We can't have that," Gerry nods solemnly, climbing to his feet. "C'mere."

"What?" Martin chuckles, but his hand comes to rest on Gerry's offered hand as the song picks up in rhythm.

"I'm asking you for this dance, sir." Gerry grins and pulls him up and against him in a twirl that has them tripping over each other and stumbling to regain their balance.

Jon smiles softly to himself as he watches them fall into step with each other, laughing all the way like a couple teenagers that have had one too many beers.

Gerry leans up to kiss a freckle on Martin's cheekbone, and Martin's eyes slide over to pin Jon, brighter than ever and making his heart skip a couple beats.

Jon stands no chance when large hands wrap around his wrists to yank him to his feet, but realistically, he wasn't really going to put up much of a fight.

'You can't dance and stay uptight' indeed.

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

"It just doesn't make too much sense, if you ask me," Melanie says. She's not terribly worried about it, but it's been on her mind for a while now. "Jon feeds from you now, Helen has me or Tim in her corridors sometimes, I don't think I've ever seen Tim feed... I thought these things forced you to hurt people. Like the Slaughter did with me."

"I don't think anyone really knows, firecracker. The entities don't come with a manual, no matter how many old idiots have tried to write one." Gerry taps her knee softly with something cold and hard, and Melanie wraps her hand around the cider can. "Jon still has statements sometimes, so he and Helen are still feeding off of other's fear. My best guess is that Tim is feeding the Desolation with his own."

"What's Tim afraid of?" Melanie arches an eyebrow, taking a sip of her drink. It's both sweet and tart on her tongue, a good contrast to the bowl of salty chips Gerry placed on her lap when they came to sit at the garden.

"Jon, mostly," Gerry grunts. "Or rather, Jon mourning the way he was before. The Desolation is about sorrow and loss too, and those two have enough of that."

"Wow, I didn't know you were still so bitter about him ruining your first date." Melanie hides her grin behind the can; she can practically see Gerry rolling his eyes from the scoff he gives next.

"I think I'm allowed to be wary of an avatar of the Desolation holding a grudge against Jon."

"Or thinking he does."

"Or thinking he does," Gerry agrees. "What I'm saying is- I don't think even the avatars themselves know how this works, asides from 'feed your entity or you'll have a bad time'. What Gertrude and Dekker knew, what I thought I knew- even what the Eye lets me Know now is very limited when it comes to this."

"What about Martin?" Melanie asks.

"What about him?" Gerry asks right back, his voice careful. Melanie rolls her eyes.

"Does he feed too?"

"Not quite," Gerry says quietly after a moment. "He's neither here nor there, you know? Lukas forced him into the Lonely, but then he chose it himself. He's like Basira, or you when you had the bullet, only there's nothing to pull out of him to fix it."

The disappointment at this fact is clear in his voice, and Melanie remembers once again the kind of person her friend is.

"I'm sure having you helps." She shrugs. "All of us, I suppose."

Including herself in it feels weird, but right. Georgie's laugh comes through the window, mixed with Jon and Martin's quieter chuckles, and a crackly radio playing old classic rock. The garden smells like moist dirt and the cool, crisp highland air, and she can hear Gerry digging around with what she guesses must be a spade.

"I wanted to kill you when I first met you, you know?" she blurts out. And now I'm here sitting with you while you work on your dumb little garden, she thinks, but doesn't say.

"I did get that impression, I don't know why. The knife, maybe." Gerry chuckles, and his spade thuds on the ground before he comes to sit against the wall with her, bumping their shoulders together. "I'm glad you didn't."

"Yeah." Melanie goes to take another sip of her cider to soothe her suddenly dry throat. She knocks her foot against Gerry's leg. "Yeah, me too."

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

What with his mother, his general insecurities and the whole 'comiting to the embodiment of loneliness' thing, Martin has had very few opportunities to live with people in his adult life. He's surprised to find that he likes it, despite the constant itch of frustration coming from the bits of the Forsaken buried feel within him.

There's something to be said about hearing Gerry whistling to himself as he works on the garden, or waking up from a nap to the scent of whatever Jon is cooking for supper.

There is notoriously less to be said for stepping on a wet towel at four in the morning when he's just trying to go into the bathroom to pee.

"Gerry!" he snaps, trying to keep his voice to a whisper because even if Jon isn't asleep or even in the room right now, it's four in the morning.

"Martin? What happened?" Gerry asks a second after, his voice just the slightest bit shaky still, which Martin would take pride on at any other time. "Are you okay?"

"Why do you insist on leaving your wet towels on the floor?"

"...Oh. Sorry?" Martin can practically hear Gerry's sheepish smile. "In my defense, I mostly lived in motel rooms?"

"Yes, and then you lived with Jon for like seven months." Martin rolls his eyes, straightening back up. "I'm going to have to do something about it."

"Oh, are you? What will you- oompf!" Gerry's low, teasing voice is cut short when the balled up damp towel finds its mark, and Martin closes the door to the bathroom with a satisfied smile.

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

"We should start thinking of what we're going to do, I think." There's something to Martin's voice when he says it that gets Gerry into high alert mode immediately, which is a bit ridiculous, considering they're standing in front of the produce rack at the farm shop while Jon chooses some vegetables.

"About what?" Gerry asks.

"Well mostly I-" Martin stops and clears his throat. "I just-"

Martin stops again, this time with a little chuckle that sounds more nervous than amused. Jon turns around, eggplant in hand and eyebrow raised questioningly.

"Martin?"

"This is probably the weirdest way I've asked 'what are we?' in my life," Martin says after a couple seconds, shaking his head with a smile. "But mostly- are we staying here? At the cottage, I mean."

Oh.

"We can't keep living off of our savings, and I somehow doubt Elias is going to keep paying me and Jon a regular salary," Martin continues far more casually now that he got past the initial awkwardness, seemingly unaware of Gerry's brain blanking. "It does get a lot cheaper with the two of you not needing to eat, but I should probably try and get a job to, you know, feed myself and the like. I guess my question is if you'd rather stay here or go back to London or...?"

Gerry feels his eyebrows raise as what Martin is asking slowly rains down on him. It's- it's one thing to entertain his normal, boring life fantasies, and another one completely to hear someone else voice them.

"Hm. I suppose we do have to return to London eventually, to help look for Daisy." Jon taps his bottom lip with the eggplant's stem. "Whether we stay there or not is another matter entirely, I suppose. I don't really have a preference, Gerry-"

"The carrots won't be ready to harvest until next year," Gerry blurts out when they both turn to look at him. It feels important, for some reason.

These past three months have been a dream, so pleasant and calm Gerry has caught himself thinking on more than one occasion that maybe- maybe he's done, and he can rest now, here at the end of the world with these two.

Maybe he's earned this.

Jon and Martin are still staring at him, the former's eyes are gleaming with something that looks like fondness, and the latter's got a hand up to hide his grin.

"I mean- we can go wherever-" as long as they're together, that is, but he's not about to say that, not after using carrots as his excuse. "Just-"

"He does have a point, Martin." Jon interrupts him with a shrug, coming closer to slot himself under Gerry's arm.

Martin nods sagely. "We can't just leave the carrots."

"Stop," Gerry snorts, shaking his head as Martin comes to lay a kiss on his forehead. I guess that's a yes on the job hunting, then. I could try to get something too."

"Huh." Martin blinks, and his shoulders shake with a little huff of laughter. "Gerry, I think you might be the one person on earth whose CV could look worse than mine, even with the unverifiable previous job."

"What a blast of an interview though, can you imagine? 'It says here you haven't had a job since... Pinhole Books around ten years ago?' 'well yes, I was off stopping terror rituals and killing people, and then I was dead for four years, but I got better.' "

"I think I'd hire you just for having the guts to lie like that," Jon says from under his arm, before accusingly pointing the eggplant at Martin. "And your previous job is hardly unverifiable. I actually think your previous boss would give you a sparkling review."

"The one you killed after he put me in a nightmare dimension?" Martin asks, an eyebrow arched and his lips curled into an amused grin.

"I'm trying to flirt with you, sir," Jon deadpans. His voice has the light, tangy aftertaste of his bittersweet jokes, and Gerry squeezes him a bit against his side.

Martin's grin turns pleased as his face colors slightly, which makes Gerry smile when he realizes Martin was just fishing for the confirmation.

"I could give you a recommendation letter too." Gerry tangles his fingers in Martin's free hand. "Martin Blackwood? Overqualified for any job you throw at him, his only areas of opportunity are the occasional arson in work premises and the fact that he's very bad at keeping people out of his office."

"Certain people," Martin says, butting his forehead against Gerry's with a smile.

"You two are ridiculous," Jon chuckles. "Let's get home already."

Home, the word rings in his chest like a bell, like the heart he wasn't given back but feels the pull of at every waking moment.

"Yeah. Let's go home."

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

The creature -it is shaped like a human, but the hunter knows better, can smell the monster in it- squirms and thrashes in its jaws, though what end it hopes to achieve is a mystery to the hunter, because the only thing it gets for its trouble is for said jaws to clench down tighter around it, until yellowed, long fangs pierce skin and stain red.

It tastes like dirt.

The hunter despises the taste of dirt, and even more so the feeling of it sliding down its throat, far too evocative of another time, another life that might as well have lasted forever, were it not for the prey it let escape, that for some reason came back and clung to it as tightly as the hunter now clings to its newest victim.

Deep down in the hunter's chest something sparks to life at the thought, the memory of thin hands pulling at it even as pointed stones dug into their skin. The prey has a name, or at least it used to.

The hunter shakes its head, trying to rid it if the useless, confusing thoughts.

It too had a name one day, but that does not matter now. It is the hunter, and what it does is to chase, to kill.

It lets go of the broken body between its jaws, just as another scent drifts into its nose.

The hunter changes tracks, and starts the chase again, leaving behind any thoughts of previous prey, named or not.

Jon sighs, blinking the black and white and red of Daisy's vision away.

It's nothing new, he had an inkling of what he'd See even before he looked, but it still hurts. With each day that Daisy passes under the thrall of the Hunt her mind grows more and more distant, far from any reach they could have.

They need to go back to London soon. Between himself, Basira and Gerry, they might be able to pin Daisy's location before she bounces again.

It hurts. Jon is more than aware that after so much fighting to become something else, what dragged Daisy back into the pit she promised to not to return was her fondness for him.

The darkness in the room recedes a little when he opens his eyes again, the green glow casting eerie, menacing shadows out of every unassuming object, like trying to convince Jon he's not the most dangerous being to ever sit in this living room.

Down the little corridor come the sounds of Martin's soft snoring and whatever it is that Gerry's mumbling in his sleep, and Jon sighs. The tape recorder still runs somewhere in the living room, waiting perhaps for a declaration.

"I'm- I'll breach the topic with them tomorrow." He says in the end. Talking to the tapes has always felt grounding. "We just have to find Daisy, and then we'll be free to come back here for however long we want."

For the time being... there's no use in worrying, Jon guesses.

Out the corner of his eye he catches Martin's notebooks on his little table by the window, and he feels his lips arching into a smile despite himself.

They've come a long way from Jon fishing out discarded poetry from garbage bins, he thinks to himself as he pulls one of the notebooks. Thankfully, Martin has said he doesn't mind them reading his things as long as he isn't in the room, so this will make for a nice distraction.

"Good things", Jon reads aloud from the page he opens at random, which he notices has a lot less crossed out sections than the others. Apparently Martin found his words pretty easily after a few stumbles at the beginning. "You'll- you'll have to forgive me, Martin," he tells the recorder, chuckling. "I've never had a voice for poetry, in my opinion. But I'll leave it to the jury to decide."

He clears his throat, holding the notebook open with two fingers, Martin's neat, tight handwriting illuminated in green.

'Good things, by Martin K. Blackwood.

There is something interesting to be said About things that come in threes.

Like coins in a fountain rings to a circus, or stars to Orion's belt, Like three acts parts to a story that is not finished yet.

Why is it that three's a crowd, yet Good things come in three's? People always say hello, Jon. My apologies for interrupting whatever it was that our mutual acquaintance managed to sneak this into, but I thought it better to let her arrange the delivery as she saw fit.

Hopefully this finds you alone; I shouldn't speak ill of a gift from our patron, especially with how well he served his purpose, but as useful as he's been in keeping you alive and encouraging you to develop your powers, your dear Gerard is quite adept at getting in the way, no doubt he gets it from Gertrude. Though I do suppose I should stop underestimating Martin by this point, shouldn't I?

I must admit, I neither expected nor wished to watch him walk out of the fog with you. It is far too late in the game for unwanted variables, but by this point I suppose I must simply sit back and hope that the Mother's blessing is enough to keep him out of my designs.

By this point I suppose you have attempted to stop reading, I don't recommend it, you will only hurt yourself. I thought your little retreat had lasted enough already, and you could use some help getting back into the flow of work.

Let us begin then, just one more, for old times sake.

Statement of Jonah Magnus regarding Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.

[adenil-umano]

12 Days of Spones Day 3: Travel

[Read on AO3]

In a universe where instant travel was always at his fingertips, McCoy knew that sometimes it was the journey that mattered the most. The Enterprise was due for a refit and her crew was granted an extended shore leave. McCoy spent the first day at his family’s ranch in Georgia closing out all his old cases. There were miles of notes to catch up on and by the time he was done the first day of shore leave had turned to night. He padded around the empty house adjusting picture frames and dusting shelves, sipping on an Andorian ale until he was tired enough to fall asleep on the couch.

The next day he spent packing the shuttle car. It was an older model with a low hover height and a top speed of ninety kilometers an hour. The autopilot had been broken for years. He filled the trunk space with his suitcases and datapadds and then went back to the ranch to lock up. When he returned he was surprised to see Spock standing by the shuttle car with a bag over his shoulder.

McCoy blinked. “Spock. Fancy meeting you here.”

Spock had been looking out over the horizon, and he turned as McCoy spoke, his gaze half-lidded and contemplative. “Doctor,” he greeted, and said nothing more.

“What brings you to Georgia?”

“I am not certain.”

McCoy’s interest was piqued. “This is a rare day indeed, if the indomitably brilliant Mr. Spock is admitting he doesn’t know something.”

Spock inclined his head. “I admit I was…curious about the place you call home. I find it is less illogically ordered than I had assumed.”

“It’s a ranch, Spock. They have their own logic.”

“Indeed. It seems to have been quite some time since any animals were raised here. The garden also seems to be in a state of disrepair.”

McCoy followed his gaze to the old garden plot near the house. The only thing that distinguished it was the different kind of grass that had taken root there, and the dilapidated wood fencing that was falling in on itself. “Well, it’ll have to lie fallow a bit longer. I’m not here long enough to fix this place up.”

“You are preparing for a trip?”

“Yeah. One I’ve been wanting to do for a long time.”

“Where will you go?”

“To Alaska.”

Spock blinked. He glanced back at the shuttle car, his brown eyes calculating. “I do not believe this vehicle will last the trip.”

“I spent most of my childhood fixing up this old girl. If I encounter problems I can handle them.”

“The Alcan Highway is notorious for its state of disrepair.”

McCoy shrugged. “Like I said, I’ll handle it. That’s part of the excitement of taking a trip like this, Spock.”

“I see.”

Spock’s gaze was fixed on the shuttle car. McCoy considered him standing there, looking a bit small with just his single bag over his shoulder.

“…What are you doing for shore leave?”

“I had not yet decided.”

“Just wanted to pay your old pal McCoy a visit, hm? Well, get in the damned car.”

Spock tilted his head. “Doctor?”

“You heard me. Get in. For pity’s sake, Spock. You’re like a sad puppy standing there. I can hardly look at you.”

Spock frowned very slightly. “I am not a ‘sad puppy,’ Doctor.”

“Prove it.” McCoy swept his arm towards the car. “Come with me. You can make sure I don’t crash into a tree or get sucked into a pothole. If you get sick of it we can call Starfleet and have them beam you somewhere else.”

Spock hesitated for just a moment, but McCoy knew he had Spock dead to rights. The Vulcan had never been good at taking vacation even at the best of times, and being stuck on Earth probably didn’t sit well with him. After a moment, Spock nodded. He placed his bag in the back seat and climbed into the shuttle car.

It took three tries for McCoy to get the engine to turn over, and he ignored Spock’s look of concern as they lifted unsteadily into the air. The car had always listed to one side. The way McCoy remembered it, it had listed to the left, but the old bird had a prominent limp towards the right today. Either way, he’d handle it.

They took off over the field towards the highway, skimming near the surface of the planet and kicking up dust as they went. McCoy glanced over and saw Spock gripping the handle above the window, and he grinned. A little company was just what he needed.

---

They made good time the first day, and wound up in a little Podunk town near the corner where Tennessee met Missouri. Spock had relaxed after the first hundred kilometers and was now studiously typing in a datapadd. McCoy glanced over at him occasionally, smiling to himself at the sight of Spock with his nose in a book—or some other data—while the world passed by just outside the window. But most McCoy entertained himself by watching the scenery and occasionally flipping through the radio stations. He knew Spock would talk when he was ready.

The shuttle car had fold-down back seats suitable for sleeping on, but McCoy didn’t feel like being that cramped this early in the trip. He booked a room at a motel with a hot tub and spent most of the night making soup of himself and turning wrinkly and pruned while Spock sat nearby, still writing. McCoy flicked a few droplets of water Spock’s way and laughed as Spock scowled like a wet cat. They ate sandwiches in the motel room and McCoy collapsed into bed before nine o’clock.

He awoke once, that first night, just as Spock was turning down the covers of the bed across from him. He watched Spock, dimly lit by the light seeping through the partially curtained window, as he moved about in his Starfleet-issued pajamas. They were black silk, and the pants were just a bit too short for Spock, exposing his ankles and making him look like a lanky teenager who was growing too fast. McCoy snorted to himself and rolled over, falling instantly back to sleep.

The next day they stopped at the St. Louis gateway arch. McCoy wasn’t too impressed, but he perked up when they found an expansive botanical garden. The air was thick and humid, and he made Spock stop to pose for pictures. He captured Spock’s long-suffering frown near a dozen different flowers from all over the world.

They fell into a rhythm. With plenty of time to sight-see, the fact that the shuttle car was less than half as fast as current models didn’t bother McCoy. Spock hardly seemed to notice whether they were stopped or moving; he kept his nose tucked into the datapadd he was working on regardless. They ate at the greasiest spoon dives that McCoy could find for one meal, and then at an upscale restaurant that served single bites on porcelain plates the next. Occasionally, McCoy commented on the scenery during their drive, and Spock always replied dutifully. They picked up an old argument about the logic (or lack thereof) of different systems of classifying living creatures, and then they put the argument down again. Neither was in any hurry to win. McCoy was just arguing because he liked to hear Spock’s voice.

In the evening they would stop wherever was convenient. They stayed at a five-star hotel one night where room service delivered fresh pasta and bread that was still warm to the touch. The next night they spent at a bread and breakfast that woke them precisely at 6:00 a.m. for waffles and strawberries. McCoy growled his annoyance at the early hour and Spock placated him by fetching mug after mug of fresh coffee. They sat at the small table with their elbows touching, listening to their host tell them about all the people that had come through and stayed with her. She’d had folks from Starfleet before, of course, but never anyone from such a prestigious starship.

“Tell me, what’s it like? The only time I’ve ever been off-world was to visit my cousin on Mars for her wedding. I’ve never travelled outside the solar system.”

“At a certain point you forget you're travelling anywhere,” McCoy said. “It’s just you and the crew, and the ship is almost like its own small planet. You forget you’re moving, forget there’s anything else besides those walls and the view.”

He found himself looking at Spock, who was still contemplating their host’s question. After a moment, Spock said, “It is quite mentally stimulating.”

She smiled. “I’ll just bet it is. Is that how you two met?”

“Yeah, we both serve on the Enterprise.”

“It must be hard,” she said, glancing up towards the ceiling as if she could see through it to where the Enterprise orbited above them. “Being away from home.” She smiled. “Well, at least you have each other.”

McCoy didn’t have an answer to that. He busied himself with his waffles, and when Spock’s elbow bumped him he didn’t pull away.

---

They went north far enough to stop at the Crazy Horse Memorial. They stood on the viewing platform side-by-side. McCoy traced Crazy Horse’s bold profile with his eyes, admiring the craftsmanship of his outstretched arm and the braying face of the horse he rode. After, he turned the shuttle car west.

The landscape shifted and changed beneath them. Black hills transitioned suddenly into dry desert. Mountains sprung up occasionally, and then more frequently, and McCoy maneuvered the car slowly around the switchbacks. Spock had put down his datapadd and was gripping tightly to the handle above the window again.

“Sorry,” McCoy muttered.

“It is no matter,” Spock said, but his voice was a bit wavery and he was quite pale.

“If you’re car sick I’ve got a hypo in the back.”

Spock shook his head, but it took only a few more curving switchbacks for him to rise in his seat and turn to reach back for the medkit. His shoulder brushed McCoy’s as he searched, and then he withdrew with hypo in hand. He spun the dial and held it up to McCoy, who nodded at the dosage. Spock injected himself and placed the hypospray in the cup holder, already relaxing in increments.

“Didn’t expect you to be the type to get car sick,” McCoy said, keeping his eyes glued to the road. “I’ve never seen you get space sick, even when we’re being rocked to next Tuesday by some anomaly or another.”

“Normally, we are not close enough to the ground for me to see the horizon,” Spock said. He had leaned back in his seat but hadn’t picked up the datapadd again. “I have gotten sea sick once before while boating on a lake on Andoria. It is not a pleasant experience.”

“Not very logical either?”

“Indeed, no.” Spock’s voice carried a faint hint of exasperation. “It is not logical for my brain to misinterpret my balance.”

“Well, that nausea hypo should help. And not reading for a while. That always used to make me car sick as a kid.”

Spock hummed. “I suppose I shall have to finish my work later.”

“What are you working on anyway? You haven’t looked away from that padd this whole trip.”

Spock was silent. McCoy risked a glance over and found Spock gazing out the window with a faint hint of wistfulness.

“You don’t have to answer,” McCoy said, turning back to the road. “If it’s private.”

“It is not. Not…precisely.” Spock considered for a moment longer. “I would like to tell you. However, I would prefer to wait for our arrival in Fairbanks. Is this acceptable?”

McCoy laughed. “Sure, Spock. Whatever makes you happy.”

“Happiness plays no part—”

“I know, I know.” He reached out blindly and managed to pat Spock’s arm. “I was just teasing you.”

“Very well,” Spock said, sounding miffed.

McCoy managed not to laugh at him too loudly, and drove on.

---

They stopped at the Pacific ocean, because when you drive that far West you might as well go further. McCoy found a sandy beach and hopped out of the car, leaving his boots on the ground. After a moment’s hesitation Spock copied him, slipping off his boots and leaving them propped up straight near McCoy’s haphazard pile. They walked barefoot down the sandy path and stood at the edge of the wave line waiting for the cold water to come to them. When it did, it came faster and further than McCoy had expected, and they had to run to avoid getting drenched, McCoy cackling and Spock with wide, bright eyes. McCoy’s jeans still wound up soaked up to the hip, and Spock’s was wet up to the knee.

Together, they walked along the beach picking up shells. There was a spawning of jellyfish in the sand and Spock regaled him with every known fact about the species as they tiptoed around them and watched the waves roll up and carry their gelatinous bodies away again. When they were done McCoy had a pocket full of smooth shells and there was sand on every inch of his body.

They found a cottage along the coast where they could stay the night and shower off. When McCoy emerged from the shower with a towel around his hips, feeling clean and warm, he found Spock arranging their shells. Spock looked up at him and his gaze was unexpectedly heavy, warming McCoy even further until he felt hot and flushed.

“Shower’s yours,” he said gruffly, moving to pull his pajamas from his suitcase.

Spock rose silently and made his way into the bathroom. When the door closed McCoy ambled over to look at the shells. They were arranged by type, or so it appeared, lined up in neat little rows. But one stood out from the rest. It was shaped differently, very particularly, and McCoy had to scold himself for thinking it was shaped like a heart.

They followed the coastline North to Dawson Creek. They spent a few days there taking short day trips to various locations to hike and admire the scenery. It was strange to be able to hike without worrying about catching an alien disease or falling prey to some alien animal. It had been years since McCoy had been able to hike outside of the context of an away mission. Spock seemed to find it harder to break the habit, and he brought a tricorder on each trip to scan the plants and wildlife, and to map the ground on water where they went.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” McCoy said mildly. He was sitting on a boulder at the edge of a river, watching with amusement as Spock knelt to scan a small cluster of flowers. “I’m fairly certain we’ve discovered every animal on Earth by now.”

Spock paused to consider his words. “One never knows what is left to discover.”

McCoy chuckled. He slid off the boulder and ambled over to Spock, eying the flowers Spock was still scanning. “You really don’t know how to relax, do you?”

“This is relaxing.”

“No, this is work during vacation.” He knelt beside Spock and placed his hand on top of the tricorder, slowly closing it. “You don’t have to scan everything you see, Spock. Sometimes it’s okay to just look and experience it. If you want to look closer…” He reached down and plucked one of the flowers. It was yellow, with a brown seed head and firm, smooth stem. “You can simply pick it up and touch it.”

He held out the flower to Spock. Spock was watching him intently, eyes trained on McCoy’s hands as though he were carrying a fragile bird, or the cure to some disease, and not just a flower. After a moment his gaze flickered upwards and their eyes met, and McCoy was struck by the enormity of the emotion on display in Spock’s eyes. There was turmoil there, a kind of sadness that fluttered under the surface. But, more boldly, there was warmth, and happiness. Spock looked at him like he held the universe in his hands.

Spock accepted the flower. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Of course.” McCoy’s voice was thick.

Had he imagined that look? No, not possible. Not when there were still hints of it in Spock’s sly glances, in the way he cradled the flower like it was the greatest gift he had ever received.

McCoy’s skin itched. “Well,” he said, standing. “That’s enough rest. We should get back to our hike.”

Spock nodded and rose as well. They went into the woods together, and Spock kept the tricorder closed.

---

It became harder to find places to sleep at night. The first day on the Alcan Highway they drove until well after dark to find a town with an open room. The town was hardly more than a few buildings scattered about, and McCoy slept the sleep of the dead, exhausted from such a long drive.

On their second night they couldn’t find a town to rest at no matter how far they drove. McCoy pulled over to the side of the road and flicked on the overhead light, consulting his map. Spock leaned over to look as well, and they came to the same decision together.

“It’s too far,” McCoy said, folding the map and tucking it away. “At least another two hours.”

“It will be well after midnight before we arrive.”

McCoy looked at him. “The back seats fold down,” he suggested mildly. “It’d be cramped, but I don’t think I’m fit to drive much longer.”

Spock inclined his head in silent agreement.

They cleared out the back seat. It was fall; the night air was crisp and a bit cold. Spock folded down the seats while McCoy pulled out his blanket and pillow, seeing now the real problem with this plan.

“I only brought one of each,” he said. “Unless you’ve got one tucked away in your satchel, we’ll have to share.”

“I do not.”

McCoy nodded. “Here, you can have the pillow. The blanket’s pretty big. If I steal it in the night, just…elbow me or something.”

Spock seemed amused, but it was difficult to tell with only stars providing light.

They each turned around while the other slipped into pajamas, giving what privacy they could. With the seats down the space was just big enough for them to line down side-by-side. If McCoy stretched out fully his toes brushed the wall of the trunk. He folded his arm under his head and tried to get comfortable. Spock shuffled around getting comfortable. McCoy could feel the heat radiating off Spock’s body, nice and warm in the cold night. Half-consciously, he shifted a little closer.

“…Doctor,” Spock whispered after a moment.

“Hmm?”

“As you are the primary driver, perhaps you would like the pillow.”

His voice was so low and soothing, McCoy thought. He closed his eyes to better bask in the sound. “No, it’s alright. Wouldn’t want you to get a headache from sleeping wrong. I’ve seen how you act when your head hurts.”

“And I have seen you with a headache.”

He chuckled. “I suppose you’ve got me there.”

There was another pause, a bit longer this time. Just when McCoy thought Spock had dropped the issue, the Vulcan began to shift around again. There was the rustle of fabric against fabric and suddenly Spock’s warmth was a great deal closer. McCoy’s eyes flew open. Now adjusted to the light, he could see Spock’s outline in the starlight. He watched as Spock inched the pillow closer, so that his head was barely on one side, the other side an offering to McCoy.

McCoy gulped. “…You sure?”

“Quite.”

He inched closer. “I snore sometimes, you know.”

Spock sighed, long-suffering. “I am aware. We have shared a room every night for the previous two-and-a-half weeks.”

“It’s just—”

His argument was cut short as Spock’s hand settled on his hip. McCoy snapped his mouth shut, utterly floored by that light touch. Spock wasn’t pulling at him, or really doing much of anything, but the point of contact sparked fire beneath McCoy’s skin. He swallowed thickly and let his body do what it wanted, which was to fall against Spock.

They curled together beneath the blanket, their heads bent towards each other like curved question marks. McCoy didn’t know where to put his hands so he let them fold between their bodies, trying to maintain a faint and pointless distance. Spock’s arm twined around him, his hand resting more firmly against McCoy’s lower back, and his other arm slipped easily under McCoy’s head.

They were cuddling, definitely. It should have felt awkward, but it just felt right. Spock was warm and soft and it was easy for McCoy to bury his face against Spock’s neck and let out a sigh that made Spock shiver. He could smell Spock’s odd Vulcan cologne, a slightly spicy scent. Spock’s hand began to rub against his back soothingly, almost a pet, and McCoy concentrated on that small touch.

Spock soothed him to sleep, and McCoy could think of no better dream than this reality.

---

There were hundreds of bridges along the highway, and they stopped at most of them. Some were small enough to jump over, while others bridged huge gullies that made McCoy experience vertigo. They looked at water, more water than was on the entire surface of Vulcan, mapping all its different forms. At night, even if there was a hotel available, they pulled into whatever parking lot was around instead and folded down the back seat, and McCoy crawled into Spock’s waiting embrace.

They stopped at Delta Junction towards the end of the last day and just stood there, soaking in the beauty of this small, blue planet. Before them were kilometers of rewilded forest. Behind them, mountains jutted up over the horizon. McCoy lifted his head to the sun and felt warm despite the cold breeze.

“Nearly there,” he murmured.

“Yes.”

Spock came to stand beside him. Spock was often standing beside him, McCoy realized. He smiled at Spock, and Spock returned the look with a faint bend at the corner of his lips.

“Haven’t seen you writing in your datapadd in a while,” McCoy said quietly.

“I finished what I intended to write,” Spock said. “At a certain point further edits cease their usefulness.”

“Makes sense.” He turned back to the forest and spread his arms wide. It felt silly, but also perfectly right, to embrace the world in a tiny, human hug. “Oh, Spock,” he breathed. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”

“I have not. I believe the word you would use to describe it is ‘majestic.’”

“Too small a word.” McCoy turned and found Spock watching him, and he smiled. “Should we continue on? Fairbanks is just a couple hours away.”

Spock turned somber. “Indeed.”

The last few hours were quieter than the ones that had come before. Spock was in the passenger’s seat with his eyes closed, apparently meditating, and the datapadd on his lap but turned off. Every kilometer they passed something new and beautiful and McCoy felt his breath stolen from him again and again.

It was dark by the time they arrived in Fairbanks, and McCoy startled when Spock’s hand came to rest against his wrist.

“Stop here.”

McCoy pulled over and Spock climbed out of the shuttle car. McCoy followed him down a brick path to a small lookout over the river. Above them, the sky was bright and clear, inky black broken only by the white pinpricks of stars. Spock tipped his head toward the sky.

“This will do,” he declared, turning back to McCoy.

McCoy shifted his feet. “Do for what?”

In answer, Spock handed him the datapadd. Cautiously, McCoy accepted it, uncertain what he would find. He switched it on and read the first paragraph, then had to stop and go back to read it again, unable to process what he was seeing.

There were several pages and he flipped through them slowly, stunned by the prose Spock had spilled onto the page. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so surprised; Spock had always had a way with words, after all. But this was almost…poetic. There was a depth McCoy knew Spock was capable of feeling, but hadn’t known Spock was capable of expressing.

“Spock, this is…”

“When I first arrived in Georgia,” Spock said, turning back to the sky. “I already planned to tell you, but I could not find the words.”

“Spock…”

“When I look at you, Leonard,” Spock said, visibly struggling to voice what he had already written on the page. “I feel…love.”

“Oh, Spock.”

“I look at you and see the future. One where I might be with you, and have you be with me. I would like, very much, to become the person you could find yourself loving.”

“Goddammit.” McCoy swiped at his eyes. “You’re such an idiot.”

Spock looked miffed. “If my confession offends you—”

“No! Just—dammit, c’mere you.” He reached out and took Spock’s hand. “I already love you, you foolish, beautiful Vulcan.”

Spock seemed surprised, and then inordinately pleased. “Indeed?”

“I figured it was pretty obvious, what with the cuddling. But maybe I need to say it in a way you can’t misconstrue. I just spent over three weeks in a car with you and didn’t want to pull my hair out or bite your head off. We’ve battled great evil together. We fight and I…like it, okay? I like you, and I want to be with you in all the mushy romantic ways you wrote here.” He held up the padd. “Honestly, Spock, it’s like you were reading my damned mind about some of this stuff. You weren’t, were you?”

Spock shook his head. He seemed incapable of speech.

McCoy grinned. “Guess it’s just proof we’re good together.” He tightened his grip and tugged Spock closer. “Why wait until Fairbanks to say it?”

“I…was not brave.”

“Not very logical of you.”

“This feeling is not logical,” Spock said seriously. “And it is the only feeling I have ever had which I choose to embrace fully.”

McCoy’s breath caught. “Oh. It’s like that, is it?”

“It is.”

They were standing awfully close now, almost as close as Spock had held him last night, when their legs had tangled together and Spock had run his hand through McCoy’s hair.

“Leonard.”

“Yeah?” he breathed.

“May I kiss you?”

“Hell. Absolutely. Thought you’d never—”

Spock stole the rest of his sentence, and his breath, and McCoy’s knees went weak and he dropped the padd. He fell against Spock and Spock caught him, warm and firm and strong. They had traveled together across the galaxy, and then over a quarter of Earth, but suddenly the entire Universe had narrowed down to two small points of light. As they met beneath the sky all that mattered was each other.

He felt Spock’s hand come up to cup the side of his face, and he tilted to deepen the connection. Spock was sweet and soft, and McCoy felt like he was flying.

When they pulled apart McCoy was dazed, and he didn’t know how much time had passed. Spock traced the bone of his cheek with one calloused thumb, a faint smile on his lips that McCoy yearned to taste.

“Shall we retire for the evening, Leonard?” Spock said softly.

“R-right, absolutely.” He took a step away and then turned back, picking up the dropped datapadd. “Let’s get a real room, though. Cuddling in the backseat of a car is fine, but we aren’t teenagers.”

Spock’s eyes were bright with mirth. “I agree. I would very much like to hold you again tonight.”

“Dammit, Spock,” McCoy whispered. “You can’t just say things like that. Don’t you know what you’re doing to me?”

“I have some idea.” Spock sidled close as they walked back to the shuttle car together. “For it is the same thing which you do to me.”

McCoy bumped Spock’s shoulder, feeling giddy. It was almost physically painful to separate the few inches necessary to climb back into the shuttle car, but once there Spock reached out and took McCoy’s hand. McCoy held him back tightly, unwilling and unable to hide his expansive grin.

After going all that distance it was less than a kilometer to the final hotel, and only a single flight of stairs to the room. Spock pulled him inside and into a kiss, shutting the door firmly behind them. It may have been the journey that had gotten them here, but McCoy found he quite liked the destination as well.

[whumphoarder]

Who Needs Disney When You Have Russell Crowe?

Summary: When Peter’s ear infection gets a little out of hand, Tony and Morgan have slightly different ideas of how to help.

Word count: 1,874

Genre: Sickfic, domestic fluff, Whump Lite™

A/N: Thanks to @xxx-cat-xxx for beta-reading and ideas <3

Link to read on Ao3

Peter wakes to the sound of quiet whimpering.

It takes a few seconds for his groggy brain to register where he is, but the warm glow of the bunny-shaped night light on the opposite wall illuminating the Arendelle toy castle and the pile of stuffed animals on the floor gives it away. He’s in Morgan’s room. Morgan, who insisted on getting a bunk bed for her sixth birthday so that she and Peter could have sleepovers whenever he came to visit.

Morgan, who is clearly in the midst of a nightmare.

“Mo...” Peter whispers hoarsely. There are a few more quiet, pained whimpers. “Mo,” he tries again, louder. His left ear is throbbing and it’s ridiculously stuffy in this room—he’s actually sweating. Kicking the tangled bed covers off of himself, he lifts a hand to tap the wooden bed frame over his head. She stirs. “Morgan, wake u-up.” His voice cracks on the last word.

Morgan sits up in her bunk. “Yeah?” she asks drowsily. She leans over the edge of bed to look at him, strands of her long hair falling in her face. “What is it?”

She doesn’t seem particularly upset, which Peter finds strange. “Did… did you have a b-bad dream?” he asks.

In the dim light of the room, he can just make out her curious expression. “I don’t think so.” She swings her legs over the side of the bed and shimmies backwards down the ladder. “Did you?”

“Wh-What?” His ear is ringing, the pain feeling almost bone-deep. There’s another whimper, barely audible.

“You’re crying,” she says simply, perching herself on the edge of his bed. Her brow knits together. “Are you sad?”

Peter wipes the back of his hand roughly across his face and finds it’s wet with tears. It takes a second for his addled brain to realize that she’s right, and then an instant wave of self-consciousness washes over him as he looks into the eyes of the frowning six-year-old. “No, sorry, ‘m fine.” He pushes himself up on his elbows, hurriedly brushing the tears away.

Morgan’s eyes go wide. “You’re bleeding!” she gasps.

“Huh?” Peter follows her horrified gaze down to the pillow he’s been using. It’s covered in something dark and sticky. Alarmed, he lifts a shaky hand to his throbbing ear and feels more liquid trickling down. “Oh – um – wow, uh...”

“I’m getting Daddy!” Morgan declares, jumping up from the mattress and spinning on her heel. “Hang on!”

“Wait, no, don’t freak him—”

But she’s already out of the room.

“...out.” With a small groan, Peter carefully sits the rest of the way up and flips the lamp on. The pastel lilac pillowcase is stained with a mixture of blood and yellowish fluid. Grimacing, he grabs some tissues from the box on Morgan’s dresser and dabs them carefully at his dripping ear, hissing sharply at the stabbing pain it causes.

Within a minute, Morgan is back, dragging the hand of a disheveled but surprisingly alert-looking Tony in after her. “See? He’s crying and bleeding out of his ears!” she blurts.

“Just one ear,” Peter corrects, lowering the tissue down to look at the fresh blood and pus on it. “Gross...”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Oh, well in that case I’ll just go back to bed—you’re perfectly fine.” He moves over to the bed, Morgan following close behind. “Anything you wanna share with the class? You take any good hits to the noggin’ recently? Blow something up?”

Peter shakes his head as much as he dares, which only increases the ringing sensation. “No, nothing like that,” he mutters. He wishes this was something cool and Spider-Man related, but he’s pretty sure it’s just his patented Parker Luck™. “Ear started hurting a couple days ago,” he admits. “Thought it would go away.”

Tony pulls out his phone and flips on the flashlight. “Can I see it?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, wincing. He bites his lower lip and does his best to keep as still as possible as Tony peers into his ear with the light.

“What does it look like?” Morgan asks curiously.

“Ugly as hell...” Tony mutters. He flicks the light off and turns to Peter. “Pretty sure you ruptured your eardrum, kiddo.”

“Ah.” The pain seems to ramp up with the confirmation. That checks out. Certainly feels like someone just bored a hole through his ear. He can feel the fluid dripping out down his cheek.

Tony must notice it too because he grimaces and pulls a couple more tissues out of the box to hand him. “You know, if you weren’t feeling well, you could have told us that when you got here,” he points out. “Instead of waiting until”—he glances at his lock screen—“3:37 in the morning.”

Peter manages a small smirk. “Gotta keep you on your toes. You know, now that you’re retired and all...”

Looking very unamused, Tony extends a hand and helps pull Peter up to standing. The movement only increases the throbbing in his ear and Peter squeezes his eyes shut tightly against a wave of dizziness.

“Alright?” Tony checks, still gripping his arm tightly.

“Yeah,” Peter breathes, the ringing growing louder. “Sorry. Just... really hurts.”

“He can have some of my medicine,” Morgan offers in a slightly hushed voice. “The one Mommy gives me when my ears hurt.”

Tony lets out a short laugh. “That’s nice of you, sweetie, but I don’t think grape-flavored Children’s Motrin is gonna cut it here.” He gestures up to the top bunk. “Why don’t you hop back up there and try to sleep some more while I go get Peter fixed up?”

Morgan sticks her lip out in a pout. “But I’m not tired now.”

Instant guilt comes over Peter at having woken her up, but Tony doesn’t miss a beat.

“Nope, you are, you just forgot,” he says knowingly. He lets go of Peter’s arm for a second to scoop the now quietly giggling six-year-old up and deposit her on the top bunk. “Count some sheep, kid,” he advises, flipping off the lamp and snagging Peter’s ruined pillow to toss in the laundry.

With Morgan situated, Tony guides Peter out of the bedroom and down the stairs. He leaves Peter to clean up in the bathroom before heading to the kitchen in search of some kind of painkiller that might work on an enhanced metabolism.

Eventually, Tony returns with a bottle of Tylenol-Codeine, a glass of water, and an apologetic look. “It’s the strongest stuff we’ve got here. Might take the edge off at least.”

Peter murmurs his thanks and takes the pills, mostly to humor him. They both know it’s a lost cause. He can burn through a dose of morphine in less than ten minutes; there’s no way over-the-counter meds are going to do anything.

“First thing in the morning, I’ll take you to see Bruce,” Tony promises. “We’ll get you on some antibiotics and something better for the pain.”

Peter just hums in response.

Tony sighs. “We can try a heating pad,” he suggests. “That helps Morgan sometimes.”

“Sure.” Peter shrugs, listless. He’ll do anything at this point to make his ear stop aching.

Tony locates the heating pad and gets Peter set up on the chaise section of the couch under a blanket with the heating pad resting on the pillow under his ear. It helps marginally, which is slightly more than Peter can say for the pills.

“Sorry, kiddo. If only you’d known me in the nineties,” Tony says with a sad chuckle. “Could’ve tried all kinds of stuff on you.”

Peter lets out a short, empty laugh. “Yeah, too bad. Sure May would’ve loved that…”

Tony settles down onto the other end of the couch and flips on the TV for distraction. After a bit of channel flipping, he picks a period war drama about a badass sea captain fighting during the Napoleonic Wars, starring Russell Crowe.

(It was that or “My Strange Addiction” on TLC, and neither of them felt like watching a woman eat a couch).

Peter doesn’t exactly sleep, but he closes his eyes and drifts in and out while the movie plays low in the background. He’s kind of queasy—probably a combination of the otherwise useless drugs and the low grade fever he’s pretty sure he’s got going—but it’s nothing too awful. At least the sounds of cannons firing and battles being waged on screen drown out the incessant ringing in his head.

He isn’t sure how much time passes before a new voice joins the mix in a stage-whisper:

“Are they gonna cut his arm off?”

Peter’s eyes snap open. He sees Tony dozing on the other end of the sofa, so he sits up a little straighter and turns around to look at the staircase behind him. Sure enough, Morgan is sitting on the fourth step from the bottom, just high enough to see over the couch to the TV.

“I thought you went back to bed,” Peter whispers.

Morgan shrugs. “Counting sheep is boring.” She stands up and tiptoes down the rest of the stairs and into the living room. “Are they gonna cut his arm off?” she repeats.

Peter looks back at the movie. The ship’s doctor is in the midst of a rather intense amputation scene on a young boy’s infected arm. “Yeah, looks like it,” he says through a wince. He should probably change the channel to something more child-friendly, but Tony’s got the remote balanced on his knee and he’s all the way on the other end of the sofa. Oh well.

Morgan nods at the screen, looking impressed. Then she looks back to Peter. “Does your ear still hurt a lot?”

“Nah, it’s not so bad,” Peter lies. “No need to cut it off or anything.” He scoots over on the cushion a bit. “You wanna sit here with me?”

“Yeah.” She nods and hops up onto the couch beside him, snuggling against his right side. “Did Daddy give you medicine?” she inquires.

“Yeah, he did,” Peter assures.

She nods approvingly. “And did he give you the heater thingy?”

Peter lifts the heating pad up slightly for her to see. “Yep.”

“Good.” She nods again. “And cuddles?”

“Eh…” His gaze drifting to his quietly snoring mentor, Peter smirks a bit. “I think I’m getting too old for those.”

“Everybody needs cuddles,” she says knowingly. Scooting a little closer to him, she wraps her arms around his waist. “See?”

A small smile creeps across Peter’s lips. “Yeah, I see.”

They sit there for a moment, Peter doing his best to focus on the steady pressure of the six-year-old’s gentle squeeze rather than the thumping in his head. It’s almost peaceful.

“Either that, or you need a stick,” Morgan pipes up, breaking the spell.

Peter’s brow furrows. “A stick?”

“To bite down on,” she explains, pointing at the TV. “Like the boy in the movie.”

Peter blinks, then shifts his gaze sideways to the little girl watching nineteenth-century field surgery technique with genuine interest.

“It’s so he doesn’t scream,” she informs.

Peter holds out his hand. “Just give me the remote, Mo.”

X

Link to all my fics

If you enjoyed this story, you might also like: Adventures at the Stark Lake House

[joy1579]

Can you expand more on the clumsy MC with Jumin? Because Hi! Guilty here! 😅 I have the coordination of a shoe .One time I almost lost an eye because I was packing groceries on my backpack and I took the sharp package quickly to close to my eye (got a cut on the eyelid instead, luckily), I felt 2 times on the shower, slip on the street and felt in various occasions (and from tall places in 2, one time chasing a cat) I even choke on my own saliva, if I'm still living is just luck I swear!

sure and no worries Hun same i legit managed to crack my glasses while they were on my face. if not for them i swear i’d only have one eye. as i was writing this i asked my friends about things i could add and all i got were “do you remember when you....” so yeah all of this might be based on things I've done.

clumsy MC part 2

jumin

-        when you broke your ankle stepping off a curb in heels he got rid of all your heels and made sure he had his arm around your waist ANYTIME there was a curb from then on (his grip makes it legitimately impossible for you to fall)

-        when you accidentally maced yourself the one time you went out with your sister, san’s body guards, he decided body guards where non-negotiable that way you didn’t need to carry personal protection

-        when you fell in the shower there was a 3-week period of showering together (he made it seem like it was something sweet and cute but you knew it was worry)

-        he legit does EVERYTHING he can to prevent you from getting hurt

-        he encourages yoga because it helps balance and flexibility both of which are supposed to help with clumsiness

-        he also read an article about how poor memory and slow response time can affect coordination so he asks if you want to do brain games and memory puzzles together (their actually really fun and it means a consistent date night with jumin so how could you say no)

Yoosung

-        when you fell off the weird scooter thing the doctor gave you for your broken ankle he was torn between angry that you where pushing yourself and sad that you where hurt and didn’t ask him for help (he gently scolds you before setting you up in the living room with everything you need and under his watchful eyes)

-        when you two are enjoying a vacation and you accidentally tumble into the hotel pool you grab for him on the way down and suddenly both of you are soaked laughing at each other’s soaked and surprised faces until the horror of the situation dawns on you. you dropped your phones (and his glasses) as you fell and now they reside at the bottom of the pool

-        when you trip, accidentally spilling the entirety of dinner across the floor and burning yourself in the process he’s rushing too your side only to slip himself and fall as well thankfully NOT burning himself in the process. you two spend the better part of an hour helping each other recover before you return to the kitchen and remember the mess that still needs cleaning

-        he doesn’t know how to become less clumsy so mostly he just tries to disaster prove the important stuff protective cases for his lolol figures, computer and phone. shatter proof or plastic dishes things like that

-        but most importantly he starts getting fluffy rugs and pillows so if you fall (at home at least) you’ll have a softer landing

-        he also gets really REALLY good at first aide he knows all the home remedies (partly thanks to him asking his mom) and starts slowly but surely creating a first aid kit for the both of you

-        you start calling him dr. yoosung because he tends to all your bumps and bruises and that makes the poor boi nearly implode the first few times

saeyoung

-        when he see’s you slam your hand in his car door by accident you swear you’ve never seen him move so fast. he’s got ice on your hand before you can even feel the pain. you joke saying you thought he’d be more concerned about his car than you but he’s definitely not in a joking mood and he scolds you for even thinking like that he’d give every last one of his cars away for free if it kept you safe

-        when rip over one of the cords for his many gadgets consequently almost giving yourself a concussion he saeran and vanderwood spend the rest of the night dedicating themselves to wire management and though saeyoung may never admit it without joking around it does make his tinkering and work much easier

-         when you two where having a tickle fight on the bed and you fell off the bed hitting your head on the counter of the bedside table he got you too the hospital in 10 minutes even through the drive normally took 35 minutes he fidgets the entire time you get stitches and it takes a while for you to convince him that 1: he didn’t hurt you it was an accident and 2: you aren’t mad or even hurt that bad you’ve had stitches plenty of times it’s not a big deal

-        he may be all fun and jokes sometimes but anytime you get close to ACTUALLY hurting yourself he gets right down to business

-        he knows it’s impossible to protect you from everything but if he CAN fix it he will

-        if he is even tangentially the cause he has a tendency to fall back into his old habits of pushing you away for your own good so you have to remind him that he’s the only one for you and explain that it probably wasn’t his fault anyway

zen

-        when you tumbled off the stage at one of his rehearsals and actually had a concussion he started purposefully positioning himself between you and ledges wether it’s the edge of the stage, sidewalk, or even the bed. thankfully his history with acting and stage performance means he has experience in blocking and being aware of where exactly you are compared to other people so it’s not too hard for him

-        when you crack your glasses (while they are in your face) he swears he saw his life flash before his eyes. you point out he wasn’t in danger and he says “i saw YOUR life flash before my eyes jagi!” he thanks the lord for your glasses where their to prevent what would have happened if you had hit your eye! of course he would have loved you anyway and called you his pirate princess. but there’s no way you could fully appreciate his beauty with one eye!

-        when he absentmindedly tosses you a water bottle for the first time and you fumble it accidentally soaking your outfit he gives you his signature jacket and apologizes so much you eventually decide to shut him up and the resulting flustered red faced zen truly is a beautiful sight

-        he wants to protect you as much as possible but he’s so used to his own grace and athleticism that he forgets you may struggle a bit more

-        - still he thinks you’re the cutest person in the whole world and may even think your clumsiness makes you even cuter!

Jaehee

-        when you barely managed to catch yourself but not the tray of dirty dishes you were carrying she rushed to make sure you weren’t hurt looking over your hands for cuts from the glass you were scrambling to clean she scolded you for not waiting for her to bring the broom

-        when you give yourself a pretty nasty burn while frosting a cake she physically pulled you to the sink to run your burn under cool water. after about a week patching you up she sneaks off to take a legitimate first aide course she wants to do everything by the book perfect when she’s taking care of you.

-        the valentine’s day dlc where y’all get locked in the storage room. yeah you accidentally broke that lock several times simply because of how often you tumble into it while trying to juggle boxes.

-        she adores how hard you work to make sure you don’t spill drinks or mess up cake decorations

-        she’s so confused by how you can have such a steady decorating hand and such shaky balance

-        whenever you’re feeling down about messing up something at the cafe because of your clumsiness she kisses your cheek and reminds you that you’re an amazing cook and the only one that can make those cookies that sell out within minutes (it’s a family recipe that you plan to teach her next valentine’s day)

Saeran

-        when you fell down the hill in the park he dropped the picnic basket to try and save you thankfully the food was only a little jostled and you were only a little scraped up. he still insisted and cleaning and bandaging your scrapes with the little kit he keeps with him (you’d be insulted but it’s come in handy more times than you’d like to admit)

-        when you fall into the rose bush in his garden he completely panics he’s afraid you’ll blame him for how hurt you got because OUCH! you assure him you aren’t angry but you would like some help with all the cuts pricks and thorns. after that he looks into roses without thorns and starts replanting you feel a little guilty until you see how excited he is to plant all the different type of thornless roses he’s found

-        when a stranger bumps you accidentally and you lose your balance tumbling down the stairs Saeyoung has to physically restrain him until he hears you sobbing and comes to his senses he rushes you to the doctor and waits anxiously while you get a cast. he swears he’s not crying but there’s a definite wetness to his eyes when he hugs you gently and promises he won’t ever let something that awful happen ever again

-        he’s pretty hyper vigilant simply because of his past but the longer you and he are together the more he turns the focus of his hyper vigilance from “don’t upset anyone because abuse” towards “potential trip hazard protect MC”

-        there’s not a soul out there that’s as gentle as he is when he’s trying to treat you. he’s mostly self-taught and it’s a lot of home remedies but the actually help a lot

[xiolaperry]

The Piano - Chapter 15

Summary: Belle French and her daughter arrive in New Zealand to an arranged marriage with Gaston LeGume.  Gaston shows little interest in her or her piano and books. However, Mr. Gold is fascinated… (Rumbelling of the 1993 film “The Piano”)

Rating: E for smut, dark subject matter and violence.

Also on AO3

-

Gaston watched over her in the night. Belle was pale, her sleep restless. Twitching and moaning, a nightmare played across her face. He sat motionless in a rare contemplative state. No anger remained. It had snuffed out like a candle as soon as Tilly ran away. He doubted she'd come back.

Belle's eyes opened. “Tilly?” she mouthed, questioning.

“With Gold,” he answered.

Her most pressing concern dealt with, she focused on him, intent. He studied her in return, examining her for the first time. He found no fear in her expression, only weariness. There was an ocean of thoughts in her blue eyes. Why did he never stop to listen to them before? Gold saw them, he realized. Gold had seen them from the beginning.

Belle's heart was so... light. Even with all the trials she must have faced in her life. Even with the latest one that he had brought upon her. Gold's was too. Gold thought his heart was dark, as did everyone else, but it wasn't. It was full of love, like Belle's heart, and only waiting for the right person to bring it out.

And himself? There was nothing, no love, not even lust. Had it been beaten out of him by his father? Schooled out of him by his aunt? He didn't know, all he knew was his heart was empty. A bit of shame, new and uncomfortable, lodged in his chest.

The only sound was the wind while Gaston and Belle reached an understanding.

-

Gold awoke with a start, the muzzle of a rifle poking his cheek. The coldness of the metal dashed all sleepiness from his mind and he was now fully alert. He had reclined on the bed to think and nodded off. Tilly slept, wrapped in a blanket beside him. Granny was gone; he was grateful she left when she did, and thus would be spared. Cautious not to disturb the sleeping child, he sat up, furious with himself that he'd fallen asleep.

“Has Belle ever spoken to you?” asked Gaston.

“With her hands?” This was not how Gold expected this conversation to begin.

“No, with words.”

Gold shook his head. He picked up the piano key from where it lay beside him, and it felt cool in his palm. If Gaston shot him now, at least his last thoughts would be of her. He would get him to do it outside, to spare Tilly another traumatic event.

“She has spoken to me. Here,” he said, tapping his forehead. “I listened, and I heard her.”

“What did she say?”

“She said, 'Let me go. We are not meant to be together. Let Gold take me away.' There was more, but it's personal.”

“Why did you punish her? If you needed to hurt someone it should have been me. It was my fault.” Tilly stirred, and he lowered his voice. “My fault,” he repeated.

“I wanted to care for her. I wanted to have the right things -- a wife, a family. My aunt, the community, they expect it.”

Gaston lowered the gun. He looked up at the ceiling, collecting his thoughts.

“Now I just want my life back. You will take Belle and Tilly and leave as soon as possible. I will annul the marriage on the grounds of non-consummation.”

Admitting this appeared to embarrass Gaston. Gold considered if he could now wrestle the gun from him. If only Tilly wasn't there; he couldn't take the chance with her so close.

“I'm sure you'd like to take your revenge on me. But it's not what Belle wants,” Gaston stated.

Gold's wants in this case were bloodshed and Gaston's complete destruction. But what did Belle want? She would not want him to darken his heart. It was simple, really. Did vengeance mean more to him than Belle?

-

It was noon by the time Mary Margaret and David arrived at Mr. Gold's house to collect Tilly. “Come on David, hurry up! Poor girl, she must be eager to leave,” she said, rushing David along. She expected to find a hysterical child, further traumatized from spending the night in a rough cottage with a surly old man, who knew nothing about children.

What she found shocked her and completely changed her world view.

Mr. Gold was outside on the porch, his sleeves rolled up, scrubbing a pinafore against a washboard. He’d propped the door open and Tilly was sitting inside, eating lunch and feeding scraps to a sleek black cat.

“We're here to get Tilly. Thank you for taking care of her; we'll take over now.”

“You are welcome to invite her to come with you, but I doubt she'll go.”

“Why not?”

He gestured with a sudsy hand. “That door is open because she won't let me out of her sight. It made my trip to the privy this morning an interesting one, let me tell you. I had to sing the entire time to convince her I was still there. Go on in and talk to her. I'm not finished with this dress.” Gold shook his head and sighed, resuming his scrubbing.

Mary Margaret felt the need to pinch herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming. Gold spoke again in a lower tone, “A warning. You're not to force her to talk about anything or do anything she doesn't want to. I'll not have her upset.”

David pulled up a chair next to Gold, and Mary Margaret went inside. Tilly eyed her with a wary expression, tensing like she was ready to bolt. She was wearing what must have been one of Mr. Gold's shirts.

“Hello, Tilly. Would you like to come home with David and me, and play with Emma?”

“No.”

“You don't have to stay here with Mr. Gold. You could stay with us, just until your mother is better.”

“I want to stay here.”

“But Tilly, Mr. Gold doesn't know how to take care of a child. We'll have such fun, I'll even bake a cake.”

Tilly would not be bribed. “Mr. Gold and me and Ebony will take care of each other. He promised. You can't make me leave.” Tilly pet the cat as she spoke, her hand trembling.

“It's all right, Tilly. We won't force you to leave.” Mary Margaret stepped toward her to give her a hug, but Tilly drew back. She settled for giving the little girl a reassuring smile and returned to her husband who was asking Mr. Gold a question.

“Granny told me what happened, that Gaston did it on purpose. Are you telling me that's true?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Why would Gaston do that to his wife? It makes no sense.”

“He did it because she loves me, and I love her.”

Mary Margaret's mouth dropped open, and they both gaped at him in disbelief. David recovered first.

“Then how are you sitting here, calmly washing clothes, instead of going after Gaston?!”

Gold took a deep breath, pushing at his hair with his shoulder in an awkward motion. He pulled the garment out of the soapy water, stretching it out. “Do you see this?” he asked in an icy voice.

They nodded. They could see the spatter marks of what must be blood.

He pitched his voice low for Tilly not to hear, and they leaned closer to understand him. “You don't think I want to show the world what happens when you hurt someone I love? I would like to go over there right now. I'd take my axe, and his finger would not be enough for what he's done. No, I'd chop off his head. But I won't.” His hands clenched into fists, and the sheer menace in his words caused Mary Margaret and David to draw back.

Gold took a deep breath and stretched his fingers to calm himself. They could see the crescent marks his nails made where they had dug into his flesh. He wiped his wet hands off on his trousers.

“Gaston and Belle have come to an agreement, which Granny has confirmed. Fortunately, the bastard didn't take a finger from her dominant hand and she can still write. Belle wants me to stay here with Tilly until we are ready to leave. Tilly won't go back there, and Belle doesn't want her to see her until she's more... recovered.”

Gold's voice, matter-of-fact before, became passionate.

“Belle has had enough taken from her, and for now, she is making all the decisions. She's never had choices before in her life, and I'll be damned before I take them away from her, no matter how difficult it is for me. If she wants me to let Gaston live, if she wants me to do nothing, then that's what I'll do.”

Tilly came out and wrapped her arms around him from behind, and Gold composed himself. “We're leaving in five days. There's a ship due then at the beach. Granny's granddaughter is being dropped off. I've sent Kamira to intercept it at the stop before this, to arrange passage for us. I've promised him my horse if he manages to do it.”

“What can we do?”

“Mary Margaret, can you pack Belle's things, and bring Tilly some clothes?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And David, do you think you could build me a cage?”

“For Gaston?” asked David, confused.

“No, dearie. Not for Gaston. For the cat. Ebony is coming with us, and I don't fancy her jumping out of the canoe in a panic and drowning on our way out to the ship.”

-

Belle emerged from Gaston's house on unsteady legs. Reverend Hopper held out his arm for support. His concern was clear, and he frowned, sad at her leaving in these unhappy circumstances. Mary Margaret cried.

Cora stood off to the side, oozing disapproval. Belle was not a suitable match for her nephew. She would find someone better, more appropriate for their family. Regina was not with her; they had quite the argument that morning over Gaston and his culpability.

Gaston himself was nowhere to be seen. Gold was grateful for this - he was not sure he could have refrained from beating him with his cane, no matter how much he desired to respect Belle's wishes.

Tilly stayed close to him. She was nervous to approach her injured mother and clung to Gold's trousers. Not letting go of her hand, he went to Belle and embraced her, sandwiching Tilly between them. Cradling her face, he pressed his forehead to hers. Then he kissed her in front of everyone, proud to claim her as his. Cora went back into the house without speaking, disgusted by the public display of affection.

Belle knelt to get closer to Tilly, love shining in her eyes, signing to her as best she could. Tilly hugged her mother tight; the gulf she'd feared between them closed.

Kamira had arranged passage on the ship that was delivering Granny's granddaughter and was pleased he’d obtained both Gold’s knife and his horse. He'd made out very well in his deals.

They were to meet them at the same point on the shore where Gold had first met Belle not so long ago. It felt like a lifetime since then, and now the journey to the beach was made in reverse, but slower. Granny, carrying Ebony in her new cage, encouraged Tilly along.

Gold did not let go of Belle's hand, nor did he take his eyes off of her. He kissed her uninjured fingers whenever they stopped to rest and kept up a one-sided conversation about all the wonderful things they would do when they got to Scotland. The men he'd hired stared with curiosity to see him so besotted.

Seeing the crated piano and trunks of books on the beach caused time to double back on itself in Belle's mind. They were the same, but she was not. Bruised but unbroken, she was confident in her choices. She couldn't wait for her new life to begin. There were trials ahead, to be sure. Signing with a missing finger, for one. But she refused to dwell on it.

“Ruby!” yelled Granny, waving with both hands when the boat from the ship came close enough for her to see the passengers.

Their joyful reunion continued in the background as Gold distributed their belongings between the sailor's boat and several Maori canoes. They insisted on providing tender to the ship, as a sign of gratitude and respect for all his help over the years.

Everything prepared to his satisfaction, Gold approached the group. Granny and Ruby were talking and laughing with Tilly and Belle. Kamira was looking at a tattoo that caught his eye. Tattoos had great importance in Maori culture, and he was examining the lion on the man's hand with interest.

“It's time.” Gold was sorry to break up the happy assembly, but the sailors were waiting. Granny hugged all three of them in turn.

“Take care of your grandmother for me. She's getting old and in need of assistance,” he told Ruby, winking, unable to resist a parting shot as he helped Tilly get situated next to Ebony's cage.

“Who are you calling old? I took care of him, Ruby. Don't let him tell you any different.”

Granny stood and watched them leave, the loaded canoes getting smaller as they approached the ship that looked tiny in the distance. The one Belle, Gold, and Tilly rode in sat low in the water, the piano weighing it down.

Ebony voiced her extreme displeasure at being caged. Tilly attempted to comfort her. “Mr. Gold says there's always mice on ships, and you'll have lots of fun catching them. And the sailors will be happy to see you. A cat brings good luck on a ship.”

They were about halfway to the vessel when Belle removed her hand from Gold's and signed to Tilly.

“What did she say?”

Tilly replied in a tone of disbelief, “She says, 'Throw the piano overboard.'”

“We're safe, we won't sink,” he reassured her.

Belle signed again, her face stern.

“She doesn't want it.”

“I know it's damaged, but we can repair it.” He removed the key with its precious message from his pocket. “I have the key. The piano will be as good as new.”

Belle shook her head and pulled at the ropes.

“Sweetheart, stop. You'll regret it. I want you to have your piano.” He would do anything for her, he had even done nothing for her.

“She says, ‘No. Get rid of it.’”

“Listen to her, Gold,” said Kamira while he paddled. “It's a coffin. Pitch it into the ocean.”

Belle cupped his cheek. She wanted him to understand. This piano was her former life. It had been her voice, but she didn't need it anymore. She wanted to start fresh, and this would only weigh her down.

“We'll throw it overboard,” said Gold. If she saw this piano as her past, they could bury it here at sea. They would get a new one when she was ready.

Untied from its ropes, it slid off the planks and made a tremendous splash. It sank, gone in an instant, the waters closing over it as if it had never existed.

A fantasy flitted across Belle's mind - her jumping after it, joining her piano at the bottom of the sea, together in a dark, watery grave.

Gold squeezed her hand, sensing the shadow that had come over her. She squeezed back. She chose the sun, a new adventure with her child and the man she loved. She and TIlly had found their prince in an unlikely place, and he was better than any of the fairy tales in her books. This was their happy beginning.

End Notes:  This is basically complete for now, but I do plan to write an epilogue, possibly as my project for Camp NaNo in July. I also plan to write Gaston's death, since we all know he deserves to die. Send me your ideas for his death (bit by a rabid squirrel? Colonel Ives comes to visit?) in an ask.  I will write an "all they ways Gaston could have died and the one way he did" kind of thing if there's any interest. Also feel free to send prompts for what you'd like to see in the epilogue, or 'missing scenes'. I'll do my best to write them, but I've never done anything like that, so I can't promise to do them all. If I get any, I’ll post them after Camp NaNo.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story, and a huge thank you to everyone who left comments, likes and reblogs. They meant a lot to me.

[nobleclover]

Silver Screen Sneak - In!

“What do you mean that I can’t see the new movie, Mom?!” CJ whined, his lips pursed into a sour pout.

             You’re probably wondering as to what movie he is so eager to see yet was forbidden to by his mother, Angel. Well, that movie just so happens to be Psycho, directed by Alfred Hitchcock and released on September 8th 1960 for all the public to witness while simultaneously terrorising themselves. Definitely not a film suitable for a ten year old cup like him.

             “Because you’re too young, you’ll get nightmares and school’s only just started! Now run along and finish your homework!” she ordered him before turning back to the row of oysters she gathered that day to make oyster sauce. As she began cracking them open, she heard her precocious little boy stomp up to the bedroom that he shared with his other three siblings and sighed. She didn’t like having to end a conversation like that, but, as his mother, she had to be firm with him, especially since he wanted to go see a HORROR movie of all things.

             In his room, CJ lied on his back across his bed glaring at the ceiling. He really wanted to see the movie after hearing about it from Sorrel, Cagney and Hilda’s teenaged son while he was learning some gardening. Sure, he knew that he was young, but he would hear of his other friends in school discuss scary TV shows that they were allowed to watch, like The Twilight Zone. He was a bit jealous of not being allowed to watch them like his peers, especially his own cousin Saffron, who was surprisingly into horror despite her demeanour. Even more infuriating, when he asked them for more details, they wouldn’t tell him as they “didn’t want to spoil anything.”

             Turning over, he crossed his arms and muttered, “I’m not that young! I’m practically a big kid! My age has TWO digits now, so that must mean I’m allowed to do more stuff!”

             Just then, a small voice from the doorway asked, “What are you sulking about?”

             Looking up, he saw that it was his older sister, Coral, who had just returned from a day swimming and fishing. He slumped back down on the bed muttering, “Nothing.”

             “Nothin’? Doesn’t look like nothin’! You kinda look like Mr. Flatfoot that swims under that arch near the observatory,” she noted.

             Sighing irritably, he sat up with a dead, sad look in his eyes and explained, “I wanna go see the new horror movie sometime soon, but Mom won’t let me!”

             “Ugh, yeah! You know what she’s like! A total killjoy!” she groaned, before climbing onto the bed.

             “You’re getting my covers wet, Fish Face!” CJ complained.

             “Simmer down, Gill Boy!” she retorted before explaining, “now look, I know that I can be a jerk sometimes, but geez, that look on your mug is just pitiable, and…I want to help you.”

             “Huh, that’s a first, considering that you’re a real narcissist,” he replied dryly.

             “Shut up and listen to me! Now look, you wanna see that movie, right? The one that you keep yappin’ on about? Well, most movies only last around three weeks in the picture house, but really SPECIAL movies like YOUR movie last for about FOUR weeks so that the public can get the chance to see it, at least that’s what I heard from Sugarelle!”

             “Really?!” CJ asked with his eyes sparkling with hope, “so I might get to go see it then! But I also heard that most of the time children should be accompanied by adults when seeing horror movies, so how can I get in?”

             Coral was now stuck for words as she couldn’t think of a good solution for him, and could only utter, “I don’t know…”

 One week later:

After much planning and crafting, CJ finally came up with a brilliant scheme: enter the theatre as a ‘short’ adult! He’d selected what he thought was the perfect disguise, some light brown pants, a grey tweed jacket with a hat, and, the most distinguishing feature that would convince people that he was an adult: a moustache.

             When Saffron and his eldest sister Juni heard of this grand plan, they each uttered the same response, “That’s the best you could come up with?”

             “Well…yeah! It’s not like they’re gonna ask me for ID anyways! They never do, that’s what I heard!”, he awkwardly exclaimed, half hoping that he was right.

             “How do you know they don’t?” Saffron asked, shooting him a skeptical look.

             “Be – because Coral told me! Yeah, she – she did!”

             “Yeah, well knowing her, she thinks she knows everything,” Juni responded, “why can’t you just wait until you’re older to watch a horror movie? I’m also pretty sure that they do reruns a few years after the actual release of some movies!”

             “Well, I wanna see it now and show everyone how well I can handle a few jolts and scares in a dark theatre, and I’ll also be seen as cool for once!” he declared, with a smug grin.

             “It’s okay to admit that you’re a ‘fraidy cat, CJ. I can handle some horror but not ALL of it. Besides, you could –” Saffron added before being cut off.

             “Well, I’m pretty sure that I’m more than a little old enough to watch a movie like Psycho, Saffy! Plus, come Monday morning, I’m gonna be pretty much the talk of the school, but I won’t say much as I don’t wanna spoil it for ya!” he replied arrogantly.

             “Not that you’d have anything to say because you’ll likely be covering your eyes during the scary parts of the movie!” Juni retorted.

             “Oh, SHUT UP!” he yelled, “I don’t need to prove to the likes of you that I can be brave, Juni! Anyways, I’m off to the theatre now and I’ll see you two later!”

             With that, he confidently strode off with the bag containing his disguise in his right hand. Saffron and Juni watched him go, with Juni stating disdainfully, “He’s gonna be screaming for Mom like he always does when he has a night terror.”

             “Well, hopefully that nobody recognises him,” Saffron added.

 Later:

CJ just about made it to the theatre. A huge queue trailed in front of the ticket booth as far as the eye could see, much to his dismay. He hadn’t taken the number of people into consideration, so he’d have to try a different way to get in. As he pondered good and hard on how to enter the theatre easily, he suddenly had an idea.

             As the lanky young man let the next couple in to see a movie, CJ ran up to the booth with a panicked look in his eyes and tapped on the glass. The ticket man looked down upon him and asked in a dreary monotone voice, “How can I help you?”

             “I’m so sorry sir! I really REALLY need to use the bathroom and I need to use it NOW! Can I use the one in the theatre?” CJ asked in a rapid manner.

             “Well…normally, I’d say you’d need a ticket to get in…buuuut…I think that’s cruel especially given the circumstances. Go ahead in,” he drawled.

             With that, CJ rushed into the bathroom and stood on the lavatory seat to put on his disguise when he stopped. He suddenly realised that he forgot the most important thing ever in his grand plan: what theatre was the movie showing in?!

             Just then, he noticed a discarded ticket on the floor of the stall and picked it up. Sure enough, it was for the movie Psycho and it was showing in Theatre 7! How convenient! He beamed. As if it was also a coincidence, the number of the theatre definitely showed his luck! As soon as the gentlemen had exited the bathroom, he quietly slipped out and made his way to Theatre 7. He coyly walked in past the usher and twiddled his fake moustache as he went along.

             Soon enough, he found a nice seat at the top of the theatre’s steps, that had a grand view of the screen. He grinned as he thought of how great his grand plan was going so far. He managed to find a way into the theatre without getting paying for a ticket, he got one for free (off a dirty bathroom floor, but still) and he’s now sitting in a swell seat, ready to watch his first proper horror movie!

             The crowd of people pouring in grew larger as each individual spread out to find available seats in the barely lit theatre. A taller gentleman soon approached the row CJ was sitting in, with a large collection of snacks he’d gathered up from the lobby obscuring his face. He was carrying large sodas, a bag of pretzels, some candy and a large bucket of popcorn. CJ licked his lips under the fake moustache as he saw how delicious the food was. He did have money, but he was sure that if he left the theatre just before the film began, they wouldn’t let him in. Apparently, any cinema that was showing Psycho would not allow anyone else in past the time the movie started. CJ irritably sighed and bitterly thought to himself, Guess I’ll starve then!

             The tall man then set the goodies in the seat beside CJ, further obscuring his face from him. As CJ wondered why a man like him would want this much food for himself, the man suddenly poked his head around the bucket of popcorn to reveal that it was none other than HIS OWN FATHER CUPHEAD!

             Cuphead looked at his disguised son with a smile and said, “I heard this is gonna be a killer thriller! Know what I mean?” followed by a gleeful wink.

             CJ was stunned with fright and could only muster up a little nod of his head so as not to appear rude. He sat back in his seat, his mind flooded with panic. He could only think, Oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!!!! I’M DEAD MEAT IF HE RECOGNISES ME!! I’LL BE GROUNDED FOR LIFE IF HE --!!!

             Just then, the opening credits flashed on the screen, accompanied by rapid, tense strings with the words having to criss – cross each other to form coherent credits. Everybody braced themselves for what was going to unfold, while CJ was on high alert in case his father was to intercept his disguise.

             As the movie progressed, CJ, much to his dismay, found himself to be extremely bored by this movie. It was nothing but grown – up talk with very little action. Sure, the lady in the film stole a lot of money and took it with her so that she and her boyfriend can live happily ever after, but good lord, was it just coma – inducing. Meanwhile, Cuphead had his eyes glued to the screen, shoving popcorn, pretzels and candy into his mouth and chomping his goodies very loudly.

             The food was so unbearably good that CJ soon heard his stomach growling. Cuphead noticed and whispered, “Hey, old timer! I couldn’t help but notice that you don’t have any concession goods! Wanna share with me?”

             Despite his better judgement, CJ nodded and reached his arm out and received a handful of pretzels. Great, he thought, he’s gonna have to try and make it through the movie without dying of thirst and boredom now.  

             As he munched sparingly on the pretzels, the scene shifted to when the lady and gawky motel owner were having supper in the parlour. It was then that CJ finally began feeling that sense of unease that he’d been waiting for, especially as dark shadows cast over the walls and the owner himself. Finally, some decent tension, he thought.

             Alas, Cuphead had fallen asleep beside him and was snoring like a hippopotamus with asthma. CJ looked at him and softly groaned. His father was always like this after a big meal or a good number of snacks and needless to say, the noise was as ear grating like someone rubbing sandpaper against glass. The young cup tried listening to the dialogue as hard as he could but his father’s snores drowned out whatever noise was coming from the movie.

             Someone else got fed up with Cuphead’s snoring and got the usher up to the row where both cups sat and gently nudged him, jolting him awake. Looking around and stammering, Cuphead looked up at the usher startled and loudly asked, “Did someone die yet?!”

             “No, sir, but someone complained that you’re snoring too loud so that’s why I woke you,” the usher explained.

             Cuphead understood what he said and quietly assured with a smile, “Oh, okay! I’ll keep quiet don’t worry! Thanks for telling me!”

             CJ could feel a laugh welling up but suppressed it. It was truly amusing to see his own father act like a real goofball. Just then, Cuphead turned towards him and whispered, “Hey, old timer! You can have the rest of my snacks okay? Just so that I won’t slip into a food coma again! Sound good?”

             CJ nodded and gladly accepted the food between him and his father. He was pretty satisfied that he got free food and for the first time since his father sat down, he felt like he could relax and enjoy the film properly now.

             The film kept going and reached the infamous shower scene. Everybody, not just little CJ and his father, felt chills going down their spine once they noticed the door behind the shower curtain open followed by a blurry figure approaching closer. Soon enough, the entire theatre erupted into screams once the curtain was pulled back to reveal a seemingly old woman who’s face was obscured in shadows. Then, accompanied by shrill violin strings, everybody jumped and hollered in fright as the poor young woman met her demise. CJ’s eyes were fixed onto the screen in complete horror, while his dad gave out the occasional horrified yelp and gasp. The terrified boy suppressed the urge to scream as he was afraid of being discovered given his young sounding voice.

             Cuphead caught his breath and looked towards CJ and whispered, “JEEZ LOUISE! I wasn’t expecting that! Still, you’re definitely pretty brave sitting through a picture like this!”

             CJ nodded and gave a little thumbs up, still trembling quietly.

             The rest of the movie continued as the characters worked on solving the mystery as to what happened to the young lady with the money. Even with the scenes with a lot of talking, poor CJ was still shaken following the shower scene, and it certainly didn’t help when the private investigator turned up dead or when they found the skeleton in the basement. At long last, once the whole movie was brought to a close, everybody got up and walked home.

             CJ waited for Cuphead to move who was stacking all the disused food buckets, boxes and cups to dispose of them outside. Finally, the older cup got up and made his way down the steps. CJ trailed along after him, only to trip on a step and soon tumbled into Cuphead’s leg, knocking him down like a bowling pin.

             Cuphead looked at the mess around them and uttered, “Aww heck!” before going to clean it up. CJ stood up and realised to his horror that his moustache had fallen off. While Cuphead was picking up an empty soda cup, CJ scanned the steps quickly for his moustache, which thankfully had fallen down two steps ahead of him. He quickly grabbed it and stuck it back on his face before his father could notice.

             Cuphead was still gathering the discarded cardboard rubbish when CJ lent him a hand by carrying some of it to lighten the load for his father. When Cuphead took note of this kind gesture, he responded with, “Gee, thanks, sir! That’s really helpful of you!”

             CJ smile and responded as deeply as he could with a “Mmm – hmm!”

             Cuphead smiled back and headed down the stairs with some of the rubbish and began rambling on about the film as well as how scary it was, even noting, “Oh, man, if my youngest boy was there, poor kid would have nightmares for life! Kid ain’t missing anything!”

             This statement made CJ feel a little guilty, but also somewhat amused. While he did indeed sneak into the theatre without really paying and basically deceived his own father, he was honestly impressed that he was never found out. One could even say that he was even proud of having kept up the charade for this long with Cuphead.

             After discarding the last bit of rubbish, both of them stepped out of the theatre to find that the sun was still bright. Cuphead gave his stiff arms a little stretch before turning to his son and declared, “Well, I better hit the road. It was nice watching the film next to ya, old timer! Take care!”

             CJ gave his father a wave and, again in a deep voice, responded with, “You too, Dad!”

             To his alarm, he realised his error and before he could even move his father whipped his head around and walked over to him, echoing the last parting word in confusion, “Dad?”

             As if it wasn’t already humiliating enough, the moustache dropped off his face and was blown away by a small breeze. CJ watched it blow away before turning to his cross father and asking with a nervous laugh, “That was indeed a killer thriller, huh, Dad..?”

 Epilogue:

             Saffron was sitting on a bench in school eating lunch when CJ collapsed in the seat beside her, with puffy tired eyes heavier than lead. She was gobsmacked at how half - dead her cousin looked and asked, “Whoa, what the heck happened to you?”

             “Psycho happened.”

             “Oof,” she replied, feeling very sorry for him, “well, like I said before, it’s okay to admit you’re a bit of a ‘fraidy cat, cousin. Horror isn’t for everybody.”

             Dejectedly, CJ paused and uttered, “Yeah, you’re right. Still, it’s one thing to be grounded for two months for disobeying my Mom, it’s another when all your other siblings look at you weirdly when they hear how you EXACTLY got found out! Juni laughed at me for a whole hour when Dad explained what happened! Still, at least Coral was a bit supportive, though.”

             “Sorry to hear that, pal,” she empathised, patting his shoulder supportively.

             “It’s fine. I still wish I wasn’t too much of a ‘fraidy cat, mind you,” he sighed.

             Saffron suddenly got an idea and suggested, “Well, maybe when your grounding is over, you can sleepover at my place and I’ll get you into the Twilight Zone. I don’t think it’s scary as Psycho but I think it’s a good start for getting into horror without being too traumatised.”

             CJ thought for a moment and replied smiling, “I’ll consider it. Thanks!”  

             “No problem!”

 The End