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starshavegoneastray · 3 years ago

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Perfect Lovers

Angst // h.hj

Inspired by Félix González-Torres 'Untitled (Perfect Lovers)' 1991; an installation art.

CW // loss of a loved one

1,923 Words

IT has been a while since Hyunjin came out of his apartment. The door to his unit creaked louder than he anticipated, but couldn’t blame the lack of new oil it required in order to work. Green carpet under his soles felt a little different from the last time he mindlessly trudged and tumbled into his cold unit. Newly painted hall greeted him, and before he knew it, he was waving politely at the landlord as he stepped outside of the building.

His blonde hair, caught by the wind as cars passed by, had gone longer than the last time he locked himself, reaching just above his shoulders in a half up half down. For sure it hadn’t been long, but the new stores that opened up right next to the bakery he visited often made it seem like he’d missed at least three months.

That was enough time for Hyunjin to get cooped up inside his tiny living space, free from any pain he had to endure. It was just the right number of weeks for him to be by himself, to look for some sort of interest in order to get his mind off the unpleasant thoughts hunting him for the past weeks.

Painting was one of the things he did, recalling the amount of oil paints and canvases littering across his apartment floors. He’d given up on sketching because the only image running around his head was you. The outcome made him light a match and let it eat the paper into ashes. A similar occurrence happened the last time he painted, but instead of setting the building on fire he decided to dump a whole bucket of lightning blue over it, then left it as it is in his work room.

Part of him wanted to rekindle that passion again, to get his brush going across the canvas and start over. But he lost the spark to ignite his flames, and morning came to replace the light he lost. Leaving him to scout for some sort of exit during the darkening night. He’d doused himself in bottles and bottles of booze the other night, and woke up the next morning with a booked ticket to an exhibit downtown on his laptop.

Hyunjin took his time wandering amongst the crowd, feeling the warmth of the room as people gathered around a few installations placed along the way, and paintings hung up on walls. Some visitors came in batches of elementary students in their orange uniforms, there were groups of (possibly) art students admiring another philosophical work, then there were the interested couples. He came alone in his cream knit vest, black cross bag and a pamphlet in his hands.

There was a mini map of the exhibition inside the neatly folded paper between his fingers, and he began at the very first spot his eyes landed on which were the paintings. Hyunjin stared at a few fancy frames, before moving along to the next in hopes of catching a glimpse of interest within the colors, the shapes, perspectives, anything.

He looked at his pamphlet again then proceeded to the next part of the exhibit. Sculptures in many shapes and sizes stood on white pedestals, behind glass boxes, and even stood on their own to showcase its amazing heights. More people took pictures here, seeing this is a perfect spot for such activity. Hyunjin, after looking around at the people pulling their phones and posing for the camera, fished for his own from the pocket of his jeans and snapped a clay statue that he thought looked like a memorable piece. A smile crept up his full lips, chuckling as he slid his fingers across the screen at the picture he took.

Y/n would love this.

Hyunjin’s lips faltered slowly. Just when he thought he could put down the weights from his shoulder, he couldn’t. Not now. Not even after three whole months. Every time he gets a little happy, he thinks of you. And you were the reality he’s not ready for. With a push of a button, his screen turned void and he shoved his gadget back from where he took them before walking to the next part of the exhibit.

Nothing caught his eye. Not the paintings, not the statues, not the impressive wall art on one side of the building. For starters, he never really frequently visited an exhibit. He started going to some back in the day because of someone’s influence. Someone who would go out of their way to get two entry tickets and accompany him despite their responsibilities and schedule. The same person who would be the first to point out an artist’s work and the meanings behind the intricate strokes, dents, parts, and smudges. The very individual who taught him how to paint.

He kept glancing back and forth towards the pamphlet once he realized he’s stepping into the installations exhibit; the field of art he’s having trouble understanding. Nothing ever makes sense in his eyes, as his steps progress deeper into more stacks of cups, papers, possibly metals displayed on the floor. His eyes jumped from one installation to the other, and all he could process were the odd-looking mismatched objects glued to one another. But he knew for a fact it was because he did something wrong, not because the language doesn’t click.

Take your time, the three words lingered like an aftertaste of a bitter coffee in the shape of your voice. That was what he did as soon as his eyes landed on two clocks hung up on a wall side by side. Félix González-Torres was written on a card right next to the installation, under the title that named the art:

‘Untitled (Perfect Lovers)'.

Take your time, and it’ll all make sense.

Two of the same clocks ticking by the same exact time like what they are and what they’re intended to do; to tell the time. Their needles ticked by the number ten, then ran past eleven. Hyunjin chuckled after the hour hands slightly moved closer to the number seven simultaneously as the seconds morphed with the minute hand on twelve. Upon closer inspection, it was his first time seeing an hour hand move. Nothing fascinating, but now that he thought about it, he’s a quick-paced guy; he never stopped for once to take in the smallest things around him.

Different from how you were. He could almost see it, you would probably stop on your tracks as well, and stared at the two clocks which bore a deep meaning that only few could understand. Installation is a language that took some time to perceive, it’s a different concept of relaying opinions, messages, or a story. The language of art isn’t just from how visually pleasing it is, but also how the message behind it resonates with the people who interact with it. It’s not what you see in it, but it’s how you feel when you see it. Because it captures emotions and memories that exist without a visual form.

Hyunjin never got that idea through his head, especially when he encountered the particular abstract movements. But perhaps his perspective changed once he noticed the right clock began ticking a little slower than the left, gradually falling behind and out of sync; as many clocks do.

Eventually one of them would stop working as the exhibit went on.

For many reasons, you were the very first person he thought of. Fights were a repetitive occurrence but it never tore you apart from each other. And even when disagreements filled the gap, somehow you both found a way to come to terms with it. Your dynamics brought the best out of him, even he was surprised himself. And the both of you had the craziest idea of holding onto each other, until time did their worst and pulled you apart from his grasp on one spring.

Despite the green hues covering his steps, the grey morning he returned from your funeral was one of the hardest things he had to do. Walking back out was another hell he didn’t want to live in, so he locked himself in where he could succumb into an indefinite amount of sorrow and grief at the loss of the love of his life.

Perhaps the harsh reality pushed him at his worst, locking you up in his attic, only to have you drip down the ceiling and he could only see you, you, and you. Even in his dreams, all he saw was you.

The only argument he couldn’t come to terms with was the fact that you’re not here to hold onto him anymore.

But the title still remains ‘Perfect Lovers’. Even when the two hands fall from each other, going their separate ways, or stop dead on their tracks, they were the best for one another. His heartbreak was the evidence of your unconditional love. A mark that will forever be remembered as your beautiful life that collided with his at the imperfectly perfect timing. Despite the circumstances, despite the abrupt end to your chapter with him, you remain as his perfect lover.

It was a small flower shop that opened right next to the bakery Hyunjin stopped by. Warm scent of croissant filled up the air as he leaned back onto the white chair, scrolling back through his phone as another warm loaf met his full lips.

“Did you visit the exhibition?” A voice made him crane his neck to see the owner of the little bakery in his white apron pulling a chair to sit next to Hyunjin. He nodded as a reply, munching slowly at the warm bread while letting his friend see the pictures he took.

“You know, Minho,” Hyunjin began to speak, putting down the goods on the plate as he did so, “I thought my time would stop the second hers did.”

Minho listened intently, not too sure where he’s going with the conversation. “But I guess, even soulmates aren’t synchronized.”

Hyunjin looked around the afternoon sunlit streets. Orange hues kissing the autumn leaves that fall from their respective trees adorning the chalkboard sign he drew an hour ago for the bakery. Minho exhaled, taking Hyunjin’s phone gently and swiping a few pictures until he stopped at one with two store bought clocks that was supposed to be deemed an art.

“Is that another philosophy you learned for today?” The question made the blonde boy lean back on his chair, crossing both arms on his chest and said, like it’s a matter of fact, “It’s a new language I learned.”

A tiny small pulled the sides of Minho’s cheeks at his friend’s little banter, it has been a while since he’d last heard of Hyunjin’s sassy remarks. Pinching and zooming the photo, Minho asks again, “And what do you think about it?”

“I think…”

He thought of your eyes, the crinkly ones every time a smile adorn your face at the paintings he finished, or the paints he threw your way, coloring a few strains of your hair. And the way you cried in front of an art you resonated with the most, as if the world you see was filled with the same frequency of affection, despair, desire, sadness, or happiness that none could muster or perceive. Your heartfelt emotions that never fail to make him fall harder every day. And he knew definitely how you’d feel if you’d come along.

“…Y/n would have loved it as much as I do.”

#imagines #stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #hwang hyunjin #stray kids hwang hyunjin

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pannabethjesus · 4 years ago

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A Small Gift: A Jercy Fanfic

Jason tapped his foot nervously, as he stood outside the café. His date was supposed to arrive in ten minutes, and it was all he could do to not glance at his reflection in the glass every ten seconds to fix his hair.

He thought back to an hour ago, when Piper, his best friend, had been fussing over his clothes.

"No, Jason," she'd said, "You can't wear a white jacket on a lunch date. You'll look like a pimp." And with those words, his jacket had been tossed away, and replaced with a baby blue blazer, which went well with his soft pink shirt and black jeans. He had to admit, he did look handsome, and the copious amounts of gel Piper had used to set his hair seemed to be working well, despite his aversion to hair products.

He glanced at his watch, and let his eyes wander over the sidewalk. Where is he? The sun was getting lower, and he was beginning to feel like an idiot but then his eyes met a pair of stunning sea green ones.

Percy Jackson had finally arrived.

Jason felt his chest tighten and loosen, as he struggled to breath. His heart was beating dangerously fast and he could feel the back of his neck break into a cold sweat.

He's here, he's here, he's here- his heart was beating with that rhythm.

Percy was looking amazing in a deep green jacket and a grey shirt, paired with normal blue jeans. His eyes seemed to glow. Jason noticed that he was holding a small bouquet of yellow poppies and his mussed hair and cheeky grin, as he walked over, made his heart skip several beats.

Dammit, I should have gotten something.

Mentally slapping himself, he turned his attention to his date. He took a deep breath and gave Percy a big smile, one he had been holding in since he spotted him. Praying to whatever god was listening, he hoped he didn't look like a fool.

Percy's cologne hit him first and then he registered the dark haired boy grinning in front of him. He must have been nervous too, Jason noticed, because his knuckles were almost white with how tightly he seemed to be holding the poppies.

"Hey, you ma-" Jason began and before he could say anything else, Percy thrust the bouquet into his hands, his face flushing.

"These are for you!" He said, his voice an octave higher than normal. Gone was the look of the cheekiness, replaced by utter shyness. Jason couldn't help his smile at this sudden transformation.

Or maybe you never noticed this side of him before.

'I'll be able to experience more of it, if things go well today. ' He thought.

"I- thank you. These are beautiful." He answered and Percy's face lit up again.

"Really? That's great, my mom picked the-" He stopped immediately, the rose coloured blush making it's way back on his face and Jason had to bite his lip to stop grinning uncontrollably.

"Never mind that. I hope you didn't wait too long." Percy said and Jason shook his head. "Not at all. You're right on time."

He extended the arm that wasn't holding the flowers out to Percy. "Shall we?" He asked.

"Oh yes, absolutely." Percy answered and linked his arm with Jason's, eyes glinting all the way through, as both of them walked inside the café wordlessly.

It was a cozy place, nothing too flashy or gaudy. The interior had pastel coloured walls filled with canvases of paintings in different media, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted temptingly about.

Although it was late afternoon, the darker bits of the café were illuminated by a soft golden light that made Jason's hair glow. Percy caught himself staring at his date several times in the few minutes it took for Jason to find both of them a table.

It was located right next to the large glass windows, from which the street was visible, but also was towards the back, so the chatter of the rest of the crowd wasn't very audible.

Percy took a step forward to pull a chair for Jason, at the exact same moment that Jason did the same for him and they both stood there, watching each other for a few seconds with their hands on the chairs, before laughing.

"Why don't we-" Jason began and Percy nodded. "Yeah, that works." He answered and they both sat down at their respective places, across the small wooden table. He watched as Jason fiddled with the bouquet before realising that he didn't have something to keep the flowers.

"Excuse me, miss!" Percy called out and Jason shot him a confused look.

"Have you already decided your order?" he asked and Percy felt his face warm up.

"No, I was hoping to ask them to get you a vase to keep the flowers in." He said and it was Jason's turn to blush.

"Oh." was all he said before turning his attention to the flowers.

The waitress who came over managed to get them an old jug for the bouquet and Percy watched as Jason placed the flowers meticulously, careful to not let break or bend. The blond's hands moved skillfully and deftly, and Percy marvelled quietly at how good he was.

"Your hands are really good at that."

He blurted out and the full weight of what he said hit him a second later. Jason paused and looked up at him, his icy blue eyes wide and his cheeks flushed.

Jackson??? What the hell???? His brain screamed at him, but he managed to keep his composure.

"Um. That came out wrong." He added and Jason chuckled.

"Thank you, Percy." He said turning his attention to him.

"So.." He began and Percy relaxed. He's just as nervous as I am. But his fingers did a little tippy-tappy dance on the table.

"So..." He responded, staring into Jason's eyes. "This is nice."

Jason tilted his head, a small smile gracing his face. " Yeah. It really is." He paused, considering his next words. Percy's eyes were really distracting and the way he was staring- it was unhelpful for his train of thought to say the least. He shook his head slightly and focused on the table in front of him.

"So, Piper.." Jason began, looking at Percy but avoiding his eyes. "You guys know each other?" He asked. Percy smiled and nodded, seeming absolutely at ease with himself, unlike Jason who was feeling like a dork each passing second- and not in the good way.

"Piper and I met in the college art club in our first week there. I've been into abstract art since I was a kid, so.." Percy trailed off, his smile unwavering.

Jason recalled Piper telling him that. She'd shown him some of his artwork and it was mesmerising.

"I saw some of your work in the exhibition. Percy, it was amazing. You're such a great artist. Have you considered going professional?" Jason asked excitedly. Percy blushed profusely, the smile on his face suddenly falling away and giving way to an expression of an artist not accustomed to praise, which was surprising since he was one of the best.

Percy looked at him with a sincere expression. "Thanks Jason, it means a lot. I considered going pro, but my major is oceanology, so that's what I'm inclined to do." His voice sounded empty as if a little of his cheerfulness had drained out of it. Jason cursed at himself mentally. He'd touched a sensitive topic.

"Oh." He responded, unable to find the words to say. How could he comfort him? It wasn't his place to say. He opted for the softer way out of this.

"Well, Percy, I'm sure whatever it is you decide to do, I'm sure you'll be great at it. Life looks out for people like you, you know?" At that Percy grinned. "You are quite the philosopher, Jason." He rolled his eyes in faux annoyance, feeling nothing of it.

"I'm flattered." He smiled, and then passed a menu to Percy. "I'm also hungry. And I'm guessing so are you."

Percy gratefully took the menu and smiled at him.

"What's your favourite here?" Percy asked and Jason grinned. "Have you had the chicken Alfredo pasta? It is to die for." Percy put down the menu and looked at Jason, his eyes sparkling and his face shining as if withholding a secret.

"What?" Jason inquired, fiddling with his menu, as Percy's eyes bore into him, sending electricity down his spine.

"What are the odds?" Percy wondered out loud. "What are odds," he repeated, "that my date and I would have the same favourite food, especially on our first date?" Jason's heart thumped loudly.

"No way." He said quietly, failing to repress a giggle.

"I think I'm in love with you already."

He blurted out and Percy laughed.

"I can't blame you, Grace, I'd fall in love with someone who was a fan of chicken pasta too."

And with that, he winked at Jason, who suddenly felt like the air was being ripped from his lungs and in the best way possible.

They ordered the food, talking back and forth about college, about everything and about nothing at all. The hours slipped away, the sun went lower and lower and gave way to shimmering moonlight. And they kept talking.

When it was finally time to leave, Percy and Jason walked out the door, the former shivering because of the cold. Jason instinctively put his arm around him, and Percy blushed.

"Oh-" He began, but Jason pulled his arm back.

"I'm so sorry, oh god, I didn't mean to." He sputtered out, his face warming up uncomfortably. Even in the dark, Percy's eyes still unravelled something inside of him and he had to make an effort to keep himself pulled together.

But Percy just silently took his arm and wrapped it around his waist, holding it there.

"Thank you for the warmth." He said and Jason relaxed.

They walked to the university dorms, and in the midst of a comfortable silence, their hands touched and wordlessly, intertwined. The flowers Percy had given were awkwardly tucked under Jason's arm but they were there. There was no further awkwardness, nothing that felt wrong.

Percy's heart felt light, as if a burden had been lifted off of him. He felt at home with Jason. Those five hours with him gave Percy more happiness than he'd felt in a long time in his life.

He had been meaning to ask out Jason for a long, long time and when Piper told him that it was his birthday, he knew it was the time. So three days before Jason turned nineteen, Percy asked him out on the date. Jason didn't know that Percy knew, and the small box that Percy carried in his jacket pocket felt heavier as both of them approached closer to Jason's dorm room.

As they reached, Jason stopped in front of the door and took out his keys with one hand. The other one still held fast onto Percy's. He turned to face the brunet and in the dim golden light of the hallway, he could he the pink tip of Percy's nose. He really liked it.

"So, this is my stop." Jason said and Percy nodded.

"Yep."

"So, is Piper there?" He asked, trying to make conversation but Jason shook his head. "I don't think so, she might be with a classmate of ours. Annabeth? I don't know if you know her."

Percy shook his head. "Never heard of her."

"Oh, cool."

"Yeah."

Jason started to turn to face the door again but couldn't. Percy was watching him quietly and he didn't want to leave yet. They stared at each other, not wanting to leave, but having no idea what to tell the other. Then Jason steeled his nerves. He had been too much of a mess this evening.

"Percy, thank you for tonight. I loved it. And thank you for the flowers. I had a really great time."

Percy smiled brightly, his heart beating faster.

"Of course, Jason. I really enjoyed with you too, and I wish we had more time together but..." He trailed off. But Jason knew.

Life was hectic, university was stressful. But here they were, in their own moment of peace. That's what mattered right now.

Percy looked at Jason. He was beautiful. There was no other way to describe him. His icy blue eyes made his heart stop. And the tiny scar on his upper lip which almost vanished when he smiled made Percy want to kiss him and know how that scar felt. He was very much aware of how close they were and how his hand was held in Jason's. The scar on his lip was mere inches away, a tiny little shard of lightning.

Lightning! He thought and did a mental pat down to check if the box was still there. Sighing slowly, he let go of Jason's hand and pulled the tiny turquoise box out.

"I, um, got this for you.." He began and Jason gave him a surprised look.

"You didn't have to." He said but Percy shook his head.

"No, I did. Piper told me you liked charms so, here's one from me."

He said and lifted the lid.

Jason gasped when he saw what was in the box. It was a tiny, silver charm in the shape of a lightning bolt. Don't cry, Jason. Don't freaking cry. Do not. Nope.

He took the box quietly and turned the charm in his hand.

"This- Percy, I don't know what to say. This is beautiful..." He said and Percy bit his lip. "I'm glad you like it." He answered softly.

Jason looked up from the charm at Percy. His face was flushed.

Then he looked straight into his soul-melting green eyes, not caring how his heart suddenly was sprinting at twenty miles an hour and how his own face was probably redder than a strawberry.

"You're full of surprises." He half-whispered. To his surprise, Percy smirked and raised his eyebrow, leaning in closer. He whispered back.

"Do you have the heart for one more?"

Jason could have sworn he stopped breathing but he managed to answer any way.

"What do you have in mind?"

And that was it.

The wall came crashing down between them as they closed the distance between themselves. Percy finally knew what the scar felt like against his lips and it was nothing less than magical. The world was a blur, everything melted away and all that was important was that he was here, and Jason was here.

The kiss lasted mere seconds but Jason felt like an eternity had passed. When Percy pulled away, he struggled to breathe. He gasped and closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath. Percy didn't seem to be doing much better.

"I've been waiting a long time to do that." He said and those words made something bloom inside Jason's chest.

He somehow found the words to speak.

"Trust me, so have I."

Percy started laughing. And before he knew it, Jason was laughing too. Both of them were laughing quietly, marvelling at what had just happened and how there was nothing but pure joy behind it.

But once they stopped, Percy looked at him, his date, the golden haired boy, who had stolen his heart since the first time he had seen him. He knew it was getting late. "I'll see you around?" He asked hopefully and Jason nodded. "Absolutely. I'll see you tomorrow." He said and Percy's heart did a backflip. Tomorrow. Another day with him.

But for now, tonight was enough. Tomorrow would be dealt with when it came. Percy reached over and kissed Jason's cheek, who was still flushed from their kiss.

"Happy birthday, Jason." He said and turned around to go to his own dorm room, leaving behind a very perplexed and flustered blond.

***

"You're back! Did you guys kiss? Did he dance? Where did you eat? How was it?" Piper shot questions at Jason as soon as he entered his room.

His head was still spinning from all the amazing things that happened within a few hours.

"Weren't you supposed to be with Annabeth?" He asked, taking his jacket off, the charm still tucked inside his fist.

She waved him off and jumped up from the sofa. "Nah, I came back early."

"Oh." He said and collapsed onto the sofa, staring up at the ceiling.

Piper gazed at him. He looked like he was glowing and her heart softened. She sat back down next to him, and patted his leg. "So.." She began softly. "I take it, it went well?" She asked and Jason sighed happily. "It was more than well." He said and sat up, looking at her. She raised an eyebrow.

"You got something to say, Sparky?"

Jason's eyes glinted and he grinned.

"Oh, I have a lot to tell you."

...

Fin.

#jercy fic #jason grace #riordanverse #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #pipermclean #jercy oneshot #gay pride #pride month

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reluctant-mandalore · 5 years ago

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The Artist (Din Djarin x gn!Reader)

Word Count: 3821

Warnings: Fluffy with some angst and an angry Din. He’s a bit mean at first but I promise he makes it right. Not beta read because I wanted to get this out asap.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: I couldn’t resist writing, it was just such a sweet idea. I ended up getting carried away, so it’s kind of long lol. As per usual I got some angsty din in here but it’s all fluffy and happy at the end I promise!! Also, Din is a bit mean at first, he’s a grumpy grump who’s mad about his face being plastered everywhere, but he turns into a softy fairly quickly. I tried to stay gender neutral but I may have slipped up sooo yeah. Enjoy!

Original Post: The original post is here and the lovely darling who came up with this idea was @mandowhorian

Edits: (4)**Reader blushing was removed to made to be more inclusive** (1)Just some grammar and spelling edits done. Also fixed up some of the paragraphs I felt were a bit weird. (2) I was looking back at this so I could post it to AO3 and noticed that the @ to the original poster of the idea was wrong, sorry for any unnecessary notifications!! (3)More spelling and grammar fixes, also fixed a pronoun error. ^-^

The bounty should have been simple enough. The mandalorian had been tasked with bringing in a lone artist from the outer rim. The artist was overdue on some payments to a lone shark and had seemingly gone into hiding to avoid these payments. Originally, he hadn’t planned on taking the job, but the pay was decent enough and it should have been rather easy. It wouldn’t take much to bring in the little artist, though he had been warned about them having some weird abilities.

Din wasn’t too concerned in that regard. He’s seen some weird stuff in his time as a bounty hunter. Honestly he wasn’t sure anything could top the child and his strange powers anyway. Although with that in mind, nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to walk into.

The bounty hunter had approached the structure quietly, it was later in the evening and much of the busy crowds were leaving for the night. The studio was small with tables propped out front, most likely used for sales, though today they had remained empty. He had asked some locals about the artist, learning how the artist was currently grieving and wasn’t offering or selling any services at the moment due to it. Many of the locals even saying that they hadn’t even seen the artist emerge from their studio for some days now.

Din had ended up watching the little studio for most of the day anyway, looking for signs of the bounty. Truth to the locals words, the bounty never emerged to sell their works. So, with the streets having become empty and with no signs of the artist, he made his way to the entrance of the building.

Pulling back the cloth to the entrance of the bounties private studio, Din was met with something he had never expected to see within. His face. Specifically, his face plastered everywhere on canvases around the studio.

Din had stumbled back in shock at what he saw, knocking over some paint cans as he did. He felt frozen in time standing there staring at the works of art and suddenly felt himself become overwhelmed with a multitude of emotions.

Managing to collect himself, he straightened and slowly walked through the room, taking in each painting he saw. Every painting was unique in some way, whether it be from the paint used or the style in which it took. Some were younger versions of himself while others reflected his current aging features. His fingers had trailed lightly across the surface of one painting in particular, a dark and gloomy piece hidden away in a corner. Similar to the others, it was of his face, but this time it was bloody and bruised. His portrait self almost looking to be on the brink of death.

Din had a feeling of when this painting had been painted and why it was done in the way that it was. How did they know what he looked like that day? Did they see? He wasn’t even aware of anyone else, other than the droid of course, being there. How did he not notice them?

Many thoughts and feelings were pouring through him while looking at the piece of art. Feelings of confusion, anger, and distress had soon consumed him, but the worst of it all had to be the feeling of fear.

Fear because someone had seen his face. Fear because this meant his creed was crumbling to ashes before his eyes. Fear because it was possible that it may have been like that for longer than he ever knew. Fear because in this moment everything he had worked for was crashing down around him and he wasn’t even exactly sure how it happened.

Engrossed with his worries, the Mandalorian didn’t even hear the artist approaching. Coming through a back hallway, the artist had suddenly appeared from around a corner, stopping when their eyes landed on his form. They looked at him from afar, watching him take in the painting before him. Not even aware of the distress that currently wrecked the Mandalorian’s body and mind. Their own head tilting to the side as confusion began marking their own soft features, and wondering why a Mandalorian of all things had stumbled into their studio.

“Can I help you there? Customers aren’t supposed to enter the studio and I’m not currently taking any orders.”

Hearing them speak had snapped him out of his confused daze and he slowly turned his head to stare at them silently. He knew instantly based off the description from the client that this was his bounty standing before him. The Mandalorian’s mind soon beginning work over time to try and comprehend exactly what his target was doing. His mind trying to work out the answers to his bundles of questions.

Were they trying to mock him? Trying to act as if they had no idea who he was or what they had done? This had to be a plot that they came up with. They must have known he was coming and had plotted how to distract him. Maybe they just wanted to taunt him? A sort of ‘fuck you I know your face and have ruined your life’ kind of taunt.

“You’re a mandalorian right? Are you after a bounty-”

Din was swift and predatory in his movements, not giving them time to finish their sentence as he grabbed and pinned them to the ground. Their tiny wrists held in his one hand, pinned above their head, while he roughly shoved a blaster to their cheek. His body had soon pressed into theirs as a way to use his size and weight to keep them still underneath him. He radiated danger and had waves of anger rolling off of him. The sight of him in this angry state certainly would have had any number of people running, included the artist if they weren’t currently pinned underneath him.

The artist had squirmed under him in panic, attempting to free themselves, but not being able to due to his sheer strength. He could feel the heat from their body seep through his armor into his own, and any other time being this close to someone would have made the Mandalorian flush. However, at this moment, Din wasn’t concerned about such things. He was more worried about the fact that the person underneath him knew his face.

“What’s with all the paintings? How do you know?” He growled out, his grip tightening around them, his helmet now inches from their own face.

A whimper sounded from the artist below him and tears had begun to form at the corners of their eyes, “I-I don’t know what you mean.” Their voice was shaky and their form trembled under his. They were utterly powerless and weak when compared to the Mandalorian.

He scoffed at their response, it wouldn’t be the first time a bounty had tried to play innocent and dumb. Shedding some fake tears wasn’t going to soften him up any bit. “Don’t act dumb. How did you find out? Where did you see it?”

“Find out what? I-” They paused as he had moved the blaster closer to them as they spoke. “I-I really don’t know what you mean!”

Admittedly, the job was far from his mind at this moment, all he cared about was dealing with the fact that someone had seen his face. That this person before him had decided to taunt him with the knowledge of them having seen it. Job be damned, it felt like his whole self was destroyed, his creed most likely broken. He could care less about the dumb bounty job. He just needed answers.

Din growled again, his anger continuing to grow as they proceeded to deny any knowledge of what he was asking. He ended up hulling them to their feet, his grip never loosening as he did. He turned them around to face the corner which held the painting he had looked at not too long ago. He had pressed himself into their back when he did, a hand coming to roughly grab their chin to force them to look at the painting before them, the blaster still at the ready if needed.

“That face.” He gritted out, his fingers beginning to dig into their skin, “Where did you see it?”

He watched as their fearful expression morphed into that of one marked with sadness. A frown had now etched across their lips, and they looked away as a few of their tears finally slid down their cheeks.

Din was surprised by their reaction, he thought for sure they would have given up the whole innocent act by now or would have at least slipped up a bit. However, they didn’t and if anything it only made them seem to be more genuine in his eyes—a thought that both angered and confused him more than anything.

Mumbled words was the only reply he got from them at first, their voice barely audible to him, “What was that?”

“He’s my soulmate... or he was supposed to be at least.”

Din could feel himself pale under the helmet at their words, a feeling of shock once again spreading throughout his body, as he found himself letting go of them in an instant. His anger had disappeared completely at hearing their explanation—leaving only confusion in its wake.

It crossed his mind briefly that they could be messing with him still, but the expression they wore and the sincerity in their voice had stomped the idea completely. They were being serious, and Din had no idea how to handle such information.

Stepping back from them, the blaster fell to his side. “I.. what?” were the only things he could manage to say in his stage of shock and confusion.

“Do you know what the force is?”

“Barely.”

“Well, through the force, I get force visions of him all the time. They’re usually just his face, his surroundings were always blurry to me, but his face was always clear.” They began to explain as Din listened while remaining silent, “The force is not strong with me, so I think that’s why the visions were not always so clear to me.”

“So this isn’t just some sort of sick joke of yours to try and mock me?” He asked, still having some trouble in believing what the artist was expressing to him. “You’re not lying just to try and get me to not take you in?”

He watched as anger had marked their once saddened features, “A joke? You think I would joke about something like this? That I would spend years of my life painting and wondering where he was—wondering if he was safe?”

Din stood and just listened as they went off on him. Their anger about the accusation evident as they bitterly ranted to him about his behaviour during the past half hour or so. He continued watching as their rant died down to them just fuming while looking at anything that wasn’t him—clearly upset and hurt by his remarks.

“If you’re here to collect me for a bounty just get it over with, don’t deepen my grief.” Sometimes he could forget how insensitive he could be. It was already clear enough to not have been some joke or plot. So why did he have to continue suggesting such things?

The room had filled with silence after the artist had finished their long winded speech to him, and it felt stuffy with the new atmosphere between them. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...” His voice was the first to break the silence before he had trailed off again, “What made you think the visions were of your soulmate?”

They had seemed to calm again with his question, a sigh escaping their lips as they went to continue their explanation from before to the Mandalorian, “Honestly? I didn’t think such a thing at first, but eventually, I could just feel it.” They paused, seemingly trying to figure out how to word their thoughts before speaking once more, “I guess you could say I just knew that this was the man I was connected to for life. I could feel it in my heart—in my soul. He was the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with, or at least I thought so until the last one….”

The artist trailed off again, a habit of theirs that Din had noted to himself as he watched them go over to look at the painting properly. Their arms had crossed over their chest now, hugging themselves as if they were cold, but it seemed to be more for personal comfort than anything. Din had took note the expression they wore on their face and suddenly felt a rush of guilt flow through him for how he had previously handled them.

“The last one?” He couldn’t help but question.

They nodded and smiled sadly at him as they wiped the tears falling from their eyes “I think I saw him die some months ago. The last vision I had of him was of him looking like that and I haven’t had any visions since.” They had motioned in the direction of the painting before them, only providing more evidence that it was in fact a painting of the face he had wore while on the brink of death that fateful day.

“So I think he...” their words died in a quiet sob, one of their hands clasping over their mouth as he watched their figure become consumed with grief.

The words from the locals of the artist grieving came back to him as everything began to fall into place. This person was grieving who they believed to be their soulmate. They were grieving Din and they hadn’t even met him. It was something difficult for him to fathom at first, but seeing how it broke them had made his heart sink none the least.

“He’s not dead.” The words left him before he could stop himself. The urge to suddenly comfort the distressed artist before him coming to light.

The artist turned to look at him suddenly, almost doing a double take from his words “Wait do you know who he is?” They questioned, their expression changing from one of sadness to wonder. “What’s his name? Is he ok? Can you take me to see him? I’ll pay you…”

Their voice stopped registering in the hunters mind as he tried to comprehend their questions and excitement. They weren’t lying. They were being truthful in everything they spoke and they had no clue that the face in the paintings were his. They truly didn’t know anything about him other than what they had seen in their visions and yet they loved him enough to grieve for him.

Din didn’t know how to answer all those questions of theirs. It was him. The answer was simple yet also hard to articulate. The man in their paintings, in their visions, was him.

That was his face. His face which no one was supposed to see. He almost wanted to yell out that it was him. He wanted to scream to them about the creed and how it was everything to him.

The creed he swore might be in question now and he didn’t know how to feel about it other than dread. He understood how some circumstances were accepted in regards to others seeing his face. Did a soulmate having visions fall within those categories? He didn’t know, but really hoped so at this moment.

“It’s me.” The words finally wafted out his modulator in a whisper, barely audible, but the artist had clearly caught it.

The artist had stared at him with shining wide eyes. A hand had come to their mouth again but this time in surprise. Not being able to bear looking at them anymore, the Mandalorian turned away again. as his heart began beating rapidly in his chest at the confession. “It’s my face. It’s me.”

Their reply was equally as quiet, a mere whisper through the air, “R-Really? You’re not lying?”

The only response he could muster was a small nod, as he was afraid of how his voice would sound. There were so many things to discuss with them. Things like his way of life and the danger it entailed. He also needed to tell them about the creed, and most importantly, the child in his current care. All of this didn’t even include the things he was sure they had to tell him.

Din had jumped at the sudden feeling of their body pressing into his back. His mind blanking at their touch and smell engulfing him. The feeling of them wrapping their arms around his waist had caused a flush to spread over his skin and a shaky breath to barely sound through his modulator. It had been so long since someone had touched him in the slightest and he wasn’t prepared for it to happen like it just had.

“I was beginning to think I’d never meet you, I mean, I literally thought you died.” Their words were muffled into his armored back and hearing them he felt his heart clench again.

Seeming to catch themselves, the artist pulled away from him, shyly looking away at the realization of their impulsive actions. “I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to hug you out of the blue like that.” They had managed to stutter out, “It’s felt like I’ve known you forever even though we’ve really just met and I literally thought I had lost you. So I guess I’m just happy.”

“It’s fine” He replied quietly, feeling his heart skip a beat at seeing the small smile that graced their cheeks from his words. “It should be me saying sorry for how I treated you earlier anyway.” He continued, turning to face them properly and looking down at their wrists he had grabbed so harshly not too long ago.

“I mean you're a mandalorian right? Your kind don’t show your faces to anyone, I’m sure it was quite a shock to see all the paintings.”

He was surprised with them having some sort of knowledge of his way of life. Even if it was so little, any amount was better than none. “You know of mandalore?”

The artist shrugged, looking down at their hands as they twirled their fingers. “Only a little of what I have heard. People say you're the fiercest warriors in the Galaxy.”

He nodded in reply to them as they fell into an awkward silence once more. Honestly, Din had never talked much in the first place and he had already talked more than what he was used to within the last hour. He also wasn’t really sure where to start.

What did they do now? Did he invite them back to the ship? Ask for them to pack up and move in? Maybe they should just call it a night and worry about it in the morning. It was late after all, and of course the child still waited for him to return.

“Are you going to turn me in? That’s why you’re here right? I’m your bounty.” The artist was still smiling at him even after such inquiries, “I won’t stop you if you want to. Just knowing you’re ok is enough for me. I don’t want to get in the way of your job.”

Sweet. Too sweet. Maybe even naive. That was how Din would describe them in this moment. He believed them too in their claims, that they would happily let him take them to their impending doom at the hands of some scummy lone-shark.

Din was honestly surprised to see how easily they just offered themselves up to him. How easy would it be to just take them up on their offer and turn them in. After turning them in, he could then just shove the whole experience into the back of his mind to be forgotten. It would be a simple and easy process for someone of his kind.

“No.” He answered, not even needing to think about the answer for long. There was no way he could turn them in now. “I… it's just…” He trailed off, even now trying to find a logical response to his reasoning. Even if one wasn’t needed in the first place.

Many others wouldn’t care. They would turn in the artist without a thought, soulmate or not. It wouldn’t matter to them, but to Din. To him it mattered more than he ever thought it would.

“Are you good with kids?” He asked them, thinking of the child waiting for him. He could already see the child taking a liking to them and the idea of having some help with the child was something he looked forward to.

“You have kids?”

He shifted uneasily at their question, feeling oddly vulnerable in this moment, “Sort of, I have a foundling in my care and have been thinking about getting someone to help with caring for him.”

Din couldn’t explain the sudden concern that he felt at telling them of the child. He didn’t understand the sudden want for them to accept the little womp rat. The thought of maybe them not wanting anything to do with him now that they knew he had a child in his care actually scared him. Even worse, he found himself fearing their rejection, already having a desire to keep them with him.

Which is why he was happy to see the large grin that had spread across their cheeks at hearing about the child, “I would love to help you with that.”

“The position is permanent.” He said with a teasing undertone in his voice, not being able to help the sudden bubble of happiness which had swelled within him.

“Oh I would hope so.”

A grin had spread across his lips under the helmet at their own teasing reply, and he found himself closing the distance between them once more. One of his gloved hands had came to their cheek, tilting their head to look up at him. In response one of their own hands, paint stains and all, covered his. He had watched them for a bit like this, before finally pressing his helmet against their forehead.

A Keldabe kiss.

He wasn’t sure if they knew exactly what he was doing, but he would explain everything to them soon enough. For now, he just enjoyed the moment he was sharing with them. His eyes closing, as his arms had moved to wrap themselves around the artist to hold them closely.

They had then stood embracing each other for a while, just allowing each other to take in the other's presence while they did. Honestly Din found himself never wanting to let go of them again—a feeling foreign but not unpleasant for him.

Din couldn’t explain why it felt so right to be this close to someone he barely knew. He couldn’t even understand why he had suddenly wanted to spend the rest of his life with this person. The only thing known to him in this moment was that before him stood a person who would be forever intertwined with him.

His clan of two had become a clan of three.

Tags:

@murdermewithbooks @hdlynnslibrary @imalovernotahater @askalphapazvizla @onlydarth @mandodjarin @pedrosdoll @fleurdemiel145 @anothermoronintransition

I think I got everyone that either wanted to be tagged or seemed interested in it. Sorry for any missed tags and for any unwanted tags >.<

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rat-father · 4 years ago

Text

Part 6! FLUFF

No angst, just wholesome.

This one is a bit longer then the others. I wrote 2k words instead of the usual 1.3k

I was just really in a fluffy mood so it's kind of like a treat

Again, I didn't proofread so if you see mistakes then shhh

Tagging; @skunkandgrenade

-- tw;; it as pronoun, pet whump/captivity --

For Cub it was like master never disappeared in the first place, it just went back to its normal self no questions asked. For the others it wasn’t as easy.

Xanzi got some bad wounds that needed bandaging which made it hard to do mundane tasks at time, while Lexi tried her best to treat them. Lo went back to his own place while still being a bit upset with him.

The pet did stay a lot closer to master then before, and always tried to give a helping hand. It was also allowed to sleep in his room for a couple days. If anything it was like its bond with him grew closer. And because of that he wanted to take it somewhere new, to the city! He bought a new harness for it knowing it would be busy as always, even on a quiet day.

“Are you excited?” Master asked, already knowing the answer.

It nodded it’s head with joy. It was allowed to go to the city for the first time! Master made sure it was well hydrated and wearing warm enough clothes before they left. It was gonna be just the two of them, they had the entire day for themselves. I also got to wear a new harness and leash which it thought looked really pretty.

It even enjoyed the ride to the city. It stared out of the windows the entire way.

Xanzi felt bad for the pet to an extend, it had never even seen a city before, or any public place. But then again he didn’t care much, it was a great opportunity to bond with his pet and make it trust him even more, if that was even possible.

The parking lot what surprisingly empty, usually it was filled to the brim but today Xanzi managed to find a spot quite fast. He could see his pet already getting more excited in the corner of his eye.

“Alright, we’re here. I brought water so if ya get thirsty just tell me okay?”

“Yes master!”

“Good. If ya behave well we can go here more often.”

It started practically jumping in its seat, eager to go out and explore. Master stepped out first and took opened the door for it after. He clipped the leash on its harness and they started heading towards the city.

There were still quite a few people around which made it a bit anxious, so it stayed close to master and made sure to check if he was still there every now and then. After a bit of walking it saw a cute little shop selling tons of plushies and stuffed animals. It really wanted to go see it and dragged master along to it.

The walls were pastel yellow on the inside with relaxing music playing through speakers. It immediately went over to the sections with stuffed animals and looked at all of them with amazement. Some of them had pretty pinks, greens and purple mixed in with their fur and were glittery!

A pink narwhal caught its attention, it was big and fluffy and master said it was allowed to have it. It held the narwhal in its arms as it continued looking around the store.

Aside from plushies and stuffed animals, the store also sold clothing. The pet knew it didn’t need new clothing, but a frog hat really intrigued it and it just couldn’t help itself. Everything there was so pretty and it could stay there for hours, but it also wanted to explore more of the city. Master paid for everything and they continued down the city, narwhal in hand and frog hat on.

There were street performers playing outside and Cub wanted to listen for a bit. Of course it never had heard music before so it was very amazed at the songs they were playing. When they were done Xanzi gave them 20 euros before the pet dragged them further.

It stopped in front of a pet shop, it seemed a bit unsure, but hesitantly went inside. At first it walked slowly, until it saw it the toy section which it basically darted to, almost making Xanzi fall out of shock. With its free hand it held up a small mushroom chew toy in front of his face.

“Ya want that one bud?”

“Yes please, master.”

He faked thinking about it for a second. “Alright, I guess you can have it.”

It smiled as they walked up to the cash register to pay. The cashier lady was nice and complimented the pet on how cute it looked as master paid.

It couldn’t wait to see more of the city, everything looked beautiful and the weather was perfect for a walk. Sometimes it would just stop and admire some of the trees or buildings, which master thought was just adorable. He couldn’t help but wonder whether all pets were like this, or if it was just his pet that was this curious.

Cub lightly tugged on master’s sleeve trying to get his attention.

“Hm? What is it pet?”

“It is hungry, can it have food please, master?”

“We can stop at a cafe and get some food there if you want.”

It frowned, looking confused. “What is a cafe, master?”

It didn’t know what a cafe was, of course.

“It’s a place where you can get food and drinks. You’ll see.”

Xanzi knew the city by heart, he lived there for most of his life before buying his mansion. There were tons of cafes nearby. They went to the one that was the most quiet, he didn’t want his pet to get overwhelmed.

In the cafe the pet got a lot of weird stares, pets were a common thing, just not often seen outside. Or in good condition.

Master ordered it a slice of cake and cola, with coffee for himself.

It didn’t take it long to finish its cake, it was starving and it tasted really good. But it waited a bit before drinking the cola, it didn’t understand why there were bubbles going up. Master told it to just try it, that it wasn’t something to worry about. The taste was, odd, but it liked it.

Master suggested they’d go to the nearby art shop too. He thought it might like drawing or painting. It didn’t know what drawing or painting was, but if master said it was fun then it must be fun.

The art shop was significantly bigger then the other stores, it was also packed with all kinds of stuff. The pet wasn’t sure where to look first, this was all new to it. It look at its master, hoping for some directions. Luckily he got the sign and directed it towards a shelf with different types of sketchbooks. They all had things written on them but it couldn’t read. Master picked one out for it and handed it to them. It had a nice yellow cover with a cat on it.

”Do you like this one?”

“Yes master. It’s very pretty.”

Master also showed it some colored pencils, he said it could use them to draw anything it wanted in the book. It still didn’t quite understand but it sounded like fun.

The store also had an upstairs area with big white blocks, master called them canvases. Apparently people painted stuff on them with brushes and different types of paint. It all sounded confusing and complicated.

When they were done there he took it to a book store. He wanted to teach it how to read and needed some books for it.

It didn’t like the book store very much, it felt like there were endless amounts of books everywhere it looked. It was too overwhelming. It held onto master’s arm with one hand and hugged its narwhal plushie with the other.

Master didn’t take long to find what he needed so they weren’t in there for too long.

“Master? Its feet are starting to hurt.”

”Let’s head back home then, I’m also getting kinda tired.”

Master held its hand as they made their way back to the car. It had a big smile on its face, master rarely held its hand, it loved it when he did.

The walk back made its feet hurt even more, but they stopped to get ice cream which made it easier to deal with. Ice cream had always been its favorite.

The drive home was very relaxing to Cub, it had spend all its energy in the city and now it could just sit and watch the sky while cuddling with the narwhal.

Master didn’t talk to it while driving which it was fine with. The soft music playing from the radio made it even better.

It didn’t notice it had fallen asleep until it felt the car stop moving.

“Ya took a nice nap?”

Oh no. It slept without permission. Was master mad?

“Sorry master. It didn’t mean to.”

”It’s fine dear,” he gave it a polite chuckle. “You can sleep whenever you want. I don’t mind, understood?”

“Yes master, thank you.”

He took it out of the car and walked it back to the mansion. It hurried off to its room to put its new plushie and toy away. It was excited to try this ‘drawing’ thing out with master.

It came back downstairs with the sketchbook and colored pencils in hand. Lexi cleared some room on the table for it so it could dump the pencils out of the box. It opened the sketchbook and, felt a bit lost. Where was it supposed to start?

”Just make some lines, whatever you want. There’s no right or wrong.” Master reassured it.

It picked up a purple pencil and went for it. The paper felt smooth each stroke it made, it was a nice feeling. It wasn’t entirely sure what is was drawing at first, but it was drawing it! Next it took a blue pencil and continued scribbling on the paper. It then set the pencils down and held the sketchbook up to master sitting in front of it.

”Master, look! I drew narwhal!” It had a proud smile on its face.

“Wow, that looks amazing! You’re a really great artist.”

He was lying, of course, but it didn’t matter if it look good anyway, the pet was having fun, and that’s what was important.

It giggled and continued scribbling with other colors on the next page. He was right to assume drawing was something it would like. It never got the chance to be a child, so he would give it to them.

Lexi joined them after an hour of the pet drawing various things on the white pages.

“You guys are having fun drawing I see.”

The pet silently nodded, not taking its eyes off the drawing it was working on. It was drawing the mansion, but with all types of colors.

It finished it and showed it to both master and the maid who said they loved it.

Eventually it was time for dinner and Cub had to stop drawing, it didn’t want to stop, but it didn’t want to be a bad pet either.

Master said it could continue drawing after it was done with dinner. It was looking forward to it.

Bonus;

It wasn’t long before Cub became obsessed with art, drawing specifically. It really enjoyed scribbling in its sketchbook and then showing it to its master with a proud smile. And like any good master would do, he put its best drawings on the fridge.

#pet whump #whumpee #whump #comfort #Cub is bean #new skill unlocked: drawing #finally the bean gets the fluff they deserve #I loved writing this #more fluff later??

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heliads · 4 years ago

Text

The Artist

After a less-than-perfect meeting with controlling S.H.I.E.L.D. higher-ups, Steve Rogers discovers a small art studio just down the block from the Avengers Tower. He meets a woman inside who may come to mean more to him than he first realizes.

masterlist

Steve Rogers is frustrated. He joined the Avengers, fought alongside S.H.I.E.L.D., made a hundred hard choices and maybe dozens more all so he could protect those he cared about. Those who couldn’t throw up a fist against their enemies.

Yet now, he’s not entirely sure that what he’s doing is considered good. S.H.I.E.L.D. and the government are fiercely restrictive over what he and the Avengers do, and Steve is sick of it. Steve used to be able to pride himself on his gut reflex, on being able to always do the right thing. Is it bad that he’s not sure he can do that anymore? That when his fists come up bloody, he may be looking into the eyes of an innocent instead of a twisted soldier?

Steve supposes that’s why he snapped today. It was just another mandatory meeting, imposing yet another set of rules on what Steve is or is not allowed to do as Captain America. Steve’s usually controlled calm had cracked, and he had unleashed an incensed rant upon the S.H.I.E.L.D. higher-ups sent to speak to him.

To cool down, Steve had headed out of the Avengers tower, dressed in the ordinary clothes of a civilian so he could blend in. He’s not quite sure where his feet are taking him- down a few streets, turning a few corners. He glances at the shops he passes, not paying much attention to them, until one in particular catches his eye and he stops in his tracks.

It’s a small store, not displaying neon lights or garish decorations. There’s a slightly faded banner hanging in a window, and a larger sign propped up above the door. It’s an art studio, tucked away within the hustle and bustle of New York. Steve knows at once that he has to go in.

The studio itself is like a breath of fresh air after spending years trapped inside. The windows are open, letting in a breeze every now and then. The walls are covered floor to ceiling in the art of its students, with self-portraits and still lives peering out at him from every possible inch of space. As Steve walks past the front desk into the main room, he smiles at the sound of music piping from a stereo in the corner. Jazz, a nice slow song. Maybe Chet Baker.

There are only a few people in the room, working dutifully on their canvases and papers. The room has tables scattered around it, spread over with objects of every size and shape for use in a still life. There are fake fruits and flowers, dusty glass bottles and compact wooden boxes. It feels like home.

Across the room, a woman leans over the shoulder of someone seated at a computer, pointing out different aspects of possible reference images. When she sees Steve approach, she says one last sentence to the searcher before walking over to him, head swaying gently to the beat of the music.

“Hi, welcome to the studio! The name’s Y/N. Y/N L/N.” She looks to Steve expectantly, and he glances back before coming to his senses. “Steve. You’ve got a nice place here.” He gestures around the studio, and the woman smiles. “Thank you. It’s come together from bits and pieces, started a while ago by a friend and I.” The two of them look back at the gathered artists before Y/N turns back to Steve.

“You know, we’ve got an open hour every night from 7 to 8 if you want to drop by. You don’t have to pay or anything, just bring your art and be prepared to work.” Steve smiles at her. “That sounds pretty good. I might have to take you up on that.” Y/N flashes him a grin. “I hope to see you there, Steve.”

After Steve makes it back home, he finds himself still thinking about the woman from the studio. Steve had always enjoyed art, and something about that place makes him want to try again. So, it’s not exactly a surprise that he finds himself standing before the studio door the next day.

He ends up staying the entire hour, and then again the next day. He’s not sure why, but he feels drawn to the studio. The art, Y/N’s company, it all is a happy respite from the responsibilities that threaten to crush him on a day-to-day basis.

A month or two goes by before he realizes he loves Y/N. It’s a slow understanding, but something about her gentle smile and flashing eyes makes him want to spend the entire day with her. Steve hasn’t had the luxury of falling in love in a long time, but he thinks it would be more than alright to fall in love with her.

They’re walking home one night after a date when Steve’s good spell finally ends. It was an otherwise perfect night, the moon and stars casting a net of light across the city. Y/N’s hand is clasped in his, and they’re strolling down the streets peacefully.

Steve has always taken satisfaction in his good instincts, but the two have been walking for a while before he realizes that the streets are oddly empty for a New York night. The main street is just a block or so ahead, and he starts to pick up his pace a little bit.

However, it’s too late for this. A man dressed in black steps from the shadows to halt in front of Steve and Y/N, stopping them in their tracks. “Apologies, Rogers. You won’t be going anywhere tonight.” Steve’s jaw clenches, but then he looks to Y/N. “Let her leave. She hasn’t done anything to you.”

The man shakes his head in mock sorrow. “I’m afraid not. She might know something.” The man makes a slight gesture with his hand, and more men emerge from the shadows. Steve curses silently. This is not how he wanted the night to go.

The man extends his hands. “If you come quietly, I can promise you that she won’t get hurt.” Steve just shakes his head. “I know how these promises turn out. We aren’t going anywhere with you.” The man sighs. “I had hoped this would end more easily. Well, have it your way.” With that, the fight begins.

After a while of throwing punches and dodging bullets, Steve begins to wish he had brought his shield with him. Tony always had some way to summon his suit from a wristwatch or phone, why couldn’t Steve have done the same? With a panicked jolt, he realizes he hasn’t heard anything from Y/N. Quickly, Steve throws the man in front of him to the ground and spins around to face his girlfriend. What he sees makes him freeze in place.

Y/N apparently does not need any help, because she’s just finishing off another soldier. Four more lie unconscious at her feet. Steve looks around and realizes that all of the enemy soldiers are taken care of, and he fixes Y/N with a cold glare as he finally understands why she was able to fight off all of the guards.

“You’re a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, aren’t you.” Y/N looks away from him, but mutters one word under Steve’s bitter gaze. “Yes.” Steve shakes his head, feeling anger rush into him. “You’re just like Sharon. Another person S.H.I.E.L.D. planted in my life to keep me docile. Did you ever love me, or was that just another order?”

Y/N’s head flies up. “No, never. I promise you, Steve, I haven’t done anything that wasn’t what I wanted to do. What I feel for you is real.” Steve just scoffs disgustedly. “How am I supposed to believe that? We’re done. I don’t want to see you again. Tell your supervisors that they’ll need another guard.” With that, he walks away, trying not to react to Y/N’s brokenhearted calls.

The next day, Steve stalks up to Fury with the simmering rage of a lion. He doesn’t let the director speak, just confronts him with hushed and furious tones. “How long has Y/N L/N been posted to keep sight of me?” Fury sighs. “I see you’ve found out. She’s already told me about what happened. To be honest, I think you should be thanking her. If it was anyone else, they probably would have been kidnapped or killed by those HYDRA agents.”

Steve doesn’t want to hear it. “That’s not the point, Fury. You can’t keep forcing people into my life and expecting me to be fine with it.” Fury raises an eyebrow. “That’s a strong way to put it. She was just there across the street.” Steve takes a step back, confused. “What do you mean, only there?” Fury looks at him questioningly. “Her only assignment was to keep an eye on you, and be a distant acquaintance that you could trust if necessary. I wouldn’t exactly call that forcing someone into your life.”

Steve nods slowly, then turns to leave. His thoughts are a jumbled mess in his head, but he’s still thinking clearly enough to remember the way back to Y/N’s apartment.

It takes her a moment to respond when he knocks. When she opens the door, she looks more than a little surprised to see him. “I thought we were done.” Steve sighs. “I want to apologize. You weren’t faking it. I talked to Fury, and he said that your assignment never involved getting close to me.”

Y/N nods. “I love you, Steve. I promise. I know the circumstances aren’t exactly great, but I never meant to hurt you.” Steve smiles. “I know. I think the main question is this- will you forgive me for storming out of walking you home and accusing you of being a sleeper agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Y/N laughs. “Only if you forgive me for keeping my status as an agent a secret.” Steve nods, grinning. He has Y/N back, and everything is just as it should be.

#steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagines #captain america #captain america imagine #captain america x reader #captain america imagines #avengers #avengers imagines #avengers steve rogers

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writingsbychlo · 4 years ago

Text

put her together again (05)

word count; 6603

summary; mitch takes you out on a little excursion upon your request, before making a not so pleasant discovery upon return to your home.

notes; just cute. that’s it. enjoy that, before it all goes shit.

warnings; none!

Despite Irene’s warnings to stay away, and her instructions to let you develop in your own home, Mitch just couldn't find it within himself to stay away.

He missed you, he missed having company, and he’d ended up spending more than half of his time with you, or at least, that was how it seemed, as he became quickly familiar with how it felt to sleep on your couch, which was surprisingly more comfortable than his own. He wasn’t blind to the fact that you had been given an apartment that very purposefully didn’t have a guest room, discouraging him from wanting to stay, but he was used to tough-living on assignments, and as long as he wasn’t sleeping on the floor, a couch seemed like a dream.

A blanket and a pillow from the storage cupboard had found a new home with permanent placement on the shelf under the coffee table, so on every night that he chose to stay over, there was easy access to what he needed. You had out sorted the clothing the had gifted to you into a new drawer, so that he always knew how to get to it when he needed a change of clothes the following morning, and he hadn't missed the level of trust that had been rolled out to him about being given access to your bedroom to get to it.

That was your private space, that was somewhere that only the people that were most important to you should be allowed to enter, those whom you trusted with your life, and you’d granted that to him, and while you hadn't said the words, he didn’t miss their meaning.

Mitch had also put a great effort into encouraging you to go out in public, and learn where you were. While not being as fond of the idea of you wandering around on your own while everything was still a risk, he was aware that it was a witness protection area, and that you were still going to be safe going out and about here, and it did bring him a little reassurance when he was at his own home, and thinking about what you might be up to.

You now had a gym membership, no longer having to work out at home, and you’d never been exposed to such equipment and that kind of environment, and the look of pure joyous shock that had been on your face had lived in the front of his mind for over a week, a smile on his face anytime he thought about yours. Occasionally, he ventured out to the spot with you, he wasn’t much of a fan of traditional workouts, or of doing it in front of other people, but you were thriving in that environment, and he was willing to make the sacrifice just to spend time with you.

As much as he ever hated to admit that Irene was right about something, she hadn't been wrong in her conclusion here.

Her claims that putting you alone and letting you flourish as your own being, developing your ideas and your personality, you really were breaking out of your shell. For as much progress as you’d made living with him, you were reaping that in tenfold here. You had a favourite spot in the little coffee shop, and the servers called you a regular, knowing your order by heart anytime you came through the door, the little bell overhead jingling. You had ventured as far as the row of old-style looking buildings on a little corner off of the high street, and he had noticed that sometimes your fingers had paint stains on and smears across your clothes when he arrived without warning, catching the canvases of all shapes and sizes stacked in your closet and the corners of your rooms.

They reflected your moods, that much he could tell. Some were bright explosions of colours, yellows and greens and pale blue, everything joyous and fun and he liked those ones the most, always on bigger canvases as you illustrated your feelings.

Some were darker, swirls of navy and purples, slightly wonky, done in the morning light after you woke up from nightmares on the days he wasn’t just a few metres away to hold you and soothe you through the anxiety until the sun finished rising and took it all away.

He didn’t like the others, the ones that were blacks and greys, mixed with splatters of reds, and he didn’t know what prompted them, he didn’t know when you painted those ones or why, but when he looked closely enough he could see the circular stains on the canvases from dropped tears that distorted the paints. There were no shapes on those ones, just drags of brushes in frantic and erratic directions, nothing that gave you any reassurance or made sense, it was a mess that you just splayed over the surface until the white material was replaced with layers of dark oil paints to express your pain.

Painting was the best way you knew how to get out the feelings you had inside that you didn’t know how to process, something he’d learned had been introduced to you by your therapist, expanding on the simple drawings he’d had you doing while living with him.

You were making friends, sometimes you came home with a receipt from the coffee shop with two drinks, someone at the gym who you’d been spotting on the weights and going for a drink afterwards, or befriending the older lady who worked on putting books back in the library. You’d met a couple in your therapy waiting room, two men who were there for marriage counselling, and they had begun to go for lunch with you every Saturday at the local café after your sessions.

He was happy for you, he truly was, listening to you talk to him about how people at the gym had begun to ask you for advice on their workouts, and the manager had even offered you a job as a personal trainer - one that you’d refused, not quite ready for that yet - but you were still happy just to be having other people to talk to. People who didn’t want anything from you, people had had no ulterior motives in being with you other than friendship, and that was definitely something that you deserved from the world, after everything you had been put through.

That was exactly how Mitch had found himself here, stirring his coffee slowly as he watched you buzz around your kitchen, teaspoon clinking against the edge of the mug as steam curled up into the air. You were making breakfast, sleep still crawling at your features, but you were now making double the quantities you had been planning on, his arrival unexpected but you never turned him away when he knocked at your door.

There was bacon and eggs, he could smell it on the air, his stomach rumbling happily, and he was sure that he looked just as sleep-mussed as you did, he’d barely pulled on his shoes, not even bothering to change out of his pyjamas when he’d woken this morning, just wanting to get on the road and on his way to visit you.

You were spinning the tale to him all about the group therapy session you’d had, giggling as you spoke about Edith, who had an incredible dark-humour, anger issues and a God complex, and always made you laugh when you saw her. Mitch was grinning as he raised his brows a little, bringing the edge of his cup to his lips to hide his expression.

“Are you sure you should be telling me all these juicy details about your friends?”

You shrugged, turning to grin at him over your shoulder as you plated up the breakfast foods, and he almost groaned at the sights of it, stomach clenching angrily with hunger, before you were passing it over to him. Eggs, bacon, pancakes; he felt like he was in heaven, loving getting to know another person in this kind of intimate way, missing having someone to share the lazy mornings with before exhaustions had fully left his mind and he was still a little hazy in his post-sleep state. “Who else am I supposed to tell it to?”

“Fair point.” He sighed, taking the plate with a mumbled ‘thank you’ before he was grabbing for his cutlery, watching as you took the seat across from him and dug into your own food.

“Besides, Mary from the library is lovely but she can't keep a secret for anything, and Elliot and Greg love to gossip, it’s how I find out half of my gossip, and the gym is where I find out pretty much all of the other half, so I can’t tell them, because they’re who I’m gossiping about!” You grinned, dragging a piece of bacon and pancake from your fork with your teeth, and chewing happily, and Mitch simply rolled his eyes in response, but couldn't stop the curl of his lips into a smile.

“So, I’m just your Pandora’s Box of therapy tales and gym gossip about your friends?”

“Yes.” You smirked, watching as he gasped in fake offence, and he didn’t even both to cut any of his bacon, trying to force the entire strip into his mouth at once, and a droplet of grease gathered at the corner of his mouth, prompting him to lick it away as you scowled at his gross behaviour. “Despite that undignified display, you’re also my best friend. For whatever reason.”

“Does that mean you don’t gossip about me, then?”

“I would never!” It was your turn to mock him, and he grinned cheesily, repeating the action with the next piece of meat, and you groaned, tearing your eyes away from him and fixing them on your plate as you made a show of neatly cutting your food into pieces to eat. “So, are you busy today?”

“That depends on what you have planned. I’m not going to look at curtains with you again, I can still feel that old lady’s fingers on my ass.”

You snorted, almost choking on your food as you remembered the day he’d had his ass pinched by a rambunctious old woman in the curtains store, and he glanced across the room, looking at the hanging drapes he’d helped install, the entire memory tainted with that of the startling encounter. You were still snickering into your meal, smiling with every bite you took, and sipping at your coffee, the suspense killing him.

“C’mon, out with it. What kind of crap are you going to drag me through today?”

“Well, not today, technically. I was thinking more tonight.” He hummed, prompting you to go on with what you had to say, and the scraping of metal on ceramic was filling the silence as he waited for you. “Will you take me to this little jazz bar I saw?”

“A jazz bar?”

You were a little more timid now, eyes fixed on your food as you became embarrassed of your request, and he didn’t want you to feel like that, not with him. He just couldn't quite fathom why you’d want to go to a jazz bar of all places, but he was willing to do so if it made you happy.

“Sure, but if we’re going to a jazz bar then I want the full experience. I’ll be drinking aged whiskey from a tumbler with one of those balls of ice in it, and I’ll be hungover. I’m crashing on your couch, and you have to cook breakfast again in the morning.” He raised his brows at you, watching as you perked back up, nodding happily and motioning over your shoulder to the fridge.

“I have those sausages that you like.”

“Then it’s a deal.”

You cheered happily, whooping to yourself, before a comfortable quiet took over the room and you were left to finish your meals while simply soaking up the comfort of being together. There was no plan for the rest of the day, but after a few showers, and cleaning up the kitchen together, a vague plan to run some errands had been formed. You’d offered him the chance to go home several times, and yet he always refused, just as happy to wander the library with you and put back your books as he was to grab coffee with you, and go to the store to pick up a week’s worth of groceries.

If he was there when you went shopping, he got a say on the things you bought, and then he knew what there was for the days he came over to have a meal with you.

After cleaning up, on your way out, you had swung by his place, changing into something more suitable for a day of chores with you, and letting you sit in the car and flick through the music CD’s he had laying around on the backseat, bringing a blazer back out with him and a bag of things he’d need for his overnight stay, before the two of you had been off and on your way. As decided, you’d gone to the library first, a pile of books in your arms as you pushed the door open with your back, greeting the woman behind the desk and checking your books back in, dropping the stack into the returns, before making your way through the aisles.

His arms had been loaded with books, holding them all for you as you climbed up and down the steps and stools to reach the high shelves trailing from one end of the building to the other, and up and down the stairs, as this time, you curated a collection of everything from a space-travel fantasy book to a non-fiction about lions and their hunting patterns.

You had shown him your coffee joint, one you’d taken him to a few times before, but had redecorated since he’d last been, and was promoting a new set of special blends on the chalkboard menu outside, and so the two of you had ordered a small-sized version of each one, sharing them amongst yourselves as you judged the options before you. Your favourite had been the roasted hazelnut americano, while his had been the caramel macchiato with marshmallow essence, his sweet tooth shining through.

Following that, he’d taken you to the store, pushing the cart around and bumping you with it when you took too long for his liking to compare certain products, and as punishment, he’d been forced to help you unpack all the purchases, hiding away the treats he’d slipped into the basket in the backs of your cupboards and in the drawers of the coffee table that you never went into. By the time dusk had rolled around, he was pulling his blazer up his arms, a mix between smart and casual that was appropriate for the journey, skinny jeans and a henley not being fitting alone for the place you were travelling to, and he was staring up at the ceiling as he waited for you to be done.

“You ready?”

He chuffed, a snippy comment on the tip of his tongue about how it had been you that had decided you wanted to shower before going out, despite being perfectly clean, but his mouth went a little dry as he sat up, eyes widening. “Where did you get that dress?”

You looked down at yourself then, your hands clasping in front of yourself nervously after smoothing down the skirt. Dark blue, a shade that complimented you beautifully, lace along the arms and up to your neck, in what was a mock turtleneck, flaring out at the waist in a loose skirt, and it was most definitely a cocktail dress, not exactly the kind of thing he’d expect Irene would have bought for you. “My friend gave it to me. We were challenged at therapy to clear out things that reminded us of a bad time, and to give them to someone else, to make something bad into something good again.”

“That’s sweet.” He caught his breath, eyes scanning along you once again, your legs bare, and he smirked a little bit as he watched you match the elegance with a pair of sneakers, making the whole outfit seem much more fitting to you. “What did you take?”

“I didn’t really have anything, but I took one of my paintings - y’know the one with the blue and the green? That one. - and gave it to one of the people I didn’t know, but they wanted to put it up on the wall in their restaurant.”

He just nodded, licking over his lips as you reached for your coat, folding it over your arms, and he shook his head, letting out a sound to dissuade you from that course of action. “No, sweetheart, you can’t put a coat over a dress like that.” You raised your brows, before shrugging it off and following his lead, hanging it back up on the coat hooks, and he searched for your keys, tucking them into his pocket. “Besides, I told you this would be the full experience, and how am I supposed to be a gentleman and give you my jacket when you get cold if you have a coat?”

You simply grinned at him, holding the front door open and switching on the latch as the two of you left, heading towards the elevator and surrounded by soft laughs. “You’re a dork.”

“Big words from the girl who rented ten books for one weeks worth of reading.”

You gasped, turning to shoot him a little glare, but he just beamed, letting you guide him in the direction of your location for the evening. It was only a short walk, just around the corner from your building, but he could hear the music coming out all the way from a street over, lights and noise spilling from the hole-in-the-wall establishment as the two of you approached.

It was even louder inside, the sounds of trumpets and guitars sounding out, and it was mellowed out inside, low lights and leather booths with round tables in solid oak with old and chipping wood, the smell of candles and smoke hanging on the air with liquor, and it was exactly what he expected it to be. The aesthetic matched all the scenes that he had laid out in his head, what he figured a jazz bar would look like, and raucous clapping took up as the live band finished and the current song ended, a man was taking a seat at the sleek black piano in the middle of the room to keep the music going as the acts changed over.

“Drinks first, right?”

“Are you allowed to drink?” Your face screwed up for a second, before you were shaking your head, and he dropped an arm to loop around your waist, guiding you towards the bar and making sure that you kept close to him in the bustling crowds. “Well, when you’re all cleared for it, I’ll take you out for a real drink, okay?”

“Sounds good.”

“I’m still drinking though.” He flagged down the bartender, a whiskey for himself and a soda for you, ice clinking against the glasses as they were served to you. A short and stocky glass was slid over the wooden counter towards you both, followed by a taller one, fizzing and bubbling with pop as ice swirled in the liquids, and you picked it up, bringing the straw to your mouth to take a sip. “Let’s find a booth.”

There was one in the far corner, just evacuated by the previous inhabitants, and you were quick to slide into the seat, Mitch taking the opposite one, and he didn’t miss the dirty looks that were being shot your way from another pair across the room who had clearly also been intending to claim this seat as their own, but he decided that the pair of you deserved it more, so he had no guilt as he ignored them.

A new band was taking up on the stage, setting themselves up and adjusting the microphone, a woman wearing a floor-length ball gown covered in sparkles and sequins, red painted lips and neatly pinned up hair was taking a seat on a wooden stool at the front of the stage, and waiting as her bandmates all got set up.

“She looks great.” You were in awe, he could read it clearly on your face, and he couldn't help the smile he got as he watched you admire her, before your eyes were moving to scan over everybody else in the room, and he took a sip of his drink, heat flaring on his cheeks when he cleared his throat, forcing you to stop watching everyone else.

“You know, you look beautiful, too.”

You scoffed under your breath, but smiled, your head ducking as you reached for your glass to busy your idle fingers instead, and he reached his hand out over the surface, palm up in offering. His breath was held, only released with relief when you slipped your hand into his, holding on gently, and he grinned to himself, hiding it behind the rim of his glass. “I never said beautiful.”

“Maybe not, but I did.” He wasn’t sure where the words were coming from, it was a part of his personality that he was sure he’d lost a long time ago, but the squeeze of your hand in his with silent acknowledgement made his hand tighten around yours, and you fell back into a companionable silence together. “You wouldn’t look like you if you tried to be like them. I like who you are now.”

“I don’t even know who I am, Mitch. Not really, anyway.”

“Maybe not fully, but there’s a lot that makes you special, already.” You looked up at him now, meeting his eye and holding it, before you were standing up, rounding to his side of the booth and taking a seat beside him instead. Lifting his arm, he wrapped it over your shoulders, letting you curl into his side as you faced the stage, but he felt the hand dangling over your shoulder warm, the curling of your fingers around his once again making his nerves tingle as adrenaline rushed through his body, and he pulled you in a little closer. The lights began dimming, a spotlight taking up on the centre stage once again, and he could feel you tense up with excitement for it all. “Show’s starting, sweetheart. Are you excited?”

You only hummed, twisting into him a little bit, before even the messing of your fingers with his own stopped, and you were fixing every bit of your attention onto the stage.

Her voice was beautiful, one deep breath carrying the words as she sang out steadily, the instruments fading into the tune as it progressed. It had been her and her only singing to start, before the piano had come in slowly, picking up speed when a steady drumbeat joined it, and then came the chorus. It was catchy and upbeat, a difference from the beginning of the song, cheerful melodies made by trumpets and saxophones, and then the band came in to perform back up singing.

The bass was vibrating through the wooden floors, the feeling replicating that of nerves and butterflies curling in his stomach but in the best of ways, and Mitch was tapping his foot on the floor as the music played, unable to resist the urge. The crowds were cheering now, the peak of the song approaching, claps sounding out loudly, and he almost missed the soft giggle you let out as you took in the atmosphere, before your hand was leaving his, and you were clapping too.

This went on, for what felt like mere minutes but was hours by the time he noticed your excitement dwindling as you slumped into his body. You were tired now, your head lolling on his shoulder a little, and one peek through the windows showed him that the twilight you’d arrived in had faded out into the night, dark and glittering with stars, and once the current song ended, he nudged you up a little.

You sighed, before shaking your head clear, sitting up yourself from where you’d been lounging with him, and all of those patches felt a little cold as you moved away from him, so used to having you pressed up to him now, and providing him with your warmth.

“Ready to go?”

You only nodded, wiping at your eyes a little bit before getting to your feet, a little shaky in your exhaustion, and he followed after you, several empty glasses sitting on the table as the warm buzz of alcohol coursed through his veins, the two of you navigating through the crowds carefully, his hand sitting on your lower back until you were reaching the doorway, gasps of fresh air as you made it back out onto the streets.

You tugged a little on his sleeve, the two of you falling into step in the direction of your apartment.

“I hope you plan to make good on that promise to give me your jacket.”

He beamed at you, shrugging it down his arms and ignoring the chill he got, before tucking it over your shoulders delicately. Your hand found his, your fingertips tickling so lightly across his palm he had to resist the urge to flinch, but then you were weaving your fingers with his, holding his hand and he wrapped his digits around you just as tightly. “Did you have fun?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t want to go back.” He turned to look at you, your cheek pressing to his shoulder as you slipped somewhere between conscious and unconscious. “It was fun but it seems like it’d be a little boring after this. You have to do everything once, though, right?”

“I guess so, sweetheart.” You were so positive and optimistic, you had a sunny outlook on everything, a real feat for someone who came from your past, who was still in their first year of recovery from a lifetime of pain and trauma, and he was so proud of you for all the progress that you’d made. You were healing yourself, and he knew you were healing him, too. “Do you want to go and get some food? You must be hungry, you haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“I can’t,” you whispered the words, letting him wrap his arm around you instead, keeping your hands locked but it made it easier for him to guide you along as your tired feet began to drag along the floor. “I have a session in the morning.”

Mitch frowned, he was certain you’d already had your therapy this week, because you’d been telling him all about it over breakfast, and you hadn't told him about getting any more assigned sessions, but maybe that was why you’d been making such good progress. “I’ll make you coffee in the morning. C’mon, I know a diner with some great food that you’d love.” He grinned, squeezing you tightly and raising his other hand to tickle at your side.

You grinned, huffing out a laugh, before shaking your head at him. “No food! Unit eight will not be at optimal performance efficiency without seven hours of rest per night.”

Just like that, the haze that had been your walk home was washed away, like ice water had been thrown over his head and his stomach clenched up angrily in a way that made him feel sick. You whined as he came to a full stop, his body rigid in his movements, and you raised your head to look at him, the awning of your building hanging overhead as you stood just outside of the doorway, but he couldn't help but stare at you, knowing that horror was flashing over his features.

“What?” You were looking at him now, curious with wide eyes, coming back to your senses as his abrupt halt had forced you to wake up a little more, and you were blinking at him, worry beginning to seep into your features. “Mitch, what’s wrong?”

“You don’t even know what you just said, do you?”

“Uh..” You thought on it, brows furrowing and shrugging your shoulders. “Not really, just something about how I need to get a good night’s sleep, I think.”

He shook his head, pulling you closer into his body as your hands were crushed between your bodies, resting on his chest as he pulled you close, and guided you through the door, a walk that was almost a shuffle as you went along, side by side. “You called yourself.. by your old title.”

It took you a minute to realise what you’d said, before you were paling a little, a look just as distraught as he’d felt flashing over your face. “You know, you’ve been making so much progress forwards, and I’ve seen you tired before, this has never happened. What’s going on?”

You looked up at him and shrugged, moving away to avoid his gaze and open your front door. The second the two of you were inside, you were kicking off your shoes hastily and leaving them in the middle of the floor, making your way to the kitchen to get away from him, and he could hear you filling up the kettle. He put your shoes and his on the shelf they belonged on, finding his blazer slung neatly over the back of the couch, and he came into the kitchen quietly, not wanting to startle you, and took a seat at the kitchen table.

His eyes flickered over the room, watching you move in your own space easily and swiftly, pulling two mugs from the cupboard. You dropped a tea bag into each, a scoop of honey following, and steam was beginning to leave the kettle as the water approached being ready. As the cutlery drawer slid closed, he saw it, he realised what was off. Your schedule was turned around, the blank paper facing upwards from the chart he’d seen you replicate and helped you make, the activities now facing inwards.

He was on his feet before he could stop himself, taking off the magnet that had pinned it up, and twisting the sheet to face himself. The first thing that immediately jumped out was that you’d managed to progress from a daily chart that repeated every day, to a weekly one, the hours down the side being replaced with days of the week.

His eyes immediately picked out the things that were expected, ‘trip to the library’, ‘grocery shopping’ and ‘dinner with Mitch’, smiley faces drawn beside them, and his lips flicked up at the corners. ‘Physical activity’ had been replaced with the word ‘gym’, and his suspicions were confirmed, the word ‘therapy’ being scrawled across the empty spots on a Tuesday, definitely not today. Then, he was studying the other things, grunting as his brows furrowed.

‘Hypno with Irene’.

He looked up, finding you already facing him, leaning against the counter and staring into your drink, a frown on your face. You were clutching the mug with both hands, a sigh leaving you as he inched a little closer. It was on there three times, on Mondays, Thursdays and Saturdays, definitely a new addition because the ink colour was different to the rest, and it looked fresher, like it had only been added a month or so ago.

“Does ‘hypno’ mean hypnotherapy?”

“Yes.” Your words were weak, and he let a little growl out, putting the paper back on the fridge and pinning the magnet over it, a little more aggression behind his actions that and you flinch, and he would’ve acknowledged his guilt from the action if it hadn't been for the anger clouding his mind.

He patted his pockets down for his phone, finding it tucked away, and you watched him move, he could feel your stare lingering on him as he walked away towards the door, already pushing his thumb into the contact card on the screen, and he could hear it calling as he lifted it to his ear. The second he had, he was slamming the door shut behind himself, trying to take a deep breath to calm himself down, but the feeling of rage bubbled back up as he heard the line go through.

“Do you not know what time it is, Rapp?”

“You’re taking her to fucking hypnotherapy? You’re digging around in her mind, before she even knows how to control what she gets back?” He was seething, fingers gripping his phone so tightly he worried that it might crack by his ear. “Are you fucking insane?”

“It would do you well to curb your tone, agent. Remember who you work for.”

Her tone had somehow managed to get even colder, and he knew she was right, so he bit down on his lip so aggressively that the taste of copper trickled over his tongue. “She isn’t ready for that yet.”

“That isn’t your call to make.”

“Maybe not, but there’s a pair of eyes in my fucking skull, and I can see that she’s still piecing herself back together.” It was taking everything he had to hold his tone steady and stop from shouting again, and he stopped his pacing, leaning back against the wall and working through his body methodically to try and ease his own tension.

“She is the only lead we have on taking down an organization that has been doing this for decades. She is the key, and she’s been giving us more information in the last month than we have gained in at least thirty years.”

“You’re going to break her.” His voice cracked then, and just like that, there wasn’t any more clenched muscles or balled up fists anymore, there was just the exhaustion and ache in his body, and he felt like he might collapse to the floor if it wasn’t for the wall holding him up. “You’re going to ruin her.”

“I’m taking all the necessary precautions, Mitch.”

Even Irene had eased up, and while he wouldn’t exactly call her tone soft, he certainly knew there was less venom and aggression behind it now.

“She is making excellent progress, and we didn’t dive right in at the deep end. We worked it up, but there’s a point she can’t get past. She locks up, we just need her to break through it and we will have everything we need.”

“What point?” Mitch wasn’t sure he actually wanted the answer to this, but he needed to know, to be able to help you or stop it, he just needed to be aware of what you were facing so that you didn’t have to handle it alone.

“She tried to run when she was younger, and she made it out. If she can tell us what she saw, we can track it down. But, she stops as she approaches the door, her mind won’t let her get any further than that.”

“I want to come along. Tomorrow. I’m going to be there.” The hesitation from his boss was evident, a deep sigh, and the shuffling of some papers, and he knew that no matter how late the hour was, Irene was at home doing work anyway.

“Fine. Eight sharp, at her apartment. If you’re late, we’re leaving without you.”

He smirked, glancing up at your door, but not letting on that he was already here with you, the line clicking off before he even had a chance to thank her, and his eyes rolled involuntarily at her actions, but he wasn’t at all surprised. The screen went black when he pulled it from his ear, and Mitch dragged a hand over his face, tucking the device into his pocket and opening the door up again, shutting it softly behind himself now instead of slamming it like he had done before.

Your head snapped up to him, eyes wide as you saw him come back in, and you were on your feet to meet him from the second he’d entered the room. “You came back.”

“Where did you think I was going?” His brows furrowed, your arms wrapping around yourself as he watched you, your mug almost empty, but he noticed his was now sitting face down in the sink, tipped away as you presumed him to have left.

“I thought you were angry with me, and that you went home.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” He was padding across the room and cupping your face in two large hands before he’d even had to think about it, thumbs running over your cheekbones and you stared up at him through wide and glossy eyes. “I’m not mad at you, I promise. I’m mad at Irene, and the world, but I’m not mad at you.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” He leaned in, pressing a long and slow kiss to your forehead, feeling you press back into the touch, and he grinned at the little noise you let out, sagging into his body as your arms circled his waist. He had enough space to pull away, peppering your cheeks and temples with little kisses too, until you were giggling under his hold, face screwing up, and he let you go, your face wiping against your shoulder as he watched you through his own entertainment. “Why didn’t you tell me, though?”

“Irene said it would make you upset, and I don’t want you to be upset with me.”

“I’m not upset with you, I’m just upset for you. I don’t want you to have to suffer anymore.” He sighed, trying to catch your gaze, and using two fingers to tip your chin up to find his sights. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. It isn’t fun, but Irene says it’s helping people. People like me, and I can save them. I have to save them, Mitch, like you saved me.” He smiled then, watching as you lit up enthusiastically, and while it was taking a toll on you, he could sense how much you cared, and he couldn't take that away from you.

“I’m going to come with you, tomorrow.”

You grinned, leaning in enough to bump your forehead to his cheek, and you nodded against him, squeezing him tightly within your arms. When you backed away, there was a glint in your eyes, and you backed off enough to shuffle through your cupboards, pulling out a bag of dried pastas, and presenting the half-empty bag to him. “I learned how to make mac and cheese the other week, it makes me feel better after therapy, and you look like you could use a cheer up. You want some?”

“I thought you wanted to go to sleep?” He pressed, and you raised a single shoulder, dropping it back down, before turning to find a pan.

“You’re worth staying up for.”

Then, yes, I’d love some.” He was taking a seat at the table once again, and you hummed, beginning to serve up a portion for you both, fishing around in the fridge to gather all of the ingredients.

He couldn't pretend that he wasn’t nervous, or that the idea of seeing you in that state didn’t frighten him, but he knew that he had to be there for you, to help you and protect you when you were vulnerable, and so everything else slipped away.

#mitchtober #mitch-tober #mitch month #PHTA #put her together again #Mitch Rapp #mitch rapp x reader #mitch rapp/reader #mitch rapp american assassin #dylan obrien american assassin #dylan obrien mitch rapp #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader

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rokutouxei · 4 years ago

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burnt pancakes, sweet syrup

part 2 of: atelier heart

ikemen vampire: temptation in the dark theodorus van gogh / mc | gen | 2857 | [ao3 in bio]

some of my favorite (imagined) scenes in between chapters of Theo's route. no direct spoilers in this one :)

to all those who are experiencing his route for the first time today, I hope you have an enjoyable stay in his story!

Of all the residents in the mansion, it was Theo who felt most like danger.

Who reminded you of gunpowder.

You wouldn’t call yourself the best judge of character, no, of course, but there was something about him that hounded you from your very first day at the mansion. The brief and curt introduction, the look on his eyes, his set jaw. You didn’t need to get any closer to get much of a sense of what kind of person he was.

In fact, you didn’t really want to, not when you’ve been thrown a hundred years into the past, into an era you do not know, into a country that isn’t yours, in a world that doesn’t seem like where you’ve come from, where everything is just a little bit different from what you know.

You had enough in your hands as it is. A sourpuss smart-mouth hounding you shouldn’t be part of your agenda here.

And yet it still is.

Almost inevitably–like all the fated things.

(one.)

It started with the day you burn the pancakes the first time you tried to help Sebastian with breakfast duty.

…Well, you didn’t burn them black, just a little more… say, toasty than what would have been preferable. You have a billion excuses in your head already: you’re not sure how to work this kind of stove, there’s something about the oil, the ingredients are different in the 21st century–but none of them make it out of your mouth, because Sebastian gives you this look that will say more than any length of speaking will do. You half-attempt to answer back quietly; a little cringe, narrowed eyebrows, awkward grin, wrinkled nose. You wipe your hands on your apron like doing that washes you of your culinary crime.

Your already-exhausted teacher sighs through his nose and scrapes off the remnants of your… little tragedy into a clean plate, having deemed it to be unfit for breakfast. You pout a little as you set it aside–arguing in your head: it’s just brown, this is still edible, you’re just being picky, Sebastian–but before you can turn back to see how Sebastian’s doing his “better cooked” versions of it, you hear the sound of the kitchen door opening.

Sebastian doesn’t turn–“I can usually tell who it is by their footsteps.” “You can what?”–but you do, spotting Theo standing by the doorway.

“Bonjour, Theo,” you greet, and he makes a small sound of acknowledgement as he turns to get something from a cabinet hidden out of your sight. A small jar or bottle? You don’t quite see what it is before he hides it in his pocket. “Early day today?”

“Personal business,” he answers, rather curtly–it used to make you jump, but you now know that’s just how he is. He turns to regard you and inevitably spots the lonely plate on your side of the counter.

He’s about to swoop in to get it (with a kind of targeted gaze you thought only birds of prey could have) so you push it aside, earning a little tch from him. That shocks you quite a bit–it’s just pancakes! and burnt ones too!–that it makes you stagger back.

Sebastian’s voice is steady as he says, “If you could wait a moment, Sir Theodorus, these next ones will be ready in a few.” The butler doesn’t even turn to face either both of you, but you know he’s watching you both carefully in his peripheral vision.

Theo’s frown deepens. “What’s wrong with these ones?” he asks.

For a moment, victory tastes gold in your mouth, and you’re just about to throw the entire plate at his face with a fork and maybe match the gesture with evil laughter, if only to prove Sebastian wrong. The statement seems to be enough to garner the butler’s full attention, turning to Theo with genuine shock.

“Sir, the–”

“This is fine. I have to go,” Theo quickly quips. “Hondje. Get me some syrup.”

He snatches the plate from your side quickly, takes a fork from the drying rack, his coat fluttering slightly from the sudden movement as he takes a seat on the small prep table inside the kitchen. You just stare at him kind of dumbly, because now, in that different light, the sun pouring through the open windows, the plate of pancakes looks… pathetic at best. Maybe Sebastian was right about it being unsuitable for breakfast.

“Hondje,” he calls you again, this time his tone deeper.

You zone back in. “Huh?”

“Syrup bottles do not walk on their own.”

You frown on instinct, but knowing that that only makes you target for more teasing, you straighten your face into a clumsy kind of laughter. “Oh, yeah, haha, okay,” you say, half-absentmindedly, reaching up toward the cupboard where you’ve been told the pancake syrup is. (And, to your absolute horror, realizing that the entirety of that cupboard is filled with syrup bottles. How much does a house of 12 need?!) You place it on the table and step back.

You don’t know what distracts you and keeps your eyes on him as he eats…but since you won’t dare ask yourself, you sit with the insecurity that settles at the bottom of your stomach: that he’s eating something that’s half-assed, something you could have made better; that he’s eating something you’ve made, and it had to be those semi-charcoal pancakes.

—not that he can taste whatever burnt (or not-burnt) bits there are with the sheer amount of syrup he’d poured onto the plate.

“What the f—,” you say, pausing at the last syllable, unable to continue. Perhaps it was for the better that he had thrown in an absolute tsunami worth of syrup onto the charred pancakes, but still…

He looks up at you with eyes posing a challenge. You can nearly hear his voice saying, have something to say about it? And you’re a smart person, at least to some degree, you’d like to think, so you don’t take it: just watch him finally close the bottle and begins to slice his meal. The pancakes are so drenched it drips syrup all the way from when he lifts a piece up from the plate to when he finally puts it in his mouth.

But, oh.

The small smile that tugs at the corner of his lips makes your heart stop.

Oh, ever so serious Theo, frown eternally sketched onto his face–is all it takes to get him to loosen up a small stack of burnt pancakes drowned in a stroke-inducing amount of syrup?

And just as you’re about to look away–staring any more felt like invading into a space that wasn’t your own, like he was having some sort of private moment with his diabetes overload pancakes–he wipes off a stray drop of maple syrup that buds at the corner of his lip with a thumb, before cleaning it with his tongue. You pretend not to be entranced.

When he catches you staring, you turn away with a yelp, cheeks burning like the pancakes you were just making.

(two.)

Whatever it was that happened in the kitchen that day only seemed to make things worse for your heart whenever Theo is around.

Which annoyed you, if you were to be entirely honest. He was so insufferable, with his stupid smug smirk and the way he acts like he can have control over everything, calling you mutt or bait like nobody’s business… you aren’t supposed to feel good about being more than a little affected by him being around.

And yet you are.

You are, on the day that you catch him in Vincent’s room, going through the canvases stacked by the wall. They’re looking at the artworks talking about current trends in the art scene, and when Theo lets out an unwarranted burst of praise for his brother, Vincent pats him on the head. The little blush on Theo’s cheeks and the shy grin on Theo’s face makes you stop in your tracks, standing at the doorway with a tray of some cake that now looks too bland in comparison to their sweetness.

You are, on the day you join him drinking with Arthur downtown, at a local bar, after a long day of having been teased for his being too blunt, too mean. You don’t know the reason for it (yet) but you know the intentions now, so you’re less intent on needing to soften him, really. (It was only just amusing to see him try so hard.) When Theo “passes” the test, he runs Arthur’s royalties dry by ordering top-shelf and putting it all under the author’s now too-long tab. Theo has a different kind of meanness to the ones he cares about, and you wonder if he knows it shows.

You are, on the days that you join him for work and get to see how his expression changes when he gets in the zones. The wonder that fills his face, lets it glow, the contentment with every completed sale, every satisfied customer, and the young, obscure artists’ otherwise would have been kept away paintings hanging on the lavish walls of patrons. You’re entranced by the stars in his eyes.

You are.

And maybe, you are not just a little affected by him being around.

Not that you’ll tell that to his face.

(Not that he needs you to tell him.)

(three.)

The streets of Paris glow with a soft lavender light after the late afternoon shower; the cobblestone streets shimmer in what’s left of the rain. The avenues are unfamiliar, the names just vaguely intelligible with your French. There is much to learn about 19th century Paris, and even if you’ll only be here for a month, you plan to make the most out of it.

So in a way, when you’re out at town, you’re always multitasking. You’re doing a grocery run with Sebastian but also observing the kinds of food there is in the market; the kind of clothes people are wearing; the architecture; the way people talk. You’re with Theo to head to a gallery but you’re memorizing the details around you, burning them into your memory, like you could crystallize them in your mind and bring them with you back home: the uneven cobblestone paths under your low-heeled shoes, the clack clack clack of horseshoes down the street, the rickety sound of wheels, the music playing.

You’re not paying attention to where you’re going, watching someone play a violin for a small crowd of children on the street when you collide against something–warm; someone!–with a muffled “Oof!”

“Pardon!” you call out, only to look up and see who it is. “Oh! Theo.”

“Do you never watch where you’re going in the time you’re from or are you just–”

“Shhh!” You say, a finger against his mouth. In a millisecond you realize how rude it is, so you take it back and hide your guilty hand behind you. “I was just enjoying a little violin. Don’t be so grumpy.”

“Why don’t you go closer and watch, then?”

A pause. “…I should be going back to the mansion,” you say, looking up at the sky dousing the streets in a lovely lavender shade. “I just wanted to listen while I was passing by.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “You don’t seem like you want to go home.”

You don’t know what gives you away, but you figure it’s because you’re walking the opposite direction to where the carriages usually are. Besides, Theo always says you’re easy to read. You grin awkwardly up at him. “19th century France is quite interesting…?” you offer by way of explanation.

Theo used to be rather opaque to you, everything hidden behind a light-proof curtain of a façade. But you’d like to say you’re getting better at reading the man, watching his expressions change by minute amounts as he considers something in his head.

He sighs. Rather overdramatically, too. You catch that. “My errands are done for today. I’ll come with you so you can stay out here a little longer.”

France at night is still pretty dangerous, after all. “You will?!” you ask, rather surprised at the generosity. (Though perhaps you shouldn’t be.)

“It’s normal to take your dog for a walk, no?” he quips back, and you jut your tongue out at him in retaliation. It makes him smirk, and that makes you laugh, and so begins your little tour of Paris on foot.

Not that you’re doing so much touring as walking next to Theo as he takes the long route around town through the most interesting bits of it. And not just the famous destinations like the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe, no, but even the tiny details, down alleys with colorful banners, a lively little cafe–“Aww, too bad that it’s full.” “We can go some other day.” A beat. “Really?!” “…Stop that.”–churches, museums.

You don’t notice time passing by, really, until the streets are deep into darkness, the sky a beautiful indigo littered with stars. You walk two steps behind Theo, looking upwards to the heavens. You don’t notice when he stops walking until you bump shoulders with him.

“Whoops,” is all you can muster, as he looks at you with a kind of condescending look.

“You should really watch where you’re going, god knows where you might end up in,” he says drily, and you don’t know if he’s talking about you ending up in this century in the first place or something else. You don’t get the chance to ask him about it though, because he takes your hand in his, now, while you’re walking along the riverside, like an adult would hold onto a child, or maybe, perhaps, possibly, you don’t dare hope, could be, like a lover would…

You get so distracted by the warmth of his palm in yours, feeling the heat like summer sunlight seep in the crevices of your bones that were longing for home, that you barely feel the chill of incoming rain.

(four.)

To others, Theo seems invulnerable. No gaps in his armor, the one he wears every day, in front of everyone he meets. But eventually you know better than that.

Kintsukuroi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery—you take the shattered pieces and put them back on with lacquer dusted with gold. The sites of breakage no longer a site of shame, but instead places one proudly carries; becoming even more precious, even more treasured now that it has gone through the act of having come apart, to come back together.

Moonlight pierces through the windows, silver on the floor of the atelier, illuminating Theo’s sleeping form. In your mind, you see where the golden veins run.

(five.)

On the night he breaks your heart, you dream of burning.

A flash of lightning strikes a dead tree, setting it bursting into a mesmerizing, orange-yellow flame. Smoke easily climbs out of the trunk, a deep gray that you feel like you’ve seen somewhere else, felt somewhere else. You stand there across a barren field as the lightning strike–long gone–has left this bundle of tree set ablaze, one which will soon be ashes.

It smells like fire everywhere.

The thing is, fire doesn’t really smell like anything–though it does smell like what it’s burning. Wood, fuel, dried paint.

Flowers.

When you wake up, you are cold, the other half of the bed is empty, and the sun hasn’t risen.

You pray it is all just a dream, but don’t dare go back to sleep, just lie there with a lifetime of what ifs tucked underneath your pillow, framed by your hair.

But that’s okay.

Because Theo can show you the worst of him, but you know better.

Because you've seen the best in him.

Because Theo is a tsunami of syrup on burnt pancakes.

Because Theo is low, cruel laughter laced with love.

Because Theo is walking around Paris in the late afternoon.

Because Theo is dreaming of sunrise: even when the night is darkest right before it.

And one day, you’ll wake up in bed with Theo by your side the day after the door has closed on the both of you. The streets of Paris will glow with a soft lavender light in the early dawn. The both of you will be tucked in familiar-smelling sheets, that distinctly-Theo scent that makes you feel home. On that day, there will be no turning back. On that day, there is only now and forever. And it’ll be messy like his hair sticking up in odd places and the remnant of drool white against the corner of your mouth, but it will be warm, the embrace of Theo’s arms around your torso, like he’s holding you together the way you have built him back from his broken pieces, and it will be sweet, much sweeter than anything you’ve ever tasted your entire life.

It will be worth it.

An eternity of syrup-flavored kisses shared over breakfast.

in the atelier: quai de la seine, edouard cortes

#ikevamp theo #ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikemen vampire theo #fic #atelier heart #burnt pancakes sweet syrup

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witchbeezyblog · 4 years ago

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The New Journey of Unlearning Old Agreements and Relearning New Ones

In the process of unlearning old belief systems that have kept me trapped in my personal manifestation of Hell, and so that I could learn a whole new way of existing I’ve been digging deep into my shadow side. This is something that I felt I had already dealt with, but I’m realizing that I’ve only tapped into one layer of one out of many things I need to process and reprocess as many times as need be.

The journey I am on right now I requiring me to unlearn what I was programed and conditioned to believe and rewrite new truths that are a perfect match for the version of myself that I buried long ago. A part of this relearning is sharing the process. It doesn’t matter who sees this and who doesn’t. What matters is that I put it out into the world instead of internalizing it and keeping it trapped in my mental space.

I recently brought a new journal and, in that journal, I am going one by one through every little thing I feel is holding me back from my own manifestation of Heaven on Earth. This is going to be a very time-consuming process. And in the process, I expect to “die” and transition and with each death and transition will come a rebirth that brings me closer to my true form. It will bring me closer to fully embracing who I am and standing in my light unapologetically.

The first thing I decided to unpacked was my feelings of being trapped in a job I don’t really want to do, but feel that I have to do. The thing is I can never fully be happy at any job because what my Soul is calling out for is complete freedom and liberation. Most Gurus and spiritual leaders will say “just leave.” But that simply isn’t the case for every single people. This is the real world. I am a single parent trapped in this generational cycle of trying to live in survival mode.

That is when I had my first realization. I’m not really mad because I have to work. I am mad that I am “stuck” in a system that I perceive to be out of my control. This is one of the agreements that my brain had been conditioned to believe. I need to set my mind free from this conditioning. In order to do that I need to realize that I came here to be free. This reality that I perceive and exist in is here because my God self created it. The world that I exist in is a product of my manifestation. So, believing that I am trapped in a system that keeps me in a survival comes from the conditioning. It comes from my perception. My fear that I can’t get out only feeds into that manifestation.

So, I need to change the belief. This goes for anyone who believes they are a victim to this system. This reality is yours. You came into existence to experience this life. The choice is yours when it comes to if you're going to experience Heaven or will you continue to experience Hell. Are you going to continue to focus on your chains? Or are you going to focus on strengthening your wings to freedom? Your right to thrive while you exist on this planet is not something you have to earn or fight for. It is yours to claim as your birthright. There is a system in place that tries to keep us locked away from us being completely free and living out our true purposes as Human, but the key is not to focus on that system and instead focus on our liberation and our new truth.

This is something that I already knew within myself. But getting it out in this form only solidifies it for me. It's no longer a belief in my mind. I have made it concrete.

Another thing I realized when I was evaluating why I felt like my job was getting in the way of what I really want was the assumption that I am a failure. This is a feeling that I didn’t want to acknowledge within myself because I know it’s not true, but just because I knew it wasn’t true didn’t change the fact that those feelings where still there and needed to be dealt with. This assumption came to me when I was studying my history, and realizing that from other people’s perceptive that I have come some low. I was an Honor student and I was set to go to college and a really good kind even though I had some emotional things that really needed to be worked on. But then I got pregnant and I still tried to go to school, but ended up dropping out. I’ve worked at Walmart, I’ve been a janitor, and now I work at Family Dollar. If I was to ask my Hight School Self, would I see myself where I am now the answer would be no. But that’s also because my High School Self also didn’t see my surviving that long if I’m being completely honest. My High School self would actually be very proud of who I have become.

I am not where I want to be yet financially, but most people in my age group aren’t. My High School self would be so proud that I managed to drag myself here, heal myself, and reconnect the things I threw away because they weren’t seen as important enough by others. My feelings of feeling of being a failure do not come from myself. It comes from the assumption that that’s how other people perceive me.

As an only child I felt pressured to be the perfect version because it was the only type of validation and recognition I got. The idea that I needed to make a bunch of money to be happy came from seeing my parents' slave to survive and starve me emotionally. I’ve watched friends move on to finish schools and find better paying jobs. But none of that is in alignment with who I truly am and who I want to be. I’ve been unhappy because I assume that others see me as a failure because they have not seen the work, I’ve put into myself to be emotionally, mentally, and spiritually healthy and sound. They cannot see what I’m working towards because it goes outside what is considered the “norm” or the formula that our society has created that is supposed to grantee us success.

Money does not equate to success, at least not for me. I had to realize that the things that happened to me were happening for me. I am not where I am today because I fucked up. I am blessed because I am here because the Divine stepping in time after time to intervene and save my ass from myself and the people trying to control and shape me into their image.

No, I didn’t finish school, yes, I am a single mother, and no I don’t have the highest paying job. But what I do have is a vision that goes outside of the blueprint that our society has instructed us to follow. No one but me is meant to believe in that vision and only I can determine if I am succeeding in following that vision. I couldn’t fully accept the fact that I am succeeding until I first let go of the conditioning, I was holding to something.

No, I am not completely where I want to be and I still have more to unpack. This is barely touching the surface. But when it comes to having to work to survive. I realized my job at the present moment isn’t the problem. It's not keeping me from following my dream. It is aiding me create an exit strategy. It’s easy to just tell someone that they should follow their heart and take that leap of faith. But sometimes you don’t need to take that leap. You shouldn’t leap unless you feel ready. Taking baby steps will still get you there. If you need you can take baby steps until you’ve faced enough of your fears that you feel ready to leap. Progress isn’t overnight it comes in increments.

You may take that leap and be unprepared, and the letdown will only give you more regret and shame that you’ll have to process through. Or you can take it one day at a time. Do your best for the day. One day your best may be to leave that job because staying in that job will be less than your best. For me personally my job brings me financial security because I don’t have to put so much pressure on my projects and the things, I actually enjoy doing to bring me financial gains. My current job allows me to invest in the things I need to do what I love like this laptop I am using now and the paint and canvases that I need. While at my current job I take advantage of that time by allowing me to listen to really inspiring and thought-provoking material. I work in retail and that can be really draining because I am an empath, and my job allows me to practice pulling my energy back to me and grounding myself and real-life scenarios. My job atmosphere is very relaxing and chill I feel very comfortable stepping into my most authentic self, and my current job is so accommodating I am able to bring my son with me for about an hour until his Nana picks him up. I can't think of another job that would allow that, but I am thankful as a Single Mother.

At this current moment I am able to focus on the good that my current job serves. I am doing my best. When I feel it is time to let go, I will let go. Until I am ready to let go, I can turn my present moment into my personal heaven for right now through doing what makes me happy and not feeling trapped because of system that doesn’t have any control over me. And I will not hold on to the guilt and shame that comes with my perceived perceptions of other people who don’t fucking matter.

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jaxsteamblog · 5 years ago

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Cave of Two Lovers

Click here to read the full fic on AO3

The next pick-up day, Katara woke up and didn’t want to get out of bed. The days after Zuko’s birthday party had been weird, to say the least. When she pictured him bringing in cookies, or clipping thorns, it was impossible to then imagine him standing next to that woman, Mai.

It didn’t occur to her that incessantly thinking about Zuko was the actual problem.

She just didn’t like it when things didn’t fit, she supposed. While Mai hadn’t been outright rude to her and Suki, she certainly wasn’t the type to be nice. Zuko was nice.

Putting her hands on her face, Katara groaned.

Katara stopped for coffee on the way in, wanting to avoid the whole tea situation. When she got to the flower shop, she didn’t see Sokka’s car. Slightly concerned, Katara got out and jingled her keys in her free hand.

There was a note taped to the back door.

The tape pulled free with a pop and she opened the hastily folded note while sipping her coffee.

Kat- Had to leave for a slight emergency. Can’t text, running to car. Close up after Z gets flowers. Love, Sokka.

Frowning, Katara put the note in her mouth and used her key to get into the shop. It was dark in the back room and the hum of the air conditioner sounded like the call of an ocean animal. Putting down her keys and coffee, Katara fished her phone out of her purse and unlocked it as she walked to the front.

What’s going on? Call me.

Katara shed her purse by the workroom door and slipped her phone into her pocket. As she turned on the light and walked to the counter, she finally pulled the note from her lips. She read it again, hoping that if it were something serious he would have let her know.

With the shop being quieter, Katara could hear the van pull into the alley. She sighed and went back through the workroom, getting to the door just as Zuko hopped out.

“I just got here and Sokka is out for,” Katara paused as she thought. “Something.”

“Is everything okay?” Zuko asked, walking to the door. Katara shrugged.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I’m waiting for him to call.” She replied. Zuko nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. He started to say something just as Katara turned to the back door.

“It looked like a small order though. We should be okay.” She said.

“Yeah. After how much the party was, Uncle felt like scaling back a bit this week.” Zuko said. They walked inside and Katara helped Zuko with the vases, filling them as he went back inside and to grab the flowers. It didn’t take long at all to get everything loaded and secured.

“Hey, since the shop will be closed, do you have some free time this afternoon?” Zuko asked and slid the van door shut.

“I mean, yeah. Why?” Katara asked.

“There’s a new exhibit at the art museum downtown. I’ve been wanting to go but I need someone to take with me so I can lecture them about art styles.” Zuko answered.

“Okay, but I need to go grocery shopping first.” Katara said, shifting on her feet.

“Can I get your number?” Zuko asked. Katara bit the inside of her lip and nodded, watching as Zuko pulled out his phone from his pocket. She took it, just entering her number to let him add her name. When he got it back, his fingers moved deftly over the screen.

Her own phone dinged in her pocket.

“Alright, text me when you’re done?” He asked, replacing his phone and smiling at her. Katara’s fingers stretched wide for a second down by her leg. She nodded.

“Yeah.” She replied and Zuko’s smile widened briefly. She watched him get into his van and salute her before driving off.

Katara watched the van disappear around the corner and went back inside to lock up.

“Everything’s fine.” Sokka reassured her as Katara cradled her phone between her cheek and her shoulder. She scanned her groceries at the self checkout and glared down at her milk carton.

“You still haven’t told me what happened and it’s irritating me.” She hissed into the phone.

“Only because you’ll be mad.” Sokka replied.

“I’m already mad.” Katara jammed her card into the payment pad and entered her PIN.

“I went back to the flower market because I heard that Jimmy’s friend had a source coming in from the eastern provinces with a small shipment of panda lilies. You know how much I can sell these babies for?” Sokka explained in a rush.

Picking up her tote and sliding it over a shoulder, Katara moved her phone to her free hand.

“You ran out and couldn’t call me for panda lilies?” She retorted. After a brief pause, she continued. “Wait, you got them?”

“Three-quarters of the shipment! I couldn’t afford all twelve.”

Katara nodded to herself as she exited the store and went out to her car. “Are you going back to the shop?”

“Absolutely not.” Sokka answered firmly. “I don’t want to get robbed.”

“How cutthroat is the flower business?” Katara unlocked her car and placed her groceries in the backseat. All of Sokka’s clothes from the party were still in there; luckily the summer heat baked away any smell and now they were just limp.

“The best flowers bloom in blood.” Sokka said with theatrical menace. He cleared his throat and went on. “But seriously, there are a lot of people in the area who would want to move these. I’m going to try and find a buyer today.”

“Make sure to take Suki with you.” Katara said and got into the driver’s seat, immediately turning over the engine to get the A/C started.

“Hey, I am fully capable of protecting myself,” Sokka said. “But yes, I will be bringing Suki.”

Katara snorted and said her goodbyes before leaving the grocery store parking lot. While she waited at the side street, waiting for a pocket to open in the cross traffic, Katara chewed the inside of her cheek.

“Okay Booble, text Zuko.” She said and turned.

---

Katara waited outside of the museum and stared up at the large posters strung up across the face of the building. There were advertisements for the exhibit Zuko had been talking about and it looked fairly interesting. However, after standing in the afternoon sun, Katara was mostly looking forward to air conditioning.

“Have you been waiting long?” Zuko’s voice came up behind her and Katara turned. The lack of visible sweat on him made him seem cool, and Katara shivered at the thought.

“Yes, can we go in now?” She replied hastily. Distressed, Zuko walked quickly to the museum steps. They rushed to the ticket booth and Zuko bought two entrance passes. It being the beginning of the week and with little activity at such a hot hour, Katara supposed there weren’t many people staffed. Unsurprisingly, the ticket salesperson also punched their passes.

“Here you go.” Zuko said, handing Katara her pass. Her fingers brushed against his hand; he was cooler than she.

“You’re lucky, we’re getting the vents fixed so we’ll be closed the rest of the week.” The woman in the ticket booth said.

“The vents?” Katara repeated.

“Yeah, the air conditioning went out on us this morning. We got out some industrial fans but that’s just to get us through today. Enjoy!” The woman said.

Katara looked reproachfully at Zuko, who looked decidedly away from her.

The museum itself was grand, with ceilings that towered over her as practically far away as the sky. The stone around her was cool and offered some relief from the heat; the biggest problem was the lack of air circulating. She could hear various fans humming away like a hybrid of cicadas and jet engines. Just a constant, irritating wash of white noise.

“Have you ever been to Omashu?” Zuko asked. Katara shook her head and Zuko started walking to the side gallery.

“I’ve wanted to go see the cave there.” He added.

“The Cave of Two Lovers?” Katara asked.

“Yeah. Do you know the legend?”

“No, it’s just what the posters said.”

“Oh.” Zuko looked momentarily dumbfounded and they walked into the gallery in silence. There was a massive box fan at the door, angled to blow air into the room. Two large oscillating fans were standing like sentries at either end; both of them looked like they could take down a child if they fell.

The art on the walls, however, was simply breathtaking.

Done in a traditional style, watery brush strokes moved across multiple large canvases.

“Oma and Shu belonged to two different villages who had always fought each other. The war raged on for so long because a mountain separated them, making it difficult for either side to claim victory.” Zuko said as they stopped in front of the first canvas. As they moved around, he narrated the story. How the two lovers met atop the mountain, how they learned earthbending from the badgermoles to make a maze of tunnels, and how Shu was killed in the war between their homes.

As Zuko related Oma’s grief and how she used her earthbending, something the others had never seen another human being do, Katara felt goosebumps ripple over her skin and tears stung her eyes.

Finally, Omashu was created and an entire city-kingdom lived peacefully, laying on the foundation of stones carved out by a grieving woman.

Sniffling, Katara dabbed her nose with the back of her hand.

Zuko looked at her and then glanced around the room. “The whole exhibit is about them. Want to see the other pieces?”

They walked through a few more galleries with Zuko in fact talking about art styles and historical periods. Artist names popped up as frequently as place names and Katara stopped trying to discern the two types.

“Are you sure art isn’t your thing?” Katara asked at one point. Zuko laughed but didn’t respond.

After making it through four rooms, Katara was hot and tired. She said as much to Zuko and he turned about, looking around the room.

“Look, there’s a dark room there. We can at least cool down while I pull a map up on my phone.” He said, pointing to a door that was propped open across from them.

Katara looked in and saw paint cans in the dim light.

“It doesn’t look like this room’s finished.” She said.

“Want to go somewhere else?” Zuko asked.

“No. It has a bench. None of these other rooms have had a place to sit.” Katara said, feeling her feet start to throb as she stood still.

“Okay.” Zuko replied and they both entered. Zuko held out his phone with the flashlight on and they saw that this exhibit was far from being done. Drop cloths were haphazardly draped over painting supplies and a large ladder leaned against a wall. A push broom and large dust mop rested against the door frame and they jostled as Katara stepped in, pushing the door in a bit.

As she moved to sit on the bench, Zuko paced around the room, holding up his phone.

“I cannot get a signal.” He said. Katara watched as he stretched himself upward, leaning precariously over piles of hidden tools and paint to point his phone at the top of each wall. Noticing the lack of a tremble, Katara realized he must be very limber.

“Does this place not have wifi?” Katara asked, now taking her own phone out. There was a loud wooden clatter and the room darkened, causing her screen to illuminate a bit more.

Then there was the sound of metallic clatter.

“Well, that’s not ideal.” Zuko said.

Katara stared at the x over her bars on her cell phone screen.

“Zuko.” She said.

“Yes.”

“Did you knock over the brooms?”

A hesitation. “Yes.”

“And it closed the door?”

“Mmm.”

“And it’s locked?”

Silence.

“Zuko!” Katara whirled around and saw Zuko standing at the door, both hands wrapped around the doorknob.

“I’m sorry!” He said.

“We need to get out of here! What if they close up and we’re stuck in here all week?” Katara asked, panicked.

“Look, that won’t happen. If it, uh, if it comes down to it, uh,” Zuko let go of the doorknob and started pacing in front of the door.

“Can’t you freeze the hinges or something?” He asked.

“This place is too dry! Where am I supposed to get the water from?” Katara asked. Zuko, his hand hovering in the air over his hair, stopped and looked at her.

Katara recoiled, blushing. Seeing her reaction, Zuko held up his hands, blinding her with the flashlight.

“No! Oh no, I’m sorry. No, I didn’t mean, I’m sorry. Katara, I thought.” Zuko walked briskly to her and she swatted at him.

“Turn that stupid thing off before it drains your battery.” She snapped. Zuko obliged and spun a flame from his fingers, holding it in the palm of his hand.

“I was just trying to figure out how much we’d have to, I don’t know, spit on it. But that was also a stupid idea.” He said. Katara gaped at him, dumbfounded, before the corners of her mouth started to pull upwards and she laughed.

Chuckling, Zuko moved around and sat next to her, finally running his free hand through his hair.

“How are you so dumb?” Katara asked through her laughter.

“Azula is the prodigy. I was just lucky to be born first.” Zuko remarked. The bittersweetness in his voice stopped her mirth. Looking at him, she noticed how the shadows from the fire made his face look thinner.

“You’ve got that kind of family huh?” Katara questioned. Zuko nodded.

“Is that why you’re with Mai?” She went on. Zuko faced her, looking confused.

“What do you mean?”

Oh spirits he’s with her by choice. Katara thought and was glad that the dark room hid the tells of her embarrassment.

“It’s just, you two seem pretty different.” She clarified. Zuko sighed and focused on the flame. He started to fidget, shaping it with both hands.

“We didn’t use to be. I was just as emotionally drab as she is. Then this happened,” Zuko said and gestured to his face. “And then the end of the war. I don’t know.” His hands returned to the flame and he pulled on it, making the orange ball grow larger. “I wanted to look forward to things and enjoy them, the way my uncle enjoys his tea.”

At the mention of the war, Katara’s throat dried and she shifted away from him. Sensing the movement, Zuko leaned over a bit to look at her.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

Katara nodded; she balled one hand into a fist on the bench, the other went to the necklace sitting snug at her throat.

“I lost a lot in the war.” She replied, her voice husky.

“Sokka told me about it. I’m sorry for your loss and, well,” Zuko suddenly sounded tense. “I know you might not want to hear it from the enemy but, I lost people I loved too.”

Another question jumped up from her chest but Katara caught it in her teeth, biting down and catching the tip of her tongue with it. He was as old as Sokka and would have been that young during the war. But they had both been young when they had done what they did.

And so Katara couldn’t bring herself to ask because she didn’t want to know the answer.

“You’re not the enemy Zuko.” She said.

“Well, I did get us locked in here and we might die.” He replied. Katara huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh and stood. Walking slowly to the opposite wall, she squinted at the paint.

“I think something’s here. Bring the light over.” She said. Zuko walked over and Katara stepped back as the image expanded in the light.

“It’s the curse.” Zuko said.

“What curse?” Katara asked in alarm.

“The tunnels the lovers made were created to entrap those that would follow them. Basically, it says that you will be trapped if you don’t trust in love.” He said.

“So how do you trust in love?” Katara asked. Zuko frowned as he thought, his gaze lingering on the large painting before trickling down to the floor.

“The rest of the myth talks about how the love is the brightest in the dark. How in the worst of times, the two found the greatest love.” He said.

Katara looked at the painting. Two figures knelt across from each other, kissing. In the middle of the war, far below the earth, literally in the most impossible place, two people were free to love each other.

“Or.” Katara started. Zuko faced her and she turned to him. “Or we just remember that badgermoles are blind.”

“And?” Zuko asked. Silently, Katara stepped forward and placed her hands on the backs of Zuko’s. Rolling his fingers inward, he extinguished the flame and they stood in darkness.

His hands were warm.

“Look.” He whispered. Unable to see him, Katara still turned around. The open room seemed vast, but a faint spill of green made her look up. Dots like hanging crystal, glowing in green light, illuminated a path. It ended at the locked door, but began behind the ladder.

They shuffled slowly to the ladder and pulled it past the edges of the green path. Their eyes, having adjusted to the faint light, picked up the lines of a door in the edge of their vision. Zuko pried it open, disrupting more paint cans, and they were suddenly in an alcove. A man coming out of the bathroom across from them jumped at their sudden appearance before scowling at them and walking off.

Sheepish, Zuko and Katara hurried out, closing the door behind them.

“You owe me lunch.” Katara said. Zuko laughed and rubbed the back of his head.

“Deal.”

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#zutara #fanfiction #jax writes #modern au #zutara month 2020 #the fic that prompts built

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writethehousedown · 5 years ago

Text

When the Sun Sets on Us: Chapter 2 (Scyvie) — Phryne

A/N: Hey y'all! I’m back with the second chapter of When the Sun Sets on Us, a beach town romance between hopeless romantic Scarlet and Yvie, who’s ‘just visiting’.

Last Chapter: Scarlet pined over one of her customers.

This chapter: Yvie’s friends meddle, Scarlet makes a bold move.

Enjoy!

“Oh my god, get over it, bitch.”

Yvie grumbled, smoothing down her towel, needlessly brushing sand off the surface, like she wouldn’t end up coated in sand anyway.

“I just feel like two little x’s at the end is a bit much,” Yvie said into the towel, avoiding Vanjie and Brooke’s exasperated looks.

“So, you was gonna just put “hi scarlet” just like that?” Vanjie threw her hands up, “You know, like serial killers do? You wanna be like a serial killer?”

“I just thought it was nice and like, professional.” Yvie kicked her flip flops off and sat down on the towel. “I can’t just lead with hi, hello, kiss kiss.”

“Professional?” Vanjie exclaimed, looking to Brooke for back up. “You want professional or you want pussy?”

“That’s not what I meant.” Yvie rolled her eyes. “Also, your hat’s blowing away.”

“Oh shit,” Vanjie turned her head, only to find her hat stumbling through the breeze before resting against a sleeping man’s back. She bolted toward it.

“Yvie, we’re just saying that you have shitty instincts and you need our help.” Brooke uncapped the sunscreen, squirting a liberal amount on her arm. “You’re like, hopeless trying to talk to her, even if she is kinda weird.”

“She’s not weird,” Yvie mumbled to herself.

Brooke paused, her arm still white and streaky with the sunblock. “What would you know about not being weird?”

Yvie chewed her lip. Admittedly not much.

“Okay,” Yvie drew out. “But tell me how it’s less weird to answer her question ‘so where are you from?’ with ‘Denver’ and a little mountain emoji and a little leaf emoji instead of just saying ‘Denver’?”

“Because it’s playful and fun.” Brooke gave Yvie a stern look. “And it’s accurate. And you do smoke a lot. And because of the emojis the conversation continued into learning that she does too, which seems about right.”

“Still…” Yvie tried to reason, coming up short. There was a part of her that understood how Brooke and Vanjie were right. They did help her have a great conversation late into last night with Scarlet, which only ended because Scarlet had to be up early for work the next day.

But sometimes it was a bit much.

“Still what?” Brooke began on her next arm. “As the people here, who actually have a successful relationship, verses a person who only knows how to catch feelings and then wait for them to fade, I think we know more than you, Yvangeline.”

“Really, my full name, Mom?” Yvie joked, kicking sand Brooke’s way.

“You’re stupid,” Brooke said through an unwilling laugh.

When they’d finally set up camp for the day and Vanjie returned with her hat — describing the horrors of her hat blowing once more so it was now atop a child’s sandcastle, which disintegrated the minute she pulled her hat away, and how she had to run away before anyone saw — Yvie was back to texting Scarlet, who was apparently on her unauthorized morning break, which was not a real break because it only happened when her manager took his usual mid-morning twelve-minute bathroom break.

“What’s she saying?” Silky laid her open book across her bare stomach.

“Work sucks.” Yvie sighed. It really did sound like it sucked. Scarlet had already plunged sand out of a toilet, trying to figure out why sand wouldn’t just flush. “Ooh I should tell her about McGregor.”

“No, nuh uh.” Silky reached over and grabbed her phone, tossing it to Nina, who tossed it to Brooke, who handed it to Vanjie, who sat on it.

“You all really think I need four degrees of separation from my phone just to tell a story about my boss?” Yvie huffed and threw herself over Silky, fruitlessly reaching for her phone.

“You think you’re gonna get a girlfriend in this century by responding to her shitty boss with your criminal boss, who got arrested for running an illegal cat trading business?” Vanjie called back. “What does any normal person say to that?”

McGreggor was not a cat trader by trade, but rather an old man with a long, white ponytail, laced with plastic craft beads, who managed the art supply store on campus, which Yvie worked at. Occasionally, Yvie was asked to feed the store cat, Randal. Technically, Yvie had to testify that she had no part in the criminal cat trade, or no knowledge of these cats. She only had knowledge of Randal, who was keenly aware of the other cats in the back room, where McGreggor kept the large canvases and rolls of paper — which Yvie was, under no circumstances allowed to stock — as well as forty-four cats, seven of which had been imported from Canada.

“I don’t know, maybe that she really likes cats?” Yvie offered, sitting back on her towel. “Besides I don’t want a girlfriend.”

“What?” Silky pulled her head back, her face pinched.

“You go on and on all the fucking time about wanting a girlfriend,” Vanjie added, leaning across Brooke, pointing at Yvie. “Don’t fuck with us.”

Yvie let out a sign. “Okay, yeah, but not like this. I mean we’re here for a few days and then what? We go home and I’m miserable because I caught feelings and I can’t do anything about them.” She shrugged. “I just don’t want to deal with it.”

“Well you clearly already got feelings because I see her text ‘Ok break over’ with a sad face and her name’s got that sparkly heart next to it.” Vanjie held up the phone, as though Yvie needed it as proof, as though she could see if from this far away.

“You put that there last night,” Yvie mumbled, fingering the edge of her towel.

“Upon your request,” Brooke clarified, pushing her sunglasses up her nose.

“Whatever. I just don’t want something serious with someone I’m never gonna see again anyway.”

“Okay, yeah.” Brooke conceded. “Fair point. This isn’t like Grease.”

“Nope, Brooke’s a moron,” Vanjie said, resting her hand on Brooke’s thigh. “You never know until you know, Yvie.”

Yvie groaned. She never wanted to know.

***

Scarlet leaned over the front counter, peering off at the beach, her palms growing sticky despite all the times she’d wiped the counter down. It was like the chipping paint was sweating just as much as she was.

“The ocean isn’t going nowhere, Scarlet.”

Scarlet ignored A’keria’s remark, instead focusing her attention on that same group of girls from last night, all settled down on the beach. She squinted, making out Yvie, who was little more than a speck from this far away. She could nearly see her pass something to Silky.

“Who’s doing beach runs today?” Scarlet asked herself, pondering the schedule, pondering the thought of handing Yvie a long island iced tea, like she had last night, pondering the exquisite and less probable thought of the two of them enjoying a cocktail together on the beach.

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” A’keria narrowed her eyes. “It’s too hot for this shit.”

A’keria.

A’keria was the one scheduled for beach runs.

“Lemme switch with you, please, Ki, I really—”

“Be my fucking guest.” A’keria shot back, unsheathing a stack of plastic cups and loading them into the dispenser.

Scarlet turned around, resting her back against the counter. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, fuck this heat. If you want to be out in the sun and sand and shit and give me all this AC, then go for it.”

Scarlet ran an order to and from the beach. And then another. All while A’keria enjoyed what was supposed to be Scarlet’s cushy, air-conditioned job of cleaning and sanitizing the laminated menus for the sit-down lunch and dinner service. It was a mindless task, typically performed sitting at the bar, chatting with Kyle the bartender about his wife and whatever was on the boxy old TV precariously hung over the mirrored back bar. Usually they watched Dr. Oz followed by The View.

By the time Kyle finished making the third order, Scarlet was already feeling the heat, pressing a wet paper towel to the back of her neck, head thrown back, as though orienting her face toward the AC across the room would help her feel it more.

And for what? To talk to a beautiful girl who replied sporadically to her? Maybe. If she was lucky. But Scarlet could have nothing more than another wholehearted, half thought through fantasy on her hands, wrapping itself around her brain and squeezing. Hard.

Scarlet grabbed the basket of nachos that just came out of the pass-through window. At least now she’d have someone to serve and some scorching, air wavering heat to distract her from thinking about Yvie, the image of a bead of sweat traveling down Yvie’s arched brow now in the forefront of her mind.

No.

Scarlet wasn’t going to indulge.

Scarlet had work to do.

She placed the nachos in the center of her tray with the two daiquiris Kyle just finished pouring on either side of it. She looked up, taking the Mai Tai as well. “Where does this go to?”

“It’s someone named Nina and her description is ‘directly in front of the restaurant, between the boardwalk and the ocean.”

A’keria snorted. “That’s where the beach tends to be.”

Scarlet ignored A’keria’s offhand comment. Nina sounded familiar. She searched her head for why that name was ringing bells, though she couldn’t picture what this Nina looked like or anything she could have said.

“Scarlet?”

“Hmm?” She looked up from her tray, now mindlessly filled. “Oh sorry.”

Kyle looked between Scarlet and the tray, then back at Scarlet. He rested his elbows on the bar top. “You maybe wanna take two trips?”

Scarlet waived him off. “Uh, thanks. But I’m a strong, capable woman,” she teased. “I can handle five drinks.”

A’keria let out a snort and shook her head as Kyle held his hands up in surrender. “Sure thing, kid.”

With that, Scarlet hoisted up the tray, balancing one edge on her shoulder, her palm flat in the center. She walked out onto the boards, looking both ways before crossing, hearing Kyle ask A’keria if she was supposed to do beach runs today, and A’keria explaining that “Scarlet has a crush on someone,” as though that clarified everything.

Once she hit the sand, it all came into focus. Partway down the beach sat Yvie and her friends, one of whom was Nina, who if Scarlet remembered correctly, was the one who paid last night too. She had to catch herself, readjusting her hand on the tray as she stood in the sand, her left foot sinking in only slightly as she connected all the dots, the reddening, maddening warmth spreading across her chest and up to her ears once more. Nina ordered drinks. Everyone was getting drinks. Everyone included Yvie. She was going to see Yvie again.

Like the night before, the conversation was loud — about some man who traded cats, which deeply intrigued her — but quieted into a handful of low giggles when she came into sight. And Yvie, the way her heart jumped when she saw Yvie sitting cross-legged on her sand covered towel, a novel precariously open in her lap. She blinked a few times, peering up at Scarlet, her face growing a touch red.

“Shit,” Vanjie muttered, before throwing her phone back across the way, toward Yvie.

Scarlet swallowed to refocus before pulling the tray off her shoulder, resting it against the flat of her forearm instead. “Uh, hi again guys!” She surveyed the group, trying to give equal attention, or really, trying not to get caught staring at Yvie. “So, I have two frozen strawberry daiquiris…”

“That’s mine,” Silky raised her hand.

“Perfect.” Scarlet walked toward Silky and crouched slightly in front of her, just about to reach for the drink when her phone dinged, causing her to jump and reach for her back pocket, immediately thinking it had to be Yvie’s response finally getting through to her, maybe due to an issue in signal, maybe she typed something out and forgot to send. Scarlet’s mind spun, sweeping up any passing thought about Yvie in its wake.

“No, shit, shit.” Scarlet hissed, the tray tipping off her arm without her other hand to hold it in place.

Tipping off her arm.

And spilling all over Yvie.

Five drinks and a plate of nachos in Yvie’s lap.

Scarlet could die. She could just die and be buried under the sand where the washed-up jellyfish were. Buried with a driftwood headstone, etched with a description of her lesbian panic over a pretty girl possibly texting her back, which caused her to tip a full tray of drinks and food all over said pretty girl. She shall never rest in peace.

“Oh my god. Oh my god,” Scarlet breathed out, tossing the tray down and falling to her knees, picking a half empty plastic cup off of Yvie’s lap. “I’m so so sorry. God. Fuck.”

Yvie shook her head, chuckling. She sat up and brushed the chips off. “It’s okay.”

“I’ve ruined your book and your shorts and your bikini and I probably ruined your phone.” Scarlet tried to collect pooling frozen margarita off of Yvie’s towel, feeling herself sputtering out of control, completely helpless to stop herself. “And your towel’s ruined too. Everything’s going to be stained forever, trust me, that food coloring stains everything. And you’ve got food all over you. I’m sorry. I’m just so so sorry. I don’t even—”

“Hey, hey, stop.” Yvie placed her hand over Scarlet’s halting her motions as she shifted onto her knees as well. “It’s literally all okay. Shit happens.”

The thought of Yvie’s hand on her own barely permeated the thick layer of embarrassment Scarlet had built up and reinforced every time she looked up and saw the red food dye sinking into Yvie’s acid wash shorts. “I’m sorry I ruined all your things. Let me just clean it up and then I’ll go—”

“Scarlet it’s fine, we’ll just clean it up.” Yvie began scooping up chips with both hands, placing them inside the empty plastic cups on Scarlet’s tray. “There’s nothing we can’t just clean up.

Nonetheless, Scarlet left mortified. Just watching Yvie begin to wipe guacamole off of her chest with the dirty towel as she left with the ruined food and drinks made her shiver, made her bones feel like they were rattling, scraping against one another as she walked away. Then jogged away. Then ran into the restaurant. She threw the tray down on the bar top before running back to the walk-in freezer.

“Redo all of ticket 103,” Scarlet called to the kitchen and the bar before closing the freezer door. She kicked over a crate to sit on, settling her aching body down, breathing in and out rapidly, surely working herself up more. She felt her throat tighten. Each breath pushed out more tears. She stared up at the ceiling and blinked to clear her eyes. It didn’t work.

She’d ruined everything by being too eager, too dedicated to something that probably wasn’t real anyway. Too quick to push logic aside in favor of emotional release, in favor of the text back she so wanted. She really couldn’t wait just five minutes to hand out the drinks before looking at her phone?

Well, she ruined this. It was done now. Over. Finished. Time to move on, Scarlet reasoned, pulling herself up off of the crate, coming out of the walk-in, only to be met by Kyle and A’keria and their pressing looks.

“Did I not say to take two trips?” Kyle admonished playfully. It wasn’t as though they were busy or losing too much money from remaking drinks. “What happened?”

Scarlet shrugged, not looking to describe the scene that now replayed in her head without her permission. She felt her eyes well up again, her nose burning and red. She took a deep breath.

“Things happen,” she said, as though she were unsure.

Kyle’s lip flattened. “What does that even mean?”

A’keria stole a rapid glance at Scarlet. “Sometimes shit happens Kyle.” She offered Scarlet a sympathetic look before turning back to Kyle. “Sometimes things just be that way.”

Kyle pondered the sentiment before nodding, accepting it. He pulled two more cups out of the stack and filled them with ice. “Sometimes it just be that way.”

***

“So, you threw your book down to help that girl who literally dropped all that shit on you—”

“Dropped all that shit on you because she thought you were texting her back,” Vanjie interjected before returning the floor to Silky.

“Thank you, Vanjie,” Silky said before her tone turned lecturing again. “Dropped all that shit on you because she thought you texted her back because she likes you. And then you help her clean up that shit she dropped on you. And then you hold her hand for no good reason.” Silky paused to take a deep breath. “And you’re still gonna tell us, the people of this jury and also your judges, that you don’t have feelings for her?”

“I’m on trial?” Yvie felt herself growing whinier by the minute, like she had to convince her friends — and herself — that nothing happened.

“We’re just trying to lay out the arguments for you, Yves,” Nina added.

Yvie snorted. “So, do I get a lawyer?”

“Are you so unsure of your actions and the completely obvious feelings behind them that you feel someone else has to defend you?” Brooke said pointedly, turning the page of her magazine.

“Well shit.” Vanjie flashed wide eyes at Yvie. “You have actions you can’t defend, Miss. Bridges?”

“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not doing any deep feelings here?” Yvie took off her sunglasses and undid her ponytail. “Casual, sure. But I’m not, like, trying to be in love over here.”

“It didn’t look that way.” Brooke flipped another page.

“Why are you two ganging up on me?” Yvie whined.

Vanjie laid her legs over Brooke’s. “Because you and that Scarlet are both morons and you’re literally perfect for each other like you’re practically already girlfriends.”

“Based on what?” Yvie was growing exasperated, ready to end this conversation and head to the bookstore two blocks down and buy something new to read. Or really, go anywhere to avoid this conversation. This conversation would be a lot easier with alcohol, she thought. Though their alcohol had all been dumped on her accidentally, so…

“Based on what we all saw! Happening right in front of us!” Silky folded the corner of her page and closed the book. “You don’t know shit about what’s right in front of you, but all of us know what was right in front of us.”

***

Scarlet was back on the beach, this time, as insisted by Kyle, who expressed adamantly how much he hated making frozen drinks, with only three drinks on her tray.

“For the last time. And this will be the last time—”

Scarlet’s tuned into the conversation, recognizing Yvie’s voice, though raised, threaded with what seemed like anger.

She’d be lying if she said it didn’t go right through her.

Yvie stood up, pointing at her friends, as though she were jabbing them from a distance.

“We are only here for three more days. So, I’m not going to start a real relationship with Scarlet, find out I have all these deep feelings for her that I can’t do shit about, and then leave broken hearted. I’m not gonna do it.”

They were talking about her. They were talking about Yvie liking her. Enough to talk about having a relationship. Scarlet’s blood fell still as she thought it through. She didn’t hate her. How did she not hate her? God, she got lucky. So entirely lucky. Maybe she could…

“No,” she muttered to herself. She shouldn’t think like that.

Well…she already looked like an idiot in front of this girl. What’s once more.

Looking like an idiot once more meant losing whatever shred of dignity she’d rebuilt while crying in the walk-in.

Fuck it.

“What’s one date, Yvie?”

Scarlet saw five heads swivel around like an owl’s, felt ten eyes on her at once. The words suspended in the air, like the salt in the breeze. They hung around Scarlet, letting her breathe them in and out, before languidly floating over to Yvie, like a gas expanding until it filled the space between them. Scarlet barely registered Vanjie whispering ‘oh shit.’

Scarlet came around to face the group, trying to steady her breathing. “Oh, also I have some drinks.”

She passed them out slowly, her movements mechanical. She tried to focus all her attention on handing out the drinks. She was sure she’d feel faint if she gave the question of a date with Yvie any more energy than it had already stolen from her.

Scarlet straightened up, holding her tray limply. “Well, I guess I’ll go get the rest—”

“Okay,” Yvie said.

Scarlet pivoted to face her, forgetting the end of her sentence. She was far too occupied by the thought of Yvie saying okay. Scarlet waited for clarification.

“Yeah, okay, just a date couldn’t hurt.” Yvie rubbed the back of her neck, studying Scarlet, probably looking for a reaction.

Scarlet took a sharp inhale. An eye-crinkling smile pulled at her lips. She couldn’t help but laugh, just laugh at her own joy. “Wow, okay, okay,” Scarlet fumbled for the words. “That’s so great, just so…so I’ll see you after my shift?”

Yvie nodded vigorously. “Yeah, definitely.”

“Definitely,” Scarlet repeated. “So, um, I’ll go back to work, and I’ll see you then?” She pointed vaguely back toward the boardwalk.

“Definitely.” Yvie smiled back at her.

Scarlet turned and ran back toward the restaurant, desperately needing to share this with someone, feeling the good news swell inside of her. She’d definitely track down A’keria and yell the whole exchange at her before pestering her about what she should wear tonight and maybe getting off a half hour early to run home and get ready.

Shit. She forgot to tell Yvie when she was getting off.

***

“So…” Nina cocked a brow. “When does she get off work?”

“Uh, well,” Yvie continued to stumble, despite now sitting down on half of Nina’s towel, enjoying a long island iced tea, the alcohol only a touch calming. It was like the air of Scarlet managed to linger. “She texted she gets off at six.”

“Huh, she’s quick,” Silky laughed.

“You’re nasty.” Yvie stuck her tongue out at her.

“You better save it.”

“Anyway,” Vanjie drew out, interrupting Silky’s exchange. “Y’all are precious.”

“She’d be a lot more precious if she remembered to deliver my nachos,” Brooke grumbled before laying back on her towel.

#rpdr fanfiction #scyvie #scarlet envy #yvie oddly #vanessa vanjie mateo #brooke lynn hytes #silky nutmeg ganache #nina west #when the sun sets on us #phryne #beach au #lesbian au #concrit welcome #summer lovin' 2020 #day 2: camp #submission

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softbiker · 5 years ago

Text

A Familiar Place - Part 2

Warnings: a bad word or two, literally zero editing

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: Not sure if I’m satisfied with this, but posting to celebrate hitting 200 followers!! Thanks for being here, I love you all! As always, let me know what you think :)

This is not an “x Reader” or romance story.

“Okay, I’m 100% sure it’s not supposed to look like that.”

“Shut up, bird brain.”

“Will you two stop it I can’t hear the instructor.”

Three soldiers exchange glares behind their easels, brushes poised over canvas. Their stools are set in the back of the class, clustered close together so they can peek over each others shoulders. Other easels are arranged in semi-circle rows towards the front of the classroom, with the instructor at the epicenter, walking back and forth and making comments to the students. To her credit, she tries to ignore the fussing commentary from the back of the room, only sparing them a glance every once in a while.

An oil painting class. Painting was never Steve’s strong suit - he prefers pencils and charcoal, quick messy sketches under his flurried fingers, captured on the spur of the moment. Bucky faintly remembers a smaller, softer Steve, the graphite on his hands, the smudges that covered his nose. Pencil fixed behind his ear, where Bucky would have placed a cigarette. But when they came here, settled into their place in Bed-Stuy, Steve decided to try out something new. And today he invited Sam and Bucky to join him.

Steve takes easily to new mediums, whatever his protests about not being a “natural” painter. Sam has no idea what he’s doing, but Bucky knows that has never stopped him from having a good time.

Bucky, though.

Bucky feels nervous each time he dips his brush, blends his paints. He feels somehow wasteful, putting his own brush to the canvas. Hand him a knife, a gun, hell - even one of Stark’s high-tech weapons, and he’s steady. A deadshot. But a paintbrush? He doubts every stroke and line. Without a talent like Steve’s, he thinks, this canvas would be better off with someone else.

But Steve is having a good time and he hates to ruin that, so Bucky quietly frowns at his canvas, tongue poking between his lips. Today’s class is a still life, their reference a pale blue vase of flowers on a table in the center of the room. Steve has rendered it beautifully, even captured the soft lighting from the windows on the west wall of the room. Sam’s attempt is passable, for someone with no training at all in studio art.

It isn’t that Bucky doesn’t have some skill, or proficiency, or artistic eye. He remembers sitting through a couple of figure drawing classes with Steve - he managed to learn a thing or two, when he wasn’t winking at the models. And his work isn’t bad, he knows that, but -

Well. He doesn’t think it’s worth making.

**********

He keeps coming to the class for a few weeks, when Steve’s schedule is free from missions and meetings, of course. They sit near the back of the room and Bucky makes good attempts but he’s not really sure if he’s making art.

“You know, I’m really not sure if oils are your medium.”

The class is over, and the instructor stands at Bucky’s elbow, looking at the row of paintings laid along the shelf to dry. Bucky had been comparing his work to his classmates, thinking pretty much the same thing.

“Not that you don’t have a hand for painting,” the instructor continues, hands slipping into the pockets of her overalls. “But I think you’re letting it intimidate you - you put too much pressure on yourself and then you hesitate. I’ve noticed.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Bucky shrugs. “I guess.” The instructor laughed a little, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of her nose.

“See? You hesitated to tell me that you hesitate.” She was shaking her head with a not unkind smile.

“Jeez - you have a side gig as a therapist?”

“Nope - just good at seeing people.”

Bucky shifted his feet, not used to the feeling of being closely observed - it definitely wasn’t something he liked. Seeming to sense this, the instructor took a step back, shrugging her shoulders and looking away from him.

“Look, you should keep coming,” she offered. “You have some talent, that’s for sure. But you can try other things. Doesn’t have to be oil paint and flowers. What do you want to make?”

Steve is waiting outside the classroom, reading the bulletin board in the hallway. Fluorescent-colored flyers litter the board, interspersed with lost pet ads, ride shares, roommate offers, and piano lessons. Steve fingers one, tears off the number for an Asian cooking class, and tucks the slip of paper in his jacket pocket. He turns when he hears Bucky’s footsteps, that classic smile curling up his mouth.

“You, ready?”

“Yep.”

They take the subway back, dutifully ignoring the raised eyebrows and cell phones that turn their way. It’s New York - sooner or later people get over it. Bucky’s metal hand is wrapped loosely around a pole that Steve leans against, supersoldier strength and balance making him barely shift as the train speeds and slows.

“Sam is supposed to get back from that recon op this afternoon,” Steve says, his voice low enough keep their conversation private. “He’ll probably want takeout for dinner.”

Bucky nods. “He always does, after a mission. Milks it for all he’s worth, so we have to get his favorite - I bet he’ll want fried rice from that Thai place, and we better make sure there’s cold beer in the fridge.”

Steve just smiles, glances down at his sneakers, shifts his feet a little. He’ll never say a word, a single goddamn word, about how much Bucky and Sam pay attention to each other. About Bucky remembering Sam’s takeout order from every single one of their usual places; about Sam bringing home new exotic fruits from the health food market so Bucky could try things that weren’t available back in the day. He will never breathe a single word about how Bucky took Sam’s laundry and scrubbed the blood out after that mission in Denver went bad, or Sam driving back and forth to Bucky’s therapy appointments, in spite of the distance.

Loose lips, Rogers. Nope. His are sealed.

**********

“If I didn’t know any better, I would honest to God think that Stark didn’t respect me,” Sam shakes his head, shovelling rounded lumps of rice into his mouth with his chopsticks. His cheeks are comically full, but he continues to talk. “I mean, the guy really asked if I needed air support. Me? Baby, I am air support.”

Steve makes a noise of assent around a mouthful of noodles that he continues to slurp into his mouth. Bucky says nothing, but smiles into his egg roll. The coffee table in front of them is littered with takeout boxes, some still full, some already emptied. Steve and Bucky have already finished 2 beers each - Sam is drinking at a slower pace so he can continue to talk.

“I fucking invented air support. Pssh.” Sam rolls his eyes, settling back against the cushions of the couch and pulling his standard blanket over his lap.

The TV is set to a sports channel, a college basketball game they’re not too invested in carrying on in the background. Sam talks and talks, the other two barely getting a word in, but that’s alright - he always needs this, after a mission. Sam has to get it all out, decompress, debrief, de-everything in that post-victory rush of adrenaline he’s still high on when he comes home. They let him - they sit around in their sweatpants and half-watch a ballgame and shoot the shit over beers and Thai, and let Sam come back to himself.

“So,” Sam sighs, sipping his beer. “What’d you old farts get up to while I was gone, huh?”

“Mm, not much.” Steve’s reply is muffled as he continues to inhale his noodles. “Art class. Running.”

“Getting some goddamn peace and quiet,” Bucky pipes up, crumpling up the now empty egg roll bag and reaching for a full styrofoam container of steaming fried rice.

“Ha ha.” Sam doesn’t even look up from his food. “Y’all know it’s boring as hell around here without me. And who else is gonna help you two to meet some females? Hm? You think people are lining up to wingman for your hundred-year-old asses? No way!”

“What would we do without you, Sam?” Steve asks, that ironic twist to his mouth that Bucky has known all his life.

“You’d be star-spangled roadkill, I can tell you that much.”

They laugh and settle, eyes passing over the ballgame as one of the teams lines up for a free throw. It’s just the three of them in their little place, but it feels full. It’s enough. It’s home.

**********

Over the next few weeks, Bucky takes the painting instructor’s advice.

He rolls out huge canvases on the floor and slings paint in random patterns, layers of splatter until he feels like his eyes have crossed. The freedom, the lack of pressure, the fun of throwing paint around like a child - all of that he likes, but still.

“Still not sure if it’s my thing,” he tells Steve, as they look at his finished piece propped up against the wall. Steve nods, lips pursed.

“Well, we could hang it up at the compound. Tony keeps talking about needing more art around that place.”

Bucky just rolls his eyes.

“I’m not five, Steve. You don’t have to hang my scribbles on the fridge.”

He goes back to the studio and slings pots - pots and vases and key bowls and jewelry dishes and mugs. They’re passable, usable, functional - these are the words he thinks of when he glazes them in soft blue and yellow shades. Bucky likes the feel of it under his fingers, the wet firmness of the clay that yields to his hands. He’s gotten little bits of dried clay between the metal plates of his arm, but he doesn’t mind - he’s learned they’re easy enough to dislodge with a toothbrush. He gives away or takes home all of his little projects, happy to see them used.

Sam gifts him with a polaroid camera he found going through some of his parents things, and Bucky fiddles with it until he’s quite good at taking pictures. Whenever they go out he has his camera slung around his neck, an extra packet of film and a flashbar in his backpack. He has dozens of photos now - photos of Steve sipping coffee and flipping off the camera. Photos of Sam and Rhodey laughing, in full gear, when the team had drinks at the compound last month. A few photos of Natasha and Wanda, who come over to the brownstone sometimes - Natasha’s legs are folded over the end of the couch, while Wanda gets a piggyback ride from Steve. He tacks the pictures up, covering nearly half of the wall of his bedroom, not caring about the holes he leaves in the drywall.

It’s Wanda who introduces him to knitting, one weekend when both Steve and Sam get called out on a potential terror situation in London. There’s a rule - unspoken, unwritten - among Steve’s friends that someone comes to check on Bucky whenever they have to leave him alone. He doesn’t protest, knowing that they do it out of kindness and loyalty to Steve; he knows all about being loyal to Steve.

Wanda sits cross-legged on the couch, her fingers working the knitting needles at a hypnotic pace. He likes Wanda; she’s quiet and sensitive, all soft smiles and knowing eyes. A room always feels calmer with her in it. She had used his hands earlier to loop the yarn, and now he watches her over the top of his book, which he has all but abandoned.

When he asks her about the knitting, if she can show him, she looks up. Soft smiles and knowing eyes.

Bucky has always been good with his hands, so no one is surprised that he’s good at knitting. Eventually, they all have something he’s made: a beanie for Sam, a scarf for Steve, fingerless gloves for Wanda, and blankets galore for their too-cold brownstone.

**********

It fills up his time, somehow.

Bucky makes drawings, and paintings, and little origami birds out of grocery receipts. He makes bowls he can give to his friends and pictures that he can keep and blankets that he can share. He scours google and breaks a few (literal) eggs and makes banana bread that fills the brownstone with a smell that he could float on. He makes pancakes and poems and -

Bucky makes.

On the subway with Steve - a figure drawing class tonight - Bucky is staring at his hands. Ungloved metal and soft scarred flesh. His hands are tools, they’re instruments. They can be molds or looms or brushes or chisels.

“Weapons” doesn’t even enter his mind at all.

Tags:

@vacant-writings

@bitsandbobsandstuff

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #stucky #sambucky #marvel #marvel fic

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scream-tears · 5 years ago

Text

The Royal Invitation - Part 4

Aerowyn Matilde George Rothchester might seem like a very long name, but it definitely is not for a royal in the Kingdom of Dalewin.

After her grandfather, the beloved king, passed away, Aerowyn (also known as Winny) is called back from her art school in New York. She’s thrown back into her royal duties, expected to know what to do.

But with the Royal advisor on tour with the new king, Winny is left to figure things out with his stepson. The only problem, he has no idea what he’s doing, after all he’s only the lead singer in a band.

Co-written with @aweirdkindofyellow

Chapter 4

Alex’s POV:

This wasn't exactly the first time I was in this situation. Call me a play-boy but there had been more than one account where someone–mainly the other members of my band–had walked in on me during one of my one-night-stands. It was like an annual event, only it happened more than once a week. Aerowyn, however, was not going to let me off as easily as they did. Maybe it was her sudden use of profanities, or the way she stormed out of the room with her lips turned in disgust and her eyebrows arched in disbelief, but it seemed I had offended her a little more than the boys.

I tugged at the golden door knob, closing the door to my room behind me as I made my way down the corridor in hope of finding one man in particular. From what I had gathered, he was due to be doing his rounds downstairs anytime now and that's where I was aimlessly heading to, hopefully avoiding the royal family in the process.

The task itself wasn't too difficult. Half way into the first room I found him tucked away in a corner, scribbling down random notes and rearranging the schedules of each member of the family. With more royals here than usual, his work amount had almost doubled making me glad I only had Princess Aerowyn's schedule to worry about.

"Garry, hey." I mumbled, taking a seat beside him as he glanced up at me with a weak smile.

"What's up?" He replied, for the first time since I had gotten here he spoke to me in something of a casual manner. Every word muttered in this castle had to be clear and filtered, making me stand out from the crowd even more than I already did. I'm not exactly a prince, or a duke, more like an irresponsible singer, well-rounded to some extent.

"I was wondering if I could get a look at Aerowyn's schedule for today. Just so I can get ahead of all the responsibilities and whatnot." I replied with something resembling a smile, attempting to make this seem as reputable as possible.

"Sure," he handed me a tattered sheet, peppered in scribbles and crossing-outs. "That's everything you need to know. The time, the place, how she's getting there, who she's with." I nodded slowly, skimming through for today's date and time. Apparently my luck was on point because she had just left the castle in order to visit one of the local schools, and wasn't due to be back for another hour at the most. I jumped up, thanking Garry for his help before departing.

I detoured to the kitchen on my way to Aerowyn's library, grabbing a bucket and sponge as I did. I figured the one way I could apologise was by doing something I had yet to do in my twenty five years of living…

The library was empty, as expected, allowing me to plug my phone into the speakers system set up in the corner. I pulled the stool over to the desk, placing the bucket of lukewarm water down before plunging the sponge inside.

Running the damp sponge over the polished oak surface, I spotted a small crevice indented deep into the corner of the desk. The item itself was evidently old, and most likely held its own history within its cracks and faults, creating a certain enigma around the story it told. Whether it be due to the excitement of that bubbly little girl and her wild adventures with her grandfather, or that mellow artist and her mass of canvases and equipment, I questioned its history.

"And here I was thinking you got the hint the first time around," she scoffed. I dropped the sponge in the water, turning to face her as she stood, towering over me with her arms crossed over her chest. Her lips were turned at the sight of me–her eyes watching meticulously.

All the hatred aside, she was a princess. Her dress was of the deepest green, embroidered with silver patterns and swirls, and her hair perfectly curled, each section having been deliberately pulled back into a clip.

"You look good," I repeated cautiously.

She dropped her gaze, turning her attention to the bucket beside my feet. Her eyes trailed back to the desk, observing the streaks of light as the sun reflected against the remaining water–anyone could put two and two together.

"Are you trying to make a point?" Her voice was clear, demanding. I winced at the lack of emotion.

"No." I answered instantly, and frankly more suspicious than I was already behaving. "Can we take a walk?"

"And why would I take a walk with you?" She asked bitterly.

"Please?" There was a certain desperation to my word. A need, rather than a want.

She rolled her eyes, turning on her heel as she marched out of the room. I grabbed my jacket from the chair, pulling it on as I slipped out of the heavy doors closing behind her. She looked at me impatiently, as though I was the one who had been raised in this palace and not the other way around. It wasn't long before she took the hint, leading the two of us to the end of the corridor where the south balcony stood. With the landscape of the garden in all its glory, the view of the sun setting each evening was just a bonus.

"If you're here to give some half-assed apology, save it," she murmured, continuing to stare out at the garden. "I don't need your pity."

"I don't pity you," I chuckled lightly, "I'm an idiot. I didn't realise how much the library meant to you. I figured it had been passed down through the generations but I saw it as just another quiet space-"

"It is another quiet space," she interrupted sardonically.

"Yes, your quiet space. It was wrong of me to use it for that reason." She turned towards me, narrowing her eyes as she attempted to depict my expression.

"So you're apologising?" She asked, her voice mellow yet bleak.

"I'm making amends, assuming you don't want to spend two months with someone you hate."

"I don't hate you, Alex." I raised an eyebrow and she giggling lightly. "I'm in slight annoyance with you. The library was my grandfather's. You really infuriated me."

"Like I said, I'm an idiot. But I get it. We all have things that are sentimental to us."

"Exactly. The library is like a room of memories. I kind of need them more than ever recently," she mumbled under her breath – I nodded in reply. We turned back at the view, the sun beaming down on us as we stood in silence.

The palace itself was as modern as 17th century buildings got. With updated fountains and slick cut hedges, it could easily be mistaken as new. Occasionally someone walked passed, moving from building to building or just watering the plants, but aside from that it was deserted. I assumed there was usually a community within the grounds due to the way Garry spoke about it from day to day, but it happened to be on hold due to the recent tragedy.

"So do you forgive me?" I asked bluntly; Aerowyn turning again to look me in the eye.

"As you said, I don't want to spend two months with someone I hate, so I suppose I can tolerate you. But no more sex in the library, or anywhere I could walk in on you. That's gross." She scrunched her nose slightly, smiling weakly as her eyes met my own.

"I promise you'll never have to see me even partially naked again." I replied with a smirk.

"But who am I going to paint on?" Her lips curled into a pout–the genuine disappointment gleaming in her eyes. I laughed ostentatiously, somewhat thankful for the friendzone.

Soon enough Augustus, the brother I had somehow managed to avoid this entire time, appeared, asking for Aerowyn's help with something above my pay grade. She, of course, said yes, saying her goodbyes before leaving me on the balcony alone. I soon made my way back to my room, pulling my vibrating phone from my back pocket as the eleventh call came through in the space of an hour.

"You do realise if I don't answer I'm ignoring you, right?" I asked, pushing the phone to my ear as the scream of 'finally' rang through the speakers.

"Yes, I do, but it's urgent." He explained, his voice laced in sarcasm like the ten missed calls didn't already tell me that. For Jack, the mass of missed calls wasn't unusual, though this time he seemed more eager than usual.

"What's up?" I asked, partially expecting some stupid reply that was bound to come out of Jack's mouth at some point or another.

"We just got an email from Mark, as in Mark Hoppus, as in Blink-182, as in the best band ever," he ranted at speed. "Their support act dropped out and they want us to cover."

"Shit, really?"

"Yes! The guys are all in, it's just down to you. What d'ya say?"

"You've already emailed back, haven't you?" I asked, already knowing the reply.

"Of course."

I could picture the lopsided smile painted against his lips as he uttered those simple words, and now, thanks to his impatience, I had something else to deal with other than keeping Aerowyn on my good side.

"Why did I even question it?" I asked, shaking my head as I fell down into the chair that just happened to come with the room I had been acquainted with during my stay.

"I really don't know. Either way you gotta start packing. We need to be on the west coast, with a singer, in two weeks time."

"I'll sort it."

The call ended and I leaned back into the leather chair. For an opportunity like this I figured I would be slightly more buzzed by the chance, only I was somewhat unexcited. I guess the royal life was officially rubbing off on me… or maybe it's just the girl.

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hopesong7 · 5 years ago

Text

LENS Ch.1

Summary: Sometimes, the universe aligns, and you make friends with a stranger. Sometimes, that stranger is actually multiple people and life just got a bit more interesting.

Genre(s): Fluff, Comedy, lil bit of Angst (Maybe), BTS (It’s a genre now)

Contains: Things that make me feel fuzzy, photography, social media, things I know nothing about but have googled extensively, and the power of friendship.

Word Count: 1405

Note: This is an introductory chapter. BTS makes their entrance in the next. This one is mainly to help understand a bit more about you - as the reader - and introduce background characters that will be referenced repeatedly and brought up often.

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

To say that you were excited was an understatement.

Striding through the doors, you were met with Wonderland, quite literally. Alice in Fantasy Book was a cafe you’d had eyes on for awhile. Photos of it’s delectable treats had crossed your feed one too many times. Now, here you sat, Eun-ha practically vibrating with excitement beside you.

“Haru said she was on her way,” You informed her, taking a sip of your drink. You were ignored, the model opting to gaze at the decor in awe. You couldn’t blame her. The walls themselves were a sight to behold, canvases portraying various scenes from the novel. When coupled with the other various decorations - of which an abundance were hearts - it was simply awe inspiring. You wished you’d brought your camera, but supposed your phone would have to do for now. A gasp of awe caught your attention and you turned to see Haru making her way to you. While Eun-ha was a classic beauty, and you maintained a rather flattering appearance, Haru radiated the softest of auras.

“Ah, you look stunning,” Eun-ha complimented. Purple hair - pastel, of course - covered pink ears as the up-and-coming singer took her seat.

“Oddly Cheshire today,” You teased, eyes on her striped sweater. Haru only shrugged with a cheeky grin. The three of you shared a small laugh, quickly placing your orders. “I can’t believe we’re all here,” You admitted as the waitress walked away. You were so glad she spoke English.

“I can’t believe it either,” Eun-ha agreed. “The fact that we’re all here in Tokyo… When was the last time we were all in the same city?”

“Too long,” Haru muttered.

“So why are you two around,” you inquired, head tilted in curiosity.

“I’m in between shows,” Haru admitted. “I just finished up in Osaka, so we’re taking a break before heading back home.” The singer took another sip of her drink before the two of you turned on Eun-ha.

The model gave a dismissive wave, “In town for a clothing shoot. The real question is why our darling ____ is here and not back home in lovely South Korea.” You smirked, tracing the rim of your glass and giving the waitress a polite nod as she delivered your orders.

“I am here,” you snuck a quick bite, “because I really wanted to eat at this cafe.” Your admission earned nothing but flat looks of disbelief. “I kept seeing photos,” you defended, gesturing at the rather adorable caterpillar sushi in front of you. “I’ll probably make a vlog later today, take some photos.” You shrugged, “Honestly, I don’t have anything planned right now.”

“No jobs scheduled,” Eun-ha repeated, clearly shocked.

“I’m on sabbatical,” You joked. “Only photos I’ll be taking are for me and Instagram.” From there, the three of you devolved into casual chatter, occasionally squealing at how utterly adorable everything was. A trio of girls, all suckers for the wonderfully weird world of Alice in Wonderland. The fun ended once Haru’s phone chimed, her manager calling her back to the hotel.

“We can walk you back,” You offered. The two of you were obstinately ignoring Eun-ha paying behind you. You’d tried splitting the bill, but the model had refused, citing that it was “her duty” as the eldest. Eldest by three days, but you weren’t bitter. Nope, not at all.

Haru shook her head, “No, they’ve sent someone to pick me up. You two should go explore, send me some photos!” You rolled your eyes, grabbing her into a hug. Eun-ha soon joined, obnoxiously resting all her weight on the pair of you.

“Yah! Get off me, you giantess,” your words were muffled by the sweater in your face, but she got the message, releasing you with a laugh. “Aish,” you muttered, trying to fix your hair. Haru merely snickered, seemingly unruffled by Eun-ha’s antics.

“We should really meet up again soon,” Haru said, watching as a sleek car rolled up, the driver clambering out to open the door for her.

“Definitely,” You and Eun-ha agreed. “I'll message you,” You promised, giving her a wave as the door closed and the car sped off.

“I need to go too,” Eun-ha admitted sheepishly. “My flight leaves in a few hours and I need to pack.”

You nodded sadly, “Where to now?”

“London, actually.” She pulled you into a hug. “Stay in touch, okay? And keep those videos coming, your last cooking attempt had me in tears,” She admitted with a laugh.

You giggled, giving her a punch in the arm. “Next cooking video, you’re going to be in it,” You swore. The two of you laughed. For all the grief Eun-ha gave you, she wasn’t much of a cook herself. The only difference between the two of you was that she was capable of using a knife without injury, as opposed to your ongoing battle to not bleed everytime you walked by one. The two of you shared one last bittersweet goodbye before finally separating.

You made your way to your hotel room, grabbing your camera. Not the one reserved for photos, sadly, but rather the one you used when filming. Setting it up on the tripod, you double checked the lighting, adjusted the settings, and started recording.

“Hello everyone! I wasn’t sure if I was going to video today, but I’m in Tokyo, so I couldn't resist. It’s rather beautiful here and I just got back from lunch. Eun-ha and Haru were able to make it, so we dined in wonder! No joke though,” you shifted on the bed and leaned forward, “We went to that cafe I’ve been dying to try! It’s called Alice in Fantasy Book and not only was the food and service superb but, the decor-'' You stopped, blinking meaningfully at the camera. “I died,” you said solemnly, “and it was so worth it.” You sat back, running a hand through your hair, “You all have known me awhile, okay. Aesthetics, themes, anything like that? You know I’m going to be into it. This place was honestly gorgeous you guys. They had chairs like the at the Mad Hatter’s table, Queen of Hearts theme was there, the waitresses were all in Alice's dress and-” You muffled a scream with your hands. “The walls were some of the most stunning things I have ever witnessed. They were painted with scenes from the novel and the artwork, oh my goodness. I think I fell in love with the walls,” You admitted sheepishly. “If any of you get the chance, especially my Alice in Wonderland fans, I advise you to go.”

“Anyway! It’s my second day here, yesterday I just walked around. I probably spent too much money shopping but meh,” You waved a hand at the thought. “My Pokemon collection has grown and I have more Luigi merch. That is all that matters. I’ll probably wander around some more tonight, take a few nightlife photos, but what I’m really excited about is tomorrow.” You rubbed your hands together, smiling gleefully. “I,” You proudly announced, “am going to drown myself in art! There are so many art museums here and I’m ready. There’s one focused on photography specifically, so you know I’m going there. I won’t keep this video so short - I have standards - which is why when I’m finally done editing, you all will have a lovely montage of me making a fool out of myself yesterday, playing in three, two-” You stopped recording, a grin on your face, “One.”

Whipping out your computer, you started editing, removing any awkward silences that might have snuck their way in first. Next came the audio, double-checking that it didn’t cut out randomly. It had happened once when you first started, and you’d been paranoid since. The montage was already done, simply needing to be stitched into the clip from tonight. You internally thanked your past self, who’d had the foresight to get ahead. Triple-checking everything and making sure you didn’t miss something, you finally nodded, loading it up to your account and sending out a quick tweet that your new video was up. Instagram was treated to a selfie and the same message.

You stood, stretching, and grabbed your camera bag, the light of Tokyo shining through your window. For all that it was late, you had the oddest feeling that something good was going to happen tonight. It could wait until after you got coffee, though.

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