#seated image. glass open shelving

[lucianaurtiga]

Single Wall - Traditional Home Bar

[ddejavvu]

Can i request a hot interrogator but w spencer😭😭and he recognizes her symptoms of attraction and theyre both just so awkward and derek or someone else has to come in and save him

i deviated from your plotline just a teensy tiny bit and it's not as focused on how they both can read her but it is mentioned! i hope that's alright <3 also i did tag this with morgan's name because towards the end he's teasing her just as much and i'd fall to my knees for him in an instant so i think that's fair

--

You give yourself away immediately with your reaction to seeing Spencer walk in. You don't know it, but the doctor has been watching your demeanor for five minutes on the other side of the glass, and only when your eyes met his own did you become tense.

Before you'd been almost bored, but not in the overconfident way that criminals often are. You were more restlessly bored, drumming your fingers on the table and peering intently at the graffiti etched into the metal surface.

When he steps inside you straighten to greet him, but words fail you as your throat runs dry. The most handsome man you've ever seen, something straight out of a romance novel steps into the room, and something thuds to the pit of your stomach.

You're not guilty but you feel it, you feel like a criminal under his scrutinizing gaze.

"Hello, Y/N," He offers, smiling measuredly at you, "I'm Doctor Spencer Reid, I'm here to question you on what you might have witnessed earlier."

You'd been in a gas station during an armed robbery. The robber hadn't shot you, but that was only for time's sake, as putting a bullet through your chest would have taken away valuable seconds that he chose instead to use rushing out the back door and away from the sirens out front.

You'd been at the business end of a gun, but still you're more panicked now, hands lowering themselves into your lap when they show signs of trembling.

"Can you remember what the shooter looked like?" He asks.

Brown hair.

"He had brown hair," You speak for the first time since the agent's entry.

No he didn't.

He had blonde hair. The man in front of you has brown hair, tucked behind his ears endearingly.

"Or- uh, blonde. He was blonde."

"Blonde hair," He nods encouragingly, his lips a warm pinkish shade as he sits down across from you, "That's good. Do you remember how tall he was?"

Spencer is tall. He's tall even when seated, like he is now, his stature surely intimidating when compared to your own, and you blink the thought away, trying to recall where on the shelf beside him the man's shoulder had come up to.

"He was a little taller than the shelves," You recall, keeping your eyes on a rather crude word etched into the metal tabletop to keep yourself from ogling Dr. Reid, "Maybe 6'1."

"Alright, good." Spencer praises, and you feel your limbs actually melting, surely mush by now. He hesitates, placing his hands atop the cool desktop, "Y/N, I'd like to do a cognitive interview with you."

You wait for further explanation, but when it comes, you guiltily wish you had been killed earlier. Because if you were dead Doctor Spencer Reid wouldn't take your hands in his own, and tell you to close your eyes in a smooth, low voice.

"I want you to put yourself back there," He prompts, squeezing your hands gently, "But I'm right here. I know you must have been scared in the moment, but I need you to help us with this, and try to remember what his face looked like. Can you do that?"

You can't muster words, but you nod, and evidently Spencer's eyes are open to catch it. He squeezes your hands again, "Alright. You're standing in the gas station. You're getting breakfast before work. You hear shouting, then a gunshot. Where do you look?"

You look at the backs of your eyelids, desperately willing away the mental image of Spencer Reid's face.

"What do you do?"

You pray that he's not a mind-reader, that he can't hear the words 'adorable' and 'terrifying' and 'perfect' all at once.

"Y/N," He prompts, after a moment of your silence, "What do you do?"

"I can't-" Your eyes snap open, and you wrench your hands out of his grasp, "I'm- I'm sorry, I can't do this."

Spencer's hands come out to hover in front of him, a placating gesture but one that doesn't work.

"Okay, that's alright. But please- sit down," He watches warily as you stand, heading for the door like you're exiting a cafe and not a secure government facility, "Y/N, I need to ask you a few more questions-"

"Woah there," The door opens before you can reach it, but the man that shoulders his way through shows no sign of letting you out. He's tall, darker-skinned than Spencer, and broad chested, something you really don't need to think about after the hand-holding fiasco.

"We can't let you leave just yet," The man smiles sympathetically, and his hand comes to rest oh-so-naturally on your bicep as he turns you back towards the table, "I know you're freaking out; anyone would after looking into the barrel of a gun. But you're safe now, okay? And we need your help to keep other people safe. So let's sit down," The man guides you back into your chair, and you think you might have dropped straight to your knees if he'd asked you to. He keeps his large hands firmly, warmly on your shoulders, and as Spencer takes your hands in his again he squeezes them.

"Alright Pretty Boy," The man behind you speaks, and you swear you can hear a glimmer of amusement in his voice despite not being able to see his face, "On with the interview. Don't worry Y/N, we'll do this together."

[dbmars]

NOW ON A03...

The H-Files, Episode 1 Part 1

Relive everything you loved about the pilot of the X-Files but better now that it's Hannibal as Scully and Will as Mulder... "Spooky Graham"...!

The aliens may be responsible for Will's empathy powers, and Mischa was abducted...

If I get a decent response/support I'll finish the episode and maybe write some more!

No time like the present. I make my way back through the violent crime section, and downstairs, revisiting the secretary. She directs me to an elevator that sinks me down to the first sub-basement level. The doors open and I move through the cinder block hallway that smells of industrial floor cleaner and wet ceiling tiles. At the end of the hallway, past shelves of case file boxes, is an office door cracked open. The placard reads GRAHAM. I can hear shuffling within, the movement of a chair. My nose wrinkles against cheap aftershave and stale coffee.

        I knock. I knock again. “Sorry, nobody down here but the FBI’s most unwanted,” comes a wry voice. 

        I push the door open, revealing a small, windowless room packed with filing cabinets and shelves of still more files and paperwork. Despite what must be the vast amount of material crammed into the space, it is remarkably tidy, stacks neatly organized, lines clean. The bulletin board above the desk, however, is a mess of photos and handwritten notes. My eye is immediately drawn to a large poster of a science-fiction style flying disc, emblazoned with the phrase “I WANT TO BELIEVE.” 

        They don’t look like inverted bowls. More like saucers, thin and fragile, somehow meant to support an even more fragile teacup. 

        Against my will, my mind shows me the images that have haunted me most of my life – my mother’s teacup shattering against the floor, the white light filling every window of our hunting lodge, my sister’s screams, the whining, mechanical hum of the silver beast that descended from the heavens. My mother’s terrified shrieking as I raced out to save my sister, only to be rendered weightless, floating in searing blindness, and borne away. 

        I slam that door in the memory palace and attach another lock to it. They seem to rust and break at the most inopportune times.

         Agent Will Graham is bent over a light box, examining a series of slides. He, too, seems to forego the typical FBI uniform of dark suits and white shirts with uninteresting ties. He looks more like a rumpled professor or domesticated outdoorsman in brown pants and a green collared shirt that could just as easily be worn for yard work. His hair is curly, untidy in places, and he wears a layer of scattered stubble. When he turns to me, Will Graham lowers his tortoiseshell glasses down from his head. Fascinating. Nearsighted? 

        I give him my best introduction smile, oozing friendliness and ease. “Agent Graham. My name is Hannibal Lecter.” I approach and offer a hand. He shakes it very briefly, and a shadow flickers over his expression as I hold on just a little too long for his comfort. “I’ve been assigned to work with you.” 

         He glances at my eyes for a fraction of a second before turning his head, putting the frames of his glasses between us as a barrier. “Nice to, ah, suddenly be so highly regarded,” he says, all barbed irony. Rude. He turns in his seat and fiddles with the slides, deliberately disengaging. Ruder still. “So, who’d you piss off to get stuck with this detail, Lecter?” 

    He knows full well why I am here, it seems. Rather, why I’ve been sent. But they could have sent anyone. I was not chosen at random. There are multiple chess pieces moving at the same time on a three-dimensional board, and I have control of the queens. I am here because I seek truth. Because I cannot trust my memories – they might be nothing but a traumatized child’s nightmares, a wounded brain trying to explain what happened the night the world went away. Will Graham may very well be the lantern to light my way.

         “As it happens, I’ve heard a lot about you,” I say pleasantly as he gets up from his desk chair and opens a tidy file cabinet drawer, thumbing through the immaculate plastic tabs. I wonder if his drawers at home are kept just as meticulously. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

         “Really? I was, ah, under the impression you were sent here… to spy on me.” He opens the file and glances through a few typewritten pages before returning it to its proper place. I let my eyes wander over him as he stands in profile. I’d jump at the chance to spy on him. Voyeurism is one of my favorite parts of my process - to see without being seen. To stalk. I imagine him moving through his assuredly modest home, stretching, scratching his head, sleepy. Ready for bed in, oh, a pair of dull boxer shorts. I think of him illuminated by the light of his refrigerator as he searches for a little something before bed, uplit by its unholy glow as I watch him through the window.

            Interesting. My body is responding sexually to the image. I wipe it away as though I’d drawn it in steam on a mirror. “Agent Graham, if you have any doubts about my credentials or qualifications-”

            “-you’re a medical doctor and you’re teaching at the academy.” He interrupts me. Rude. Instead of imagining my knife piercing his skin, I picture him on his knees, waiting to make it up to me. Again, I force the image to dissolve. “You did your undergraduate degree in physics, while, ah, concurrently double majoring in psychology and art history with a focus on Renaissance Italy.” He selects another file from the cabinet and slides the drawer shut. “I dunno about your artsy stuff, but your senior thesis was ‘Einstein’s Twin Paradox: A New Interpretation’. Now, there’s a credential: rewriting Einstein.” 

            I successfully mask my surprise that he’s so familiar with my work. “Did you happen to read it?”

            He returns to his desk chair and compares something in the file to a slide. I glance over at his computer screen as he bends over to retrieve a dropped report from the file. I make out the words force, abduction, and light before he rights himself. “Yeah. I liked it,” he says, still not looking at me directly, the rims of his glasses in the way. “It’s just that in, ah… in my line of work – the laws of physics rarely seem to apply.” He adjusts another slide, then turns on the projector, flashing a washed-out image on the blank bit of cinder block wall kept clear, it seems, for this purpose. He has a curve to his lips on one side that strikes me as impudent. I want to wipe it off his face, one way or another.

            “Not fond of eye contact, are you?” I say, an attempt to derail and destabilize. 

            Now he swivels in his chair and looks directly at me. His eyes are like the ocean between islands in Greece. “Eyes are distracting. You see too much. You don’t see enough. And it’s hard to focus when you’re thinking those whites are really white, or they must have hepatitis, or is that a burst vein?”

            I can’t help but smile, returning his gaze steadily. 

            “So… yeah. I try to avoid eyes whenever possible. It’s even easier in the dark.” Agent Graham steps behind me and switches off the lights. The windowless cell is lit now only by the projected image – a young woman, lifeless on the ground. Ah. I had wondered when we’d discuss murder. While Will Graham is apparently very aware of my career and accomplishments, he doesn’t know of my finest work as the Chesapeake Ripper. Perhaps, someday, he will. 

            Will leans his hips against his desk, crossing his arms over his midsection. It catches the loose fabric of his shirt, drawing it against the bow of his back. Distracted again. I refocus on the image he’s elected to show me. “Maybe you can give your medical opinion, though,” he says. “Oregon female. Age twenty-one. No explainable cause of death. Nothing in the autopsy.” He switches slides, showing me a close-up shot of the young woman’s lower back, marred by two livid red welts. According to the ruler nearby for scale, they are roughly the size of an American dime. “Two distinct marks, however, are found on her lower back. Can you ID these marks… Dr. Lecter?”

            I move closer to the projected image. Despite not liking eye contact, I can feel him watching me. Perhaps he has some voyeuristic tendencies as well. “Needle punctures, perhaps. An animal bite. Electrocution is a possibility.” 

            When he switches slides again, I hide my surprise. It is not the body from another angle, but a diagram showing a chemical compound. 

            “How’s your chemistry? This is the substance found in the surrounding tissue.”

            I study the image, my brain humming steadily. I do love a challenge, and I find them so rarely. “It’s inorganic. Perhaps a synthetic protein.”

            “Hell if I know,” Agent Graham says. 

            “That’s surprising. You must have had your fair share of chemistry studying entomology. Your monograph on determining time of death based on insect activity required a high level of understanding to compose, I’m sure.” 

            “By all means, be sure,” he snarks, but the subtle pink staining his cheekbones tells me he’s pleased I’m familiar with his work as well. “I’ve never seen it, either. But here it’s found again, in Sturgis, South Dakota.” He switches slides, this one depicting a large man in a motorcycle club vest with the same two raised welts on his back. He switches again, showing me another male body with the same marks in the same place, spanning the thoracolumbar fascia and the internal oblique muscles. “And again, in Shamrock, Texas.”

            A true mystery. This is delightful. I haven’t had an afternoon so pleasant since I murdered the man sent to evaluate me by my life insurance agency and stretched his corpse across two rows of bus seats. “Do you have a theory?” 

            “I have, ah… plenty of theories,” he dismisses, joining me in front of the projected image, the dead man’s outline juxtaposed over him, throwing the kind of light that both obscures and reveals. His forehead bears a gentle shimmer of perspiration, and I can smell more of him now, the scent beneath the cheap aftershave – dogs, fresh splits of pine, machine oil, and something sweet I’d need more time and a closer proximity to identify. He doesn’t look at me, turning his head to the side a few degrees to let the slide’s light catch on the lenses of his glasses instead. “What has me stumped is why Bureau policy is to label these cases as unexplained phenomena and ignore them.” 

            I can sense the rumble of anger beneath his sardonic tone, taut with frustration. 

            “So, Dr. Lecter, do you believe in the existence of… extraterrestrials?” He says it with a wry twist that might be a kind of bitter smile. I tilt my head. “As a scientist,” he prompts, leaving me to lean against the edge of his desk again. 

            “Logically, I’d have to say no.” I do strive to tell the truth in my own way. Logically, I shouldn’t. But I am here because I need his help with the illogical – to determine, once and for all, if something happened to me, or I happened. “Given the distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy requirements would exceed–”

            He interrupts, shaking his head. “Conventional wisdom. That girl in Oregon – she’s the fourth member of her graduating class to die under mysterious circumstances. When convention and-and science offer no answers, might we not consider the, ah, the fantastic as a plausibility?” 

            He tested me at first, showing me the chemical compound and the crime scene photos. Now, he wants to make the boundaries clear. Impudent. Wants to get a rise out of me, surely, to define the methods of interaction. 

            My answer is mild, clinical, the kind of voice I’d use if I’d chosen to become a psychiatrist. “The girl is dead. Death occurs for a reason.” Sometimes, I am that reason. “If it was natural causes, then it’s plausible something was missed in the postmortem. If she was murdered, it’s plausible there was a sloppy investigation. What I find fantastic is your willingness to sidestep human error and search for answers beyond the realm of science. The answers are there, I’m sure. You just have to know where to look.” I raise an eyebrow to add in the sentence I won’t let my mouth say. Apparently, you don’t know where to look. Or you want me to think you don’t know where to look. 

            Agent Graham looks at me now, a brief glance up through his side-lit lenses. His left eye is illuminated as well, making it unearthly blue and leaving the other subdued, its subtle green and brown tones shimmering through the dominant color. He smiles, the most genuine expression I’ve seen yet, and I’m momentarily distracted by his beauty. It’s like visiting the Louvre, making one’s way quickly to see a great work before a crowd forms, and catching sight of an exquisite but uncelebrated painting in a forgotten side gallery that makes one lose all sense of purpose, the internal compass spinning and spinning. 

            “And that’s why they put the I in FBI.” He breaks away and sinks back into his desk chair, rolling over to the glowing blue screen of his computer monitor. “See you bright and early then, Dr. Lecter. We leave for the, ah, the very plausible state of Oregon at 8 am.” 

            I can’t help but smile back, a beam of pleasure, as he turns away from me and begins clacking at the keys. “Until then, Will.”

            I’ve taken a risk, demanding a first name basis. He makes no comment, waves a hand over his shoulder.

            I take my leave and hurry home to pack. 

[thewitcheswitch89]

The Witches Image

Papa Emeritus IV- Part 1

Authors Note: its my Fist Ghost fanfic. Please give me construtive criticism.

you can also read it on:

Min Heyoka (@TheWitcheswitch89) - Wattpad

"A warm welcome, sister!". An older woman in her 60s approached me with her arms wide open. I tried to smile, even though I didn't feel like it.

I hadn't actually intended to change convent. However, Abbess Blake had left me no choice. I had been summoned to her office three days ago to tell me that I was in higher vocations and needed more intensive guidance to find my right path. And for that it would be necessary to transfer me. Sister Imperator would be the perfect person for that.

When I asked if it was really necessary and if I could just sign up for more courses, all I got was a blunt "Don't question Lucifer's decisions, my child!". I had barely had time to say goodbye before my bags were packed, the flight booked and I was here. A new member of the unholy church Emeritus. I didn't care what privilege I was given. I would have liked to stay there with my friends, my teachers. But this decision was not given to me.

Nervously, I clenched my fingers in my pocket. Sister Imperator was a slim, good-looking woman. Her blonde hair, streaked with gray, was pinned up in a loose bun. In her black blazer, suit trousers and red pumps, she looked a little intimidating.

"It's great that you're finally here!" she beamed when she reached me. Her voice echoed in the empty crypt. 

"Thank you for letting me be here, sister," I replied. Not convinced of my gratitude. Her eyes briefly scrutinized me from top to bottom with a disparaging look. I immediately became afraid that she had noticed. No matter how hard I tried, you could see everything in my face, like an open book. Her gaze lingered on my Doc Martens, which were long past their prime. I was immediately annoyed that I hadn't worn something more formal. First impressions counted here. Even though I didn't want to be here, I had to accept the idea now. The formal smile that didn't reach her eyes didn't leave her lips as she pierced me with her gaze.

"Abbess Blake didn't promise too much when she recommended you to me," her voice broke the uncomfortable silence. "But let us go to my office, Sister! Surely you don't mind a cup of tea?...Leave your luggage here, one of the ghouls will take care of it!".

She turned on her heel and stomped off down the corridor. As I hurried to keep up with her, I couldn't get her remark out of my head.  ...'Abbess Blake didn't promise too much'...What had she said to her?

She steered purposefully towards a tall double door that led from the entrance hall into a darker and narrower corridor. Fine wood paneling adorned the walls. The floor was covered with dark red carpet. The light refracted through the high stained glass windows, giving the corridor an almost magical feel.

. High wooden doors lined the corridor, golden signs were attached to each one. As I walked past, I caught a glimpse of the names. "Primo", "Secondo", "Terzo", "Papa Emeritus 4" and "Nihil".

"Here we are!" She let me enter first and I was amazed. Her office was huge, a wide fireplace, dark shelves, armchairs upholstered in heavy red velvet, high windows with heavy white curtains draped around them. Paintings of every emeritus on the wall. If it looked so grand here, what did Papa's office look like?

"Have a seat!" She closed the door and went to her desk, which was in the middle of the room. I took a seat opposite her.

"Please bring me tea for two," she said into her phone, hung up and turned to me.

"Welcome again, sister! I hope your journey was pleasant?" She folded her hands on the table with a smile.

"Yes... thank you!" I replied. "Even if everything had to happen pretty quickly!". Sister Imperator nodded sympathetically and furrowed her brow.

"Sometimes there's no other way...you have to act before the child has fallen into the well...Abbess Blake seemed very worried when she contacted me. Concerned for you...and your faith in our unholy church!" She leaned in my direction, sighing. "She told me that she feared that you might leave your path to Lucifer!".

I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. What did that mean? I had done everything that had been asked of me. I had taken part in every mass, every ritual and every festival. Hadn't that been enough? I hadn't refused ... well ... except for one particular thing. But that couldn't be the reason for the transfer...not because I...

At that moment, there was a knock at the door and a sister dressed in the habit of the Order entered, a tray with a teapot and two cups in her hand.

"Your tea, Sister Imperator!" she said and placed the tray on a small table next to the desk.

"Thank you my dear!" Sister Imperator rose to fill the cups with hot tea, while the young woman turned to me, winked with a smile and left the room.

Sister handed me one of the fine porcelain cups and sat down again, sighing. Was she expecting an answer now? I awkwardly put my cup down and cleared my throat to say something, but she beat me to it.

"I offered Abbess Blake to put you back on the right path... The way she raved about your talents, I think you will find your way with us very quickly!". She sipped her tea and continued: "I understand you were active in book illumination and translations of holy scriptures?". Sipping my tea, I looked at her with wide eyes. Should I answer now?

"Yes!" I replied, burning my tongue.

"That's excellent, sister! We've been looking for someone to write down our unholy father's masses for posterity for a long time!" She took an almost exuberant sip of tea. "That will be your task now, my dear!".

"It's a...great honor, Sister Imperator," I grinned. To be honest, I felt a little overwhelmed. After all, it was a big job and a lot could go wrong.

Another knock made me flinch briefly.

"Come in!" she called, still grinning. I took another sip of tea and tried to get used to the idea of my new task.

"Sorry to disturb you, sister! But you wanted to see me?" a male voice with a heavy Italian accent said hesitantly.

"Come in, my dear!" She stood up. I hesitantly put my cup down and stood up.

"I would like to introduce you to our new member... Sister Lia!".

My gaze met his exactly. One green and one white eye. Black make-up adorned his eyes and his upper lip.

"Papa!" I said. The corners of his mouth twisted into a grin. While I couldn't help but stare into his eyes. Minutes seemed to pass, even if it was only a few seconds. I couldn't tear myself away from his gaze. It almost seemed as if his white eyes were shining. The corner of his mouth pulled upwards. He was a head taller than me. His hair was combed back and his hands were in black leather gloves. His black suit was tightly tailored. I blinked and immediately felt ashamed of my stare.

"Benvenuta sorella Lia!" he said, taking my hand and pressing a kiss to the back of my hand. I felt a tingling sensation where his lips had touched my skin. He didn't take his eyes off me during the kiss. The warmth rose in my cheeks.

Fortunately, Sister Imperator interrupted the tension between me and him with her voice. I had a moment to catch my breath as he turned his attention away from me. Sister took a seat behind her desk, grinning broadly, let her eyes dart briefly to me and nodded to Copia, who took a seat next to me.

"Sister Lia... will take care of the transcripts of your masses in future! It's important to record them for posterity so that faith in our unholy church is deepened even more!".

"Meraviglioso!" laughed Copia in Italian. "What an enrichment!". He gave me a look, which I answered with an embarrassed smile. My cheeks were burning. Lucifer ... I had to pull myself together.

"I've long been of the opinion that you need an...assistant! Sister Lia will certainly be able to do some of the work for you. Isn't that right, sister?"

Without stopping it, my features slipped and all I did was stare at her with wide eyes. She was expecting an answer, but I was so caught off guard that I only managed a hesitant "Yes?". Copia next to me cleared his throat, which drew Sister's attention to him.

"Eh...maybe we should give Sister Lia time to arrive first!" he patted my hand and winked at me.

"Yes, of course you're right!" she sighed, before turning back to me. Her gaze was almost empathetic. " Take your time today and we will talk tomorrow about the admission ritual. Then we'll discuss more concrete things!". More concrete? What else was coming?

Sister Imperator pressed a button and a short time later there was a knock at the door and the sister who had brought us tea earlier entered. I had been staring at my hands the whole time, not only because I didn't know what was happening to me, but also to avoid Copia's worried look that he was giving me. I felt bad, I didn't want him to think it was directed at him.

This day seemed to have one surprise after another in store for me.

"Sister Magret, accompany Sister Lia to her room!".

[smileygoth]

29. Before the Darkness (WODtober 2023)

Part 29 of my WODtober story. Taking the daily prompts and trying to weave a vampire story from them! In this chapter, Imogen/Eliza and their allies gather to make plans for the future.

Word Count: 1289 words.

CW: None that I can think of.

Image found on Google.

Find the previous chapters here!

The lobby of Harrogate’s building was pristine. All the broken glass and spilled blood had been cleaned up and replaced so that no one would ever know that a dozen people had been torn apart there. Imogen marvelled at it as Eliza walked them through to the elevator. Emily had messaged them with the floor number and to tell them they could walk straight through. No one was at the security desk, but presumably they were being watched through the cameras.

Eliza had relinquished control to Imogen once they’d returned to Imogen’s haven the previous night. But once back in her skin, Imogen became horribly conscious of the new power that was flowing though her veins. It felt alien to her, and wrong. Not to mention the strange shadowy sensation of not being alone - even more so than with knowing Eliza was there. She didn’t know if it was psychosomatic - some kind of dread at having diablerised following what she’d been through with Eliza - or if it was a real part of the process of absorbing another creature’s soul. Whichever it was, she had it. When they had risen the next night, she had happily given control back to Eliza.

‘I wish you’d told me you were planning on doing it,’ she’d said to Eliza before they switched. ‘How does it work, anyway? Will we both be bouncing around in your mind?’

The stronger will always prevails in the end, Eliza replied.

‘And how do you know you’ll be the one who prevails?’

She felt Eliza smirk. I am confident that I am the stronger, she replied.

‘You weren’t stronger than me.’

You I didn’t know. I know Harrogate. It is a much more calculated risk.

Imogen had wanted to ask again about what happens to the weaker ones, but her courage had failed her. She had already given up too much of her power to Eliza to be able to fight her any more; better that she didn’t pry any more. Maybe it would be just as Eliza had promised, and she’d slip into a memory and live there. Or maybe she’d just cease to exist. Most likely, even Eliza didn’t know for sure.

The elevator ride was so smooth Imogen couldn’t even feel the carriage rising. At the top, the doors opened up into a plushly carpeted reception area, where  young mortal woman stood stiffly behind a desk. The pallour of her face and the rapid beating of her heart implied that she knew exactly what they were. Still, she smiled and greeted them in a smooth, professional manner and ushered them into the room beyond.

Harrogate’s office was a large, perfectly square room with one wall, behind the desk, entirely taken up with floor-to-ceiling windows. The other walls had built-in shelves holding expensive looking books, ledgers, pieces of art and framed photographs. Imogen wanted to look at the photographs, but Eliza went straight to the desk, beind which was seated Miranda, Harrogate’s ghoul. On their side, taking up two of three chairs, were Emily and Ed. All three smiled and stood up as Eliza entered.

‘This is interesting’, Eliza remarked as they all sat down. ‘The ghoul behind the desk and the vampires in front of it.’

Miranda laughed nervously. ‘A temporary arrangement, I’m sure,’ she replied.

‘Have you and these two come to terms?’

Emily smiled. ‘We have,’ she said. ‘Miranda has agreed to sign over the entire business to us, assist us in liquidating all of Harrogate’s assets and turn them to our own ends. In return, once it’s all official, I’m going to embrace her.’

Miranda nodded, smiling. ‘I’ve also already taken the liberty of hiring a new team to clear the construction site,’ she said. ‘They have clear instructions to excavate your tomb first and to take extra special care doing it. You should be able to get into it by the end of tonight.’

Eliza smiled. ‘That’s very thoughtful of you,’ she remarked.

Miranda shrugged. ‘As you said last night, being in the good graces of a vampire as old as you is a good place to be.’  She paused, then added: ‘The fact that it would make Harrogate turn in his grave - if he had one - is just a bonus.’

Emily sniggered. ‘Turns out Harrogate wasn’t a very nice person to work for,’ she said. ‘In any capacity.’

‘I’m not surprised.’ Eliza leaned forward. ‘So what is the plan for returning my land to me?’

‘I have the papers here ready for you to sign,’ Miranda replied. ‘We can turn it over to you before we deal with the rest of the business. Once they’re signed and filed with the authorities, the land is legally yours. I’d advise you put it into a trust to keep it in the hands of your ‘relatives’ for the coming decades. I can help you with that too, if you wish.’

‘And the construction?’

‘There’s a clause in the agreement stating that Harrogate Enterprises will arrange and pay for the land to be cleared,’ Miranda replied. ‘After that, it’s up to you.’

Can it really be this simple? And quick? Imogen wondered. Eliza, hearing her, repeated the question aloud.

‘We’re moving fast while the Prince is looking the other way,’ Ed replied. ‘Once he starts paying attention again, it could get a lot trickier if he decides he doesn’t like what we’re up to.’

‘Once we have control of the money, we’re going to give a portion of it towards restoring your home,’ Emily said. ‘We’d be happy to help you with that, too. The amount of contacts Harrogate had is astounding. Miranda here can probably get anything arranged. Do you know what you want to do? We could turn it into a park, or a historical site, or-’

‘A nature reserve,’ Eliza cut in. ‘A private nature reserve.’

Emily looked at Ed, who nodded. ‘Sure, we could build an artificial habitat,’ he mused. ‘Seed the flora, get some saplings planted to restore the forest, dig out and fill in a lake. It’ll take a while for it to really settle in and for the animals and everything to come back, but…’ He looked at Eliza appraisingly. ‘I imagine you have ways of helping all that along.’

Eliza smiled. ‘You imagine correctly.’ With a sigh, she went on: ‘I am tired after the past few weeks. I need to rest. Is this all something you could arrange and oversee for me?’

Ed looked surprised. ‘If you’re happy to trust us with it … sure. No problem at all.’

Eliza looked at her hands. ‘Trust is … difficult for me,’ she said. ‘But these nights, I find it more difficult to get along on my own. Things change so quickly.’ She looked up again. ‘As I said to Miranda, if you will prove yourselves trustworthy to me, I will be a useful ally to you in return.’

‘Imagine us, having a centuries-old Lhiannan as an ally,’ Emily chuckled. ‘If you’d suggested it to me a month ago I’d have called you crazy.’

‘So we have an agreement?’ Eliza asked.

‘Better than that,’ Miranda replied, holding up a pen. ‘Once all the papers are signed, we have a legally binding contract.’

Ed and Emily exchanged an exasperated glance. ‘We gotta get the Ventrue out of you,’ Ed groaned.

Miranda reddened and put the pen down.

Don’t be mean to her, Imogen urged. She’s trying so hard to be helpful.

Eliza chuckled and held out her hand. ‘Give me the pen,’ she said. ‘And then once this is all done, if you don’t mind, I would like to go home.’

Miranda grinned and passed her the pen. ‘I’ll have a car waiting for you outside,’ she replied.

[buyacrylicframes]

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[talesofesther]

Moonstruck - Part 1

Eddie Munson x Reader

Series Summary: Eddie knew he was doomed the moment his eyes landed on you and his heart jumped in his chest. You, princess of Hawkins High, one of the most popular and beloved girls of the school, with perfect grades and perfect charisma; and the daughter of Hawkins chief of police.

Requested by anon: Could I request a Eddie Munson (or Billy Hargrove) x Hopper reader? You can really do anything you want with this, I just love seeing the x Hopper stories!!

A/N: The much-needed Eddie fluff we all deserve after the disaster that was vol 2, my heart hurts for him, it's been a while since I felt like this for someone, I love him so much and I found comfort in this story that I already love, and I hope you will as well. I understand that it will be difficult for some people to see themselves as Hopper's daughter, but know that I wrote this imagining that he adopted her when she was younger. And yeah maybe the popular/loser trope is overused already but I couldn't care less :P.

Masterlist

Eddie hated himself for it, how his gaze drifted back to her every time he wasn't talking with his friends; how he'd momentarily forget to chew on his lunch when she'd merely look his general way. He hated how beautiful she looked smiling with her friends all the way on the other side of the lunchroom; he hated how he had fallen for none other than the princess of Hawkins High.

"Eddie, are you listening?" Dustin snapped his fingers in front of Eddie.

He blinked, forcing his eyes to focus on the boy in front of him. The sounds of the mixed voices of students talking and laughing, sneakers scratching the ground, lunch trays hitting tables and faint singing of birds outside tuned back to Eddie's ears as the image of you became a distant blur when he averted his gaze.

"Yeah man, what's up?" Eddie popped another cashew into his mouth.

"I asked, what time is Hellfire tonight?" Dustin asked with big eyes, excited to battle the new monster they encountered in their last session. "You still haven't confirmed and I'm dying to kill that beast."

A smirk came to Eddie's lips, he furrowed his eyebrows pretending to think about it. "I'd say we meet at seven, I still have to stop by the library to pick up a chemistry book."

"You're studying?" Mike, who sat beside Dustin, chuckled at the thought of Eddie with his head buried in a book.

"Yeah, what of it, Wheeler?" Eddie jabbed back, leaning over the table and closer to Mike, making the boy shut his mouth promptly. "Mr. Anderson gave us a fucking assignment and I need to pass, just so I can shove my diploma on his face."

Eddie slumped back in his seat, the grin never leaving his face. "This is my year, guys." His smile faltered slightly when you came into his view, walking past his table and towards the exit; the afternoon sun making your hair and eyes shine. Eddie exhaled softly, he was such a loser. Deep down he knew you didn't even know his name, probably didn't even know he existed.

"… It's my year." He repeated to himself, looking away just before you walked out the door.

_____

The last bell rang indicating the end of classes for the day, students exited their classrooms in masses, chatting in the school corridors; some stopping by their lockers and others making a beeline for the parking lot.

Eddie did neither, he slung his worn backpack over his shoulder and walked through the less populated corridors towards the school's library. He passed by only a few other students, not missing the judgemental stares he received from some of them. He didn't bother meeting any of their gazes, amidst a crowd he had no problem in creating a commotion; but alone, he preferred to keep to himself. Deep down the title of being the school's freak was a heavy one to carry.

He opened the library doors, making them creak as they moved. An older woman looked up at him through her glasses, he gave her a nod with a tight-lipped smile. The library wasn't huge by any means, filled with a few rows of shelves loaded with mostly outdated books, with two big windows on the right wall to allow some natural light in and three round tables by the middle of the room for whoever felt like studying here.

The late afternoon sunlight barely peeking through the clouds cast an orange glow over the bookshelves, making dust particles fill the air as Eddie walked by.

His eyes scanned the paper labels taped to each shelf in search of chemistry books. Scrunching his nose in annoyance when he couldn't find anything.

"Excuse me?" A soft voice called Eddie's attention, making him turn his head only to be met with the person he'd been longingly watching throughout the year.

"It's Eddie, right?" You said his name with a small smile, taking half a step towards him. His mouth went dry at the same time his heart sped up.

"Um-" Eddie mentally kicked himself for forgetting how to form words, his brain still going haywire at the fact you knew his name. He settled for an overexcited nod.

"Could you maybe give me a hand in reaching a book? It's way up and I'll probably knock the whole shelf to the ground if I keep trying to reach it myself." You chuckled, mindlessly pointing behind you with your thumb.

Your soft laugh brought heat to Eddie's cheeks. He blushed, he fucking blushed and he felt like a thirteen-year-old boy for it; but the timid smile on his lips let it show he was loving every second. "Yeah, of course."

You walked back to the row of shelves you came from, Eddie trailing right behind you. "It's that blue one right over there." You pointed up to a thick blue and white book that collected dust high up on the wooden shelf.

Eddie glanced up, dropping his backpack and standing up on his tippy toes. The tip of his fingers closed around the book and urged it to fall forward on his hand. With said book in hand, he passed his palm on the hardcover to reveal the title; it read 'Chemistry, second year and up'.

He handed the book to you, not caring that this was the same one he came here for.

"Thank you so much." You beamed, storing the book inside your backpack with a relieved smile.

Eddie picked up his own backpack, gripping tightly into the strap once it rested over his shoulder, burying his other hand in the pocket of his pants to stop it from fidgeting. "It's no problem."

"What were you looking for?" Pushing some strands of hair behind your ear, your gaze never left him. Up close, he was quite handsome. His big and gentle brown eyes captured your attention, making you not want to look away. Your friends spoke of him as if he was this freak, someone not worth sparing a glance towards and deserving of mean insults. You never really agreed.

"It was uh- just a literature book," Eddie said the first thing he thought of, averting his gaze for a second to stop the twirling in his stomach. Were you really making conversation with him?

"Already got it, nothing exciting." He chuckled nervously and patted the strap of his backpack.

"Nice, let's go then." You smirked at the flush on his cheeks, walking around him and turning backward when he didn't move.

"Go… ?" He furrowed his eyebrows in the most adorable lost look you'd ever seen, making you full-on smile.

"Leave. My dad is waiting outside and I suppose you're going home as well?"

Eddie's mouth opened and closed once as he thought of what to answer. Did you really want to be seen walking around with him? Even if most students were gone by now, heads would be turned if people saw you two walking side by side.

You raised an eyebrow at him, making Eddie slightly shake his head. "S-sure, I'm leaving too."

Walking the school hallways with less than a meter between him and you was something Eddie never thought would happen. The school was mostly empty by now, only a few scattered first years remained.

Eddie kept a safe distance from you as you walked, being extra careful to not overstep any boundaries and mess up the last little moments he had with you; which he would sure be replaying in his mind like a fool later on.

You kept rambling on to him about the chemistry assignment, the same one he would have to make. The hand gripping his backpack strap tightened on its hold, a faint smile was now permanent on his lips. He held on to every word you were saying, treasuring the way your voice sounded directed at him deep inside his heart. Sure this would be a one-off event yet feeling elated nonetheless.

Until the main school doors opened, and the real world greeted him with a slap on the face. His skin became a few shades paler when his eyes landed on the brown car parked further in the parking lot. The words 'Chief of Police' stood out proudly against the car's paint.

Princess of Hawkins High, one of the most popular and beloved girls of the school, with perfect grades and perfect charisma; and the daughter of Hawkins chief of police. The fact had been blurred inside Eddie's mind with your presence beside him. Yet now he could only imagine how much Hopper was wishing to kill him only for standing close to you.

"Thank you again for the book." You turned to Eddie, reaching a hand out to touch his forearm.

He shuddered under your unexpected touch, feeling goosebumps already crawling on his skin. He gulped, brown eyes looking at you with something akin to yearning.

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" You took a few steps backward and away from him, giving him a small wave and smile of goodbye.

"I- yeah, see you, sure," Eddie called out, his voice losing volume by the end; being able to see Hopper boring his eyes into his soul from inside the car. He risked a last glance at your back, feeling his heart clenching inside his chest for having a taste of something that could never be his.

Eddie walked about four steps before stopping abruptly. Did you just say 'see you tomorrow'?

You plopped into the passenger seat, greeting your dad warmly with a kiss on his cheek.

Hopper took your backpack from you and threw it onto the backseat, his gaze moving to the retreating figure of Eddie. "Are you friends with that guy?"

You glanced in the same way, pursing your lips in thought before answering. "I guess so, why?"

"Hmm, looks like trouble," Hopper grumbled.

You turned to him with a glare, you knew it was just his protective side but it still didn't make it fair. "Dad, stop judging people by their looks, he's actually really sweet."

"Just be careful is all I'm saying." Hopper raised a hand in surrender, shooting you a soft glance as he started the car.

Your eyes drifted back towards the school grounds, now empty, you kept your gaze until the car turned the street and the building disappeared. Your mind replayed the image of his kind brown eyes and alluring smile. Really sweet indeed.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

A/N: I mean it when I say that Eddie has the kindest, most beautiful brown eyes, okay? Anyway, hope you liked the first part. <3

Read Part 2 here

Feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated. <3

Eddie’s taglist: @milkiane @alicefallsintotherabbithole

Let me know if you wanna be added to his taglist.

[shoyoist]

— 𝟎𝟏:𝟒𝟒 𝐀𝐌 : hanma shuji.

thinking of shuji being an ardent lover of classic lit ♡ ~

on some nights, when he arrives at meetings a little earlier than scheduled — or on nights where he has to remain at headquarters long after meetings are over, hanma likes to head up to the top floor's longue, a hard cover copy of fyodor dostoevsky's crime and punishment in one hand.

he takes a seat on the sofa placed at the corner of the room, crossing one leg over the other and glancing out at the view provided by the glass office wall. the city blinks down at him, gradually getting darker, as the hours tick by and the lights start to go out.

the warm lighting of the room is sufficient for him to read easily, and sometimes, kisaki will have already turned the record on, leaving a disk from Queen's platinum collection playing in the background.

the atmosphere is quiet, relaxing and peaceful. hanma likes it, just as much as he enjoys clamour, chaos and catastrophe.

he opens the book, the cover and pages smooth between his large hands, and flips over to where he's placed the bookmark, and starts to read.

and really, he looks so elegant — poised and handsome, in his pinstriped suit that shows of his tall, muscled frame, with his coiffed hair and his gold-framed glasses that sit on the bridge of his nose as his eyes follow each word, narrowing in interest despite the fact that he's read the book about seven times already.

on some other nights, it's pride and prejudice, by jane austen. or les miserables, by victor hugo. even wuthering heights, by emily brontë.

but on nights like these when he's been away from you, his sweet little lover, for too long — when he misses you, when he yearns for your touch or to hear your voice over the phone, but knows that you're asleep at this time; he picks up crime and punishment.

why? because the first time he'd read this book, it was after you had gifted him a copy of it for his 24th birthday.

though hanma has always been interested in classic lit, it was on the outskirts, when he was younger.

he had read a few of the most popular novels, like little women, the great gatsby, and he even owned a paperback of american psycho (despite how the shopkeeper at the bookstore had warned him not to purchase it, thinking him just a young teen looking to find something dark to read).

he wasnt really one to care about his image, but he didnt exactly let many people know that he spent evenings and nights sitting around with his eyes glued to books about love, war and all that lies in between. it was a little secret, of sorts.

until he met you.

now, he has multiple collections of hardbacks of all his favourite novels, shelved in both his office and in his home that he shares with you. he buys the publications that come in the prettiest covers, collects audio books, and owns copies of every good movie adaptation.

and the hardback of crime and punishment he's reading right now? with the time ticking towards 01:30 in the middle of the night, as he waits for kisaki to be done with whatever unfinished business he's got before he can drive them back to their hotel — he's reading the book you'd gifted him.

when you'd discovered that he liked reading, and when you'd found out that despite it he had missed out on reading fyodor's famous novel, you'd sought out to get it for him.

on the second page, the one where only the title is printed out in bold letters at the center, after the page where the disclaimers and publication information are printed — there's a lipstick kiss on the top left corner.

happy birthday, my shuji. i love you!! written under the kiss, signed off with your name, in red pen.

the sin and punishment tattoos on his hands weren't influenced by the book, not really.

but you'd made that connection, knowing that he had the tattoos and knowing that he read classic eng lit, and when you'd gifted him the book, it was enough for him to favourite the story and have every line from it memorized, reading them over and over again.

and he's already highlighted, with a pen that came in a pale shade of red, the lines — "yet in their absence, i seemed to love them so much."

it's not the right context, and hanma knows that — but each time he passes the line, when reading through part 3 of chapter 3, he thinks of you.

he loves you so much, his heart aches. especially on nights like these, when he's bored out of his mind after a long day, tired but still held up in the office till the moon peaks and sinks down the sky, as the hours go by.

nights where he would do anything to be asleep, under the covers with your bare skin flush with his, your warmth melding with his own. his arms around you, your scent in his lungs, his lips against the back of your neck.

but he cant, so he sits on the sofa at the corner of the top floor's lounge and reads, until kisaki comes looking for him.

he's absorbed into the pages, dismissing the footsteps as they approach because he knows who it is without paying attention to them — and he only looks up, when his partner in crime switches off the music and clears his throat.

"oh hey, tetta." hanma grins, looking up, amber eyes glinting softly in the light. "time to go?"

"yes." kisaki answers, eyes skirting over to read the title of the book hanma holds, before he turns around to leave. hanma stands up, switches off the lamp on the desk beside the sofa, and follows.

the faint lights of the nighttime city outside pool into the now-dark room, throwing gentle shadows onto the floor as they walk across it.

kisaki is smart, but he doesnt need to be to figure this one out. he's picked up on hanma's little habit of resorting back to that same copy of crime and punishment, when he starts to miss you too much.

it's one of the only predictable things hanma ever does.

so he says, nonchalantly, as they wait for the elevator to make it up to their floor. "hanma. i think you'll be able to take some time off, soon."

"oh, really?" hanma turns his head to look down at kisaki, as his boss looks straight ahead, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his regular briefcase. "we're nearly done with this one?"

"yeah." kisaki says. "you'll get to go home next week."

and hanma smiles. he knows you're asleep, and that you probably fell asleep with your phone close to you as you lay on your side of the bed, scrolling aimlessly through it till your weariness overtook you — he knows there's a chance you would wake up, disturbed by the notification, if he sends you a message.

but he feels warm inside, and he cant help it. he slips his phone out of his pocket, as the elevator dings and opens up, and he follows kisaki inside.

contrary to his worries, your phone is on the nightstand tonight.

you'll only see it when you wake up the next morning, but your phone lights up in the darkness of your bedroom, signalling a new message.

⠀⠀⠀— [01:44 AM] shuji : miss you, babydoll. i'll be home soon ♡

[fraddit]

Buck's Loft - Part Three

This is the third post in a series of three about Buck's apartment on 9-1-1.

Part one is here and part two is here | Eddie’s house

Before we head upstairs, the downstairs bathroom. Which, despite only being visible in little slivers in the background of various scenes, plus the single shot of Buck putting on his bulletproof vest in 4.14, I am pretty confident in the relative accuracy of this room. The light fixture is close enough, and I guessed a bit on the art over the toilet. I’m pretty sure it’s a black and white architectural photo?

But otherwise, I found the exact vanity they bought from Lowe’s and used for this set, so I know that’s accurate. And, I found the exact stock images they used for the art hanging above the towel bar. They’re sort of graffiti collage art of men. One riding a penny-farthing bicycle and one in the rain with an umbrella.

Architectural features include the textured glass door, and I left the bit of column poking through to the inside of the bathroom, because I thought it was interesting. Then, later, when I found apartment tours of the Rowan, that is indeed how the bathrooms generally are, so I felt vindicated in my decision. Also, the black steel post right outside the door is, I’m pretty sure, just decorative and doesn’t have any structural function.

And now, the upstairs. The loft is accessed via the large open riser stairs at the center of the apartment and is supported by steel beams. The floor seems to be concrete and continues into the bathroom.

For the upstairs bathroom, I just made it an exact copy of the downstairs bathroom but flipped to accommodate the door being on the opposite side. And again, the tours of the Rowan confirmed that was the correct choice on my part. Although, in reality, I would bet money that on the set, this bathroom is not actually built out and that door leads to an empty void.

And now! Buck’s bedroom! It’s a pretty large space. He definitely has room for a king size bed, but his mattress is actually a queen that rests on a low platform style bed frame. He’s got three matching night tables with lamps, two on either side of the bed, and one over in the corner between the closet and bathroom. They’re sort of rustic boxes with storage cubes in them as drawers. His duvet is white with gray pinstripe and gray sheets, and there's a cream and gray striped rug under the bed.

The bookshelf next to the bed is custom made to match the balcony railing, and all the Rowan apartments I’ve seen have these too. On said shelves are the only two “family photos” in Buck’s apartment. One is a boy in a little league outfit and one is a golden retriever. They’ve both been there since 3.01. I found the actual stock image of the boy they used.

Also on these shelves are more storage cubes, a fancy lidded box thing, some other bits and bobs and several books. Two of which I think are Good Will Hunting and something by Hemingway.

Also of note, the two highest windows, directly behind the head of the bed, are textured privacy glass in the set version. I carried that through the other windows at the same height in the rest of the loft.

On the other side of the room we have the closet, a seating area, and some art. The closet is two outswing louvered doors. And there’s a chair made of wood slats tucked in the corner with the other side table I mentioned before. Above this are two art prints. I also managed to find the actual stock art that was used for these as well. One is a fifties style businessman slumped over with a briefcase and a windup key sticking out of his back. The other is colorful squares with a television in the center that has a shot from the 50’s television series Lassie on the screen. As far as what the set dressers are trying to imply about Buck’s character with these choices, your guess is as good as mine.

The other corner between the closet and the balcony door has yet to be seen, so I have no idea what’s over there.

Lastly, it doesn’t appear until season 5, but there’s a console table with a television in the middle of the room, for Buck to watch from bed. I thought Eddie’s careless TV table choices were bad, but this is really asking for a broken flat screen.

I think they only put it there when Buck needs to do TV things in his bed, because it’s not visible any other time ever.

Last but not least! The balconies! As I said before, there’s one outside the bedroom and obviously the big one outside the main level.

As far as how they’re furnished, the set dressers seem to mostly care that there’s just something visible through the doors in whatever shot they’re doing. So, there’s not a lot of logic to the placement of things.

For the model, I went with where things are for the 5a balcony scene, which is actually the least sensible way they’ve ever furnished it, but whatever.

Most often, the grill and a set of two chairs and and side table are what’s visible in the background of scenes. For my model, I put those chairs and table up on the bedroom balcony. Which, usually, all that’s visible up there are two palm plants, but in s3 there’s an umbrella up there that's visible behind Eddie in the above picset at top right.

The bright red patio table and umbrella set is usually visible through the kitchen window, but sometimes they just fill that space with plants.

Also, I’m in a fight with the set people for the drab exterior they gave the set. RIP to them, but I’m different and will live my life pretending it has the lovely beaux arts exterior it deserves.

Now, as promised in Part 1, where is Buck’s loft in relation to the Diaz house? Since they’ve said Eddie’s address on the show, it’s easy to map it. I used the closest corner of the Historic Core and the furthest corner to cover all potential drive times depending on where in that rectangle Buck actually lives. As you can see below, going from Buck’s to Eddie’s is about half the drive time at this time of day, 13-17 minutes vs 25-39 minutes.

The below maps show traffic data for roughly 3:45pm LA time, which is just heading into rush hour. I checked, and in the thick of rush hour, around the 5pm hour, the estimated drive time is 35 minutes to a full 1hr10min. The morning commute flips this, and going from Eddie’s to Buck’s is the faster route then, with nearly identical projected drive times.

And that’s everything, I guess! Thank you for scrolling this far. I hope at least some of it was interesting or helpful or entertaining, etc. If for whatever reason you want some specific shots of this model (or Eddie’s) that I didn’t include, feel free to ask me. I can put a camera pretty much anywhere in the 3d environment.

Thank you again!

Part one is here and part two is here.

And here is a similar tour of Eddie's house.

[josy57]

Where I Went

Just yesterday, I stepped out of the train and onto the platform Immediately engulfed in holiday chatter But I don't have answers for the questions I'm asked I can say where I went, not where it took me How I was touched and, in fact, altered By things so small and momentous As uncommunicable as the emotion within a dream Or the exact quality of the light On a worry-worn day when you look up to the sky And feel peace wash over you like a sigh

Today, I'll have to unpack my suitcase and stock my kitchen shelves again Foreign to the person who did all those tasks in reverse Only a week ago I'll wander, lost in thought halfway down the supermarket aisles Clutching to me the unexplainable The yellow of your dress that morning in the lobby

How we smiled at each other across the dining hall You backlit and me dazzled In the bright orange glow of those July evenings The absolute kindness of that sharp, expressive face The warmth of that 'we' you used so readily Giving from yourself like someone who has never been torn

The arms you opened and laced around me How baffled, how enchanted, how shiny new you made me feel Scoured clean from the grime of the past twenty years Filth I had come to confuse with my own skin With something akin to fate

I am spending the rest of the summer back at my parents’ place Back in my hometown Where everyone is nice and certain they know me As though I could still fit in the backyard snow angels, The chalk outlines of my childhood Or the version of it they prefer to remember I’ll sit at the dinner table, I’ll grab coffee I’ll drift through the unavoidable rounds of friendly catch up Eyes fixed on a punch-drunk fly knocking against the window pane I’ll drone on, saying the expected strings of words, Same old, same old The recycled stories we always tell Stale and small The inch of common ground we can still claim As we sit in the car and I stop listening Suddenly sickened by that nickname they call me By that blinking neon sign over the corner shop That no one fixed since I was seventeen The syrupy languor of this place That settles around you like quick setting cement I’ll shift uncomfortably, my thighs sticking to the seat My mind miles away, tuning out all but the distant radio And the flickering of other images

How you danced with pure, untethered joy Your lithe, lean body Like the still thrumming string of a bow After the arrow is released A one-chord instrument that always strikes true Thumping with the elastic tug and snap of a rubber band Beating in rhythm with the thunderous boom of the bass That moved the walls around us

How we mouthed shards of songs, circling each other And spoke, loud and close Other the stampede of sound Your hand pressed to the damp curve of my back

The sweet boozy smell of your breath As I rested my chin on your shoulder

How you stood on tip toes to reach the tap behind the bar And poured me water into your own glass Still tasting of the zesty alcohol you'd ordered And of your lips against the rim That cool rush on my parched tongue As intimate as if lapped from the palm of your hand

I could say I’m confused If there were not such clarity, such crisp edges to those moments When, drunk off your infectious ease, I brushed against what it is like to inhabit the world To feel trust and kinship, both unspoken and undoubted

A few hours on, morning brought departure Yet the sliding doors that closed behind you did not sever the luminous tie It didn’t feel like a tearing, like the terror of loss I knew I would see you again I knew that, even if I did not, Nothing could tarnish or undo this heliotropic change And so, even after the goodbyes, even through the frenzy at the station This quiet, serene stillness lingered This sense of unfolding I sat on the sticky floor, in the miserable, crowded heat Far removed from the other travelers’ frustration, from my own bruised-eye fatigue Aloof and mellow, I looked at the sky through the glass ceiling Its sun falling slanted, pouring hope into me like a new breath I could feel where my tailbone connected with the concrete I could feel myself rooted there, embodied One amongst many, emmeshed but unmoored Somehow, after all these years more than the sum of the parts I’m missing I thought: I am here, I do not need to be told where to go Or who I am I do not need to fear or fret The train will come, sooner or later I will get home And home is not what I once believed it was Life may, after all, have more to offer than a long aftermath.

[mickey-henry]

𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐈 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝

pairing: bucky barnes (bookstore au) x reader

summary: eager to escape the heat, you find yourself in the presence of a mesmerizing bookstore and an irresistibly beautiful man.

word count: 2.3K

author’s note: hello! welcome to my third fic😊 I’m eager to share this with you all! I now have a taglist (the link is also in my bio) if you’re interested🥰 thank you to @certainaesthetic​ for helping me workshop this idea, @fuckandfluff​ for the grammar help, and @midnightf​ for hyping me up as I wrote it! likes, reblogs, messages, replies, and comments are cherished! the header images are from pinterest and the divider is from here. I hope you like it! 💖

You’re desperate to escape the smoldering heat. It’s too hot to rest in the car; it’s been baking all day beneath the sweltering summer sun, parked just outside your place of work. If you attempt to sit in it now, you’d only be greeted with a wave of torrid air, stung with the touch of your seatbelt, and burnt from the searing leather of your steering wheel.

You’re off from work earlier than usual—the blinding sun is usually long beneath the horizon before you head home for the day. The pathetically small sun visor does nothing to shade your eyes from the blazing sunlight. Rather than driving half-blind, you decide to wait out the setting sun.

As you ponder how to spend the rest of your afternoon, you realize that now is an opportune time to visit the new bookstore, The Book Haven, that opened last month. After changing out of your uniform and throwing your work stuff in the trunk, you walk across the plaza to the shop entrance.

The bookstore greets you with the chime of a bell and a rush of cool air as you step in, a blissful contrast to the scorching outdoors. The welcoming scent of coffee grounds and the tangy aroma of old books accompany the refreshing breeze. You take a deep breath, appreciating the convivial atmosphere. The bookstore is a sublime sight; words almost can’t describe its charm.

Shelves like skyscrapers—stuffed to the brim with books, magazines, and comics—graze the ceiling. An intimate reading nook lies next to the door; an inviting window seat dwells beside a floor-to-ceiling window. Clear mosaic window clings cover the glass, casting beautiful rainbows throughout the store. Stringed vintage light bulbs illuminate the shelves; candle-lit sconces adorn the top corners of each one. Oriental rugs lay between the shelves, covering a dark mocha floor. Tucked in the back of the store is a small coffee cranny, hidden at first glance. Frank Sinatra’s charming, rich vocals travel through the air, tickling your ears. The owner clearly put the utmost time, energy, and love into the creation of their shop. It is unequivocally perfect and already one of your favorite places.

You wander to the classics section, enthralled by the exquisite covers. Sensing someone nearby, your eyes glance at movement caught in the corner of your eye. Your stomach somersaults at the stunning stranger. The instant you lay your eyes on him, you forget to breathe for a moment—your breath engulfs your throat. You’re astounded by the Adonis of a man before you.

Bristles of scruff grace his defined jawline—his low man-bun neatly styles his dark chestnut hair. A grey short-sleeve button-up shirt hugs his toned arms; a white tank top clings to his lean, fit frame; cuffed slim-fit khaki pants, help up by a bronze braided belt, embrace his thick thighs; and weathered, chunky brown leather shoes don his feet.

Through the rose-colored glasses that surround your heart, your soul imagines a life with a perfect stranger. The hopeless romantic in you can’t help but steal glances, hoping to catch a better glimpse of him. The moment he turns to walk away, your heart sinks to your stomach. You hope this isn’t the last time you see this gorgeous man.

A few minutes later, you’re mulling over a collectible edition of The Catcher in the Rye, attempting to justify purchasing yet another copy of your favorite book. A melodic voice interrupts your pondering. “That’s a pretty edition of The Catcher in the Rye you’ve got there.”

You turn towards the charming voice. Lo-and-behold, it’s the love of your life: the handsome stranger you’ve mentally lived a lifetime with. His beauty is even more profound up close: now you can see that his eyes are a lovely shade of blue. His eyes, haunted by a subtle sadness, draw you in, unlike anything you’ve experienced before. You find yourself entranced in his sea-blue current; you could easily drown in his gaze. You attempt to hide your awestruck expression and converse with him like a normal human being. “I agree! I already own a copy though, do I really need a new one?”

“I think we both know the answer is always yes,” he assures.

“Okay, you’ve convinced me. I'll get it! Thank you for justifying my unnecessary purchase.”

Your words hang in the air, everything going quiet as you wait for the ravishing stranger to introduce himself. The two of you stare in silence at each other, the tension thickening as the seconds pass by. After a few moments, his face flashes in realization—you were waiting for his name.

“I’m Bucky,” he offers with an enchanting smile, extending his hand out to you. You share your name as the two of you shake hands. Your eyes stare down his veiny arm to his ring-studded fingers grasped around yours. You allow yourself to imagine for a few moments how amazing those fingers would feel tracing your arms, tangling your hair, and teasing your inner thigh. Your lustful reverie comes to an abrupt halt at the sight of the book nestled inside the crook of his elbow: The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka, the bane of your existence. You scoff with furrowed brows; of course, Mr. Handsome Stranger would be interested in the one book you despise.

“Got something to say there, sweetheart?” he questions with an amused grin.

“Out of all the classic novels in this entire store, that’s the one you chose? The Metamorphosis?”

“What’s wrong with this one?” he jives.

You pause for a second, debating whether it’s worth it to argue with a stranger. The pondering lasts only a few seconds; the exhaustion from your day disintegrates your filter. Besides, you loathe The Metamorphosis.

“What isn’t wrong with it? The dude wakes up thinking he’s an insect? The reader has to sit there throughout the entire book, wondering whether he’s a man or a bug? What the actual fuck? I didn’t appreciate the existential crisis that book gave me at fifteen; if I can help someone else avoid the suffering caused by that monstrosity, I'm going to do my part,” you huff, unamused by the joy Bucky seems to gain from your zealous analysis.

“Wow, what a passionate review! Perez Hilton would be envious of your slander. Okay then, what classic would you recommend instead?”

You cross your arms, expecting him to challenge your response. “The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde.”

“That’s a play,” he counters.

“It’s published as a book; it counts! It’s witty, playful, and has a happy ending, which is the most important point of all. It also doesn’t make you want to pull a Fahrenheit 451 and burn every copy in existence,” you attest.

He steps closer to you, tucking loose strands of his hair behind his ear. “Life doesn’t always have a happy ending, sweetheart.”

Great, there he goes again with that freaking pet name; it’s going to be the death of you. He knows your name, you just gave it to him, yet here he is, infuriatingly insisting on calling you sweetheart instead. Stupid pretty boy with his ocean blue eyes and amorous smile.

“That’s exactly the point,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “So, why would I want to read something that doesn’t end well? If I’m going to escape this reality for a while, it better be for a happier one.”

“And if it's not?”

“Then I’ll throw the book across the room and make up my own happy ending!”

“Ooh, aggressive,” he tuts. “The owner of this place might not be too happy with you if you’re throwing books all over the place; it’ll scare away the customers.”

“Then it’s a good thing the owner isn’t here,” you interject confidently, knowing full well you have no idea who the owner is.

“Well, that just isn’t true, sweetheart. You’re looking right at him.”

He’s lying—he has to be. Why would a dreamboat like Bucky own a bookstore?

You scoff, “you’re not the owner of this place.”

“I’m not? What makes you say that?” he banters.

“People like you don’t own bookstores!” you exclaim.

“People like me?” he goads, cocking his head to the side. The action erupts butterflies in your stomach.

“Attractive people!” you groan.

“So you think I’m attractive?” he plays, stepping to close the gap between you.

“Psh, no, you wish,” you muster. The heat spreading across your cheeks betrays your bluff.

There are mere inches between the both of you now; you hope he can’t hear your racing heartbeat. You watch his eyes go down from yours to your mouth and back up again. He eyes you with a smirk, his teeth playfully tugging his bottom lip. It takes everything in your power not to give in to his spell.

“I’ve known you for what, five minutes? I don’t go around kissing strangers, Bucky,” you falter, taking a step back from his closeness.

“Then let’s not be strangers, sweetheart. Grab a coffee with me; I know a nice place, not far from here,” he flirts, gesturing to the counter at the back of the store.

“Let me learn more about what goes on in that pretty little head of yours,” he purrs, his breath tickling your cheek.

“Okay, fine. I’ll have a coffee with you,” you surrender.

A bright, honeyed smile dons his face.  

“It better be good, though. Not the stale crap you usually get in the middle of the afternoon.”

“I’d only give you the best, sweetheart,” he winks, extending his right hand. You take it; he gives you a soft squeeze before weaving you through the towering shelves.

Your discussion continues with another passionate book review as he prepares your drink. He’s a sucker for gritty dystopian novels while you gravitate towards sappy romances. He shares his passion for painting as he guides you to the reading nook. The artwork hung on the edges of the bookcases is crafted by him—a detail you hadn’t noticed at first glance. His stunning work features both landscapes and people. He loves to sit in a picturesque landscape and paint for endless hours. Occasionally, he takes his old polaroid as he explores the town, snapping moments between strangers, translating their intimacy to canvas when he gets home.

He gestures for you to take a seat in the reading nook before handing you our steaming cup of joe. You sit with your legs crossed, your hands hugging the mug in your lap. Bucky sits with his leg draped over the side of the bench, his left foot pressing into his right thigh. The conversation shifts topics; the two of you divulge your desires and unfulfilled ambitions. You aren’t sure if it’s the look in his eyes, the sweet cup of joe in your palms, or the aroma of coffee surrounding you, but in his presence, your senses feel wide awake.

Before you know it, the mesmeric moon replaces the sizzling sun, melting away the blistering heat, and the steaming cup of coffee in your hands has long chilled. Bucky’s employee interrupts the blissful rendezvous, informing him that all the closing duties are complete, and he’s headed home for the night.

You stare at your watch in shock—it's five past nine. Where did the time go? You apologize profusely to the poor kid who had to close up alone; he assures you it’s no problem.

A melancholic pit in your stomach forms as you turn back to Bucky. He’s nestled himself into your soul; you don’t want to say farewell to him so soon. He has a sad glint in his eyes; you hope it’s because he’s also dreading the end of this perfect night.

“Can I walk you to your car?” he asks timidly, his earlier suave demeanor gone from his voice. He stands up in front of you, offering his arm to escort you.

“I’d love that,” you reply with a shy grin, grabbing his arm and hugging it tightly.

In the blink of an eye, you’re in front of your car. You let go of his arm and lean against the trunk. You stare into his eyes, hoping that he can see without the use of words how much you don’t want this moment to end. There’s a few moments of painful silence before Bucky clears his throat.

“So, now that we’re not total strangers, how about that kiss?” he flirts with pleading eyes.

“Okay,” you reply with a bashful smile.

He slowly reaches his hand towards your cheek, softly stroking it with his thumb. He presses his forehead against yours. “Are you sure you want to do this? ‘Cause if we do, you might not be able to get rid of me, sweetheart.”

“Yes I do, Bucky,” you giggle.

He grins as he gently presses his pillowy pink lips on yours. The kiss steals all the air from your lungs—his touch sends tingles throughout your body, electrifying your veins. You’re breathless when your lips finally part.

“Let me get your number before I let you go,” Bucky insists. You nod and hand him your phone, unable to form a coherent thought.  The ghost of his lips and fingers trace your figure. You’re barely acquainted with his tender touch, yet you feel naked without it, yearning to once again be within his grasp.

You exchange phones—adding your number and name with a sparkling heart emoji and swiftly passing his phone back before you can change your mind. Bucky snaps a quick selfie for his contact, smirking for the camera. You grin when you see he also put emojis by his name: a beetle and a kissy-face.

He pecks your cheek before opening the car door for you. “Hope to see you around, lovebug.” The new pet name burns your cheeks and erupts butterflies in your stomach.

He doesn’t leave the parking lot until your car disappears completely from his view.

You drive home with thoughts of Bucky swirling in your mind. You send a silent thanks to the universe for bringing this beautiful man into your life. His voice, touch, and smile echo in your thoughts for the remainder of the evening—his presence paving its way through your dreams. You’re falling hard and fast; you only hope he’ll be there to catch you.

tagging a few mutuals who expressed interest in this story🥰please fill out the taglist form if you’d like to be tagged in the next story! 💖

@ritesofreverie @midnightf @certainaesthetic

[halaboyz]

07 | anti-romantic.

word count: 630, images after text. warnings: profanities, mentions of alcohol and cheating (no parties are doing it. just literally mentioning it)

Raising your hand to order another tub of vodka, the familiar barista just sighs at you and your hopeless state but before he even gets to take a step toward the shelves, a swift hand raises in front of his face and stops him from doing so.

"What the f— oh," Craning your neck, a smirk appears on your lips when you see a familiar face. "Kim Younghoon, what are you doing here? Are you following me?"

"Am I crazy? Why would I?" His blank face faces you, clearly not amused by your advances. "You've drunk enough. Go home."

"And how did you know that?" Raising your brow teasingly, it slips off your mind that you had all your previous bottles in front of you as he shoos the bartender away. "Wait, my drink?!" You ask the guy, but with a stern look from Younghoon, he flees. "What the fuck?" You turn to Younghoon, giving him a stink eye. "What? Are you the owner or something?"

"I am the son of the owner, yes. And I work here."

"Then how come I never see you here?" Your mood suddenly drops down, remembering why you were here in the first place so you shift on your seat, twirling the almost empty glass on the tip of your index.

"I work early shifts,"

"Then I should come earlier from now on," A smile comes tugging at your lips, but your eyes stay on the glass.

It piques Younghoon's interest— how your flirts today didn't seem so.. flirty. His eyebrows raised in confusion, taking the seat beside you.

"Oh," You teased, "Concerned?" You finally shoot him a glance, wriggling your eyebrows.

"I'm calling Chang," Younghoon fishes for his phone in his pocket, starting to dial Changmin wherein you only scoffed.

"You really think he'll come?" You mumbled, taking a small sip of the vodka you've been holding off because of the bartender speeding off from you. "When I drink.. no one ever comes," Maybe it's the alcohol speaking, or just your emotions finally overflowing.

You barely even Younghoon. Worse, you were making him a target. Why, of all people, were you starting to open up to him?

He was almost a stranger.

"Have you ever heard of the story of the boy who cried wolf?" You chuckle, "That's me,"

Younghoon isn't anywhere near rude, or nosy. He doesn't want to come off rude by throwing your worries away, nor nosy enough to ask you why. Instead, he lets you speak, listening as his only pursuit.

"I don't even know why I still ponder over my feelings when it just happens all over again," Clicking your tongue, you shrink on your seat with a pout. Younghoon didn't understand anything you're saying, but at least got an idea.

Eric wasn't a nobody in the university. At least, not after being in a relationship with you. Younghoon, even with the small amount of time he's been staying in the university, has heard almost every gossip there is in the school.

Regarding the system, the professors and their flings, the overwhelming parties every rich kid held every week, and everything else, including the notorious heartbreaker— you.

"Why leave when you like them anyway?" Younghoon shoots you a random question, he doesn't even know whether you're still talking about that. He was too lost in his thoughts thinking of the reasons why he's even thinking about this.

"Hmm," A chuckle leaves your tipsy lips, "Because they're too good to be true. And if they realize I'm less than what they think I am, they'll leave." You face Younghoon, and he swears that among the five times he's seen you along in the campus, this was the most sincere you looked. "Just like men always do,"

For a second. Yeah, you can't last a second not shooting your shot when someone like Younghoon was in front of you. You wink at him, and he only rolls his eyes and stood up.

"It's late. I'm taking you home," He nonchalantly picks up his wallet, phone, and keys, waiting for you to do the same.

"You love me already?" You give him yet another cheeky smile, craning your neck in his vision to annoy him further.

"I'm leaving."

anti-romantic ༺ ch. 06 | ch. 07 | ch. 08

PAIRING: the boyz’ kim younghoon x fem! reader | featuring q, new, and dreamcatcher’s dami and siyeon GENRE: social media au, fluff, angst, attempt at humor and flirting NOTES: i'll try and lessen the written parts of this smau. if it goes south ... idk ,, might as well make all of my 'smaus' just 'aus' NAJKSNK

SUMMARY: flirting was one of the facades you put up to shield yourself with what they called love. you loved playing with people’s feelings, especially those who shook you off their shoulders. apparently, that’s what younghoon did.

taglist: @nyujjan @jichanqz @propollis @ilovechanhee @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @yunkiwii @heyimkay @allorysayshi [open] permanent taglist: @deputyjuyeon @sunlightwoo @teuboyz @90s-belladonna @grassbutneo @skrtbabe @cosmiclele @flrtwoo @jaerisdiction @zvae @karsohn @moonieric @belovedgyus @softforqiankun @changmin-wrlds @cloudykyu ; bold - can't be tagged

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Little Bones 2

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series); harassment, general creepiness, unwanted touches

This is dark! (biker) Thor x chubby!reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: You’re a city girl stuck in a small town, but Birch isn’t as sleepy as it seems.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown and When the Weight Comes Down

Note: We got another part and I hope you love biker!Thor as much as I do. It’s lots of fun.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 2: Better butter your cue finger up

The bottle of wine sat on your counter and you hid away the vodka in your freezer as you resisted the temptation of both. The library made hangovers even worse with its bright lights and tedious nothingness. So you tried to ignore the tapping at your shoulder, the persistent tug of your paranoia, and pretended that nothing had changed. In Birch, nothing did change, right?

The click of your mouse and the loud tapping of keys filled the silence of the library. Colin snored with eyes wide open. It was hard to tell when the old man was awake or sleeping. You weren’t sure there was a line left between the two for him. He spent most of his working hours in the back on the other side of the windowed wall although what exactly he did there remained a mystery.

There wasn’t very much to do there outside the occasional school visits in which students walked down to complete some research project or the teacher’s held a crafting circle. You liked those days as often you could join in and help wrangle in the pupils as they explored the sterile shelves.

Melissa stood and her chair rolled back with a grumble. She stretched and bent to grab her purse from under the desk.

“I’m going down to Bab’s. You want anything?”

“Hmm,” you tapped your chin as you leaned back. “I wouldn’t mind a latte. Oh, and I think they have the banana loaf today. A slice of that too.”

You peeked under the desk and sat forward to grab your bag from the cubby beside your PC tower. “Nope,” Mel stopped you, “it’s on me today. I need a breath of fresh air anyway. Even if it is cold as hell.”

“Oh, thanks, Mel,” you smiled and grabbed a pen to click in your monotony. “We should dig out the Christmas decorations soon. It might actually give us something to do.”

“Maybe for an hour or two,” she pulled her jacket from the rack that stood against the wall between the front counter and the back room, “We could try something new this year. I saw these lights online, you can program them with your phone.”

“You think Colin could handle that?”

“Like he would even notice.” She laughed and pulled on her coat and grabbed her purse. “Latte, banana bread.” She recited. “I’ll be back.”

You watched her go then stretched your legs out as you arched in the chair. You fell back limp and closed your eyes. You could fall asleep right there. You really couldn’t blame Colin for his waking trance. This place made your ears buzz and your head spin.

You heard the whoosh of the automatic doors and sat up. You were surprised at your visitor but not disappointed. Melissa’s daughter approached the desk as she swung her bag in her hand. You could tell by the little wrinkle between her eyebrows that she wasn’t happy.

“Your mom’s just gone to Bab’s,” you rolled closer to the desk. “You must’ve seen her.”

“I saw her.” She said tersely. She stilled her fidgeting and planted her dangling purse on the desk. She sighed and crossed her arms. “I’m here to talk to you.”

“Is something the matter?”

You were nervous. You knew her as well as her mother and you got along. You shared an interest in old Hollywood and a taste for dry history and humour. You liked her, envied her even for having a mother like Melissa.

“I hate doing this. I hate when he makes me do this.” She dropped her arms and instead gripped her hips. “You want to come down to the Asp tonight? For a drink?”

You chuckled and clicked the pen. “It’s Wednesday. I have to open tomorrow and--”

“Hrgh,” she huffed. “I’m sorry but it’s… not a question.”

You put the pen down and clamped your lips together. She shook her head and looked away.

“It’s an order. From Bucky.” She tapped her toe on the carpet. “I tried to tell him that you wouldn’t want to come so late. That you know, you work. He just doesn’t listen and--” She heaved and threw up her hands in exasperation, “I tried.”

“But… me? I don’t even know any of those… people. It’s not really my scene.” You swallowed and dug your nail into your thumb. 

“I’ll be there. Same with Steve’s girl from the bakery. She’s nice. And…” her eyes were dull but irritated, “look, if you don’t show up, Bucky will go and find you. Everyone in town reports to him. You don’t have to be in his club, he owns Birch.” She grabbed the thin strap of her small purse and drew it from the desk, “you don’t want to learn that the hard way like I did.”

You knew it wasn’t Bucky who wanted you there, you suspected that big blond brute who had chased you down the street. Her anxiety fed yours and made you uneasy. If she were that afraid, how scared should you be?

“I think you know my answer considering I’ve been given little choice.” You said firmly. “What time?”

“Seven. I got him to budge on at least that. You won’t be out too late.” She gave a weak smile and twisted the strap of her bag. “Stay close to me and I’ll do what I can. You know, with Steve’s girl, I really tried…” She looked away and rolled her as they turned glossy. “Sometimes, Bucky listens to me and I’m figuring out how to make him.”

“Why are you with him?” You whispered. “Why--”

“You think it’s a choice I made.” She blinked and sniffed. “No, it was made for me when I was born in this god forsaken pit.” She thrust her purse over her shoulder and shrugged. “I don’t know why anyone would make up their mind to come here.”

“I can’t say I’m happy with the decision.” You returned.

She sent you a pitying look before she spun away. She marched back to the doors as her mother nearly collided with her. They spoke for a few minutes before the younger left and Melissa came over to plop her goodies on the desk.

“New latte flavour, candy cane. I figured we might get a bit festive.” She announced.

💀

You stood outside the Asp and stared up at the snow-covered marquee. The powder began to fall just after noon and collected along the small ledge below the image of Cleopatra.  You wore a bright pink toque with an oversized pom-pom and tucked your chin down against the matching scarf tucked down the front of your cherry-coloured coat. You stuck out among the grey of Birch.

You didn’t put much effort into getting ready. You kept on the same polka-dot blouse from work and traded your trousers for faded jeans and a pair of knee-high boots. You took a breath and stepped through the doors, barely avoided the rush of snow that fell down behind you.

The bar smelled of beer and a stale but pungent dinginess. You looked around in the low din. The bartender, a woman named Lucy, dried several glasses and stacked them on a shelf and every man in the place wore leather. 

You found Melissa’s daughter next to Bucky as he squinted at his closest accomplice, Steve. The shy girl from the bakery was tucked under his arm as she picked at the hem of her short skirt. You cleared your throat as you pondered leaving.

A figure on Bucky’s other side stood and you frowned as that man, Thor, smiled at you like a puppy. You fixed your mouth into a straight line as Bucky’s girl rose and waved you over.

“Hey, you made it,” she said. You didn’t miss the way Bucky’s hand slid up her thigh.

“Yeah,” you said flatly as you rounded the table.

“Kitten,” Thor greeted as he pulled out the chair next to him in a flourish. “I’ve a seat just for you.”

You looked from the chair to his face. You made no move to sit.

“If that’s not to your tastes, you can sit in my lap.” He taunted.

Your lips parted in disgust and you grabbed the back of the chair. You wrenched it away from him and backed up steadily as you dragged it around the table. You stopped it next to Steve’s girl and unzipped your jacket. You sat and shrugged out of the coat then crossed your arms. You tore your eyes from the large man and smiled at the baker girl.

“The banana loaf was good,” you said. “Sorry I didn’t make it down.”

“Oh, it’s ugly out there,” she turned in Steve’s hold and his arm slipped down around her waist. 

You could feel Thor’s constant gaze as you humoured the girl about the weather and listened to her story about how Mrs. Deeton sent back a blueberry scone for not having any blackberries. You did your best to blot out the rest of the bar.

“Kitten, you want a drink?” He interrupted and you peered over at him. You glanced from him to Lucy as she stood and awaited an order.

“Do you have ginger ale?” You asked her directly.

“We have club soda or iced tea right now.” She said with venom.

“Iced tea, thank you.” You fished through your purse for a fiver.

“Put it on my tab,” Thor insisted.

“No, it’s fine, I--”

You held out the bill and he reached across to snatch it from your hand. “On my tab.” He repeated and the barmaid stomped away. He tossed the five back to you and smirked. “Keep it, kitten.”

You swiped it up and turned back to Steve’s girl. She looked frightened as she stared at the blonde man and slowly returned her attention to you.

“Um, so, I was going to tell you the secret ingredient to Bab’s banana bread but you have to promise not to tell.”

“Sure,” you leaned in and she whispered it in your ear and giggled. 

“I’m not supposed to tell.” She uttered as she touched her cheeks guiltily.

“I’ve been telling her she don’t need to worry about rules,” Steve intoned as his fingers danced on her hip.

“My mother made the best banana cream pie,” Thor interrupted. “She handed the recipe down to me. My sister was never much into sweets.”

“Oh?” Steve’s girl turned to Thor. “We don’t serve that at Bab’s but we have lemon meringue.”

“Mother made that too. She showed me the trick to perfect peaks. I could show you.”

Steve growled and pulled his girl closer. She looked at him as he sent a heated glare at Thor. She touched his chest and cooed at him to relax. Lucy returned with your iced tea and you took it eagerly as the tension burned at your face.

“So, kitten,” Thor scooted his chair around the table as you set your glass down, “what trouble did you get into today?”

“I work at a library.” You uttered dryly.

“And did you enjoy your wine last night? I always heard it’s better with company.”

You jutted out your jaw in annoyance and looked at him. He was painfully persistent.

“Excuse me.” You stood and nearly gave him a face full of your chest. You looked to Bucky’s girl as she listened to his incessant grumbles. “Where’s the restroom?”

“Just down there,” she pointed along the far side of the bar.

“I could show you,” Thor offered and you waved him off.

“I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

“Yes, you are,” he purred and you backed up as his eyes grazed your hips.

You were all too eager to hide in the bathroom and closed yourself in a stall as you tried not to scream. You had dealt with perverts before. Often you were the butt of some joke. The wingman settled for the chubby girl so his pal could get laid. Those types thought you were desperate and had no qualms with getting handsy on the dance floor. But college was long ago and Birch wasn’t known for its nightlife.

After a moment, you were able to steady yourself and you left the stall. You stood by the grungy sink and stared at the mirror. Why you? Why was this idiot bugging you?

You went back out with reluctant steps. You passed a drunk man at the bar talking about some feat of machismo in his foregone youth. As you neared the table, you froze in the spot as you listened.

“...she’s fat anyway.” Steve snarled and laughed meanly.

His chortle was curtailed as a chair scraped on the floor and the baker girl cried out. Thor forced Steve to his feet but the front of his tee shirt. He pulled him past his girl and brought him close as he growled down at him through flaring nostrils.

“I like you, Rogers, but your mouth makes it real hard.” Thor sneered.

“What the fuck?” Steve struggled against him, “let me go.”

“I’m not sitting here shit-talking your woman, eh. You might have little respect for them, but I do.”

“Jesus Christ!” Steve was on tip-toes as he was held up by the other man.

“Apologize.” Thor demanded.

“Wha--”

“Dammit, Steve, say sorry.” Bucky snapped.

“S-sorry, dude.” Steve stuttered.

“Not to me,” Thor turned and to your surprise, he thrust Steve around to face you. “To her.”

You stared in shock as Steve straightened his shirt. He was like a petulant child as he looked you in the eye. “I’m sorry.”

“For…” Thor prodded.

“I’m sorry I called you fat.” Steve looked away.

“I…” you didn’t know what to do or say as you glanced past him to the other girls. “Well, I am so it’s fine.”

Thor shoved Steve back and his thick brows drew together. “Don’t listen to him,” he said. “I like a little extra.”

“Hey,” Bucky’s girl interrupted as she stood suddenly, “the table’s free. How about I get Wanda and we can play some doubles, just us girls.” She touched Bucky’s shoulders, “leave the men to their business.”

Thor’s shoulders fell and he shook his head. He grinned at you even as his disappointment shone through.

“Sure,” you answered as you stepped around him. “Sounds fun.”

💀

You focused on the felt. It didn’t help block out the blazing heat of Thor’s leer. You refused to look over at him and instead pretended to be enthralled with the game of solids and stripes. 

When you were a kid, you went to the youth centre and played with the rest of the kids desperate for a distraction. In uni, you enjoyed your plastic cups of cheap sambuca and coke at the campus bar and chalked up the cues. You were no expert but you could hit a good shot now and again. Your mother used to recount tales of her hustler father. Maybe it was his blood that kept your hand steady.

The other girls played as a pair as you handed off to Wanda. She wore the cut of the Birch’s club and her dark lipstick was the same shade as the leather. You saw her now and again with the men. She smoked her cigarettes out front and watched the town with indifference.

Wanda took her shot and clicked her tongue as she scratched. You shook your head as Steve’s girl scrunched her nose at the table. You were even; three stripes and three solids. She went around the far corner and awkwardly positioned herself over the side. She reached back to tug down her short skirt, she was clearly uncomfortable in the revealing outfit.

She sunk her mark but her next stopped short of the pocket. She shook her head and apologized to Steve’s girl who assured her with a pat on the shoulder. You took the cue from Wanda and walked around the table. You walked back and wondered if you could sink two in one. It was a possible angle but could you hit it?

You tilted your head and sighed. You bent and brought your foot back as you squinted and carefully positioned the cue. You couldn’t decide whether you should try to spin it to the right or hit it straight on. You knew the power you needed but you couldn’t afford to hit a stripe.

You almost tapped the cue ball as you felt a warmth over you and suddenly a hard torso was against your back. You went rigid as Thor bent over you and put his hands over your as he adjusted your aim. His hot breath wrapped around your neck.

“Almost, kitten,” he pushed his crotch against your ass.

You pulled the cue back so that it hit his ribs and he grunted as his hands fell to the edge of the table. You took the shot and pushed out of his grasp. His hand dragged over your ass as he stood straight and touched his side with a wince. 

“I got it.” You said as both balls rolled and dropped into opposite pockets.

He chuckled and bit his lip. It was almost a snarl as he watched you across the table and you sensed the bated breaths of the other women.

“I like a woman with a firm grip,” he winked, “And confidence.”

You looked back to the table as he loomed on the other side. You sunk the last solid and lined up for the eight ball. A straight, easy shot that even the most amateur could get. You ended the game and Wanda clapped as the other girls grumbled their congratulations.

“Best out of three?” Steve’s girl asked.

“I’m sorry to disappoint but I have to work early.” You leaned the cue on the table. “I showed up and now I’m done. It was fun, girls, but I’m gonna turn in.”

You smiled at each of them and your face fell as you passed them and went to grab your coat from the chair where it still hung. Thor was less than subtle as he followed you to the table and watched you zip up your coat over your chest. You slung your purse over your arm and pulled your hat on as you braced for the chill that awaited you.

“You shouldn’t walk alone.” Thor intoned.

“It’s a small town. I’m fine.” You spun away and again, he followed.

At the door, you turned back and crossed your arms. “Look, I can handle myself, buddy. Now leave me alone.”

“I’m just being nice.”

“You’re being a pest.”

“You love it.”

You huffed and closed your eyes to keep them from rolling back into your skull. You looked at him again and bit down on your words. “Do you ever give up?”

“On you, never.” He grinned.

“Well, be a good dog and stay.” You jabbed your finger in the air. “Stay!” You repeated as if he was a hyper dog. “Good.”

You quickly slipped through the door and booked it across the street. The door didn’t hit the frame but was instead caught as his boots scuffed out behind you. You peered back as you reached the other side and kept up your steady jog. He watched you but did not give chase.

“I’ll sniff you out one day, kitten,” he called out. “Pussy, pussy, pussy.”

[tu-sugar-mami]

You're an exchange student part 2:

You can read the first part here

You sit awkwardly on a gigantic chair while holding a lukewarm, barely touched cup of tea with both of your hands. Your back is straight and your shoulders are tense. You're starting to feel a bit sore after being still for a long time but you can't bring yourself to move.

After the incident with the first cultist —or what you still think is a cultist, the redhead girl— the tall lady took away your bug repelent and lighter along with your backpack, putting them on the top row of a nearby shelf where she was sure your little hands wouldn't reach.

If you're honest, you're not sure how you ended up sitting in the chair in front of the gigantic fireplace with many heavy comforters on you providing much needed warmth, feeling like an unexpected but not unwelcomed guest instead of the next sacrifice, but truly you're not complaining. This is thousand times better than to die outside from the cold.

As you sit there innocently waiting for the next important thing to happen, you can see that the two young women who arrived after you are exchanging a few words with Miss Tall Lady while taking off their coats to reveal several layers of winter clothes underneath. It's strange to you, but you pay it no mind. Every person takes different to the cold, after all.

The tall lady starts pacing back and forth in front of you heatedly talking, glancing at you once or twicce, and it's not hard for you to notice the strain and exasperation in her tone. Whatever she's saying sounds serious, but you can only make out a few words like 'offering' 'wrong' and 'mistake'.

Not knowing what to respond your find yourself distracted by the decor. Your eyes roaming every detail of the chiseled fireplace, taking in the most fine of the details. Then, is the stairwell that catches you attention and you can't help but to think it would be a great place to slide on a cardboard box.

"Are you listening to me?" A commanding voice and a snap of fingers brings your wandering mind down from the clouds and your neck snaps to face the woman. Her eyes are a beautiful golden, and you can't believe you didn't notice before.

"Your eyes are mesemerizing..." You say in your language, breathless, the words slipping past your lips almost as in a trance. Your gaze goes a bit down and your fingers twitch with a sudden desire to run them over those blood-red lips and feel for yourself if they are as soft as they look.

Miss Tall Lady looks thrown off by the foreign accent in your voice. It's definitely one she hadn't have the pleasure of hearing before and somehow makes her pause. Her mind might be playing tricks on her but why did whatever you said felt like some kind of compliment?

"Mother?" One of the young women from before asks tentatively. You don't know if you're right but you think the girls are the woman's daughters.

"Take this one to the library. I will follow shortly." Miss Tall Lady says before hurriedly walking away, though without losing her lady-like grace. Your eyes follow an hypnothic sway of hips going up the stairs before you sense a hand being extended towards you, expecting.

"Teacup, please." A blonde, very polite-looking young lady says. You jump a bit in your seat and inevitably blush, thinking for a moment you were caught in your respecful percieving, but to your relief the woman in front of you didn't seem to notice that.

"Uh..." You're not sure what Miss Blonde wants, but judging by the look she's giving you, you suppose she wants to greet you formally, so you do what any other civilized person would do. "Hi, it's a pleasure to meet you, miss." You say as you properly position the teacup in your left hand and with your right you shake hers. She's taken aback, but after a second of hesitation a smile breaks and graces her face.

A pair of loud laughs sound from behind the blonde. The young woman with the dark hair approaches you both from the side with an amused grin. "I like this one, Bels."

"An odd one indeed." Miss Blonde replies.

The last one of the unusual trio approaches on the other side of the blonde, the redhead you knocked out earlier. She looks at you intently. "Just so you know, no one besides mother sends me to sleep without consecuenses, little one." and punctuates her statement with a boop to your nose.

"Yes, yes, you'll get your revenge later, Daniela. Let's not keep Mother waiting." You're hoisted up by the hand. The warm comforters falling off your back and piling on the big chair, instantly making you shiver with the lack of heat. The three women walk away and you have no other option than to follow them.

The door is opened and inside you find yourelf gaping at the amount of books stacked on the big shelves. You can count with one hand the times you've been in a house that has its own library, but this one by far takes the cake. "Can i grab a book?" You ask to Miss Dark Hair, pointing to one of the nearestt bookshelves while giving your trademark Puppy Eyes.

"What? You want to read?"

"Book." You say, pointing again insistently to the bottom row of antique books.

"Sure, go have your fun while Mother arrives." Miss Blonde nods and you waste no time to grab the fattest, heaviest book of them all and sit on the floor with your legs crossed, only to sigh in dissapointment as the book is in a language you yet again can't understand. But as you flip the pages you can see that it has very depicting images of old eras that you find fascinating.

You don't notice the time passing as you 'read' undisturbingly, until a big hand is placed on your shoulder and you almost jump out of yor skin, closing the book with a snap, effectively losing the page where the images told you the process to make soap.

"Someone's been studying, i see." The Tall Lady from before stands before you in all her height and you cand help but to rake your gaze all over that goddess until you reach her eyes, not without your flushed face at the end. "So, i brought you here for a reason." She says while her hand motions you to stand. "Here at the Dimitrescu Castle we are in possesion of many doors to knowledge, which does include many books that offer some insight about other countries along with their tongues." You're nodding along whatever she's saying, not a single word ringing a bell in your understanding but to you it would be impolite to leave her hanging. Tall Lady stops in her tracks, in front of a very dusty bookshelf with even older books. Her hand goes from side to side selecting several books which she then hands to you.

You eye the books curiously and you notice that they're a vast collections of translating dictionaries, all varying in length and language. You kneel and start looking through them, being mindful of the most antique and delicate ones. You spot a thin one but with a very familiar dialect and you look up to give Tall Lady a toothy smile. "This one is! Uh... Wait, let's see." You open the book and look through the content searching for words. You stand and motion the lady to lean a bit and start pointing words.

'Student.'

'Cold.'

'Lost'

'Thankful."

As you keep making sense with the few words you're provided, the expression on the lady's face changes to a one of understanding and pity. She pulls out a very fancy-looking pair of glasses out from who knows where and takes the book from your hands, flipping through it's pages, looking for words of her own.

'Stay.'

'Dinner.'

'Sleep.'

'Rest.'

She points word by word and you get the hint. You nod eagerly and smile. Tall Lady smiles back at you and for a second there you feel your heart paralize. You could have sworn you saw a pair of unusually long canines on that pearly white smile. But surely you're just tired, right?

"Daniela, please take our guest to one of the spare rooms." The lady says gesturing to the red-haired young woman.

"Yes, Mother." And the next thing you know your being lead by the arm out of the room.

Once you're gone the tall lady's whole demeanor changes to one of anger and she let's out a frustrated sigh. "The nerve of those villagers. To send a foreigner as the monthly offering! No wonder why the man-thing you brought was insisting it was a mistake."

"They're not respecting the deal, Mother. Should i make them understand who they're dealing with?"

The Tall Lady's pointer finger rests on her lips as she thinks. "No. I'd like to have a word with the leader." She put the book on a the nearrest table with a bit too much force, snapping the poor table in half. "Bela, bring him to me."

---------

Part two is up. Less comedy, more plot. This isn't planned to be long so maybe this will only have one or two more chapters.

@thejennystuttle

[aboxthecolourofheartache]

Prompt meme: Essek & the Nein + Shadowgast -- there are countless ways to justify company

I really wanted to get this one finished before the final ep, and hoo boy did it get down to the wire. This is Essek & the Nein rather than shippy, but it does fit the prompt!

~

cw: insects, Essek-typical fatalism, oblique mention of suicidal ideation joke cw: excessive idyllic Blooming Grove purple prose, maudlin pseudo- emotional hurt/comfort

~

Calliope steps in from outside and scans the room for her recently-returned brother. Lamplight and illusion light play over her face. The Nein huddle around their purple tiefling while Caleb projects images in shades of amber onto a blank wall. She sees the hooks where her mother temporarily took down a framed tapestry. It’s rolled up, carefully tucked beside the pantry out of harm’s way. Faces she does not recognize light up the room. Caduceus presides over the whole affair with his usual smile of placid benevolence. Calliope isn’t fooled. He’s drinking tea from their mother’s favorite mug, not his.

She hesitates. If Caduceus is already out of sorts, maybe she should fumble her way through rather than adding to his worries.

But he looks up, catches her eye, and his ears swivel inquiringly. She doesn’t miss how his gaze darts behind her for a glimpse of the cool night outside.

Calliope revises her assessment; she’s handing him a polite excuse, not a burden.

Caduceus sets down their mother’s mug on his vacated stool to join her at the door. They slip just outside to speak quietly.

“What is it?”

“Your fancy drow friend is down by the spring getting mud on the seat of his pants.” Calliope shrugs one shoulder.

“Ah…” Caduceus scratches his cheek with tattered nails. He has a long, bald line down the side of his neck that looks much too much like the marks a hawk leaves on a rabbit for Calliope’s liking. Even with magical healing, it’s not new.

Calliope studies her brother. “Remind me of his name, and I can-”

Caduceus shakes his head. “Nah. Thanks.”

He rests a hand on her shoulder for just too long and squeezes just too hard. She takes a sister’s prerogative and sticks a finger into his armpit. When rears his head back, startled, she blows him a kiss and hurries through the door before he can retaliate in good humor. As soon as he’s certain she’s out of earshot, he chuckles to himself. Mother’s Blessings, but he has missed his family. Every moment with them now feels all the sweeter for thinking he would never see them again in life.

There’s a stump by the front door with odds and ends yet to be put away but not to go into the house. A pair of pruning shears, a metal file, some nice rocks. Caduceus picks amongst the assembled straw hats and gloves until he extracts a lantern. Its reservoir holds enough oil to last him a good while, and he breaks a frayed straw from a hat to light it from the lantern above the door.

Essek might be able to see by starlight alone, but Caduceus needs the help on moonless nights like this. He shoos a moth away from the lantern to close it.

“Hmm… There’s a good idea.”

Hinges creak when he opens the shed door. Insects parade behind his light and follow him in to search the shelves. One flies directly into a spider web. Ah, nature…. Caduceus smiles, humming a little, and takes a squat glass jar candle down. There’s a scant disc of wax at the bottom of the jar, and the sides are sooty black. Once he wipes off enough dust to check the label, and tucks it under his arm.

Caduceus is not a particularly stealthy person, but he knows the Grove like he knows his goddess loves him. Tree roots, headstones both upright and fallen, and errant lilac branches pose no obstacle as he follows the gentle slope to the spring. He snags a few borage flowers to munch as he walks, lantern swinging like a little bobbing boat of light on its pole before him.

The grave markers thin out the farther he goes. Of course, not all graves are marked, but the Clays know better than to plant the dead too close to their potable water. Caduceus crests the berm dug house-side of the spring for flood control and looks out over the pool.

Night-dark water, scattered with stars.

With near-to-no breeze, it’s only the constant feed of water from the spring moving the surface. Still is a relative term for a pool full of tiny swimming things. If life were light, this place would sear the eye. Right now, darkness fills the glade. The Grove rustles and chirps its nighttime music.

Essek’s feet are bare. Caduceus notices this not because he can see said feet, but because he walks by Essek’s boots on the path to the water. He scans around. The lantern doesn’t have the range of light the crystal on his staff might, or Caleb’s pretty dancing glow-blobs.

“Here.” Essek calls quietly from some fifty feet away. He sounds amused, probably because Caduceus is turning circles in the dark. If he’s giving away his position, that’s a good sign. He might have stayed quiet.

Caduceus’ heart rate slows. He tamps down the insidious voice that tries to pass itself off for caution. Some part of him, however small, was ready to turn back if met with silence. Some part of him, however smaller, was bracing to find Essek, silent, shrouded in the mint and the cattails and the irises in the pink of dawn.

Fear, the pervasive kind that lights up the body as well as the mind, especially fear for the survival of self and loved ones, takes time to wash away in the flow of peace. A frog plops inelegantly into the pool. Caduceus rubs his thumb under the ridge of his brow, sighs, and breathes in a lungful of quiet nighttime air.

He squelches in Essek’s direction, not bothering to look for footprints to track the way. There’s a few strands of white, curly hair caught on a low-hanging branch, though. Caduceus grins. The Grove has its own sense of humor. Some of that humor materializes in the form of bugs. Wings big and small flutter and buzz around the lantern. This is why the Clays’ lanterns are closed; picking charred insect corpses out of the oil gets tedious, as does digging them from wax before it cools.

Essek moved surprisingly far off the path to choose his place by the pool. Probably because he can float. Caduceus can’t imagine Essek enjoying a barefoot tromp through mud. As it is, he’s picked a silty bank almost low enough to be called a beach. He floats above the ground, of course, even seated cross-legged as he is.

Caduceus makes enough noise rattling through the reeds that he feels no need to announce himself. That, and the light. Essek delicately shields his eyes from the bright little oil flame. Caduceus sets the lantern and jar candle down to push aside plantlife - startling a rabbit into flight - until he finds a suitable leaf. As big around as his circled arms, the rubbery leaf will keep his bottom from getting soggy when he sits on the bank. Not everyone can float at will. Some people have to worry about soggy bottoms.

He settles near - but not next to - Essek. He blows a moth from the glass to open the lantern, using the hot oil flame to light a twig and subsequently quicken the jar candle. The wick is slow to catch, but when it does, he extinguishes the twig in the wet sand.

“Keeps the bugs off,” Caduceus explains, pinching out the lantern. He can’t see as well now, but the candle ought to be kinder on Essek’s eyes, sensitive to begin with and now acclimatized to the dark.

“You brought most of them with you, Mr. Clay.” Essek, still amused, does Caduceus the favor of drifting into the dim edge of the candlelight.

Silence comes easy to both of them, so they are quiet. Yet, Caduceus does have a friend’s obligation to pry a bit, if only to be told to stop prying.

“Nice night.”

“Mm,” Essek agrees. A minnow flips quick as lightning, landing with hardly a splash or a ripple. Reflected stars shimmer and settle. “The oldest Luxon temples all have a stargazing pool under a dome with an oculus. Today, they are an affectation by the elite, decorating courtyards. Fools even build such pools in Rosohna.” He huffs a sharp, quiet laugh. “Perpetual dark or no, the city produces enough light to render any such pool nothing but a vapid ornament. I had three.”

Caduceus knows this is soliloquy, not conversation, so he holds quiet. That ‘had,’ though. Caduceus makes note of that ‘had.’

Essek gazes down at the stars. When he speaks again, it is the softest murmur. “I always wanted to see the natural sky in a natural pool.”

Quiet.

With a brisk shiver, Essek pulls his manners together. “Mr. Clay, my apologies. You’ve left your warm house and your friends, and I doubt it was to listen to me drip sentiment everywhere. If you were sent to find me, I am found, and well. Merely enjoying the night in your beautiful Grove.”

Not a full day ago, Essek openly shed tears for a person neither he nor Caduceus had ever met. Now, he’s back to apologizing for being anything other than pleasant and saying things like ‘had’ and ‘your friends.’ Caduceus owes Calliope a huge hug and a batch of caraway flatbreads.

Caduceus tosses an idle pebble into the pond, disturbing the stars and the little fish. He can’t see them, but he bets Essek can pick out flickers of scale underwater. “Any fish in those ponds of yours?”

Essek shakes his head. “None.”

“Then this pool’s definitely better.”

“I agree entirely.”

Another pebble into the pond, and Caduceus asks, “Is that stardust thing true?”

“Your pardon?” Essek, now engaged in something resembling conversation, seems off-put.

“I heard someone say we’re all stardust.”

“Oh, that.” Essek tips his head. “Over-simplified, but true.”

Caduceus sits back and tilts his face up to the real stars above. “That’s nice,” he says. “That’s lovely. I wouldn’t have known that’s true if you weren’t here to tell me. We're not the Mighty Eight.”

Quiet, again.

Essek’s laugh is more of a sigh. “Point taken.” He, too, looks up. “It really is too lovely a truth not to share.”

Caduceus smiles. “You wanna go back to our friends at the house? Candle’s getting low. I didn’t not get eaten by a city to get eaten by bugs in my own home.”

“...Would you mind terribly if we stay until it goes out? Our friends are, ah, loud.”

“That they are.” Caduceus chuckles. “Yeah. We can stay out a bit longer.”

[sinner-as-saint]

Safe and Sound.

Bucky Barnes x Librarian!Reader AU

Requested.

Run-through: After the civil war, when Team Cap made peace with the rest of the Avengers, Bucky Barnes still had a lot to fix in his life. Bucky finds solace and all the answers he’s looking for in the cozy library café which you own in the middle of the busy city. He quickly becomes a regular client of yours, and through shy smiles, lengthy discussions regarding books and poetry, and leaving each other secret notes in book pages – you get attached to one another. More than you intended to.

Themes: Fluff, slight angst, a lil smutty

You heard the ding of the bell at the front door, which let you know that someone had walked into your library. You turned around and found your favorite client standing at the entrance – Bucky Barnes.

You immediately smiled at the sight of him. He was just such an interesting man, one couldn’t help but admire him no matter what he did. You watched as he carefully wiped his boots on the rug by the door before stepping in, always careful as to not make the floor all muddy given it had just rained outside.

He always came by with a coffee cup in his metal hand. And he would spend hours in your library, reading whatever you’d recommend, and whatever he didn’t have time to finish, he’d take home with him. He was a fast reader, you noticed a couple of weeks ago; he was always eager to finish a book, and his curiosity to learn and discover more could clearly be seen.

Of course, he had missed lots of works of literature over the years and now he was struggling to forget his gruesome past as the Winter Soldier, trying to find himself again to fit into the modern world better, fighting through bad memories and trauma and trying to catch up on what he missed while he wasn’t himself; reading became his favorite thing. It served as a hobby, as well as a coping mechanism. Whenever Bucky found himself going into a dark place again, he’d immediately turn to a book which you recommended and just within a few pages, he’d feel much better.

You and Bucky flirt a lot, but he’s also so respectful and polite and just the right amount of cheesy. He was a little old-fashioned, especially regarding his idea of romance and his take on modern romantic novels, but that was one of the many things you liked about him. He was an interesting man, and great company.

You liked him quite a lot. And he liked you back. But neither of you ever made the first step. You were too shy and he didn’t feel like you belonged with someone who has a past like his. But regardless, he had been catching feelings for you. You reminded him that there was still good left in this world; your gentleness, how tender you were with your voice and how selfless and loving you were when interacting with your clients.  

Bucky knew he would never be able to let you go. Some days, while you were busy with others or arranging the many shelves in your library, when you paid no attention to him; Bucky’s eyes would follow you discretely. He often daydreamed about what life could be like for him if you were his. Someone he could trust. Someone to come home to. Someone who would care.

Bucky liked you a lot. He liked how you hummed under your breath as you walked around, working. He liked the colors you wore very often; tan coats, and soft sweaters, and golden jewelry. Bucky had been around for a long while, and he had seen his fair share of beautiful women, but he still thought you were the most gorgeous person he had ever laid eyes on.

A couple of words from you, and he was under your spell like it was nothing.

 As for you, Bucky Barnes was not just a super soldier, he was the man who was slowly developing a love for reading, and he was also the man who could make your heart flutter just by looking into your eyes with those deep blue orbs.

Cream colored sweaters, messy hair, he was always a lovely sight. You still remembered the first time he walked into your library months ago;

-flashback-

Gloomy day. But the occasional soft murmurs of everyone scattered around your library café helped maintain the faint smile on your face. You were rearranging the modern fiction shelf, humming quietly under your breath when suddenly you noticed there was complete silence.

No soft murmurs, no fingernails hitting phone screens furiously, no pages turning, nothing. You moved from behind the shelf and approached the front desk, where you usually sat. And there he was, James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier, ex fist of HYDRA; standing at the door of your library.

Dark jacket over his sweater, his metal arm tucked in the pocket of his jeans and a coffee in his hand. You were certain all eyes were on him for two main reasons; one being that he was part of the Avengers team, hence intimidating, and second, because he was drop dead gorgeous.

None of his pictures did him justice, you thought as you took in his broad, and muscular frame. Dark hair and blue eyes; he looked like he had been handcrafted by the Gods.

You were somewhat surprised upon seeing him because none of the Avengers ever swung by, despite your library café being well-known in the city. And to have one of the strongest man in the city walk into your café was not something which happened very often. Or ever really.

You felt bad for a minute because you saw how he shifted nervously under everyone’s gaze. He must hate the attention. So you decided to ease the tension.

“Mr. Barnes, come on in.” you smiled warmly at him, like you did with all your other clients. And you could feel the tension in the air beginning to diminish immediately. Almost everyone stopped staring at him, because given the way you greeted him, they thought he must be a regular client of yours – harmless despite his slightly rough demeanor.

Bucky Barnes gave you a faint smile and took some steps in. But not before wiping his slight wet boots on the rug. He was so thoughtful, not wanting to soil your floor. He walked up to the desk and looked around, seeming a little lost.

“Welcome, Mr. Barnes. How may I help you?” you kept the soft smile on your face.

He looked down at the floor for a moment, smiling to himself. “Sorry I just… it’s been forever since I stepped into a library.”

Something about that sentence made your chest hurt. He seemed so lost in this big, modern city. You knew all about him, and his past; you had read multiple articles about it. He was one of the most talked about members of the Avengers, especially since the recent fall out between Stark and Rogers. But thankfully the heroes had worked it out, and the team was whole again.

You nodded slowly. “That’s alright, Mr. Barnes. We can ease you into it. There’s no need to rush, I have all the time in the world.” he lifted his head up to look at you once he heard your words. Warmth and kindness was still new to him, and very much welcomed.

“Thank you.”

 And that was the beginning of a friendship which then became so much more. Bucky formed an instant connection with you. Your warmth, your easy-going manner, your humor and kindness; it was all he never knew he craved.

And to you, he was no longer just a client anymore. He was someone you looked forward to seeing each day. He became a habit. The image of him walking into the huge glass doors of your library became your new favorite thing.

-end of flashback-

 “Hey, doll.” he greeted you the same way each time, with a faint smile.

Your smile stretched wider at the sound of his voice. “Hi, Bucky. Finished your book?” you asked, and as always, he nodded and chuckled.

“Finished it just last night.” he said proudly. “What do you have for me next?” he asked, handing you over the book he took last time, just two days ago.

You typed on your computer for a second then looked up at him, “Depends, how did you like Miss Clark?”

He chuckled looking right into your eyes with his stormy blue eyes. “She reminds me of you.”

You raised an eyebrow at him playfully. “Does she now?” you playfully teased. And Bucky gave you a handsome smile.

“Maybe you should read the book again. You’ll see what I mean.” He smirked and you knew that smirk all too well.

You and Bucky had this thing you did where you’d leave each other cheesy notes in books. You’d leave the notes in books which you recommended him, and he’d leave his notes in books which he returned you, and that had been going on for quite some weeks now. Most of the notes were sweet and flirty, some much cheesier than others.

You smiled at him. “Alright then, go get yourself a seat. I’ll bring you some books.”

Bucky lingered for a few more seconds, just gazing at you and making your heart flutter before he finally went away to his usual seat; at the furthest corner, by the art pieces and the large window. You watched him for a brief second, how he sipped on his coffee and looked out the window, staring at the world he often wondered if he belonged in.

You went back towards the shelves and opened the book. And as per usual, you found the piece of parchment paper he always left you. There, scribbled in messy handwriting was the note he left you;

-‘… you are pretty much the only thing that makes me want to get up in the morning.’

He had left you a quote from the book itself today, like he did often. And your face felt hot and you smiled like a kid in love as you read, and re-read, the note over and over again. You couldn’t help but think of the day he had told you something quite similar; “You know, coming here and talking to you is the best part of my days.”

You blushed as you walked over to select some books for your favorite client. The fact that you two always flirted through notes in secrecy made you giddy. Bucky was an old soul, and he was an old-fashioned romantic and you had absolutely no problem with that. If anything, these secretive notes from him felt much, much more special than any text would.

You moved to the poetry section and looked for one of your favorites which he hadn’t read yet. You smiled as you found the collection and you quickly searched for a pen and a piece of parchment – which you had bought and kept solely to leave notes for Bucky.

You wrote down the two verses of one of your favorite poems and slipped the piece of parchment in before handing him the books;

“Seas have their source, and so have shallow springs;

And love is love, in beggars and in kings.”

 You were undeniably falling for the metal-armed soldier. And him, you. Even though neither of you admitted it, nor confessed your true feelings to one another.

---

Two days later, Bucky came by not even a minute after you opened, no other clients were here yet. No coffee in hand, red eyes, looking like he had had a rough night and barely any sleep. Soft beige sweater, and messy hair – he looked handsome regardless.

“Hi Bucky. What’s wrong?” you asked softly, approaching him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

One look into your eyes and he couldn’t help himself, he leaned in for a hug he desperately needed. Wrapping his strong arms around you and placing his head on your shoulder, he sighed loudly. “I had a nightmare. I don’t know where else to go.” He mumbled and you felt your heart tearing in half.

You wrapped your arms around his immediately, rubbing your hand softly up and down his back. “Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here.” You hugged him back as tight as you could, for as long as he needed.

There, in the middle of your library on a gloomy morning, Bucky found comfort. Your hug felt like balm for a wound he had for way too long now, and he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to let you go.

You placed your chin on his shoulder and felt his body heat wrap around you. You cracked a faint smile as you caught your reflection on the nearby mirror. A strong man, broad and brawny like Bucky; seeking comfort from you. Quite an unusual sight, but you definitely something you could get used to.

You held him still, and spoke up. “You wanna go get coffee together?”

He groaned quietly, still wrapped in your arms like a big baby. “No, I don’t wanna be around other people.” He mumbled. And you smiled again, even though your chest hurt a little at his words.

He didn’t want to be around people, yet he walked all the way to your library just to see you. Something about that made you feel all warm inside. And you felt the need to cater to all his needs.

“Okay then, do you want to go to my place so we can have coffee and talk? It’s a short walk from here.” You explained, wanting to make him feel as comfortable as possible.

Bucky pulled away and nodded immediately. You smiled and went towards the desk to gather your things. You pulled out your phone and texted you two other employees, telling them to manage the library till you came by later during the day.

 The walk back to your apartment in the middle of the city was a short and silent one. Bucky held you hand all the way till there, and kept his head low. You felt him turn his head to look at you often, and whenever you caught his stare, he gave you a brief smile; making your heart flutter again.

-

“Sugar or creamer?” you asked, as you made two cups of coffee. Bucky shook his head. Black coffee then, you pushed the one mug towards him and took a seat at the island as well, facing him. “What was it about?” you asked.

Bucky kept his eyes down, understanding that you were referring to the nightmare he had. “Just… me hurting people.” A chill went down his spine as he uttered the words. He had hurt people; many of whom didn’t deserve any pain. But he had mercilessly caused pain. Immeasurable pain. And someone as tainted as him shouldn’t be around someone as warm and kind like you, he thought. He shouldn’t be here. “I shouldn’t be here.” He mumbled abruptly. “I should go.” He avoided your gaze and stood up to leave.

But then you walked over and grabbed his arm. “No.” you stopped him from leaving. “Hey, look at me,” you cupped his face, placing your other hand on his chest, and turned his head towards you. His eyes were red again, watery and sad. He blinked as he looked at you; lost and hurt, wondering if he even deserved this warmth, this attention and care. “I want you here, okay? I care, Bucky.”

He blinked again, letting your words settle in. And once it did, he leaned in for another hug.

“Do you wanna do some reading?” you asked, and he sighed.

“No.” he answered, sounding grumpy.

“Do you want me to read to you?” you asked again and you felt his arms tighten around you.

“Yes please.”

 And that’s how you two ended up on your large couch. Effortlessly comfortable in sharing space with one another; under cozy blankets, and Bucky placed his head on your lap and listened to your voice as you read him some of your favorite poems while mindlessly running your fingers through his hair. He liked this a lot.

“… While faithful love the watch should keep, to banish danger from thy sleep.” You ended another poem and Bucky smiled and looked up at you. “Liked that one?”

He nodded. “What’s it called?”

“Winter song.” You replied.

Very fitting, he thought and smiled to himself before looking up at you again. “Another one, please?” he asked, politely.

You giggled and flipped through the pages of the book, searching for another one. As you began reading, Bucky felt himself slipping more and more under your spell.

There was this sense of familiarity between the two of you. Despite having known each other for just some months, you felt like you knew each other for decades. It was unusual, but comforting. For instance, having him here in your home, in your living room under the same blanket as you felt delightful, and soothing.

Sure, you had a crush on the man since the day he first stepped into your life. And vice versa. But this felt like so much more. It felt satisfying, like coming home after a long day; knowing that inside these walls, you’re protected and far from the dangers of the outside, darker world. Your home and your company made Bucky feel like he was safe inside a bubble of ease and comfort. He hadn’t felt that way in a long, long time. So he was grateful for you.

“…This world I saw as on her judgment day. When the war ends, and the sky rolls away. And all is light, love and eternity.” You finished the poem and looked down to find Bucky asleep on your couch, with his head on your lap.

You smiled as you admired the man. Life hadn’t been easy on him, it had been cruel and painful. And he deserved happiness, and love and light. You knew he did. You leaned down and pressed your lips to his forehead, giving him a quick kiss before carefully slipping from under him and placing a cushion where your lap had been, making sure he was comfortable as he napped.

 And soon, that became a habit as well.

---

Bucky spent much more time in your apartment than he did at the compound. And it felt strangely like a norm you two had been following for years, when in reality it had been just weeks. Perhaps it was because there was no sexual tension in between you two… yet, but you just needed one another to feel normal and complete.

Many days you’d wake up and find him in your kitchen. And you’d sleepily walk over to him, give him a kiss on the shoulder, or his neck, or cheek – whatever was reachable. And he’d smile and kiss your forehead and make you coffee.

Then you’d walk till the library together, and he’d spend some time in there, until he received a call from the team. Of course, he still went on missions, and sometimes you wouldn’t see him for 2-3 days. But in the end, he’d always come back to you.

And you knew he relied on you a lot. Be it calling you in the middle of the night – when he slept at the compound, or when he was away on missions – after he’s had a terrible nightmare and telling you that he just needed to hear your voice to feel better. Or crashing on the couch in your room because he just can’t be alone, and needs to be as close to you as possible. Or how he’d often spend hours hanging out with you, asking you politely to read to him.

You loved taking care of him. And you never realized that you relied on him too. And you didn’t know you couldn’t live without him either, until the time when you didn’t seen him for weeks.

Calls, voicemails, messages, he replied to none. You didn’t even know if he was just unavailable, or isolating himself or worse, had had a mission go wrong.

You thought of the worse. Him hurt, and alone, trapped somewhere you couldn’t reach him. You knew he was strong, and could fight his way out of anything. But although enhanced, he was human still.

Your days became mundane and bland without your favorite metal-armed super soldier. The littlest of things reminded you of him. The extra mug out on your counter. The creamer in the fridge which he never used. The knitted blanket he loved but wouldn’t admit to loving it because it was bright, obnoxiously pink. The hair band he had left on your coffee table. The books you planned on reading to him, but didn’t get the chance yet.

Please come back to me…

You cried the first night. Then by the end of the first week without him, you weren’t cheery anymore, you just felt empty. You knew you could always reach out to the rest of the team and ask about him, but you didn’t want to seem clingy. Besides, they wouldn’t even know who you are.

So all you could do was wait. You heard around that some of the Avengers had gone on a mission, and you didn’t know if it was entirely true because a lot of people just gossiped about stuff they didn’t know for sure.

But hearing that he might just be away on a mission was somewhat comforting. Still, you were worried sick.

 ---

You sure missed him, but you didn’t know just how much until you couldn’t hold back the tears the day he finally showed up at the entrance of your library one morning, almost two weeks later.

“Hey doll.” he seemed a little tired. And bruised. His flesh arm had bandages around the knuckles up till his wrist. The bags under his eyes were a little more prominent.

Bucky felt both relief and pain as he took in the look on your face. Your watery eyes and the look of relief in your eyes as well.

“Buck…” you whispered and you walked over to him and rushed into his arms, paying barely any attention to some of the people who were sat inside your café. You tried your hardest to seem chill, and calm and collected.

But you couldn’t hold back the tears. You wrapped your arms tightly around Bucky and wet his sweater with your tears. Not sobbing, but just letting out all the emotions you had been bottling up during his absence. “Where were you?” you asked, sniffling.

Bucky cracked a little smiled and pressed his cheek against the top of your head. “Long, tiring mission. I didn’t have my phone. Sorry I left so suddenly.”

You sniffled again and pulled away to look up at him. “It’s okay. It’s your job, I understand. I just… missed you a lot. I thought you… I thought you wouldn’t come back to me.” You lowered your eyes to the ground, staring at his boots instead.

He grabbed your chin gently and moved lifted your face so he could look at you. God knows he had missed you so terribly as well.

“I missed you too, doll.” he said with a weary smile. The nickname he had given you shortly before disappearing on you for two whole weeks still made you feel all tingly.

You didn’t want to cry so you leaned in for another hug. Wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing your forehead against his chest, you sighed loudly and inhaled his lovely, masculine scent. “Don’t leave me.” You mumbled.

You heard him let out a little chuckle as his arms tightened around you. “I won’t, doll. I’m here. I’ll always come back to you.” His words made your heart flutter again. And you pulled away, wiping your tears and maintaining your composure, not wanting to been seen all teary by the rest of your clients.

You sniffled again, looking down at your shoes. And another tear fell. Bucky reached out and wiped it gently. You spoke up again, “You can’t just disappear like that. I was so worried.” You were still upset. Relieved that he was alright, but upset nonetheless.

Bucky was in awe. No one ever cared this much when he was away on mission. The whole world saw him as an ex-assassin, the fist of HYDRA, now an Avenger, a super-soldier who was designed to fight and end battles which he didn’t even start. Not many people made him feel like he was human too. That he feels pain when he’s kicked or punched, or shot at. That his wounds bleed just like anyone else.

But you did. Around you, it was okay for him to be vulnerable. Bucky leaned in to kiss your forehead. “I’m sorry.” He whispered against your skin. “I didn’t know I would end up being away for so long. Although, I would love to make it up to you. Movie night?”

You looked up at him and immediately remembered the last time you had a movie night, around three weeks ago. And how the two of you had fallen asleep on the couch and you woke up in his arms, limbs tangled with his. It was the best night of sleep both of you had in a long time.

You nodded quickly.

 ---

Movie nights with Bucky definitely earned a top ranking on your list of favorite things. It was adorable how he had countless questions about movies, and how he’d point out every little detail which you missed out on. Or how he gradually inched closer and closer to you on the couch, until his thighs were touching yours.

And your whole body felt like it had been electrified the minute he casually placed his hand on your thigh, barely paying any attention to you as he watched the movie. Your body was burning hot under his touch. And you squirmed just a little when the pad of his thumb lazily caressed your skin; in an innocent, affectionate manner – but which also filled your brain with filth.

“You okay, doll?” he asked in that velvety smooth voice of his which made you weak in the knees.

You cleared your throat and tried to push all the filthy thoughts out of your mind. “Yeah. Yeah, why?” you almost stuttered as he gently moved the palm of his hand up and down your thigh. You looked up at him and he was smirking.

Oh, so he’s been doing this on purpose?

“You look a little…” he trailed off as he gently leaned closer to whisper in your ear, “… troubled.” He chuckled as he heard you gasp. He pulled away and studied your face for a second. You looked fierce, and ready to pounce on him; obviously frustrated and turned on by his antics. “Come here, doll.”

Bucky grabbed your arm and pulled you onto his lap, making you straddle his thighs as you lowered your body onto his lap. You immediately felt something hard pressing into you, right in between your legs.

“I still have to make up for the time I’ve been gone, don’t I doll?“

 ---

 You woke one morning, feeling tingly. So much so that your own giggle chased away all the remnants of the previous night’s sleep. You looked to your side and noticed that Bucky wasn’t there. And then you felt him. More specifically, his mouth. Right in between your legs.

He mouth latched on to your wet heat and he ate you out, coaxing you to wake up. Gently, as always. You peaked under the blankets and found him tongue-fucking you. You threw the blanket off the both of you to get a better look at him.

Since that one movie night, about a month ago, you and Bucky had been sleeping in the same bed each night. Except on days when the team needed him for a mission or something. But other than that, he lived with you most of the time. And you were the happiest person ever.

“Well good morning to me.” You spoke, voice still a little groggy from your deep slumber, but also a little hoarse due to last night. Bucky was always a little more needy and passionate, and insatiable whenever he returned from missions; like last night.

You watched how he pulled away from your wet folds and looked up at you with those stormy blue eyes you were in love with. “Morning baby.” he whispered, flashed you a breathtaking smile, and got back to pleasuring you. Your legs trembled in pleasure, and Bucky’s hands locked around your thighs as he pushed the lower half of his mouth further into you, teasing you with his tongue.  

He had you moaning and squirming under him, slipping his tongue in between your wet folds, poking at your entrance and sucking on your clit. Your fingers grabbed his hair and you tugged on it occasionally, and it drove him wild each time. He loved every inch of you, and he made sure to show you just that each and every day.

With a couple more strokes of his tongue, you came all over his mouth, and he lapped up all that you gave him. Wanting more and more. His hunger for you couldn’t ever be satiated fully, he concluded. Especially not when he woke up next to a naked you almost each day.

Bucky kissed his way up your body, stopping every second and kissing every inch of your skin until he reached your mouth; where he kissed you passionately, deeply. Licking the inside of your mouth hungrily, making you moan and feel dizzy just from a kiss.

He finally pulled away and looked down at you. “I am so in love with you. It’s crazy.” He whispered. And lowered his body onto yours, pushing his face into the crook of your and peppering your skin with kisses again.

“I am madly in love with you too.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed the top of his head, smiling to yourself and relishing his body heat. Loving Bucky came with its own challenges, but there was nothing in this world you wouldn’t do for him.

As for him, you were the stability and sense of belonging which he sought for so long. And now he had it, and he wasn’t letting go you of you anytime soon. You were his, and that alone made him the happiest he had ever been all his life. You were his safe haven.

And you both silently promised to keep each other safe and sound.