#so I could change it to the somewhat-more-appropriate jacket

[orionremastered]

Damian Wayne x Paramedic!Reader

Soulmate AU

Part One, Part Two, Part Three (finale)

The ache in your chest had been there for a week now, and it was becoming your new best friend. Coincidentally, the first and only time you talked to your soulmate was also a week ago.

You hadn’t expected it at first, and you even asked Harper to check if you were going to have a heart attack in the back of the ambulance during a meal break.

As you figured, nothing was wrong.

So after a long night shift, a shower and dinner for breakfast, you were almost, and by almost I mean seconds away from falling asleep.

A knock at the door snaps your eyes open and with a grumble, you get out of bed and get yourself into more appropriate clothing than sleepwear.

“I’m going to kill whoever's at the door,” you grumble, glaring through the peephole before you opened the door.

This was Gotham, and you weren’t stupid.

It wasn’t the Ridddler or the Joker, but rather your soulmate. Standing in a black jacket with the hood over his head, waiting patiently in the middle of the hallway.

Unlocking the door and pushing it open, you narrow your eyes at the tall and no doubt muscular figure.

“How the fuck do you know where I live?”

“Hello,” he greets, walking past you and into your apartment, gazing at it like he’s on a sightseeing tour. With a grumble, you close the door behind him and lock it again.

“What do you want?” The ache in your chest was gone but your heart craved even the slightest touch, begging you and pulling you towards him. Your other half.

“I want to talk,” Damian admits after a short pause, hanging his jacket on the hook by the door. “Something you apparently don’t want to do.”

“How are you feeling?”

“It’s been a week, habibi,” he points out, raising a dark eyebrow. “Don’t try and change the subject.”

“What does habibi mean?”

Your apartment goes silent before finally, Damian sighs. “I’m certain you’ll figure it out eventually. Now, we’re going to talk about this without you trying to change the subject-”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve made my stance on this very clear,” you state, lightly emphasizing each word in order for it to sink in. “I cannot have publicity if I want to be able to do my job.”

Being a paramedic was the biggest achievement of your life- a ‘fuck you’ to your parents, an amazing work partner, a fulfilling life- the pay didn’t matter much to you, and that’s what your parents hated.

“That’s fine. You don’t have to go to galas or anything similar.” His tone changes, “But you can’t just give up an entire relationship-”

“I don’t think you understand just how public of a figure you are,” you interrupt. “You could’ve been followed here by paparazzi- they follow you everywhere. I can’t be walking on eggshells whenever I want to go outside with you.”

“I wasn’t followed,” he says with a frown. “And… that is a valid point.” His jaw clenches, unclenches and finally he sighs his thoughts into the air. “What if we just try? This is all theory but in practice we might be able to pull it off.”

“That’s a lot of stress for someone that already has a high-stress job.”

Damian’s head snaps towards you, a grin slowly forming on his face. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

He explained it all. You kept thinking that was it but no, he kept going. The gist is; he was an assassin, then Robin, now Batman.

It created more problems than solutions but you were somewhat willing to hear him out. It was almost midday now and you were exhausted.

“And your plan is what, exactly?”

“You don’t date me, you date Batman. He’s a ‘public’ figure but he’s a different kind of public than a Wayne.”

You didn’t think it was a bad idea, much to your surprise. It could work, and perhaps not just as a temporary fix.

Your heart was screaming at you by now, kicking and shouting for you to just give in.

“That sounds doable.”

A smile, genuine and bright and rare, breaks out onto Damian’s face. He wraps his strong arms around you, pulls you close and is finally able to kiss you lightly on the forehead before resting his head on yours.

You were soaring in warmth and joy and you were finally here, where you needed to be. You could make this work. You will make this work.

And for the first time as you stand in your soulmate’s arms, you want to make this work.

~~~

Masterlist

[petrichor-idyllic]

LONGING FROM AFAR

MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: Minho x fem!Med-jack!reader. Kinda mutual pining. Takes place before Thomas arrives.

Minho has always been confident and cocky, that is until a girl shows up in the Glade, completely changing the dynamic. What makes it worse is that Minho recognises her, though he doesn't know where from. It doesn't help that he's having some less-than appropriate dreams. The last thing he needs is an injury out in the Maze, leading him to being treated by you. Little does he know, it's not just him experiencing everything.

CONTENT WARNING: language, suggestive content and spice, minimal use of (Y/N). Pretty long but bear with.

Minho noticed a lot of things about you, even at the beginning.

When he got back to the Glade and heard about a girl coming up, he thought Newt was telling him a bad joke. But it was the truth. There you were.

Minho wasn't going to talk to you. He had no intention of distracting himself from his work. But the night you showed up, he was the same as everyone else. All eyes on you as you stared into the flames of the Bonfire

Newt had been put in charge of looking after you since Alby was sceptical about trusting the other Gladers just yet. He sat beside you on a log, offering you a drink and talking with little to no response.

You didn't seem scared. Or even uncomfortable. You just looked lost; like you were still processing what was going on. And the Maze and your life now was something you never really wrapped your head around.

Minho could tell you didn't see the boys as a threat. It wasn't that they wouldn't try anything, it was that you seemed confident in dealing with it.

Your baggy jacket had the hood pulled up, your hair falling around your face and the fabric being used as a shield. Something that would become somewhat of a trademark of your look.

But the thing that stuck out was he knew you. He couldn't point out where or how, but he did. He figured he'd known you before the Maze. It wasn't uncommon for Gladers to say they recognise people, like when you know someone's face but can't figure out where from.

But this was different. He knew you, like actually knew you. He hadn't spoken a word to you, yet he could make some pretty accurate guesses about you. All of which ended up not being that far off.

Even as time passed, whenever you were there, Minho's gaze always fell on you. You didn't say much to anyone, really. You were often found with Newt, who seemed to be your favourite Glader.

You would eat and spend free time with Newt, and he would guard you whilst showering. It was also obvious to Minho that Newt enjoyed spending time with you as well. He seemed brighter and spoke about you a lot; something that Minho didn't complain about.

But it did make him feel weird.

When you became a Med-jack, there was a string of "injured" Gladers who were very disappointed when they ended up getting treated by one of the boys. The medical hut had never been so busy.

Once the new Greenie came up after a month, Minho realised he was jealous. You were nurturing yet forward and the Greenie clung to you like there was no tomorrow.

I know her. She's mine.

The thought shocked him. He wasn't like that; at least he didn't think he was like that. He had no right to be like that, you guys had never even spoken.

That was when the dreams started.

Heated breath against his neck. His fingers bruising your waist. Unholy noises that filled his hut. Feelings he had never experienced before.

The dreams would vary. Some were loving and filled with sweet nothings and slow, caring intimacy. Others were rough; more forceful. Full of passion and greediness as need would consume him whole.

He'd always wake up the same, though. Flustered and frustrated and having to get up to work before he could deal with himself. It was definitely starting to cause a problem in rising sexual frustration.

He didn't really get it before. The other Gladers were always complaining about how horny they were and the straight dudes always pining for a girl to show up. Typical teenage hormones. But Minho had always been too preoccupied to even think about it. His goal was freedom and survival. And now a girl he had never even spoken to was making him go feral.

"Dude, are you good?" Ben had been watching Minho for a while as he leaned over the table in the middle of the Map Room. They were meant to be comparing routes and examining them before they headed out into the Maze for the day.

Minho had been staring at the same piece of paper for about fifteen minutes. Clearly, none of it sinking in.

"Minho?"

"Hm?" The boy looked up, meeting the concerned gaze of his friend. Minho had never been like this. He was always on the ball, noticing things that Ben wouldn't have ever even paid attention to. Yet, he was totally spaced out.

"Are you good?"

"Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?"

"You're acting shucking weird, bro. The shuck's goin' on?" Minho wasn't about to admit that the reason his abilities were slipping was because he was being haunted by his wet dream from the previous night.

"Nothin', alright? I'm good."

This went on for weeks. Newt picked up on the change and he was the first to figure out why. He told Minho to talk to you but at this point, Minho couldn't bring himself to. What would he even say? How would he even interact with you like a normal human being after he'd had you in every position in his head?

Newt found it hilarious when a conversation about the complete lack of female anatomy knowledge started at Bonfire night. It was one of the few conversations the both of you had been involved in, even if you still weren't directly speaking.

Being a biology expert and a vagina owner, it quickly turned into a lecture that the boys were surprisingly respectful of. They seemed eager to learn and you weren't ashamed about talking about it, since sex education was just another health topic. Though Minho didn't know how to act when he found out you were on birth control.

Minho's red face and avoidance of eye contact with, well, anyone just egged Newt on more. He asked at least once a day if he'd gained the courage to talk to you yet.

He had not.

He started actually liking going out into the Maze. The Maze was when he got to be alone. The breeze blowing through his hair, his mind occupied with keeping track of his path and an ironic sense of freedom. And he was a safe distance from his nagging friend.

That was until he turned a corner and nearly ran face first into a Griever. Grinding to a halt, the slimy, grotesque creature turned to face him. Without hesitation, Minho took off, turning around and sprinting as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

The Griever easily gained ground on him, swiping and slashing from mere metres away. In his escape, he tripped, his feet catching over themselves and he fell to the floor, twisting his ankle.

The Griever wasn't able to stop in time, practically diving over him and rolling to a stop once it realised its mistake. One of it's mechanical arms slicing his back and he hissed in pain, praying that he wasn't stung. He didn't have time to process what had just happened as he scrambled to his feet.

Grievers were scary but dumb. This was common knowledge amongst the Runners. The fleshy monstrosity was yet to turn around as it seemed to be trying to process what had happened itself.

Fighting through the pain, Minho sprinted away in the direction he'd just fled from.

His leg was in agony, his back bleeding but he didn't stop. Running as fast as he possibly could towards the safety of the Glade.

After a couple of swift turns and a lot of painful footsteps, he dared look back. The Griever was gone. He was safe.

"Shuck this," he mumbled to himself. He had plenty of time and was meant to be running his route, but there was no way he could even begin to think about daring to do that in this condition.

Minho started making his way back to the Glade. The desperate urge to stop and sit down and rest was intoxicating. But he wouldn't get up again, and he knew it.

He didn't even realise his face was bleeding until he entered the corridor leading to the Glade and the crimson liquid dripped off, hitting the stone floor. He must've cut it on a rock on the floor or something.

Entering the Glade, it didn't take long for him to be noticed.

"Minho!" Alby's sharp voice cut through the serene farm setting. "The shuck are you doing back?"

Alby jogged towards him, his face shifting from irritation to concern once he noticed the Runner's injured state.

"Shit," the Leader grumbled, "Newt! Get the Med-jacks!" He shouted in the blond's direction.

"Minho," he approached the boy, "Hey, Minho," Ably grabbed him, wrapping his arm around his back, only for Minho to jolt away in pain. "Shuck it, what happened?"

"Griever," Minho grunted.

"Did you get stung?"

"Do I look like I've been stung?"

"Alby!" Jeff shouted as he approached. "What's going on?"

"Minho got attacked by a Griever, he needs checking. Now."

Newt, Clint and Jeff scrambled to help the injured boy, all three of them in a state of panic. It was rare for Minho to get hurt. It was even rarer for him to get this hurt.

They half-dragged Minho towards the Med-jack hut as the boy tried his best to keep himself going. In the midst of the chaos, Minho had completely forgot that you are, in fact, a Med-jack.

"Holy shit," you gasped and Minho's head snapped towards you. "Newt, what the shuck happened?"

"I-I don't know," the blond spluttered out, "he said he got attacked by a Griever."

"Shit, sit him down," the boys do what you tell them, walking him over to the bed and struggling to place the Runner safely. "Minho," your voice is soft and Minho knows that if he wasn't in agony he wouldn't know what to do. "Do you know if you've been stung? How are you feeling?"

"Like a klunk in a t-shirt," he attempted to joke, "no, I'm not stung, just cut up."

You examined him, taking his face between your fingers, taking in he features and the cut across his cheek. He moved his arm slightly and you caught a glimpse of the blood slowly soaking through his shirt. Walking around, your eyes widened.

"Take his shirt off," you directed your coworkers. "Now, c'mon."

"What?" The thought of being shirtless in front of you somehow freaked him out more than his recent brush with a Griever.

"Your back is bleeding badly," you stated, "and I have to check you for any other injuries."

You moved out of the way to let the boys help Minho undress, leaving him embarrassed and exposed. Not that there was anything to be embarrassed about. Minho looked like he had been carved out of stone. He spent all day every day exercising, so it wasn't much of a shock, but you still had to remind yourself not to get distracted.

The main focus was sorting out Minho's back and to check for spinal damage. Luckily, it was just a minor cut that was bleeding a hell of a lot.

Minho seemed to be incredibly jumpy. Every time you touched him, he flinched away. You used glue strips to pull the skin back together and wrapped the bandages around his middle. With Minho becoming visibly tense when you pressed your hand against his abs from behind to stabilise the fabric, you assumed that he didn't like physical contact. So, you became cautious to touch him as little as possible to try not to make him uncomfortable.

That was easier said than done when it came to addressing his facial injuries. It didn't look that bad; a surprisingly clean cut.

You stood in between Minho's legs, his face once again between your fingers as you delicately tried to pull the sides of the wound back together. Clint and Jeff were busy making sure Minho's back was appropriately covered and preparing more supplies for you accordingly and Newt was just watching.

Unbeknownst to Minho, you'd actually been sharing the same far away glances. You'd drunkenly confessed to Newt during a game of truths that Minho was the only Glader you were actually attracted to and it felt like you knew him. But with him always being out in the Maze and you always being busy with work, you felt like your paths weren't really meant to cross. You lived in the same place, but it was painfully obvious Minho didn't want to interact with you.

What you failed to tell Newt was that you felt a strong connection with the boy that was basically a stranger. He was unbelievably familiar to you, something you failed to explain even to yourself.

Newt was getting frustrated himself with the stubborn awkwardness you both possessed, but all it did was further prove you'd be a good match. He'd decided to stay and observe because Minho was his friend, but it was also because this was the first time either of you had actually interacted.

You were oblivious to it all at the moment. The panic of Minho being injured caused your anxiety about talking to him to vanish and be replaced with focus on your work. You were also oblivious to Minho's lingering hands as he fought to urge to put them on you waist and the puppy-dog look he couldn't seem to stop.

He'd never been this close to you. The closest being your sex ed lesson. He took the opportunity to watch you. Your face was stoic and firm as you concentrated on placing glue strips in a way that wouldn't be uncomfortable. He couldn't help but find the way your brow furrowed and the way strands of hair escaped your poorly tied up hairstyle cute.

God, you were so close. Too close. Close enough for all of Minho's dreams to start filling his head. He tried desperately to stay calm and distract himself but it wasn't working. You were being so gentle and attentive.

"How does that feel?" You asked absentmindedly, something you did to all your patients. It was such an innocent question that is made Minho even more flustered due to the context he'd previously heard it in his own head. "Minho?"

"It's uh, it's fine- it feels good. Well, not good, it feels klunky- but not like bad, like you've done a good job it just hurts. It.. it feels okay," you raised your eyebrow slightly, a small smirk playing on your lips. Minho inwardly cringed but you were entertained.

From what everyone had told you, Minho was smart and smooth, often overly confident and quick with his wit and even quicker with his actions. Maybe it was the injuries, but the Keeper of the Runners was currently a stuttering mess in front of you.

"Does anything else hurt?" You didn't falter at Minho's response. You're a professional, after all.

"Uh, yeah, I think I rolled my ankle."

"Which one?" He tapped his left leg and you nodded. "Can you take your shoe off?" He winced as he attempted to do so only for you to gesture him to stop.

You lowered yourself to the floor, kneeling in front of him as you untied the laces of his running shoes, trying to be as gentle as possible removing it.

Minho thought his brain might actually melt. You were on your knees in front of him, nursing to his injuries.

He made eye contact with Newt as you rolled his trouser leg up, examining the potential damage. Newt was grinning like an idiot. He had never seen Minho like this. Clint and Jeff were oblivious to whatever was going on and Newt felt like he was in on a well-kept secret. All Minho could do was glare at his friend.

"It looks sprained," you mainly said it to yourself but it quickly dawned on Minho what that meant.

"What about running?"

You looked up at him, pressing your lips into a thing line. "Sorry, buddy, you're gonna be out of commission for while." You rose again, hands in your pockets as you looked down at him. "You've got off pretty lucky all things considered. The cuts aren't deep, they just look bad and your ankle just has a nasty sprain. It should be better in a week or so, but that's only if you rest and stay off it."

"You gotta be shucking kidding me." You scoffed at Minho's dismayed.

"Don't worry too much - I'll give you some regular check-ups and keep an eye on it. You'll be back in the Maze in no time; I'll make sure of that." You playfully winked at him in an attempt to ease his nerves, which seemed to work.

You turned to Newt, "You gonna break the news to Alby or should I?"

"The shank should be happy Minho here is still bloody kickin'," Newt stood up straight, stretching slightly. "I'll go let him know."

You left Minho sitting there as you started talking to Clint and Jeff, telling both of them to go on break since both boys were suddenly very pale and slightly shaken up. You figured losing Minho would have been a massive hit to the Glade and for a second there, it felt very life or death.

"What am I meant to do now?" Minho asked as Clint and Jeff left.

You shrugged. "Whatever you want, man." You walked back over, returning to your position standing in front of him. "You've got a week off, enjoy yourself - well, not too much but you get what I mean."

Unlike Minho, you were having a surprisingly easy time talking to him. Almost natural.

"If you're bored, you can always chill here. It's not like serious injuries are common. You guys are pretty good at your job, so we mainly just deal with Slicer incidents." You were trying to be subtle about it but you were hoping that Minho would take the casual hint to spend some time with you.

You suddenly remember something, walking over to a cupboard, you pick up a makeshift crutch that was leaning against the wood, curtesy of Gally. "Here."

You handed him the crutch and he clearly didn't want to take it and admit defeat, but he did.

"Thanks," the conversation and interaction had reached it's natural end, but despite Minho's determined avoidance, he found himself not wanting to leave. "Can I, uh, can I stay here?"

You grinned at him, "'Course you can. I just said you could, didn't I?"

And that was it.

You and Minho were officially friends. Kind of.

It took a while, but Minho spent most of his week off talking to you and you both fell into a routine. He liked watching you work. You could effortlessly multitask, patching up people's injuries and maintaining a conversation with him.

Newt was also a welcomed addition during your free time. Well, to you at least. Minho wasn't exactly a fan of watching the pair of you talk and mess around. Your relationship with Newt seemed natural and friendly, something you and Minho were yet to have. Or he doubted ever would ever have. He also started to notice some flirting.

He hated it.

Minho had never been a possessive person, but watching you flirt with his best-friend was invoking even more complicated feelings in him.

It was a joke. Minho didn't know it was, but it was. You and Newt flirted all the time - because it was funny. Newt wasn't attracted to you at all. He had made that abundantly clear but that also meant you trusted him because it meant he wasn't going to try anything. And it was funny watching his disappointment when he didn't think the new Greenies were attractive.

Minho was unaware that it was a joke, though. So, by the time it came for him to go back into the Maze, he was reluctant.

Mainly because he was scared of running into another Griever, but also because he couldn't keep an eye on you. He hadn't exactly been keeping an eye on you before but seeing yours and Newt's dynamic up close wasn't pleasant.

Though, the Maze was a break. An actual break this time and a much needed one.

He'd often spend dinner time sitting with you and Newt, but for the rest of it, Minho would make himself scarce. Even when he was in the Glade.

It didn't help that the dreams were getting worse and it didn't take a genius to see that the tension between the both of you was thick. Exchanging glances, standing near each other when you were both involved in a group interaction, Minho's constant watchful gaze. It wasn't just Newt noticing it anymore.

"Dude, will you quit staring? You're freakin' me out." Alby leant against a post as Minho sat on a log, once again observing from a safe distance. Newt had informed him of Minho's growing crush and Alby had decided to keep an eye on things. He knew that Minho would never do anything to make you uncomfortable, but he still liked to make sure things were running smoothly for you. After all, being the only girl wasn't easy.

"I'm not staring," was Minho's response, even though he didn't bother stopping his glare.

"I thought you two were friends now?"

"She'd rather be friends with Newt."

The comment struck Alby as he looked at his long-time friend. Bonfire nights had become like clockwork to the veterans of the Glade, so neither boy really joined in on the festivities.

"Minho, are you jealous?"

The silence was loud and more than enough of an answer for Alby. Minho dropped his head, some kind of shame washing over him.

"Shuck me," the Leader barked a laugh, a rare occurrence, "you actually really like her, huh?"

"Slim it, man," Minho grumbled.

"Well, you better act on it, shank, you've got some competition," Minho figured Alby was referring to Newt, but when he looked up and saw Gally's arm draped around your shoulders, he felt a pit form in his stomach.

You made no effort to push Gally away, he was drunk and definitely not a threat. You weren't even talking to him; you were talking to Newt, who kept giving you gesturing looks, silently asking if you wanted him to deal with Gally. The Builder had originally done it as a flirty gesture but had seemingly forgot that he'd even done it in the first place.

For Minho, however, it was the straw that broke the camels back. Newt? Sure, whatever. He could get it - he liked Newt as much as anyone would, he was his best-friend after all. But Gally? Seriously?

He was on his feet before he'd even processed what he was doing himself, marching over to you. Gally said something, gaining your attention, which is why it startled you when Minho grabbed your wrist. You turned, prepared to rip your hand away only to soften when you realised who it was.

"Hey, can I talk to you?"

You blinked at him. Minho was hard to read and his ever-changing personality and treatment of you had you lost most days. You glanced at Newt, who seemed equally stunned at Minho's sudden confidence.

"Yeah, course, what's up?" He simply nodded in a different direction, gesturing for you to both leave to have a private conversation. You pushed Gally's arm away from you, thoughtlessly following Minho as he dragged you away.

He let go once you'd left the buzzing crowd of the Bonfire and you silently followed him to the edge of the Deadheads. He stopped near one of the closest trees and turned to face you.

"Is everything... okay?" You felt nervous, fiddling with the hem of your jacket, something Minho noticed.

"Uh, yeah," he took a deep breath, collecting himself. He didn't know what he was doing but, low and behold, he was doing it.

"What did you want to talk about?"

"Right, yeah," he cleared his throat, "okay, this is gonna sound shuckin' weird but I've just gotta say it, okay?"

"Okay." You tried to stay calm, but you could feel the bubble of stress starting to form. Did he know? Had Newt spilled the beans? Was he about to reject your silent desires?

"So, I, uh, I think I know you," you once again blinked at him and he shuffled awkwardly, "I don't know how to describe it - I just do. Ever since you first came up in the Box, I just- I just wanted to be around you."

"I thought you were avoiding me?"

"Well I was, kinda, I didn't want to get distracted from running- and then there was the dreams and I didn't know how I'd even talk to you and-" Minho had started rambling pretty quick. All his stress from the past few months starting to pour out.

"Dreams?" Minho froze. How exactly was he going to explain that bit? Why the shuck did he mention it to begin with?

"Uh, yeah, I don't wanna- I mean I didn't mean to- you're just so- shuck!" He exclaimed, his face growing redder by the second, "I'm bad at this. I don't know why I brought that up."

"I'm not gonna judge you, dude," you reassured him. "I understand brain klunk and it's weird. Dreams are normal."

"Yeah, but not these ones," he sighed, pausing to gain some courage, "I've been having these dreams, about us, uh... doing.. things."

"Huh?" You tilted your head. Then it clicked, and it was now your turn to get flustered. "Oh! Oh. Oh, right."

"Yeah," he scratched the back of his neck, refusing to make eye contact. "I don't know what it is, but I like you. Like, I really like you. And I know that's weird because we've only been friends for a couple of weeks but I can't help it. I don't want to think of these things but I can't help it and it's starting to cause a problem." He finally looked at you for a second. His rambling caused him to repeat himself as he stopped thinking about what he was saying before he said it.

Your expression was blank as you tried to process everything he was saying. He seemed genuine, and genuinely embarrassed about the whole thing.

"Sorry," his eyes fell to the floor, "I don't wanna make you uncomfortable and you can shut me down and we can just be friends- I don't care about that as long as we're fine. But watching Gally hang off you, and the new Greenies look at you. And the way you and Newt flirt all the time- it just, shit, it just makes me mad, dude. I can't take it, watching everyone want you when I want you too. I mean-"

"Minho-"

"It's driving me mad. Everything you do is stuck in my head-"

"Minho-" you stepped forward, though he's too in his own head to even notice.

"I just couldn't keep it to myself anymore. And Alby was saying all this klunk and-"

You cut him off. Lifting his chin to look at you, you pressed your lips to his. He froze, completely. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

"Shut up, Slinthead," you mumbled, pulling away slightly, basically saying it into his mouth, "I know you too. I want you too."

That was enough for Minho. He pushed his lips against yours. It was sudden and bold as he pushed against you. Your bodies moulded together as your arms went around the back of his neck, your fingers brushing the short hairs at the base of his head. His hands went to your waist under your jacket, pulling you impossibly closer.

The kiss quickly becomes passionate and heated, his fingers brushing against your skin under your shirt, padding against your flesh. You hummed in response, just pushing him further as he span you around. Backing you up against a tree, your back hit the bark, earning a squeak.

He broke the kiss and the way he looked at you made your knees weak. He gaze was full of a mix of lust and want, but also was loving and cautious. He didn't want to over step, but he was desperate. The frustrations were finally coming to the surface and he knew he had to stop himself.

"I can't..." He panted, "I can't do this anymore. I need you."

He was making you weak. It wasn't like you'd never been aroused before but this was different. You couldn't even form words as you connected back to him. A guttural, deep noise escaped his throat.

Things were moving fast as your hands left his neck, dipping lower and and under his shirt. Feeling his skin and his solid mid-drift. You grazed your nails against his skin and his teeth lightly brushed your bottom lip.

This wasn't the plan. But at the rate things were moving, you didn't want to stop it either.

"Holy shuck!" Newt exclaimed, dramatically throwing his hand over his eyes, scared to witness anything else unsightly.

You and Minho stopped, snapping to look at your embarrassed friend. Minho stepped back, awkwardly crossing his hands over his crotch as you tried to catch your breath.

Newt awkwardly peaked through his fingers before sighing from relief and lowering his hand.

"Uh, the Runners wanna talk to you about Maps or some klunk - Alby wants an update on how it's going."

Minho cleared his throat, "Right, yeah. I'll uh- yeah." He looked at you, "I'll uh, I'll catch you later, right?"

"Mhm."

"Cool." He brushed past Newt, not daring to make eye-contact, knowing he'd hear all about it later anyway.

Newt looked at you, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

"You finally spoke to him then?"

"Shut your shucking mouth, Slinthead."

Woah, Petri actually writing a piece of fanfiction? Mad. Anyway, here is my first actual writing piece on here and I know the TMR fandom is kinda dead, but I love Minho with my whole heart and he's probably one of my favourite all time characters, so I figured this would be a good place to start.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and let me know what you think. :))

[mac-ann-cheese]

Who has a choice like Smarty does?

(tumblr sucks for restrictions with image sizings. the quality is fucked up)

July, 2024

Another addition to my portraits of Alfred.

Um... I don't really know. This time for real. Something hit me on the head, and I got the idea to create whatever this pink abomination is.

I have a habit of making things that make my eyes sore, though.

Confession: I love Alfred's Cold War era uniform (well, it's actually a variation of the WWII uniform). I depicted him wearing an Airborne one 'cause of the eagle patch on official artwork—the trademark of division. I've seen the other creators playing a guessing game with uniforms, so there really isn't a "canon" tradition to follow.

And also it's cunty-- I mean, the Ike jacket, the boots, the silly cap. Giving fierce.

I'm sorry... (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠)

Personally, I always try to make clothing historically accurate. Then I should explain a few details. The long shoulder thingies—fourragères, left one—Belgian (it correlates with the red ropes that most artists drew on Alfred's uniform. It's the closest I could find that would be time-appropriate, and I saw that it could also have arm loops. More strings. So, a tricky fact: it should be worn on the left, but I read that it could be worn and was usually worn by soldiers on the right if there is a French Croix de Guerre 39/45 on the left, which is... the same-looking fourragère as Belgian. No braided strings staking!), the right one—Dutch lanyard (it's orange, close call to red! But, one big but, don't take my words seriously, 'cause I read too many different opinions on some 2007 forum discussion that I became confused with placement. I don't really know what is actually right, please don't come for me, I tried my best and it's only a drawing) and the French one, I've mentioned earlier.

Other accessories: on the left pocket—the presidential unit citation award; on the right, above the ribbon bar set (um, I won't specify what ribbons I could've depicted, as this post will become twice as long)—jump wings; and also the M1916 holster (colt is included!) on the leg. Did you know that little strap was used to secure the holster on the thigh? I didn't before diving into the hunt for references. The strap also could be tied in some peculiar knots, but Alfred is a messy bitch/j, and it means messy wrapping on the muzzle.

The autism in me powers the fuel of a research engine for a Hetalia fanart. Yikes.

One thing that I didn't want to change was the neck scarf. Sadly, there isn't one for real uniform, but I couldn't bring myself to get rid of it. It's just too iconic, even for my historical accuracy quirk. And the hat should be larger, however, I wasn't bothered about the right size. It's a mini-cap.

Okay, I need to address the elephant in the room. Yes, mouths. Different emotions (or I tried to make them different). Am I insane for this? Absolutely. They're reminding me of the first colour TV or ibm computers with Warhol's style.

The second ver is just text, which I thought suited him (tbh, Alfred would make great friends with Maxine, iykyk). I had great fun with distortion filters.

Last thing, the expression is supposed to be somewhat confused laughing like someone accused of something very controversial ("me kissing men??? oh nonono, haha... ',:D") and Alfred just laughs it off, like he usually does. At the same time, looking down on us, the viewer. Though you can freely interpret the expression however you want, it's up to you! (⁠~⁠￣▽￣⁠)⁠~

[sjsmith56]

The Fae Elements, Part 7 - The Past

Summary: A flashback chapter that explains more about the fae king James Barnes, specifically how he managed to have a much younger mortal son.

Length: 5 K

Characters: James Barnes, Sheriff Brown, Cora, Mr. Horton, Steven Rogers.

Warnings: Despair, grief. A young woman is described as easy to seduce.

Author notes: Okay, it was supposed to be only six parts, but this came to me, so I added it on. It's a flashback, but it kind of explains some things that happen in the main story. This is set in 1945 and explains how Buck came to have a mortal son. It also somewhat explains his reluctance to protect Sage as a child, with a marriage bond. Unlike the rest of the story, this is written in 3rd person POV. The AI images of James Barnes as a farm worker and rich businessman, were created by the author, using Microsoft Copilot app, in Designer mode.

<<Part 6

👮🏼‍♂️ 🧑‍🌾 🪦

The crowds in New York celebrating the end of the war in Europe were boisterous, loud, and finally too much for James Barnes to continue observing. Although he was happy to know that the hostilities of the mortal world had ceased, at least in that part of the world, he would wait for his council to assess the damage so many years of warfare had inflicted on the North African and European landscape. Certainly, the repercussions on the environment would be felt for years to come, not to mention the cost it had inflicted on people, both fae and mortal. So many of their kind had been swept away by the madness. So many mortal descendants had been killed by both sides.

As he leaned back against a building in the alley he ducked into, Barnes ran his hands over his face.  He had been fae king for far too long, had overseen massive technological and industrial changes in the human world that greatly affected the fae world.  His own self-imposed isolation after Daere's death placed their kind in peril, as the Industrial Revolution that spread all over the world introduced stresses on nature that seemed unthinkable.  Vast tracts of forests had been cut down to satisfy the needs of the mortals for fuel, building, and agriculture, forever changing some landscapes for the worse.  A sense of despair threatened him suddenly, and he looked around to make sure no one was watching as he flew out of the alley, away from the noise, and the singing and dancing that suddenly felt wrong. 

For hours he kept high in the sky, using the warm air currents to glide from the city to the countryside. Everywhere he considered landing seemed to be teeming with people intent on being joyous. Certainly, it was their right, but he craved solitude at this moment, so even the stronghold wasn't an option for him. He could have always gone to the sanctuary, but he had spent so long there after the death of his wife, in his self-imposed exile, that he knew if he returned, he risked turning his back on everything once again. So, it had to be somewhere else, somewhere quiet, where he could think.

As the sun went down on May 8, 1945, he finally found a spot and landed, making his wings invisible again, then using his magic to make sure his clothes were appropriate for the area. Wearing the garb of a migrant worker, overalls, shirt, work-boots, short jacket and cap, he began walking into the small quiet town. His appearance at the edge of town drew some attention and at one point, he was approached by a man wearing the uniform of a law enforcement officer. Taking his cap off, in a gesture of respect, he waited for the man to reach him.

"Stranger," said the man, wearing a badge that said Sheriff. "Where did you come from?"

"I was hitchhiking and was dropped off here," said Barnes. "The driver of the truck said I might be able to find work." The Sheriff frowned and the disguised fae king realized the people here likely were not friendly to strange men. He needed to think fast. "I've been searching for work since returning from Europe."

"You served? Where?"

"France, I went in with the 101st Airborne on D-Day," replied Barnes. "Received a leg injury that took me out of the war in Belgium and got sent home."

"Where's home?"

"Virginia. My wife was with another fellow, so I left. Been on the road ever since."

He looked away, hoping to convey his embarrassment at his situation. The disapproval from the lawman rolled off of him in waves, and he knew instinctively the man likely wouldn't allow him into town.

"I can give you a bed in the jail for tonight, and a couple of meals if you clear out a storeroom for me," said the sheriff, surprisingly. "But I want you gone tomorrow. I'm only letting you stay the night because no man should come home from the war to find his wife with another."

"Thank you, sir, I appreciate it," replied Barnes, hoping he looked desperate enough to be appreciative of a bed and food.

Following him back into town, he was aware of everyone's eyes on him, even noticing people coming out of their homes to watch him pass. It was more curiosity than anything else and he did all he could to insert the thought that he was forgettable into their minds. As they re-entered their houses after he passed, he breathed easier, knowing that he had successfully passed himself off as just another sad mortal man, down on his luck. The Sheriff entered the jailhouse, nodding at another uniformed man, typing a report using his two index fingers.

"This is ...."

"Jim," said Barnes.

"Jim is going to spend the night in a cell and then clean out the storeroom in the morning. He gets a meal now and a meal before he leaves. He's not under arrest. He's just another soldier who came home to an unfaithful wife."

The other man saluted him slightly, then returned to his report. Sheriff Brown got on the phone and ordered a meal for all three of them, then showed him the cell where he could sleep. There was a cot, with a thin bare mattress on it and nothing else.

"I've got a pillow and blanket in the storeroom, if you want to come and have a look at the mess."

He led the way to the storeroom, turning a light on by pulling a string that hung from the ceiling. It was full of all sorts of equipment, old furniture, and boxes everywhere. Reaching to one of the boxes, the Sheriff pulled out a bare pillow and a scratchy wool blanket, handing it to Barnes.

"If you can make some sort of sense of this mess, I might be able to give you some money as well, but I'll see how good of a job you do. You're welcome to work on it overnight if you can't sleep. I have to lock you into the building as Joe and I both go home to our wives overnight unless we have a prisoner that needs guarding. That okay with you?"

"That's fine," said Barnes. "I appreciate you giving me a place to sleep. If you don't mind, I can start now before the food arrives."

"Suit yourself."

Brown took back the blanket and pillow, leaving the other man there who started with the boxes, moving them to the hallway and taking stock of what else was in the cramped space.. After ten minutes Barnes took his jacket off, already feeling warm as he used his strength to shift some of the heavier furniture into a place that was out of the way. The food arrived and the other officer came back to get him, leading him to the front office, then gesturing at a table where a young woman was unpacking a basket.

She was pleasant to him, in a way that reminded Barnes of Daere, his long-dead wife. Her honey-coloured hair wasn't curled like the other women who wore theirs in large Victory rolls. Instead, she let it hang loose over her shoulders, her natural waves reflecting the light from the overhead fixtures. He imagined that in the sun it would be more golden in colour. Her soft brown eyes reminded him of a doe's eyes, so large and trusting. Smiling kindly at him, she placed a plate of food in front of each man then set out cutlery.

"Thank you, Cora," said Brown. "If you come back in an hour, you can pick up the dishes and return them to the restaurant."

"Yes, Sheriff," she replied quietly, then took her leave.

"Nice girl," said the lawman. "Her family's had it tough since her brother went to war. Her daddy died of a heart attack and it's just her and her mama running the restaurant. Maybe now with the surrender her brother can come home and take care of them as she doesn't seem to be the marrying kind. Eat up, before it gets cold."

It was good food, hearty, simple fare that reminded Barnes of the type of meal they strived for when he first arrived in America in the early years, with Daere and their twin sons. The council had sensed that the Americas needed the fae king there, as great trials against their people were coming. Unfortunately, there was little he could do about the troubles, as the paranoia was so great against anyone who tried to defend those accused of being in league with the dark one. After Daere's sister was hung, and she wasted away in despair, Barnes retreated to the sanctuary with his then young daughter, Hope, as her older brothers chose to remain in the stronghold, still being built at that time. Shaking himself out of the painful memories, he finished the meal and returned to the storeroom to continue working on it. Later, Brown stopped and had a look at his progress.

"Cora hasn't returned for those dishes yet, so I've left you the key to let her in," he said. "Mind you don't let her linger too long. People gossip about her. They think she's too trusting with men and there may be some truth to it. She's a sweet girl but without her father and brother to watch over her I think she's lonely and some have taken advantage of that. Anyways, good night, Jim."

"Goodnight, Sheriff," replied Barnes, locking the door behind the man, still coming to terms that the man didn't want him to hang around town but was willing to leave him on his own inside the jailhouse and with a woman who was a little too "trusting."

It almost didn't make sense but then mortals could be like that. A timid knock 30 minutes later brought him back to the door and he looked out the small window to see it was the young woman, Cora. He let her in then stood back as she packed the dirty dishes back into the basket. They stood there a bit, then she looked him in the eye.

"Where are you from?"

"Virginia, originally," he said, lying a little bit, as he was from England originally, then moved to Virginia in the mid 1600s.

"Are you married?"

"I was. My wife is now dead."

"I'm sorry." Her hands were fumbling a little with the hem of her sweater. "Do you miss her?"

"Very much. Are you married?"

She huffed a little. "No, ain't no one wants me. They say I'm not right." She looked out the barred window of the office. "Doesn't stop them from inviting me into their car or their barn."

"Why do you stay?"

She shrugged. "Don't have enough money to go to the city. Mama needs me, although there's talk of selling the restaurant so Mr. Horton can build a factory for all the men coming home from the war to work at. Maybe you could stay and work at the factory. Maybe you could marry me."

"I'm not staying, Cora," he answered. "The Sheriff wants me gone tomorrow. I can't marry you because I don't love you and that wouldn't be fair to you."

She frowned and sighed. "Can you take me with you? If I stay here, no one will want me. They all think I'm loose but I'm just lonely."

"Well, I understand lonely," said Barnes. "Give me your hand."

She obliged him, placing her soft hand in his. Barnes closed his eyes and used his magic to see a little further into Cora's life. It was a gift he didn't like using because things could always change but what he saw surprised him and he looked at her intently for a bit, before releasing her hand. She wasn't well educated, having been kept at home to look after her sickly mother. Her brother had tried to teach her more before he left for war in 1942, but without his encouragement she hadn't gone past a basic level of literacy. Now, he was dead, already buried in a cemetery in Belgium, although the family hadn't yet received the notification. There was something else that concerned Barnes, but he knew it was likely her only way out of this tiny, backwater town. He decided to be honest with her as so many here hadn't been.

"Cora, what do you know about the fairy folk?"

"That they'll steal your baby's soul when you're not taking heed," she replied. "That's what the older people say. I would like to see one. In my mind, they're beautiful, with wings, and they grant you wishes."

"Some do, some don't." Barnes sighed, then stroked her golden hair. "What if I said that I was one of the fairy folk?"

"Are you? Do you have wings?"

"I do, but if I show you, then you can't tell anyone. There's only one wish I can give you, Cora, but if I give it to you, then you have to leave here and go to the city."

In his hand were several strands of her hair. Entranced she watched as they glowed and transformed into gold threads that intertwined and became a gold necklace.

"That's magic," she said, then looked up into his blue eyes. "You are one of them."

"I am. I was feeling sad and came to the country to gather my thoughts, but now I think I was guided here to see you and make it possible for you to leave. Your mama will move on soon and join your daddy and your brother in the next life. You'll be alone. Most of the people here think you're not smart enough to take care of yourself but you are. You're kind and gentle and you're a hard worker. When you go to the city, you must wear this necklace always to protect you but keep it hidden by your clothing. With the money that the army will give you for your brother's service to his country, and that Mr. Horton gives you for your mama's restaurant, you can start over again in the city. You're going to have a baby, Cora, so you'll have to stop going with other men until you meet a man in the city, named William Hart. He's a good man who will love you and marry you, even though you're going to have another man's baby, a boy, that you'll name Richard. That baby will have my eyes. He'll be so smart and make you both so proud."

"Will you come to see us?" she asked, her brown eyes questioning him.

"I will but you won't see me, as that's how it has to be. The necklace will let me find you again. When Richard is old enough, I'll make myself known to him and he can choose whether to join me and the fairy folk or to stay in the mortal world. Either way, he'll have a good life and so will you."

"So, you have to put a baby in me," she stated, understanding his meaning. "Will you tell me I'm pretty?"

"I already think you are, inside and out."

He smiled, then turned out the lights and led her to the cell where his cot was. Using his magic, he transformed the cell into something nicer, holding a proper bed with a soft mattress, clean sheets, and flowers everywhere. Placing the necklace around her neck, he kissed her, gently and with kindness, knowing she had never received that from any of the men in this town who had used her for their own pleasures. In fact, only a handful of men, including the sheriff, hadn't taken advantage of her loneliness. It wasn't something that Barnes would normally do. He had actually been celibate since Daere's death, but it would be the only way to make sure Cora left this backwater town, it's darkness evident just under the surface. If she stayed, her life would be a misery and she was too kind to be subjected to that. When they were finished, he showed her his feathered wings, allowing her to stroke the feathers with her soft hands. He walked her back to the restaurant, carrying the basket of dishes for her, making sure she was safely inside and locked the door before he returned to the jailhouse and let himself in with the key the Sheriff left him. It took him all night, but he finished organizing the storeroom, and rested for an hour before the Sheriff returned.

"You did a good job," he said to Barnes, as he inspected the storeroom. "You must have worked all night on it."

"Almost. Sheriff, why did you let me stay?"

"You seemed like an honest man, maybe a bit down on his luck," he replied. "Only a handful of others would have helped you."

"Is that why you trusted me with a key, and with making sure Cora picked up the dishes? For all you knew I would take advantage of her."

The Sheriff's jaw tightened, and he swallowed. Barnes could feel the heat of the man's shame, even though he knew by his touching of Cora's hand that Brown was one of the few men who respected her.

"I was hoping you could take her away with you," he finally said. "She's too pure of heart and kind to stay here. When that factory is built, the type of men it will attract for work will look at her and use her for one thing."

"Will she and her mother get a fair price for the restaurant?"

"No, Mr. Horton will try to cheat them. That's the type of man he is. If her brother doesn't return before her mama passes away, she could end up with nothing."

"Her brother's not coming home," said Barnes. "He lies in a grave in Belgium. The notice should be coming in a few days and then the life insurance that the army gives will follow."

"How do you ...." He frowned then looked at Barnes again. "Jim, who are you?"

"Think of me as someone who cares about her," he replied. "I have abilities and I looked into her future a ways. She does have one, but she has to leave here to attain it. I need you to make sure she gets what's owed to her. She needs to be made responsible for her mother before she passes, then you need to make sure that Mr. Horton pays what the restaurant is worth. I'm going to make my own visit to him, but you'll have to be here to follow up on that."

"The city will swallow her up." Brown's anxiety and fear for the young woman was all over his face.

"No, she will meet the right man, one who loves her gentle soul." Barnes placed a hand on the Sheriff's arm and shared the vision with him. "He'll love her and the baby that she's going to have and will bind himself to them. They will have a good life."

"You had your way with her?" The man's anger simmered, and Barnes sent him soothing thoughts.

"It was necessary to give her the gift of a child. She won't go with other men now that she's carrying it and will wait for the one man who will love her as she deserves. I swear that I was kind and gentle to her, truthful as well. You are also a truthful man which is why I am charging you with making sure she gets to the city. You care about her and that is more than most in this place."

"How can I be sure that you're being truthful with me?" His anguish rolled off of him, as he wanted to believe that Jim had Cora's best interests at heart.

Barnes displayed his wings, unfurling them to stretch almost the entire width of the room. His eyes blazed with a blue light, and he raised himself towards the ceiling. With a cry, the Sheriff lowered himself to his knees and covered his eyes. When he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, he looked up to see Jim back in his human form.

"You're an angel."

"No, a light fae, fairy folk," he answered. "Angels are distant cousins. We both fight the dark but fae are more ... worldly. We love, we marry, we have children, we mourn, we try to leave the world a better place. Now, will you help Cora?"

"I swear I will drive her to the city myself," said the Sheriff.

"I believe you." He turned to leave, pausing at the door. "Where will I find this Horton man?"

"He has an office in the large red brick building in the centre of town. You'll know him as he dresses like a banker and carries himself as being better than everyone else."

Without a word, Barnes left the jailhouse and walked to the centre of town. The red brick building was quite prominent, seeming to be better maintained than the other buildings. Stepping inside he asked where he could find Mr. Horton. Directed to an office on the top floor he went up the stairs. No one else was nearby and he transformed his look into someone who was wealthy, with well styled hair and a fine suit. As he entered the office, everyone in there stopped talking.

"I'm looking for Mr. Horton," he announced, confidently.

One of the men sitting at a desk approached him.

"Who are you?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

"J.B. Barnes of Barnes Industries," replied the fae king. "I'm interested in setting up a factory in town and heard Mr. Horton was the man who could make it happen. Of course, if he's too busy I could always go to Westville."

"I'm sure he would like to meet with you, Mr. Barnes," said the man, his attitude becoming much friendlier. "Let me check with him. Please have a seat, here at my desk."

Disappearing into a nearby office, it was only a minute before he returned, with Mr. Horton in tow. The older man, tall and thin, with a superior attitude, immediately offered his hand.

"Mr. Barnes, a pleasure. Please come into my office."

"I'll get straight to the point," said the fae king. "I've heard you plan to open a factory here in town, building it on a site where several locally run businesses currently sit. I want the same site and I'm willing to outbid you to acquire it for my investment."

Immediately, Barnes disliked this man, Horton. Recognizing him as one of Cora's unwanted "admirers," while he shook the man's hand, he could barely disguise his reluctance to even be near him. The physical touch as they shook hands allowed him to foresee the effect Horton's business would have on the town, bringing in all sorts of destructive elements, even attracting dark fae. It was dying and there was nothing that Barnes could do to save the small community, except make sure that this man's factory did as little damage to the environment as possible. As he shared his plans, he could feel the intensity of Horton's desire to outbid Barnes in order to build the factory to accommodate a technology that Barnes knew would be outdated within a few years. It was easy to manipulate the man into unleashing his desire to acquire more profits. By the time he left there, Barnes was certain that offers better than his proposed ones would be made to the business owners within a day or two at the most.

Returning to the jailhouse, he walked in, still dressed as a rich man. Sheriff Brown's eyebrows raised at the sight of him and with a smile, Barnes restored his farm worker look.

"It's all set," he said to Brown. "Horton will be making offers to the business owners very soon. Make sure they cash the checks quickly and leave town as soon as possible, before the building of the factory is even started. The town is dying, Sheriff. I think you already know that. Before it dies, Horton will wring out all of its decency, making it a small island of despair and depravity." He breathed out, then looked at a fishing rod, set up against the wall behind Brown's desk. "Do you use that very often?"

"Not nearly enough," said the lawman, glancing back. "Figured once I retired, I would have more time. Are you saying I should retire? I can't afford to, not yet."

"Let me work on that," said Barnes, smiling kindly at the man. He picked up a pencil and a slip of paper from the desk, writing a phone number down. "When Cora and her mother receive her brother's army life insurance, and the check from Horton is cashed I want you to call this number. You will be given an address in the city. I may meet you there or it may be an associate. Either way, you will be able to retire with your head held high. Don't thank me. My kind takes thanks as an obligation for you to do more. You're already doing enough."

With a nod, he left the jailhouse and began the walk to the edge of town. When he was out of sight of mortals, James Barnes, the fae king, took on his normal appearance and flew up into the sky, away from the dying town, away from the mortal woman who now carried his son. Surprisingly, to him at least, he felt good about it. By helping just a few people he was changing things for the better.

A week later, a phone call rang in an office in the city. Answered by a young fae man, the mortal on the other end was hesitant at first.

"I'm calling for Jim, to say that Mr. Horton's checks have been cashed and Cora's mother cashed the army life insurance check."

"Yes, Sheriff, we've been expecting your call," said the relatively young 50-year-old fae, Steven Rogers. "Do you have a pencil? I will give you an address. We have an apartment ready for Cora and her mother to live in, as it would be a good time to bring them to the city. Someone will meet you there."

After giving him the address Steven went to the roof and created a portal back to the stronghold, reporting in person to the king that the phone call had been received. Then he returned to the city, taking his post at the apartment, waiting for the woman who carried the king's son, and her mother, and the good man who was bringing them, who would be given his own check, allowing him to leave his town and retire. It would be Steven's duty, shared with another relatively young fae man, Sam Wilson, and a fae woman, Natasha Romanoff, to make sure the young woman, Cora, and her son, were kept safe, until the man chosen to be her husband, William Hart, a mailman by occupation, returned from the war in Europe.

Having seen the worst of humanity during the war, Hart was filled with a need to do some good in the world.  He tasked himself to be kinder to people, and to embrace life and love in a way he hadn't before the war.  When he arrived back in the city of his birth, it would be a few months before he would see a young woman, with honey-coloured hair, and soft brown eyes, like those of a doe, weeping at a new grave in Forest Green Cemetery, where he had just visited his own parents.  Hearing her pain, and wanting to help her through it, he approached her, speaking to her kindly.  He didn't see the blue-eyed stranger that watched him approach her, offering comfort.  The strange man, the fae king known as James Barnes, was standing under a gnarled oak tree, rumoured to be hundreds of years old. He whispered to the tree, calling it Daere, which meant oak tree in the ancient language that his late wife grew up speaking. 

"My love, I vowed never to be with another after you, but I had to get a young woman away from a place of darkness and had to give her a child to bring it about," he said, softly, his forehead resting against the tree. "I don't love her, but I did care for her. That's her mother in the newest grave, here where you died so long ago. The man is the one who will marry her and raise my son. By the ways of our kind, you know I must reveal myself to my son when he turns 30 and offer him a place in our world. I have deliberately not seen past that time to know his answer, leaving it to fate and destiny. Forgive me for breaking my vow of never-ending love for you, Daere, my beloved."

Tears fell from his eyes, wetting the bark of the old tree. Then a breeze came up, rustling the leaves and Barnes raised his eyes up, gazing at the canopy of green above him. Slowly, he nodded his head, as if the tree spoke to him. If it was speaking to him, it did so with words of comfort because his face became soft, and his tears ceased. His attention returned to the woman, Cora, and the man, William. It was exactly as he had been shown when he touched Cora's hand. The man was already in love with her, and that love would be enough to protect her and the half-fae son she carried. As for Barnes, the old oak, that held the spirit of his late wife, had already indicated that a day would come when he would take another as his beloved. Until then, he would visit Daere as often as he could. Until that day, someday in a future that he wanted to keep a mystery, he would continue to mourn the last fae queen who had ruled their people beside him.

THE END (for real this time)

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[ranposbabe]

Infidel | Johan Liebert x Reader

Chapter 7

It had been some time since the unusual meeting in the cafe with Nina and the somewhat familiar presence when leaving.

A few weeks by and you haven’t seen or spoken to your father. Thankfully.

It was no surprise to you that you found that he didn’t return home and sober up and in fact stayed in the pub.

The man seemed to get worse and you started to wonder how often was he drinking rather than literally doing his actual job.

Of course due to this, you weren’t exactly taking on jobs at the moment which you didn’t particularly mind. Though due to this, you now spent more time in your apartment which meant you got a good look at the true state of the apartment.

Your day would typically start early, start a job or two, halfway through get dragged to some pub and then desperately run down by the stream for a breather. So it was no surprise your apartment over time had started to become so neglected.

Pillows from the couch were thrown from around from anger from dealing with drunken liars so you couldn’t really be annoyed at picking them up. The floor was in need of sweeping and there in the corner of the room was a family of daddy long legs. As long as they didn’t interfere with you they could stay. They didn’t pay rent but they did get rid of the flies that came through the windows every time you opened them. The spiders were more useful than your fathers colleges.

Just as you swept the wooden floors, your eyes look up to check the clock.

It was just after seven in the evening.

Your eyes widen and the broom drops to the floor. “I’m gonna be late.” You groan, making your way to the bedroom.

It was only a few days after meeting Nina at the cafe did you coincidently bumped into each other in the streets just like at the university. She arranged to a night out for a casual hanging out in some bar. You hesitated but agreed when she mentioned paying for the taxi.

You put on your clothes, rubbing your hands against the fabric to smooth it out.

It was then when looking in the mirror did you realise that you’re entire black outfit from the simple plain dress to the blazer jacket made you look like you were attending a funeral. How exciting.

While adjusting your jacket there’s a knock at the door. “I’ll be ready in just one minute-

You open the door not expecting those eyes to stare you down.

“y/n l/n ? I’m Johan Liebert. I’m very sorry to disturb you at such an hour.”

It was quite embarrassing really. How you had that dumbfounded look on your face as you stared up him. The apartment had such bad lighting. The old light bulbs that needed to be changed gave off a warm orange light. Yet it glowed appropriately against his skin. His eyes however still remained that mysterious shade of blue.

“Can I help you ?” You wonder, that clueless look still on your face.

“It’s been some time of course, but we met a while back. I’m certain you must recall ?”

He has a polite tone and he speaks so softly. Which tells you that ye clearly is in no rush. You however can’t say the same.

“We’ll I don’t study law, mister…”

“I’m Johan Liebert.”

You shake your head at the thought.

Yes you do remember him. Yes you’d love to know why exactly he’s standing outside your apartment while you’re in the doorway but you do not have long.

“Of course I do, Johan.” Ever since meeting Nina you’ve attempted to try a kinder approach to sudden conversations.

Although this is your first attempt since you haven’t been working as of late and if all people it is Johan who you have only met once not even that long ago.

“I believe this belongs to you.” He states, he pulls what he had behind his back to show you. A gasp manages to escape past your lips as you down at what he holds. In his hand Johan holds the file from your last case. The file that you specifically remember throwing away on the street. But didn’t you place it in the bin ?

“How did you find it ?”

You’re not sure why you ask. You weren’t in need of it. Besides it wasn’t like you had thrown it away by accident.

“It was laying on the pavement. It felt important to return it as your private information is on it. It would be a shame if it ended up in the wrong hands.” He gives you a polite smile.

“How could I forget.” You facepalm.

The information he mentioned was that as part of identification, your basic information such as full name, address and landline number were present on each file that you had been working on.

You peer your head back into your apartment and the hands on the clock move rather too quickly for your liking but when you look back at Johan who still has the gentle look in his eye, you’re not stupid enough to not notice how his foot is now in your doorway preventing you from blocking him out.

“I appreciate this, Johan. Thank you very much.” You genuinely mean it.

You somewhat start to feel guilty. He did come all the way from wherever he was to return it. You hadn’t even considered the thought of Johan’s comment about the file getting into someone’s dangerous hands.

He was being very considerate and here you were just needing to leave.

The sudden urge of paying him back starts to creep up your neck.

“I not sure how to repay you.” You confess, your fingers gripping the file tightly.

“You needn’t do so.” He simply states.

“You’re dressed quite nicely.” He nods.

You feel the burning desire to look away.

“Just enjoy your evening. That’s all.”

He starts to calmly walk away as you stand there, too caught up to say goodbye. The further he disappears the more the sudden buzzing returns.

You groan, squeezing your eyes shut to help with the sudden pain. When your eyes open again Johan is gone.

You don’t miss how the light starts to flicker.

[seven-oomen]

Hi, Ben!  Hope your day has been/is going well!  Saw this response to the sniffing GIF and have been wheezing ever since.  In my defense, I could 1000% see this being Ian’s thought process. XD  Also, because my mind is a terribly inappropriate place most of the sometimes, I was also reminded of some of our discussions of Peter and things he wasn’t allowed to say/wear/do in the OUAT ‘verse. XD

Hey B! Honestly, so far, it’s going okay. Went to physical therapy to treat my triggerpoints (multiple) and deep tissues that are causing me pain (so much fun being voluntarily tortured). But for a good cause. Nice warm shower today, watched some The Last of Us, and now ready to write, so honestly, pretty good day. (Also my mom’s lawyer thinks there may be a chance to freeze John’s account (her about to be ex, my father) and get her money back so, fingers crossed!

Ok but I have to include this:

It’s too goddamn funny not too XD I am WHEEZING! And yeah I think that’s how that went, honestly XD.

Hehehehehe I remember those, I’m writing that down for the buddy cop thing, honestly I was gonna base a lot of it on OUAT canon truth be told. With some adaptations for this fic, but like Nathaniel and the rest of the Hales are back, the whole background with Elias and Odette, the stuff with Gerard and Chris, all of that is back too. I think the one change I made was Scott just being Melissa and Rafael’s son but I’m still on the fence about it, because I like the idea of Melissa and Claudia truth be told.

Speaking of my mind being a terrible place; if he’s acting as their sniffer dog in the buddy cop story, does he have a collar and leash to wear?  You know, for verisimilitude, or science, or whatever? *attempts to blink innocently, fails somewhat miserably*  Nearly responded to your “back in Teen Wolf hell” comment with “aren’t we all?”, but realized that implied I’d ever managed to get out. XD

Ehehehehe, well, you know Noah, as a druid would def have something up his sleeve and Chris, as a hunter, always comes prepared for the worst. Especially when it involves a Hale, in particular Peter. I mean true, but I am happy to be here again. I can feel creativity flowing and honestly I think a; fuck you Jeff Davis was just what I needed to get back to actually writing.

On a slightly more serious note, I was thinking about the changes in Peter’s wardrobe across the course of the series (at least as best I can tell/recall), and wondering if there might be any particular meta behind it or not.  Like, he starts out the end of Season 1 in a button down shirt, pants, and long jacket all in dark colors, perhaps slightly oversized.  After being resurrected, he enters his slut era and tends towards delightfully tight jeans and v-necks in mostly darker tones with some neutrals thrown in (I’m sure we all remember the Cardigan Incident when Cora is in the hospital. ;D )  From GIFsets I’ve seen of the whole Ghost Riders thing onwards he’s still in mostly dark colors, but with more conservative necklines this time, possibly with more short jackets making an appearance? (not sure there, didn’t actually watch those seasons), and now in the movie he’s back in an outfit very similar to Season 1, but in much lighter colors this time, and it looks like possibly even looser fits (that coat is wonderful, but borders on oversize, at least compared to his normal fits.)  I don’t know that there’s actually anything to it other than my brain being weird, but it occurred to me so I figured I’d throw it out there.  (Also, from what few GIFs I’ve seen, it looks like the only time Noah might be out of uniform in the movie is at some kind of funeral/wake for Derek?  Let the man wear civvies once in a while, goddammit! XD ) 

Ooooh good call! I always thought it was like a subconscious thing Peter did tbh. Like I am a ‘dad’ now so I have to start dressing more appropriately or something. At least that’s kinda the vibe I always thought, idk if they were going for that. And yeah, come on, Noah should absolutely just be put in more clothes than ‘funeral clothes’ or uniform. I don’t think we actually got a single scene of him wearing anything else tbh. I needed more clothing inspiration for him. Though I still love the band T idea and the flanels and henleys.

And yeah, I don’t know that I’d trust Davis to do something like the Eli/Elias thing deliberately, but I can absolutely believe it as a very potentially useful to fanfic accident. XD  (Also reminds me of how in the SW Legends books Leia names one of her kids Anakin to try and like, rehab the name or something.)

You know, I’m sending this thought to all Sterek fanfic writers everywhere because it’s def an interesting one to work with.

Anyway, since I mainly started this to send you that link, then got distracted (shocking, I know ;D ), I’m going to try and wrap up.  I hope everything is healing as well as it can (whether mental, physical, emotional, or otherwise), and that your pain levels are playing nice!  Sending all the best vibes and energy!  Take care!  *Lots of hugs to both of you!!!*

I love it when you get distracted though XD <3 Sending all the best vibes back and I hope you have a fantastic day too! Lots of love and hugs from me and Mo <3

[victorluvsalice]

Forgotten Vows Friday: Sharp Dressed Victor, Part I: Alice's Wonderland

Okay, so I got a really sweet comment over on AO3 on "Fixing You" at the beginning of the week from messrremuslupin:

I'm finally catching up (and forcing my housemates to read from the beginning and they're loving it btw!) and oh my god, your whole otherland design is so intricately designed and incredible. I definitely have to cosplay one of Victor's wonderland outfits!

The idea that people might want to cosplay some of the outfits I've made for Victor tickles me, so I figured I'd do a few quick posts on them and give some more detail on what they're supposed to look like! (I did do a list ages ago on my website, but I have some updates I want to make along the way, sooo. . .) First up: Victor in Alice's Wonderland!

Classic: “Traditional can sometimes be best.”

->Domain: Vale of Tears, any other domain without a specific suit

->Look: Navy suit jacket with the symbols for Jupiter and antimony in black on waist-level pockets; navy blue pants with vertical light blue stripes; white waistcoat with black decorative stitching; sky blue tie; silver A (alpha symbol) tie clip; white shirt; black boots with silver buckles

->Special Ability: Regain health when shrunk

((continued after read more))

Steamsuit: “Progress has its price.”

->Domain: Hatter’s Domain

->Look: Black suit jacket with the symbols for Mercury and arsenic in copper on waist-level pockets; black pants; brown leather waistcoat with multiple belts; blue butterfly-shaped bow tie; silver A tie clip; dirty white shirt; black fingerless gloves; black goggles with green lenses; black boots with silver buckles

->Special Ability: Breakables drop more goodies

Sunken: “Ideal for finding treasure hidden in the deep.”

->Domain: The Deluded Depths

->Look: Blue-green bathing costume with midlength sleeves and legs (hitting elbows and knees, basically) and glowing white horizontal stripes; green waistcoat with the symbols for Neptune and salt in dark blue on small waist-level pockets; green seaweed tie; silver A tie clip; bare feet

->Special Ability: Enemies drop more teeth

Eastern Master: “The cocoon to emerge from into new life.”

->Domain: The Mysterious East

->Look: Charcoal traditional Chinese silk jacket (front closure with fabric ball and loop clasps) printed with butterflies (multicolored) and musical notes (black) with the symbols for Uranus and phosphorous in jade on waist-level pockets; black pants with vertical charcoal stripes; white shirt, jade-colored necktie; silver A tie clip; black boots with silver buckles

->Special Ability: Enemies drop more roses/musical notes

Fifty-Two Pickup: “A suit fit for any King.”

->Domain: Queensland

->Look: Maroon suit jacket with the symbols for Mars and Descending Node (South) in pink on waist-level pockets; maroon pants with vertical light red stripes; white waistcoat with diamond and club card symbols detailing; blood-red tie; silver A tie clip; white shirt; maroon gloves; black boots with silver buckles

->Special Ability: Health is limited to four roses

Childhood’s Folly: “Embarrassing memories are always clearest.”

->Domain: The Dollhouse

->Look: Bright blue sailor suit shirt with white stripes on the collar and sleeves (almost overhanging his hands) and the symbols for Venus and Ceres in white on waist-level pockets; bright blue pants which are a good three inches too short; white collar bow smudged with dirt; silver A brooch in middle of bow; high grey socks; plain black shoes

Special Ability: Shrink Sense is active for twice as long

Hysteria: "If rage is what it takes to put some color in your cheeks. . ."

->Domain: N/A

->Look: Pure white suit jacket with liberal blood splatters, particularly on the hem; pure white pants similarly stained with blood; white waistcoat; white bandage tie heavily stained with blood dripping from neck; silver triangle (fire symbol) tie clip; white shirt; black shoes; whites of the eyes turn red, with blood dripping from the sockets; blood-drenched hands

->Special Ability: Temporary increased battle prowess and immunity to damage; enemies drop only roses/musical notes

Dusty Descent: "Hopefully you did not dig too deep for the treasures you seek."

->Domain: The Village of the Doomed

->Look: Earth-toned suit jacket smudged with coal dust; earth-toned pants similarly stained with dust; black waistcoat; glittery pale yellow tie; silver A tie clip; grimy white shirt; black shoes

->Special Ability: N/A

((Guess which one of these was a last-minute addition to “Fixing You” because I thought it would be cool to do an AMA “domain” outfit!))

[herlaqueen]

I was listening to Nowhere Fast again and thinking about what a pity it’s not a Jim Steinman song [ETA: I confused it with Bad Attitude, Nowhere Fast is by Jim Steinman!], because I think it might be the key to make the Bat Out Of Hell obsession with giving Falco a redemption arc palatable.

First thing first, I do NOT like that in more recent stagings removed In the Land of the Pig, the Butcher is King and Tink doesn't die to make Falco less villainous. The musical lost a very powerful second act opening and diluted the main villain to keep a frankly lukewarm redemption arc. I’d rather have the musical recognize that some hurts can’t be easily forgiven and have Falco be banished or something like that, and thus not being present for the final bit.

But, since the people running the show clearly have different opinions than me, I think the story would benefit from giving Falco more depth and humanity.

In the current version we’re not given an exact time frame of how long The Lost have been frozen, but it’s not impossible for them to be around Falco and Sloane’s age, maybe a bit younger but I can buy them being frozen for 15 or so years. And we know that Falco had that leather jacket with the nice skull on the back (in the current version it was Sloane's), and Sloane clearly liked bad guys with a nice car... What if they were friends/rivals/acquaintances with The Lost then?

I think it would add a nice layer to why Falco hates them so much (they’re wasted youths, yes, but also a reminder of how time didn’t stop for him and now he’s in his mid thirties and were did his youth go?) and why Sloane seems to know more than she lets on about Strat.

And in this frame, I think using a number like Nowhere Fast would be lovely. You could have some of the Lost mention how Falco used to be the opposite of what he is now, and frame Nowhere fast as them talking about younger Falco and Sloane (which could be interpreted by some of the Lost doing somewhat exagerrated and satyrical acting, or by Falco and Sloane's actors wearing appropriate clothing).

Have it followed up by how the Lost are confuse by Falco changing and have it be a mix of how growing up and getting adult responsabilities was the start, but then he corrupted his need to give his family safety into an obsession for control over everything around him, and have it parallel the Lost's youthful aimless freedom and lack of future planning and thoughts, and I think it could be a chance to give depth to several characters (Falco, Sloane, Strat, Zahara).

Plus, with the correct timing you could have Falco's actor just come back in the final number wearing his old clothes and be more poignant and a symbol of him embracing his "wild" side and feel less forced than it is now.

[wonderful-wells-writing]

Fanclub; Chapter 1

EoWells x Reader

Some of the STAR Labs employees have a secret fanclub where they discuss Harrison Wells and share pictures they take when they think he isn't looking. Problem is it's not quite as secret as they think it is. The man himself seems to have taken an interest in the the little group, finding it to be the perfect place to find willing partners to satisfy his needs. And you're his next pick.

Work is dying down for the evening at STAR Labs. Chemists are checking that all the storage units are set to the proper temperatures. Engineers are making sure that everything that needs to be powered down is. Lab techs are cleaning up their stations. But nearly everybody is discussing their plans for the weekend.

There is one worker who is not engaging in such conversations. You are currently crammed between two sections of machinery, determined to get this wiring finished before leaving for the day. That way, Monday, bright and early your team can start doing test runs.

You are not engaging in conversation with others but rather are talking to yourself as you work. “Some red over here, blue wire over there.” Your grin would light up the room if anybody could see it. “I just love when a color-coded array comes together.” There’s a buzz on your right butt-cheek, and you squeal in surprise.

“Everything alright in there?” One of the other scientists looks up from the desk.

“Yeah, Bri,” you extract yourself from the machine parts. “My phone just went off, and I thought something shocked me.”

“Girl, I can not tell you how often that happens to me,” Bri takes her purse from a drawer and a jacket off the chair. “So, what are your plans for the weekend. More number crunching?”

You pull your phone from your back pocket. “Actually my college roommate is having a bachelorette party tonight. So I said I would swing by the bar for a bit.”

“Sounds fun,” Bri gives a wave before heading to the door. “Don’t party too hard.”

She returns the wave before opening a group chat app on her phone to see what the notification is about.

KittyCat42; O.M.G did you see Dr. Wells today? a shirt THAT tight can not be workplace appropriate!!!

Attached is a photo taken from a smartphone at an angle in which the subject does not seem to be aware their picture is being taken. Dr. Harrison Wells is leaning over a desk, examining something on a monitor. Kitty is right; his shirt is very tight, his biceps bulge through the long black sleeves.

You grin, considering sending a reply, but another message comes in first.

YummyBitch73; Think he’s got plans? Looking that good, he’s got to be going out tonight.

Your thumbs move across the screen to type a quick response.

BabyDoll14; Maybe he has a date tonight?

KittyCat42; wonder who the lucky girl is?

You lean against a nearby workbench, smirking at the screen.

---

On the other side of the lab, somebody picks up their phone to check the barrage of notifications coming in. They chuckle before adding their own two cents.

Speedy22: Hey, who knows, it could be a lucky guy.

YummyBitch73: Oh you wish, he is a lady killer through and through

BabyDoll14: I mean, who are we to judge if it’s a lucky lady or gent. Maybe he swings one way, maybe he swings both ways. Who cares, we’re just here to talk about his ass behind his back.

“Speedy’ nods, almost respecting the woman on the other side of the screen for staying objective about objectifying her boss.

Speedy22: Speaking of ass, I got this one yesterday

He opens his gallery and scrolls until an ‘appropriate picture is found. A nice shot of Dr. Wells from behind; the quality is incredible for a smartphone shot. The man’s shirt is riding up, showing a nice strip of the skin of his back, even a bit of where his boxers rise above the waistband of his hands.

YummyBitch73: Damn Speedy, you always get the good ones. You’ll have to teach me some photography lessons sometime.

KittyCat42: what kind of camera are you using? The quality is so gooooood.

“Hey,” a woman’s voice draws his attention away from his device. “Are you staying late again tonight?”

Harrison Wells takes a breath to look her up and down, mentally running through his mind all the employees to try and remember who it is at his office door. “I’ll be headed out soon; I just have to wrap some things up.”

He recalls who she is when he sees the look she’s giving him. Brianna Masters, a specialist working down in Lab C. She would have had to go out of her way to get to his office before leaving. Self-proclaimed president of the Dr. Wells Fanclub, he had just been interacting with the group chat of; after the former president left with a job offer at Mercury Labs. She had been making goo-goo eyes at him since her interview three months ago.

“Well,” Bri twirls a curl of her hair, fluttering her eyelashes. “Harrison, you know I was wondering if you might like to take me out to get some drinks tonight?”

Dr. Wells tries to hide his displeasure at the thought. She wasn’t his type, physically, mentally, emotionally, “I have plans in the morning that require a clear head. Miss. Masters. Now is there anything of importance that you need?” The man was not adverse to flights of fancy to pass the time; he wouldn’t be keeping an eye on the little Fanclub of his if he wasn’t willing to look for ‘interested parties,’ but this particular woman has been of no real interest to him.

For reasons such as how she pouts at his response, “Well, having fun is important.” She mutters before wandering off down the hall, turning her attention to her phone.

YummyBitch73; holy Shit! He just asked me out for drinks. It sucks so much that I have to drive out to Coast City; I”d have taken him up in a heartbeat otherwise.

----

Back in Lab C, you finally finish with the maintenance on the machine. You check your phone once more while heading over to the desk and nearly cackle at what you’re reading. Everybody knows that Bri is full of shit, but there’s no point in calling it out and causing discourse.

You mute the phone to focus on your computer. While humming a quiet tune, you work on moving files to the USB stick plugged into the monitor.

“Fuck,” you whisper, seeing the download time in comparison to the clock on the screen. Of course, you could just leave it be, take the weekend off. It’s not like you get paid extra to run calculations at home.

17 minutes later

“Nonononono, wait, please!” You’re half running to the street as the bus pulls away, leaving you in the illuminated circle of a streetlamp, cursing yourself. That was going to be the last bus coming this way for the night. If you walk home, you’ll never make it in time to change for the party. You might not even make the event at all. You pace up and down the sidewalk, contemplating your options.

A car pulls up beside you, tinted window rolling down, “Need a lift?”

You stop, shocked, “Oh, no I…” you pause, looking through the window, “Dr. Wells, hi...hey.” You swallow your pride. “I would really love to get a ride on-with, with you.” Internally you cringe at how that came out, but figure he probably wouldn’t have heard such a minor slip.

The lock clicks open, and you reach for the door.

“Maple Apartments on South 11th street, right?” Harrison glances at you as you get in the car.

You pause before shutting the door, “do I want to know how you know that?”

He laughs, and you jump a bit at it, “I can see how that would sound a little suspicious.” His smile is reassuring, and his blue eyes are kind behind his glasses. “It was on your registration forms when you started. I enter new employee data myself. Total recall can be useful even for small matters.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, shutting the door and buckling in. “I really appreciate this Dr. Wells, I would have been so late tonight if I didn’t get home to change soon.”

“Bit plans tonight?” Harrison asks as he starts driving. Truth is he had suspected you’d be missing her bus. He had seen you running after the last bus or driven past you walking home numerous times out his way out. You had quite the habit of working until the absolute last moment.

You smile, twiddling your thumbs to keep your hands occupied. “Yeah, I’m meeting a friend at the new bar that opened down the street from my place. She’s getting married soon, and since I can’t make the wedding, I promised I would spend at least a couple hours at her bachelorette party.” You aren’t exactly sure why you’re volunteering this information to your boss. It would be inappropriate to be so casual with him; then again, it’s also inappropriate to be part of a Fanclub that secretly takes pictures of him and talks about how great his ass looks.

Harrison ‘hmms’ in thought. “Why can’t you make it to the wedding?” He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, taking a moment to take in the way you sit, act, look, before returning his eyes to the road.

“Oh, they scheduled it for a Wednesday, so,” you look towards him just moments after he looks away. The first thing you notice is his hair; whenever you’ve seen him in the morning, it’s perfectly combed and straight, but it seems like as the day went on, it began to take on a life of its own. While the back is still nice and neat, the front is sticking out in all kinds of directions.

“You could have asked for the day off,” Dr. Wells offers, “Am I such a terrible boss that you think I”d deny you some vacation after all your hard work?”

You feel a heat rise to your cheeks at what seems to be a compliment to her work ethic, “Oh no, I don’t think that at all. It’s just that, well, we have so much work to do. Every day we get a little closer to your dreams of the particle accelerator, and I want to contribute absolutely everything I can to that dream.” You smile. “You’re going to do such incredible things for the world of science Dr. Wells, and I don’t want to waste any time that could be spent helping you.”

The man is somewhat stunned by this. He’d attributed her long hours and determination to personal ambition. “What about you? Do you want history to remember you for your achievements?”

You bite your lower lip in thought at the question, “I mean sure, it would be nice to be recognized for my contribution, but,” she takes a deep breath, “I’m more concerned about how my work will impact the world, not so much if I’m remembered for it. Anyways you’re the true genius. I can tell that STAR Labs will make big changes and put humanity on a path towards the future. As long as I get to be a part of that, it’s all I really need.”

Harrison does a low chuckle at your sentiment, amused by the naivety. You speak with such hope and wonder and admiration. If you knew the truth, how horrified would you be? The realization of the end goal of the particle accelerator, the effects across history that your determination would wreak.

He grins, “Well, I am glad to have such a dedicated employee, but I do believe that one off day is not going to hurt our progress.”

You purse your lips, “You don’t come down to Lab C very often; you’d be surprised how off the rails things can go when I’m not there. Anyways I would rather work than go to a wedding. It’s not my kind of scene.”

He can sense that you are holding something back but doesn’t press the issue any further. He’s reached your apartment building anyways.

“If you change your mind, I’ll be more than happy to give you the time off,” he says as he parks.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you reach for the door handle, “oh, and thank you so much for the ride. I really owe you one.”

Dr. Wells makes a mental note about cashing in that favor later. “You just stay safe and enjoy yourself tonight.” He smiles warmly at you as you wave goodbye, but when the door shuts, his grin turns a bit darker. He watches you walk away, eyes tracing the curve of your figure, resting on the beautiful shape of your rear, right up until you disappear into your building.

As he begins to drive away, he catches sight of himself in the rearview mirror. There is something about this form of his that seems to drive the ladies crazy, and he wasn’t opposed to taking advantage of that. While pulling back into the street and driving away, he thinks on his situation.

For 13 years now, Eobard Thawne has been trapped in this god-forsaken time period. For a while, he had focused solely on his mission, rarely interacting with others unless it served a greater purpose. But he was still a man, subject to desire. At first, it was almost enough to make him regret allowing Harrison Well’s wife to die, she could have filled his needs easily. But that woman had been intelligent; she’d have discovered his identity eventually, so allowing her to die had been for the best.

Still, after a few years of isolation, Thawne had found the need unbearable and began seeing ways to fill the hole that was forming in his chest. Little flings, one-off nights where he indulged his carnal side, allowed himself the pleasure of another’s body before quickly parting ways with them, when he discovered that a fanclub devoted to him had been formed amongst his employees, that made the whole thing easier.

Joining the group chat under a false name was easy enough. It inflated his ego every time he read them discussing how great they thought he looked, and he was more than happy to provide material for them to gush over. And with that, it was like he had been given a list of women who would fuck him with no questions asked. All he had to do was choose. Of course, he has to be wary of those who might get too clingy or go off telling other people. But it’s not that hard to week those types out of the pack.

Thawne notices magenta neon as he’s driving. A club with a grand opening sign out front. He smiles, knowing that now not only does he have a new prey lure in, but the perfect hunting ground as well.

[gwynrielsupremacist]

A COURT OF LIGHT AND SHADOWS

Chapter 2: Reason

Read it at AO3

Masterlist

If it were up to Azriel, right now he would rather be juggling burning knives.

Blindfolded.

And in a dark room.

They were in the huge alcove of the High Lord of the Night Court, as Rhysand removed shirts and jackets from his dressing room that he claimed were appropriate for Cassian's attire at his ceremony.

Although Azriel, sitting in one of the chairs that were nearby, watching the scene with his chin on his hands, he was rethinking why he thought this would be a good idea.

After the 'incident' with Elain and Rhys, he had made up his mind that he would never think of Elain that way again.

Of course, that was rather difficult when she was always where the Spymaster passed.

Was he going to the kitchen? Elain would be there with Nuala and Cerridwen.

Was he going to the living room? Elain would be there with Feyre and Nyx.

Possibly one day he would find her in his bed, wearing lingerie, as a gift just for hia enjoyment, tearing off the tiny pieces of undergarments and-

"Azriel?" The sound of his name brought him out of his trance. "Have you been paying attention to something I've said in the last 20 minutes?" 

He knew that his shadows, moving slowly over his neck, covered any variation of his arousal but, just in case, he watched Rhysand's reaction, knowing if he knew the reason for his daydreaming, he would be enraged.

However, Rhys's face revealed absolutely nothing, only joy for his brother and bewilderment on the part of the Shadowsinger.

Usually Azriel was the one who had to warn his brothers to pay attention to him, not the other way around.

He shook his head to Cassian's question, to which he sighed, visibly tired and irritated: "I was wondering if navy would look better than black, but I have no idea what Nesta would like." He muttered. Apparently having a mating ceremony wasn't all the color of roses. "I'll stick with the black one, I  don't think the suit will last long after we go to that cabin." He announced as he and Rhys gave each other knowing glances, grinning mischievously.

That was another arrow to his badly wounded heart.

He was happy for his brothers, of course he was.  There was no other male who deserved a mate as much as Rhys and Cassian, but ...

What about him?

Azriel stopped intervening in the conversation at that moment. He usually did not want to participate in those conversations, but it seemed that that day he was the worst of all.

"The worst day will be the mating ceremony, Shadowsinger. You must prepare for that day if you do not want to fall from grace" Recommended their shadows.

It was true. There would be no worse day than the ceremony.

With Rhys's ceremony it had been the same. As soon as the ceremony was over, he had to go to a Sex club to get rid of the arousal and despair that he felt throughout his body.

It was not fair. Was the Cauldron so macabre?

Had he done so much harm to the world that they deprived him of the experience of having a mate?

He swallowed silently, keeping his face mask neutral, no emotion leaving his face.

He thanked whoever had given him that ability, it was fucking useful at times like these.

Three hours later, Cassian ended up deciding what costume to wear, the black one, and the conversation between the commander and the High Lord died as well.

Cassian left, muttering that he had forgotten something in the House of Wind, although it was possibly an excuse.

The atmosphere in the room had quickly become charged, before the challenging stares of those two.

Although Azriel supposed that he should stay away from the House as well, since he did not need his shadows to tell him that it had served him with a double purpose, he was probably going to fuck Nesta until they both could not hold on foot.

Azriel started to get up, but was prevented by a force in his chest from Rhysand.

"Maybe he had found out about my scent change, after all." He guessed, preparing his best poker face for the onslaught the High Lord was going to bring him.

They stared at each other, studying possible reactions, waiting for who was the first to speak.  Things had gotten tense on their part since Solstice.

Azriel knew, as did Rhysand, that no matter how much he wanted to possess Elain's body, he would never betray Rhysand. Punch him, maybe.  But he will never betray his High Lord.

"I notice you are somewhat distracted, Azriel."  The High Lord commented, sitting down on a chair and intertwining his fingers, dropping them into his lap. "I hope there were no overnight escapades on either side." Rhysand knew perfectly well what he was talking about.

Like Azriel.

"None. I did what you asked." He secured, leaning back, with the advantage that the High Lord didn't know that in reality, his thoughts were a hell of 'wills and cannot'.

Rhysand nodded slightly, rising from his chair, to which Azriel copied the movement.

Azriel knew he shouldn't be fooling around when Rhysand was in that mode, but he couldn't help but feel like a hypocrite.

"You took Feyre away from Tamlin when she still thought she loved him. Elain doesn't love Lucien, yet you separate her from me." Azriel thought. He knew those thoughts didn't make any sense, but right now he was the only thing he could think about.

His shadows were scattered around the room, ready to attack if something happened to his master, while some were on his shoulders, caressing the area in tension.

"I want to keep it that way." Rhysand emphasized, walking ahead of him, silently asking him to follow. He did it. "Things are going bad, Azriel, I don't need any more trouble than is inevitable."

"What problems?" This one answered. "According to my spies, Koschei hasn't shown any signs of life, so I don't see what a problem there could be."

"That Koschei is not showing signs of life does not mean that he is not operating in secret." He suggested, walking into the nursery, with Nyx in the crib, sleeping peacefully.

The High Lord's face changed dramatically.

It was no longer the face of the most powerful High Lord in history. It was the face of a father watching a son, with awe and love in it.

"I can't bear that my son has to spend his early years with that bastard of Koschei in the middle."

"We will protect it." Azriel confirmed, also looking at the small bundle wrapped in sheets. "I will protect him with my own life, if necessary."

Rhysand looked into his eyes, and in a pleading voice, he said:

"Do you understand then? Why I ask you to separate from Elain?" As much as he hated doing that, he nodded. "I cannot allow jealousy and desires to be put through the protection of the court. Things are bad enough to make them worse."

As much as it was hard to keep his gaze neutral, he continued to nod, but anger crept through his mind, clouding his reason.

"And how much trouble would Elain and I have?"

Rhysand was silent for a moment. Azriel guessed

he was steadying himself so as not to punch him in front of his son's bed. Instead of doing so, he asked:

"I don't want you to avoid the question. You are not going to avoid the question." The High Lord manifested. "What the hell happened with Mor, Az?

That theme again.

"Why whenever we talk about Elain, do you end up talking about Mor?" The Spymaster snarled, the shadows preparing to attack, noting the tension in the environment.

"I do it because you have completely forgotten Mor, Azriel. You have been in love with her for over 500 years." He remembered. "I can't believe you traded Mor for Elain in so little time."

"And why do you fucking care?" He growled again, backing away from the room for fear of waking the boy.

"Mor is my cousin, Azriel, and I think I deserve an explanation. Have you given up? And now I suppose Elain will be the consolation prize, right?

It took Azriel more of the self-control he possessed not to slam his fist into the High Lord's nose. If he hadn't been his superior, Rhysand would be bleeding badly right now.

"Elain will never be a consolation prize." He barked, leaving the house and spreading his wings to fly up, but was interrupted by Rhys's hand on his arm, an anchor holding him to the ground.

"Give me a reason."  He started to say. "Tell me one fucking reason why Elain deserves to be your mate, and not Lucien's."

"Are you comparing me to… to that one?" He murmured in a voice icy and deadly, the voice that sent chills to the poor people who had to listen to it. Rhysand didn't even flinch.

"You are both different and equal at the same time." He evaded, then returning to the initial question. "Give me a logical reason, and I will allow Elain to stay with you."

Baring his teeth at him, Azriel leapt, taking flight and away from those feelings, roaring with rage when he realized that he had not a single reason to be worthy of Elain.

TAG LIST: @bookish-isha @imsointobooks @shisingh @feyretale @niaacotar @flora-shadowshine @tealnymph24 @trashforazriel @hlizr50 @meher-sumedha @heyovivi @positivewitch @greywarens-magician @sageofthegalaxy @valkygwyn @verifiefangirl @verifiefangirl-mainblog @snickerdoodlechittybangbang @genya-berdara @katekatpattywack @ddsworldofbooks @secretlovelybeauty @starbornsinger @sv0430

[kaijusplotch]

Hunter is Not Ready for Omega to go Through Puberty

Debating on if i should publish this to AO3 or not? Either way, have Hunter having small crisises of the heart when Omega reaches puberty. Everyone discovering something about Crosshair. And generally the Bad Batch having DAD feels.

Hunter was worried. Omega had been miserable with stomach pain since early that morning; practically living in the fresher. He looked through every medical pack they had but Tech had said they were portioned out for adult clones and their strength could hurt more than help.

So, Hunter got hot packs ready and dimmed the lights of the bunk room. It hurt him just as much to know that he couldn’t help her more than just to be there for her until they could get some more appropriate medicine.

“Hunter…?”

He looked up from where he was trying to look up how to treat stomach pain and his heart dropped. “Omega? what’s wrong?”

“I’m bleeding...down there.” Omega’s face was beet red and there were tears in her eyes as she stood awkwardly near the door of the fresher.

Hunter’s mind went to static. What did that mean? Was she hurt? Had she gotten hurt and he didn’t notice? His heart started to race and he got up and walked over to her.

Omega had gotten taller, her clothes from Kamino no longer fitting properly. Tech’s spare blacks were at least somewhat useful but still too big in some places even being the shortest of the Batch. She was growing fast, like all clones, but differently too. Her hips were wider for sure, but it could just be because of the mutations.

“Are you hurt? I...I don’t understand,” Hunter said, hands on her shoulders as he tried to hide his fear from his voice and face.

“Um…” She whimpered and looked away biting her lip. “I ah...I’m not hurt, my stomach hurts but I’m bleeding. Not a lot, but I don’t know either.”

“What’s going on?” Crosshair asked, walking in with Tech behind.

Omega blushed and looked away, fidgeting with the oversized top of her blacks. “m’bleeding….”

“She says she isn’t hurt, but the stomach pains are still there.” Hunter explained turning to Tech.

“She is nearing seven, she’d be going through one of her first large growth spurts. Perhaps a hormonal issue?” Tech asked, grabbing his datapad.

Hunter nodded, looking up as Crosshair patted his shoulder.

“I’ll take care of this,” Crosshair said with a slight twitch to the corner of his mouth; his version of a smile. “C’mon kid, let’s go to the fresher.”

“Ah! Found something, Sargeant,” Tech interrupted, dragging Hunter’s attention back.

“What is it? What can we do?”

“She’s going through puberty, as expected. Except...it’s different for females…” Tech looked a little pale as he read his datapad. “They have...ah...oh. Menstrual cycles begin during this time which can cause them to shed the lining of their internal reproductive organs.”

Hunter’s eyes went wide. “What? Is it dangerous?!” Hunter grabbed at the pad, although Tech snatched it back.

“No, at least it shouldn’t be. It happens monthly, along with mood changes, stomach cramps and some skin issues. Well at least that’s the same as it was for us,” Tech muttered. “She will need supplies but…I’m not sure how best to handle this, Hunter.”

Hunter rubbed his face and swallowed. “I’ll try to contact Rex. Ashoka was a teenager with him during the war, he’s got to have some kind of advice.” The door to the fresher opened and Hunter turned around, watching as Crosshair had Omega tucked up into his side. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I’m going to take her into town.” Crosshair tossed Omega a poncho and put on a jacket and hat for himself.

“Are you sure? We haven’t completely figured out what-”

“I’ll handle it, Tech,” Crosshair hissed with a significant look. “We’ll be back in a bit.”

Hunter furrowed his brows, but Omega was leaning into Crosshair with a smile. It would be good to let Crosshair have some time with Omega and vice-versa. “Be careful. Have your comms open.” he advised.

“Yes DAD,” Omega sighed, rolling her eyes with a smile as Crosshair chuckled softly.

The door closed behind them and Hunter groaned. “I think my heart stopped.” He leaned against the wall.

“Your fine. Just like every other time she’s called you a variation of ‘father’.” Tech pushed his goggles back up on his nose. “I’ll see about trying to find a secure line to Rex.”

“See if we have any contacts to Cut too. Maybe Suu can help explain things?” Hunter suggested looking at Tech, lost and worried. His mind was still racing on how to help look after his ad. No he was not ever admitting that to any of his brothers that he subconsciously called Omega his ad.

“I’ll get right on it. I’m sure she’ll be fine,” he reassured as he walked back toward the cockpit.

Hunter spent the entire time waiting for Crosshair and Omega to return trying to get in contact with Rex or Cody. He chewed his lip as he was met again with nothing on the comms.

Echo walked in and sighed. “I’ve been trying to hunt down Cut and Suu but I can’t get any trace on the shuttle they took. Sorry, Hunter.”

“No, no it’s not your fault.” Hunter frowned and leaned back in his chair. “I should have asked them more before we left.” He scrubbed uselessly at his face and snarled. “I’m supposed to look out for her and I don’t know how to help her!”

“Hey, none of that.” Echo’s voice was firm and Hunter was a little surprised. His newest brother was rather quiet but apparently when he had something to say he would say it. “You’re doing everything you can. We all are. Omega will be okay, plenty of girls go through the same thing. We’ll adapt.”

Hunter smiled a bit. “Just like Saw said. It’s what we do best. Still want to help her feel better.” He glanced at Echo who smiled in return.

“You sound a lot like an ori’vod.” He gave a small shrug, flexing his prosthetic wrist slightly. “Just need to find out what she needs. For now, we can be there for her. She’s family.”

“Yeah, apparently Crosshair had an idea so hopefully he is able to help.” Hunter stood from his chair and stretched slowly. “How’s the upgrades Tech made?”

“Great, actually. Nice to have two hands again. Means I can give Tech a run for his money at Sabacc night.”

“Good luck with that,” Hunter laughed.

“Hey, if I can win against Cross with one hand, I think I stand a chance with two.” Echo grinned. “Maybe we’ll teach Omega next time,” he said just as the ship door opened.

“Teach me what?”

Hunter smiled in relief as he saw Omega walk in, looking a little better and holding a bag on her shoulder. “How to play Sabacc. I don’t think Tech would go easy on you, so maybe I’ll let you watch my hand next time we play. How’re you feeling?”

“Better. Cross got me some stuff.” Omega smiled, not looking as pale as before.

“I didn’t forget you guys either,” Crosshair added as he tossed a bag of items at Echo. “C’mon, kid. Let’s put this away in the fresher for ya.”

Hunter watched as Crosshair led Omega back into the bunks and relaxed. “What’d he get?” He turned to Echo.

“Food, mostly,” Echo laughed. “And other supplies. Oh, caff, keep this away from Tech. New whet stone, always useful since Wrecker loses his.”

“I do not!” Wrecker said, coming up from below deck. “Omega back? Is she feeling better?”

“Seems to be, Cross took care of it, somehow.” Hunter shrugged.

“She’s going to lay down for a bit,” Crosshair added, closing the door to the bunks behind him. “The cramps are better but she’s worn out. Try to be quiet if you need to go in.”

“How did you know how to help her, Crosshair? Tech is going in circles about what kind of information is anecdotal and what is actually medically necessary.” Echo sighed in exasperation. “It’s giving me a headache second hand.”

“I went through the same thing when I was her age.”

Hunter stared at Crosshair as the information slowly processed in his brain. “What?!”

“Quiet! don’t wake her up,” Crosshair hissed back before deflating. “If we’re going to have this discussion, let’s do it away from where the poor kid is sleeping.” He rolled his eyes and skulked off toward the small kitchen and eating area.

Hunter walked in and sat down across from Crosshair, watching as he kicked his feet up on the table chewing on a toothpick. “So what did you mean you went through the same thing? I don’t remember anything like that.”

Crosshair sighed and waited for everyone to sit before replying. “You don’t remember it because it was in the middle of the night in our eighth year.”

“That could be...what happened though? I mean...you-”

“Look like any other male clone,” Crosshair interrupted Tech. “I know. But I’m not. I had bad cramps and woke up in the middle of the night. Bled all over my bunk and was scared shitless. I ran off to the freshers with everything and tried to wash it.” Crosshair frowned. “Skirata must have heard me and found me.”

“What happened?” Hunter tensed, ready to get a plan to hunt down the trainer from Kamino.

“He helped me.” Crosshair shrugged. “Helped me get cleaned up, took the bedding to get washed and got some supplies from another trainer for me.”

“I remember that night!” Wrecker said. “I woke up and was wondering where you were,” he added with a frown. “I was worried.”

Crosshair laughed softly. “I was fine. Ended up with Skirata helping me out with medical and the Long-necks removed the ‘unneeded’ mutation.” Crosshair gave a sarcastic air quote.

“So...you’re female?” Echo asked before blushing. “I don’t mean to insult you or anything,” he added quickly.

“Genetically yes, I think the medics said that I've got an extra X. so XXY? I don’t know. Doesn’t mean anything to me now.” Crosshair pulled his feet down. “Doesn’t affect my work so I don’t care.”

“What can we do to help her then?” Hunter asked, leaning against the table as he took everything in. Crosshair’s genetic identity didn’t mean anything would change. He was still Crosshair’s ori’vod nothing would change that.

“First thing’s first, don’t make it a big deal; for EITHER of us.” Crosshair stared down Wrecker and Tech the most. “Second, she’s going to have cramps and mood swings so don’t take it personal. Third, the choco in the ship is GOING to disappear, don’t fight her on it.”

“Doesn’t sound too different from a standard cadet’s first growth spurt,” Tech commented as he made notes. “We can start to get more supplies for her, new clothes so she feels comfortable.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t look too comfortable in yer blacks,” Wrecker snickered. “Maybe we should think about getting her armor too! She’s already been doing great with her electro-bow.”

Hunter sighed and leaned back, biting back a groan and the ache in his chest of Omega growing up too quickly. “She...she isn’t ready for armor.”

“She’s the right age to start, Hunter. We all started with training armor at seven,” Echo advised, leaning up against the door frame. “We could do the mandalorian thing, have her started with a pauldron, and chest piece.”

“I really don’t want to think about that. She’s too young to be putting on armor and...and fighting.” Hunter stared at the ceiling, brows furrowed as he tried to control himself. “I don’t want her fighting. She’s just a kid and...and she deserves something other than the same shit we grew up with.”

“Careful, Hunter,” Crosshair flicked his toothpick at him. “Your buir is showing.”

“Shut up!” Hunter snapped and glared, hackles raised; although he really didn’t know why. Maybe because he was afraid Crosshair would accuse him of going soft again. Although that wasn’t exactly Crosshair before.

“Honestly, We’re all showing our buir tendencies.” Echo said with a small smile. “I understand why you don’t want to have her go through the same things we did, Hunter; but she won’t. We’ll train her. We know what not to do from our own experiences. She’ll be fine.”

Hunter frowned and leaned forward again. “I’ll think about it. For now, let’s just try to make her comfortable. Growth spurts are never fun.”

[buckysgoldenheart]

Savior

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Basically, Bucky saves you and then stalks you.

Words: 1596

Warning/notes: it’s just fluff…that’s it. There’s some cursing. At the end is a random day in the future. High chance of typos…like mega high.

He had saved you once; just once. One time you found yourself in a questionable situation with some drunk men who wanted your money. And yes, you were grateful for the rescue, and yes, he was Bucky Barnes; The Winter Soldier; the super sexy, metal-armed, bad boy turned good. But that didn’t mean he was allowed to stalk you, and yet, that’s all he’d done since he handed you your purse back and sent those men to the emergency room.

Every day for two weeks you’d seen him and somehow, despite his skill, it seemed he had failed to notice that you were well aware of him watching. First, it was Maggie’s Diner on a Friday evening as you ate dinner with your friends. Maggie had come over to greet her long-time customers, and as she did, she patted your shoulder with a coy smile and a chuckle, pointing to the back of a man who sat at the counter top.

“Every few minutes he looks your way, Y/N. I think he might have a little crush.” She’d said.

You had looked past her plump form and immediately knew it was him. The baseball cap hiding his brown locks pulled low over his eyes; The black leather jacket snugly fitted over his shoulders with a sleeve that slipped up every time he took a sip of his drink, showing an inch of his metal arm. For who he was, his subtlety was surprisingly lacking.

Your friends had only oohed and awed. Anyone would know he was hot even if only looking at him from behind. There was no way God would give him a body like that and not grant a face to match. But it didn’t faze you. You knew better, you just didn’t know why he was choosing to follow you of all people.

After that, it was seeing him outside of your workplace, watching from across the street and quickly hiding his face if you glanced his way. When you thought he had finally left you alone, you saw him at the local summer carnival. If you played the balloon dart game, he was a few booths down shooting little rotating metal ducks with a toy shotgun like they were the enemy. If you went to the arcade, he was fifteen feet away playing the claw game and winning himself a fairly substantial sized stuffed bear that he later used to duck behind when you whipped around fast to see if you could catch him staring.

He was relentless, you would give him that. But you didn’t know how long he would trail your every move before giving up. It seemed like he would never stop, and you were growing tired of playing the oblivious.

————————————————–

Your eyes bore into the back pages of the wide-open newspaper he’d been pretending to read for the last hour as you sipped your coffee a few tables over. He flicked the top corner down half and inch and, with one eye, peered over it. With your lips around the plastic cup you rose an eyebrow and he quickly straightened the paper again.

You chuckled. There was something cute about how he watched over you like some sort of guardian angel. Cute, of course, if it wasn’t so fucking creepy.

Standing sharply, you tossed your empty cup into the nearest trash can and made your way over to him, then snatched the paper right out of his large hands. You crossed your arms and stared down at him.

“You really don’t give up, huh?”

He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in the polished wooden chair. “I, uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes. He didn’t know what you were talking about, and yet, he figured out your name. You certainly hadn’t told him before. “Don’t you have better things to do than follow me around? Like saving the world or something?”

He crossed his arms, staring up at you in sudden slight challenge. “It’s been surprisingly quiet lately. And believe it or not, little old ladies who need help crossing the street prefer Captain America.”

“Gee, I wonder why.”

Bucky sighed and removed his cap to run a hand through his hair before placing it back on his head. “Look, I just wanted to make sure you’ve stayed save, that’s all.”

“Well, as you’ve seen, I’ve been a good girl.”

“Yea, you’ve been a good girl,” He said, his eyes meeting yours. You shivered at the way those words passed his lips. “But it’s got nothing to do with your behavior. It’s others. I don’t trust them.”

You glared down at him but he didn’t flinch, only glared back with an intensity that could not be broken. “Can I ask you one thing?”

“Of course.”

“Do you know where I live?”

His fixed stare cracked at your question and his eyes darted to his lap. “…No,” He mumbled, then looked back at you.

You narrowed your gaze and frowned. “Are you lying?”

“…Maybe.”

“Jesus,” You scoffed. “Do you know how creepy that is?”

“It’s not creepy!” He snapped a little too loud, drawing the attention of other coffee-craving patrons. He lowered his voice at the numerous scowls. “It’s good intentions disguised as somewhat crossing a boundary.”

“Somewhat?”

“Yes, somewhat. It could be much worse. I could’ve snooped around your apartment. The worst I’ve done is make sure the locks on your front door can’t be opened with a twisted paper clip.”

“…I should be so mad,” You said. “I should file a restraining order, for fucks sake.”

His eyebrows rose and lips parted as the last thread of his tough composure busted. “You’re not mad?”

“No, I’m…” You uncrossed your arms, shedding your hardened shell. “I don’t know, but I’m—”

“But you’re not mad,” He smiled.

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “…No.”

 ——————————————————–

You groaned at the horrible, grating sound that yanked you out of a deep sleep. Turning your head left and right, you noticed two things that had the corners of your mouth tipping down. One, the clock on your dresser read three in the morning. Two, your boyfriend was not in bed beside you. Then that piercing sound began again.

Throwing the covers off your legs and tiptoeing out of the bedroom, you looked around to find Bucky at your entryway, drilling a barrel bolt and chain lock across the front door. With a breathy chuckle, you stepped up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist, then placed a small kiss at the back of his neck.

“Are you aware of the time?” You asked against his skin.

“Almost done,” He replied. He picked up another screw, placed it appropriately, and shocked your eardrums once again with the large electric tool. “There,” He said with satisfaction then turned in your arms.

He set the drill on the side table where your keys lived and wrapped his arms around you.

“Baby…” You started.

He hummed back.

“What are you doing?”

“I forgot to put the locks on last night before bed.”

“It couldn’t wait until morning?”

He shook his head. “I heard a bunch of drunk stumbling in the hallway about a half hour ago. Someone jiggled the doorknob.”

“And is the offender still alive?”

“Oh, Ha Ha.” He said sarcastically. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

“Somehow I think you sleeping next to me is more effective than a couple locks, safety wise.”

“You can never be too cautious, Doll.”

Snickering, you touched your forehead to his bare chest. “Oh, God…”

“You’re upset.”

You looked up at him and leaned up to softly kiss him. “No, Baby. I just love you. I love that you take such good care of me.”

“Yea?”

“Yea.”

He tucked some hair behind your ear. “I’m always afraid one day you’ll find me too overprotective.”

Shaking your head, you said “I think you’re just protective enough.”

He smiled and cupped your face, running his thumbs along your cheekbones. “I love you, too.”

“I know,” You grinned. “You make that clearer every day.”

———————————————————

Extra: Random Day, Two Years Later…

“Apples, check; Chicken, check; Shampoo, check; Weird book that your mother wanted for her birthday, check” You said to yourself as you looked over your list. That was the last of it and thank God; you hated shopping. You were ready to hightail it out of there once you found your husband.

As if summoned at the thought of him, Bucky’s large form appeared at your side. You looked up at him with an affectionate smile that immediately dropped when you saw the puppy-dog expression on his face. Then, you looked down.

“No,” You said sternly and glanced back at the wrinkly piece of white notepad paper in your hands.

“What do you mean ‘no?’ He whined.

“I mean,” You met his eyes, “No.” You stared at the numerous equally shaped boxes bundled in his arms—four of them, by your count—and shook your head. “We don’t need any more.”

“How can you say that?”

Turning your body toward his, you crossed your arms the best you could over your swelling belly. “Because as it is, we have eight, two per room in the apartment and that is if we include the bathroom. I am not changing that to three.”

“Y/N, baby monitors are necessary.”

“Yes, one per room. And don’t think for a second I’m not taking the ones out of the bathroom.”

“And if our baby crawls in there?”

“She won’t. We’ll watch her.”

“Y/N—”

“Put them back, Bucky.”

He huffed. “Fine.”

Tags: @dugan365 @moonlightimagination @pietrotheavenger @marvel-fanfiction @hawkeyeharrington @dani-si @wintersoldier98 @then-there-was-me-emily​ @prxttybirdz​ @xceafh​ @jazzwoman897​ @fandoms-who @meganwinchester1999​ @ufffg​ @debra77​ @rebelliouscat​ @anise-d-castle6​ @projectxhappiness​ @buckybarnesappreciationsociety​ @lowkeysebby​ @notmyfault404​ @jjamesbbarness​ @guera31​ @sophiatomlinson23​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @hiddles-rose​ @vibhati123 @mywinterwolf​ @picapicapicassobaby​ @genius2050​ @lokilvrr​ @sunshine-seven @missjayi @supernaturalwintersoldier​ 

[mizgnomer]

Excerpts from the SyFy Wire & Film School Rejects interviews with Claire Anderson, the Emmy-nominated costume designer for Good Omens:

[ Film School Rejects - by Ciara Wardlow]  “I worked through it with gut reaction images. So, two guys. Two guys, kind of close, nearly in love, if you like,” she said. “I just went in and we had a really big, very open conversation about how you related to these people in the script and how we would make them real and plausible, but give them a fantasy element. Give them something otherworldly.”

While Anderson says that she ultimately took this approach with more or less all of the characters, mixing period and modern elements to give characters somewhat timeless, yet also somewhat fantastical “out of time” looks, in the early discussion stages it was all about Aziraphale and Crowley. For one thing, Sheen and Tennant were already cast, which was a major help in determining their looks. It took some time to settle on the duo’s main, contemporary looks, but once these were locked in they played a significant role in determining everything else they wore.

[...] Aziraphale maintains a look with significant nods to the late Victorian era. Crowley too, although he manages to put an edgier twist on things than his angelic contemporary. “We re-appropriate bits of period stuff so that it echoes. [Aziraphale and Crowley] echo one another in their visual identity with pieces from their past—where they’ve touched each other in the past perhaps, or bumped into each other.” Regarding how Crowley manages to keep more of a modern, cool vibe, Anderson gives David Tennant’s performance the lion’s share of the credit. “He’s a very nice man, but he’s very sexy. He brought all of that swagger, that rock star, snake-hipped sexiness, and we built on that.”

[ SyFy Wire - by Jennifer Vineyard] GARDEN OF EDEN, 4004 B.C. -  Anderson looked at everything from Pre-Raphaelite paintings to Al Pacino’s hippie clothes in Serpico to determine just the right flow for Aziraphale’s rough-hewn robe, which has gold embroidery on the shoulders and side. Aziraphale is also wearing a golden ring, which later becomes a signet ring stamped with wings in the Victorian era.

NOAH'S ARK, MESOPOTAMIA, 3004 B.C. - “As aged as I am, I wasn’t there,” Anderson says, laughing. “And there wasn’t any painting or documentation from this era. But what we do know is that tunics remained pretty simple, and the earlier shape would have served them well for many years.” Aziraphale’s robe becomes more streamlined, and he wears gold beads at the neck.

THE CRUCIFIXION, GOLGOTHA, 33 - By this time, both Aziraphale and Crawley — now Crowley — are wearing turbans and head wraps, which Anderson attributes to “a bit of vanity.” Plus the wrap helps Crowley conceal his snake-like eyes (it’s too soon for glasses). Aziraphale dons a soft leather coat over his tunic, while Crowley wears female attire of the region — an abaya.

ROME, 41 -  Switching from tunics to togas was difficult, since togas contain 6 to 12 meters of fabric, which is a lot to carry around on camera. Anderson reduced the size by cutting the togas to fit for the character’s movements, and she gave each actor a thematic decorative pin to hold their togas together — Crowley a serpent and staff, Aziraphale a pair of wings (both courtesy of George Easton at Danegeld Historic Jewellery). Although history might argue that it’s too soon for sunglasses, Crowley starts to shield his eyes with a very small, eye-shaped lens. “It’s suggestive, rather than historically accurate,” Anderson says. And as a sign that Crowley is adapting to the humans around him, he also wears a silver laurel wreath.

ARTHURIAN ENGLAND, THE KINGDOM OF WESSEX, 537 - Anderson sent character descriptions and visuals for Aziraphale and Crowley to armor specialist FBFX, which sent a van to London full of pieces that could work for angelic and demonic armor. Instead of focusing on historical accuracy, Anderson looked for shapes and fit that suggested an ethereal — or snakelike — quality, once the pieces had been painted black or silver. For Crowley, she found a helmet that had a smaller face that could suggest a snakehead, and for Aziraphale, shoulder pieces that were slightly wing-like. To add to the wing effect, Anderson added a white fur caplet to Aziraphale’s armor. “It was terribly grand, but not very practical,” she says. “And the poor guys, it was murderously uncomfortable to stand around in that armor.”

GLOBE THEATRE, LONDON, 1601 - Crowley and Aziraphale catch an early version of Hamlet, looking more period-appropriate than ever thanks to the Globe’s vast archive of costumes. Aziraphale’s wardrobe, which includes a neck ruff edged with gold thread, has a metallic look with a hint of iridescent blue, which opens up his color palette. Crowley, meanwhile, wears a cleaner neckline and leather on his doublet, as well as fabrics that provide sheen and luster to suggest his snaky origins.

REVOLUTIONARY FRANCE, PARIS, 1793 - This is not a period to be dressed like an aristocrat, but Aziraphale couldn’t resist a lace collar, gold brocade and fitted jacket — which explains why he’s stuck in a prison cell (at least until Crowley intervenes). Crowley, more mindful of what revolutionaries would wear, dons a dark red jacket that’s almost as dark as his usual black. When Aziraphale miracle-changes his clothes, he wears the red cap of liberty. “It’s a soft beret that falls somewhere between a modern French beret and a pirate headdress,” Anderson notes.

ST. JAMES' PARK, LONDON, 1862 - This is the time period with which Aziraphale gets most comfortable, fashion-wise, and settles into a Victorian look with tartan flair. Anderson also bestowed some heavenly nods to his angelic nature — a feathery velvet top hat, a stopwatch with angel’s wings on the chain, and the signet ring. Crowley, meanwhile, wears a pair of long, elegantly cut trousers that we will see again in the 1960s. “The trousers repeat, which is basically what fashion does anyway,” Anderson says. “And it’s what the story does. There are notes backward and forwards.”

THE BLITZ, LONDON, 1941 - Aziraphale’s tartan necktie becomes a bow tie, and his penchant for wide lapels, a nod to his wings, continues, this time with a spear-point collar. Crowley, who comes to save Aziraphale once again, is dressed more formally, in a full double-breasted wool suit that must have been hard for David Tennant to wear in the South African heat. “The rest of the crew were in flip-flops and T-shirts, and David was in the suit, hat, and those big boots,” Anderson says, recalling the shoot.  “He had to be very physically active in that scene, and yet David didn’t complain about the heat or anything. He’s amazing.”

SOHO, LONDON, 1967 - Crowley, as noted, continues to wear his Victorian trousers, which are right up to date, and which he pairs with a black paisley velvet jacket with contrasting lapels. His sunglasses now have more of a John Lennon vibe. Aziraphale, perhaps inadvertently, is also looking stylish with his Victorian topcoat, spear-point collar, and cravat (modified from his scarf in Victorian England). “You can’t avoid being affected by changing trends,” Anderson says. “However bookish you are, you still notice other people. And you would have had Rolling Stones and Beatles fans wearing that kind of thing. That was our argument for Aziraphale wearing his Victorian topcoat all the way through, and Michael Sheen loved it. He said it inspired him. And the cravat rang in the changes and helped us with the passage of time, rather than always having him wear a bow tie.

[witchyfrankincense]

La Méprise (part three)

Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Summary: You start history with Spencer Reid in your university auditorium.

Warnings: violence, fight, reminding of trauma, season 13 spoilers, prof!Spencer, student!Reader, suggestive.

❁❁❁❁❁❁

Like clockwork, Spencer had turned around faster than you realized no one was following your steps next to you. Your heart dropped more than it already had as you understood that there was something, some nick, that you had failed to catch. But maybe you were the lost one here?

It seemed like Spencer had no doubts about his forthcoming actions – you watched him take quick, aggressive strides towards Mike. Seconds later, his tensed fist made contact with Mike's face. Spencer's act made you jump. Your usual first instinct would have been to yell, to interfere. But this time you didn't.

Right after the action, Mike was angrily pushed against the wall.

"You should stop talking," Spencer mumbled, angrily shoving him at the wall for the second time, pulling the man by his bunched-up jacket. Mike let out a pained groan and scoffed, later inhaling a deep breath of air. "Okay," he spat out. "Okay. Man."

"If you ever even look at me again," Spencer spoke, a harsher than usual undertone in his voice. However, soon after, he just went silent, staring at Mike for a few more moments before releasing him from his grip. You breathed out, shoulders dropping. You felt tiredness wash over you, obvious from all the stupidly scary events that had just happened.

After seeing Spencer turn back around and start walking towards you, you nodded and turned away from the sight of Mike silently chuckling and wiping his bloody nose. You opened the door. The fresh breeze of the outside air lifted your mood and you took a wide step outside.

"Can you still walk with me?" your voice reached both of yours' ears after you closed the door. "Oh, yeah. I'll join the team later," he replied, glancing in your direction. You both went quiet, still walking, Spencer seemingly following your lead of way. "Thank you," you suddenly muttered, placing your hands into your jacket pockets.

"Hm?" Spencer replied to your unexpected gratitude. You let out a small sigh, looking down at your synced-up footsteps. "Thank you for doing that. I would've punched the bitch myself, but, you know," you softly spoke. He smiled. "I'm not...usually a puncher," he weakly mumbled, shoving his hands into his pant pockets.

"I could've guessed," you joked, instantly frowning on yourself. "It's, not like you, you know, look like you wouldn't be able to, uh, punch someone, I was just—,"

"Joking. Yeah. To be fair, I agree," Spencer finished for you, making your shoulders drop in relief. You both let out chuckles. Continuing to walk down the asphalt path, you looked around the university campus. "Yeah, I usually take the bus to university. Quicker that way. I don't have the ability, nor want to sprint here at 8 a.m. Though, I enjoy a walk sometimes," you craned your neck to his side, sharing a random daily life thought. He nodded, straightening his shoulders.

"That is very true, actually, did you know that walks are extremely good for your well-being? Just 30 minutes every day can increase cardiovascular fitness, strengthen bones, reduce excess body fat, and boost muscle power and endurance. It can also reduce your risk of developing conditions such as, uh, heart disease, type 2 diabetes, osteoporosis and some cancers. Unlike some other forms of exercise, walking is, you know, free and doesn't require any special equipment or training," he finished talking, glancing at you brightly. You raised your eyebrows in shock and cheered.

"Wow! Spencer—,' you stopped, realizing your lack of knowledge about his last name. "Reid," he mumbled back, continuing to walk. "—Spencer Reid, the fact machine! Hey, buddy, does that head ever get too heavy for you?" you laughed out, crossing your arms and raising your head. "Hey," he mocked your tone, "That, is downright mean," he raised his voice playfully, his eyebrows furrowing.

You both bickered as you rounded the corner. And, you continued talking while walking down the lonely road. And while you pointed out the apartment building you were staying at.

And when you both said goodbyes after he had led you to the building door, a creeping feeling of awe kept trying to make you fall – to slip down the very stairs you built.

Five days later

Thursday.

"Spencer?"

Three mornings. After the boringly passed weekend, you had spent the last three mornings walking into the auditorium and longingly glancing at the seats – hoping to see the familiar curly-haired persona. But you never did, as each time you looked up, the seat was empty. Had you scared him off? Or maybe he thought you were weird? Many questions swarmed your mind constantly, and, well, there was really no hope of distracting it. Because the only person who could, wasn't showing up.

On the blessed fourth day, you walked into campus, sipping your new-bought iced latte with caramel, dressed in dashing black baggy jeans and 90's-esque top with a bunch of shiny silver jewelry all over your neck and hands, not expecting anything to be different. Because you got it, you understood – obviously he had a job to do, a terrifyingly important one, at that, and going to these lectures and meeting you was just a side mission – a pastime.

However, as you were making your way to the door, you noticed him – Spencer, standing near the entrance.

"Spencer? Hey, you're back," you exclaimed, quickly swallowing your sip of coffee and smiling. He returned the smile, nodding. "I am, uh, I had a bunch of cases, so, didn't really have time," he spoke, joining your stride to the door. "No, it's all good, Spence. I get it. Your job is extremely important, and I definitely don't expect you to, you know, always be here." Seconds later, you mentally cursed at yourself after realizing your accidental use of a nickname instead of his full name. "Shit—, sorry, I called you Spence," you pointed out quietly, glancing at him to watch his reaction. He, however, gave none.

"It's okay—you know, this teammate of mine, JJ, she's my best friend—, she also calls me Spence, so, yeah, you can, if you want," he mumbled out, a smile playing on his lips. "Wow, didn't know you had a girl best friend! I bet she's super cool," your voice rose in slight excitement.

You realized that you both had stopped walking.

"She is," Spencer replied wholeheartedly, smiling. His eyes then dropped down to your outfit. "You look pretty today, by the way," he pointed out, seconds later turning back to face the entrance and beginning to walk forward. Your mouth hung open in slight shock and it took you a good second to catch your expression, shake your head and speed walk towards Spencer.

He complimented you.

"Thank you," you mumbled after catching up to him, flashing him a grateful smile. He nodded. "You know, there's something I want to tell you," he suddenly spoke up, his lowered tone making your heart drop for no other reason than worry. "What is it?" you instantly asked, grasping the handle of your bag.

"Oh," Spencer lightly laughed, glancing at your direction. "It's nothing bad, I promise. I mean—I'll just tell you. I'll be in temporary teaching at this university," he mumbled. You raised your eyebrows, aiming your gaze at the ground. "Really? That's cool," you answered, smiling through your words. "So, you'll be my professor?" you blurted out a thought, regretting it a moment later.

"Yeah," Spencer chuckled back, looking at you. "Guess I will."

Butterflies suddenly erupted in your stomach, and your expression changed as you realized that. Shut up, you softies. You had no idea why you felt so warm out of the sudden, as all you did was think about Spencer being your professor.

Spencer being your professor? Did you have some weird professor and student fantasy?

You subconsciously shook your head and continued walking in silence alongside Spencer, deep in thought. However, a moment later your inner mind light bulb lit up and you lifted your head up, straightening your posture. "Wait, what trained FBI team member takes up temporary teaching for some inexperienced students?" you asked, shooting him a quick look. You saw him tense up, visibly sighing. He looked at you and weakly smiled.

"I really wished you hadn't asked me that," he muttered and you frowned. "Oh—I'm sorry, I didn't—,"

"It's okay. You have the right to know. I've—uh, I've been to prison. Falsely accused," he began, nervously correcting himself after noticing your intense stare. The both of you blinked in shock – you because of Spencer's sudden confession, him – probably because of the same thing.

"Of what?" you asked carefully. Spencer swallowed. "Multiple drug possession. Suspicion of drug distribution. Murder of Nadie Ramos," he muttered quietly. You felt your eyebrows furrow, mind running through all possibilities. "Oh."

"I was framed. But I still spent almost three months there. It was, uh, bad," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'm sorry," you replied, feeling at a loss of appropriate words. Spencer quickly shook his head, smiling. "You don't have to be. That's why I'm teaching. I was recommended to do it. It's like a...break, I guess."

You returned his smile, looking back at the ground. "You start today?"

"Yeah."

You began walking through the corridors, making your way to the auditorium. "I bet you'll make a great professor," you quietly exclaimed, watching his somewhat anxious expression shift into a softer one. He chuckled. "Thank you. I hope I'll live up to your expectations." "You will," you muttered almost instantly, voice higher. Once again, seconds later regretting even opening your mouth. Spencer laughed again. Walking through, Spencer pushed the already open door further, stopping so you'd walk first. You thankfully nodded back to him and smiled. "Go sit," he suddenly mumbled behind you and you felt him place his warm hand on your bare lower back, softly pushing you towards the seats.

You inhaled harshly, barely containing the need to arch beneath his hand, and quickly nodded, hurrying to the stairs. Spencer visibly grinned behind you.

Hopelessly ignoring your previous spot, you hurried to the second aisle, quietly hoping that the seat you chose wasn't taken. After all, you were fully ready to support Spencer on his new-found teaching, you obviously knew him more than the other students.

"Hello, uh, my name is Spencer Reid," he started, voice raising on his last name. The others quickly settled down, slightly interested in their new professor. He was easy on the eyes. You grinned to yourself, still gazing at him. Apparently, Spencer did indeed feel your stare at him, so he looked back, a smile beginning to play on his lips as he breathed in. Moments after, he began going on about a whole cluster of themes and subjects he had decided to teach you all. You failed to take your eyes of him.

<>

"Yes! So, this'll be it for today, don't forget to buy or get that book from somewhere else because it shares extremely good opinions and is very important for your understanding of what we're going through! And have a great day!" Spencer raised his voice to express his last thoughts to majority of the students who were already getting up from their seats and heading towards the exit door. You stayed, a wide smile on your lips as you noticed him glance at the leaving students with brighter than usual eyes. You stood up, fetching your bag and dropping it on your seat. You slowly walked towards Spencer, him finally looking back at you.

"See, you were great, Professor Reid," you jokingly exclaimed, seeing him laugh while packing his belongings behind the desk. "Thank you, Y/N, guess I am pretty great at teaching. I just, I don't know, felt as if you were all so interested in what I was speaking about, so, yeah, that was pretty great," he expressed, running his hand through his fluffy hair.

Your eyes subconsciously traced his hand, cheeks somewhat heating up, and you smiled. "Yeah, we were all pretty into your teaching. It's cool, your way of talking, I mean. But I think that wasn't the only reason why they were so immersed in you," you spoke, not realizing your accidental change of view. You both chuckled, Spencer seemingly deepening his gaze at you. "I wonder what that is," he teasingly replied, leaning down to get his case full of books and teaching material, however not turning his eyes away from yours.

You broke the eye contact, deciding that the conversation was way  too teasing for your liking, and laughed quietly to yourself.

Oh, shut up, Ms. I-might-have-a-professor-kink, I know you'd love for this mood to go on for the rest of your pitiful life.

"I wonder, too," you mumbled, feeling warmer. Spencer returned a light scoff. "Well, you seemed to know it when you first brought up the fact, so, tell me. I'm clueless, Y/N," he replied again with a tiny bit of a smooth velvet tone in his voice and your heart almost dropped in fear of his words. Why was he so confident? "Well, I think we're both kinda', you know, aware?" you hesitated, looking back at Spencer. His tongue darted out of his mouth, wetting his lips and he stood back, sliding his chair under the desk.

"Are we? Am I?"

You swallowed, trying to regain your usual snarky mood, while also moving back to your seat and snatching your bag from it. "I think so, yes," you exclaimed, sighing and joining his stride to the door. You both walked beside each other, Spencer sheepishly smiling and looking straight ahead. He didn't say a word until you reached the door.

"Well, why don't you think about that like a good student and tell me tomorrow, hm?" Spencer suddenly spoke up, making you freeze in your step. You widened your eyes at his words and looked up at him. His eyes were shimmering. You both stopped walking and you nodded, feeling awfully hot at his title for you. He smiled and unexpectedly raised his hand, leaning in closer and brushing a strand of hair out of your face, pushing it behind your ear. You continued to stare at him, wide-eyed, and he seemed to enjoy your confusion.

"Goodbye, Y/N," he muttered and lowered his hand near his side, opening the door and closing it behind him. You began feeling weak, reaching behind blindly in search of the wall. After you had found it, you leaned against it, trying to regain your breathing.

What just happened and why did you like it?

<>

[fyeah-bangtan7]

V: “I have a desire to perfect one cool thing about myself”

As he’s being interviewed, V speaks his mind at a relaxed pace. But there was one moment where he kept on speaking without taking a breath. Look for that moment in the interview below. You listen to a lot of old music on vinyl. Has any particular artist’s music excited you since your last interview with Weverse Magazine? V: I was listening to Louis Armstrong’s music again. And I picked up some albums with a pretty jacket that’s also got a lot of really good hits on it.

How do you feel when you’re listening to those classics? V: I feel like I’m beginning to relax a bit. If I listen to a song when I’m feeling depressed and then really get thinking, the things that are frustrating me disappear, and I can feel myself becoming more peaceful. And it makes me picture things in my head. For example, some songs might make me think of seeing something in front of me while walking down the road somewhere at night when I listen to them. I think setting the mood for listeners is the most important thing. The mood will presumably be different for everyone, but for me, those songs are the ones that are good at setting a really beautiful mood in the moment.

You said that you got inspiration from artists of the past like Sammy Davis Jr. for your performance in “Dynamite.” Was there any artist who inspired you for “Butter”? V: Well, there was Billy Joel. When I shoot a music video, I think of a movie more than any one artist. And when I perform on stage, for some songs I think of the way movies like Reservoir Dogs look. For “Butter,” I watched a lot of teen movies. And musicals. After that I randomly ended up seeing a video on YouTube of some scenes from an old teen movie Johnny Depp did [which turned out to be the movie Cry-Baby]. The image I got from that was really intense. That’s the look I used in “Butter.”

“Butter” felt like a teen musical to me and now I know why. V: I did it like a teen musical, just like you say. When we shot the “Butter” music video, I really, really tried to shoot the part in the elevator so it would feel like a teen movie. Although a lot of takes were edited, so not all of it’s there. (laughs)

What kind of feeling do you get from that kind of teen movie that you find so charming? V: For me, teen movies show a youthfulness that’s appropriate for the age. I think there’s an appropriate mix of emotion, energy, and a completely different and peculiar mood that everyone necessarily experiences at that age. If you watch teen movies, they’re overflowing with energy and full of sunny emotion, but behind it all they’re not as bright as they seem. They are really bright, but the color itself almost feels like some kind of filter. They feel like they have a different filter than other movies, so I tried thinking of teen movies when we shot the music video and put on performances.

That teen movie feeling seems to be divided in two between “Butter” and “Permission to Dance.” By the looks of the thumbnails for the fancam focus videos uploaded to the BANGTANTV YouTube channel, “Butter” seems to showcase a really cool character, while “Permission to Dance” is more teenagers smiling brightly for children. V: The teen movie vibe in “Butter” and “Permission to Dance” are different from one another. We showed the sunny image people usually think of when they think of teen movies in “Permission to Dance.”

Do you think that going with the teen movie vibe influenced your vocals to be the new style that you used? In “Butter,” you still had your signature vocals but without the deep notes, giving them a new feeling. V: That’s because, when we’re given a concept, we have to come up with vocals that fit with the concept. I think my singing style matched up with the concept, so I feel relatively satisfied. There was nothing majorly difficult about actually changing the style itself, since unlike changing your voice, you only have to change your vocal technique. Having said that, even though the notes in “Butter” were high for me, I still hit them! (laughs)

I guess hitting the high notes was your assignment this time around as a vocalist. V: I’ve been working a long time to make up for my weak points. For example, I thought I was weak when it comes to high notes because I sing low parts a lot and I tend to sing in a flowing way. But I had trouble when we were recording “Dynamite” and I had to sing the high notes during the chorus. I got so mad (laughs) so I practiced a lot.

How does it feel to see the results you’re seeing with “Butter” now after all that effort? V: I’m just trying not to rest on my laurels. Like instead of savoring the feeling, I feel like I should go to bed early for everything I have to do the next day? Getting back in tiptop shape quickly is what’s important, so I haven’t really had time to bask in the joy very much. I’m just working hard at the work I had like I always do.In your 

New Year’s greeting on YouTube, you said you regretted not being able to put on the show for ARMY you wanted, and that your 2021 resolution is to “follow my own pace and pattern” when you work on music. Do you think your personal pace and your professional pace are in step this year? V: No. [My professional pace is] fast, so fast. (laughs) We have a lot we have to get ready for since we’re always promoting. It can be challenging sometimes, but in a way, I think it’s also given me a good opportunity to become a little stronger.

I imagine it’s meaningful to do the work for your own songs, because you can slip into your own world. You also made “Blue & Grey” when you were having a hard time, and it consequently became a song that allowed you to empathize with many people and vice versa. Looking back now, what kind of song do you think “Blue & Grey” will be remembered as? V: I think with “Blue & Grey” I just wanted the song to let people know how I was feeling, and how we were feeling, at that time a little better. Obviously everyone was having a hard time, but I think I wanted to share those emotions with ARMY as-is, including the pains we went through in our growth process. And, to put it another way, I think I just felt like making it obvious. (laughs) I thought it was okay to be that obvious, seeing as I couldn’t put those feelings into words. I just hope people could understand how I was feeling; it’s okay if it becomes forgotten later on.

In the “BE-hind Story” interview on YouTube, you talked about the first line of “Blue & Grey”: “Where is my angel?” You explained how, when you have any kind of issue, you close your eyes and wish for your angel to come and think. Are there times when it seems like your angel understands your feelings, as you just mentioned? V: I get a ton of answers by doing it. I’m not religious, but whenever I have some kind of issue, I close my eyes and think about it. Is this right, the way I’m thinking about this, or not? They’re just yes or no questions, like, Does my outfit look good today? Instead of just worrying about what you should do, if you tackle it in the form of a question, you  get a response with the answer.

I guess it could work when you’re looking for inspiration in your life, but what about for your music? In your previous Weverse Magazine interview, you said you make a note whenever you feel something. V: I write in my diary in hopes that it’ll help with writing lyrics and so I don’t forget those feelings. I do it constantly—I open up my diary whenever something comes up. I copy melodies that pop up in my mind, lyrics, and other things from my diary to my notes app temporarily, and when I’m taking a break or I get the urge to work, I open my notes and say, Let’s try this out today, and run over to the studio.

You released “Snow Flower,” featuring Peakboy by V, on Christmas Day. Is that another song you ran to the studio to work on after the feeling came to you? V: For that song, when I was drinking with some older musicians, we were talking about doing a song together, and then we were like, Well, do you think we’ll have time to do that? So we decided to do it right then since everyone was available. My mixtape was delayed, so I at least wanted to play a different song for ARMY, and I thought, since I’m a bit tipsy (laughs) I thought I should try writing something. So I made the song really quickly. In maybe three hours.

Even though you made it quickly, the composition is somewhat complex and it has the same unique atmosphere that “Blue & Grey” did. V: There’s times when I’m, like, in the zone (laughs) and can make a song all in one sitting, but when I’m not feeling it, I end up revising it more and more. And I don’t want the composition to be too obvious, so I try to change up the way the melody flows. With that kind of sharp image coming to you almost immediately, what were you imagining for that song? V: You might think “Snow Flower” is about a type of snowflake, but I was actually thinking about snow and flowers separately. I started hoping that flowers wouldn’t wither away and just keep on blooming on snowy days. But in reality, when it snowed, all the flowers were crushed, the world became blanketed in snow, and I felt like the flower buds turned into snow flowers. I wrote that song about how I felt after watching that happen.

It must be important to feel things intuitively when you’re trying to express yourself through song. V: If it sounds pretty to me: approved. (laughs)

On the other hand, as a member of BTS, you have a job where you have to deal with a packed schedule and keep various situations in mind. How does that make you feel? When you celebrated your Billboard Hot 100 win on V LIVE and the topic of your clothes came up, you joked that you wore them to give off an idol vibe. V: It’s fun. It’s fun, but I could also say it’s hard. The performances are fun. I think idols should shine in a way that’s suitable for their age, and it’s important to do lots of things for fans like ARMY. Not just performances, but also posting pictures, having conversations on social media, making content. We’re artists and idols, so we think each and every one of those things is important. That sentiment won’t change just because we’ve achieved so much success.

You recently held an impromptu event on Weverse for ARMY. V: I’m sure there’s lots of ARMY out there who are tired of not being able to see us in person. But since the only thing we can do for them is to be on stage and stuff, I was worried that we’re not doing enough for them. And I love being able to talk with ARMY so much that now it’s like a habit that I read their posts. I have a thing today. I have a test today. I’m moving today. Somehow I feel better when I hear their stories. When I end up reading things like about how ARMY are living or what kind of lives ARMY have, I can’t help but write a response, and because of that ARMY respond, so I try to become friendlier in a more fun way, too. I want us to be more than the Billboard number one Bangtanies—I want to be ARMY’s partner, their best friend, the friend who’s always by their side when we’re not on stage. It feels like business when I talk about communicating with ARMY. (laughs) I just want to talk with a close friend. I wanna talk with a close friend—that’s exactly how I feel. It’s been a long time since I could see my friend, ARMY. Usually when friends can’t see each other they keep in touch all the time. I can talk about all kinds of things like that with ARMY thanks to the Weverse platform, and because I can hear all about their lives, I think I was able to go on Weverse and hold that kind of event.

You’ve been talking about ARMY nonstop for a few minutes. I was going to ask you how you feel about ARMY, but I think you already answered the question. (laughs) V: They’re just, well, friends I would hate to lose. Friends who seriously give me strength whenever they’re around. Sometimes you find friends like that in life. It’s like that with the other members, and I have other friends who I can share my feelings with. And I have ARMY. So I can’t help but do whatever I can do to make those people smile and make them feel happy.

Well then, is there a song you’ve heard that you want to let ARMY know about? A song that shares your feelings. V: Umm, recently … “No. 1 Party Anthem” by Arctic Monkeys. When I hear that song … I get emotional, somehow. I don’t usually listen to a lot of rock music, but I can instantly feel the band’s emotions with that song. I seriously get goosebumps listening to it, and emotional, and just all kinds of feelings. It’s to the point that, as soon as I hear that song, I think about how I really want to live well.

That song really means a lot to you. V: Actually, I don’t really know what’s up with that song. I don’t even know the lyrics, but I’m quite clear on what sort of emotions the melody and the band’s performance give me.

Don’t you feel like that’s an emotion you want to express to people, as an artist? Like you don’t have to explain your messages in detail? V: I don’t know. I just want to exchange the good, and be the one to embrace the bad. So I have a desire to perfect one cool thing about myself.

So how close do you think you are right now to becoming an artist who has perfected something cool? V: I’ll say 2%. It’ll go up someday later. (laughs)

© source

[ineffable-snowman]

And here’s my second Sambucky fic. You can read it here or on AO3.

Pet Psychopath

“Him? Really?”

Sam and Sarah were both glancing towards where Bucky was grinding the boat’s side with sandpaper with the single-minded focus of the Winter Soldier on a mission.

“I know I have a problem,” Sam said before Sarah could start to berate him for falling for yet another sad white soldier.

“You sure do.” Sarah shook her head, still eyeing Bucky warily. “At least Steve was pretty.”

True. Although Steve used to have terrible fashion sense, he was easy on the eyes and Sam suspected that half of the Avengers and at least half of America had had a crush on Cap at one time, so there was no reason to judge him for that. Bucky however, with his scruffy face and that murderous glare, was another matter. Sam judged himself for whatever feelings were creeping up on him.

“You should have seen him before he got a haircut,” he told Sarah.

“I did. Because his mugshot was all over the news. Jesus, Sam.”

Sam shrugged. The fact that Bucky was (or rather had been) a criminal was not what bothered him. After having been imprisoned in the Raft, he did not give a shit about what the government declared legal or illegal. He trusted in his common sense. Right now, his common sense told him that it was a fundamentally bad idea to develop feelings for Bucky Barnes. He had no idea how this catastrophe had happened, could not pinpoint the exact moment when Bucky had turned from a threat into a pity case into a nuisance into a reluctant co-worker and finally into someone Sam brought into his sister’s house and entrusted with his late parents’ boat.

“Right. I don’t know if I should hope for him to return your feelings or pray that he doesn’t.”

Truth be told, Sam hadn’t figured that out yet either. Bucky was thoughtless at best, often outright ignorant, petty and self-centred, not to mention reckless, irresponsible, a bad co-worker, and he did not like Redwing. And there wasn’t exactly a charming personality to make up for all these failures. It did not make sense for Sam to fall for him, and yet it perfectly did. Yes, Sam was fully aware he had a problem, had first come to suspect it when his parents had told him with constipated looks on their faces that, “No, Sam, we can’t bring every injured seagull to the vet.” It had been confirmed over the years when the teachers had asked him to look after the new kid in class or try to include the outsider and he had been unable to say no. Sam knew enough about psychology to know that pity was not a good basis for a relationship. He knew that and it didn’t change anything. Sharon calling Bucky a ‘pet psychopath’ seemed frighteningly accurate. (However, he heavily resented the implication that Zemo somehow shared ownership rights. Because it was Sam who constantly looked after Bucky, not Zemo. It was Sam Bucky followed around, not Zemo).

“Whatever.” Sam took the saw and jumped into the boat. “He’s useful for repair work.” Then he got to work helping  his pet psychopath. He sawed planks of wood into smaller pieces to replace the dilapidated pieces on the boat.

After one hour, his shirt was drenched in sweat. Bucky was still grinding with the sandpaper, his movements like a machine. There was only the barest sheen of sweat on his forehead.

After another hour, Sam’s right hand cramped up. He dropped the saw and leaned against the side of the boat.

“How do you feel about a break? That something you do?”

“If you insist.”

Sam snorted. He could not believe he had to put up with this bullshit again. Damn supersoldiers. And yet he tried to engage Bucky in small talk.

“What do you think, how long until we’re finished?” He grabbed a bottle of water and threw Bucky a second one.

“Depends on how many breaks you need.” Bucky opened his bottle and kept staring at Sam while drinking it, never once blinking. Unbelievable.

“You keep this up, I might just throw you overboard.”

Bucky put the bottle down. He was still staring at Sam. “You can try.”

“Oh, so this is what we’re doing?” Sam’s heart was suddenly racing. There was no chance in hell that he could beat Bucky. But backing down from a challenge? Never.

“You talk big, Wilson, but I don’t see you acting on it,” Bucky taunted him.

There was no going back now. Sam was not entirely sure what Bucky was suggesting here but throwing his water bottle away and grabbing Bucky in a headlock seemed the appropriate choice of action.

Not that he succeeded for long. Bucky easily freed himself and proceeded to try to wrestle Sam down. Sam could tell that Bucky was pulling his punches because if he had used his full super strength, Sam would be on the floor by now. On the one hand, he was touched that Bucky was considerate enough at least in this situation and seemed to want to have fun with Sam, on the other, he wouldn’t have minded being on the floor. With Bucky on top of him. God, he was such a mess.

“That all you got?” Bucky said, grinning evilly.

Sam couldn’t help but snort in amusement. He was always glad to see Bucky happy, even though a grin made him look even more like a psychopath.

“You ain’t seen-aaaaaaaaaaaaa-”

It happened too fast to do anything and yet Sam experienced everything in slow-motion. A huge wave rocked the boat to one side. Sam, who was just about to back away from one of Bucky’s attacks, lost his footing and stepped on the water bottle. While falling, he caught sight of the stern of the fast ferry, and his mother’s words echoed in his mind, Always pay attention to the fast ferry. Then he was finally on the floor and shit, that hurt! He exclaimed a string of curses and then he finally saw what had caused the pain: he had landed on the saw which was now stuck in the back of his right thigh. He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, ignored Bucky’s “Don’t!” and quickly tore it out with another string of curse words.

Suddenly there was blood. A lot of blood. Blood streaming out of his thigh, drenching his pant leg. Not good. Not good at all. Too much blood. Over the loud rushing and pounding in his ears, he heard Bucky call him an idiot and then he passed out.

When he came back, he felt pleasantly woozy, warm and well-rested. The next thing he noticed was the smell of leather, paint and sweat under his nose. He blinked his eyes open. His head was cushioned on a leather jacket and he was lying on his left, still on the boat, which gently rocked from side to side. Going back to sleep seemed like a good idea.

“Are you back?” came Bucky’s voice from behind him.

“Mm.” Then he noticed that he wasn’t wearing any pants. Huh. “Are you staring at my ass?”

“I’m stitching you back up.”

“You what?” Suddenly the pleasant wooziness was gone.The searing pain came back and so did the awareness of what had just happened – of what was happening right now. He tried to sit up but Bucky’s vibranium arm grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back down.

“Don’t move. I’m almost done.”

“What are you doing?” Sam really hoped he had misheard, but no –

“Stitching you back up,” Bucky repeated stoically, sounding somewhat distracted.

“Why?”

“It’s a big wound. You lost a lot of blood.”

“How -? Stop that!”

“It’s fine, I’ve done this before.”

“What, like in the 40s?!”

“…yes.”

“You know we have surgeons for this, right?”

“I’m faster.”

“I swear to you, if you’ve used dirty needles on me or fishbones or whatever…!”

“Didn’t you get your tetanus shot?”

“Oh my God, you did, didn’t you?”

“No. I found a first aid kit. It looked a bit old but seems to be good.”

“Seems to be?! You should have at least asked me before you decided to operate on me!”

“You were unconscious and bleeding,” Bucky said matter-of-factly. “There, done. Not bleeding anymore.” Bucky appeared in his line of vision. There was blood on both hands, his shirt and even his pants. There was also a lot of blood on the floor around Sam.

“I want to go to the hospital and have someone competent check if you’ve butchered my leg.”

“Fine. But let me dress the wound first.”

“Okay.” Sam turned back around and let Bucky do whatever he thought needed to be done. Sam wasn’t usually squeamish, he had been in the army and seen much worse. But waking up to someone stitching you up with probably outdated surgical tools? Not cool.

“When I’m back from the hospital, you and I are going to have a long talk about bodily autonomy.”

“You can schedule it right after the talk about workplace safety. Because letting a saw lie around like that? Just no.”

Sam had to concede that was a fair point, so he kept his mouth shut. When Bucky had finished wrapping a thick bandage around Sam’s thigh, he helped Sam up. He was wobbly on his legs, still feeling lightheaded from the blood loss, and his right leg was doing weird things.

“Does it hurt?” Bucky asked the most superfluous question ever.

“Take a wild guess.” Sam clung to Bucky and somehow they manoeuvred him out of the boat and he hobbled back to Sarah’s house.

Sarah screamed when she saw them.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Sam said quickly. What it looked like was: Sam in just his boxer shorts with a thick bandage around his right leg, leaning heavily on Bucky, and both of them covered in blood from head to toe. “It was an accident.”

“Don’t let the boys see you like this!” Sarah ushered them into the bathroom. “Get yourselves cleaned up. I’ll bring you new clothes.”

Sam sank down onto the toilet lid. Damn it, even sitting hurt like hell. Changing and cleaning up in the tiny bathroom was awkward. Without asking Sam if he needed the help, Bucky had obviously decided that he did need help and had started wiping the blood from Sam’s arms and legs with a wet cloth. They really needed to have that talk about boundaries. Not that Sam was complaining, though. The problem was, he liked it. (Not in a sexual way, he was not that messed up and in too much pain and in his sister’s bathroom – just no.) For some reason, Bucky taking care of him was what did it for him. And Bucky wasn’t even particularly gentle, just efficient and matter-of-fact about it. But it was apparently enough that there was someone who had decided to take care of Sam a little bit more than was strictly necessary.

“This is not exactly flattering,” Sam said when Bucky had helped him into a pair of too-short sweatpants.

“Pretty sure you’ve seen me in worse states.”

Sam chuckled but then winced in pain when he tried to stand up. He was too exhausted to even pretend to protest when Bucky put an arm around him and supported him into the kitchen where Sarah was making dinner.

“Better?” Sarah asked Sam. “Need anything from the pharmacy? I can send Cass. They’ve already played long enough.”

It didn’t sound much like playing anymore. From the living room, the boys could be heard arguing loudly over the explosions and the music of their video games.

“I need to go to the ER,” Sam said, “and have someone check this.”

Sarah grimaced. “That bad, huh? Okay, let me just finish--” She was interrupted by the telephone ringing. “Sorry, have to get this, it’s probably Regina about that delivery tomorrow…” She hurried off into the living room to get the phone. Then there was a loud smashing sound followed by both boys screaming insults at the top of their lungs. Sam hurried over – as fast as he could with his injured leg – to make sure they didn’t need to bring more people to the hospital.

It did not look like anyone was injured. Just the coffee table had been thrown over, smashing a vase and two glasses. The boys were at each other’s throats, apparently fighting over the controller.

“Stop it!” Sam bellowed. At the same time, Sarah shouted, “No, no, everything’s fine!” into the phone that was squeezed under her chin, while she was trying to separate the boys.

“Do something,” Sam told Bucky. Staring did not seem to help to subdue kids fighting over video games.

Bucky grabbed each boy with one arm and separated them easily.

“Let go of my kids!” Sarah shouted immediately and then, “No, really, it’s fine!” into the phone.

Bucky let go of them as if burned and took a step back.

“I’ll call you back,” Sarah said and then proceeded to give the boys a thorough dressing down that ended in the threat to sell their game console if something like this ever happened again, “and I don’t care who started it!”

In the ringing silence that followed, they finally could hear the bubbling and sizzling from the kitchen. Bucky was the fastest and yanked the saucepan from the burner but the damage had already been done, the tomato sauce had boiled over onto the whole stovetop.

Sarah sank down on a kitchen chair. “Can you drive a car?” she asked Bucky.

“Of course.”

*

“Do you have a driver’s licence?” Sam asked Bucky once they were in the car on their way to the hospital.

“No.”

“God help me.” Sam tried to find a position that did not put pressure on his injured leg. Hopeless. It hurt any way.

“Couldn’t exactly take driving lessons as the Winter Soldier.”

Sam chuckled despite himself but then he stopped when he remembered the situation in the living room. “Look, Sarah knows you’re not the Winter Soldier anymore. But parents are wildly protective of their kids and wouldn’t take any chances.”

“I know, I get it.”

“It’s nothing personal. Maybe, once she knows you better, she’ll trust you with the boys, too.” Implying that Sam would bring Bucky to Sarah’s house more often in the future, often enough that she would come to eventually trust Bucky.

“Sam, it’s fine.” Bucky stretched the fingers of his vibranium arm and examined them with a frown. “I need to get your blood out of my hand. It’s not moving smoothly anymore.”

“Jesus, Buck.” Sam let his head fall back against the seat. “Please don’t make any comments like that in the hospital.”

*

Sam felt kind of sorry for the other people in the waiting room. They were injured or sick and now, on top of it, had to deal with the ominous presence and murderous glare of the Winter Soldier.

“Look, this is going to take some time,” Sam finally said to him. “Why don’t you go and…get a coffee or something?”

Bucky nodded and left the waiting room. The air eased immediately. Suddenly there was movement again. A mother let her kid down to run around, a young woman stood up to grab a magazine from the table, a man with his arm in a makeshift sling cleared his throat and attempted smalltalk.

“He’s harmless,” Sam tried to assure everyone. “Guy’s just got a staring problem.”

But then said staring problem was already back and stood in the door to the waiting room – with a cup of coffee in his hand. Well, that had not worked according to Sam’s plan.

“I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore,” Bucky said. “I’m James Bucky Barnes.” Then he smiled an awful smile that did nothing to help his case. He sat down next to Sam and handed him the coffee and a chocolate bar. Pet psychopath, Sharon’s words echoed in Sam’s mind.

Sam had very strong opinions about coffee from hospitals’ vending machines but just now realised that he had not eaten for hours and gratefully took both the coffee and the chocolate bar.

They had to wait for over an hour until it was finally Sam’s turn. The doctor was surprisingly okay with Bucky’s stitches, and just cleaned up the wound, gave him another tetanus shot for good measure (because they weren’t exactly sure yet how the Blip had effected vaccinations), dressed the wound, prescribed some strong painkillers and told Sam to keep the leg still for the next few days.

So that was what Sam did. He spent several days just lying on the couch in the living room, getting progressively competitive at video games. In turn, he tried to teach his nephews board games and helped with their homework to unburden Sarah at least a little bit. He also did a number of phone calls to try to get that damn loan (unsuccessfully). How Sarah had not killed anyone yet was a mystery to him.

Bucky spent the days on the boat. Every evening he came to report to Sam about his progress, never failing to mention how he wasn’t slowed down by Sam’s need for breaks anymore.

“I hate him,” Sam told Sarah, who was happily showing him photos of the boat while Bucky was in the kitchen preparing dinner.

Sarah shrugged. “He is kind of useful. If he continues to work on the boat at that tempo, it’ll be ready to sail much earlier and I can minimise my losses.”

“I’m glad at least someone will profit from this mess.”

“He also knows how to gut and fillet fish.”

Sam chuckled. “Gutting fish and repairing boats – do you think those count as good character traits? Enough to justify falling in love with him?”

“I could introduce you to someone, you know. There’s this new guy in town, he’s an art teacher and he seems like a really sweet guy, very cultured of course and elegant – he is an art teacher after all – and he has those beautiful eyes... I’m pretty sure he’s interested in men.”

Sam frowned. There was nothing wrong with Bucky’s eyes. “Doesn’t sound like my type.”

Sarah sighed. “No, he certainly isn’t. You know, Sam, you do deserve a healthy and loving relationship like everyone else. Maybe give this guy a chance instead of always…” She trailed off. She didn’t have to say more.

“I’ll get back to you if I’m ever over the brainwashed serial killer.”

“It’s just that Daniel might already be seeing someone else by then. Like I said, he’s an attractive guy.”

“Wouldn’t be fair to Daniel if I tried to date him while, well.”

“You know what, Sam? What you’re doing is not fair to yourself. Look, I’ll send you his number, you can text him and meet up for a coffee, no commitment. Just give it a chance.” She opened the contacts app on her phone.

“Dinner is ready.”

Both Sam and Sarah whipped around in shock to see Bucky standing stock-still in the door, holding a plate with fish in each hand. Of course the first thought in Sam’s mind was, How much did he hear? Although it was hard to read Bucky, Sam prided himself in being able to interpret some of his stares. This one was somewhere between confused and irritated. Great.

“Great. Let’s hope you removed the bones properly and no one dies tonight.”

A deep crease appeared between Bucky’s eyebrows. Rightfully so, because that had been a stupid comment. But Sam could not think of anything funny or normal to say right now.

“Great,” Sarah said, then helped Sam up. They followed Bucky to the dining table.

Dinner was torture. The fish wasn’t half bad (no bones) but it was almost cold, which could only mean that Bucky had listened to too much of that conversation before he had announced his presence. And now he was staring again. By now, Sam had grown used to it, but this staring was on a whole new level, as if Bucky wanted to burn a hole through Sam’s forehead with his eyes.

“Staring,” he mouthed at Bucky while the boys thankfully babbled on about a football game a friend of Cass was organising.

Bucky jerked slightly but then finally tore his gaze from Sam and proceeded to glare daggers at the fish on his plate instead.

“Well, that was lovely,” Sarah said at last. “Thanks for cooking.” She stood up to do the dishes but Bucky got in her way with his superspeed.

“I’ll do it.”

Sarah shrugged and threw Sam a pitying glance.

“I’m going to bed,” he announced, explaining to his confused nephews, who did not understand why anyone would voluntarily go to bed so early, that he was really tired.

Back in his room, he flopped down on his bed and groaned loudly. How was this his life? Having a crush was one thing, Sam could easily suppress that. But his co-worker knowing about it… From now on everything was going to be so awkward. What had that stare meant? Would Bucky be fine with Sam’s misplaced affections? Should Sam start dating Daniel just to make it less awkward between Bucky and him? He buried his face in his pillow. Yeah, way to make it all worse and pull another, unsuspecting party into this mess.

There was a knock on his door.

He took a deep breath and sat up, dreading the worst. “Come in.”

Bucky came into his room, closed the door behind him and then – did absolutely nothing. He just stood there and looked at Sam.

“Okay, this is getting weird,” Sam said after about a minute of ominous silence. “Are you going to say something?”

Bucky opened his mouth, closed it again.

Right, one of them needed to do the talking, and obviously it was up to Sam to be the mature one. Nothing new there. “So I’m assuming you eavesdropped on that conversation between Sarah and me.”

“The door was open.”

Oh, finally he was speaking. That was progress. “Anyway. I get that this may be awkward for you.” Sam’s throat was tightening up at the thought of Bucky not only turning him down but maybe even avoiding him in the future because he was…no. He soldiered on. “Just know that siblings often talk trash.”

“I know. I have a sister.”

“Good.” Sam tried to unclench his hands, which were gripping his thighs too tightly. “Then, what is your problem? Is there a problem?”

Bucky shook his head. He stepped closer and sat down next to Sam on the bed, never once taking his eyes off Sam’s face. Sam had no idea what to do. The words were stuck in his throat but it turned out he didn’t have to do anything because Bucky took his left hand, placed it on his lap and cradled it in both hands. So, this was his answer.

Sam exhaled, slowly, shudderingly. He finally met Bucky’s eyes that were still fixed, unblinking, on Sam’s. He liked it. God help him, he liked being the single focus of that stare, he liked the irritated and confused stares, the hard and sometimes worried ones but most of all the challenging ones. Sam was veering towards a highly dysfunctional and co-dependent relationship (if a relationship was something Bucky wanted – they really needed to talk about this!) and he was not willing to change the course.

They stayed like that for too long, eight minutes and thirty-two seconds too long, as the display on Sam’s alarm clock showed him, and each second that ticked by in silence made it more difficult to just speak up and say something non-monumental.

But Sam finally did it because he knew that someone needed to say something and, well, that someone usually tended to be him. “We should probably talk about this.”

“I can schedule a session with my therapist.”

Sam snorted with laughter. “She’d have a field day.”

But Bucky was not laughing, not even grinning psychopathically. He was still staring at Sam, waiting for an answer.

“Wait. You’re taking this seriously. You really want us to do this?”

Bucky gave a curt nod.

Wow. This was monumental. Not meeting up to get a coffee but couples therapy. “Right.” Sam’s heart was beating loudly in his chest. This was like putting the wings back on after many years and flying again. Frightening, yes, but also exhilarating. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”