#might add some brighter parts to it eventually later

[diah-the-demon]

HAIR IS ALL DYED NOW YAY

[dxmmymxmmywrites]

Old Flames

Tsunade Senju x F! reader smut

Warnings: cursing, angst at the beginning, oral sex, scissoring

Very excited to be writing for my bi-awakening queen Tsunade 🥰🥰🥰 love her so much, she needs more content AND appreciation

This is also less smutty than I usually do, so I may come back to this later when life allows to add more to the spicy bits

The sky is dark with the coming storm when you make your walk to the Hokage’s office. It’s the perfect environment to match your inner turmoil, broiling over with too many uncertainties for your liking.

You kept away as long as you could. And honestly, it probably wasn’t the best decision. Now you were just angry with yourself for not coming sooner and so sexually frustrated you could palpably feel your need aching between your legs.

You had done whatever you could in your early days as a Kunoichi. You had always been a little power hungry, but with a desire to actuate positive change in the leaf village. It had led you through to an established reputation as a feared ninja across the Shinobi nations, and along the way you had manage to leave some good behind you.

For some, it had to be hard to imagine you as a naive young woman in your youth. You were hardened by the world quickly, but it didn’t stop you from holding your favorite people very close to your heart.

The new Hokage happened to be one of them. Tsunade Senju.

The two of you had grown up with the same peers, and had observed each other from afar when you were placed in your Genin teams. When you did interact more often, you became quick friends and confidants— two hotheaded and insanely smart girls that were ready to encourage the other to take on the world.

It was a brighter time, before tragedy had shaped you both. Tsunade losing both her brother and promised lover nearly destroyed her, and you did what you could to comfort her when you could.

It became a new way to bond with her teammates, as you all took the time to check in on her, but it would shape your view of Tsunade most.

Despite everything, she still held so many qualities you admired despite losing her faith for some time. She was a damn hard worker, brilliant as ever, and had a kind soul once you got past her shell. It made you weak every time you thought about how you realized your feelings for the first time.

It was a classic case of someone falling head over heels for their best friend. With this of course came the companion cliche of not wanting to ruin your friendship by confessing your love in any way. So you kept your thoughts to yourself as long as you could.

And it was painful. But eventually, they came to a head at the worst possible time— when Tsunade was preparing to leave the village.

Although... the outcome initially was not as bad as it could have been.

You convinced her to delay her exodus for a week. That entire time, the two of you were nearly inseparable. And you fucked like raving animals.

It was a life changing event for you— enough to cement the fact that you, indeed, loved women. But most of all, you loved her.

At some point after an exhausting collection of rounds in bed, you had known your time with her was coming to an end. You couldn’t stop the years even if you tried, because in that moment life sucked and it wasn’t fucking fair that you couldn’t keep anything good in your life.

You had been so tired then, but you have vague memories of her holding you close, and her velvety lips kissing your tears away. It made her absence the next day all the more painful.

She had left at some point in the night when you fell asleep, thought she could never tell you how long she waited in the window before leaving you. You had woken up a love in her unlike any other— and it terrified her. She had lost enough people already in her life, so she followed what her heart told her was the best course of action; leave, before you’re broken again.

It hardened both of you emotionally. Everything was a threat, nothing worth letting down your walls for. While she abandoned her ninja way for years, you clung to yours with everything you had. It might have paid off, but what worth did it have when at home you sat by yourself, when your select companions were away?

You thought of her every night all the same. Sure, you could enjoy others from afar as you once did, but no one was her. No one could ever fill the void she did.

And little did you know, when you least expected it, she would come parading into your life again.

You hadn’t thought Jiraya would be successful in retrieving her, as cynical as it may sound. But then there she was, accepting her role as Hokage before the village in all her fame and glory like she was born to do it. And you had never been so proud, and had never wanted her so badly than how you did in that moment.

Even with the time apart, your reunion was not as horrendously awkward as it could have been. You greeted each other as old friends, and within the week you became one of the honored members of her council. No one bat an eye at this, because you had earned the right to the seat three times over. But Jiraya did grin when Tsunade announced your appointment.

And life went on. It wen on. And on. And on.

And it drove you insane.

Your friendship rekindled in a way you had not expected at all. And she never even mentioned anything regarding your week together before her disappearance.

It pissed you off how unbothered she appeared by it. You bickered like an old married couple and defended each other like the war heroes you were, but goddamn it did you want more validation than a fancy new job where you got to eyeball the woman you had been in love with for most of your life.

So onwards you went to the Hokage’s office. You would settle this, and you would settle it that night if it was the last thing you did.

If anyone notice your darker mood, they steered far out of your path as you travelled. It wasn’t as late as it could have been, so Tsunade would mostly likely still be at work in her office. Later in the day was usually when Shizune could successfully corner her to do paperwork anyway.

Inside the building, you begin to hear the echo of rain from outside.

You take the precaution of knocking on her door with the formal greeting, and she allows you in.

She smirks at you and prepare a remark— but you don’t let her start.

“We need to talk.”

Her expression becomes stern instantly. “What’s wrong? Any threatening reports?”

You cock your head at her, then shake your hands “No, no, this isn’t about work. This is personal.”

She couldn’t have looked more confused if she tried. However, she did remain silent, so you continued with your thoughts. And you locked eyes with her.

“Are we ever going to talk about what happened when you left? At all? Or did it mean nothing to you?”

Her eyes widened, but knowingness came to them. “I didn’t think you would—“

“Whatever you think I just need to hear the truth.”

“I think that—“

“And don’t bullshit me on feelings—“

“Damn it Y/N, shut up!” Tsunade rose from her desk, leaning over it. Her irritated look is intimidating, but you know better.

A quiet moment follows, but your voice betrays you. “I just need to know,” you admit, sounding more defeated than anyone— especially Tsunade— had probably ever heard you sound.

There’s a part of Tsunade that’s fuming at being interrupted so many times, undoubtedly. But some aspect of her fury is doused when she sees how dejected you look on the other side of her desk. She didn’t think she had ever seen you look so small, and like you wanted to curl into yourself.

She never wanted you to make yourself lesser around her. The thought of you being in pain when she fled...

Emotions were swirling within her like a maelstrom.

“Come here,” she commands. She doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t need to.

Anyone else would have gotten a snide remark addressing you like that. But you walk until you’re directly in front of the desk, and she pushes her chair out of the way to stand before you.

When she stands fractions of an inch away from you, your heart rate quickens. The intensity of her expression is almost scalding. But it is not angry.

You open your mouth to speak again, but she breached the gap between you. Both of her hands grasp your face in such a mash of assertiveness and tenderness— but what knocks the breath from your lungs is the powerful kiss.

You wish you could say you responded immediately, but you were so shocked all you could do was tremble. Eventually, you felt her hands slink down to tenderly hold your neck as her tongue slipped past your lips.

Part of you wanted to fight her off. To get the last word in, or have the last snappy response. But you couldn’t fight how badly you wanted her to tighten the grip over your windpipe.

“I have never forgotten you,” she pants when gasping for air. “Not even once.”

She dives in for another kiss, and this time you have no regrets about giving in to it. Her hold around your neck tightens, and she’s upon you in an instant. Years upon years of tension and unsaid affection finally come crashing together in an emotional storm akin to the one outside Tsunade’s doors.

Just as she presses her chest to yours, her tongue slips into your mouth and you can’t help but to groan. However, you’re not one to give in so easily— and neither is she. Your sharp nails run over clothed back enough to give her goosebumps, and she reciprocates by sliding her hands into your hair to firmly tighten her grip. In the moment, it’s almost like neither of you need to breathe— your tongues dance in unison and all you can feel is the building heat in your gut as you melt into the other’s touch.

When you finally do part for air, she grins, devilishly.

“I see you still have a dirty mouth.”

You can’t help but turn red. “Shut up and get on the desk.”

That does catch her attention— it had been a while since anyone had the balls to mouth off to the Hokage. It was sexy as hell... and it made her recount all the reasons she fell for you in the first place.

She does step back to sit on the desk, and you follow after her just as she perches like a cat, eyeing you with ample amusement. Just as you set your hands beside her waist and lean in, she pulls at the wrap of her tunic and opens her strong legs.

“Are you going to stand there Y/N?” She purrs. “Or are you going to actually do something?”

It makes your blood boil, but you can’t help the excitement that comes from wrapping your arms around her again. She melts into your kiss the same way you did with hers, but your head starts to swim when you feel her legs wrap around your middle. Who in their right mind wouldn’t let their hands wander to glide up her thighs, listening to her moan, to firmly squeeze her love handles before returning the love to her ass?

You certainly were not going to waste the opportunity. And an opportunity you make it.

And despite being the one above her as you gently push her down against the desk, you melt into her kiss all the same. You throw one knee onto the desk to steady yourself enough to lovingly stroke her sides as you begin to nip marks into her neck.

It makes the grips her legs have on you all the more constricting. She rolls her hips upwards deliciously into yours, leaning to expose as much of her collarbone to you as possible. Any control at that point is abandoned— you nearly purr as you kiss and suck as much exposed skin as possible.

Who would have thought you would have the chance to hear her lovely voice again, much less her tantalizing moans.

“I think I may be one of the only people alive that can say I’ve knocked one of the Sanin on their backs,” you muster with confidence, and give her a sly grin.

There’s a slight glare from her, but she snorts all the same and chuckles. Tsunade raises forward and takes your lips with hers once more, pushing you to climb all the way on top or the desk.

Neither of you can fight the passion between you any longer. Your gasps and moans become louder, and the two of you begin to strip between feverish kisses and gropes. And not a single ounce of self control remains between you when Tsunade peels your underwear down your legs.

It’s like a volt of electricity goes through your body when she unabashedly spreads your legs and licks a stripe up your wet cunt. Her searing gaze locks with yours as she moves her mouth, and your eyes roll backwards when she plunges her tongue directly into your core.

It makes you squeal but she holds your thighs in place as you shake— and there was no way in hell you were getting out of her grasp. You wouldn’t want it any other way.

Her tongue swivels inside you and laps at your insides, stoking every ounce of pleasure out of you that you could think to feel. She remains as unashamed as ever, relishing in the wet noises of your arousal as she begins to thumb your clit and slurp your building orgasm.

You chant her name over and over as she tastes you— ravished you— but in an instant you tap her three times with your pointer finger. Your old signal to stop during sex makes her pause, not just to respect your boundaries. It feels odd to remember an old habit again.

She looks to you for an answer, and you order a smile. “I don’t want this to end yet.”

She grins, but before Tsunade can counter your remark you offer her a hand to pull her up to you. Quickly, you wrap your legs around her middle and shift your weight, putting her beneath you (despite having to save her from nearly falling off the desk.)

Who knows how many people would give their all to be in your position, crawling over the fifth Hokage, trailing your tongue up from her center. Tsunade looks just as pleased, watching you navigate her skin with a hunger you’ve only ever seen her display at war.

And a hunger she proves when she locks her tongue with yours again.

Your bodies writhe against each other with the most tantalizing friction, and you can feel her legs begin to quiver. “Y/n,” she starts, and trails away.

There’s not much you can imagine she would want to say in this moment. “What?” You ask her.

And she smiles at you. The genuine smile you fell for over and over again in your youth, and the one that lingered in your head for years on end.

“I love you. But hurry it up.”

It’s as close to endearing as she would be willing to get, but it still makes the heat in your face reappear. And it ignites the final fuse in your cunt.

You reach to hold the back of her head gently, just as she licks your bottom lip. She practically purrs your name when you put one of your knees beside her waist, and ease to lay your other leg flat.

It’s like electricity across your skin when you finally get to move against her this way. The two of your bare, sloppy cunts squelching together as you both bucked into the other.

You had to touch her everywhere. You could feel the tingle in your spine, and the insatiable desire to lick her and massage her breasts. She was everything you had every wanted, and everything you had ever wanted to fight for.

The gods themselves would have to pry you away from her now.

[isoldmysoultojonahclemence]

JONAH’S EVER AFTER ON IKEREV TW

I CAN’T I--

HIS RELEASE CAMPAIGN CAME OUT YESTERDAY BUT I ONLY SAW IT A FEW MINUTES AGO BC I WAS ON VACATION I CAN’T BELIEVE I MISSED THIS WHAT KIND OF JONAH STAN AM I

THIS MEANS THAT JONAH’S ROUTE CAMPAIGN WILL BEGIN SOMEWHERE AROUND LATE OCTOBER OR EARLY NOVEMBER IN THE ENGLISH VERSION SO MARK YOUR CALENDARS

I’m putting the rest of this under a cut for length bc I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY

[Translation:

“On the 1 in a hundred million chance that I cannot marry you into the Clemence family, then I’m prepared to abandon my family.”

Whether it’s to build a family together, or to receive happiness together. For the one you love, the path you should take to the future is...

“You’re really too much. Don’t say something like...I’m sorry.”

The eyes that are brighter than the fireworks in the sky overflow with tears, and turn into strength to overcome the mirror blocking our path.

“When it’s only the two of us, I’m just Jonah...and I want to spoil you as much as I like.”]

ASDFKJWEIH;KAFJJE;LSAKFSD

I CAN ALREADY SENSE THE ABSOLUTE ANGST IN THIS ROUTE

IN HIS ORIGINAL ROUTE HE HAS TO ABANDON THE RED ARMY AND NOW IN HIS EVER AFTER HE HAS TO ABANDON HIS FAMILY TOO????? ESPECIALLY AS WE ALL KNOW HOW MUCH THE CRIMSON LINEAGE MEANS TO HIM??????????????????

And something I also really like is how the themes from the original route extends into his sequel, like the parts about “never apologizing” and “I can only be myself when I’m with you.” It just makes it feel more like a sequel and adds a better sense of completion uwu

ALSO JONAH’S TEARS ARE GOING TO DESTROY ME Y’ALL WILL SEE ME SOBBING ON TUMBLR WHEN I GET TO THAT PART

.

Here’s the mini talk list:

Luka + Sirius: please tell me about your families!

This one is already out, so here’s the screenshots!

[Translation:

Sirius: My home is always full of flowers, it’s a place that makes your mood lift.

Luka: Yeah...as opposed to Sirius’s family, mine was very quiet.

Luka: Even though it had always been pretty quiet...but ever since “that person” left home, it became even quieter.

Luka: Maybe it was because my family weren’t interested in me, so that’s why it feels so quiet.

Sirius: Haven’t you ever had experiences of playing noisily with Jonah in your home before?

Luka: No. We’re different from Sirius’s family...but there was only one time.

Luka: When I was young, that person had brought me out secretly before.

Luka: The both of us ran around and played in the secret courtyard that person found...

Luka: Until the skies grew dark.

Sirius: ...Is that so. Where is that courtyard full of memories? Is it close to your home?

Luka: I don’t know, I can’t remember...but, it doesn’t matter if I can’t remember it.

Luka: Now I think...it’s alright if that courtyard only exists in my memory.]

*deep breath*

ALKL;KCVKNCKDSA;KWOIWQOIK;FDMX;LZDS;ALKSJFA;LKJ

AKD;XJCEWQ8RJEIU;ANFVDFJSVVF’WDOIJ

;NWEFFKKGDMZXCKCERTIIUIBRI;JDSFJSMF;JLAEKF;LEQKJBNCM

FIRST OF ALL

A SECRET COURYARD???????? THAT JONAH FOUND?????????????? AND BROUGHT LUKA THERE TO PLAY???????????????????????? BUT ONLY ONCE???????????????????????????????????

I wonder how he managed to find it? But also it was to be expected that he would bring Luka bc he always wants to share what he loves with Luka (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

Also just imagine the little Clemence bros running around and playing (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡ ♡ ♡

But like...

OH MY GOD LUKA WHAT HAVE YOU GONE THROUGH ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚

It’s so sadddddddd to think that the Clemence house got even quieter when Jonah left. Also I can’t figure out if Jonah “leaving” means that he left to go to boarding school or if he left to join the Red Army, but that was probably when Luka started to hate Jonah for abandoning him. I can’t imagine what it’s like to grow up in such a quiet and cold place and to have it grow even quieter and colder when the one person you thought cared about you left because now he has other things that are more important than you (/□＼*)・゜

Edgar + Kyle: can love between people of different social statuses exist?

The rest of these aren’t released at the moment I wrote this, so I’m mainly just going to be addressing my predictions!

So it’s clear that Jonah and MC are considered to be from different social ranks, even though MC is “Alice the Second” and has the power to nullify magic. She’s probably considered as a “commoner” in the Red Territory, so I can see why it would be difficult for Jonah and MC to get married.

And you know what else this reminds me of??? If we look at Seth’s route, we finally find out that the whole reason Cradle got divided into two was because a Red noble fell in love with a girl from a different social rank. And that romance tore a country apart, so.

Dean + Dalim: about family

Aight here we go. Are Dean and Dalim really family??? Do we finally get to find out??? Or at least get some sort of clue??? Bc I’m torn between the theory that they’re twins with amnesia or if Dean was some sort of clone created by the Magic Tower when they experimented on Dalim. And I have no idea when their routes are gonna be released, so I really hope we get more hints throughout each Ever After route.

Lancelot: Jonah’s tears

THIS IS THE SECOND MINI TALK THAT WILL DESTROY ME AFTER THE LUKA + SIRIUS ONE.

Also this is a reminder that Lancelot was probably the only one who has seen Jonah at his weakest before MC came along. It’s probably to be expected, since they’ve known each other for literally more than half their lives and also since Lancelot saved Jonah.

And technically Luka has known Jonah for the longest time, but I doubt that Jonah will ever show weakness in front of Luka because he considers himself as Luka’s protector, but it’s different in front of Lance. I feel like he can show his weaker side to Lance, and it just emphasizes how deep the relationship between them is.

SO GET READY FOR THE JONALOT FEELS WHEN THIS ONE COMES OUT.

Jonah: what is your ideal proposal?

OK I feel like this one is either gonna be super romantic or super cheesy. Or both, considering the type of person that Jonah is. But I’m gonna love it no matter what bc 1) Jonah can make even the most embarrassing situations funny and touching and 2) I’m too weak for my mille-feuille boi.

.

The screenshots for the “Peek at Romance” thing is here:

[Translation:

My dear Queen of Hearts, Jonah Clemence.

Jonah: In that party, every heir of the Clemence family will...

Jonah: Publicly introduce his fiancee, receive the acknowledgment and blessing of the whole clan, and finally step into the halls of marriage.

“What is a happy ending?”

--It’s when, the person who cannot be replaced becomes family.

Luka: Even though my brother is troublesome, and sometimes overly enthusiastic, but from now on please take care of him.

--It’s when, you become allies with the person you met.

Levie: Who hurt MC!? I’ll destroy that guy...!

Jonah: Calm down, Levie Castell. See who’s your true enemy clearly!

When he couldn’t provide an answer, it made tears overflow from his eyes.

And--while looking for an answer, it’s also possible to lose something.

Dalim: Thanks. Goodbye, princess.

Dean: I couldn’t ask any of the things I’ve been wondering before he ran...

But even so, we will still advance forward bravely.

This is all to receive the answer--to have a happy ending.

Jonah: From now on, everyone will see you as...

Jonah: The Queen of Heart’s...and also the head of the Clemence family’s wife.

Jonah: But, when there’s no one else, and when it’s just us two.

Jonah: We’ll become Jonah and MC again, and we can love each other as much as we like.

Jonah: I love you, MC.

No matter what happens, he, who is the most beautiful and pure in the world...

Will only accept a future that is even better than a happy ending...!]

I just...literally cannot express my love for this summary.

First of all I’m just gonna talk about the tone. Right off the bat MC calls him “my dear Queen” and it was just. So. CUUUUUUUUUUTE.

Also, the question and theme of “a happy ending” is brought up, and the rest of the sneak peek answers that question (it’s when the people you love become your family and the people you meet becomes your allies), but also explores how they could find those answers (Jonah crying when he couldn’t find an answer and advancing forward bravely because they just want their happy ending). And finally we finish it off with a super Jonah-like statement, announcing that he’ll accept no less than the most perfect ending of them all!

Moving on to the information revealed...it’s pretty cool how there’s a special party for the next head of the Clemence family when they’re ready to announce their marriage and gain approval. Also, it’s kinda wild to think that Jonah will eventually become a head of the family just like his father and his grandfather before that.

AND THE PART WITH LUKA AND LEVIE ARE LITERALLY SO ADORABLE. LIKE, LUKA INSULTING JONAH BUT ALSO LEAVING HIM TO MC AND LEVIE DEFENDING MC FROM PPL WHO WOULD HARM HER IS 10/10 PERFECT

Also it seems that Dean and Dalim’s backstories might be explored more but won’t be resolved just yet. I guess we really do have to wait until their routes get released to find out.

In short, this was an amazing summary of the route. WHY DO I HAVE TO WAIT ANOTHER MONTH UNTIL I CAN FINALLY READ THE WHOLE THING???????????????????????????

.

Also FYI, this is all completely new to me. For the other characters’ sequels, I played it through on Ikerev JP bc I can’t wait until the releases in the TW and English version that’s like, a year later. But I didn’t read Jonah’s sequel bc my Japanese isn’t super good and I wanted to read my man’s story in a language that I can completely understand so I literally have no idea of what to expect apart from what I found out in the campaign release :3

Also also I’m probably gonna be posting for every part in the story I’m going through BC I JUST LOVE JONAH THAT MUCH. I guess it would make up for my inactivity this month ^^;

[crysdrawsthings]

Sanya's Semi-Official Semi-Complete Timeline (I)

So, I am finally compiling some notes about Sanya's adventures. As well as Grand Fuzzy Conspiracy, since those are related. So here goes Part 1. Some more in the works.

@rowscara I believe you mentioned enjoying being tagged in Warhammer OC content, right? Here is some ;u;

So, once upon a time on some agri-world lost in the depth of indexes and codexes, there was a boy. His name was Alexander. But he was little and goofy, so people usually called him Sanya or Sasha. He was, unfortunately, becoming a hero of a rather heretical story later in his life.

But before that, he was conscripted to the Imperial Guard, based on some kind of his grand-grand-grand-uncle doing something bad. To be perfectly honest, even the court was a bit fuzzy on details by this point. He got conscripted anyway.

Wasn't too bad at first. He had a decent regiment and decent higher-ups, however decent it can be in this world. Harsh and strict, yes, but not to the truly grim and dark extents of random pointless executions. This he got later after some higher-ups got killed, some promoted, some discharged with wounds. Was he looking up and having a relatively tiny bit cordial relationship with One Nice Commiser I am allowing in this story? Maybe.

Anyway following this he got stuck with the typically evil bastard bringing more casualties to the regiment than the enemy did. An unconfirmed statement, of course. And this is where Sanya's life certainly took a downward turn in terms of any hope and happiness he might have had. Some friend of his likely got killed one way or another. Let's say he was an ogryn.

Eventually main part of the story begins with Sanya in deep depression, stuck in deployment on some forgotten by gods and men feral world in the left armpit of the galaxy.

Here enter the Lacedrace, very Tzeentchian Fuzz. Dropping by on some fuzzy businesses of great importance and taking a liking to a boy with immense potential and no one to recognize it. So she puts on her humansona, Hope, and goes to make friends. Sparking some hope in Sanya's life and them having a nice time of chatting about stuff, dreams, faraway worlds, and friends not here anymore.

Happy time doesn't last long, however.

So, enter the grimdark, enter Sanya finding his spine at the very awkward moment and standing up for some poor unfortunate people getting shanked to pieces and against his grimdark higher-ups. Would have not ended well for him if not for the tiniest Lord of Change he made friends with, who came in swinging and reality-breakingly-terrifying in all her eldritch glory. Sanya is shot and terrified, people are probably going half-mad from the amounts of magic getting swung around, main adversaries to Sanya's continued existence and torn apart or chaos-spawned. What a nice Monday. Also add here some epic clash between Fuzz and something or someone big and strong, so I can drop in some sick one-liners.

Following Sanya takes Hope-now-Lacedrace on an offer to travel the galaxy with her and see if there is something better and brighter beyond the horizon. I mean, good damn that he met Lacedrace and not some other Lord of Change.

Anyway, they do just this, and carnage left in wake of a greater daemon for some time marks Sanya dead for Imperium. Eventually, some of the survivors would probably give a more accurate picture to authorities, but for some time Sanya and Lacedrace do enjoy their travels without daemon-hunters on their tail.

Here ends Phase 0 of Grand Fuzzy Conspiracy with future champion recruited. Let's name this phase... Eh, "Of Hopes and Daemons"

To be continued when I will list all necessary events for the Phase 1, which I am dubbing "Warband: The Gathering"

[mallowstep]

📖 (foxstride)

ask thingy

@foxstride

okay i mentioned this to you on discord but i didn't go into it but. okay. okay. the au where mistyfoot is hawk, moth, and tadpole's mother. this has been just. it's been chewing on my brain and i don't know when i'm going to write it so since u gave me a blank canvas, i'm going to ramble about it for as long as i can.

cw: implied/referenced sexual assault; brief suicidal ideation; standard tigerclan content (abuse, child abuse, starvation, dehumanization, etc.); referenced force feeding

okay oh my gosh okay. this has. so obviously i've been thinking about riverclan lately. a lot. it's rcam. anyway. i don't want. i'm trying to get to the point and not loop around aimlessly for two hundred words but okay but okay. anyway.

i've been thinking of all the different ways i can deeply traumatize misty, storm, and feather. and maybe stone. maybe i'll let stone live at some point. that'd be fun.

right so i've been thinking of that and my ideas are all over the place. i'm going to let primrosepaw live at some point. at one point i'm going to have stormpaw, and maybe primrosepaw or reedpaw (and...what's the other one? is it perchpaw or pikepaw? whatever) the point is i'll have some collection of stormpaw and some or all of mistyfoot's kits escape but not misty and feather so we can do survivor's guilt and.

anyway so i was writing the excerpt for the primrosepaw is definitely there au (it's kind of not Tethered because most of these aren't mutually incompatible like that au could be any of the others), and tigerstar has that dialogue about kits yeah?

so when i was writing it, i was thinking about just. he's trying to dehumanize all of them, right? that's his goal with that line. he's separating mistyfoot from her kits, trying to erase the meaning of their relationships. that's like. that's what i was considering when i was writing it.

buuuuuuut. y'know. my brain is chewing on it. and it just. hm. Hm. what if. what If tadpole, moth, and hawk were misty and tiger kits. hm. hmm. hm.

and so i am just instantly. very on board with this. there's so much potential.

so i Think the point of canon divergence is the rescue attempt. i haven't decided if stormpaw is successfully rescued or not. featherpaw doesn't for reasons i'm circling around to, but stormpaw may or may not. it certainly Matters in a broad sense but i haven't made up my mind, and i doubt i'm going to write Multiple aus about this. i mean i might u never know but it'd b like writing an alternate stolag: i mean i suppose i Could but it would feel weird.

okay almost burnt my dinner i said i'm very this has just been slowly rotting my brain out. i like Angst and it's been a while since i've written any.

okay there was fmtws but really that got me started. i'm not a fluff person. and y'all know that by now.

so Back On Topic. so Anyway after the rescue attempt fails/partially fails, tigerstar takes his anger out at the apprentices being Alive on featherpaw and she gets to. uh. help tigerclan practice fighting.

"Let me see her," Mudfur hissed. "No," Tigerstar said. "I've told you." Mudfur growled. Featherpaw dragged herself to her feet, and Mistyfoot glanced back at her. They would leave they would leave they would leave and then she could lie down again and try not to think. "You're not my leader," Mudfur said, and Featherpaw winced. Mistyfoot could see what was going on, but she was sitting still as a stone. Mudfur pressed into their — Mudfur pressed in, laying a wrapped bundle at Mistyfoot's feet. "Let me—" "No," Mistyfoot said. "Just go." Mudfur dipped his head. Tigerstar's steps moved away from them, but the shouts and arguments surrounding Mudfur were just buzzing noise in Featherpaw's head. She made out, "She's going to die," and she thought, that wouldn't be the worst thing.

thank You featherpaw. you will suffer for the au as a whole. anyway this takes place...i'm not Quite sure but mistyfoot does have a reason for not letting mudfur in. and that reason is she is in Denial about being pregnant.

if mudfur comes in he'll know (i have not forgotten that cats can smell unlike the erins), and mistyfoot is acting in denial. altho she rationalizes it to herself as being for mudfur's protection: runningnose is a medicine cat too, and so tigerstar could off mudfur without much effort.

(also i tend to mix up mudfur and mudclaw sometimes understand i am talking about the riverclan medicine cat, not the windclan deputy. i just mistype them sometimes.)

anyway so she has a legitimate reason (mudfur's continual survival, which is better for her and featherpaw longterm), and she does not want mudfur to know.

yeah.

all in all, this happens before the great battle. mistyfoot fights in it (again, denial), featherpaw and stormpaw are reunited (yes i think i made up my mind), (wait maybe stonefur lives too, and then both pairs of siblings reconnect, and stonefur is like "oh Shit" and. okay yes. maybe. i don't know.)

(there's a Lot. ohh maybe. wait best of both worlds okay. mistyfoot Thinks stonefur is dead. but stonefur doesn't get a proper burial but at the same time riverclan is Not going to go for their deputy on bonepile and even if they do go for it, they're not going to stripe his bones nor are they going to let a Physical Cat Corpse rot in camp. so when firestar and greystripe rescue stormpaw, stormpaw Insists they go back for his body, and then they realize he's Alive but obviously mistyfoot doesn't know.)

(there then i get the Best of both worlds. and stonefur and feathertail are in the Chronic Pain club.)

(also the thing w/ fighting is also what happens in "someday when the world is much brighter". not that Particular scene or in that Particular way, but it does happen. i mean almost exactly in that particular way. but that scene is from a different fic.)

anyway okay moving on i did add too much chili powder to my dinner but that's fine i'm still not over when someone refused to give me more harissa because "it's spicy" like yes i know i guarantee my mom makes it spicier.

back on topic sorry. i've been writing this as i do other things bc i have so much to say about this and i don't want to wait for tomorrow to share this because it's been just Rotting away my brain.

anyway so siblings reunite. it's...terse. it's complicated.

there's some parallels going on right? like because both featherpaw and stormpaw are basically in the mindset of looking after their mentors (which mistyfoot and stonefur feel Terrible about), everyone has survivor's guilt (i don't know what to call like, survivor's guilt when it's not actually survivor's guilt so if someone has a correct word please let me know) except for Maybe featherpaw.

featherpaw might be the Only one here who doesn't have survivor's guilt. i don't really want to explore the one way she could end up with it. that's past my comfort level at the moment.

but stormpaw and mistyfoot are the most physically healthy, and stormpaw and stonefur escaped.

stormpaw: i have not been hurt by this in any way

everyone around stormpaw: you have definitely been hurt by this

stormpaw: i have not been hurt by this in any way

stormpaw and featherpaw become warriors, leopardstar makes mistyfoot deputy (because stonefur is still recovering and also no longer wants the position. mistyfoot doesn't either but she's in denial and she doesn't want anyone else to have it. mistyfoot is visibly pregnant and still kind of in denial at this point. like it's been at least a moon and she is refusing to talk about it.)

right so i think stormpaw's name is going to be stormheart because i don't know it was always weird to me that stormfur and stonefur have the same suffix. like given Everything that's going on it feels weird to me. ig it'd actually be less weird in this, given that stonefur is still alive, but do you know How Close stonefur and stormfur are. they're one consonant cluster off. they're One consonant cluster off.

so leopardstar names him stormheart. feathertail can keep her name because it's pretty.

mistyfoot is a moon away from kitting. she refuses to talk about it. to anyone. whatsoever.

feathertail and stonefur decide to stage an intervention.

(they leave stormheart out not because he's not part of the found family, but because mistyfoot literally will not tolerate a single word about this. like a single word. like she will growl at you if you look at her stomach for too long.

so given the fairly high odds that mistyfoot gets violent, they keep stormheart out of it. she's the least likely to attack stonefur and feathertail.

stormheart finds out about this later and is like "do you guys realize if this went south you had absolutely 0 control over the situation. like what are you guys going to do. you incapable of doing anything to stop her if something goes wrong."

feathertail is like "yes. that's the point."

feathertail is both kind of right and also very internally messed up from being used for "training" when she wasn't allowed to fight back. feathertail also hates if you call her by just her prefix. she does not tell anyone this. misty is aware of this, and she tells stone and storm, and riverclan does eventually figure it out. plus it's not like feathertail is close enough to anyone else for them to call her "feather".

okay i'm getting off topic sorry i've been working on a tpb thing for swtwimb, and the one scene i have is cats making fun of her for not fighting back (again she is not allowed to they might kill her if she does), so they call her "featherkit" and that eventually gets brought down to feather and i'm rambling anyway On topic again.)

so stonefur and feathertail are like. "mistyfoot you are like. a half moon away from kitting. it is impairing your ability to do warrior duties. you need to like. acknowledge this."

anyway after a very terse conversation. after a veeery terse conversation, where mistyfoot is like. very close to just absolutely abandoning riverclan. they get her to admit that yes she is pregnant and yes she needs to stop doing warrior duties for the moment.

she wasn't exactly Healthy when she was pregnant because even tho tigerstar made a Point of making her like. eat enough to be healthy and also not violently attacking her. she had still been starved for...idk long enough for her ribs to show. i'm not sure what the exact timeline on this is yet.

also then After Tigerclan she did not eat as much as she should have because (a) denial and (b) she had been forcefed and so now she's. not doing that.

oh wow i've written long enough for my grammar checker to turn off again. that hasn't happened in ages.

all bets are off from here on out re grammar and spelling.

okay so mistyfoot isn't going to move into the nursery. i believe mosspelt has had a litter of 3 kits, or will have one as we see in asir, but mistyfoot isn't. she's not moving into it. stone, misty, storm, and feathertail share a den. no one else is allowed into it for Any Reason.

so anyway, they expand the den. riverclan as a whole might? i'm not sure who's good at weaving bc i don't have headcanons for this time period. probably not feathertail, but possibly stonefur. hm. anyway, they expand the den, mistyfoot will raise the kits in this den, everyone is on board with this.

mostly because it's this or mistyfoot like. runs away. which obviously no one wants. riverclan is on the side of...the four? riverclan is on the side of the four. even if they're not like, even though the four don't trust them, feathertail and misty especially (stone and storm tolerate it much better). but even tho things are complicated, riverclan is certainly going to do actions. they're certainly going to try to demonstrate their support.

okay so mistyfoot gives birth to her kits, and she is. not feeling good. about it. she's feeling terrible about it actually. she's feeling terrible about things. she doesn't want to name them.

usuuually in this situation, after the queens (collective) decided its in the best interest of the kits to be raised by someone other than their birth mother, the kits would be given to another queen.

but see. feathertail, stonefur, and stormheart are All attatched to these kits. deeply attatched to them. and mistyfoot is not willing to give them up either.

so mistyfoot isn't willing to give them up to another riverclan queen, and feathertail, stone, and storm all Want to raise them, and also don't want to give them to another queen.

the queens confer with mudfur that it is absolutely the worst possible thing they could do to forcibly remove the kits from mistyfoot. like that is the Worst option. they'd be lucky to get the kits alive, feathertail and mistyfoot are likely to abandon riverclan, and if misty and feathertail abandon riverclan, stone and storm will follow.

they're stuck in a standstill for a while. the four eventually do name them hawkkit, mothkit, and tadpolekit. the kits are about a moon old and ready to be weaned. mistyfoot is still extremely tense about the affair, but she's willing to part with them. she's able to recognize that's in the best interest of the kits, mosspelt's litter is about the same age, moving them into the nursery is going to give them a more normal upbringing, everyone is on the same page.

feathertail, who's having a lot of self worth issues, decides that moving into the nursery is her best bet for clan usefulness (which (a) feathertail you cannot keep up with kits and (b) the whole Place she's in is bad to begin with), moves in with them.

the kits decide feathertail is their mother now (they're old enough to understand that she didn't give birth to them, altho i haven't decided if they remember misty as their mother and if they're told any information re their birth parents depends exactly What kind of angst i want to write), and feathertail is. okay with this.

unlike asir, she's not blindsided with the tigerstar-is-their-father reveal, so she does have some issues with hawkkit reminding her of tigerstar, he's not really her Big Bad Trauma Nightmares. she has way more issues with the riverclan warriors directly involved in her abuse.

anyway, i don't know what happens tnp era stuff. i haven't gotten that far yet. maybe this will be another au where hawk and/or moth is a prophecy cat. i'm not sure. i haven't gotten farther than this.

but here you go i started writing this like an hour and a half ago and while i did stop to eat, i also just finally put everything i have for this au on one page and i hope and pray that will stave off the brainrot until i have a chance to actually write it.

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Kip v Age of Calamity

For someone who writes tough shit on Age of Calamity, you sure don’t see me writing a better story. So maybe I should stop complaining and be satisfied with what was given to me. 

...or...

...maybe we can dedicated a few hours of my time to spite an ask. 

Even though the entire argument of “why are you mad if you can’t write a story yourself” is inherently flawed and pointless considering that’s the equivalent of telling me I should chug spoiled milk because I’ve never milked a cow, I’ll fucking step up to the plate here, I’ll put my money where my mouth is. 

So here is Part 1 of your residential Kip approved rewrite of Hyrule Warriors: Age of Calamity. Or as I like to call it: 

Ok so before I get into it, a couple things I wanna establish. First, I know I just said I’m doing this out of spite, but I’m actually also doing this for fun. I really enjoy and am passionate about the writing process, so if you were looking for an angry rant about how terrible everyone’s opinions are about everything, this isn’t that. I don’t think that I am a better writer than anyone, or than the professionals that made this game, or that I am somehow superior to Nintendo. I am someone with the benefit of hindsight, I don’t have the constraints of producers and mandated directives and executives rubbing their hands in the story to make it more marketable or dumbed down or any of the other chaos that goes into crafting a videogame. So while obviously I think the people involved in this could have done a much better job, this isn’t a bash to say, “look how easy it is to make a story” because there’s a ton of unseen drama that goes into development that I have the luxury of avoiding, and it’s a miracle that any games are coherent and enjoyable in the first place. I’m just a lil Kip doing a fun lil exercise. 

This little series is also not going to be a fanfic. I’m going to be telling the story chronologically as if you were playing for yourself, but it’s going to be from my omniscient perspective because 1) I need to relate the story to the gameplay 2) That would take way too much time to actually make this into a fanfiction as it already takes a hell of a lot of time to even plan out the beats of this rewrite and 3) This is less going to be a telling of a story, and more of a fun little exploration on the Three Act Structure and The Hero’s Journey. In fact, I am going to try and keep the given story of Age of Calamity as intact as possible. 

The general ending is going to be the same, the characters used are going to remain roughly unchanged, (there will be no new characters, or removal of characters) and characters that live or die and where they end up are going to be mostly the same with how the original game is written. I know, I know, we all would love to see the Champions die brutally or to get us that sweet sweet Link angst or to have a game with multiple endings. And even though I personally would change some of those premises in Age of Calamity, I’m going to strive to keep it all as intact as possible, just to prove wrong the misconception that the story was only bad because of the writer’s choices for the general arc. I am a firm believer that biggest weaknesses of this game are in its methods of conveying its story, a problem in the storytelling process, and not (necessarily/only) the story product itself. 

If you want to use any of the ideas that I present, go for it! I release them into the public domain, I have no plans whatsoever to write a fanfic for this myself, in fact I already have my own separate Pre-Botw fic story that I am pouring myself into, so I give the people full permission to take these ideas off of me. 

Alrighty! With all that out of the way, let’s get into:

HERE IS THE VERSION IN A GOOGLE DOC FORM BECAUSE TUMBLR HATES YOU MOBILE PEEPS

Spoilers! Obviously. I’m going to act on the assumption that you know the full story of Age of Calamity to save myself some time, capiche?

Ok so we start out the game roughly the same, with eggbot being chased and forced to time travel into a portal. But, there is going to be some important differences in details. 

We have the part of the scene where Zelda awakens her powers, and at the same time, something else in Hyrule Castle glows with the same aura. However, this glow is not coming from the Princess’ Tower, but instead, the camera pulls back from the fields of Fort Hateno, sweeps over Hyrule (where you can see the Guardians and the sense of destruction and all that) and the camera eventually flies over Castle Town, then within the Castle, weaving through the halls, until the camera stop and focuses on the entrance of a destroyed room, slowly creeping in. It’s a room that’s been demolished, stone rubble from Guardian blasts ruin the floor and cave in from the ceiling, there’s a small fire in the corners of the room, and from the props that you can make out, it seems to look like some study or office of some sort. The room is small, but domed and circular, signifying that it’s of a bit more importance than you might think . The desks and books and all buried beneath this collapsed stone brick. But as the camera focuses on that pile of rocks, from within that rubble, you see that same glowing aura that Zelda has, glowing brighter and brighter until finally out pops, eggbot.

Now, you can have that same sequence within the game where he runs around all cute, the outter wall of the room is broken so eggbot can look outside and see the Calamity’s destruction. Then that cut to Zelda saying “I want to save...everyone,” and this is important because I need the fade in between Zelda’s line and the fade back to eggbot to wordlessly imply that he is hearing these words, something that’s already done pretty well in the original cutscene. Anyhow, then the Guardian Stalker pops from behind, prepares to shoot, and eggbot can escape into its little time portal, and then the malice follows or whatever.  

However, I’m not gonna immediately cut to the title, but instead, we have the music build to eggbot’s little jump in a pretty climactic way. But then the music still lingers slightly, and rests in suspense, camera is still looking out the window where eggbot jumped. It pulls back, turning back into this room that eggbot emerged from. Music is still relatively silent. Then, from the corner, you see some of the fire suddenly catch onto something. Flattened between the rocky rubble, just a few feet where eggbot emerged, is a purple cloak, trimmed with gold, flapping just slightly in the wind. [Said flapping being what causes it to catch] The fire catches, burning through the cloak, and underneath it, is a fallen copy of the Sheikah tapestry of 10k years ago. Camera zooms into that art of the Calamity, music suspends, merge to title card, then the music hits that climax and BOOM, “Hyrule Warriors: Age of Calamity.” Main Theme plays. Let the opening title roll.

Now the reason I changed this slightly is because 1) I wanted to earlier set up some of the plot points that I have planned for this (some of which you might already guess or maybe not who knows *wink wink*) and 2) I think that the original opening could have been much stronger with its hook. Yes, the element of mystery is established with eggbot’s existence and that element of time travel, but then the opening immediately goes into saying “This is the tale of champions, a diminutive Guardian who traveled backwards through time, and the Great Calamity they faced.” So...you just dampened that hook you established two seconds ago because you explained it all. Sure, it doesn’t completely ruin it, but I think the impact would be much stronger if that text wasn’t there at all, and the music and hype of the tapestry moving and coming alive is all there was. I’d much rather that element of time travel just be explained through the cinematography itself, because you can already understand that perfectly with that scene where you see the portal lead into birds flying around a beautiful Hyrule Castle.

Also, the music in this game is fantastic! So letting moments that really let you soak it in, I think would be very beneficial. So now this scene serves as a much more effective hook before we get into the actual plot. The mystery of eggbot’s identity is heightened and left a bit more unexplained, you have this mysterious circular room that you’ve never seen before, and the set up of details that will eventually serve later revelations in the plot, cough cough. 

Then you hit Chapter 1, Link gameplay, eggbot and the tower, that’s all the same. I got no changes for the story there, it’s a great introduction. However! I know my strength here is writing and I am by no means a game developer or designer, but I need, I absolutely need to add one aspect to the gameplay.

Near the end of the first stage, where there are those three moblins at the end, I want to add something that I’m going to call, a gambit. The game already introduced you to the special meter and “press a to use special attack” thing, but I want Impa and Link to use a gambit to defeat this last horde of moblins. Essentially, you press A to use your special attack, BUT, if another character is in proximity, the attack is even more powerful. Every pair of characters has a special little attack, that does tons of damage, and during said sequence, there are voiced lines, or at the very very least text boxes that comment on it. And with this gambit, while a regular solo special attack still does a lot of damage, I’m gonna nerf it slightly to encourage players to use this gambit feature. 

Now, why did I add this? Because I need to better connect this gameplay to the story on more than an external “lets defeat this and go from point A to point B” type of way. I need something in the gameplay to better serve to the game’s main theme of “teamwork makes the dreamwork” and all that. The CURRENT gameplay, although absolutely fun and fantastic, just doesn’t do this. I need just one element to serve this theme while ALSO having the dual purpose of serving as character interaction. The current structure of Age of Calamity works where the sidequests and battle serve as your character interaction, development, and banter, while the cutscenes serve the main story beats, and important plot revelations. The cutscenes just aren’t crafted to support the weight of these dozens of characters while also giving them all interesting interactions, and that’s fine! So I’m just adding this feature to the gameplay, because being able to customize different lines for different characters for different stages that are voiced will go a long way into making the character development seem more fleshed out. And this gambit feature doesn’t necessarily change the way you play the game drastically, as you can still have four character slots and have them split up to take on the battlefield, but now you can split them off into groups of 2. And also, because I’m not completely blind to game design, the damage percentage boost of these gambit attacks will not increase as much, just slightly lower, than the damage boost of a solo attack when you level up. So what I mean is, when your character is weaker level, you are forced to rely on others in order to defeat your enemies, but, with the way the leveling up percents work, your characters can still reach a point where they can defeat big bosses all on their own without gambits. THAT way, when certain events happen in later chapters, when your character is all leveled up, (and maybe they awaken a sacred power or two) it feels all the more powerful when you can go off on your own. You can feel how your character has grown in strength because you can contrast it with your teamwork gameplay of earlier levels. AND it still highlights the importance of that theme of companionship, because you would never have gotten to this level of strength had you not relied on your friends. 

OK, so the stage 1 ends with a gambit attack, Impa compliments Link’s fighting style or something that shows her admiration or respect for him. And then stage 2 for the Road to the Royal Lab is the same, but gambit dialogue for that stage is Impa complimenting Link, Impa being protective of Zelda, and since this is Zelda’s first playable area, Zelda’s gambit lines can be about kinda brushing Link aside like “I want to capable to hold my own in battle but thank you” to Link (cause I never really got that same “I don’t really like you” vibe that is established in botw for this game) and then to Impa Zelda’s gambit lines can be like “is this thrill what you always feel when battling?” and Impa is like “yeah isn’t it great we should do it more often!” and then you can allude to that with a sidequest for Zelda’s training or something. I just want to better connect sidequest stories with this stuff. And also, gambits are obviously optional so that’s why this is all just banter and character development and not actually plot points, and I’m going to stick with just one-on-one dialogue, although it should be theoretically possible to have gambit boosts of three and four, but I feel that would be too much as I don’t want to ruin the gameplay balance and encourage you to keep all four character slots close together, because splitting them up is an important part of the game. Anyhow!

So Chapter 1 is done, my changes being almost purely in the gameplay because this is the start of the story and the character set up is important. Chapter 1 to Chapter 2 is basically the establishment of the ordinary world, and in the Three Act Structure it’s basically Act 1. Act 1 is all about set up. I need to really focus this chapter on both introducing the player to the mechanics of the game, having them connect to the characters and the characters connect to each other through the gameplay, and I need to establish this tone so that when I rip it away, and change the tone during the threshold, it feels more meaningful and suspenseful. 

As you can see from the diagrams, Act 1 has something called the Inciting Incident. The Inciting Incident is going to be the Yiga attack in Chapter 2, where our heroes first experience the true dangers of their journey, and there is no turning back. BUT I’m getting ahead of myself.

Chapter 2 is also exactly the same. I would literally change nothing about the Champion’s sections (other than my addition of gambit interaction of course) because they’re all pretty great. For the record, yes, evil egg is still a thing, and yes, Zelda and the gang can still discover those pictures of the Calamity in eggbot, yes you beat up Revali, and the Divine Beast sequences are the same. I just really need that gambit dialogue to help establish character relations. Revali quips at Link, Mipha protects him, Daruk is his buddy [I thought a cool gambit attack for Link and Daruk to better show that they are old friends could be them both chewing down on some rocks, before striking an enemy simultaneously. Because they never eat rocks together and I just want this ok] Kohga is the same, Sooga is the same, BUT, for that scene when you first meet Astor in the Yiga base, I need two things to happen. 1) The camera reveal for Astor starts at his cloak, which is intact and NOT tattered like how his design is in game. It’s a deep purple with gold trim, the camera pans up to the back of Astor’s head. Now 2) When the camera moves to look at Astors face, I need him to be standing in front of and staring solemnly at the evil eggbot. He’s frowning, and his eyes suggest something like he’s deep in thought of something in the distant past. That’s how the scene starts, and in the background is Kohga recounting the events of his failure to beat Urbosa and the gang. Then, Kohga can say something funny to annoy him, Astor’s face changes to your classic villain disgust. Then, he can get a bit pissed and go on his little rant about how pathetic the Yiga are and how the Calamity is trapped within the evil eggbot and how he will use his powers to end the Kingdom of Hyrule. Then he can take his little astrolabe and be all “My harbinger, show me the future!” and all that. IMPORTANT LINE CHANGE,  Astor’s motivation here is not “The future, as it will and must be. I will not allow anyone to alter its course.” Instead, I need to tweak it slightly to be, “The future, as it was fated to always be. The pathetic stories and legends of children and false kings cannot waver this course. I will not allow it, for my sake…” camera pans to the broken evil guardian, Astor’s voice lowers just slightly. “...and yours.” The slightest, almost silent bits of the harmonies (not the melody) of the Hwaoc Main Theme play before fully fading back to Astor’s theme. And the final shot of that scene is Astor, looking down at the heap of Sheikah tech, with a neutral expression, but then looking back up at the malice stars, and the future visions of the Calamity. He just ever so slightly smiles. 

[Also I JUST realized that the harbinger is actually slightly above Astor, because it’s supposed to show that the power dynamic is really Calamity Ganon is in control, so ignore the “looking down” parts I talked about, and just think in the broad direction of Astor looks at the guardian, and then looks further up at the ceiling with the Calamity and the future and then he smiles]

For that scene, I also need to remove any characterization where Astor is laughing and being joyous at the impending destruction, I only need that smile at the end. There is no villainous cartoon laughter, at least, not yet. Also the part where Sooga calls Astor a fool for thinking he can control the Calamity is GREAT I need that, that absolutely needs to stay in.

And then Chapter 2 closes off with that Yiga ambush. That’s the inciting incident, so I need the tone at the end to be slightly different. Instead of ending on that cute little thing where eggbot points angrily at Link, (like that part can still EXIST in there BUT) I need it to end on a more serious note. 

Referring back to the Hero’s Journey, the Call to Adventure is the parts of each of the Champion’s recruitment. They each have their initial reasons for joining the fight, whether to protect their people, to feel validated for their skill, to get closer to the ones they love etc etc that’s all established in their respective stages.

This Yiga stage, however, serves as the official barrier between Act 1 and Act 2, the threshold between the known world and the unknown world, where the heroes prepare to seek out the obstacle that stands in the way of their goal. It’s important that this threshold establishes a sense of urgency, because that better gets you invested in the stakes, and helps the story's momentum to move forward. IT shows that the journey and adventure that these characters want/need to take is outside the safety of their home/known world.

In the original game, the threshold ends with that cute scene of eggbot and Zelda and Link and the Zelink vibes. That’s not bad, but it’s also not good. The momentum towards the later confrontation in Korok forest needs to feel more important, because this is a major turning point in the story. SO, I am going to add one more scene at the end. It’s just after the ambush, after the fires have died down, and Zelda (and in the back the Champions) discussing the events with the King. I want King Rhoam to a few things. First, I need him to kinda berate the Champions for falling for the Yiga’s “splitting them up trick” and leaving his daughter vulnerable. This 1) establishes doubt within the party, which makes for better uncertainty for the future and later internal conflict. This was supposed to be the dream team but the King is already kinda telling them off. 2) This also still characterizes the King as someone who cares for his daughter’s safety. That care for his daughters safety is layered in the subtext of him saying something like “Your priority must be to protect the only person capable of sealing the Calamity. You were so concerned with victory and glory in battle that you forgot that the fate of this kingdom lies on my daughter’s survival.” and blah blah blah. The King can also congratulate Link for keeping Zelda safe, and this is GREAT because that can add further to Zelda’s slight resentment for him, as he’s getting the approval from the King that she has yet to receive. But like overall the King is like “don’t leave my daughter alone cause she almost got killed if it weren’t for Link wtf.” and then that can also be a further excuse to hurry to korok forest to find the wielder of the sword so that they can better protect “not just the Princess, but the entire world,” something something fancy kingly dialogue. 

Also when the Champions leave THIS can also be the time where Zelda gives that Sheikah device thingy to Rhoam and also where he sees eggbot. I know that happens a bit later, but for pacing purposes and for the sake of the story changes that I made, it better serves to place it here. That interaction itself can stay mostly the same as it is in the game.

So now, the threshold ends with a bit more tension. The Champion squad is powerful, but also has flaws in how they were split up by the Yiga, (cough cough I wonder if that serves the themes of the game in some way cough cough) and it’s not just “smooth sailing” into the search for the Master Sword, and the stakes are a bit rocky as we finally enter into the story’s Act 2.

= = = = = 

And that’s Part 1 of my rewrite. Not really a lot, cause again this is mainly character set up, and establishing stuff, but personally I think it’s already a bit stronger than how Age of Calamity did it. Stay tuned for Part 2 either tonight or tomorrow, mwahaha. 

Predict the future if you can...

[sardinesandhumbugs]

If you're still doing the musical writing prompts, could you do 45, maybe with Mole?

Of course I can! 45 was “Home. I've heard heard the word before, but it never meant much more than just a thing I've never had” from a Very Potter Sequel. Sorry for the long delay, nonny, but hopefully it was worth the wait! It certainly turned out longer than expected.

x

"The important thing about having lots of things to remember is that you’ve got to go somewhere afterwards where you can remember them, you see? You’ve got to stop. You haven’t really been anywhere until you’ve got back home."

The Light Fantastic, Terry Pratchett

x

If someone had asked Mole what home was before that fateful spring morn, his answer would have been easy.

Home was the cosy, still air of beneath-ground. It was the door jamb that stuck and the window that leaked. It was the carols that alighted his porch each winter, the smell of jams being prepared in the autumn, and the dust that made him sneeze every spring cleaning. It was found in solid things that marked the passage of time as surely as clockwork in the sunless tunnels. (Clockwork marked the hours, and seasons marked the year, and everything else between was of little consequence.)

Several months on, and his answer is no longer so sure.

The first hint – at least, the first hint he takes notice of – that it is no longer the clear-cut divide of holiday verses home comes in the fright of the Wild Wood, so far from either.

(If he had been taking notice, he perhaps would have seen the spare glasses that now live at Ratty's riverside residence, the household chores that are shared without comment, or the divide in the larder that Ratty has made for Mole's more species-specific snacks. But he hasn't been taking notice, and such things have passed him by in the comfort of a new normality.)

So Mole is far from home (either, both) when Ratty finds him. They are both scared and shaken, but there is no doubt in Ratty's voice with the question, "Wouldn't you rather just go home?" as if home couldn't be anywhere but the river. Maybe (probably) for Ratty it's true (he had certainly once proclaimed it to be his food, his drink, his company – his world) but for Mole, the word is an altogether more complicated affair.

In that moment, however, he longs for the sunlit riverbank.

It is only later, when they settle into the familiar underground air of Badger's sett, that Mole remembers Mole End at all. It lasts only briefly – they have so many other issues at hand, namely that of the disastrous Toad – but it is enough to give him pause. It leaves him stranded between betrayal and mutiny. Betrayal, for his hasty abandonment of his home, and mutiny as he realises he does not want to give up his newfound riverbank life.

But when it comes to it, it doesn't really matter – not in Badger's sett, nor in his brief yuletide return to Mole End – because in the end, at Mole End, he looks to Ratty and knows that he'll follow wherever his friend goes.

(The feeling, though Mole does not realise it at the time, is mutual. Although in Ratty's case, the stubborn loyalty had made itself known months ago, back when he chose the open road over his river – if only for a passing season. Even so, he has never had cause to doubt (not even on the open road, not really) that his river might not be enough to tempt even the most stalwart undergrounder to linger a while longer – but Ratty looks to his friend, surrounded by his titular home, and realises Mole is as much of the earth as he is of the river and that one day it may reclaim him.)

x

It is the week following Toad's grand party that life eventually settles back to the point that Mole can finally turn his mind to more homeward bound matters. For as life has calmed – as adventures and escapes and daring retakings have made way for the more mundane reality of day-to-day living – he realises another spring is on its way out, a year has passed, and he is in danger of becoming rooted to the riverbank. There is the scent of summer on the horizon, thick and heady, and a strange sensation he hesitates to call homesickness lingers in him. It whispers of dirt and earth and it makes his claws itch until he can stand it no longer and he knows – he knows he must return.

He attempts to casually bring up the subject as they clear away dinner.

"I'm thinking," he says, "of returning to Mole End." Ratty's step falters, if only for a moment. "Just for a few days," Mole adds. "I thought I might get some of that spring cleaning done that I never finished from last year."

"We'll make a trip of it then," Ratty suggests brightly, and if Mole knew him just a little less well, he might believe the forced cheer – but he does know him that well and he reads past the façade. "I've never picnicked underground before, but there's a first for everything–"

"Just me, I think," Mole interrupts. "It's just a little tidy up; there's no reason to drag both of us there."

"Oh." Ratty falters again. There's some unease at the sure exclusion, but there's a trace of relief too; underground is still a discomfort to the riverbank-born animal although, if Mole is being brutally honest with himself, his reason for returning alone is more to do with his own needs than Ratty's.

He is not brutally honest. At least not this time. But he suspects Ratty has him figured all the same, for he lingers by the door, watching as Mole packs up a few choice belongings to accompany him to Mole End. Ratty's stance is nonchalant, but the way he talks of their plans after Mole's return feels like he is eking out a promise he isn't sure Mole will keep.

Mole senses enough of this to hold his tongue when it comes to the strange homesickness that has stolen over him. He has learnt enough of his friend to know the comment, however innocuous, however true his intent to return to the riverbank, will do little to help. And it will recede, if only he can ground himself in the underground existence that has served him well all the years previous – but for that, he must go alone. Ratty would bring with him the reminder of the sunny shore above, of rivers and boats that turned his head in the first place.

And the strange homesickness does settle back in Mole End – momentarily. Beneath the ground, the muggy summer loses its grip and the air is steady, constant. It is a refuge from the humidity that stifles Mole – Mole, who has never considered claustrophobia, but when the air grows heavy and airless in the sway of summer, it is all he can do to retreat to north-facing rooms and wait out the heat. But in the bowels of the earth, the seasons are muted and he sleeps sounder for it.

He oversleeps. He assures himself that it is the comfort of a long-familiar bed, but part of him wonders if he has grown too accustomed to the wake-up call of the morning chorus and the sunrise – if he is not so much an undergrounder as he was a year ago.

His underground instincts sated, he turns his attention to more practical considerations. The door jamb that sticks and the window that leaks is all well and good through the lens of nostalgia, but it is quite another kettle of fish when it comes to tending to them. And as he adds yet another chore to the list (a home neglected, he realises, continues to decay with, or perhaps because of, its owner's absence) Mole End seems to shift from cosy to tired. He knows it not to be as grand as Toad Hall, nor as chronicled in history as Badger's sett, and certainly not as comfortably ship-shape as Ratty's place, but the reality settles in about him as he stands, frozen, with the chore list in paw.

What Mole End is, is dark and dim and shabby.

And, worst of all, that homesickness has returned.

He is an underground animal – or was, once upon a time. Now he is not so sure, for while his burrow calls, so does the bright sun-filled air above... and he doesn't think there is a word for an animal that holds both worlds in their soul.

Home. this place is home, he tells himself, but the definition has shifted, expanded, grown in his year's absence, and he doesn't know what to do with that.

His reverie is broken by a knocking at his door, and he finds his porch crowded by four very familiar animals. Mole gapes for a moment until Toad bounces in.

"So this is Mole End, eh? Naturally, it's not as grand as Toad Hall but then, of course, what is?"

"Toad, be civil," Badger warns.

Mole squeezes out of the way as the large mammal enters. "It's only a small home," he says, apologetic. "I'm afraid it's going to be a little snug with everyone here–"

"Don't you worry about that, pet," Mrs Otter assures as she follows after the others. "Snug is my home with the pups on a regular day."

Mole turns to the last animal yet to enter. Ratty stands at the threshold, hesitant as if wary of a boundary overstepped. "I know you said you wanted to attend to this alone," Ratty says – he shifts the trusty luncheon basket between his paws – "but it's been three days and, well" – a wan smile – "I've seen your attempts at spring cleaning. I figured you might appreciate the help if you were still at it."

"So you brought Toad along?"

Mole's humour seems to mollify Ratty's nerves, for the water rat's smile turns rueful. "Toad brought himself along."

Mole leans in with a conspiring whisper. "Do you think he even knows what a broom is?"

There is an almighty sneeze from Badger as Toad unsettles a layer of dust from the kitchen cupboards.

Ratty grins. "Do you?" The humour, however, is as quick to go as it was to arrive, and as he watches the other animals descend upon Mole End he glances back to his usual housemate with unease. "Of course, if you'd rather we left you to it, naturally we can–"

Mole commandeers the basket. "Stay." He doesn't mean it to sound such like an order, but for all his previous bluster, he suddenly doesn't want the newcomers to leave. For despite the extra shadows they cast, Mole End somehow feels brighter than before in a manner not quite tangible. "And, just between you and me," he adds as he ushers his friend inside, "I hadn't got that far with the cleaning."

There's another sneeze from Badger that sets the lanterns swinging, and a fresh falling of dust scatters down from above.

Another grin from Ratty. "You don't say?"

Badger wastes no time in assessing the undertaking ahead. He settles back into that same role as in the retaking of Toad Hall, distributing the chores with little fuss, and quietly Mole is glad for it, because the task of Mole End has become overwhelming in the past few days.

Regardless of the nature of the housework, it is humour, not tedium, that springs up. And at some point in this collective effort – between the idle conversations and the laughter and the "Where's the duster – I swear I left it here just a moment ago" – Mole End sheds its overcrowded air. Nothing palpable changes, for the occupants continue to fall over one another and Badger still has to duck his head through doorways, but somewhere in the midst of all this it has become cosy, not cramped.

Somewhere in that space, that strange homesickness has quelled.

Mole realises this midway through restoring the peeling wallpaper back to its proper place, teetering on a stepladder while Ratty applies paste to the paper's underside. He falters in his task to take note – to truly take note – of his friends. To listen to the bustle of Mrs Otter as she strips the beds, and the jabbering of Toad as he regales her with some loosely-related story. (Mole believes it is his experiences from the open road; a period in which Toad categorically did not take to the chores like a duck to water, whatever he is emphatically telling Mrs Otter.) Further off, there is something that sounds suspiciously like humming, coming from Badger as he inspects the tunnels for natural wear-and-tear, partnered with his sure steps and the tap of his cane.

Mole lingers too long in thought, and his balance flounders. Ratty catches the ladder before it can tip and his laughter is both familiar and new as it bounces across the earthen walls in an echoing reprise.

Home. this place is home, Mole realises, and the definition has shifted, expanded, grown in his year's absence.

And he's okay with that.

[pepperonyspizza]

soulmate au where you touch your soulmate for the first time it leaves a handprint that's how you know they are your soulmate

well, this went kinda out of hand and ended up way longer than I wanted it to be lmao also this didn’t give me any specific ship so I went with pepperony :) I hope that’s what you wanted! ~*~ There is this rule that Tony has: Do not touch Pepper. Ever.  He’s not sure how it started but something about their ‘professional’ relationship has put that barrier over the years - but that doesn’t stop Tony from testing just how solid said wall is every now and then. The media isn’t calling him a sleazy asshole for nothing and it’s not like he’s being too obnoxious about it. 

A nudge of his shoulder against hers, his hand a fleeting pressure on the small of her back, always with a securing layer of clothing between them. That’s it. Nothing more. 

Tony tells himself that he doesn’t push it any further because, deep down, there is something that resembles a gentleman, not because he’s scared to drive them to a point from which there is no going back. 

But that fear (not that it’s actually that) isn���t enough to keep Tony from wishing that things could be different, especially during a moment like this one when Pepper is tearing into him about yet another board meeting he’s missed and he wants nothing more than to shut her up. 

It would be so easy. Tony can imagine it in his head perfectly. He would reach for her, wrap his fingers around her slender wrist and she would stop talking in an instant to stare at him in shock.  

More would happen after that, at least according to his fantasy. They’d kiss and stumble out of the messy workshop to continue what they had started upstairs in his bedroom. His real bedroom, the one only he gets to see. Well, and Pepper of course when she interrupts his peaceful sleep with her nagging—

“Tony!”

He blinks out of his daydream, realizing that he’s been staring at a bland wall for the last minute. The woman he’s been ignoring is looking everything but amused and not even the charming grin he shoots her way can calm her down.

“Yes, dear?” 

“Have you listened to anything I just said?” 

“...something about a board meeting that is scheduled for today?” 

“Was,” Pepper corrects, sighing deeply. “It was scheduled for today, Tony. 3 hours ago. I told you about it this morning.”

“Oops.”

“Oops?!” He gets up from his chair but she’s close on his heels even as he moves further into the large space of his workshop. “That’s all you have to say after I spent the past thirty minutes cleaning up your mess?” 

It must have been something important for Pepper to be this angry at him. He must have missed at least four other meetings this week alone and she’s barely done so much as lecture him about those. 

Tony whirls around with his hands up, “Woah, easy now. It’s not that big of a deal, right?” His grin is all teeth as Pepper’s nostrils flare. “Okay, that was the wrong thing to say. Let me try again. I’m really sorry. I forgot.” 

She crosses her arms and huffs but she isn’t yelling anymore. 

“Let me make it up to you,” he continues with a smile, “How about dinner? Just the two of us and some fancy food.” 

And just like that, he’s back to square one The fire in Pepper’s eyes is back, brighter and more deadly than before. Tony can’t believe that he’s said the wrong thing again. 

“Dinner? Are you serious?” She throws her arms up, looking both annoyed and exhausted, which makes Tony feel like he’s getting scolded by a teacher. “Thanks to your little stunt, I’ll most likely be dealing with this all night. I won’t have time to indulge any of your antics.” 

“Pep.”

“If you are so desperate for a nice dinner, how about you show up for the one you have scheduled for tomorrow evening?” 

“Pepper.” 

“Because, and I swear to god, Tony, if you miss anything else this week, I’ll—”

“Potts!” 

Tony barks at least, too tired to continue this argument any longer. He absentmindedly reaches for her, settling one of his hands on her forearm before he can think twice about it. 

It takes less than a heartbeat for Pepper to react. She goes silent, not because he told her to but because he’s literally holding onto her, which has never happened before. 

Her skin is all smooth and soft, such a strong contrast to his own. Tony wants to slap himself for only finding out now when he could have been touching her for all those years. 

But then Pepper’s eyes go wide and she jerks back like he’s burnt her. Tony lets go without comment, although the five steps she takes back aren’t necessary. He won’t jump her. They are friends, aren’t they? Friends touch each other casually. 

“Come on, Pep. I promise that I’m not infectious.” He does his best to grin as he shows her the palms of his rough hands. “And no oil or grease stains either. See?”

She doesn’t look down. In fact, it doesn’t seem like she’s looking at him at all but rather straight through him. Tony frowns, a little concerned and very much confused. His gaze drops down to where Pepper is clutching her arm and his eyebrows almost shoot into his hairline when he sees what her small hands are trying to cover up. 

Tony takes a step towards her, waiting for her to take one back and keep them apart. She doesn’t. Pepper only snaps out of her frozen like state when he’s already close enough to pull her arm out of the way. 

There, covering a good part of her forearm is a crimson handprint. Not any handprint but Tony’s. He puts his hand right on top of it to check, to make sure that it hasn’t been there before even though he already knows so. 

His hand fits perfectly on top of it. His eyes snap back up to Pepper’s face when she fails to respond to… well, anything. Frankly, the woman looks like she’s seen a ghost. Any other time, Tony would have been insulted but given the current circumstances, he kind of understands. 

“Are you going to say something?” “Mr. Stark, I—” 

Mr. Stark. She’s just found out that he’s her soulmate and she’s trying to go with formal titles? Hell no. That’s not how they are going to play. 

Tony cuts her off for the second time that day but instead of snapping, he kisses her. It’s not his proudest moment and he’ll blame his poor impulse control for it later. Pepper lets out a surprised squeak that’s muffled by his mouth pressing against hers but otherwise makes no move to stop him. 

It will happen eventually, Tony is absolutely sure of it - but until that happens, he’s going to take full advantage of her hesitation. Kissing Pepper has been his number one fantasy for so long and now that the knowledge of him being her soulmate hangs above them, the fire inside him has only grown hotter. 

Her hand comes in contact with his body just like he’s expected but not to push him away but to fist her hand into the fabric of his tank top and pull him closer. Tony realizes with a start that he’s kissing back. 

Pepper is kissing him. With quite a lot of enthusiasm, he might add. 

Tony doesn’t know how long the kiss lasts or at what point Pepper’s free hand has moved to his neck. He does notice the sudden and unnatural warmth that spreads over his skin where she’s touching him. It’s much warmer than the heat radiating from her hand should be, so much that he breaks the kiss with a startled yelp. 

The woman in front of him pulls her hand away quickly as her eyes snap open. If Tony wasn’t so scared about what the hell was going on, he would have been smug about the dazed look on Pepper’s face and the state of her lips. She opens her mouth to say something but then her gaze drops down to his neck. Whatever she sees there is enough to keep her quiet. 

“What?! What is it? What is happening?” Pepper only stares. “Potts!” 

“I am sorry,” she says, already in the process of reaching out again before she thinks better of it and drops her arm back down to her side. “I am so sorry, Tony. I didn’t think about...”

She trails off and Tony panics. What the hell has she done to him? His skin is no longer burning but the part she’s touched is still warm. It’s a calming heat but with how nervous Pepper looks, even that is not enough to keep him from freaking out. 

He dashes across the workshop and towards the full-length mirror in one of the corners, expecting the worst. The handprint he finds on his neck is completely logical and yet baffles him. He’d been so distracted by the mark he’s left on her that he’d forgotten about this part. 

Not only is he her soulmate but she’s his soulmate as well. 

Tony turns around, the biggest grin plastered across his face as he watches Pepper approach him, “Potts.”

“This is a disaster!” His heart drops. Isn’t she happy about this? It’s everyone’s dream to find their soulmate… or maybe it’s not that she’s finally found hers but rather who it has turned out to be. 

“There is no way we can cover that up unless you’re wearing a turtleneck to every single one of your meetings from now on.” 

He frowns. “What?” “This will be a P.R nightmare.” 

“Are you seriously thinking about the stupid company right now?” Tony asks with annoyance and the slightest bit of hurt in his voice. “We’re soulmates, Pepper. You kissed me!”

“Actually, you kissed me.” “And you kissed back!” He points at the handprint on his neck and yeah, its location will make it impossible to hide. Not that Tony minds that. “Look how you claimed me. Everyone will see this and know that you did it.” The speed at which she turns red has to be some sort of record.

“I didn’t mean to! Besides, no one will know that it’s my hand.”

“Nope, at least not until I tell them. And I will.” 

“Tony!”

“I’ll tell everyone, Potts. And you better tell any schmuck that tries to flirt with you that you already found your soulmate.” She’s quiet as she observes him. Tony doubts that she’s aware of the fact that she’s biting her lip but that doesn’t stop his lizard brain from wanting to kiss her again. The mark on his neck tingles, sending a shiver down his spine. 

“We have to talk about this. We can’t just… this will get complicated.” 

“We’ll figure it out,” Tony promises as he settles his hands on her hips. “I’m a genius. You’re smart. We got this.” He leans forward, his breath ghosting over her face. “We’ll have all the time in the world to talk. Later.” 

Before Pepper has the chance to object, he kisses her. This time, it takes not nearly as long before she’s returning the kiss, both her hands buried in his hair. It feels amazing. Like it is destined to be. 

In some way, Tony thinks that it is. 

[thehaemanthus]

Our Savaged Souls

Trying out a new thing of posting the full chapter on tumblr. You can read from chapter one one AO3 (unless it’s not your thing, and in that case you can send me an ask and I’ll be like! sure! I love to be accomodating! I’ll post full chapters on tumblr :) )

Feyre Archeron is born under the new Wall separating human lands from the Spring Court- her home. She hunts in her forest, forms a friendship with the High Lord's third son, and is introduced to his friend. Then it all goes wrong.

Chapter 6

Tamlin soon forgets his ire about the Suriel. Or at least, he pushes it down far enough and eventually bounces back, dragging her out on more adventures. He manages to swing by for a few hours of her birthday party, and then is required at home for much of the spring. By the time the summer rolls around, Feyre can tell he’s eager to be away from family and make up for lost time.

The latest outing is a jaunt to a pool of liquid starlight, one that Feyre has visited only a handful of times. It’s one of Tamlin’s favorite places, she knows, and she felt the honor in the first invitation.

Her linen dress brushes just past her knees, only half of her hair pulled back in anticipation of a relaxing afternoon spent lounging in the shade and wading in the water. No boots or tight braid needed today. Her contribution to the picnic is a batch of scones, some ruby-red cherries, raspberry preserves, and roasted almonds. With her bounty and dress, Feyre decides to winnow rather than pick through the forest.

Feyre expects it to be a small party, but she does not know how small it actually is until she arrives.

There are two people there. Tamlin and Rhysand.

Of course. Rhysand. Of course he is here.

“You managed to make it on time!” Tamlin greets her with an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek and takes her basket from her hands, retreating to add it to their pile of food and blankets. The space already looks inviting, dappled in shade. Sweating bottles of lemonade and ice water peak out from a wicker basket full of white porcelain plates with painted primrose borders and crystal glasses. A partially wrapped loaf of bread and hard cheese rests on top, along with a sharp knife and a bounty of fresh fruits.

Feyre scowls. “I was late one time, Tam, it’s not funny anymore.” She glances at Rhysand. It would be impossible to pretend he’s not there. It’s just the three of them. It would be rude to not say anything. It should not be difficult at all to just greet him. She wrangles her expression into something pleasant. “Hello, Rhysand.”

“Feyre darling,” he smirks. “I thought you were calling me Rhys now?”

She actually turns a bit red and fumbles. Thankfully, Tamlin’s big mouth saves her. “When did that happen?”

“A while ago.” Rhysand reclines on one of the picnic blankets, lounging like a cat. He waves a hand. “Won’t you join us, Feyre?”

There’s really no way to refuse. She takes a seat, folding her legs under her. “It’s hard to break a habit. I’ve been calling you Rhysand for a long time now.”

“I’ll have to keep reminding you, then,” he says as he roots through a picnic basket, plucking out a tin of cookies. “Want one?”

“Thank you, Rhys,” she stresses his name, plucking one of the cookies from his hand.

He smiles at her, and the tension seems to melt away.

Has she always looked at him like this, or did the Suriel trigger something in her soul that flipped the world upside down? Feyre wonders how long this feeling, this awareness of him has been growing in her heart, encroaching so slowly and naturally that she has not noticed until someone drew her attention to the blossoming.

For a child of the Night Court, Rhys looks good in the sun. She has always known he is beautiful, but something has changed. As they chat and nibble on the picnic, Feyre observes him. There is something fuller in his laughs, more playful in his smirks today. It would be impossible to forget that he is an Heir— powerful radiates from his body and he approaches every conversation and confrontation with arrogance. He is still guarded. But if his true soul is an impenetrable fortress, Feyre thinks they’ve passed through the gates of one or two battlements.

The sun beats down on them, stronger now that the world has moved and positioned itself in summer. The Day Court is absolutely sweltering, Rhys informs them, and there’s been some problems with heat sickness in Summer. In Spring, Feyre keeps an extra canteen of water and takes frequent breaks when romping about.

Sweat gathers at her brow and pools on her upper lip. Eventually, sipping cool drinks and relaxing in the shade is paltry comfort.

“I’m going for a dip,” she stands. “Anyone want to join?”

The males scramble up after her. It’s some work to unlace her stays, so they end up shucking their clothes and splashing into the pond before her. Feyre finds herself sighing in relief when they don’t look twice or offer to help. It would be well meaning from them, her friends, if not a little playful and flirty. But if Rhys offered…

Mother above. Surely it should take her longer to fall?

“Are you coming?” Tamlin calls from the water, flicking some water in her direction. It glitters like diamonds where it lands on the grass and dirt. It might not actually be water, but Feyre has never known what else to call it.

She scowls. “It takes a little longer for me.” She toes off her slippers, wiggling her feet in the cool grass. In the past, Feyre hasn’t had trouble with stripping down to almost nothing and jumping into lakes and rivers. Now, she keeps her chemise on and tries not to think too hard about it. After tossing her hair pins on the blanket, she wades in.

The pond is cool and refreshing. Sunlight almost blinds her as it bounces off the surface. Feyre glides through the water, slowly acclimating herself. When she dunks her head under and emerges, the liquid starlight clings to her lashes and makes the world look brighter and chaotic. She swipes a hand at her eyes and blinks to clear her vision.

Tamlin floats on his back, golden hair floating around his head like a halo. Rhys lazily swims a circuit around the pond, much like she was. Feyre treads in place for a moment before floating a bit closer to Rhys.

Sensing her presence, he surfaces. Feyre’s breath catches. She’s sure he reads something incriminating on her face, but before he can speak she opens her mouth. “This pond suits you.”

“Oh?” he questions. His feet must reach the bottom, because while Feyre is working to stay afloat at the edge, he is merely holding out his arms to keep himself steady.

“The starlight.” Her eyes roam over his face and dip down to his neck before shooting back up. If she looks too far down she won’t be able to return her gaze to his face. “Son of the Night Court. It all works.” She waves a hand in his face, and he laughs. The starlight clinging to his hair and shoulders and dripping from his chin bring out the constellations in his eyes.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, darling,” Rhys nods at her.

She wishes she had a mirror, if only to try and memorize her own look for a painting later. “Do I?” she asks, leaning back a bit in the water and pretending like his words do not send her heart racing.

Her eyes are on the sky, but when Rhys is silent for too long she propels herself upright. He’s frowning a bit, looking more unsure of himself than she’s ever known him to be. “Rhys?”

“I can show you,” he says, expression much too serious for an afternoon swim.

Feyre laughs softly. “You have a mirror? Where are you hiding that?”

Rhys’s smirk lacks some of its swagger. He brings up a hand and, from nowhere, conjures a hand mirror. “I do have some tricks up my sleeve. But that wasn’t what I was talking about.” As quick as it appeared, it's gone.

Feyre cocks her head. Rhys wants to show her what she looks like, but without a mirror or any reflective surface...and it’s not like he’s an artist…

She gapes a little, swimming closer. Tamlin is still floating on his back, hearing muffled from the water, but she lowers her voice anyway. “You’re daemati?”

It’s the only thing that makes sense. And she would expect no less from Rhys. In addition to being obscenely powerful, to have this as well...he won’t just be a powerful High Lord, he’ll be unquestionably dominant.

His brows lift a little in surprise before his expression settles. “Clever girl. I shouldn’t be surprised that you guessed.”

Feyre bites her lip, torn between being pleased and being concerned. She does not think that Rhys has ever used his power against her. But how would she know? She has heard plenty of stories, has been given plenty of reasons to be wary of the Night Court. Feyre is not so arrogant as to think that she is a worthy target, but just the thought of her thoughts being combed through or someone getting information from her mind is disconcerting.

Rhys— whether by looking at her mind or her face— knows where her thoughts lead her. He moves a little closer as well. “I have never looked in your mind, or Tamlin’s for that matter. I’m not that kind of male.”

“I know.” The words are said without thinking, but they ring true.

He does not look convinced. “If I wanted to use you, I would have hovered in your mind as you hunted the Suriel and asked them a question myself. I would have probed your mind to see what you asked.”

She nods. Part of her knows it to be true, but another part, an animal, instinctual part, shies away from him.

But the Suriel told her to trust Rhysand.

It’s not effortless, but she stays. “You keep it a secret?”

“We keep it quiet,” Rhys admits. “We” probably means his family, his Court.

What does it mean that there is a secret daemati ready to inherit one of the mightier Courts of Prythian?

If she was a good person, she thinks, she would tell someone. But being a good citizen and a good friend are directly opposed at the moment. It does not take Feyre very long to decide which title is more important to her.

“I won’t tell anyone.” She values her friendship with Rhys, trusts him more than she maybe should. Even considering what the Suriel said, she would be a fool to throw herself into his arms blindly.

“Thank you.” Under the water, he reaches out to squeeze her hand. “I know you still aren’t comfortable with this.”

It’s difficult to meet his eyes, so she looks down. Right at the curves of his shoulder, where brown skin and black ink peek from beneath the surface. Her mouth goes dry, but she manages to force words out. “It is...strange. To realize how vulnerable I’ve been.”

There are dangers in Feyre’s life, but she has always known them. She has rules, has trained and armed herself against threats. Don’t stay out too late after night falls in the forest, don’t stray too close to creatures who have young ones to protect. Keep your eyes averted when speaking with the High Lord and try to not attract too much attention, bite your tongue in front of certain people and laugh and gossip in secret circles only.

There is no such defense against Rhys. At least, she assumes so until he speaks. “I can train you to shield your mind.”

Feyre blinks, shocked. “You can?” It’s possible? And he would offer that to her?

A deluge of cool water drenches her. Feyre cries out in shock, whirling to scowl at a laughing Tamlin.

“You two are much too serious,” he says, slapping the surface of the water again to send another splash their way. “What were you talking about anyway?”

“We had a run-in with a daemati in the Night Court a while back,” Rhys says smoothly. In an instant, his cool confidence is back. He swims away from Feyre, closer to Tamlin. She is sure there is a good reason he turns his back and tells herself it does not sting. “I was telling Feyre that I wouldn’t mind offering some lessons on how to shield her mind.”

“Why would you need to shield your mind?” Tamlin asks her.

She scowls. “Why wouldn’t I? Don’t you want to keep your thoughts private?”

“Sure,” Tamlin shrugs. “But it’s not like any daemati would target you.” He is lackadaisical and inattentive, paddling around the pond like a slippery otter. The mere word “daemati” was enough to alter Feyre’s mood, but Tamlin is barely affected.

“She’s been spending time with two sons of High Lords,” Rhys points out, flicking some water into Tamlin’s face. “I’d say that makes her plenty vulnerable. You should learn to shield, too.”

Tamlin nods, finally starting to take it seriously. “You were taught?” He propels himself upright, staring intently at Rhys. It is not hard to see how Tamlin esteems their older friend. Anyone who spends five minutes with the two of them can see how Tamlin might look at Rhys for approval, how he weighs Rhys’s words and commits them to memory. Sometimes, Feyre worries about how reliant Tamlin is, how he has replaced his own older brothers with the Heir to the Night Court. But she hardly has room to talk.

“Almost as soon as I could grasp the concept,” Rhys says. “I’ll give both of you lessons. It’ll be hard to test without an actual daemati, but it’s worth trying.”

You’ll have a bit of an advantage over Tamlin. Feyre gasps as Rhys’s voice echoes in her head. Her limbs freeze. She sinks a little in the water before propelling herself back up, sputtering.

Tamlin glides closer. “Feyre?”

“I’m fine,” she assures him, pointedly not looking at Rhys. “I thought something brushed my leg. What lives in this water anyway?”

“Nothing natural,” Tamlin scowls at the opaque surface as if his ire can be translated to whatever dwells below. “Come on, let’s leave before we find out.”

Feyre wades out of the pond, chemise sticking to her skin and hair dripping down her back. She squeezes her hair to dry it as best she can, then moves to gather a fistful of her chemise and wring out the water.

It’s silent for a moment. When Feyre looks up, she sees two males looking at her instead of getting out of the pond.

Emboldened by their attention, Feyre raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Tamlin coughs, looking away and stepping out of the water. He passes her without a comment, even as Rhys continues to look. Her challenge is answered as his eyes rove over her body, from long bare legs to the wet material clinging to her hips and chest. She half expects something flirty to spill from his mouth, but he just keeps the smirk on, looks his fill, and emerges from the water.

It takes a lot of effort not to pay him back in kind, though Feyre does sneak a look at those tattoos and well-muscled chest.

The light breeze chills their damp skin, and the once sweltering heat becomes a comforting embrace. The trio sprawl out. Between bouts of dozing off, they have a contest to see which pair is best at tossing grapes into someone’s mouth. When Feyre’s hair is mostly dry and her fingers get caught in tangles, Rhys slips behind her and braids it back.

She is half awake as his fingers comb through her hair, catching every other word of his explanation that his little sister has now grown old enough to demand all sorts of hairstyles and pampering from her devoted older brother. Feyre hums with a smile, picturing the scene.

There’s a knock on the edge of her mind. One she is better prepared for this time. Rhys slips a memory into her mind, one that is not hers, but his. Through his eyes he sees a head of black hair, a young girl’s bedroom, a reflection of him and a little girl, the former wrestling with a hair brush and the latter rifling through a basket of ribbons. There is a love infused in that memory, a feeling so pure that it nearly brings a tear to Feyre’s eye.

I almost neglected my promise earlier. Rhys’s voice is low and smoky in her mind. A moment later, a different memory. Her grinning face, covered in droplets of starlight.

There is emotion in this memory too, though not the all-consuming devotion Rhys feels for his sister. But it is something, and it makes Feyre smile anyway.

It is the perfect day. Feyre is not naive enough to think that this dynamic, with her two dear friends, can last forever. Rhysand will one day become High Lord, and Tamlin’s own role will likely change when his father passes. But fae are immortal, and she is untouched by death, and the thought of painful change is so far away in that perfect summer afternoon.

She cannot be blamed for thinking peace will last for a good, long while.

--

Being the Lady of the Spring Court is good for little else besides ordering the servants around the house.

Alis can grumble and protest and toss every veiled hint that she can think of, but in the end she cannot prevent Feyre from leaving her bed. Sleep came and went in the night. When the discomfort impeded her peace, Feyre tossed back healing tonics and pain remedies and whatever cocktail of drugs that the healer left on her nightstand.

Her smaller cuts are healed, but her ribs are still tender. The worst bruises are black and blue and impossible to look at. Feyre chooses a boring corner of the room to stare at as Alis dresses her in light fabrics and a dress that laces loosely. Alis picks a gown in an opaque green with a yellow underskirt, as if that will lend color to her pale skin or brighten her gaunt face.

Feyre tells the staff that she and the High Lord will not be entertaining any guests and to send away anyone that might drop by. Not that anyone comes for Feyre unless she specifically invites them.

The only other person in her home besides the servants is Lucien. He clearly did not expect her to leave bed and nearly leaps from his seat when she slips into the dining room. “You should be resting.”

She probably should. There is an exhaustion that has settled in her, infused in her bones and powdered on her skin. Her tongue is weighed down. Feyre has no words for her friend, only enough energy to squeeze his shoulder as she walks past to take her seat. She sees the way his eyes scan her, the way his jaw clenches when he notes how she sits gingerly.

Tamlin’s chair at the head of the table is empty. The space feels like a chasm.

When Tamlin is home, the table usually is weighed down with food. Today, Lucien just has one plate sent up from the kitchen. Feyre gets the same toast, fried eggs, and sausage. No platters of sliced fruit or tureens of gravy or plates of sugary pastries. Lucien pours her a cup of tea wordlessly.

Feyre eats in peace, but Lucien has a stack of papers by him that he leafs through in between bites. With Tamlin gone, his work will be all the more difficult. Lucien cannot make certain decisions, cannot sign off on projects, cannot approve a budget. But there are some things that must get done and emergencies to deal with.

“Anything I can help with?” Feyre speaks her first words of the day.

Lucien’s eyes flick up briefly. “I’ll let you know.” He’s gone a few minutes later, only a squeeze of her shoulder as a goodbye.

There are things Feyre can do, even some things that Tamlin might expect her to accomplish. Ferye thinks of the piles of letters she can respond to and the parties she might plan. The next holiday is never more than a few months away, and Tamlin likes to take any opportunity to celebrate and fill their home with his friends.

She does not do any of that.

The servants push back on some of Feyre’s whims, but they can never outright refuse her. A few months ago, it was a battle to get them to relinquish their gardening tools. Another battle to ask one of the gardeners to teach her, show her, and not do anything beyond that.

But a few months ago she was also a bit more fragile, and so they followed her directions with less protesting than she usually was in for.

Now, Feyre knows where to find the tools she needs. She slips on the gardening gloves that Alis procured and forced on her. While it might be seemly for the Lady of Spring to prune a few roses, cuts and calluses were utterly unacceptable. Feyre can stroll in the gardens, can even kneel in the grass, as long as she has a wide-brimmed hat to shield the delicate skin on her face.

How she longs to rip off the hat, unpin her hair, and sprint through the fields once more.

No one disturbs her as Feyre weaves through the perfectly manicured gardens. She passes tall hedges, venturing deeper until she crosses into a little hidden nook. It is cordoned off by nothing more than a charming wooden gate, but symbolism is strong. No one has ever entered without the express permission of the Lady of Spring.

Feyre let the little space go unattended for years, not caring much for gardening or pretty flowers. Now, the hidden nook is ringed with blooming jasmine. She might add a stone bench in the middle, but for now she is happy to sit on the grass.

A proper gardener might prune and use sophisticated techniques to care for the jasmine, but Feyre likes to see it grow wild. She removes weeds and brushes away dead leaves. In Spring the bushes are almost always flowering, clogging the space with their intoxicating scent. She would have kept blooms in her room, if not for what they symbolized.

Jasmine is a Night Court flower.

Tamlin does not come to her jasmine garden. He either does not know or was informed and has not confronted her directly. Now that she is in the garden, Feyre wonders if this is, in part, what set him off.

The flowers are not for Rhys. Not really. True, they remind her of him, in a way. But she mostly likes the scent, likes that when she smells it she immediately feels at peace. Jasmine is not the most beautiful flower in the world, but it is still pretty. A flower alone cannot make her happy, but it settles something in her soul anyway.

White jasmine is crisp and clean. Pure.

For a while, Feyre had no closure after the loss of her child. These things happened, so the healer ensured she was physically healthy and then sent away. There was no goodbye, no body, no ceremony to send the child off. They were there one moment and gone the next, not having made any mark on the world besides a scar on Feyre’s heart. She does not know if they were male or female, if they had Tamlin’s blond hair or her own darker shade, if they would have had freckles or their father’s straight nose. After they were gone, the child seemed to exist for Feyre and no one else.

So she planted the jasmine.

Now, as she lays on her back in the grass, she can imagine it. A giggling toddler, running circles around her. But not here, not in Spring. The flowers perfume the air and make it all too easy to pretend she’s in another place.

Maybe the jasmine is selfish. Maybe Feyre did have another motive in creating this secret space.

While she is here, she can mourn her child. While she is here, she can pretend that she is someplace else.

[myhockeyworld87]

Not So Dangerous Liaison - Sidney Crosby - Part 11

Word Count: 3,512

POV: Sid’s

Warnings: Maybe Language? But I don’t think so.

Notes: So I thought this was going to be the chapter that there was smut, but it turned out a bit long, so I saved it for the next chapter. Good news, I’m almost done with that chapter. It might just come out early! I’m trying not to put myself on a schedule any more, so we will see. This is just cute and fluffy kind of defining their relationship.

Not So Dangerous Liaison Masterlist

You made your way down to breakfast, Stanley Cup in hand. It was an amazing feeling, but then the past twenty-four had been that. Waking up with (Y/N) in your arms, and that trophy in your room was a high that no drug could replicate. The only thing you missed now, was her sitting beside you, eating breakfast, though you wouldn’t have minded staying in bed with (Y/N) and ordering room service. 

 She chose that moment to enter the room. Was it just you or was her smile a little brighter this morning? You knew yours was. She grabbed a plate of food and then headed over to a table, that was not yours. You frowned. “Something wrong Sid?” Flower asked taking the seat beside you. Only your best friend would’ve noticed the look.

 “No.”

 “Uh-huh,” he answered, following your gaze which was trained on (Y/N). You couldn’t imagine why she was sitting so far away. “Does this mean I’m sitting alone again on the plane?”

 “What?”

 “I see where you’re looking. What happened? Did you piss her off or something?”

 “No,” well not that you knew of. She’d literally just left your bed, not thirty minutes ago. You’d thought everything was fine, well better than fine, at least that’s the impression you got when you kissed her and she kissed you back. Now she had you wondering though. 

 “Your face says something different.”

 “It’s just…” you were afraid to reveal any more, even though Flower knew your feelings for (Y/N). You knew that she was leery about dating you with her job, and there were too many people around to hear what truly happened last night. “I’ll talk to you later about it.”

 “Maybe you should talk to her instead. I’ve always found that it’s easiest just to say sorry, even if you weren’t wrong.” Flower added before shoveling eggs into his mouth. You sat there finishing your breakfast replaying the morning over in your brain, yet couldn’t think of anything that would make (Y/N) mad, that she wouldn’t come and have breakfast with you. It was twenty minutes later, that you saw her heading to the elevators, to grab her bag, or so you assumed as the bus was leaving shortly. You jumped up, claiming to have forgotten something, even though your stuff was already on the bus.

 The elevator doors were just about to close when you stuck your hand between them to stop them. You quickly jumped inside, noticing that it was just the two of you. Being in the elevator with her would forever remind you of when you two were stuck, and you finally realized how badly you wanted her. It was a good memory. As the door slid shut, you turned to her and ask, “Are you mad at me?”

 “No, why?”

 “You didn’t sit with me at breakfast.” She looked at you then giggled; you didn’t see one thing funny about the whole situation and found yourself frowning at her.

 “Are you really upset about that?” You just shrugged, unsure what would happen if you told her you were. “Sid, I didn’t sit with you, because I don’t want people to think there is something going on between us. I’m just trying to act normal, ya know?” Her explanation made sense, the door to the elevator opened and you followed her out and down the hallway to her room. “Where are you going?” She whispered a bit harshly.

 “With you to finish talking.” 

 She rolled her eyes, yet swiped the key card at the door before looking both ways and shooing you inside, then shutting the door behind her. “Sid, the point of me not being at breakfast wasn’t so you could follow me here.”

 “I don’t see why we just can’t, sit together, and stuff.” You ran a hand through your hair a bit frustrated. “You know it’s going to come out eventually.” 

 “But…well…what if we go out and…well you just don’t like me.”

 You pulled your head back, letting her words sink in, before reaching your hands and grabbing her by the waist. “That’s not even an option, because I already do.” You brought her face close to yours. “Unless you’re worried it’s going to be the other way around?”

 “No,” she blurted out, then blushed a cute shade of pink. “I’ve liked you for a while now.”

 “Really? You should tell me more about this.” She shook her head then pulled back, but you tightened your grip.

 “We can’t do this now, the bus is leaving in like ten minutes.”

 “I have a feeling they’ll wait.” She just sighed.

 “For you, yes, but for me. Not so much.” It was your turn to roll your eyes at her. You hated it when she didn’t think she was important to the team. “If I promise that we can discuss this once we’re home; can we please go?”

 “Maybe.”

 “What if I sweeten the deal?” She went up on her toes then and playfully kissed your lips, just lightly grazing them with hers. “Would it help?” You moaned out a yes, and then her lips were capturing yours. Her mouth opened immediately for you to taste her. She tasted faintly of orange juice and something purely (Y/N). You had a desperate need to toss her on the bed and see if the rest of her tasted as sweet. You weren’t sure who moaned first, you or (Y/N) but the sound had her breaking away from you all too soon. “We need to go.”

 You rested your forehead on hers for just a second, before pecking her lips one more time. “I guess that will have to do for now.” You emphasized the ‘for now’ part, as you hoped to pick this up as soon as the plane landed. 

 “By the way, you’re sitting with Flower on the way home.” You went to protest and she held a finger to your lips. “No buts. We are keeping a normal distance for the time being.” A groan escaped you, but you allowed her this one small measure considering that the season was officially over, and she would no longer be able to use that excuse.

 The plane ride home was endless; well maybe that wasn’t the right word. You still had a good time as it was pretty much a party atmosphere on the jet. It just would have been more fun with (Y/N) by your side, not that you didn’t appreciate Flower and all. Once you landed it was complete chaos. Fans were urged not to come to the airport, yet there were still some there. You passed the cup off to Cullen to carry it down the stairs letting the guys share in the excitement. You tried to talk to (Y/N) before she left the plane but it got too hectic and you somehow lost sight of her, until you saw her car exiting the parking lot. 

 It was already decided on the plane that the party would continue at Mario’s that night. This way everyone’s families could join in. Once you were home you shot (Y/N) a quick text. Park at my place and we can walk down to Mario’s together. You only lived a few short blocks away, and if (Y/N) was parked here, there was a good chance of her staying the night again. You’d already given the cup to Mario before you left the airport, so you didn’t need to lug that down the street. 

 Are you sure people won’t be suspicious? She texted back. Your fingers typed out a quick reply. His place is big, but can’t hold all those cars. No one will think anything of it. You waited patiently for her to answer. Good point, see you at 7. Well, that was one hurdle you were over, now if you could just get her to stay the night again.

 She arrived at your gate a few minutes before seven and you quickly buzzed her in. You met her at the car, so she wouldn’t feel awkward coming up to the door. “Is it ok to park right here?” She was in front of one of the garage stalls.

 “Completely,” you told her. Hell, she could park in your garage if she wanted. When she got out of the car, she took your breath away. She had on a long floral print dresses that tied at her side and flowed all around her and she looked like a breath of summer sunshine. The tie from her white bikini was peeking out of the top. “Did you want to come inside for a bit?” Or maybe the rest of the night? You wanted to add but refrained.

 “It seemed like a lot of people were already at Mario’s when I drove by, maybe we should head down. Do you need to get your stuff?” Mario told everyone to bring bathing suits as it was a beautiful summer evening and he knew people would want to enjoy the pool.

 “Nah, I’m good. Just need to lock up.” You went back to the side door and turned the alarm system on, while (Y/N) grabbed her bag out of the back. “You look beautiful by the way. I was hoping to tell you that while we had drinks inside.”

 “Oh…We can. I mean I didn’t…” That damn blush of hers rose up again.

 You snatched her around the waist and pulled her close, abruptly causing her to cease her ramblings. “It’s fine. You’re right we should get over there. There’s just one thing first.” Tilting your head, you let your lips drift over hers. She leaned closer into you and that’s when you deepened the kiss. You could’ve stayed like that forever until your sunglasses slid off your head and interrupted the moment. She gently lifted them back to the top before pecking your lips one last time. “Now, I guess we can go.” You laced your hands together and started down the drive. “So, is it business as usual again or can we mix some personal in it tonight?”

 “Well we are going to our boss's house, so it would probably be best if it were business.”

 “You know I don’t really look at him as a boss right?” She glanced curiously over at you. “Well, he’s more like...I don’t know an older brother. When I lived there, it just sort of developed into that type of relationship.” 

 “Ok I get that, but he’s still technically my boss.”

 “And no where does it say that we can’t date each other.” It was something you’d looked into the moment you realized that you were developing feelings for (Y/N). “In fact, I think if he knew we were dating; he’d one hundred percent approve.”

 “When did we start dating?” 

 “Oh…I just…well, I figured…” You stammered out.

 “Relax, I’m just teasing you.” She smirked. “I mean we haven’t officially gone out yet, but I kind of do feel like we are dating.” You squeezed her hand then brought up your joined fingers to place a soft kiss across her knuckles.

 “Well, I do plan on taking you out.”

 “Yeah looks like it won’t be the day we planned though.”

 It hit you then, that all the celebration of winning the cup was happening on that day. “What about tomorrow?”

 “Don’t you have to go to the ballpark and throw the first pitch?” You tossed your head back in frustration. “They’re going to expect you to stay for a bit, you know.”

 “True, but won’t you be there? We could sneak out early.”

 “I am officially off of team duty, as you shouldn’t really be getting injured showing the cup off.”

 “What? I could be hit by a foul ball and knocked unconscious. You should really be there just in case.” She just shook her head at you.

 “I doubt that would seriously happen.” You were nearing Mario’s place now, and you knew she’d make you let go of her hand and pretend that you weren’t just talking about going on a date. “We can talk about it later. I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

 “Oh, trust me, I’m taking you out tomorrow if it’s the last thing I do.” You went to kiss her one last time but saw Flower and Vero walking down the drive, and (Y/N) pulled away.

 “Don’t let us stop you,” Vero called out as they walked up beside the two of you. “I see you finally came to your senses, Sid.”

  This time it was your turn to blush, for you knew it had taken you long enough to realize that you could have everything you wanted and the girl of your dreams. “Stop giving him a hard time Vero. He’s had a lot of hits to the head with the puck. He’s quite slow on things.”

 “Thanks, Flower. I can always count on you to have my back.” Your sarcasm was not lost on the group.

 Vero looped her arm through (Y/N)’s and headed to the backyard. “But seriously I need to hear all the details.”

 “Well, there’s nothing to tell, we’re just friends.”

 “Please, don’t give me that line. If you’re worried about what people will say don’t be.” Finally, someone who could talk some sense into her. “We’re all just happy that Sid finally realized what a great catch you were and snagged you up in time before someone else did.” She looked back at you then. “You did snatch her up, right? Or was that almost kiss we interrupted something else.”

 “I’m trying to.” You told her. “Maybe you can assure her, that she’s not going to lose her job if she dates me. You are one of her best friends, maybe she’ll listen to you.”

 “Oh pish,” Vero sighed out.

 “What are you fifty?” (Y/N) chirped her, but Vero just continued.

 “You’re not losing anything, by dating that one. I have it on good authority that not only are you irreplaceable, but that one has a pretty good connection with the owner.”

 “Ugh, I swear you are all ganging up on me.”

 “Only because we all love you and want you to be happy.” She looked over at you when she spoke the word ‘love.’ You weren’t quite sure you were ready to go there yet, but it would be easy to see yourself being in love with (Y/N). “Now, loosen up, and let’s have fun tonight. I for one plan on celebrating both the win and the fact that Marc-Andre and I finally got you two together.” 

 Once you entered the party (Y/N) and Vero headed over to where the rest of the girls were, which meant you didn’t get much time with her. Drinks flowed almost as much as the night before. People were jumping in and out of the pool. There were an endless amount of pictures with the cup, even one with all the ladies, including (Y/N), drinking out of straws from it. She looked so damn cute with everyone. At some point, she and Vero were standing over by the edge of the pool, doing shots. “What do you say we go take them for a little dip?” Flower was the king of practical jokes but you weren’t sure how well this one was going to go over. On the other hand, it would be a way to get some attention from (Y/N). 

 “On three?”

 Flower nodded, then counted down. “One…Two…Three.” The two of you went rushing towards the girl, tossing them in the pool with you, drinks and all. 

 You and (Y/N) surfaced at the same time, a look of surprise written across her face. “Sidney Crosby, I can’t believe you just…” You burst into a fit of laughter and she followed you. To say that the four of you had attracted some attention was putting it mildly, for the next thing you knew everyone was jumping in. You grabbed (Y/N) pulling her close so that she was out of the way as Dumo cannonballed into the water. 

 You didn’t let her go, as carried her to a less chaotic end of the pool. “Sorry about throwing you in. You’re not mad, are you?”

 “No, it’s all in good fun, though maybe you should let me go before people notice.”

 “I don’t care, (Y/N) and I wish you didn’t either because I really want to kiss you right now.” She smiled at the comment, yet didn’t come closer for you to put your words into action.

 “I’m just not ready for the whole public thing yet, Sid.” You released her then, a bit frustrated. “Hey,” she called out when you went to turn and leave. She grabbed your hand then and interlocked your fingers, above the surface of the water. “How about we take it one step at a time?”

 “Yeah,” you answered smiling into her eyes. “I can do that.” 

 “Chicken fight!” Someone yelled and you saw some of the ladies getting boosted up on shoulders.

 “So, you game?” you asked (Y/N).

 “Hell ya, and I expect to win.” She said with a wink as you dove under the water, surfacing with her sitting on your shoulders. It was all innocent fun, but the fact that her legs were literally wrapped about your neck, did unspeakable things to you. One by one the girls grappled with each other, most of them falling into the water after a few shoves from the guys underneath them. It was down to you and (Y/N), and Shears, and Jordan. You could tell the young pup didn’t want to offend his captain, and with a few jolts, they were falling down, declaring you and (Y/N) the champs. You swam with her in a victory lap, until someone knocked the Stanley Cup into the water and you felt (Y/N) teeter off your shoulders in an effort to save it. It was no use, as the trophy dove into the pool. “Oh shit!” You weren’t sure who exactly uttered the words, but you burst into laughter, followed by (Y/N) and everyone else. 

 “Well, I guess it floats.” You announced to the group, which was followed by more laughs. The party continued on with the cup just floating around everyone. (Y/N) stayed pretty much by your side, until you’d both had enough of the pool and got out. She was nice enough to share the towel she’d brought with you, even though there were some set out for everyone to use. She headed off to change, then came and found you afterward. 

 To your surprise, she didn’t move away when you placed your hand on the small of her back, as you stood there talking to Horny and Tanger, and their wives. It was a small victory but one you were willing to take. Around one in the morning, the party started to wind down, and you leaned close to her ear and whispered. “Are you ready to go?”

 “Whenever you are.” You went and grabbed her bag for her, telling some people goodbye as you both went in search of your host. You finally found him and Nathalie sitting at a table, sharing a bottle of wine. “Thank you both for an incredible evening.” (Y/N) told them.

 “Oh are you two heading out?” Nathalie asked, glancing down at your joined hands. You thought for sure (Y/N) would pull away but she didn’t. 

 “Yeah, I think we’ve had enough for one night.” You commented. “Do you need me to get these any of these guys out of here for you?”

 “Nah, let them have some fun a little longer,” Mario replied. “We’ll see you both tomorrow.”

 “Oh, no, not me but I’ll be there Wednesday to help with the parade organization.” (Y/N) quickly answered.

 “Really? I thought all the girlfriends were going?” You always knew that Mario had a keen intuition on things. He probably knew you and (Y/N) were perfect for each other long before either of you did. 

 “Um…” 

 “She’ll be there.” You interrupted (Y/N)’s feeble attempt at making any excuse that she wasn’t dating you. 

 “Good, you two have a good night now.” Nathalie chimed in, as (Y/N) tugged on your hand for the two of you to go. You turned, but not before you caught a quick wink from the man who was more like your brother than your boss. 

 As you headed out of the house, you looked over at (Y/N), who was still red from your encounter with the Lemieux’s. “You ok?”

 “Yeah,” she breathed out then chuckled a bit. “I guess I was worried for nothing.” She stopped and then looked you in the eye. “And don’t you dare say I told you so.”

 It was your turn to laugh now. “Would I say that?”

 “Shut up and kiss me before I change my mind.”

 “Well, I’m not going to argue with that.” Your lips were on hers, and you were pretty sure a few people that were leaving saw the whole thing, but nothing mattered whenever you had her in your arms like this. 

[angelfishofthelord]

good tidings of great joy

“And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.” --Luke 2:10, KJV 

--A Christmas SPN fic--

Angels from the realm of glory

Wing your flight o’er all the earth

There’s very little glory remaining, either above or below. The absence has become a part of you, aching between the bone and marrow of this vessel. You walk this earth on feet strapped in the confines of shoes, with back bent carrying the remains of extinguished brilliance. Few can tell the difference between you and any of the other burdened mortals crossing the sidewalk; the aurora that used to halo you is less than a dull sheen.

You don’t mind the invisibility; the seamless stitches that hide you allow you to move unnoticed among humanity, like the air between the falling snowflakes. Humans have always been terrified of your kind anyways. Fear not is the most repeated command in the Bible. It appears 365 times; one sixth of those times is spoken by an angel.

Angels we have heard on high

Sweetly singing o’er the plains

The sweetness was never there in the first place, but you stop to listen to sidewalk carolers singing the lie, their upturned faces flushed with cold and joy. Humans have always written their own narratives about angels, from inventing their own version of your powers to restructuring your appearance and mannerisms. The fairy tales that shroud your essence would do well to remain instead of the nightmare of the truth.

You weren’t part of the flight who first appeared to the shepherds, but you’ve heard the story passed from battalion to battalion. How they were only half-shielded by the night to dim the inferno of their forms; how burnt wool and charred grass had the shepherds crying out in voiceless fear, had the captain begging for them not to be afraid. As if the human heart could anymore contain the palpitations towards the unknown than the heavens could not thunder in its every breath.

One caroler offers you a candy cane and you hesitate to take it.

“I have nothing to give you,” you inform the young woman. Receiving requires something like in kind, this you know. Nothing is free; a cost lies behind every extended hand or smile or place to belong.

“You don’t need to,” she beams. Snowflakes gather around her, glittering in her wool cap. “It’s Christmas.”

The shepherds ran to the village to spread the news, but not out of belief in the lore of a savior. They took one look at the distortion of celestial bodies and immediately vowed to spend their lives in devotion to whatever command was given in exchange for having their lives spared. Their declaration was one of warning, their faith born of terror.

“I can give it to my son,” you say finally. If you are not claiming it for yourself then perhaps the price can be waived.

She gives you two candy canes “so you can enjoy them together.”

  The angels knew what was to come

The reason God had sent his son

They knew that it was a test to humanity, to determine how to proceed with future involvement judging by mankind’s reaction to him. You don’t know which archangel came up with the plan; you were still under the delusion at the time that instructions were coming from your Father. The word spread among the hosts was that they should convince mortals that their Father had a single son; not thousands upon thousands cloistered in heaven, misshapen and deformed to the human eye. No, people needed to believe that God’s child looked like them and bled like them, not the other way around. Not the way angels made the earth bleed and burned brighter than the sun.

You pause under the awning of a closed church to check your phone. Dean wants to know when you’ll be back so they can start decorating the tree. “The kid’s impatient,” says the text. “We can only make so many cookies.” You think of Jack half covered in iced sugar and flour, licking the batter off his fingers and taking the tray out of the oven before they’re done. When the boy had called earlier that afternoon to ask if you could pick up some decorations on the way home the word “rainbow lights” had burst from his lips with such delight that you could almost see his smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he was happy.

Your son is happy. The thought is enough to move you out from under the shadow of the wooden cross above and continue on your way home.

Hark the herald angels sing

Glory to the newborn king

There never was any singing among the hosts. Choirs were the measurement term for the size of a flight one commanded. The strength of angel’s voices were used to contact each other midst battle, to send for help or reinforcements, and, on occasion when other weapons were exhausted, as a weapon against the enemy. You remember your own voice when you first spoke to Dean, how the pale faces of windows screamed and the parched throats of radios split. Your Father created you to be a creature that needed to be contained in order to be heard or seen; an anomaly suppressed in borrowed bodies that would remain forever incomprehensible by those you were charged to protect.

You can wrap yourself in cells and hair like them and still remain alien to them. Even as long as you’ve been on earth there are still words in your language this body’s tongue cannot pronounce, and colors you cannot find paints that come close to, and sounds no instrument can come close to mimicking.

There is still you, bundled beneath clothes and tissue and skeleton. You are the unknowable.

Sam brushes snow off your coat shoulders as you step into the bunker and he smiles at the face of the knowable you. Dean looks up from a tangle of evergreen boughs and welcomes you, the you that can fit in the door frame of this structure.

Jack. Jack looks at you, the entire visage of you in every increment of decaying glory.

And says your name like a song.

Sing choirs of angels

Sing in exultation

There hasn’t been any exaltation among your siblings for centuries now. Sorrow and greed and chaos have been the sole harmony they have sung, and not just since the averted apocalypse. Even in the earliest days when the presence of your Father blessed the halls of heaven strife still wrestled among the purity, staining it with betrayal and rejection that bled into Lucifer’s fall.

But here, in the warm womb of the earth with two humans and one child, there are notes of that wondrous jubilation the writers imagined in their seasonal songs.

Jack wraps himself up in the Christmas lights and Sam turns them on before he realizes it. When the boy laughs, unfazed by the buzzing bulbs braided around his arms, the panic disappears from Dean’s eyes. They open up boxes of decorations and scrape glitter from their fingertips, grumbling when it smears onto their clothes. Dean throws tinsel at Sam to put on the higher branches and his brother protests that he’s not a ladder. Jack picks up a small figurine and bends his small mouth into a frown.

“Angels don’t look like this,” Jack says and you look over at the small white fluffy statue in his palm.

Fear not. Humans have always sought to transform that which appeared unseemly. They have sanded down every possible edge and muted the scars of what it means to be angelic, turning an enormous and terrible being into something diminutive and fragile so even a child could smile at it.

“I think if I put a tiny trench coat on that Cas would kick my ass,” Dean remarks from under the handful of silver strands that a disgruntled Sam has dumped back on his head.

“No,” Jack repeats, holding the figurine between two fingers, “I mean, they don’t only have two wings. Or even one head.”

Sam bends back one unruly branch that is determined to attack him. “Do you…do you have more than one head?”

You shake your head. “Jack is a child, but more than that he's half human. He doesn’t have a true form like--” you push a finger against your chest “--we do, and he’s not in a vessel. He might get more wings later,” you add thoughtfully. There’s no archetype for nephilim growth, but when you look at Jack you see the strands of his soul and how the blend of hues there are unlike any other humans. You see the shiver of his two wings, full and bristling against the edges of space and time.

“We’ve seen your wings, Cas--well, shadowy thingies.” Dean stands up and squints as if straining his retina can enable him to better glimpse your frightening truth.

“That’s not how he really looks,” Jack beams and before you can put out a hand to stop him he pushes a finger against either brother’s forehead. “Let me show you.”

“Don’t.” The request escapes your lips too late, trailing after a plane that’s already left the runaway. Jack’s eyes are halos of gold and Sam and Dean stand awash in the tremors of his light, staring at you with speechlessly. You close your eyes, a very human habit that will shield you from nothing at all. Terror can slip through the seal of eyelashes as easily as a shadow under the door.

Fall on your knees

O hear the angel’s voices

There were very few who didn’t bow at the sight of your arrival. You wanted to tell them that they didn’t need to drop to the ground; you wanted to tell them you had no choice over the shape of your being. Eventually you let yourself believe that their reaction was because of the uniform you wore; soldiers are always greeted with trepidation, even human soldiers. They only appear in times of war and death; so you could reason that the hidden faces were because of that and not because of the horror of you.

But Sam and Dean are your family. They should not have to associate you with something as unnatural and ghastly as your mutilated true form. You know how the mind of humans work, how it loves the familiar and loathes the foreign. They see you as one of them because you look like them, and act much like them now, a comfort that will be erased now that they are seeing the difference of you.

Especially this you. Cut off from Heaven for years and eroded by the rivers of poison and possession that have ravaged your form, there remains nothing but mangled remains of monstrosity to see.

“Oh.” The breath swells from Sam, followed by an extended version of the vowel from his older brother.

When Jack pulls his fingers away and the illumination fades you open your eyes but keep your gaze to the floor. It won’t hurt any less but you want to delay being witness to the restrained revulsion in their eyes.

“I didn’t always look like that,” you say, as if it offers any excuse. “I had more…” you try to capture an appropriate English word to describe it “…fingers.”

“Where?” Dean sounds… curious. He sounds curious. Excited.

“On the..ah..faces.” You lift your head a little, waiting for their unease to fall like unannounced snow.

“Ah, the arches,” Sam says with pride, only to be contradicted by Dean.

“Wouldn’t that make them eyelids? Or eyebrows?”

“The faces aren’t structured like that; they could be arches or even parallel lines.”

“Okay, well, I know what I saw, and it was definitely eye-ish. I mean, that face was a leopard right? Leopards have eyes.”

“Cheetah,” Sam returns. “The spots are different, dude.”

“Those aren’t spots, those are the eyes,” Jack interrupts.

“So then the fingers do go on the eyebrow-y things. Like this.” Dean grabs a pencil and paper off the stack of books on the table and starts scrawling hurried lines. “And then the five and a half wings go there--and there---and I think one was there.”

“No, you’re getting the angles wrong, it came out of the elbow there.” Sam snatches a pen and scribbles out a corner of his brother’s drawing and adds something else.

Jack peers over their shoulders. “You’re forgetting the wheels.”

“They’re broken,” you point out shamefully, but no one hears you. Dean is swinging the pencil around the white sheet and Sam is accusing him of not knowing how to draw a circle and then Jack disappears and reappears with a box of crayons.

“Pink? I thought it was purple.”

“More like magenta.”

“Don’t get smart with me, Sammy. Jack, back me up here.”

They cluster around, crayon crumbs smearing into the white and elbows nudging each other for space to draw, and you stand there with a growing lump in your throat because they're not afraid.

Because Dean goes and grabs that little plush figurine and a white board marker and starts dotting the lace wings with spots for eyes. Because Sam gets toothpicks to stab the paper cut heads he’s drawn into the styrofoam body and Jack is twisting pipe cleaners into the bent lines of your wings. Because they fight over which side of the figurine to put two or three wings, and whether or not the rotating ram head should be in the front or back.

When they finally turn around and ask you if the bottle-cap wheel should be taped below or above the waist you try to answer without crying and it doesn’t work.

Fear not then said the angel

Let nothing you affright

There isn’t anyone else awake when Christmas morning first dawns. You leave behind the warmth of your room and go towards the center of this place you’ve christened home. Behind the staircase you find the plug and switch on the lights for the tree. They blink in a rainbow flutter against the synthetic branches, throwing tiny halos across the dangling snowmen and reindeer. Sitting on the table atop a stack of books is the angel figurine, now sporting a variety of hand-made appendages and hand-drawn additions to create some kind of composite creature.

It looks absolutely nothing like you.

You’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

Your hand slides into your coat pocket and you find the two candy canes from the caroler the day before. You find a branch to hang the red and white striped hooks on, somewhere between the mismatching socks that have definitely been put there without either brother’s knowledge and the actual baked gingerbread man that has Jack’s distinctive wiggly smile drawn on it in red frosting.

Before the sounds of your waking family come drifting down the hall you pause, fingers hesitating over the newly-crafted angel. You pick it up and move it to the top of the tree, wiggling it back and forth until it stands proud with all three crayoned faces to the sky.

You weren’t there for the first Christmas. And angels don’t sing or rejoice.

But you are here now, in this moment of Christmas.

Later Dean will be humming off-key when he pops marshmallows in the mugs of hot chocolate and Jack’s little squeal will ring out when Sam tries to stop him from opening the presents first. Later Jack will come tuck his arms around you for a sleepy hug and Dean will flash you a grin while he surreptitiously witches his mug for Sam’s. You will sit on the sofa cradling your own mug of hot chocolate and Sam will lean against your knees as he sits cross-legged on the floor flipping through the dictionary of dead languages you wrote for him. Later Jack will be wearing his new gloves and shadow boxing with Dean, both moving dangerously close to the tree. You will whisper “Merry Christmas” right before Dean’s leg twists around one of the lower branches and the six foot evergreen bows to the ground, sending the composite angel flying away on the wings of your laughter.

And ever o’er its Babel sounds

The blessed angels sing

Songs mentioned, in order of appearance: Angels From the Realms of Glory//Angles We Have Heard on High//The Angels Cried//Hark the Herald Angels Sing//O Come All Ye Faithful//O Holy Night//God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen//It Came Upon A Midnight Clear

[bangtan-madi]

All Of Our Lifetimes — Seven: Sleepless in Seoul

Pairing — Taehyung x Reader

Tags — boyfriend!Taehyung, husband!Taehyung reincarnation au, lovers to strangers and to lovers again, established relationship, implied soulmate au

Genre — fluff, angst, crime (ish)

Word Count — 2.5k

Summary — Does love ever truly end, or does it simply take another form in a new life? The cycle is like clockwork: your lives end and you’re reborn again. You’ve lived it over and over. Each cycle, one of you loses your memories and is tragically unaware until the other finds and awakens their lover. After all these eons, all these lifetimes, is it possible to find each other again—even when neither of you awakens with your memories? 

Part — 7 / 15

Warnings — none

Previous — Next

That night, sleep alludes you. You can't find it in you to close your eyes and quiet your mind for long enough to drift off. Instead, you lie on your back, stare at the ceiling, and wonder if Taehyung is doing the same.

When morning finally comes, the dawn stretching out her welcoming arms in the form of sunlight, you leave for the museum early. Even though you had promised to meet Taehyung at ten, you take the front steps two-by-two just before eight. The building isn't even open yet, and it won't be for another half-hour. It's something you hadn't considered in your sleepless and distracted state.

"You couldn't sleep either, then?"

Turning on your heel, you see Taehyung standing behind you. His usual disguise is back up; this time, the hoodie is dark blue and the mask is white. Messy, dark hair hangs just above dark brown eyes, the same ones that stare intently at you. 

Offering a sheepish smile, you shove your hands into your jacket pockets. "I'm not sure I did at all, really. Too much on my mind."

"Me, too." Breathing a sigh, Taehyung turns and sits down on the stairs leading up to the front of the building. He looks at you over his shoulder and motions to the spot beside him. "I won't bite. Promise."

The concrete is cold underneath you, and the air is chilly. The early morning silence is a welcome void, and you sit in it with Taehyung for several minutes. 

"I was up thinking pretty much all night," he states. You wouldn't say his voice breaks the silence; it's far too soft and quiet to break anything, even silence. It's gentle and deep, a honey-smooth melody that plays along with the quiet.

"About what?"

"Reincarnation." He shifts so that his elbows are propped on separated knees. His attention is on the conversation, but his eyes are elsewhere. "I don't know about America, but in Korea, it's something that we're told from a young age. It's always been a possibility."

"Really?" you prod, interested in the way he's grown up.

Taehyung nods, and a small smile slips onto his face. "My grandmother always used to warn me, 'Be good! Otherwise, you'll come back as a rock.' And when six-year-old me said that that didn't sound so bad, that it was better than coming bad as a spider, she'd turn to me..." He holds up a finger, waving it as if mimicking his grandmother. "And she'd say, 'If you come back as a rock, you might be dropped into the sea or left on top of a mountain. You won't have family or friends to keep you company, and you'll be there for a much longer time than a spider.' She'd always add, 'At least a spider has a job to do in its lifetime.'"

You can't help but chuckle at the way his voice fluctuates to sound like the woman he clearly admires so much. "Your grandmother is wise."

The brunet's smile falters a bit, and he lets his finger drop back down. "She was."

You gather from his tone that she's no longer with him. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he assures, shaking his head. "She was the best there was. I believe she's living on. I might not know where or when or as who, but she's out there somewhere." He turns to look at you, tilting his head slightly. "Do you believe life goes on, [Y/n]?"

Your thoughts shift back to the dreams you've had your entire life, then to the images on the museum walls, all while keeping your eyes on the man that's involved in both of them. Setting aside your upbringing and your family's beliefs or what your country by in-large preaches, how could you deny anything other than the fact that there is something that happens after you die?

Maybe not to everyone, maybe not all the time, but the evidence is piling up, and everything is pointing to you and Taehyung having intertwined past lives.

"Yes."

The conversation comes to a halt as a shadow crosses over both your figures. Taehyung's head moves swiftly to see who's behind you. His expression is one caught off-guard, laced with surprise and...fear.

The museum curator stands with hands clasped behind her back, a welcoming smile on her face. "Apologies, I didn't mean to startle you."

You stand and bow slightly as a greeting. "We're early. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," she replies, shaking her head.

Taehyung snaps out of his stupor, stands beside you, and mirrors your polite bow. "Sorry, I'm a little out of it. Didn't sleep very well last night."

Jwa Ji-yeong cracks a smile and tucks a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. "You did seem a little jumpy, and I figured a five-foot-even woman wasn't the reason." She gestures towards the museum entrance. "Follow me. I was just about to open up."

Taehyung and you follow the petite woman into the large brick building. The space is eerily dark and silent before she flips the switch and brings it to life. Even your soft footsteps echo down every hallway you pass on the way to the other side of the museum. As the lights slowly get brighter, they cast fewer and lighter shadows. Yet still, as you venture into the space ahead of the curator where she has yet to do the same, the art looks ghostly and almost sinister.

You force yourself not to look into the showroom that holds Winged Victory of Samothrace as you pass by. Your heartbeat quickens as you see the silhouette of the water fountain come into view. And you know that just beyond that is a gallery wall full of pictures of you. It's enough to make your head spin.

Instinctively, you reach out for the thing nearest you to steady yourself. Taehyung's hoodie sleeve happens to be that thing. You grip it tightly, focusing on the softness of the fabric and the warmth radiating off his skin. On anything other than your racing heart and sweaty palms, especially on the way such a reserved person doesn't pull away. 

Keeping your gaze firmly ahead, you're relieved when Ms. Jwa diverts away from the water fountain and leads you to a section of the museum you've never seen before. Your visible relief doesn't escape your companion, the way your shoulders relax and your breathing comes easier. 

"Are you okay?" he whispers, out of earshot of the curator.

Nodding slightly, you release his hoodie sleeve with a heated face and turn slightly away. "Yeah, sorry."

"Don't be. I'm a little uneasy, too." 

Taehyung's next actions are the opposite of what you'd expect. His fingers wrap around your wrist at first, then slide down to brush against your palm. Eventually, his fingers lace with yours when you don't push him away. 

It's impossible to explain the feelings that the simple gesture gives you.

"Where are we going?" Taehyung asks the museum curator.

Ms. Jwa stops in front of a service elevator, the extremely large kind reserved only for employees to transport pieces of art to and from storage. She slides her security pass against the panel. We hear an affirmative beep, and the doors part down the middle. 

"There are some items in storage that I've kept for a long time," she replies as the three enter. After selecting the below-ground level of three, she turns back to you. "I promised you answers, and while I don't have them all, I have some."

"Why don't you just tell us?" you ask.

The petite woman shakes her head, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Trust me, this is something you have to see for yourself."

The elevator doors open a few moments later. Ms. Jwa steps out into the dark, reaching over to the side to flip on another light switch. She waves to you and Taehyung, signaling for you both to follow.

The third level of the basement is wide and expansive. A bit duller and grayer than the above levels, it reminds you of a storage facility or warehouse. Row upon row of boxes and crates fill the space. Large, florescent lights hang high overhead.

"This is where we keep our long-term items," she announces, and Taehyung tugs you to keep up. "Things that aren't always on display but we refuse to get rid of, nevertheless. It's also where I, as the Head Curator, can pick and choose those items I want to have on-hand for a future exhibit. In other words, I have a bit of lenience and privacy as to what I keep down here."

She walks up to a smaller crate at the end of the last aisle, one that's been here for a long time if the dust is any clue. Using a cloth from a hanger nearby, she brushes it off and reveals the label below. Briefly reading the tag, she smiles and taps it lightly with a slender finger. 

"This is it! This is the one I was looking for."

"What is it?"

She turns to you, and her eyes soften. "This...This was an old friend's. I made them a promise that I would take care of their belongings if anything were to happen to them. So, naturally, after they..." She trails off. "It has all the answers I have. If you both want to take it to one of our art inspection rooms over there," she nods to a door at the end of the warehouse, "to look at what's inside, please go ahead."

"You won't be there with us?" you ask. "That's risky, leaving museum property to total strangers, isn't it?"

Ms. Jwa chuckles softly as she pats the surface of the crate affectionately. "You're not strangers. If you need me, I'll be on the ground-level taking care of a few things. The elevator doesn't need a security pass to go back up. So whenever you're done, you're free to leave whenever."

After she departs, Taehyung walks around you and picks up the medium-sized crate with ease. He nods to the back door, and you walk ahead of him to open it.

The inspection room is simple and clean. The beige walls are pristine, and the lighting in this space is much more cool-toned than that in the warehouse. A large table takes up most of the space inside, with tools and packing materials lining the cabinets on the far wall. 

Taehyung places the crate on the surface and plops into one of the nearby chairs. "Can you find something to open this with? Maybe a crow-bar or—"

"—What about this?" you ask, pulling a large tool from the nearest cabinet.

The brunet tugs his face mask off his face, unwrapping it from around his ears and placing it into his hoodie pocket. At your suggestion, he makes a satisfied face and takes the tool from you. Silently, he places the slender end between the cracks on the crate lid.

"Who wants to bet that this is full of things that belonged to the other Kim Taehyung?"

"And his wife," you add. "Who looks like me."

Taehyung stops his movements, turning instead to gaze across the table at you. "We can stop right now if you don't want to go on. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to dive into this. Reincarnation, the possibility of it...it's not an easy one to swallow."

You shake your head. "No, I've come this far. If the answer is that I've—we've lived another life, trust me. I've thought of crazier scenarios over the years. I...I have to know. I'm losing sleep and becoming more consumed by this secret every day I'm in Seoul." There's a pause as Taehyung's eyes glance down at the tool in his hands. "What about you? Getting cold feet?"

"No, it's not that," he breathes. "I've heard about the possibility of past lives my whole life. If this is real...then there was another version of me living right up until my birth. In that case, the only reason I was born at all is that he died in 1995." He gives a small shrug. "It's an unnerving thought."

"I hadn't thought of that..."

Taehyung chuckles softly. "I bring up a lot of things no one thinks about, sorry if it made you uncomfortable."

"Not at all." Giving him a reassuring smile, you tap the wood to emphasize your conviction. "Go on. If you're ready, so am I."

Your companion takes a deep breath in to steady himself, straightening his back and shoulders as he grips the metal tool tighter. "Whatever we see, whatever we find out..."

You can see he's struggling to get his feelings across; a little crease appears between his brows as they furrow, and his lips purse into a thin line. In an attempt to put his restlessness at ease, you move your hand from the crate to cover his, giving his fingers a brief squeeze.

You lock eyes with his for a moment, and your smile widens a bit. "I got your back, Taehyungie."

The nickname causes him to giggle. You're relieved to see the edge wear away, shifting him back to a semblance of his usual, happy-go-lucky self. "You're only three weeks older than me," he murmurs. "Don't let it go to your head."

"Wouldn't dream of it," you retort with a sly side-smile.

Taehyung shakes his head at your amusement and turns back to the task at hand. 

All smiles fall away when you recall why you're here, what you're about to see, and what truths might be revealed. It doesn't slip by you that his hands still tremble a bit, nor does it go unnoticed the lump that forms in your throat. No amount of teasing or flirting can make you forget that the items in front of you belonged to a couple who loved each other more than life itself, and who died because of it.

Those people were you and Taehyung. Twenty-five years ago, in another lifetime, you were them.

With a swift flick of his wrist, Taehyung pops the lid open with the metal tool. Dust and small pieces of wood are cast into the air, causing you both to cough and wave the debris away. He places the tool to the side. Each of you grabs a side of the lid, carefully moving it to the other side of the table.

Without any further delay, you begin to delve into the past.

Taglist — @just-call-me-trash-can​​, @jaienn​​​, @happyhrsme​​, @butaes​​, @peter-pan​, @twoteen-yup​, @dreamcatcherjiah​

[wordsablaze]

3~ i can’t explain this

tell me your problems (i’ll chase them away) Internal scars can be difficult to deal with but Eskel vows to heal any that Jaskier is weighed down by if it’s the last thing he does…

A/N: this chapter is a peculiar embodiment of eskel going "i've only had jaskier for one day but if anything happened to him, i would kill everyone on the continent (especially geralt) and then myself. but i don't understand why."

@random-nerd-3 @betaray-jones @w-s-kibela @cloudspeck @in-love-with-writing002 <3

previous chapter

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Jaskier starts walking before Eskel can ask him where he’s headed.

He’s confused, of course, but he pulls himself up onto Scorpion and follows, assuming that the bard wants to keep his distance for now.

And they fall into a steady silence broken only ever so often by Jaskier starting to hum something before seemingly changing his mind and lapsing back into the quiet.

Eskel doesn’t question it at first but when he hears Jaskier start and stop humming familiar tunes, not just something new he might be composing, he decides to intervene. “You can, um, hum if you want. Or sing, if you prefer… You don’t have to stay quiet.”

Jaskier stops walking.

He turns to look at Eskel with confusion in his eyes.

“Are you sure?” he asks eventually, his fingers twisting over one another as he waits for Eskel’s reply.

Once Eskel stops trying to figure out why Jaskier could be nervous , he nods. “Of course. You have a good voice.”

At that, Jaskier beams, his eyes shining suspiciously bright as he clears his throat and winks. “Oh fishmonger, oh fishmonger…”

Eskel splutters slightly as the song progresses but doesn’t complain, laughing as Jaskier keeps going, his voice becoming louder and brighter with every chorus he sings, the sweet scent of confidence getting stronger and stronger.

“So, darling, a review?” Jaskier asks breathlessly once he’s stopped singing.

Eskel starts, having been more focused on Jaskier’s voice as opposed to the actual lyrics. “I like your voice,” he mumbles.

Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “Well, that’s new.”

“It is? Don’t you have taverns full of people admiring your voice?” Eskel points out.

There’s a long moment of silence before Jaskier shakes his head. “Yes, I suppose I can, but people usually have something to say about the daughter’s hunger before they even think about giving their opinions on my voice,” he admits, somehow sounding both proud and mournful at the same time.

Eskel hums in response, not quite sure what he’s meant to say since he can’t tell if Jaskier is happy with his feedback or not.

But Jaskier doesn’t seem to mind, reaching for his lute before pausing. “Do you mind if I play?”

Strangely, it rather hurts to imagine that someone had made Jaskier think listening to him playing the lute would be annoying.

“As long it’s not more about this fishmonger,” Eskel ends up saying, hoping that he doesn’t offend his new favourite bard.

He doesn’t.

Jaskier grins at him as if he’d just showered him in coin and does some complicated manoeuvre in which he very impressively removes his lute from its case without taking the strap off his shoulder.

Eskel whistles. “Nice lute you have there.”

“She’s a beauty,” Jaskier agrees, “and I am, of course, ever grateful to Filavandrel.”

It’s as if he doesn’t even realise how casual he’s being about having been bestowed a gift by the leader of the elves. But Eskel chooses not to point that out because everyone knows that’s a story from Posoda and he doesn’t want Jaskier to run away again.

So he just says, “Prove it.”

Jaskier gasps in mock horror. “You dare question the beauty of my lute and the skills of my craft? I’ll show you proof!”

His proof involves singing practically non-stop for the next three hours.

Eskel has never heard so many metaphors in his life and although they all merge together in his head, he does appreciate the way they fill the silence - even Scorpion had sometimes changed her pace to match Jaskier’s music.

But when Jaskier stumbles over a chord and slows down, Eskel stops, jumping down from Scorpion. “Lunch break?”

Jaskier blinks, frowning. “A break? Why?”

“Because you’re tired?” Eskel replies, already leading Scorpion into the nearest clearing off the main path.

“I am?” Jaskier asks as he follows Eskel.

Eskel turns to him and nods slowly. “You’ve been playing for hours and I might not have a coin to toss at you but give me ten minutes and I’ll find us a rabbit.”

“What?”

Although he’d been about to leave to find said rabbit, he turns back to Jaskier as the scent of confusion increases to an almost unbearable amount. “What’s wrong?”

Jaskier’s fingers fiddle with the lute strings as he shakes his head. “You’re stopping… because I’m tired?”

Oh.

Eskel makes a mental note to punch Geralt twice when they meet again.

“No. We’re stopping because I don’t want you to collapse somewhere,” he corrects, leaving out the part where he feels bad for being atop a horse when he’s better built for walking.

Jaskier scoffs. “I have never been so undignified as to collapse anywhere! Well, okay, maybe a few times… But I’m really not that tired, we don’t have to-”

“Jaskier,” Eskel interrupts, “I want to. Okay?”

A small pause and soft smile later, Jaskier nods. “Okay.”

Eskel shakes his head, leaving the bard to go find them lunch, which takes him just a little over his prediction of ten minutes because he’s still busy thinking about how idiotic his brother seems to have been.

He doesn’t expect to find Jaskier kindling a small fire by the time he gets back.

“Oh,” escapes him before he can stop it.

Unfortunately, Jaskier hadn’t seen or heard him coming and jumps so sharply he wobbles where he’s perched and almost falls right into the flames. “Sweet Meletite-”

“I’m sorry!” Eskel exclaims, dropping the rabbit as he steadies Jaskier and nudges him away from the possibility of getting burned.

Jaskier exhales slowly. “It’s fine, I just- You scared me, that’s all. I forgot how quiet witchers can be.”

“I’ll step on a twig next time,” Eskel promises, not even sure if he’s being serious or not.

Either way, it’s a downright relief when Jaskier laughs.

And it’s not long before they’re done with cooking and eating, both of them falling back into a comfortable silence as the time passes and their stomachs are filled, Eskel then putting out the fire.

“Do you still want to walk?” he asks as Jaskier picks up his lute case.

Jaskier chuckles as if he’s said something stupid. “What other option do I have, darling? It’s not like I’m about to grow wings, is it?”

And abruptly, Eskel realises he needs to punch Geralt thrice.

With a small sigh, he gestures to Scorpion. “You could ride with me?”

Jaskier blinks.

He glances between Eskel and Scorpion with an oddly intense frown before opening his mouth only to close it again, his fingers starting to fidget again.

“She’s a strong horse and she’s more than capable of carrying two riders,” he adds before letting Jaskier take as long as he needs to consider the offer, which ends up being a very, very long two and a half minutes.

“I’d like that,” Jaskier admits eventually, a hesitant smile on his face.

“As would I,” Eskel says a little too quickly for his own liking; he’s known the bard for less than a full day and he’s already bordering on admitting he has what humans like to call feelings.

“Can I strap my lute next to your bags?” Jaskier asks, pulling Eskel out of his musings.

He nods quickly. “Yes, of course. Wouldn’t be very practical to have you holding onto it.”

“Oh, you are such a darling,” Jaskier declares as the two of them mount Scorpion, Eskel in front.

He doesn’t know how to reply to that so he just starts moving, slightly surprised when he doesn’t feel Jaskier’s arms around him - it hadn’t seemed likely that Jaskier would be good at holding himself upright if he’d never ridden Roach.

But Jaskier holds on just fine, staying quiet and all but invisible until the road forks into two.

“Go left,” Jaskier blurts before Eskel can even think about choosing.

“Why?”

He feels Jaskier shift awkwardly. “I mean, you can go right if you have a contract that way but you’ll have to drop me off here because I cannot go that away.”

“What?”

Eskel is dimly aware that monosyllabic questions are not the best form of conversation but Jaskier just shrugs, seemingly unbothered by his lack of eloquence.

“I might have made a few enemies there? Just a few, mind you, most of them loved my performances. But it just so happens that the few who didn’t like it have very sharp swords that I really don’t want to meet again…”

Eskel laughs.

He can’t help it.

He’s still laughing as he guides Scorpion to take the path on the left and he’s still laughing when Jaskier pointedly nudges him. “Exactly what are you finding so amusing?”

“You’re quite the mystery, bardling,” he chuckles.

Jaskier just hums in acknowledgement, but that seems to give him some kind of idea and he then starts humming tunes that Eskel can feel just as well as he can hear, even if he doesn’t recognise them in the slightest.

As they continue travelling, Eskel wonders how Jaskier’s lungs and vocal chords can possibly function so well for such long periods of time.

“Bardling?”

Eskel is most definitely not startled by Jaskier finally talking rather than humming. He coughs to cover up his surprise and shrugs, knowing the bard can see him do so. “I just…”

“I’ll have you know that I am one of the most esteemed bards in the continent and most definitely not new to my profession.”

A little intimidated by the serious edge to Jaskier’s voice, Eskel doesn’t offer up a reply, hoping once again that he hasn’t seriously insulted his favourite bard. He hadn’t even paid the term much attention if he’s honest, it’d just slipped out.

“But if this is one of those witcher things where you mean to express affection without wanting to admit you’re capable of it, well, I can appreciate that,” he continues, switching between threatening and compassionate as easily as Eskel switches between steel and silver.

“Witchers don’t feel,” Eskel offers.

Jaskier scoffs. “Says the witcher who just used a term of endearment.”

“I did what?” Eskel asks, seriously regretting the life choices that led him here.

“Well, maybe not quite, but it was close enough…” Jaskier trails off and without warning, the air around them is tainted with worry.

Eskel shakes his head, trying to physically clear it away. “I know you’re a professional,” he says slowly, wishing he knew how to convey that he doesn’t want Jaskier to be sad or worried.

Somehow, that seems to work and the tension around Jaskier dissolves as he laughs, curling his arms around Eskel and squeezing ever so gently. “Thank you, Eskel.”

He doesn’t understand how Jaskier’s touch can be so warm when witchers are biologically warmer than most species but he isn’t going to complain. After all, it means Jaskier isn’t afraid of him and that’s a marvel in itself.

“You’re welcome, bardling.”

-

i’m having fun with these two !! ik it’s a little chaotic but i hope it was enjoyable reagrdless <3

-

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier | next chapter

[queerchoicesblog]

The Nightingale

Hiya, folks! So, as previously announced, the wlw writing projectcontinues after a break with a miniseries set back in the City of Lights - & Love - at the time of the Belle Epoque, at the turn of the century.

The story finale is served: hope that you enjoyed the journey so far.

Tagging: @scottishqueer​

Previous chapters: Paris, Paris ; One Night At The Moulin Rouge , The Handkerchief, The Cage of Fools,  La Vie Bohème, Broken Dreams

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word!

__________________________

It takes some time to persuade Élodie that my idea could actually work. Before sharing it with her, I pay a visit to the Moulin Rouge and discuss it with Laurent, Carmine and the other friends she has there. They listen to me carefully and ponder my words. When they speak, they evaluate possibilities and chances of the new plan. They even ask Valerie, the singer I saw on stage on my first time at the 'First Palace of Women', to hear it out and share her thoughts on that. She takes a long meditative pause before conceding that it's not a bad idea, after all. "And I think Monsieur Zidler won't have much to object, honestly. He likes Lila, he hired her personally" she adds, shrugging and flashing an encouraging smile. We all share a look. Laurent speaks first, rubbing his hands enthusiastically. "Time to break it to Lila!" "Léa's idea, Léa's duty" Carmine winks. "Let us know if you need backup and we'll send the chivalry". And so I do. The following day, when our shift is over, I wave Marie goodbye and head towards Montmarte, cherishing the news in my chest and hoping my idea won't make her too nervous or uncomfortable. Or even worse, offend her.

"A singing act?" Élodie looks at me confused when I share my foolish idea. She almost spits out the coffee she's drinking. "But I'm not a singer!" She keeps looking at me without understanding, furrowing her brows. I wonder if she's thinking I'm speaking nonsense out of the blue. If so, I'm thankful she tries to conceal it. "I know...you sing well though" I notice, smiling. I take a seat beside her and gently wrap an arm around her waist. I ponder what to say next: I know how badly she's suffering despite the brave face she puts on now and hurting her is the last thing I want. On the contrary, I only want to help her, if I can. "I know it's different from what you're used to and what you want...but I genuinely think you could do well. And it doesn't have to be forever, it could be temporary...the doctor said you have to be patient with your recovery. As much as it pains me to remind it, you can't go back dancing now" "I know" she grimaces. "Consider this a...distraction?" I suggest, guiding her face towards me. "When you feel better, you could give it a try and see how it feels. You could sit on a bar stool and play an accordion like that singer at the Cage, remember? Maybe you'll even have fun" I try to be as bubbly as I can given the circumstances and my naive enthusiasm draws a tiny smile on her face. "Maybe" she sighs, half-convinced. "Just think about it: no rush, no pressure" I press a kiss on her forehead. I don't tell her of my conversation with Carmine and Laurent at the Moulin. They go visit her a week or so later, bringing a colourful bouquet of irises on behalf of all her colleagues who "miss her dearly and can't wait to have her back". To my surprise, Élodie mentions them the singing act plan. Of course they pretend to hear it from the first time; it could work, they say. Everything to get her back to the stage she belongs to, they add. I am unbelievably happy to see my love improving as weeks go by. She now leaves her room more often with the help of a crutch and take "little walks" up and down the corridor or simply sits in the main room, chatting, reading. I make her promise not to exert herself but I am glad of this change: keeping her mind busy and quitting her self-imposed isolation seem to do her good. It's in the main room that I find her one evening. The atmosphere is as lively as one would expect from an artist apartment in Montmarte. Luis is discussing of an upcoming exhibition sipping wine in the kitchen with a couple of friends and colleagues or so I wager. He greets me with a nod and hands me a glass of red. I gladly take it and head to the main room where the music comes from. Élodie is sitting on the sofa with a girl I have never seen before. They both greet me with a smile and my love pats the armchair by her side, beckoning me to have a seat with them. The girl stands and offers me her hand to shake: it's Sidonie, the actress roommate. She had a role in a comedy show lately, that's why we didn't get a chance to meet sooner. "El asked me to teach her how to play the accordion" she explains, cheerfully. I am pretty sure my face betrays my surprise. "And it's way trickier than I thought it would be" Élodie protests. "How can a little instrument like this can be so hard to play? I don't get it" Sidonie and I take a seat as she lets out a loud sigh of defeat. Her frown doesn't last long though: a quick smile appears on her face at our proximity. Dropping the instrument in her lap, she reaches for my hand and places a kiss on my knuckles. "Well, Rome wasn't built in a day, right?" I smile back as she steals my glass of wine. "Right, and you still have time before the big day" Sidonie adds. "What's the big day?" I ask, a little confused. "You haven't told her yet?" she shoves Élodie's shoulder, gaping. "C'mon, El, spill the beans!" Élodie sighs and take a big sip of wine as if to steady her nerves for some big announcement. Saying that curiosity is killing me is an understatement but I try not to pressure her. "So..." she starts, turning to face me. "The doctor visited me yesterday and-" "And?" I fail to refrain myself. "And he is happy with how my recovery is going. Very happy, actually. True, I still cannot dance and probably my days as a can-can dancer are over" a shadow crosses her face but I am proud to see her fight it back. "But I am improving and that's what matters, right? If I keep up the good job, I can get rid of that crutch in weeks, he said" "But that's amazing, El! I'm so happy for you" I cover my mouth to prevent the lump forming in my throat to ruin the moment. I don't wanna cry here, now, in front of her. "And there's more to it" Sidonie winks. "Keep going, El" "I...I may have written a letter to Monsieur Zidler, explaining my situation and mentioning the singing act plan. And asking for an audition to see if I can still fit in. Carmine offered to deliver it when she visited, the answer came in earlier today" She takes a dramatic pause. "He may have said yes" I squeal and wrap my arms around her neck, making her giggle. "He said he will receive me whenever I want. I just have to write him a note and he will give me an appointment" she adds, hugging me back. I linger in her arms a bit longer, longer than I meant at first, suddenly unwilling to resist the wave of joyous relief washing over me. I try to make it last in the familiar warmth of Élodie's embrace. "It's...oh El, it's...I don't even have words for it!" I say, eventually parting. "That's why I asked Sid for help. With the accordion and in general: she's a professional, right?" "A great professional" the actress playfully corrects her. "A great professional" Élodie chuckles. "I know how to dance but not how to take the stage solo, how to move, what to say, how to engage with the audience...oddly enough, it's all quite new to me. So I thought that a little training could help me to pass the audition and stay at the Moulin" "And Theo, our music-hall virtuoso, has been recruited too. He will assist with the singing part" Sidonie finishes her sentence then turns towards me. "Trust me, Léa: we'll turn this dancer into the new singing phenomenon the likes of which Paris has ever seen" True to her word, in the weeks that follow, my indomitable love works hard with her roommates and improvised tutors. She keeps me and her friends from the Cage updated over dinner when we visit her; she asks for suggestions on the songs to sing, songs that might make a good impression on Monsieur Zidler. She's keen to impress him, certainly out of pride but also - I have reason to believe - in the hope that he allows her not to leave the Moulin. That place has come to signify so much for her, more than most could probably understand. Maybe she landed there almost by chance as she said but it's clear what it means to her now: it's her life, her passion. I bet that sometimes at night she dreams the extravagant hall filled with dancing couples and careless costumers sipping champagne. I'm sure the furious rhythm of la quadrille still haunts her sleep: I can only hope it doesn't torment her. I know that she's suffering deep down, that every limping step, every accidental look to her injured ankle reminds her of that night who put an end to the career she was born for. I see it in her eyes when she thinks I'm not looking. But I also sense a sparkle, a fire burning brighter than the shadows crossing her face and her heart. A month later, she finally decides "it's now or never" and writes a note to Monsieur Zidler. I cannot go with her to the audition because of work, luckily Theo has a free day. Monsieur Zidler listens carefully, smoking his cigar in a first row seat, and claps his hands when the last note dies out. Green light for the singing act! The night of her debut I make sure to get tickets for all my friends. Eventually, I let them know of my friendship with Élodie and the other dancers of the Moulin. I didn't tell them well, everything and I am thankful they don't dig for more. I am also grateful for their genuine concern for my love's accident and the enthusiasm they showed for her debut. The guys insisted to buy some flowers to throw her on the way here and they all dressed up to meet her after the acts. When I look at them, I think back of my first time here and I cannot help but smile to myself. Before venturing to the backstage area, I wave at Pierrette - well Pierre tonight - Amélie and other girls I saw at the Cage. We smile at each other across the room: I knew they wouldn't have missed such an important night. The night of her debut Élodie is so tense she keeps saying she's going to puke and asking for champagne to find the right amount of liquid courage to walk onto the stage. Laurent, Carmine and I try to discipline said amount and escort her till the velvet curtains when time comes. She inhales sharply and gives us all a tensed look when on the other side Valerie announces a little novelty, a second singing act. Her singing act. She squeezes my hand tight till the moment the curtains open and she steps into the stage light. As I predicted, she had no reason to be so nervous, even if I get where her fears came from. When the lights of the music hall wash over her, the audience erupts in a round of encouraging applauses and cheers. The whole room resounds with her name - Lila! Lila! Lila! - as she proceeds towards a bar stool positioned at the centre of the stage. She's still limping but no one seems to notice or care. Especially when she clears her throat and after a gracious greeting, she starts singing. Then everyone goes quiet, enraptured by the sweet melody of her voice. She may not dance anymore but the paying guests seem to love her all the same. After every performance, they whistle in appreciation and clap their hand loud, asking for more songs. Night after night. Week after week. They don't stop. Journalists and regulars end up giving her a nickname that consecrates her new career. They start calling her 'The Nightingale of Pigalle' or simply 'The Nightingale'. With the unexpected yet unmistakable success, she gains a mention on the playbill and the posters advertising the Moulin all over Paris. As a consequence, her acts evolve and become more complex. Élodie asks for new tips to Sidonie and Theo and practises regularly with a newfound determination. She tries to find and memorise new songs to enrich her repertoire. Sometimes she sings them for me when we are in bed and she plays with my hair or holds me close in a loving embrace. Now she performs in duets with Valerie twice a week, and solo, winning the favour of adoring fans over and over again. Paris falls in love with her and well, I can't blame her. I don't think it's possible to know her and not to love Élodie. There is something inside her, a light so bright that encompasses her figure and is now showing. Better, glowing. As her new career takes off, something changes in my life too. I make what my superior calls "a most foolish decision I will regret dearly when it's too late" and quit my job at the atelier. In the end, I don't end up regretting it because, prevailing over a fierce competition, I join the tailor entourage of Les Folies Bergere. When one night I overheard a dancer at the Moulin saying that they were looking for a new seamstress, I just knew I had to throw my hat in the ring. And so I did. The pay is a bit lower than the one I would have now if I had stayed since my supervisor wasn't joking about that long-awaited promotion but I am happier this way. I got my share of Vie bohème sewing and fixing the most extravagant costumes Paris has ever seen. And I heard that Marie, who has been working thrice as hard over the past few months to make up for the time the girls and I covered for her, got 'my' promotion. She deserves it and some extra money might come in handy if Alain makes his move and gets down on one knee, at last. Who would have told, like....a year ago or even just a few months ago? Marie in tears at the thought of being fired and me, the quiet seamstress from the North with an ordinary life. Now my life is less ordinary and the world seem like turning faster and faster. It's thrilling, maybe a bit scary at times. It's like...being caught in a whirlwind, I notice as I share my thoughts with Élodie one night in bed. "Things change fast in Paris" she ponders, smiling to herself. "It's the magic of the crazy times we live in" "Maybe you're right" I agree but then a thought crosses my mind, an uneasy one. I look at her and my heart aches a little: she is always so beautiful I'm the moonlight but she also looks distant, so ethereal she could vanish any minute just like a dream when morning comes and you open your eyes. But I don't want to wake from this dream. I roll to the side to face her and speak again before cowardice gets the best of me. "But there is a thing I don't want to change" I reach for her hand and she rolls to her side too, listening. "This. You and me, together. I...I don't want to change that or that to change" I feel my cheeks burn as soon as the words leave my mouth but I had to say that. To make it clear. I have already lost her once and it was awful, I don't want to go through that again. The mere thought of it make my stomach turn Élodie's hand is cold on my cheek as she caresses it with the soothing tenderness I have come to love about her. "We don't have to change that, Léa" One night I am almost late for her act. I come straight from Les Folies but I wouldn't have missed it for the world since Élodie asked me to be present. She didn't tell me why, she just kissed me and said "you'll see". So here I am. I join my friends at the table reserved for us just as the first dancing act starts. I sip my champagne and do my best to follow even if my mind is somewhere else, backstage. I take a relieved sigh and clap my hands with the rest of the audience when her name is announced. This time though, she doesn't make her entrance straight away, leaving us wondering what she has in store for us. No one seems bothered though, they just whisper excitedly with the neighbours and keep clapping their hands to call her on stage. Then Élodie steps in, emerging from the velvet curtains in a new costume that elicits gasps and cheers among the audience. My friends and I clap encouragely as she saunters towards her stool in an elegant male suit just like the one Laurent wears on scene and swaying -and helping herself with - a walking stick like a dandy. I am suddenly reminded of our night at the Cage of Fools and my cheeks turn rosy. She greets everyone with affable cheerfulness and a mysterious smile that catches the attention of the paying guests. She takes a seat on her stool, with her usual grace and taking her time. When she speaks, she has the general undivided attention and curiosity. "I wrote a song, a little tune for tonight. Would you like to hear it?" An excited murmur spreads in the hall then everyone goes quiet. That's when she starts singing, a gorgeous smile on her lips. She sings of a Parisian boy who once bumped into a fisherman on his walk by the Seine. The old man told him that he didn't like Paris because you can only get small fishes here and pearls are hard to find away from the seashore: there are none in the City of Lights. The young Parisian listened to the man and resumed his walk, quickly forgetting about fishes and oysters. But he soon discovered that the old seaman was wrong. A few days later, the boy actually found one, the brightest pearl, down the River, on the quays of Paris, where Lady Luck is gentle with hopeful lovers. His pearl has hair of gold and a smile sweeter than cherries: she didn't make him rich but turned his life into paradise. He didn't make a necklace out of her like people do when they find those tiny shiny treasures, but he always bears the image of her face in his heart because his Pearl gave him the only wealth worth calling your own in this world: Love. When she hits the final note, it's clear everybody adored it. Loud appreciative whistles and applauses, a chant "again, sing again!" and flowers, so many flowers landing on the stage like a colourful rain. Another success but...this one is different. Élodie bows to the adoring audience and picks up one rose, rising. Her eyes search the crowd until they find me. With a tender smile, she throws it my way. It lands in my hands as someone starts chanting her name over the clapping of hands and stomping of feet. But I don't register it, I only have eyes for her. My heart is on fire. With one last lingering look before basking in her well deserved triumph, Élodie mouths words meant for me only. Words only I can hear in the crowd. "My little pearl"

[kodzuken-pie]

From afar | Pt.22

Asahi x reader smau

A/N : FINALLY!! This part is going to be a little bit different as I wanted to do a scenario for the date! Also it’s going to be a bit long OOP

previous || next || masterlist || bonus

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“Thank you sir!” He smiled happily, looking at the necklace that he was going to give her later that night.

Stepping out of the little jewelry shop, he grabs his phone to check on the time. He shoots her a text to let her know that he’s on the way. The phone in his hand lit up and he read her response, smiling at it.

She puts her phone down, heart beating fast at the exchange. Her face was red and warm, thinking about him made her this way and she loved it. Snapping out of her dreamy state, she starts getting ready.

“This is annoying. I don’t know what to wear.” She huffs. A knock on the door startled her a little.

“Hey y/n. Morning.” Her brother peeped his head in to greet her.

“Ah morning Toshi! Sorry was I being noisy?” She greets him back.

“Ah no, but you look like you're struggling?” He says, walking into her room.

“Yeah, I can’t decide what to wear.” She was pouting while looking at her closet.

“Can I help?” Her brother asked.

“Uhm yeah sure I guess.” She moves out of the way.

After a few minutes of him going through her clothes, he comes up with something that was actually really cute. Not just one outfit but a few, all very cute and pretty. They went through a lot of different outfits until they found the perfect one.

“This is it!” She exclaimed. “Thank you bro!” She smiles at him.

“I arrived at the perfect time, good.” He says, taking deep breaths so calm himself.

After a last deep breath, he knocks on the door. He hears someone say they’ll be at the door so he just stood there, calming himself. A minute or two passed and the door opened revealing an older woman that looked just like her.

“Oh h-hi! My name’s Asahi, I’m here to pick up your daughter y/n.” He smiles at the woman.

“It’s nice to meet you Asahi, I’m y/ns mom. Why don’t you come in for a bit, have a glass of water. I’m pretty sure she’ll be ready soon.” She gestures for him to come in.

He thanks her as he walks in, nerves still getting the better of him. He walks over to the living room and sits on the couch. A little bit after that he hears her voice, sweet like an angel.

“Asahi! I’m so sorry, I hope you weren’t waiting too long!” She says a little shyly.

“No it’s fine!” He rubs the back of his neck and gives her a smile. “Y-you look b-beautiful by the w-way.” He adds, looking away hoping that she wouldn’t notice the growing blush on his face.

“Thank you! You look amazing as always!” She says in a teasing tone.

He stood up and walked over to where she was standing. They both said their goodbyes and went on their way.

“Alright! So, where to first?” She asks when they’re outside.

“Well it’s almost lunch time, so maybe we can go get something to eat?” He says suggestively, even though he had the day planned.

“That sounds good! Did you have a place in mind?” She smiled at him.

“Oh yeah, there’s this place I’ve been wanting to go to and I thought you might like it too.” He brings out his phone to show her.

Her face lit up and he let out the breath he was holding in, in fear that she might not like said place. He had been tipped off by her friends about this place, how she’s been wanting to go there. He took the chance and he was relieved that she was excited.

“Asahi! I’ve been wanting to go there too!” She was very excited now.

“Really? I saw it last week and I thought that may have been somewhere you wanted to go to.” He had his hand on the back of his head.

“Let’s go then!” She took his hand and pulled him towards the direction of the cafe.

They arrive at the restaurant, hand in hand and walk in. When they walked in, they were instantly amazed at how it looked. It was a cute little cafe, the atmosphere was warm and cozy. A whole bunch of books lined one of the walls, some looking old and worn and some looking new. A couch was placed in front of the bookshelf and It may have looked small and cramped but it seemed like she really loved being there.

“I can’t believe we're actually here. Thank you so so much!” She squeals.

She held his hand tighter and smiled brighter. His face turned red and he looked away, embarrassed and flustered. She giggles and teases him for this. They were then greeted by the host and seated.

“They have so much good stuff here!” He was surprised, looking at the menu they were given.

“A lot of them are your favorites too.” She says nonchalantly, not taking her eyes off the menu.

He peeked at her and he blushed. She was concentrated on the menu, finding the perfect food item for them to share.

*Maybe we can do that thing with the milkshake? Or I can even feed him like a slice of cake but sharing a milkshake would definitely be cuter. What am I thinking? Gosh!* These thoughts filled her head as she flipped through the menu over and over, her brows knitting.

“Hey, are you ready to order?” He asked in a soft voice, snapping her out of her growing frustration.

“I think so? Is it ok if we share a milkshake?” she was peeking through the menu, hiding the blush that was creeping up to her face.

His eyes widened in surprise at her request. “Oh yeah, we can.”

A soft smile appeared on her face. They were both thinking the same thing and they were both trying to hide their excitement. The server came to take their orders and then they waited.

“So, just curious but. Where are we going today?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

“It’s a surprise.” He answered, smirking at her.

“Come on just tell me! Please?” She says pouting.

“Not going to work.” He says, keeping the smirk on his face.

It was a surprise that he didn’t give in to her pouting so she gave up eventually. He chuckled and poked her cheek and made her smile. Their food came and they spent the next hour enjoying each other’s food and company.

“That was so so good!!” She beamed, giving him a big grin.

“It was! The pasta you ordered was so delicious!” He says as he finishes wiping his mouth.

The server took away their empty plates, leaving them with their dessert and the milkshake they ordered. The milkshake stood in the middle of the table, two straws in. They both kept looking at the shake and at each other, trying to look innocent each time. Asahi decided to pick at his cake slice. Taking a bite of it, he closed his eyes and relished the delicious flavor. She took a bite of her brownie with the ice cream on top of it and she was in heaven.

“You need to try this!” They said in unison, chuckling afterwards.

“Here, try some!” He said as he takes a piece off and is gesturing for her to open her mouth so that he could feed her.

“That’s wow, amazing. Try mine!” She did the same and she giggled.

“What a cute couple those two are. Makes me remember the old days, right hon?” An elderly lady said quietly as she sat next to what looked like her husband. She stood up and went to the two. “You know you two remind me of me and my husband over there.” She points at him and he waves, giving them a small smile. “I can see that you two will spend your whole life together and grow old with each other. Your love is so pure. Don’t forget that, don’t forget days like this when you’re having a bad one alright?” She smiled sweetly at them and walked back to her husband and gave him a small kiss on the forehead.

The two were speechless. They slowly looked at each other and smiled, he took her hand and squeezed it softly.

“I really do hope that’s the case.” He whispered loud enough for her to hear.

“Asahi…” She pressed her lips together and tried to stop herself from crying. “I do too.” She spoke up when she was able to.

His eyes widened at her response and he gave her a sweet smile. They finished the rest of their dessert, paid and left, making sure to wave goodbye to the old couple. They made their way to their next destination, stopping every now and then to look at a few shops. Their hands intertwined with one another, holding each other tightly.

“Wow Asahi! An amusement park? Did you, Noya and Bokuto plan this? Cause I’m pretty sure they’re here too!” She asked, looking at him.

“Nishinoya and Bokuto-san are here too? I mean I knew they were having their dates today but I didn’t know it was going to be here?!” He exclaimed, a little surprised.

Giggling, she reached over to cup his face and give him a quick peck on the cheek then pulled him to get inside. They walked around and played a few of the mini games around. Hand in hand, they walked through the park, ate food and played games.

“Hey Asahi! Let’s go on that one!” She said pointing towards the Ferris wheel.

“Oh sure! Just give me a second.” He checked his watch and made a face.

“Hm? What’s with the face? Are you worried we’ll miss the fireworks show?” She said, moving so that she was looking at his face.

“W-What?! How’d you know about the fireworks?” He was shocked, thinking that his surprise was probably ruined.

“There’s literally posters about it everywhere, Asahi.” She pouted.

He looked around and saw the posters and sighed in relief. “I guess I thought I could surprise you with that.” He rubbed the back of his neck, not looking at her.

With her free hand, she made him look at her. “This is the best day ever, Asahi. Surprise or not, I enjoyed this date. Now! Let’s get on that Ferris wheel. Hopefully when we reach the top, the fireworks would have already started!” She said cheerfully.

“Oh.” For a second, he just blinked not knowing what to say.

“Well? Let’s go!” She practically dragged him towards the Ferris wheel, getting in line.

“You’re right then huh? We wouldn’t have to find a good spot to watch the fireworks.” He said, thinking out loud.

She smiled at him as he said this. He rubbed circles around the top of her hand as they patiently waited to get on. As soon as they were about to be seated, the announcement for the fireworks show blasted through the intercom.

“Five minutes until the fireworks show folks! Make sure to find that special spot!” The announcer said.

Asahi looked at his watch again. The timing was perfect, he thought. By the time their car was at the top, the fireworks would be at full swing and he could give her the necklace that he had bought. All he had to do now was calm his nerves.

They were called on to get into the next car, the last people in before they started the Ferris wheel back up. The fireworks started as they were at the halfway point, his nerves followed the beat of the fireworks bursting in the air.

“It’s so pretty! Asahi look!” She turned to look at him, her eyes sparkling.

The way she looked at that moment took his breath away, the way her eyes sparkled and the wonder on her face. He was grateful for this moment. Now all he had to do was to wait until they were at the top to give her the necklace. As soon as they reach the top, the wheel suddenly stops.

“The wheel is stuck at the moment, don’t panic this happens every now and then.” The announcement at the intercom said calmly.

“Oh? Hmm guess we’re going to be here for awhile. At least we can enjoy the show!” She grinned.

His heart was now beating like crazy but he didn’t know if it was because he was nervous or if it was because of the overwhelming feelings he had for her.

“Hey, y/n. I have something for you.” He said, taking her hand in his, not looking at her reaction as he placed the small box on her palm.

She turned to look at him and then at her hand. The small box made her heart jump. She wanted to cry, even though she hasn’t even seen what was inside. She held the box tightly and opened it and felt the tears rush down her face.

He then looked at her and saw the tears rushing down. He got disappointed for a second and knew that she would like it.

“Asahi.” She said in between sobs.

He was ready for her to be angry, mad and disappointed.

“I love it.” She whispered.

The words echoed in his mind as relief flowed through him. She urged him to help her out the necklace on and then she pressed her forehead against his. They stared at each other’s eyes and before he knew it, she had given him a kiss. He didn’t know what to say or how to react when she pulled away but he did know he wanted more. Cupping her face, he pulls her in and gives her a deep and wanton kiss. All of a sudden the world stopped. The intimate moment felt like it lasted forever.

“You are amazingly beautiful.” He said after he pulled away from her, gazing deep into her eyes.

The tears kept coming at her and all she could do was embrace him and feel him in her arms. He started rubbing circles around her back to comfort her. They stayed like that until they felt the wheel move again. She sat next to him and held his hand, resting her head on his shoulder as they descended. As soon as they got out of the car, they were met with familiar faces. Nishinoya and Sunny were next to each other, hands intertwined and next to them was Bokuto and Hiromi. You met up with them and spent the rest of the evening as a group.

As they reach her front door, she turns around with a big smile on her face.

“Thank you for today Asahi! I had a really fun time!” She was happy.

“I did too. I’m really glad you enjoyed it.” He says shyly.

“I love the necklace by the way.” She says, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“You do?” He put his hands on her waist.

“Mhmm. Good night Asahi.” She whispered.

“Good night y/n. See you Monday?” He whispered back.

“Mhmm.” She answered, nodding a little.

She pulled him in close as she was on her tiptoes and they ended the night with a kiss.

——————————————————————————

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[themusicplayedherlife]

Unrequited (Part 4)

pairing: eventual!bucky barnes x reader; one-sided!bucky barnes x natasha romanoff; one-sided!reader x steve rogers

word count: 3.6k +

warning: just a flirty tony; an annoyed bucky; and some cute moments

a/n: a new challenger appears! and you spend more time with bucky than you have in the past years

prev || all || next

“Do you really have to come with me?” You murmur, keeping your distance from Bucky.

He tries to close the distance between the two of you with long, quick strides, but you only keep widening the gap. “Will you stop?”

You breathe out through your nose harshly. “Not until you tell me why you need to come with me!”

With a hand on your forearm, he manages to gently tug you and turn you in place. “If you’d just—there.” You shake your arm free from him and he takes a deep breath, but he relaxes when you don’t make to move away from him. “Thank you,” he says exasperated as you cross your arms. “I need to see what your T.A is teaching you so I can help you better. Besides, Natasha is going to be there, too, right? And you two usually go out for lunch after this, right?” Your eyebrow quirks. How did he know that? Natasha maybe? “Listen, I get to help you and I get to spend time with Natasha. Two birds with one stone.”

You drop your arms, reluctantly relenting. “Yeah, okay, but what if my T.A doesn’t let you stay?”

“Come on, who wouldn’t give in to this face?” he says, motioning to his smolder that quite frankly makes you want to shiver.

“My T.A,” you deadpan. Janet can be laidback most of the time, but she’s also very strict when she needs to be.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets and grins. “You want to bet?”

“If I get in trouble—“

He rolls his eyes. “Just trust me, will you? Now come on, before we’re late.”

The rest of the walk to your class is relatively quiet. You still try to keep your distance from Bucky as you walk, but you’re no longer running away, at least. He doesn’t say much, he mostly stays glued to his phone and occasionally says things like: “did you know that Steve is lactose intolerant? Loves ice cream to death, but makes him sick,” and “once when we were seven, Steve tripped on air and fell into a puddle in front of his crush.” It’s out of the blue, but it fills the silence and makes it less uncomfortable. Doesn’t make you want to blurt out things you’ll regret. 

Your classroom is on the first floor of the Science building (also known as Stark Hall), and it’s still somewhat empty by the time you arrive. A few students are already sitting, and they greet you with smiles, but eye the man behind you with curiosity. 

Your T.A still hasn’t arrived nor has Natasha. Bucky settles in next to you in the middle row, taking off his backpack and placing it on the table to take out a notebook and pencil.

“What are you doing,” you ask curiously.

“I’m going to help you,” he says as if it were the most obvious thing.

You’re not sure whether to glare at him or just ignore him. “By taking notes?”

“Yes.”

“But I’m taking notes?”

He flashes you a glare. “Just relax and trust me, will you?”

You purse your lips. “Fine,” you grumble, taking out your own notebook and pencil.

The clock ticks with the seconds; a couple of your classmates are talking about a frat party they had been invited to and a few others are actually talking about their homework.

Bucky is doodling in the margins of his notebook—Stars, the moon, and just random things. Your eyebrows furrow as he adds detail to the moon, making sure to shade in the craters. Now that you think about it… didn’t Natasha mention a long time ago that he was majoring in Astrophysics? 

The door creaks open and your best friend walks in. You elbow Bucky, ignoring his quiet protests to greet your friend, but the way she’s frowning and typing away furiously on her phone tells you that maybe it’s best to not interrupt her until she notices you.

She lets out a sigh and puts her phone away, and her green eyes lift to meet yours. She smiles weakly and sits down next to you. “Hey.”

“Hey, you okay?”

“I’ll tell you about it later,” she says and you nod, but your worry doesn’t melt. 

Did something happen in her History lecture? Or maybe with her dad? No, he doesn’t like texting. He prefers to call. Her mom on the other hand...

“Nat,” Bucky greets her, breaking your train of thought. Bucky, shit, that’s right. You had momentarily forgotten about him.

Surprise colors her face, meeting his eyes then yours—you shrug—and then his again. “Bucky, what are you—“

“Good afternoon, class,” an unfamiliar voice drawls as the door opens. Your classmates all share a look of bewilderment while Bucky lets out an exasperated groan. “Let’s get this discussion started, yes? I’m recovering from a raging hangover and I really want to get the hell out of here to get some good ol’ junk food.” The unfamiliar man removes his glasses and your classmates begin to whisper excitedly.

“Why didn’t you tell me Tony Stark was your T.A?” Bucky hisses lowly just for you to hear.

“Because he’s not!” You whisper back, your eyes never leaving the front.

You’ve only ever seen Tony Stark from afar, never having a chance to talk to him, not that you wanted one. He’s intimidating, too charming and friendly; a little too eccentric with a passion for sarcasm, and the rumors surrounding him? Yikes. But that doesn’t mean you don’t admire him. I mean… how could you not? He’s only a year older than you and is already working on his Masters (or was it his PhD?)! And yet, here you are, barely getting through your third year of college.

Tony’s eyes roam the classroom as he hangs his sunglasses from the front of his black t-shirt. His eyes are droopy—tired, but the bright mischievous glow in them and the smirk on his face contradicts the tired shape of his eyes. “Janet is out sick for today, but she’ll be back to teach you younglings next week.” He hops onto the simple desk in front of the class. “For now, you’re stuck with me.”

“Great,” Bucky murmurs.

You raise a brow. “Do you know him?”

He leans closer to you to answer your hushed question. “Who doesn’t?” 

“I meant personally.”

Bucky tilts his head, scowling. “Unfortunately.”

Discussion is uneventful, to Bucky’s apparent surprise; Tony goes over the differences between Ionic and Covalent bonds, explaining them a lot better than Pym did, and then hands out a sheet that, “Janet wants you to turn in next week. Said it counts as attendance or something.”

“What exactly were you expecting?” You ask him as you pack up your things.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Stark can be a wild card.”

“Now that’s a compliment for the ages.” Tony stands in front of the desk Bucky had been sitting at with an amused smirk on his face. 

You’re pretty sure Bucky didn’t mean it is a compliment, but Tony sure as hell doesn’t seem to care.

“Stark,” Bucky greets him dryly.

“Barnes.” Tony’s eyes drift to you and Natasha and the glint in his eyes brightens. “You never told me you had such good looking friends. Anthony Stark, but you’re welcome to call me Tony. Everyone does.”

Before you or Natasha can introduce yourselves, Bucky cuts in. “Will you quit it?” Bucky nags. “Won’t Pepper be mad when she finds out you’re flirting like a dog again?”

The glint in his eyes dulls and you swear you see his jaw clench, but it’s gone as soon as you blink. “I’m proud to announce I’m a single man, Barnes.” His eyes leave Bucky and stop on you, his earlier charming smile growing wider and brighter. “You are?”

You introduce yourself, a little starstruck and a little wary.

His hand reaches for yours and you’re thrown off by the fact that he doesn’t shake your hand, he kisses it instead. “Charmed.” He slowly releases your hand and you don’t know whether to giggle like a schoolgirl or retract your hand and burn it. “And you are?”

“Natasha Romanoff,” she says, offering her hand. “If you kiss my hand, I swear to god I will end you.”

Tony laughs, it’s deep and charming, and really, really beautiful. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” He shakes her hand before his eyes find you again, and you almost flinch back, completely unprepared for his gaze. “Now that I know Janet has such good looking students, I think I’ll be sitting in on her discussions more often.” His smirk is lopsided and teasing, nothing like Steve’s, but it definitely has its charm. “Actually. I have a party at my place this upcoming weekend.”

“When don’t you?” Bucky mumbles, but it goes ignored by Tony.

“Why don’t you guys come along? Bring a couple of friends?”

Your eyes shift from Bucky to Natasha and to Tony again. “I—uh…I don’t know…”

Natasha shrugs, wrapping her arm around your shoulder. “Why not? Destressing before finals might be what we need.” Finals isn’t for another couple of weeks, though?

“She gets it.” He grabs one of the leftover sheets Janet had given him for today’s class and plucks a pen out from his bag to write down his phone number and address. He hands it to you, but it’s Bucky who takes it, plucking it from out of his fingers. “I’ll see you Saturday. Ladies,” he addresses you and Natasha with another charming smile before his lips straighten as he looks at Bucky, “Barnes.”

You watch as Tony saunters out of class, head held high and glasses once more covering his face.

Bucky sighs. “He’s too much.”

You couldn’t agree more.

“Eccentric, maybe, but I think he’s all right,” Natasha says, taking the sheet from Bucky. “I’ll keep this.” She flings her bag over shoulder, ignoring the protests he murmurs. “I have to get going. I’ll see you back at the apartment.”

“We’re not going out for lunch?” you ask her, trailing after her dumbfounded.

She offers you a small smile. “I’m not really feeling up to it today.”

Just like she won’t force you to divulge information, you won’t either. “We will talk later though, right?”

“Yes, I promise,” she says her smile growing a little brighter. Her eyes drift behind you. “Bye, Bucky.”

“Bye, Nat.” Why does he sound like someone shot him in the chest?

“Well,” you start when she’s out of ear shot, “there goes your plan.”

“Yep,” he says after a long sigh.

“What now?”

He mulls it over. “I guess now we get lunch.” 

That’s not what you meant, but lunch does sound good.

You just didn’t think it’d be together.

Bucky takes you to a small diner called Stan’s just a couple of blocks away from campus. There’s a lot of cheesy memorabilia in the diner; paintings of vintage muscle cars and a weird painting of the last supper with dogs hanging on the wall; and a jukebox in the corner, a little worse for wear, but still playing some tunes. It’s noisy, but not too noisy to the point you could get irritated. The waitresses are sweet and nice, smiling in the direction of the door and welcoming the customers when the jingle announces an arrival, but they seemed to have been especially sweeter to Bucky. He must be a regular.

You find yourself sitting across from him, watching him order for the two of you. He knew this place better than you anyway, and at this point? You’d eat anything if it meant spending less time with him.

His gaze moves from the retreating waitress to you and you quickly avert your eyes to stare out the window, but it’s too late. He caught you already. 

“What?”

You reluctantly look at him and whisper. “Nothing.”

“Clearly not nothing if you’re staring at me that intensely.”

Were you? You flush. “Sorry.”

He sighs. “Why are you always so nervous around me? I thought we were making progress. You were talking back this morning.”

“It’s not just you, Bucky.” You frown, trying to find the right words. “I’m… I’m like this with everyone who aren’t my friends.”

“And Steve,” he adds for your just as the waitress brings you your drinks and straws. He thanks her with a smile and you do the same after sending him a quick glare. “What about him do you like, anyway? I mean I know he’s a great guy and all, he’s my bestfriend, but…”

“Does it matter?” you ask him, a little wary as he opens his paper straw with a push on the table.

“Well no,” he says, adding a lazy drawl to his vowels. “I’m just curious.”

“Why do you like Natasha?”

“What isn’t there to like? She’s hot, funny, and smart.”

You scoff as he takes a sip of his coke, mimicking his earlier actions to get your straw out of its pocket. “That’s it?” That's all he can say about Natasha? A person he claims to like?

His eyebrow quirks. “Yes?”

Wow. You feel offended for her! “That’s literally three general things that anyone could say about her! About anyone!”

“All right,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “Then what would you say about Steve?”

You smash the paper encasing the straw between your fingers, rolling it into a ball. “I like… I like that he’s sweet. He cares a lot about the people around him, and even strangers.” A smile blooms on your face, remembering how you once caught him helping an elderly woman walk to the bus stop by campus. “His jokes are a little outdated, but they make me laugh.” You lean against your elbow as it cradles your cheek. “And when he smiles? It’s always a little crooked, like a mischievous kid trying to get away with something. And his laugh? It’s so loud and genuine and just so sweet—“

“Okay!” Bucky interrupts, a little disturbed and perturbed. “Okay, I get it! You really like Steve.”

Oh, shit! You drop your hand onto the table and straighten. This is so embarrassing! You really fucking need a filter! Heat crawls up your neck when you meet Bucky’s gaze, cloudy blue eyes narrowed on you, and you quickly look away. “Right. Sorry.”

“How do you know all that about Steve, anyway? You two barely hang out.”

You frown, mouth latching onto your paper straw and trying to ignore the itch behind your ear. “And you've hung out with Natasha more and you only had generic things to say about her!”

“That’s because I don’t know what I like about her,” he admits, voice a little strained. “I just do. And sometimes people don’t need a reason to like someone, okay? They. Just. Do,” he emphasizes his last three words.

You’re not sure if he’s trying to convince himself or you. “I guess…”

A plate of burger and fries is placed in front of you and you look up to thank the waitress only to take a double take. She’s not the same one as the one that took your order, she was blond, this lady is a brunette. 

She smiles at you kindly, but something about it is almost gleeful. 

Why does she seem so familiar?

She places the other plate in front of Bucky as she says, “Here you are, hon.”

Bucky’s eyes skirt from you to her, and then his face breaks out into a warm smile. “Thanks.”

“You know,” she says, blue eyes returning to you, and this time they’re much more than gleeful, they’re wicked, “this is the first time James has brought a date to the diner.”

“Date?” you sputter, feeling the familiar heat crawling back up your neck. “James?”

“Mom!” he practically whines.

“Mom?” you repeat, wide eyes shifting between the two. Is that why she looked familiar? Well, now that you’re getting a closer look, she does look a little bit like Bucky. Those blue eyes are almost exactly the same, the only difference is that hers are a little brighter in color, leaning away from grey, but the shape is the same. Their eyes a little hooded and a bit intense. Hair, the same dark color with waves trying to fall over their eyes. And unlike Bucky’s sharp edges, she’s softer, rounder in the face and sweeter in expression. You wonder if the rest is all from his dad?

She laughs joyfully. “Don’t be embarrassed, James! No shame in—“

“Okay, thank you, mom, but we’re not here on date!” 

“Your son is tutoring me, ma’am,” you say politely after introducing yourself by name and you can physically see the excitement drain out of her face.

“Oh.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but it’s all good nature if the small smile still pressed on his lips is anything to go by. “Well, gee, ma, don’t get too excited.”

She shakes her head. “Can you blame me?” She turns to you conspicuously, wanting him to squirm in his seat. “This boy used to be such a serial dater back in high school. Was worried he’d never find the one. Come college and it’s as if he’s on some kind of dry spell!”

You were not expecting her to say that, so the laugh that comes out of you is just as unexpected and definitely not appealing in any way.

Bucky flushes, mouth hanging open. “Ma! Seriously?”

She shrugs and laughs. “All right, I think I’ve embarrassed you enough. Have a good time and don’t do anything I would, you hear?”

You could practically hear Bucky slamming his head against the table. “Ma!”

“Enjoy, sweetheart,” she says directed at you with a smile and a wink. “Lemme know if you need anything.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Winnie.”

You blink. “Huh?”

She points to the name tag on her uniform with the name Winifred written in cursive. “Call me, Winnie, hon.” You nod and she flashes you another smile and a wink and turns away.

“Wow,” you say with a breath, eyes following after her.

“I know.”

You reach for your drink, still in disbelief at the woman who was so ready to embarrass her son—you liked her. “Your mom, huh?”

He picks up a fry. “Yep.”

“James?”

He finally lifts his gaze to meet yours. “First name. Bucky is part of my middle name, Buchanan.” Wait. What? He mirrors your own look of bewilderment. “You really didn’t know?”

“Uh. No?” Should you have?

He chews on the fry contemplatively and his eyes burn into you. “Huh. Thought you did.”

Your eyebrows knit together as you squirm in your seat.

He waves his hand dismissively. “Forget it. Doesn’t matter.” He leans against the table. “Nobody calls me James other than my mom and sisters, anyway.”

“Not even Steve?”

A grin slips on his face. “Who do you think was the first to call me Bucky?”

“Guess he started a trend, huh?”

He tilts his head up as he grin is slow and lazy. “Guess so.”

You finally dig into your food, melting when the well seasoned fries crunch and then melt into your mouth. These are the best fries you’ve ever had and no one can convince you otherwise. “So, what now?”

Bucky is mid burger bite, pausing for a moment to stare at you. “Hm?” 

“What is your next plan?” You ask, slowly and unsure if you even want to know. “Since today’s fell through.”

His nose scrunches as he presses his lips together tightly, burger landing back on the plate. “I don’t know. I have to think about it.”

A part of you isn’t sure whether you should suggest it, but you do anyway. He’s helping you, right? So, you should help him, right? “What about Tony’s party?”

He visibly flinches—maybe you shouldn’t help him. At all. “Stark parties are overrated.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know,” you admit, leaning back into the padding of the booth. “I’ve never been.”

“Wait. Seriously?” Why is he so surprised? That’s kind of offensive.

“No!”

“Why?”

You shrug, a little skeptical of his interest. “I don’t know? I just never had the chance, I guess? But that’s not important!” There are more pressing matters to talk about, at least for him. You might not be good at helping, but you need to at least keep trying to get better. “For your next plan, wouldn’t it be the perfect place to get Natasha alone? Butter her up a bit?”

His face contorts, lips disappearing and eyes narrowing in your direction. “At a Stark party? Yeah, you’ve definitely never been.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Isn’t it like any other party?”

He snorts. “Think of the party you had and multiply that by one hundred.”

You’re almost afraid to ask. “Are they really wild?” I mean, you’ve heard stories about how notorious they are, but you thought they were just that—stories.

He nods slowly.

Okay, now you’re conflicted. “Knowing Natasha and Pietro, they're going to force me to go.”

“If it’ll make you feel better, Sam will most likely convince Steve to go,” he offers with a teasing smile. 

You squirm, excitement bubbling in the pit of your stomach. “Really?”

“Yep,” he pops the p. “This could be your chance to get closer to Steve! Maybe flirt a little.”

Heat blooms in your chest, the excitement dying down. “I don’t—I don’t actually know how to flirt.”

“What?”

“I’ve never flirted, so I don’t—“

“Everyone,” he emphasizes, “knows how to flirt.”

“Yeah? Well not me.”

“Okay, tomorrow, noon, meet me at my apartment.”

Your eyes nearly buggered out—did he really—“What?”

“I’m going to teach you how to flirt,” he says, confident and proudly with a toothy grin that has you wanting to smack it away.