#no job “beneath” the degree trusts me to stay and no job “worthy” of it trusts me for being unemployed for so long

[brilliantsnafu]

At this point I think I should just start lying about my masters. Never got it. Since no one wants to give me a fucking job bc of it.

[featherymalignancy]

CHAPTER ONE—In Vino Veritas: A Nessian Story

“In wine lies the truth”

Summary: Nesta Archeron is convinced she has everything she wants: a law degree from an ivy, a prestigious job, a gorgeous boyfriend, and excellent taste in wine. However, when she wanders into her local wine vendor and meets a handsome stranger unafraid to play her quick-witted games, she begins to wonder if the life she’s built is really the one she wants. 

Cash Kahukore worked his entire adolescent life to become a sommelier, ignoring the slurs his mixed heritage have always earned him as he fought his way to the top. However, after five years abroad buying for Michelin star restaurants and dealing with rich white assholes, he’s grown bored with his life. When a gorgeous lawyer comes in to his uncle’s shop one afternoon, he immediately recognizes a worthy opponent in her. Undaunted by her sharp tongue and possessive boyfriend, he’s determined to be her friend, and—as time goes on and their circumstances change—possibly something more.

This a prequel to Navy Suits and Chelsea Boots that takes place three years before. If you love Elriel (and don’t mind finding out how this story ends) check it now. 

Also, check out the masterlist for In Vino Veritas HERE!

Announcements: I know some of you are going to see and and worry “BUT WHAT ABOUT LIKE A LONELY HOUSE??” It’s coming, I swear. I was just really jammed up working on it and this was a way to relieve the brain bleed that LaLH was causing. But seriously, don’t panic, it’s coming. I know I’m not nearly as prolific as some of the more popular writers in this fandom, but I swear it’s because I’m just trying to get it right. Okay, now on with the show!

Chapter One: Cheval

Nesta Archeron had worked hard to get to where she was. She’d helped raise her sisters before putting herself through college and law school, and as a young associate she’d stayed at the office long after her contemporaries gone home. As a reward for her sacrifices—and the success they’d awarded her—Nesta always treated herself to  the best of everything. She wore the best clothes, dined at the best restaurants, and—of course—drank the best wine. 

That’s why she only ever bought from Merchant of Vino. Sure, it was a stupid name, but she’d done her research, and it was undoubtedly the best wine vendor in the Bay Area. They sold all her favorite Napa reds, and the owner was a man named Devlon who knew his stuff and never tried to look down her blouse.

Nesta was a person who thrived on routine—on ritual—and going to Merchant had become one of her favorites since arriving in San Francisco the previous year. 

That was, until the day said ritual was disrupted.

It had started out like normal: she got out of court in the early afternoon and battled traffic to North Beach, already considering what she would order. She hadn’t bought Spring Mountain in a while, and after the day opposing counsel had given her, she was in the mood for something thorny. 

The quaint little bell dinged when she stepped inside, and she took a minute to admire the familiar racks before glancing to the bar...

She frowned. 

“You’re not Devlon,” she said in greeting, and the man behind the counter—who looked to be in his late twenties— glanced up from the where he’d been shelving bottles and laughed. 

“Very astute; I’m not.” 

She crossed her arms across her chest. She didn’t like to be teased. She felt a stab of annoyance when he reached up to shelve a final bottle and she caught a glimpse of his ridged stomach and the making of an Adonis belt, visible above the waistband of his low-slung Jeans. She especially didn’t like being teased by attractive men. As an attorney, she got enough of that in her day job.

“I’ve never seen anyone else work here,” she clarified. 

She didn’t bother to sound polite, but if her tone bothered the stranger,he didn’t show it. 

He only shrugged, gesturing she take a seat in one of the well-loved leather barstools before leaning his forearms on the counter. They were as corded as the rest of him, and covered with what she recognized as Māori tattoos. 

“Then I guess it’s your lucky day: I know more about wine than Dev could hope to learn in ten lifetimes.”

When she only responded by pursing her lips, the stranger’s grin widened. Nesta fought not to admire him as leaned a fraction closer. 

With long hair tied back in a bun at his crown and heavy gold hoops in his ears, he was nothing like the clean cut and classically-handsome  guys she usually went for. Still, she couldn’t deny he was rather devastating. 

He was tall and broad, his powerful chest and tapered waist cutting an inherently masculine silhouette which—much to her chagrin—Nesta couldn’t help admiring.

His bronze skin and glossy dark hair spoke to the island heritage his tattoos had already hinted at, and his eyes…

Nesta didn’t want to dwell on how much green they had running through the ribbons of hazel, or how they glittered as they continued to study her. 

She sniffed and glanced down to adjust the watch at her wrist, if only to escape the fact she’d been checking him out, hard.

“That’s a rather lofty assessment,” she said finally. 

He shrugged. 

“It’s true.”

“Jury’s still out,” she shot back.

He gave a throaty laugh, taking the opportunity to look her up and down. However, it wasn’t in the leering way she’d grown accustomed to, as if she were a cut of expensive meat. He seemed to be taking her measure instead. From the way he smiled—teeth diamond bright against his full lips—it was clear he’d been satisfied by what he’d found.

“Challenge accepted. I’m more than happy to blow your mind, free of charge.”

She snorted, ignoring the potential double meaning. This felt dangerously like flirting, and if there was one thing Nesta Archeron never did, it was flirt. 

“You really think I’m that easy?”

His grin widened, and she rolled her eyes. Okay, fine, she’d walked into that one. Still, she wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, and everything about this guy seemed to suggest he’d be a worthy opponent.

“Okay, maestro,” she said, setting her bag down and finally taking a seat. “If you’re so smart, pour me a glass of something you think I’ll like.”

He considered, biting his annoyingly-plush lower lip as he surveyed her again. It was more openly appreciative this time, but still never strayed below her chin.

“What do I get if I guess correctly?”

She gave him a deadpan look, the kind her male colleagues had suggested could melt flesh from bone. 

“A tip.”

He bubbled his lips in dismissal. 

“Woman, I don’t work here for the tips. I’d rather have your name.”

She considered, hating how much she was enjoying this. It had been ages since she’d had a decent sparring partner.

“Fine,” she said. “But know that if you’re wrong, I’m not giving you either.”

He only laughed before grabbing three glasses from where they hung on the rack and lining them up on the bar top between them.

“I’ll take my chances.“

He glanced back at her, drumming his fingers against his lips as he considered. He then pulled out three bottles, a white and two reds. When he’d poured a taste in the first two glasses and two fingers-worth in the third, she frowned.

“This is cheating.”

He only laughed again, eyes alight beneath his devilishly arched brows. They made him look dangerous in a way Nesta refused to admit suited him. 

“Trust the process,” he said, gesturing to the glass of white.

“Now, this is what you think I think you like: Rombauer Chardonnay out of the Napa valley. Aged in French oak with notes of vanilla and an earthy, buttery finish. Too rich to make a good sipping wine, but still an inexplicable go-to choice  for mansplainers trying to impress their female friends.” 

He paused to give her a roguish smile, which she rewarded with a shrug. He was right; she hated buttery chardonnays, but it was still what men always assumed she’d want.

He swished the the Rombauer before swallowing the small measure in the glass and moving to the next, a plum-colored red.

“This is what you think you want: Nickel and Nickel Cabernet. It’s complex and beguiling and just the kind of fleshy, bold California red a power broker like yourself is conditioned to love.”

She ignored the jab and picked up the glass, bringing it to her nose. She was greeted with the smell of dark berries and cassis, and it made her mouth water.

“You should have quit while you were ahead,” she said, throwing back the small measure and letting the taste envelop her palate. “Far Niente is one of my favorite vineyards.”

He just smirked, gesturing to third glass.

“Not so fast, because this is what you actually want. Chateau Cheval Blance from the St-Émilion appellation in France. A light structure, perfect in its tension between floral and mineral notes. Truly, this is terroir at its finest.”

She gave him a tight smile.

“I’m not a Old World wine person,” she said, pushing the empty Cabernet glass towards him in silent request he refill it. “Better luck next time on the tip.”

He responded by pushing the French blend towards her instead.

“Humor me.”

She pursed her lips before picking up the glass. She could smell dark cherries and wood smoke, and something floral that she couldn’t place but that was all the more tantalizing for its elusiveness.  

Begrudgingly she took a sip, and it was an effort not to let her eyes roll back in her head. It was silky, but not in the cloying way that Chardonnays sometimes were, and the flavor seemed to blossom, sweet plum giving way to dark berries and something earthy that had her toes curling in her expensive Louboutin heels. Truly, she wasn’t sure she’d ever tasted anything so divine.

He studied her reaction before flashing a wicked smile and leaning in. 

“So what’s your name, Gorgeous?”

Struggling to compose herself, she hastily set down the glass.

“I have a boyfriend,” she snapped. 

The man seemed undaunted by her declaration though, and if he noticed her sudden unease, he didn’t comment. Instead, he re-filled her glass before pouring one for himself.

“I have no doubt,” he said, touching his glass to hers so the crystal sang. “But that isn’t what I asked.”

She watched him as he took a sip, his throat working as he swallowed. Good Lord, he was handsome. 

She mentally slapped herself. She had a boyfriend, and perfect taste in wine aside, she shouldn’t be indulging this stranger in whatever game he thought he was playing. Tomás would be furious if he found out. 

This in mind, she settled for scowling.

The stranger laughed.

“It’s not like it matters,” he said, twirling the stem of his glass between long fingers. “Unless you’re a drug dealer who plans to pay cash for the case of Cheval of you are so obviously going to be buying, I’m going to see it on your card anyway. Besides, no one likes an oath breaker.”

She took another sip of wine to hide her smile. They weren’t flirting, she assured herself. They were just...talking. Talking was perfectly innocent. Tomas couldn’t get angry at her for talking.

The man waited, and eventually she relented.

“Nesta.”

“Nesta...?” He prompted, and she rolled her eyes.

“Nesta Archeron.”

He extended a hand.

“Cash.”

“Please tell me that’s a nickname.”

He only laughed in response.

“Are you always this charming, Nesta Archeron?”

His hand remained between them, and after a beat of hesitation she took it. A jolt of electricity shot up her arm the minute they touched, and she found herself fending off a flush as she tugged her hand back. Still, they remained close. Closer than she knew she should allow, even as she failed to pull back to a safer distance.

He watched with keen interest as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear before meeting her gaze again and saying, “yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, it’s a nickname. Cash is short for Cassian, though I don’t think anyone’s actually called me that since my mom died.”

A pang hit her, a familiar ache that still wrenched at her ten years later. 

Without fully understanding why she was doing it, she blurted, “my parents are dead, too.”

He frowned for the first time since they’d met. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

It was an automatic response, the one she always gave to avoid people asking more questions. It didn’t feel like a long time ago, though. At least, the pain hadn’t dulled the way it should have. Some night she still caught herself wishing her mother were there to tuck her into bed.

“I’m still sorry,” Cash said, brushing her ring finger with the tips of his.

It was a feather-light touch—a gesture of comfort and solidarity—but it still had Nesta’s stomach knotting. She pulled her hand away and he didn’t fight her on it, glancing up to give her a soft look instead. 

“I know how hard it is, being on your own.”

Nesta bristled. 

“I’m not alone. I’ve got two younger sisters, and my—“

“—boyfriend,” he said, leaning back even as he smirked. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten.”

She couldn’t help it; this time, she flushed. However the look gave her said he had no intention of pushing the issue. 

She imagined what Elain would say were she there, and she grit her teeth before forcing out, “I didn’t mean to imply that you—“

“Don’t apologize,” he said, eyes glittering as they skated over her face again. “Beautiful girl like you, it...wasn’t a bad assumption. Still, you have nothing to worry about from me, I promise.”

She nodded, surprised to find a twinge or disappointment. She attempted to bury the feeling by shouldering on.

“So where is Devlon?”

Cash shrugged, folding his toned arms across his chest in a gesture his white T-shirt struggled to accommodate.

“He had to go back home to handle some stuff and I’d just gotten back to town, so I told him I’d watch the shop for awhile.”

“How long will he be gone?”

Cash grinned, taking another sip of wine. 

“Sick of me already, Archeron?”

She only pursed her lips in response, and he laughed.

“I didn’t ask. But long enough that you’ll get to see me again, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

His grin was a slash of white across his tan face, and she looked away to avoid blushing again. This was definitely too close to flirting for Nesta’s comfort. One more glass and she might—

“I should go,” she said abruptly, draining the last of her wine. “It was nice meeting you, Cassian.”

She picked up her bag and was halfway to freedom when he laughed. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” 

She turned back, and he gestured to the racks of wine all around them. When they made eye contact, his grin grew wicked. 

“Or did Dev already tell you his gorgeous nephew was taking over the shop, and you just came to check out the goods yourself?”

She grit her teeth, trying not to admire said...goods, especially the ones she could make out through his thin t-shirt and fitted jeans. 

“You’re an ass,” she growled, stalking back towards him. 

“C’mon, you love it.”

“Don’t make me gut you will my shoe. It’s impossible to get blood out of suede.”

He only laughed. 

“Why do I get the sense you’d actually do it, too?”

“Because I don’t make idle threats,” she snapped.

“I’ll believe that,” he said, eyes alight. “Alright, enough teasing, then. What are you looking for? Besides the Cheval, obviously,” he added, winking. 

She debated ordering three cases of Nickel and Nickel just to wipe the smirk off his face. However, she quickly decided it was an exercise in futility; he’d know why she was doing it, and the Cheval really was too divine to pass up.

“Yes, you insufferable bastard, I will have a case of the Cheval.” When he grinned in reply, she added, “And a bottle of Ferreira Garrafeira.”

He gave a low whistle. 

“That’s expensive stuff. And I thought you said you didn’t like Old World wine?”

“It’s not for me; it’s for Tomás.”

She could decide if she felt pleased or guilty when his smile slipped a fraction before recovering, too bright to be wholly genuine.

“Ah. the famed boyfriend, I presume. He’s certainly got...interesting taste.”

When she bristled, he went on hurriedly.

“In wine! Obviously his taste in women is...” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish laugh. 

“Yes?” She said archly, not wanting to admit how much the comment had stung.

With sisters like Elain and Feyre, Nesta was used to being dismissed as the frigid, uptight sister. It didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

However, Cash wasn’t looking at her in that way men often did, as if she were some poisonous insect he was afraid might sting him. His expression softened.

“Impeccable,” he finished, and it was so unexpected she flushed. 

He cleared his throat before going to the computer behind the bar to consult the shop’s inventory.

“We don’t have the Garrafeira in right now, but I can order it for you. The Cheval is in the back.”

“Don’t worry about the port,” she said, regretting the outburst now. “He’ll—live.”

Cash turned, brows furrowed. 

“Are you sure? I can—“

“It’s fine,” Nesta repeated. “Thank you.”

Cash nodded and disappeared into the back before reappearing with a wooden crate a minute later. The strain of holding it was doing glorious things for his arms, and she cleared her throat.

“Thank you,” she said, making a great show digging in her bag for her wallet to avoid looking at him again. 

“Where are you parked? I don’t want you snapping your neck walking on those pencils you’re calling shoes.”

She pursed her lips.

“You’re hilarious. How much do I owe you?”

However, he was halfway to the door already.

“I have a friend who distributes for Cheval. This one’s on me.”

“No!” She called, following after him. “Cassian, come back! I don’t need your charity!”

Cash turned to smirk at her over his shoulder.

“With that handbag? I’d say not. Besides, this isn’t charity. It’s...an investment.”

She scowled at this, and he gave an exasperated laugh.

“Don’t get thorny on me, Archeron. I just meant—“ he broke off, laughing again. “Think of it as a perk for being a regular. Buy ten cases, get one free.”

“This isn’t Jamba Juice,” she said, deadpan. “And I don’t like owing people.”

“Look,” he said. “I wasn’t lying about my friend being a distributor. It’s not going to cost the shop anything. Now, where is your car? I think my arms are going numb.”

She bit her lip, debating what this might end up costing her. She didn’t believe in “free”, and she didn’t like feeling like she owed someone; she’d had enough of that from people when she’d been taking care of her sisters after their parents died. 

Then again, she’d made it clear that she wasn’t interested in him...like that, and she’d certainly bought her fair share of wine here over the last few years...

“Fine,” she said, gesturing to her Land Rover. “But take this, at least.”

She pulled out a fifty from her wallet, and Cash rolled his eyes.

“I’m not the pizza delivery boy; I don’t want a tip. Just, promise not to call me Cassian again. That’s all the payment I require.”

She didn’t move, the bill still outstretched. He heaved the crate into her open trunk before shutting it.

“I swear to god, woman, put that away before I shred it to ticker tape. I don’t need your charity, either.”

She relented with a huff, and he laughed. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

“I should be the one thanking you,” she admitted, and he smiled, leaning against her car.

“No one is stopping you.”

She grit her teeth, irritated and flustered in equal measure.

“Thank you,” she finally managed. “For the wine.”

“‘And for blowing my mind’,” he prompted, and she flipped him a foul hand gesture, civility forgotten.

“If you think that’s all it takes to blow my mind, you have a lot to learn about women.”

He bit his lip, eyes full of amusement as he peeled himself off the car.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” he said, flashing her a quick wink. “Until next time, then, Nesta Archeron.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but for once words failed her. She instead stood, gaping like a landlocked fish as he sauntered around her and back into the shop.

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

Cash was distracted for hours after Nesta Archeron left. Even as he met with reps and worked on organizing his uncle Devlon’s pathetically arcane inventory system, he found his eyes kept wandering to the door, as if she might come sauntering back in. Damnit, why hadn’t he told her the Cheval was out of stock? Then at least he would have had a guarantee of seeing her again. Depending on her drinking habits, it could be months before she came in again. Fuck, he was so stupid.

Not that it mattered, really. How many times had she managed to force her boyfriend into the equation? Twice? Three times? Definitely enough that he knew he should get the message. And he understood; he really did. Like all guys his age, he’d been raised on a steady diet of “if she’s not interested, try harder”. It hadn’t been until he’d gotten into his twenties that he’d realized how fucked up that was. When women said no, men needed to respect that and not keep pushing.

The problem was that despite all the clumsy mentions of her boyfriend, she’d still stayed when she easily could have left. Besides, if she thought he hadn’t seen her checking him out, she was insane. Not that he blamed her, obviously. If he was a woman, he’d want to fuck him, too. 

Before he could catch himself, his lizard brain was imagining what being in bed with her would be like. His pulse thrummed. It wasn’t so much the idea of sleeping with her as it was imagining what a courtship like that would be like. She was definitely hot, but her body had nothing on that gorgeous brain. It was clear she was a woman of supreme intellect; he’d have to seduce her mind if he ever wanted to earn something physical. 

It was the kind of intellectual challenge he craved, and one he hadn’t had in ages before she’d come in. He wanted someone who could dish it back, and Nesta Archeron clearly knew how to give as good as she got.

His phone rang, and he glanced at the caller id before huffing and picking it up.

“If you’re calling to ask if the shop has burned down yet, the answer is no.”

His uncle Devlon laughed.

“That place is the closest thing I’ll ever have to a wife; I just want to make sure you’re treating her right.”

“I’ll show her a good time while you’re away,” Cash promised, pouring himself a glass of a new Rioja the rep had dropped off that afternoon. 

“Don’t make sex jokes about my baby,” Dev said. “And stop drinking my merchandise!”

“I’m not!” Cash said, setting down his glass. “Relax, old man. And is Merchant your wife or your baby? You should probably decide; you’ll freak people out if you keep using them interchangeably.”

“Very funny, wise ass. How’s it being back?”

“This place hasn’t changed a bit in ten years,” Cash said, looking around appreciatively. “But you need to get a decent table in here so you can host tasting. Why didn’t you call my friend Az like I told you to? He does gorgeous work.” 

“You must think I’m a lot richer than I am,” Dev said. “I’ve seen his designs; you think I can afford a ten thousand dollar table?”

Cash rolled his eyes.

“He said he’d do it at cost. Why are you being so stubborn?”

“I’m not going to prey on your fancy friends. Tell him thank you but I can’t swing it.”

“Fine.”

Dev sighed.

“Why do I feel like you’re just going to do it anyway?”

“Because I’m as stubborn as you. How’s Koro?”

“Not a spry as she used to be, but she’s managing just fine. She wants to know when her favorite grandson is coming back. She says the Ritz on Maui is looking for a sommelier.”

“Tell her my days of working for rich white assholes is behind me,” Cash said.

Dev considered.

“You could open your winery here, you know. Volcanic wine is popular with the haoles.”

“Didn’t I just say I was done with rich white assholes?”

“Fine, fine.”

There was a pause in which Cash weighed his options before he added in what he hoped was a casual tone, “If I said the name Nesta Archeron, would that mean anything to you?”

“The lawyer? Sure. She comes in about twice a month. Nice girl, once you get past her prickly side. Why?”

Cash swirled his wine.

“Just wondering. She came in today.”

Dev gave a gravelly laugh.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree. She’s got a boyfriend.”

“So I’ve been warned. Have you met him?”

“She’s brought him in once or twice. Portuguese dude.”

“Nice?”

“Not particularly. He’s very possessive of her. Really rubbed me the wrong way.”

Cash felt a prickle of irritation himself. What was a brilliant, fiery woman like Nesta Archeron doing with a controlling prick for a boyfriend? She should be with someone who respected that sharp tongue, someone who could—

“Don’t even think about it, Cash. She’s one of my favorite customers. I don’t want you to scare her off with your panting.”

“I don’t ‘pant’. Also, can you blame me? Man, those legs, and her eyes—“

“I mean it,” Dev interrupted, voice firmer this time. “If she brought up her boyfriend, it means she wants you to fuck off.”

“I’m not going to bother her. I was just....curious.”

“Well don’t be. That creepy boyfriend will nail your balls to the wall if he finds out you’re trying to move in on her.”

“I respect her choices, but I don’t give a shit about him. He can suck my co—“

“I think you’d better accept that no one in that relationship wants your tiny pecker.”

“Tell that to the way she was looking at  me today.”

“Just because you’ve got a cute ass doesn’t mean she likes you.”

Cash groaned.

“Fine, forget I said anything.”

Dev chuckled.

“Don’t be sulky. I’m sure there’s plenty of women in the Bay Area that would be happy to take her place.”

He was right, but somehow it didn’t make Cash feel any better. There was no shortage of beautiful women in San Francisco, but none of them interested him quite the way she had. There’d been no denying the wrenching disappointment when he’d realized she wasn’t single. Then again, had he really expected someone like her to be? And she was lawyer to boot. He gave a huff of amused appreciation. He should have known.

“Right,” Dev said, interrupting his reverie. “Well I just wanted to check in, sounds like everything is fine there. I will tell Koro you said hi. Remember, I’m charging you for any of my wine you drink.”

Cash snorted.

“You’re getting a level three somm for free. I’ll drink all the wine I want.”

“Fair enough. Take care of yourself, pōtiki. And no more hitting on my customers!”

“I wasn’t—“ Cash began, but the line clicked off, and he swore, even has he caught himself laughing a little.

He’d been second-guessing the decision to come back from London since he’d arrived two weeks ago. Today, for the first time, he felt he was exactly where he was meant to be. 

He’d thought he might owe Nesta Archeron another case of wine for that, boyfriend or no. He just hoped she wouldn’t make him wait too long for the opportunity. 

                                                                                               Next Chapter

taggings some interested parties!: @katexrenee @mariamuses @theovogkaaunt @bookofmaas @goldbooksblack @dreamerforever-5 @willsrune @rhysanoodle @queen-of-wings-and-fire @wesupremeginger

[pancake-man]

i’m already cursed

This is my Pinescone Secret Santa for Pamela @ladynightmare12 ! She gave me the prompt Fairytale and I instantly knew what to do. I’ve been wanting to write something for this song for so long! Thanks so much, I hope you enjoy it!

Here it is on Ao3!

Story below the readmore!

Lyrics and Inspiration: Fairytale by Alexander Rybak

Years ago, when I was younger,

I kinda liked a girl I knew.

She was mine, and we were sweethearts.

That was then, but then it's true.

Two children, hair wild around their heads like messy halos, dirt clinging to the edges of their clothes and mud stuck between their toes. Smiles on their faces growing as wide as their eyes at each new thing. A stick bug looking for food. A deer stepping lightly through a forest. The call of a bird, shrill and loud above the gentle sounds of the forest.

Dipper’s cap is long forgotten. He doesn’t need to hide, not out here. His birthmark is clearly visible, freckles in an odd pattern, connected by a shaky line of pen. Wirt says he looks cool.

And Wirt, forever cold, even with the warm sun beating down on their backs, closed up in his cape. The ends are frayed and covered in burs, but the blue stands out brilliantly against all the green. Dipper doesn’t ask. It’s not important.

It’s a summer of laughter and running wildly through the woods, shouting Catch me, catch me! And hiding in thickets. Neither of them wants to leave.

But growing up is impossible to avoid, and both have their responsibilities. Dipper packs up his gap-toothed grin and Wirt abandons his dissonant laughter. The wind is ready for winter, and they say see you later!  instead of goodbye. 

I'm in love with a fairytale

Even though it hurts.

'Cause I don't care if I lose my mind.

I'm already cursed.

Sometimes Wirt is there. Sometimes he isn’t. Dipper is thirteen, his voice hoarse from changing hormones and from screaming into the silence hoping for some kind of response. He thinks he sees blue through the leaves, but it’s the sky, and he wants to give up.

A childhood of silly games and happy giggles is a fading memory. Dipper wonders if he dreamed it. 

The awkward smile seems like a curse, haunting him at the back of his mind when he wonders what he did wrong.

Dipper has never been one for sitting around doing nothing, so instead he does something. He picks himself up and starts writing. He documents the way the temperature seems to drop around certain parts of the wood. He illustrates in rapidly-improving style the odd twists of the trees. He finds the money for a library computer pass and does whatever research he can. Maybe he doesn’t have time for anything else. He knows it’s worth it.

Every day we started fighting,

Every night we fell in love.

No one else could make me sadder,

But no one else could lift me high above.

Dipper is fifteen. Two years of research have given him a book of matches and bags beneath his eyes. The forest seems colder than he remembers when he steps into it for the first time this summer. Nine months of seasons and he still knows where each root and rock is, carefully making his way to the center even when he can’t see his feet.

The match casts shadows over the trees around him, turning the knotted wood into pained, twisted bodies, calling out for his help. Dipper isn’t there for them.

He steps closer to Wirt’s favorite tree, a towering mess of tangled limbs and leaves. The blaze of the match is nothing compared to the blaze of his eyes. 

“Please,” comes the voice from behind him. Dipper spins around, his match extinguishing. In the shadows he can only make out the vague shape of a cloak. “Don’t do this,” the voice whispers.

“Why not?” Dipper asks, arms crossed because even if he can’t see Wirt, he knows Wirt can see him, and it’s important that Wirt know how pissed he is. 

There’s a pause. “You know what I am, then?”

“I have an idea,” Dipper says, and it’s so hard to keep malice in his tone when Wirt sounds like that. 

Wirt sighs and his shadow melts a bit. “I’m sorry, I couldn't-”

“Sorry?” Dipper interrupts. He actually wasn’t expecting an apology. “You abandoned me. You lied to me!”

“Lied? I never-”

“‘See you later’, that’s what you said. It’s later, Wirt! And I can’t even see you!” Wirt’s outline shrinks a bit. “I want more than ‘I’m sorry’, now. I want an explanation.”

The silence of the forest becomes deafening for a long moment. Dipper has to cover his ears, and then Wirt is speaking again. “Come again tomorrow, in the day. I’ll… explain what I can.”

“No,” Dipper pulls his hands from his ears. “Everything.”

“...Right. Everything.”

I don't know what I was doing

When suddenly we fell apart.

Nowadays I cannot find her,

But when I do, we'll get a brand new start.

Wirt isn’t there the next day. Or the next. Dipper’s research stagnates, and then one of his journals is lost when a leak in the ceiling soaks the pages beyond legibility. He’s seventeen and walking through the forest when he should be somewhere, anywhere else. He’s given up on seeing Wirt, but something about the air still calms him the way Wirt’s smile always did.

Dipper is eighteen, nineteen, twenty. Every summer he still goes back to the forest. He talks out loud to the rabbits, the raccoons, the birds. He tells them about his life, how he’s doing, asks if they could please let Wirt know he’s okay. Dipper is studying mythology now. He wants to be a researcher. The things he found on his hunt for Wirt lit something within him, and he regrew his passion into something more… productive. Dipper sits on a log, his head in his hands.

“Please, Wirt, I don’t…” Maybe he’s finally going crazy, talking to open air like this. “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand, but I want to. I miss you. Wirt..” 

Dipper imagines the hand on his shoulder, and dreams the cold comfort he gets from it.

I'm in love with a fairytale

Even though it hurts.

'Cause I don't care if I lose my mind.

I'm already cursed.

The forest is no place for a home, not for him. Not for someone whose clothes and hair and mannerisms are all manufactured, manmade, fake. But Dipper stays close, his useless degree at least getting him a job as a forester. He clears fallen trees, checks on the wildlife, chases away hunters(not that the forest needed any help with the last one) and more than anything, he talks to Wirt.

Occasionally Dipper needs extra cash, and he’ll venture into town for odd jobs. The people trust him with their work and nothing else. The crazy man who talks to the trees he lives with. Dipper is fine with that reputation. 

And with time, he’s happy. The forest is calming and protective of him. People are difficult and scary. More and more of his home leaves the grid, until he’s surviving on rainwater and old logs for firewood. He knows Wirt keeps him safe. Wirt is the one who leads him home when the skies darken, or to bushes full of berries when he’s hungry. Maybe he can’t see Wirt, but he’s there, in the trees and in Dipper’s heart.

She's a fairytale, yeah.

Even though it hurts.

'Cause I don't care if I lose my mind.

I'm already cursed.

Dipper hardly notices as he becomes more and more a part of the forest. Leaves in his bed in the morning likely blew through the cracked ceiling, or twigs caught in his hair are from midnight walks through the wood. 

His face sags with content wrinkles and his hands grow knobby. Checking on the trees becomes painful as his joints creak and scream. He fashions a cane from a branch left on his doorstep. Pamphlets advertising retirement are promptly burned. Dipper is old, and in love, and happy.

Soon it isn’t skinned rabbits or firewood on his doorstep. It’s Wirt, his age indeterminate. He’s older than Dipper remembers, though he has the body of a young twenty-something. The only tell of his true age are the bags hanging heavy beneath his eyes.

“You came back,” Dipper says.

“I said I would,” Wirt replies.

“It’s time then?”

Wirt nods. “Is there anything you’d like to say goodbye to?”

Dipper looks about at his home, a rundown cabin on the brink of collapse, nestled on the edge of the forest he loves so much. “No.”

Wirt hums, sways awkwardly. “Are you ready?”

Dipper smiles, and seeing this Wirt relaxes. He smiles back.

Two men, boys, friends, lovers, soulmates meet in an embrace as warm as the sun and strong as the trees. Years of waiting, loving, proving themselves worthy. 

The townsfolk tell stories of the crazy old man who protected the forest. He talked to the trees, they say, and one day he disappeared. His body was never found. The people know the rules: Never enter the forest alone. Never hurt a living being within the forest. Never disrespect the trees. 

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“My Oasis of Normality” [4]

Continue EVANGELINE GREEN: THE ETERNAL HORIZON on your favorite reading platforms!  Tumblr   AO3   Wattpad

I sat cross-legged, staring at the phone in my lap. I was flipping through photos. There were a lot of pictures of this man with a gotye making funny faces. Some of him with a strawberry-blonde woman. Strawberries. She looked familiar.

I focused on her face. High cheekbones, gray eyes. Freckles dotted her nose like the sun glittering on ocean waves. She almost looked fragile, but I knew she wasn’t.

I traced the thin lines that made up her face with my eyes. Pepper.

—AVENGERS TOWER, 2015—

I stood there for a minute, wringing my hands as I scrutinized the dining table. I made lasagna—one of my aunt’s favorites. Not a strawberry was in sight. I was wearing my huge-lensed glasses instead of contacts in a poor attempt to look more like a trusted, responsible individual.

“Clint, I know you’re hiding coffee from starbucks underneath your chair.” I said as I straightened the tablecloth for the tenth time.

“Says the person who eats Nutella out of the container with a spoon. If I want to succumb to addiction, it's my choice, it's a free country.” Clint countered, hiding underneath the table for another sip. The rest of the Avengers sat around the dining room, giving me curious looks.

“As long as there’s no sugar or cream,” Steve shot Clint a stern look across the candlelit table.

Clint scoffed, “No. I refuse to live on Steve’s Styrofoam Diet.”

“Clint, we’re more active than other people. We need to fuel our bodies in accordance with that,” Steve replied.

“You mean you guys do. I just sit there, look pretty, and shoot stuff.”

Tony gasped. “Hey, you can't steal my job title. I did a lot of facial masks to get where I am today.”

I heard heels clicking and knew it was time. I inhaled sharply, steeling myself, and turned to face her. “Hi, Aunt Ginnie.”

My aunt smiled. Her name was Pepper Potts, but I liked to call her my Oasis of Normality. She was like one of those relatives that you always heard breathtaking stories about, and when you finally saw her, she was just...normal. Just an ordinary human being. That’s what I liked about her. Even in a world of spidermen and earth-walking gods, my Aunt Pepper could recall the stock market and talk about what a great deal she scored on her high heels. I loved her.

“Oh sweetie, look at you. How are you almost twenty, you still look like you’re sixteen,” Pepper kissed me on the cheek. So much for the facade of a grown adult. I guided her to the head of the table and ignored Nat’s arched eyebrow as I took my seat beside Thor.

“Pepper is right; you look lovely tonight, Angeline, and every other night,” Thor said. I felt my cheeks bloom into the color of my blouse. I couldn't let that fuzzy feeling take over and become lightheaded. Now was not the night to get distracted: I was on a mission.

Pepper looked over at Tony. He swallowed, “Uh...you look great, muffin top.”

“Put lasagna in your mouth and hush.”

“Am I allowed to make a Garfield joke—?”

“Don't.”

“Yes, dear.”

Things were still icy between them—more than usual, anyway—after Sokovia. Sokovia. My fingers tightened around my fork. Tonight wouldn't be easy.

I sat through the meal, listening politely as Rhodey told scary Tony stories (he used to tell war stories, but he learned that Tony tales were much more appealing to his audience). Wanda gushed over paintings she saw at a museum today that she had dragged Vision to see, and Steve questioned me a little too much about the ingredients I used to make everything. Finally desert came, and I set out a few tubs of ice cream, sauces, and nutella.

“Oh, great. It's Steve’s styrofoam ice cream,” Sam glared at the labels advertising low sugar.

Clint stealthily poured some of his coffee into his bowl, topped it off with some whipped cream, and started to sip. He shrugged and set it down. “So what’s the occasion, Angel Angie? Some ulterior motive...wait, this isn't an intervention, is it?”

I gave Clint a dubious look as he hugged the bowl to his chest. “No, but I’ll add that to the list. I just wanted to do something nice for everyone…”

“Aww, that’s sweet of you.”

“...And to let everyone know about the trip I'm taking.”

Wanda watched me curiously. Her face was small and sad-looking, permanently solemned with knowledge of every mind in the room. She already knew about my plan. I thanked her in my thoughts for letting me be the one to bring it to light.

Pepper licked her lips. “What trip? I don't remember you telling me about a trip.”

“I made the reservations recently,” I said. “I want to do some traveling, see Rome, Paris, Egypt…”

“You want to go backpacking through Europe?” Rhodey gave me a doubtful look.

“Sort of,” I started.

Pepper was already shaking her head back and forth, strawberry blonde strands falling across the shoulderpads of her white blazer. “Bad idea. Bad idea, honey. After Sokovia, just...the press are pariahs right now—”

“You’re right. They are pariahs, they always are.” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “But I think it might be good for me. Things aren't going to get easier with Sokovia. I have a degree in political science, and lots of connections with business owners I used to work for. I may have to make some future public appearances, and it may help our case if I look...more cultured.”

“That's...actually not a bad idea.” Natasha peered at me over the rim of her wine glass. “We need all the help we can get with our appearance.”

“Yes, it sounds like a worthy inclusion,” Thor’s voice boomed loudly beside me. “I've spent years protecting Earth, and yet I've hardly had the pleasure to appreciate its kingdoms.”

I pressed my lips together. The words came out on instinct, “Would you like to come with me?”  

I could feel my heartbeat, everywhere, to the very tips of my fingers. Thor’s prominent blue eyes studied me carefully.

I’d lived under Pepper’s roof for awhile now, conducting myself in a polite, reserved manner that was necessary for the world of politics and press and companies and business. I lived in a world of uniform. But there were times when I wanted excitement, exotic, and new. I wanted Thor too, but I wondered if I was asking for too much.

“I would love to,” Thor said. For once his voice wasn't loud: his words were only for my ears. “It would be an honor, Evangeline.”

I smiled. Just the picture in my mind, on some foreign island away from responsibility, alone with Thor...we were close, always had been, but this was my chance. To shed the uniform. To try something exciting, exotic, and new.

Tony’s voice tore my gaze away from Thor’s face. “Cough cough, god of fertility, cough, use protection, cough.”

I could hear my aunt suck in air. I looked back at her and pushed my glasses higher up my nose. “It's strictly professional. I'm over eighteen, I'm legally allowed to go wherever I want.”

“No harm will come to Evangeline under my watch, Ms. Potts,” Thor replied and placed a hand on my arm. My aunt’s eyes bugged out at the gesture. I tried hard not to let my face bleed as bright as Tony’s suit.

“Fine. You’re an adult, and I'm not your mother,” Pepper covered her face with her hands and sighed. She opened her arms and drew me in for an unexpected embrace. “Just...just please be careful. Use your common sense, be rational, and responsible...and for the sake of God sleep in separate hotel rooms.”

—*—

“Hey—oh. Yo,” The metal door slid open to the room Mantis and I shared. Quill’s eyes flit up to my spot, sitting on the ceiling. My hair was dangling down—it only glowed in the dark, and shined dully in the dim lights of the ship.

“Hi. Apparently I can do this now…” I glanced down at the ceiling that I sat on. “You should get in on this, it's great for your back.”

Quill shrugged off the surprise. I watched him carefully, wondering if this was the moment where he would casually ask me to leave his ship.

“So you’re still bunking with us dwarves, Snow White?” He said.

My eyebrows creased. When I tilted my head to the side, I felt the weight of my hair shift. “I thought you would want me to leave...after that voicemail.”

“Pfft, don't be so hard on yourself. Rocket keeps a bomb in a box.” Quill remarked, leaning on the doorframe. “Besides, I'm pretty sure everyone on this ship has killed somebody. You’re not the odd man out.”

The crease in my eyebrows grew deeper. Peter misread it, “Unless you wanted to leave. I mean...it is your old life, if that's what you want…”

Peter watched with awe as I positioned myself sideways and glided back down to the floor. I held out my hand, and my phone fell at a slowed pace into my palm.

“Well...I was thinking. Trying to be rational about all of this…” I said, starting to gesture with my hands as I explained. “I think I should stay with you guys until I sort out my head a little bit. I don't know who those people are or what happened to me, and maybe it would be better if I figured it out for myself instead of being told the details.”

Quill digested my words, then nodded along. “Yeah. ‘Think that’s smart. Don't wanna end up like that movie Overboard, with Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell.”

“Kurt Russell?”

“Yeah. Good-lookin’, great hair. He was one of my idols growing up.”

“Huh.” The reference went completely over my memory-deprived head, but I nodded along anyway. I was too excited: in a matter of days I’d gone from the most lost person to a tourist of the galaxy. I was almost bouncing from the rush.

“Thank you so much for letting me stay,” I curled my hands beneath my chin. “This is like a Doctor Who episode...I forget what that is, but I'm still excited.”

“See? Nobody gets my references either! This is gonna be so cool!”

“Yay! Bring on the cool space stuff!”

“Yay!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Anyone else have that one relative with the styrofoam diet, and forget the taste of real food unless they go out to eat? No? Just me?

Clint: And Steve ;-;

Bucky: There's a reason I was driven to plums.

Tony: There's a reason I now hide blueberries in the furniture. Just don't check the potted plants—

Scott: Oh, you mean that hidden stash of Toffifay? Yeah, man...somebody took that...

Thor: Oh, this reminds me of a story! There was this one time where I went over to pick up Nutella, because I like Nutella, and then—

Everyone else: "My brother Loki transformed back into himself and said 'mmblerg, it's me.' And then he stabbed me."

Bucky: How many of your childhood stories end like that, man?

T'Challa: All of mine end with being peddled by cucumbers.

Tony: Are we all skating around the fact that Scott ate my entire stash of Toffifay?

Thor: He is a fiend.

Author: Dammit, now I'm famished. See you in the next chapter, love, fortune and glory to you, Awesome Adventurers!!