#the fancy title is more for my own convenience but I like how it turns out

[curioushappenstance]

fic title: do you like my dress? it's got pockets [chapter 4]

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Summary: 9:19 Dragon – Varric Tethras loses his virginity to a pretty dwarf girl at the bar. 9:41 Dragon - The consequence walks through the gates of Skyhold. - In my childish fantasies, I used to dream of being the Champion; going places, meeting people, loving them and being loved in return, never discarded nor kicked nor beaten; love, in perpetuity, the likes of which a girl under the heavy and forceful hand of a mother could not begin to dream of, because she could not dream at all. - aka, the fic where varric has a daughter that he didn't know about until five minutes ago.

I ate all of my meals in the tavern.

It was close, convenient, and Cabot didn’t charge me. He let me eat in the storeroom, where it was quiet, and I could sit alone with my thoughts while Iowen managed the patrons—in her own way.

“The mirror,” I said, when Varric visited me one morning when the bar was still empty. It was several days since Hawke’s funeral, and we hadn’t spoken much since. Maybe he was embarrassed, I thought, or… maybe he was just avoiding me. “Was that you?”

The bags under his eyes were startlingly dark, and despite the bald healer’s insistence, he sipped from a tankard of potent Marcher ale. His other hand was busy caressing the feathers of a fancy, expensive quill. He was still wearing all black, and if not for his hair and jewellery, he would appear very dull.

“Mirror?”

I rubbed at a stubborn, suspicious stain that was embedded into the countertop. It hadn’t been there last night. I hoped Cabot wouldn’t mind if I couldn’t get it out.

“The one in my room.”

His ears turned a stark shade of red. He looked away, clutching the quill tighter, stray hands of hair falling over his eyes.

“Bumped into it,” he rasped, and tucked the hair back behind his ear. I couldn’t judge him for the lie, nor for his shame as he refused to look at me.

There was a brief silence, which he broke with a sharp inhale. “That blanket. Hawke gave it to you?”

I caressed the fabric draped over my shoulders. The warmth it gave me, the weight of it on my body, was the only true comfort I’d ever had.

“It was a cold night.” It hailed the next morning, and I woke to wet hair and blue fingers. “If he hadn’t…”

Would mother have grieved me, if I died out there in the cold?

I shook the thoughts from my head, and with it, the memory. “What are you writing?” I asked instead, and Varric glared at his parchment.

“Same damn thing I was writing a week ago. Blondie needs to know about…” He breathed through his nose and didn’t finish his sentence.

“And is he… who is he?”

Varric discarded his quill to the counter and leaned back in his seat. He hadn’t written a thing since he arrived, and the ink had dried on the tip. “You haven’t read my book, have you?”

I supposed being world famous did things to one’s ego. I didn’t know any one human, elf, or dwarf who hadn’t at least skimmed the damned thing—except me, whose heart lurched at the very prospect. How much did I know? Naught. Nothing. 

“I was forbidden,” I said.

He grumbled. “You can’t ‘forbid’ someone from reading a book, that’s ridiculous.”

You could. I’d seen it reflected in mother’s eyes, rage, fear, and abandonment as his pages kindled the fire. “Regardless…”

Varric sighed.

“Blondie—Anders. Him and Hawke eloped after Kirkwall went to shit. I missed the ceremony.” His expression soured. “It’s a recurring theme.”

“What do you mean?”

He took a long drink.

“Nevermind. How’s, uh… working with Cabot?”

I glanced around the empty room. One patron had come in through the door some minutes ago to sit by the fire, but that was all. “Quieter than I expected. I thought the soldiers might be… more.”

“Curly’s got a wrangle on ‘em. Used to be a lot worse. They mellowed out after Haven and… uh, you know.’

Haven. How different the Inquisition must have been then. “Were you in Haven?”

“When it was attacked, you mean.”

“Yes.”

Varric made a noise somewhere between a grumble and a sigh, then picked up his quill again. “Wasn’t on the front lines, but sure, I was there.”

It was difficult to picture. The roar of dragon fire in his eyes. “Were you scared?”

His entire body became suddenly rigid. He opened and shut his mouth, blinked, then grinned. “Nah. I was piss-drunk. Chuckles, though—”

“He’s bullshitting you.”

I jumped. Varric didn’t. The low, guttural voice came from above; Varric grinned at it in a sly, mischievous way, and the qunari, leaning over the railing that overlooked the bar, sent an identical one back, his one eye shrouded by the dark, but his teeth glinting.

“Tiny!” Varric exclaimed, “Aren’t you supposed to be in Jader, or… wherever it was?”

“Soon. Boys and I are waiting on the go-ahead from the boss. How’s your head?”

“It’s ‘ouch’. Hey, have you two met?”

I backed away. The qunari descended to the bar. Each step was a sharp, heavy stomp that made the stairs shake with his weight. At the bottom, he stopped, and leaned against a post.

“Nah.”

“Well. Now you have. Kid, you should join us for Wicked Grace sometime.”

The qunari’s eye gleamed like a campfire in the desert at night. I hid my shaking hands behind my back.

Not qunari. Not qunari. Tal-Vashoth! Right?

“I don’t gamble,” I squeaked.

“Doesn’t need to be for coin!”

What else could you play for? Clothes?! I shook my head. The qunari pushed off the post. 

“Don’t let him scam you,” he said.

“I—I don’t scam people!” Varric splayed his hand across his chest. “I’m a liar, not a fraud!”

“Uh-huh. Hey, how about giving me back my nice, fancy eyepatch? The one from Orlais? How’s that looking?”

“You lost it fair and square, Tiny.”

“Agh! You don’t even need it!”

“Yet! The operative word here is ‘yet’.”

The qunari grumbled under his breath and made for the door. “Whatever you say. Dwarf.”

“Have fun in Jader!”

The door slammed shut behind him. I released my breath through my teeth, and used the counter to steady my hands. Whatever he was doing in Jader, at least he wouldn’t be here, for a time.

Varric, as clueless to me now as he was to most things, physically deflated as he gazed back at his parchment. Then, with a heavy sigh, folded it into his pocket.

“I should probably get going. Before it gets busy.”

“Right.”

“Say hi to Cabot for me.”

“Yes.”

He pushed past a group of women that had just come in. I hopped onto the crate behind the bar, ready to serve them, watching Varric leave me behind.

-

Emelin du Luson, Revered Mother of the Chantry of Kirkwall, to Serah Isana Mercar, Master of her House, and Daughter to the late Serah Javarel Mercar, greetings.

After careful and thorough considerations, it is with the utmost remorse that we must dismiss your appeal for a Dwarven funeral service, and the cremation of the late Serah Javarel Mercar will proceed, as in accordance with Chantry Doctrine, on Solace 15th, 9:41 Dragon, forthwith. 

Go with the Maker’s Blessing and the Grace of our Most Holy Andraste, Maker’s Bride.

Written on the fifteenth day of Bloomingtide on the confines of Hightown, Kirkwall, in the forty-first year of The Dragon Age.

-

The splattered stain of wine slowly spread down the front of my dress. The offending glass lay in shattered fragments at my feet. The storeroom was cold. My fists shook at my sides.

Iowen reached out, then withdrew. She knelt and gathered the biggest shards into a sack; they scraped against the floor, an ear-piercing screech as her unsteady hands struggled to pick them up. When done, she stood.

Words lived then died on her tongue.

“I won’t tell Cabot,” she finally whispered.

I blinked away the hot tears that stung my eyes. I wouldn’t let them fall, I wouldn’t cry here. Iowen reached out again, and I withdrew.

Her voice rasped from disuse. “What happened?”

I unclenched a fist, finger by finger, and dragged my hands over my ruined dress. In my other, I clutched the scrunched-up, floral-scented, Maker-forsaken bastard of a letter in a white-knuckled, aching grip.

I should never have left.

I couldn’t be satisfied with what I had and what I had been given. Mother died for that stupidity, and now her soul would die, too. I had a home, I had security, I had a man who loved me, even when I was fundamentally unlovable, and when it wasn’t enough… it was never enough. Right?

I straightened my spine. “Please tell Cabot that I’m ill.”

It was nearly hurricane season in Kirkwall now. I had to leave immediately, or risk being caught adrift in The Waking Sea. It was a week from here to Jader, and then after that… three days by boat, less if the winds were strong. 

Could I hire a pony? Did I have enough silver? I counted what I had as I left the tavern, Iowen watching me go with sad eyes. I had nearly two sovereigns, so accounting for travel expenses, that was—

“Kid! Leaving early?”

I clenched a fist around my coinpurse.

Varric, breathless, struggled to keep up with me. “What’s that on your dress?”

Red like mother’s blood in the grout. “Wine.”

“Did one of the soldiers—?”

It didn’t matter how much he claimed to care now. He didn’t protect us, never provided for us, and after two decades surviving off Lowtown scraps, mother was dead, and he was still rich.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Kid. If someone’s—”

I shoved him, then shoved him again, and he stumbled, mouth open, inhaling sharply.

“Stop pretending to care!”

I ran to the tower, feet thudding beneath me. I burst into my quarters with my heart in my throat and my pulse in my ears. I ripped off my corset and my kirtle, throwing them to the floor. Damn Varric! Damn the Chantry! Damn fucking Kirkwall!

I changed into my old clothes. I shoved everything into my pack. I tied it up, threw it over my shoulder, and glared up at the spider dangling above the chest of drawers.

“You didn’t even catch any fucking flies.”

It didn’t reply, just like it didn’t before, and with burning eyes, I threw my door open.

THUNK.

Varric cried out. His hand flew to where a fresh, door-shaped mark slowly spread across his forehead. “What is it with you and concussions?!”

“What do you want?”

“I—” His eyes, squinted in pain, fixated on my pack. In the hand at his side, he clutched the chipped, empty vase from his quarters. “What’re you—?”

“I’m leaving.”

He breathed in and out for a few silent moments, unmoving, his brow deeply furrowed. “What, Skyhold?”

“I’m going back to Kirkwall.”

“You… you can’t.”

As if a man like him could tell me what I could and could not do. I moved to leave; he blocked the doorway.

“ Varric. ”

He breathed again, in and out. A child outside threw a tantrum in the mud. Clenching his jaw, he held out the vase by its neck.

“Came to give this to you.”

Slowly, delicately, I took it. His fingers dragged along its body before it left his grasp. “Why?”

“You kept looking at it. Figured you liked it.”

I did. I really did, flowers or no flowers, daisies or no daisies. I put it on my window sill next to an empty, dusty candle-holder, and stared at it in the sun as Varric stepped in and closed the door behind.

There was a click, as he locked it.

“I—I’ll get a response from my contact soon, I promise. I’ll figure something out.”

I stared past him. “I can’t…”

“There’s a spot just outside Skyhold, uh, this shallow cave. We’ll meet him there, and have a chat, and then you can—”

“I can’t.”

“It’s not safe.”

“Stop it!” I snatched the candle-holder and threw, hard as I could—”Stop pretending to care!”—He ducked, and it missed him by inches, slamming into the door—”You didn’t before, you don’t now, and you never fucking will!”

“Didn’t ‘before’? Kid—!”

“Shut up!”

“I didn’t know about—”

“ Bullshit! ” I threw my pack against the floor. Birds scattered from the roof above. “She wrote letters, I saw them!”

So many, so many! As if she could ever stop at just fucking one! And how many times had he dared to grace his bastard daughter with the barest acknowledgement? He couldn’t even say sorry when I told him my mother was dead. The corners of his lips lifted just enough to bare the faintest glint of his teeth.

“I never got any damn letters.”

“Liar.”

His eyes narrowed, his mouth still parted. A long quiet stretched out for ten seconds, then ten more, as he eyed the vase on the windowsill. 

He jutted his chin and blew out a breath. “You don’t believe me. Fine, I’m used to it. But before you go running off, tell me why. I’m owed that much.”

“I don’t owe you anything.

“Kid. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I don’t care!”

Something like faint recognition played behind his eyes, and abruptly he looked away, reaching up to tug on his golden necklace. His voice was measured.

“I gotta check in with the reconstruction efforts anyway, so…” He let go of it, and it fell against his chest. “Guess I’m going with you.”

A bird flew past my window. In a voice quieter than I thought possible, I asked,

“What?”

“Someone’s gotta stop you getting killed. I”ll have to have someone take my mail, maybe forward it to Kirkwall, but…”

“But… but, why—?”

“Fuck’s sake,” he hissed, “you really think I don’t care?! No, whatever, believe what you want. But tell me what’s going on!”

I shuffled my feet. My boots squeaked against the floorboards. My pack mocked me from where I threw it, motionless judgement.

Why did I do that?

My cheeks burned as I dug the letter from my pocket. Varric took and un-scrunched it.

“The Revered Mother…?”

“She was always kind to me in the Chantry. And the Sisters would give me warm bread, and…” and in the end, it all meant nothing. I was nothing. Mother was nothing.

When he finished reading, he stared out the window.

My voice warbled. “I need to convince her. Maybe she doesn’t understand.”

He ran a hand over his hair. “You want a dwarf funeral?”

“Yes, she needs to be returned to the Stone. I researched the rites, and the proper words, and all.”

His expression was indescribable and indiscernible. “I don’t really get it, but—”

“ ‘Get it’?”

“—if that’s what you want, then yeah. Sure. Let’s convince her.”

“What do you mean, you don’t get it?”

Something settled deep in my chest that was somewhere between disappointment and anger. I couldn’t tell which it was. They tangled together, like thick knots I was too clumsy to tug loose. How could he not get it? He was a dwarf, too.

Suddenly tired, I collapsed onto my bed, pack forgotten. “Your family… are all surfacers, then?” I tried. Mother was an exile from Orzammar. Somehow, I imagined he might’ve been too, but thinking on it…

“My family? Sure, now they are, I guess.” He joined me on the bed, sighing as he sank into the mattress. “My brother was from Orzammar, but me? Kirkwall, born and bred.”

Brother? Did I have an uncle? “Why did they leave?”

“Had to flee. Our father was fixing Provings. But, hey, turned out fine in the end! For me, anyway.”

I kicked my feet against the bed frame. He copied me, and for a minute, it was just the sounds of boots hitting wood.

“And for your brother?”

He opened and shut his mouth. “...You know what? Ask me another time, kid.”

-

“It’s a week to the nearest port.” Varric tapped his quill against a page of fresh parchment. The main hall’s fireplace dwindled into a spark, waiting for fresh fuel. He’d convinced me to stay another day, but I was… antsy. “Give or take. You’re fine with sleeping on the road?”

“I did it before.”

“Sure, with a bunch of refugees to bundle up with. It’ll be a lot colder without ‘em, and two lonely dwarves in the mountains…”

“Is it possible we’ll be attacked?”

“Skip possible and go straight to likely. We should bring someone else with us, another dwarf, maybe? We could probably pass as merchants.”

Harding entered through the large door that entered into the hall, a bow over her shoulder, and beelined to hover over the table. “The Inquisitor said you were leaving!”

I leaned back into the chair. Varric waved his hand in dismissal.

“Merchant Guild business in Kirkwall.” The lie rolled off his tongue with an uncanny, practised ease. Is that what he told the Inquisitor, too? “We’ll be back before you miss us, don’t worry.”

“So that’s where you know each other from, huh?”

“Oh, uh—”

“Yes,” I said.

They both looked at me; Harding with surprise, and Varric with his mouth in a line. Why was he annoyed?! He started it!

“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “We’re tryna bolster our numbers a bit, avoid getting attacked on the road. Any suggestions?”

“Hmmm.” She cocked one hip and contemplatively crossed her arms. “Port’s in Jader, right? Aren’t the Chargers heading that way?”

“Us with the Chargers?” He chuckled. “I think the kid here would have an aneurysm. We need something nondescript, but…”

I squinted up at Harding. The light behind her was a bit blinding. “You’re a scout, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

If it had to be anyone, anyone at all, in the whole of Skyhold… might as well be someone I actually knew. I looked to Varric, who instantly understood.

“Hey, Harding,” he said, “can I ask a favour?”

[amaikana]

TPN Mangakas Interview: original plan changes, Dr. Stone overlap, & rushed ending

(pic above is taken from vol 20 manga’s commentaries)

The Promised Neverland is a fairly successful Shonen Jump manga series that’s just ended a few months ago. Kaiu Shirai is the author of said series, and Demizu Posuka is the artist who illustrated the manga to completion. This month (October 2020) the duo did a magazine interview in the context of the manga’s end of serialization.

The interview was in Japanese, shared by @TPNmanga and translated by @shamstahsin on twitter. What I’m sharing here is only a few tidbits I found interesting. You can visit their accounts for the complete interview.

Shirai’s comment on how much his story changed from his original plan:

Shirai’s explanation on why the story end so quickly:

Shirai & Posuka’s comments on their future plan:

Shirai & Posuka’s comments on the upcoming Live Action:

[high-functioning-lokipath]

Marriage with a Spin - Loki x Reader - Words: 2,613

A/N: Enemies-ish to Relationship & Fake Relationship trope-ish LOL…Pic below is not mine but simply is for reference about rings...this was the best basis I could find 🤣 I'm using the Spin and Zero rings in this oneshot

Also! A big thanks for @ladylulu143 for helping my come up with a title and for proofreading this for me! 💖💖🤗🤗

"Alright, this is the latest alien artifact we have found," Steve said. He held up a gold ring with a small blue stone. "When on, the wearer can decelerate time around them, appearing to be at superspeed to those watching."

"So what's the deal now?" You asked. Tony brought a picture of another ring on the screen behind Cap.

"This recently popped up on our radar. By the readings we're getting from it, it seems to be related to this guy here. However, it's being held in this mansion," Tony said, clicking to the next picture. "Owned by billionaire Samuel Thatcher."

"So what am I doing here again?" Loki asked flippantly.

"Mr. Thatcher is holding a gala tomorrow night. You and Miss Y/L/N will be attending and will conveniently slip away at some point during the evening to retrieve the ring from his vault."

"Loki and me?" You exclaimed. "Why? Would you fit in much better at one of those swanky parties?"

"Everyone knows me, Y/N," Tony said, rolling his eyes.

"What about Steve then? He knows how to dance and be all proper! He's from the 40's for goodness sake!"

"Have you ever seen me try to fit in at one of those, how did you say it, swanky parties?" Steve asked with a smirk. "You two have enough class to fit in. Besides, the vault is secured by a fingerprint and retinal scan. The only person here who could pull that off is Loki."

"That is true," Loki replied with a smirk.

"Fine. What time is it?" You groan.

"6pm tomorrow," Steve answered. You nodded and got up to leave. "Oh! And one more thing!" You turned around suspiciously and saw an unnerving smile plastered across the face of America's Golden Boy. "You're going as Mr. & Mrs. Hank and Audrey Williams."

"Mister and Misses?" You both exclaimed. Steve nodded and Tony was smirking.

"Don't forget this!" Tony said, tossing the ring to you.

"Is this supposed to be my wedding ring?" You asked sarcastically.

"Actually no," Steve said. "It would seem that the ring only works on the right middle finger."

"Great. So what am I supposed to do about this?" You asked, wriggling your left fingers.

"No need to worry, darling," Loki replied. He waved his hand and a beautiful gold and emerald wedding band appeared on your finger. "Now, shall we go to my room and prepare for the rest of this delightful mission?" He asked, a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

"Of course, my dear," You replied, rolling your eyes.

The next day, Loki came to your room at about 3 in the afternoon. "What do you want, Loki?" You growled, quite annoyed that he was bothering your 'me-time'.

"Change into your uniform and meet me in my room in 5 minutes. We need to prepare." He turned to walk away but you grabbed his arm.

"Why? We should be resting before our mission tonight! I thought we already did all our planning yesterday!"

"Tactical, yes. But not practical." He once again turned away and started down the hallway. You groaned and ran after him.

"What do you mean practically? We get fancied up, we go, we get the ring, we leave. If we get in any sort of confrontation, we fight and then we leave! Simple!"

"What are you going to wear?"

"Well I can't show up in tactical so I have this old party dress. It's not perfect but it'll do I guess."

"No it will not. Where will you put your weapons? What if you need to run? Or fight?" Loki listed off his objections quickly and tutted at you. "No, no. That simply will not do."

"Well what do you suggest, oh great fashion god," You replied sarcastically. Loki rolled his eyes and waved his hand. "Oh my!" You gasped. He'd transformed your current outfit into a lovely floor length, emerald green dress. He even outfitted you with jewelry!

"And I can do the same with your-what did you call it? Tactical gear?"

"Ok, ok," you chuckled. "Thank you. I really appreciate it." You smiled genuinely and, for a moment, you thought he would return the sentiment. But he kept his disinterested demeanor and whooshed away the dress.

"I'll return it later when you're ready. You will need to do your own hair and makeup." You nodded and headed back to your room till the evening.

That night, you stood at your mirror adding the finishing touches to your mascara when suddenly there was noise beside you. Jumping in surprise, you accidentally smeared the mascara on your face. "Loki!" You exclaimed, seeing the mischievous prince standing in your room. "You scared me!"

"Well, I am naturally terrifying." You rolled your eyes and turned back to the mirror to fix your face.

"There! All done," You announced. "Well, with the exception of my dress and-" Before you could even finish he had cast his illusion upon your clothing.

"Enough with your blathering. Let's go."

"Hmph. And here I had hope you'd finally removed your head from your-"

Later at the Gala, Loki was being the perfect gentleman. Very suave and debonair. You were impressed. Of course you had to play your part too. You were smiling at his side, holding his arm. You both mingled for a while, trying to get a feel of the room, before he asked if you wished to dance. A bit surprised, you simply nodded. He whisked you out to the dance floor gracefully and pulled you close.

"The vault is downstairs. We need to find an excuse to slip out soon," He whispered to you.

"What if I pretend to be ill?" You offered.

"Someone would undoubtedly take you upstairs to one of the bedrooms to rest. That is the opposite of what we're trying to accomplish."

"But what if I'm afraid of heights?" You countered. He quirked an eyebrow at you and chuckled lowly.

"That is a terrible idea. Only you would think of it."

"I don't know whether to be insulted or flattered. And I think the problem is I have really fantastic bad ideas." He smirked and shook his head in disbelief.

"At least you own up to it," He teased. You grinned, unable to help yourself from staring at him. Though you were on a mission, he seemed so relaxed. This was definitely his element. "You're staring, my dear."

“You are very attractive. Therefore I will stare at you," You admitted. He blushed brightly and looked away but then his eyes lit up.

"I've got it!" He stepped back and led you off the dance floor towards the open bar. "Follow my lead," He hissed. "Would you get me a drink, sweet? You know what I like," He said, somewhat loudly.

"Of course, darling," You replied. When you returned with your drinks you noticed Loki was staring at a group of young women. They had noticed him too and were smiling back at him. "What are you looking at?" You asked innocently, handing him his glass.

"Oh nothing," He replied quickly, turning away. You made a point of following his previous line of sight and made eye-contact with the still giggling females.

"Nothing?" You yelled. "You call that nothing? You were flirting again! Staring at some other woman!"

"I find them very attractive. Therefore I will stare at them," He replied. You held back a laugh, realizing what gave him the idea. "You know how I am," He purred, trying to move closer to you again.

"Get away from me!" You yelled, stepping back and throwing your glass on the floor. This drew everyone's attention. "You disgust me, Hank. This was your last chance and you botched it up! I'm going home!" You turned on your heel and stormed out.

"Audrey! Audrey! Please wait!" He called out. He ran after you into the grand hallway where you were pretending to be searching for your keys. You both noticed the small collection of men, including Mr. Thatcher, who were watching you from the ballroom doors. "Please, darling, can't we discuss this?"

"At home," You finally said. He nodded and held the front door for you. You both stepped outside, out of view, and then you activated the ring. It felt weird, time slowing around you, but you moved past your surprise and got to work. You ran back into the ballroom and very carefully chipped a very important supporting piece of one of the ice sculptures on the table. Giving it a small tap, you then ran back out to the main entrance and positioned yourself just outside the doors where you could still have a view of the main hallway. You deactivated the ring and heard the crash of the ice. Immediately, the men looking into the hallway ran back in, leaving the hallway unwatched. You and Loki were now free to sneak back into the mansion.

"The vault is downstairs but only accessed here," Loki murmured, leading you to a hidden staircase.

"Typical," You chucked, only mildly surprised by the motif. When you got down there, you noticed there were three levels of security. A key, a fingerprint scanner, and a retinal scanner. "Oh great! How are we supposed to get through that?"

"Never fear, my darling," Loki replied with a smirk. "Remember why they chose me?" He then changed, taking on the appearance of the party's host, Mr. Thatcher. He quickly got past the fingerprint and retinal scan but the key was still needed. Changing back to himself, he said, "The guards have keys."

"There are guards down here?" You whisper-yelled. Loki rolled his eyes frustratedly but before he could reply you heard footsteps coming down the hall.

"Follow my lead!" Loki demanded.

"Wha-" Loki interrupted you with a kiss and pushed you against the wall. You gasped in surprise but you had to admit to yourself he was talented.

"What are you doing down here?" The guard exclaimed. Loki slowly pulled away from you with the guiltiest expression on his face. You knew it was fake of course, but the guard was tricked.

"Were we not to be here?" He asked, voice slightly higher than usual. "We were only trying to find a-" He paused, smirking slightly. "A more private location." The guard shook his head and chuckled.

"Whatever floats your boat, man," He replied. "But I would suggest exploring the upstairs bedrooms." He gave them both a little wave and headed back around the corner.

"I’m going to strangle you," You said as soon as the guard was out of earshot.

"Oh please! You can’t even reach my neck," Loki replied. You grabbed his tie and pulled him down, pretending to be moving for another kiss. However, you tapped his neck lightly and smirked.

"Gotcha!" You giggled quietly and then held out your hand. "Oh! And look what I got!" She held up the key ring for the door. "While you were busy embarrassing yourself, I used my telekinesis and got the key!"

"Of course you did! That was my plan all along," Loki replied.

"Pretending to love you is like a walk in the park. Jurassic Park," You grumbled. Loki grabbed your sides and growled in your ear as you opened the vault door. "You're so weird!" You hissed, walking in and trying to find the ring.

"And you’re so weird it’s attractive," He retorted, finding the box immediately and tossing it to you.

"Well, if I’m weird with you, I’m comfortable," You admitted. Loki looked at you in surprise but you just shrugged. "Look, you really piss me off sometimes, but," you paused. "Somehow I still like you."

"And I you, my dear," He replied. "Now as much as I would love to continue this discussion I do suggest you figure out how to use that thing and we get out of here!" You put on the ring, trying it on a few different fingers before you found the correct one.

"Ok, let's see what it does." When you activated it, it shot a cold blast at the shelf in front of you, encasing it in ice. "Cool!" You joked. Loki shook his head and grabbed your arm, trying to hurry out. Just as you got to the top of the stairs, you heard footsteps.

"Well well well," Mr. Thatcher growled, blocking your exit. A few of his goons stood behind him as well. "Mr. & Mrs. Williams was it? I don't think so," he sneered.

"Well, I don't think so either but we're not doing this today!" You shot them all with the ice and Loki shoved them out of the way. You both heard more footsteps down the hallway and looked at each other nervously. "Do you trust me?" You asked. Loki nodded.

"With my life." You gave him a tight smile and activated the Spin ring. You ran down the hallway and found where the other goons were at. You tried to use the Zero ring, with the ice powers, but found yourself unable to control it's aim.

"Well that's fantastic," you grianed. Rethinking your plan, you went back to get Loki. There was no way you'd both be able to get out of there at normal speed so you had one option. Lug Loki out yourself at super-speed.

"What the heck? Do you weigh 500 pounds or something?" You groaned when you couldn't pull or carry him. "Ok, last option. I hope this works," You muttered. You focused almost all your energy on moving Loki using your telekinesis. It was slow going, but at super-speed, you still would beat the bad guys. By the time you got him out the door to safety, you were exhausted. You immediately disengaged the ring and he looked around confused.

"How did I get here?"

"Talk later, run now," You gasped, trying to stop the dizziness that had overtaken you.

"Are you alright?" He asked worriedly. You were about to reply when you collapsed, simply too drained to continue.

When you woke up, you felt a cool cloth on your forehead and soft blankets around you. "Where am I?" You groaned.

"I brought you back to the tower. I told the Captain his debriefing could wait," Loki replied. You sat up slowly and looked around. Raising an eyebrow, you stared at Loki questioningly. "Yes, this is my room. I wanted to keep an eye on you while you recovered. I informed the Captain that those rings are very dangerous and should not be used. They obviously were too much for you to handle and-"

"It wasn't the rings," You interrupted. You looked away, somewhat embarrassed. "Well, I was still in super-speed, but I used my telekinesis to get you out. We probably would have been shot otherwise. It used a lot of my energy but it was worth it."

"Oh darling," Loki sighed, gently pushing a stand of hair off your face. "You-" He leaned forward, giving you a quick kiss on your forehead. "You're amazing. I never expected you or anyone to care so much for me!"

"Of course I care!" You replied. "Look, you still drive me insane with some of your tricks. But you're a good guy," You smiled.

"And you're a wonderful woman," He said. You grinned at him happily, still tired but already feeling much better. "So what do you think, should we give us a try?"

"Why not? It may be the first really fantastic bad idea of mine that works out!" Loki smiled and gave you a kiss. You sighed contentedly and leaned on his shoulder when you pulled away.

"Oh darling? One more thing. It was my idea."

Loki Taglist

@lucywrites02

@delightfulheartdream

@serpentargo

@khena

@nyx2021

@kaz11283

@weasley-main-lover

@up-to-mischief

@lokislittlesigyn

@darkacademicfrom2021

Marvel (all characters) Taglist

@bartv21

@another-crazy-fangirl

@whatafuckingdumbass

@ladylulu143

[masterwords]

The Story of a Lifetime

Notes: Written from a prompt by @unionjackpillow about Rossi feeling too old for Aaron and being pleasantly surprised to find it isn't the case. I sat on it forever trying to figure out how to do it justice and I'm not sure whether I did or not, but I did something. It's kind of chaotic in places, and the timeline is a little wibbly wobbly so my apologies. (Title comes from the song "Don't Worry" by Goo Goo Dolls.) This one goes out to all of my Hossi shippers who are sad that I keep writing Mortch/Hotchgan. I still love you! <3

Warnings: Nothing really? There is some allusion to childhood trauma/abuse, some alcohol, that's about it. This one is pretty tame.

Words: ~5k

You can read it on AO3 if you like, too!

As cigar lounges often went, the one Dave and Max found themselves seated in was dark and smoky. Hushed conversations, powerful men, almost like a secret society. They reclined in mahogany leather wing back chairs, a small round table between them displaying their scotch and a sampling of cigars they'd decided tickled their fancy. Behind them was the humidor, stocked from floor to ceiling with any cigar you could possibly want, even some that Dave used to have a guy who handled. Those days has passed. It was more convenient now, and legal of course, but he missed the intrigue, the way it felt to have a guy. Some changes were easy to adapt to, like moving from painstakingly handwriting a manuscript to using a computer, while others made Dave wonder at whether or not he was becoming a relic himself.

“You must be proud,” Max mused, reclined in his chair and Dave nodded, sipping his scotch. It had been too long since he'd had an opportunity to sit with his old friend, well over a decade if anyone was counting. They'd scheduled their meet up when news of Gideon's passing hit Ryan's radar and rescheduled it a number of times due to demands on Dave's time with the BAU. Both of them being published authors meant they occasionally crossed paths on the book tour circuits but rarely on personal time. This was, in both of their opinions, a rare treat.

“He's one hell of an agent,” Dave replied, and it was Max's turn to nod. What Max knew or didn't know about his relationship with Aaron was, at present, inconsequential. They were discussing the announcement that Aaron would be receiving the FBI Medal of Valor later that week at a gala, a medal he had argued against many times because he simply didn't think he should get special recognition for doing his job. The idea that not everyone was willing to put their own personal well-being in jeopardy for the sake of saving lives was entirely lost on Aaron, a fact that endeared him to those who knew him best and frustrated nearly everyone else.

“Does it ever feel strange? He was so young when you recruited him, and now look at him. Hell, look at all of us. You and I are old and gray, Gideon has passed on, time has certainly slipped between our fingers...”

Dave thought it a funny thing to say. Aaron was still young, at least he was young enough. He was training for a marathon with Morgan, even with the injuries he'd sustained just a couple months prior he'd managed not to miss out on his runs, only adapted them to accommodate his current abilities. He took Jack out every weekend and ran soccer drills with him until he could barely stand and he played one hell of a game of golf. No, Aaron wasn't old, but Dave had the crushing feeling that somehow he'd blinked and gotten old, much too old to be with a man like Aaron. The golf he could keep up with, but the rest he sat in the cheering section and even then he was ready for a nap just watching.

“How long has it been now, you two I mean?” Max asked, and Dave bristled a little. He wasn't sure why, maybe just the way Max had been talking about youth had gotten under his skin. It was apparent that Max had been informed of his relationship with Aaron, a fact that wasn't surprising, people loved to gossip, but not Max. The man had no tolerance for the stuff. He was barely interested in his own personal life of which there was very little to speak, exactly the way he preferred it.

“Two years,” Dave replied, swirling the liquid in his glass. He smiled in spite of himself. “Nearly as long as any of my marriages. So far so good.” Max smiled and raised his glass, a silent cheers as he veered off to the left again.

“And I understand you got a kid out of the deal?”

“Jack. He's great. Been through too much for someone so young, but then, he's been through a lot even for someone my age...” he let his voice trail off, and Max averted his eyes, not daring to touch the subject of Aaron and his loss without careful consideration of his words. Some time had passed but the wound never seemed to heal, not really and even Max knew to tread lightly.

“Is that what this Medal of Valor is about?” Max had been biting his tongue, waiting to ask. Dave just shrugged. He didn't like the question, didn't like the tone, as if Aaron didn't deserve it tenfold but he supposed it was just Max's way. His bedside manner left a lot to be desired, it was likely he meant no harm by it.

“Not exactly, at least the brass won't cop to it if it is. He's gotten himself out of it more than once, asked them to give it to someone more deserving but I suppose it was only a matter of time. We had a case in Texas a couple of months ago, there was a bomb and he was injured saving two hostages and three agents inside the building. It was the stupidest damn thing I've ever seen anyone do but I've gotta give him credit, he got it done and not even the unsub died. We spent an extra week in Texas at the hospital and he's got another month of physical therapy for his arm, at least, but we're making do and he's being rewarded for exceptional bravery in the line of duty.”

“Making up for the botched job he and Gideon did with Adrian Bale, huh? Well, good for him,” Max said, shifting in his seat. Dave overlooked the cruelty in Max's words in favor of keeping the peace. “Good for him.”

Jack was buzzing around the apartment with Aaron's cuff links cupped tight in his hand, cape flying behind him as he ran. He was almost ten and still enjoyed dressing up and playing, something Aaron took great pride in. That his son retained his youthful innocence as long as possible was of the utmost importance to him after everything he'd put the boy through. He didn't do it quite as often anymore, but when he did, Aaron couldn't help but feel the infectious happiness of a boy lost in his own world. “I got your cuplings back from Two Face, daddy!” he announced, leaping into the bathroom and revealing the prize in his sweaty palm. Aaron smiled and picked the treasures out of his son's hand, thanking him for his service.

“What would I have done without you, Batman?” he asked, pinning the cuff links in place. It was harder than it should have been, fingers slipping out of place repeatedly as he struggled to maintain pressure. He was still gaining dexterity back in his hand and the brace he had to wear didn't help matters, it pinched his wrist and pushed it painfully into a position that felt unnatural all while being assured it was helping. Still, he managed. Jack regarded the cuff links closely, eyeing the intricate markings, just barely making out a swirling letter H in the mix. “These belonged to my grandfather, your great grandfather. His father was a metal smith who made jewelry. They've been passed down, from my grandfather to my father, then to me and someday if you think you'd like it, I'll give them to you.”

“Tomorrow?!” Jack asked, grinning. Aaron smiled and shook his head. With as fast as time seemed to move these days, it might as well be tomorrow. Some days he was sure he'd wake to find Jack had gone away to college over night.

“Maybe not tomorrow, but when you're older. My father gave them to me when I was accepted to law school, along with my first real suit. I wore them when I married your mom, they're very special.” he said softly, a sweet smile gently easing the intensity of his feelings. He was cautious, never spoke ill of his father, focused on the things the man did that were worthy of admiration, kept the rest to himself.

“Does uncle Sean have cuplings too?”

Aaron regarded the question seriously, cherishing the mispronunciation. Normally he would correct the boy but he gave him a pass here, it was too sweet, his mispronounced words were few and far between anymore and by the time he had occasion to say the word again it would have naturally corrected itself, he was certain. “No, I doubt it. I don't even think uncle Sean owns a suit, but you know what he got? He got our grandfather's pocket knife. He made it himself.”

“Can I have that too?” Jack asked, and Aaron chuckled.

“I suppose you can, if uncle Sean gives it to you.”

“Oh, he will!” And Aaron thought Jack was probably right with confidence like that. From the other room they heard the door open, Jessica's warm greeting, and before Aaron knew it, Jack was dashing out of the bathroom and down the hall toward Dave in the doorway, looking just like Bruce Wayne in his tuxedo.

“Papa!” Jack called, swooping into the living room. “Do you have cuplings like daddy?”

Dave raised his eyebrow and pursed his lips, quickly working to decode the question. “Cuff links?” he asked, holding out his sleeves to show Jack his. “Like these?” Dave's were shiny, Jack noted, and looked a lot newer than his father's. He wondered why but didn't want to ask, maybe it was one of those grown up things that asking about would upset someone, he was quickly learning a lot about those sorts of things as he wandered through life. Jack touched one of Dave's cuff links, smiling.

“They're pretty,” he said before flying down the hall, back to his father in the bathroom before he missed whatever the next step in getting ready for a big fancy party was. He'd already been present for the excitement of shaving, and his father's difficult time taming his unruly bed head even with a fresh haircut, brushing his teeth, the whole nine yards. Next up, he was pretty sure, had to be the tie and he couldn't have been more excited.

Aaron listened to Dave speaking to Jessica as he looked in the mirror, adjusting his collar, fiddling with his cuff links nervously. He hated this. He thought about hosting parties in their home for politicians and holidays, fundraising events for people Aaron knew had dubious moral codes, caddying at the country club and listening to his father and their friends. These functions brought back memories he would rather let lie.

He was eight when his father brought him along to the golf course for the first time. He'd begged before that, desperately seeking something they could bond over, something he could do to make his father love him. The other boys his age carried their father's clubs, knew what each one specialized in, got fancy Italian sodas with lots of cream and umbrellas at the restaurant when they were all done. Aaron didn't mind if he didn't get the umbrellas, he was seeking the proud smile when he helped his father select his driver or his nine iron, knew the differences. He had spent hours memorizing each club, it's strengths and weaknesses, the nicknames. If his father was impressed by any of this, he never let on. Still, on the days they golfed, things were good.

“Your son is so well-behaved,” one of his friends had told him as they stood on the putting green. “He never steps out of line. You're going to need to let me in on your secrets...”

“You've got to start them young,” he would reply, winking at Aaron who just stood back with a blank stare. Start them young was code, he figured, from one old man to another. Start them young meant to strip them of their innocence, their youthful curiosity that got them into trouble, beat the enthusiasm right out of them. Start them young was code that Aaron wished he didn't understand. He handed his father his putter and stepped back, willing the ball into the hole with every fiber of his being. The better his father did, the better the trip home would be.

“How is he?” Dave asked, taking a seat on the couch beside Jessica. He'd been nervous driving over, wondering what sort of mood Aaron would be in, what he would find. Aaron hated FBI functions, avoided them as often as he could, and the fact that this particular function involved him receiving an honor and having to both hear speeches made about him as well as one he had to make, Dave thought it might just send him over the edge. They'd purposely kept it a secret that Derek had been asked to make the presentation, and he would be bringing Penelope with him. They thought it better left a surprise though Dave was feeling some regret now. Jessica just smiled and shrugged.

“Oh, he's good,” she remarked, sipping her coffee. “Jack told me he would make sure daddy was okay. That's why he's dressed as Batman.” Dave held his mug of coffee, steaming and fresh, wondering how Aaron was really doing. He had been complaining all week about this function that would zap his entire weekend, to which Dave rolled his eyes and called him dramatic. He knew what Aaron meant, he knew the man would be utterly spent by the time the night was over, drained of life for his Sunday that would inevitably involve a early morning run with Morgan followed by a tee time with lunch that they'd rescheduled the last three weekends in a row for work. Dave didn't even like golf but Aaron loved it and they would bring Jack along, let the boy caddy if he wanted to and sometimes even steer the golf cart. Mostly Jack liked to run around in the grass or lie down and poke at the bugs, and he loved the fancy dessert cart that came to their table while they ate. After lunch, soccer drills at the park with Jack's team would take up the rest of the afternoon and by the time bed time rolled around Aaron would be dead on his feet, ready to start his work week ready for a vacation. Dave had reminded him, as he rattled off the to do list for the weekend, that none of the things he had to do were unpleasant – it was all fun, with people he loved, and of course Aaron agreed but that didn't change the simple fact that it was exhausting.

Aaron breezed through the apartment moments later, desperately searching for the mug of coffee he'd set down an hour ago. “Dave,” he said, breezing by without stopping. “I'm running behind, I apologize. Make yourself at home, I should just be a few more minutes and then we can go grab the drink you promised me. Jessica, have you seen my co - “ he began, but she lifted the mug from the coffee table and handed it to him with a smirk. He accepted gratefully and swept back toward his bedroom, bow tie hanging loose around his neck.

“He seems flustered,” Dave mumbled and Jessica shrugged.

“He's fine, really. This reminds me of when we were teenagers. Dave...” Jessica said with a sudden air of wistfulness he found enchanting. “You should have seen some of the parties his parents would throw in their home or at the country club. He asked me to come with him once, when Haley was out of town with the choir. It was his family's annual Christmas party, there were actual famous people there. Maybe not really really famous, but politicians and TV personalities, people with fancy accents and dresses that cost more than my parents' car. I'd never even set foot inside of the country club, I couldn't believe he grew up like that.”

“Well,” Dave said in a hushed tone. “Smoke and mirrors, as they say.” She nodded somberly. Supposed she shouldn't be romanticizing the parties the way she did, but they had been the most extravagant and incredible things she'd ever experienced. Aaron would invite she and Haley, and they would dress up and eat the hor d'oeuvres and Aaron would name all of the really important people and she would watch his parents parade him around meeting everyone, networking, getting letters of recommendation for his college applications, and then they would leave, go find the nanny with Sean and take him outside and Aaron would run around in the grass in his dress clothes tossing Sean through the air, tackling him to the ground.

“I suppose they had everyone fooled, huh?” she asked, biting her lip. Dave nodded and sipped his coffee.

“People like that usually do.”

“They threw a party for him when the acceptance letters started rolling in, this big extravagant graduation party and celebration and they expected him to announce which school he'd chosen. Of course he didn't want to do any of it, classic Aaron. It was the talk of the town, and just before the party he got strep throat. He could barely talk, he was so sick and his mother refused to reschedule the party because family was flying in and the country club was booked out for months, so his father got one of the doctors in town to prescribe all sorts of things, this insane cocktail of medications – steroids and pain killers and Haley was so upset, she told him not to take any of it, to stay home and in bed but you know Aaron. He'd made the commitment already, so he took the whole mess of medications, it really messed him up. He chose George Washington University because they offered him a full ride which just pissed his father off because he'd wanted his son to go to Georgetown, said the money didn't matter, it was where the whole family went, it was a big deal. Didn't go over well. Not a great party.” She let her voice trail off for a moment and sighed.

“Talking about anyone I know?” Aaron asked, standing behind them as they gossiped on the couch. They hadn't realized he'd entered the room, apologized but he just smiled and shrugged it off. Dave thought he looked younger then, his eyes had a light he hadn't seen in years and he became acutely aware of his own age in contrast. That decade of life between them, usually inconsequential, suddenly felt insurmountable, like he was lying in a coffin.

Jessica watched Aaron in the kitchen, washing his hands and preparing a snack for Jack in his tuxedo and she thought about all of the invitations she'd stacked up for him to sort through, fundraising parties for political candidates and holidays and country clubs, and she knew they all ended up in the trash. His father would have attended as many as he could, eager to make his name known, and here Aaron was tossing them aside in favor of Friday pizza nights, Saturday morning cartoons and Sunday runs in the park. Strauss had told him many times he needed to make more of an effort to attend them, he was going to sabotage his own upward trajectory if he didn't get himself out there – he'd come into the FBI so strong, made a name for himself, gotten himself on everyone's radar and then settled himself in too deep when he joined the BAU. He liked the BAU, though, it had become home, he'd found a family, and he had no more real desire to rise higher. The work he did made him feel something, it was worthwhile and he already attended too many meetings as it were. There was an occasional acceptance, one he knew he couldn't brush off, maybe one that would be beneficial to him or his team in the long run if he just showed up and made the rounds, but he wouldn't prioritize his own name or ambitions anymore. That was a younger man's game, he'd lost too much to ambition. What he still had kept him honest, kept him home and if he had to let his tuxedo sit unused in his closet to work through hours of soccer drills or pitch the same fastball over and over again instead of attending some fancy party he was happy to do it.

Dave lost himself in thought while Jack ate and Aaron put the finishing touches on the speech he'd prepared. He glanced in the mirror, looked at at the graying hair at his temples, the crows feet, glad his goatee covered the depth of his smile lines. He looked old. He was old. Dave thought about the way Max spoke, as if they already had one foot in the grave, thought of Gideon waiting in the great beyond for him and he sighed miserably.

In his tuxedo, Aaron stood before the mirror, a final look before the night began. He raised his hands, a soft grimace passing over his features as he lifted his injured arm to adjust his bow tie and for just a split second he saw his father staring back at him. It was the briefest moment, the way his brow knitted and his mouth set in a grim pained line, stopping his heart as if he'd seen a ghost and then he glanced down at Jack beaming by his side and he softened, smiled. The smile broke the spell, his father became nothing but a memory and he reached down, patting Jack on the head.

“Your arm hurts?” Jack asked, watching with curiosity as Aaron grabbed his sling and slipped it over his head. He nodded, pushing his arm inside, feeling an instant relief from the tension in his shoulder.

“Yeah, buddy,” he whispered, adjusting the length of the straps and settling his sore arm in place. There was an ache from his shoulder to his fingertips, one that woke him early in the morning and didn't let up all day, a new pain, a constant companion he was getting used to. He was assured repeatedly that it would just take some time, healing takes time, but he was never an optimist. “I'm okay though.”

“I'm sorry we don't have time for a drink,” Aaron murmured, sliding into Dave's backseat. He felt ridiculous, pompous for arriving in such a stylish vehicle with a driver behind the wheel, nevertheless Dave had insisted there was no other way. Dave just shrugged and kept to himself on his side of the seat, wondering whether Aaron's running late had been somehow purposeful. He was feeling very morose all of a sudden, considering whether Aaron actually wanted him to be there, he'd been quiet and avoiding all contact for the majority of the afternoon. He took a deep breath, ready to ask Aaron if he'd rather attend the ceremony on his own when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

“ROSSI!” came Emily's voice, a full glass of wine in her hand on the small phone screen. “Are you guys coming?!” He saw JJ and Will lean in, and Spencer popped up between them grinning. Their faces filled the screen and brought a smile to his lips. They were in his home, probably hunting through all of his cabinets and drawers while he wasn't there to stop them. The thought didn't bother him as much as it might others, he hoped they found something that gave them pause. It would make for a fun story.

“We're running late, sorry Emily,” Dave said softly and he watched as Aaron's face fell, he hadn't realized the drink they were supposed to get was with their friends. “Don't go too wild and maybe we'll see you lot afterward huh?”

“Take pictures! A lot of pictures!” JJ called into the phone, as if she had to yell. Aaron smiled. He felt blindsided at seeing Emily's face, he hadn't realized she would be there, that they would have flown her all the way from London for the occasion. He should have known, but these sorts of things, shows of love from his team, never ceased to amaze him.

“I'm sure the bureau has that taken care of,” he said softly. “I apologize for taking so long to get ready. I didn't realize,” he started and Emily made a snorting noise and laughed. JJ burst out in laughter at the sound Emily made, Spencer giggling behind them. Dave wondered whether Aaron was suspicious at Derek and Penelope's absence, but if he was he said nothing.

“It was a surprise you donkey, of course you didn't realize. Geeze...lighten up! You're getting a freaking medal tonight!”

“Slow down,” Aaron replied, rolling his eyes. He was glad they were happy for him, that they thought he somehow deserved this medal, but he felt like he was just going through the motions. His team deserved it as much as he did, if not more, and the only reason he had acquiesced to accepting the medal was simply that he thought of it as a team effort. It didn't belong to him, it belonged to them. As they arrived at the museum, Dave excused them from the call and stepped into the crisp night air, extending his hand to help Aaron out of the vehicle.

The ceremony began, twenty people in all being honored and Aaron found himself right in the middle. He and Dave sat at their table, sipping their martinis and smiling and clapping for their colleagues, each of whom they knew deserved the honors bestowed. When the ushers came through to pull Aaron from his table, take him to the edge of the stage for his presentation, he gave Dave a soft, nervous smile and followed. He watched intently as Derek was called to the stage, as Penelope slid up beside Aaron and the look of surprise and horror spread over his features when he realized what was happening. That he was a seasoned profiler and hadn't put it together already made Dave feel momentarily proud of himself and their team. They weren't known for keeping secrets. Dave just smiled and pulled out his phone, started taking discreet photos and sending them to the team's group chat.

Derek's speech was heartfelt, it was funny and lively and sweet and brought more than one tear to Dave's eye as he recorded it. “When I was asked to present this medal, I gotta say...I got a little choked up. Y'know? I've been working with this jerk for too damn long I guess. I started thinking about how many offers I've gotten all over the country to run FBI Field Offices, tons...it's tons guys, you all want me. But you know, one big reason I've said no? This guy. Right here. I love the BAU, and I'm proud to call him my Unit Chief, I can't imagine going anywhere else. More importantly, I'm proud to call him my friend.���

When Aaron felt Penelope's hand on his shoulder, against his better judgment he glanced over at her and saw the tears streaming down her cheeks. The the grin on her face lit up the entire room. He'd been biting his lip, holding the flood of emotion back until he saw her, until he felt her hand, and suddenly his eyes burned with tears of their own and he stepped out onto the stage. Derek took his hand, shook it and smiled, and they nodded at each other with tears in their eyes before Derek handed him the medal and pulled him into a tight hug.

“I love you, man,” Derek whispered and Aaron just nodded. He couldn't have spoken then if he tried. “You better not blow off the after party, you hear me?”

Aaron nodded again, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Wouldn't dream of it,” he croaked, and Derek grinned and sauntered off the stage into the waiting arms of his date. Aaron sucked in a deep breath and stared out at the crowd of people, the wind having been completely knocked out of him. He apologized, said he'd had a great speech all prepared and ready, made a joke about being a lawyer and talking, but became somber when he spoke about how much it meant to him to hear Derek's words. He slid back into his groove after another moment, commanded the room with a speech about his team, the fact that he wouldn't be standing there now if it weren't for them repeatedly saving his life. By the end of the speech, he had everyone in tears and he got some small satisfaction knowing he wasn't the only one who couldn't seem to make the tears stop.

“You've been quiet tonight,” Aaron said softly, leaning toward Dave as someone snapped a photo of them beside the vehicle on their way to their little BAU after party at Dave's house. Dave just smiled and shrugged. “What is it Dave? I'm supposed to be the quiet one, not you.”

“It's nothing, Aaron,” Dave said with a soft smile. Aaron reached out and grabbed Dave's hand, pulling him to the side, just before the driver opened their door. With a careful glance around, taking stock of just who it was they were in eye shot of, he leaned in and surprised Dave with a kiss. Not just a peck on the cheek, a real kiss, the kind that sucked the air from his lungs and made his knees feel weak. When he stepped back, Aaron's eyes were wide, soft and sweetly pleading with him to smile, to be happy.

“Thank you for coming with me,” he whispered. “I couldn't have done any of this without you.” Dave felt a weight lift off of his shoulders. As they slid into the backseat of his vehicle, he finally stopped thinking about how old he was, whether Aaron cared about the age difference, knew he was being a silly old man. The kiss had wiped the slate clean and left him with only one thing on his mind – well, two: obtaining another martini and how to get more of those kisses.

[magioftheseas]

Stick It To Dis Bear!

Summary: An alternate/bonus scene about THE STICKER in Chapter 25 of Super Danganronpa 2: Matsuda Yasuke’s Battle of Despair and Wits.

Rating: PG

Warnings: None really.

Notes: I just didn’t feel right leaving out the stupid sticker. I still haven’t gone to a theater in over a year. For obvious reasons. I think I’m done with theaters. Like, forever. The last film I saw was Birds of Prey. That was good. I don’t need to see another movie.

Read this fic among others HERE

Main story is HERE

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They managed to get all the testing done in one day, although if Hinata played along in hopes of being told everything, he ended up sorely disappointed. Another to add to the list of people who found Matsuda in general to be a disappointment as a person. At least, Matsuda had an inkling that such was how the chestnut felt.

He was dealing with his own disappointment—with Komaeda still dragging his feet even after Hinata got too exhausted to keep fucking around with them.

“I feel like nothing of value actually happened,” Hinata groused.

That’s because it did. So little happened that it’s barely worth a passing narration, Matsuda thought.

“You’ve done well, Hinata-kun!” Komaeda chirped. “Great work! As expected of an Ultimate!”

“Shove it,” Hinata snapped. “It would’ve been nice if any of that felt like it mattered.”

“Aw, Hinata-kun...” Komaeda does pout, and it visibly gets Hinata more flustered and frustrated. “I really am sorry that you feel like your time was wasted.” Komaeda turns the full force of that pout to Matsuda. “Hinata-kun feels that his time was wasted. Isn’t that sad? Don’t you feel sad?”

“Yeah,” Hinata agreed through gritted teeth. “Doesn’t that make you sad?”

What romcom bullshit did I wake up in now?

“...I guess... It’s sad?”

“It’s so sad!” Komaeda exclaimed emotionally. “Matsuda-kun, you must make up to him! If only it’d abate his pain a little!”

“I mean, I guess it was a pretty big pain,” Hinata agreed with that, too, even if he seemed more confused about it. “It’d be...nice if I got some compensation...”

“What the hell?” Matsuda balked at the idea. “You volunteered?”

“I don’t REMEMBER that!” Hinata shot back. “For all I know, you lied to my face AGAIN! You do seem to like lying if it benefits you!”

Matsuda opened his mouth but hummed thoughtfully. When he went to speak again, he thought against it and hummed some more.

“C-Can you at least pretend you’re ashamed?” Hinata asked, exasperated. “Like, if you agree, surely you see that it’s wrong...”

I don’t really care.

He especially doesn’t care to pretend he cares. That said...

Komaeda was pouting at him. Lower lip stuck out, puppy eyes, the works. For a kid who looked half on death’s doorstep, it shouldn’t have been that effective. What the fuck.

Matsuda sighed loudly.

I don’t really care, but...

“Alright. Compensation. I guess I can do that,” he said before muttering, “What kind of compensation, though...? Do you want a coupon or what?”

“What would I use a coupon for?” Hinata asked, raising an eyebrow. “I mean—I would’ve been fine with just an apology.”

“Oh, Hinata-kun, such a martyr...” Komaeda gave him a pitying look. “You need to raise your standards.”

Hinata flinched for reasons beyond the current conversation.

“...I guess...”

“Yeah, you’re not getting an apology when I’m not sorry,” Matsuda said. “Pick something else.”

“Seriously?” Hinata gave him a look. “I... What the hell am I supposed to ask for?”

“A raise!” Komaeda exclaimed. “Extra vacation days! Or maybe a cruise!”

“I’m not paying for a fucking cruise,” Matsuda snapped. “Just how much money do you think I have?”

“Eh? But, Matsuda-kun, you’re a renowned neurologist,” Komaeda pointed out. “Even if you’re still a minor, you should be making a considerable amount of money...”

“Paid intern,” Matsuda corrected. “I could afford rent and instant food without having to pick up a parttime job on the side. Better than most...other people of my status...” He paused, having to stop himself for a moment before continuing, “I’m still not living the fancy life, though.”

Living as an orphan is never easy, especially in this country.

“That seems unfair,” Komaeda pointed out.

“What rock do you live under? That’s just how it is,” Matsuda scoffed. “Maybe if I had rich parents or even grandparents, it’d be different but I don’t.”

My worthless dad fucking ran the second shit got only a little difficult. Come to think of it, how did I manage after...?

“Rich parents,” Komaeda echoed as Matsuda rubbed his temple irritably. “I see.”

What now?

“Oh nothing!” Komaeda chirped, waving his hand as he was stared at by both Matsuda and Hinata. Right. Hinata.

This was supposed to be about Hinata.

“I, uh, don’t know much about making money,” Hinata confessed rather pitifully. “I’ve done some job-hunting...and I guess I’ve helped out at a convenience store? But only because my parents knew the owner...”

“How down to earth,” Matsuda remarked. “I knew a convenience store owner who gave me a sandwich because she felt sorry for me.”

“The one I knew hated me,” Komaeda chirped. “She said I was cursed! Which I guess was true!”

Both Matsuda and Hinata stared at him again, this time harder than before. Despite that, Komaeda remained bouncy and cheerful.

“Since financial compensation isn’t an option, I guess the best we can do is find something on the island to give Hinata-kun!”

“There’s a supermarket,” Matsuda pointed out dryly.

“I can just go there myself and grab whatever I want,” Hinata said. “I don’t need you picking up anything for me.”

“Do you want to be compensated or not?” Matsuda snapped.

“You’re not the kind of person who gets easily taken advantage of, right?” Komaeda asked, looking at him pityingly again.

“I’m not answering that,” Hinata griped. “But yes, I want compensation, I just... I don’t think I’m going to get the kind of compensation I actually want...”

Komaeda looked at Matsuda next.

“Sucks,” is all he had to offer.

Hinata grumbled, but wasn’t one to give up easily, almost as if he was motivated by a higher force.

“There’s stuff to do, right? Like, go to the beach...”

“I guess I can take you a beach and toss a frisbee for you to fetch,” Matsuda conceded.

“O-Or maybe relax at the park!!”

“Oh, should I bring a leash instead?” Matsuda asked, head tilted.

“T-There’s the movie theater!” Hinata exclaimed in a fit of desperation. “Let’s try that! Let’s go to the movies!”

Matsuda stared. Komaeda stared. Hinata took their silence as agreement.

“The movies,” he decided. “L-Let’s go to the movies.”

Matsuda and Komaeda traded looks.

It was decided, but not without reservations.

--

“Surely there’s more than one film showing,” Hinata said, looking up at the sign. “I mean... I know I wanted to come here but... This film is supposed to be really bad, right?”

“It is,” Matsuda confirmed.

“It really, really is,” Komaeda agreed. “No offense, Hinata-kun, but you’re going to have to watch this alone if you have your heart set on it.”

“I-I thought I was supposed to be getting treated?!” Hinata protested. “And—I won’t want to see it anyway! I just...” He trails off. “I just...thought it might be nice to watch a move... I wasn’t thinking about...”

Wasn’t thinking is right. I’m also surprised you have the energy.

“Guess it can’t hurt to check,” Matsuda said as he made his way inside. “Of course the main issue is asking...”

Komaeda whistled before Matsuda even had a second to truly dread what came before.

“WHAT AM I, A DOG?!” Monokuma shrieked. “Call me by my NAME or at least a TITLE if you can MANAGE IT?!”

“Why would I when you already answered?” Komaeda retorted. “I just wanted to ask some questions about any films playing?”

“Why? So you can break my fragile little bear heart all over again?” Monokuma sniffled. “Critics are vultures! Vultures, I tell ya!”

“Get the fuck over yourself,” Matsuda snapped. “We’re only here because this dumbass wants to see a movie.”

“I-I’m not a dumbass!” Hinata protested, but Monokuma looked at him as if he were, in fact, a dumbass. “What?! Do you have a problem with that?!”

“Eheh... Upupupu, and here I thought you didn’t want to watch it!” Monokuma cackled. “You were just being tsundere all along! Should’ve known!”

“I don’t want to watch that film, just a film,” Hinata hurriedly corrected but Monokuma just squealed.

“Such a tsundere that you even threw away millions for a sticker!”

“Millions...?” Matsuda echoed.

“For...a sticker?” Komaeda wondered, wide-eyed.

“Don’t worry about it!” Hinata yelped, waving his hand frantically. “I-It’s nothing to worry about!”

“I think tsundere syndrome IS pretty worrying!” Monokuma exclaimed, smacking Hinata on the ass and retrieving the one and only sticker. “I mean, honestly! Imagine paying 150 million yen for this lovely sticker just so you don’t have to watch a movie! Check it, check it!”

“Stop, don’t!” Hinata shrieked, but Monokuma couldn’t be deterred, flinging that sticker into Matsuda’s face.

Matsuda got a good look at it, as did Komaeda. The Monokuma sticker grinned back at them, with the cheekily written following words underneath: I’m sorry, I was born stupid.

Matsuda stared. Komaeda stared. The sticker smugly kept on staring back, radiating contempt and malice.

“H-Hinata-kun,” Komaeda began shakily, sounding close to tears. “You bought this for 150 million yen?”

“I-I had to take out a loan,” was Hinata’s pitiful explanation. “I didn’t...pay for it upfront...”

“What were you going to do if it accrued interest?” Matsuda asked blankly.

“And what are you going to do now that you’re gonna watch the movie anyway?!” Monokuma exclaimed. “All that money—wasted!”

“I can’t believe you’re going to go bankrupt over this shitty sticker,” Matsuda lamented, feeling genuinely apologetic for his cruel fate. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

And Hinata.

Just.

Screamed.

“ARGH FORGET IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!!”

--

In the end, Hinata ran out of the theater. In the end, Matsuda and Komaeda wordlessly left as well. In the end, Monokuma surely laughed his furry ass off.

Another day largely wasted.

“Do you think Hinata-kun’s going to want his sticker back?” Komaeda asked, grimacing at the thing as if it had committed great offense. Which it had. Simply by existing. “Monokuma didn’t write up a contract. His word isn’t legally binding. Hinata-kun might not have to pay.”

“Hm.” Matsuda stuffed the sticker into his mouth, chewing it and swallowing it much to Komaeda’s awe. “It’s his word against ours. I can at least afford a lawyer.”

“I’ll pay for legal fees! Just for Hinata-kun!” Komaeda exclaimed, fired up now. “And—!”

“Once we get out of here, we’ll take him to see an actual movie,” Matsuda said.

Komaeda shut his mouth.

“Once we get out of here,” Matsuda repeated.

Komaeda said nothing else for the rest of the day, but there was a particular glimmer to his gaze. One that Matsuda took note of, and couldn’t help but hope for a greater significance.

[thatsjustjk]

Cruel Summer│JJK

Summary: When summer comes around, all you think about is how much of a dread your upcoming camp’s going to be, well, it turned out to be the opposite.

{strangers to lovers}

Pairing: Popular!jungkook × popular!reader

Genre: fluff, comedy, romance, young love

Word count (so far): 1.3k words

Warnings: none!

Note: Yes, the title is based on Taylor's iconic song, I've been in love with it for a long time now( ꈍᴗꈍ) This is basically one of those feel-good stories which you'd wish happened to you. It's one of those stories that probably wouldn't happen in real life but it did! Not to me though haha, to one of my closest friends, but of course I altered it here and there to make it more of a story.

I'm gonna keep updating it and not post part by part just to keep it all in one place. But I'll put in dividers to make it easier! Hope you guys like it

July 16th                                           

10:49AM

How convenient is it that I had a train to catch in about 15 minutes and yet we were stuck in traffic? It wasn’t convenient at all, it was bogus. Why did the streets have to be so crowded at 11:00 in the morning on a Sunday? God knows.

I really didn’t want to go to this camp, but my parents thought it was going to be educational or whatever.

Some people may say I’m crazy for dreading summer camp but I was supposed to have a big family trip that month and I was really looking forward to it cause’ I hadn’t seen my cousins in so long, god, I missed them.

Anyway, we arrived at the station, thank god, I didn’t want to sit in that car shaped oven for longer. “Y/N! here!” I heard my friends scream from the other side of the track. “The train’s almost here, come on” they said again as I walked over to the stairs quickly, my dad right behind me.

“Okay sweetie, be safe, get along with everyone, and call me every day.” My dad says as he pulls me into a tight hug while the train makes a loud appearance.

I rush down the stairs to reach the other side to where the rest of my campmates and teachers stood. "I'm so sorry I'm late, my dad assumed there'd be no traffic today" I explain in a rushed manner as my teacher in charge- my science teacher struck off my name in a small notebook, keeping track of who's here and who isn't.

Just as the last of us were about to climb in, a voice shouts from the staircase- "I'M HERE, I'M HERE" The voice belonged to a boy with dark, slightly wet hair who sported grey sweatpants and a loose band-tee. I think his name was Kook or something, I've only seen him playing basketball before so he's definitely not in my grade, I concluded all while staring at the boy who made a new appearance.

"Guess I wasn't that late after all" I remark to my friend who was struggling to pull her luggage up with her. I would've usually made fun of her but our suitcases were truly heavy, we were going to a hill station and most of our clothes were just sweaters. After I help her with her suitcase, I was about to haul my suitcase up but another set of hands helped me with a push, what do you know, it was the guy I was staring at. Don't get me wrong, I don't like him or anything, I just daydream when I think about something.

"Thank you! I'm Y/N by the way" I introduce myself briskly as he hauls up his own suitcase. He seems strong, he'd do well in the camp I think to myself when he finally replies "I know who you are Y/N" he says, taking me aback "you're pretty popular, you know" "well, I know your name too, it's kook isn't it?" he chuckles before saying "It's Jungkook but you're free to call me Kook if you want" "Kook! Y/N!" a familiar voice from inside the train calls out to both of us. It was Jimin, I knew him from Spanish class. Oh yeah, he and Kook are on the same basketball team.

I wheel my suitcase towards the busy compartment but just then our teacher interjects "Boys and Girls are supposed to be in separate compartments, sorry guys" she shrugs "We all know you're gonna be together throughout, I was just told to inform you about the sleeping arrangements that's all" I smile to Jimin before wheeling my suitcase forward to the compartment the rest of the girls were in.

The trip was starting to get better than I imagined- I knew most of the people already (since this was a school trip anyway) and made friends with the ones I didn't.

"How many crushes have you had so far?" The rest of us groan. It was 3am and we were supposed to be awake by 4. We had stayed up talking and playing stupid games like Truth or dare and charades. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom" I get up and slither through the small crowd. "Hey, me too, I need to go to the baño too" Jimin appears from behind. I giggle at his attempt to incorporate Spanish into his sentences like I told him to. "So, what's up? How do you like the trip so far, even though it's just started" "I've been having so much fun, everyone seems so nice" I say as we checked which of the bathrooms were vacant. "Yeah, I've been looking forward to this since the day our club announced it, and most of my friends from basketball are here too so" he shrugs with a grin. "I actually didn't need to go to the bathroom, my leg just fell asleep" I disclose, "ME TOO!"

"FANCY YOU 지금 너에게로 갈래-" "oh my god shut it off!" I shout out to no one in particular. I don't know why anyone would want to wake up to a song like this. Again- don't get me wrong, I love Twice, I know the entire choreography of fancy. "Girls wake up, we're almost there" the familiar voice of my science teacher wakes me up from my slumber fully. I kind of forgot I was on a train.

"you kind of look like a chipmunk in the morning" mina, my friend says as she examines my droopy face. "oh my god! how dare you?" I act overdramatic as I place one of hands on my forehead. I hear someone giggle and I see Jungkook from the side of my eye "What are you laughing at you bunny?" His eyebrows shoot up as he looks at me with a confused but betrayed look "When did I come into this conversation? and me? bunny? don't be ridiculous" he huffs. "Okay, kids! this is the last stop so don't worry about rushing and check for all of your belongings before getting down"

After the teachers confirm that all of us have gotten out, we all trudge along towards the parking lot and then onto our bus. Mina sat with her boyfriend, Seokjin- I never really liked him, mainly cause me and Mina can never spend time together like we used to, and also I never understood his jokes. Jimin sat with his other friend from basketball, Hoseok- or also known as my ex, but it was very casual, we thought we liked each other but we decided we'd rather be friends. But yeah Hobi is a sweetheart, we're still friends but not as close as we used to be, it bothers me sometimes but it was inevitable.

Everyone had found their seats already since I'd been one of the last ones to put my luggage in the trunk "Hey, there's an open seat here" Jungkook calls out to me from the end of the bus. He's sitting with Namjoon, Yoongi, Sona, Taehyung and Rya. I grin as I walk over to the small lot "Are you sure I can fit in here?" I question "Yeah! Of course you can, there's plenty of room for one more person" Taehyung says as he scoots over and motions for everyone else to do the same. I thank him as I quickly plop down next to Namjoon.

"You like Selena too? me too! I've been there since she started wizards of Waverly place!" I scream quietly since half the bus was asleep. We were listening to Jungkook's playlist, and turns out we have the same music taste, he loves all of my favorite artists. "Me too! I loved Alex! She was basically my first crush" he says while scrunching up his nose. "Y/N, please switch seats with me" a groggy Namjoon pleads while looking at me. "Oops, of course, I didn't realize we were being that loud"

After a few hours of listening to music and drooling on my make-shift pillow a.k.a my bag, we arrived at the campsite we were going to be spending the rest of the trip.

[shinebrite97]

Part 3

Read Part 2 here      

  Her phone had seen no action since her message to Lucifer, and with no little check mark to indicate he’d seen it, she figured he was still up to his eyeballs in papers and backlogged work.          Now her phone sat beside a fancy little appetizer plate along with too many forks and spoons, hidden behind a basket of steaming rolls between the two of them.          A quick dinner at Ristorante 6?

        Her mind was racing, taking in the sites of well-dressed demons giving her judgmental looks as Diavolo simply smiled and buttered a roll.          “So,” She said. “It's been some time since we’ve spoken...hasn’t it?” She asked.          “You’re absolutely right, Yuri,” He replied. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve spent time with you at all since you returned.” He glanced up, golden eyes boring into her from across the table as he busied himself unbuttoning the long sleeves of his uniform. “Tell me, how are you settling in as a returning student?”          “I...it’s been…” She trailed off, wondering how to respond. “I’m enjoying myself.”  When he didn’t say anything more, she shifted awkwardly in the chair. Its back was too high, the velvet cushion too firm, the space between her and the table suddenly felt very restricting.         "Um…" Yuri bit her lip, considering all the things she could gush about. The food, the people, the things she was learning. "I don't know…" she replied. "I'm just...happier here." She turned her head, stifling some comment about Stockholm Syndrome, and looked back when Diavolo opened his mouth. He closed it again, and her eyes flitted down, seeing him grip a golden soup spoon.          "Are you and Lucifer expecting another paper from me at the end of term?"          Diavolo laughed.         "No," he said. "No. I just wanted to know."          "Okay," she replied. "But I know you didn't bring me to this beautiful restaurant to ask about my stay."          "No, I suppose I didn't." His words ended in a trill, almost as if he was waiting for her to make the next move, but with a distinct lack of details as to why she was here, she bowed her head, letting the awkward silence fill in, hoping this chair would come to life and devour her.          “I’m not really sure how much help I’ll be for anything, to be honest.” She said. “I’m flattered, but…”         “Yuri, I need you to marry me.”         Dead air. That's what came of her parted lips. She hadn't even closed her mouth when Diavolo processed his words. He shook his head, feeling a bright burn in his cheeks as he cleared his throat.         "I could have said that better," he said.          "Sir?* She asked.          "I can explain," he said. "You are aware that I am the next in line for the throne, correct?"         "Yes."         "I have been raised for this position for thousands of years, and I've always done as instructed, learned all there is to learn, and the powers that be have decided that I'm ready."         "That's amazing!" Yuri replied with a big grin. "Congratulations Lord Diavolo!"          "Thank you," his smile took up the majority of his face, a bright beam that overtook the single candle at their table, and Yuri blushed.         I'd give anything to see that smile…         "However," he added. "There is one condition I seemed to have overlooked in all this, a requirement of ascension is to have a partner, one who can ensure the successful production of an heir."          "That's...awfully practical." Yuri replied. "And you're asking me to...take that spot?"         "I am," he murmured. "Now I'm not asking you out of convenience. I am asking because you have become a trusted friend, and because...well...you are the only woman who isn't afraid to be seen with me. The only person, aside from Lucifer and Barbatos, who will speak to me...who isn't afraid of me."         "Dia…" she whispered. The turn of his lips at her response made the pit of her belly burn. It was something so guarded, an attempt at hubris that didn't quite reach his eyes. Eyes that glimmered with tears in the flickering light of their table's candle. She saw his knuckles clenched above the table, fingers wrapped around the soup spoon, and without thinking, she felt his warm skin under her hand. Smooth as marble, strong and still. He barely noticed at first, but once he did, he cleared his throat and averted his eyes, but very pointedly did not move his hand away.         "Basically," he said. "I need your help with the ceremonial side for things. My coronation with take place during my wedding, and if you accept...it would also be your coronation...and wedding."          "Coronation?" She asked.         "Yes…" he said quietly. "Even at the lowest level of royalty, it would  involve changing your title, you would become Lady Diavolo, and I would become King...you would take on the responsibility I currently possess, and...well, the rest of the logistics could be decided later."          "I see…"         "Now I will not force you to agree, I will not hold you against your will, I am simply asking you...because...well to be perfectly honesty with you, Yrui...there isn't another lady I would want to ask.'         "Diavolo?" she asked.         "Not to mention, Barbatos told me. I asked him to look into the futures, the realities where this takes place, and I either forfeit the crown, or I live in a loveless arrangement with some other demon nobility, or I ask you...and he swore we were happy."          "Wow…"         "Is this too much?" He asked. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…."         "Here you are," a raspy voice broke off his apology as the horned waiter set down plates at the table for them.          Carved Shadow Hog was the only food item on the plates that Yuri recognized having enjoyed it with the brothers before. However the cup holding an odd-looking relish had bits resembling pineapple. Diavolo smiled in thanks as he lifted his fork.          "It looks delicious," Yuri said carefully. The waiter bowed his head before slithering away to the next table and Yuri picked up her fork, first going for the medley of steamed bitter vegetables.         She learned early on not to judge meals by name or appearance, because the one she feared most, the Quetzalcoatl brains had ended up becoming a comfort food for her. She recognized the prickly cucumber and the odd little root vegetable, one that Asmo seemed to favor, always saying that it was good for reducing puffy skin under one's eyes.          Diavolo paused his words long enough to take a bite of his shadow hog topped with the pineapple relish, though the second his mouth closed, he frowned, lips pursing and mouth scrunching as his eyes squinted into slits. He chewed hard, quickly swallowing and shuddering before taking a longer-than-necessary sip of red wine.          "Is everything okay, sir?" She asked.          He nodded, using the napkin to wipe his top lip.          "There are...pickles...in the pineapple relish." He grumbled.         She laughed. A loud sound that traveled through the dining room and left her quickly covering her mouth in embarrassment         "Oh, I see…" she smirked, hiding a giggle behind her napkin as she dabbed at her lips. Fondly, she remembered their conversations, the first time Diavolo ever confessed his hatred for pickles, and the time Barbatos and Lucifer devised a plan to slowly incorporate them into his meals. He'd been weary of any food prepared by them for months following the incident.          "You like pickles, don't you, Yuri?" He asked.         "I do, in fact." She replied. He smiled politely, using just his thumb and index finger to hastily pick up the small glass bowl and placed it gingerly on her plate.          "For you, my dear." he said softly.         Yuri giggled, accepting it and placing it beside her own. After a quick sample of it with the tip of her fork, she beamed.          "This is delicious!" She said.         "Ah the perks of partnership…" Diavolo mused. "One to enjoy the foods you do not."         "If I accept this deal," she said. "I know there is more than just a title and a dress. What are the things I will be learning?"         "Good question! I'll admit even I hadn't thought that part all the way through yet," he blushed. "You would require at least a crash course of everything I learned growing up... considering I have six thousand years of knowledge...and you only have two months to learn everything…"         "I'm sorry," she interrupted. "Two months?"          He had the decency to look stricken as he took in her response.         "Yes…" he said. "I know that is hardly any time, and I wished I had more time to offer you," His fingertips drummed against the surface of the table as he willed himself to he devoured into the chair behind him now. "I, myself, only found out about all of this today."         "I see…" she replied.         "Well, I think I have said everything I can on this topic, and I believe my last method of persuasion is simply begging on my knees, but I do hope you wouldn't have me do that here."          Yuri blushed at the idea, waving away the mental image and nodded.         "If I may...do I have time?" She asked. "At least tonight...just to think about it?"          "It is only right to grant you that," he said. "Very well. Once we finish our meal I will walk you back to The House of Lamentation."          "Thank you." She smiled.          

         Yuri was surprised at how nice it was to spend time with Diavolo alone. It was a thought that at one point intimidated her, but now more than ever she realized just how lonely the young demon prince was.          Their dinner conversation often shifted quickly, and once she used her DDD to find a Devilgram post he told her about, she finally saw the list of comments under each post.         Under one of Mammon and Leviathan, Diavolo had commented "That looks like fun!"          Under one of Asmodeus with shopping bags. "How wonderful!"         A post from Simeon where Luke seemed to be nudging Solomon out of the Purgatory Hall Kitchen. "Come have tea sometime!"

I'd like to join next time! Hope you enjoyed yourself! We should get together!

        Listening to him animatedly discuss things regarding those around him, all as heresay, made her realize how little he was in on others' lives.          He needed someone. A social buffer, the small cute thing that made him seem more approachable.          He needed a friend who appreciated him as much as he appreciated other.         He needed a partner.         And he'd asked her to be just that.         After dinner, and a bill he didn't even let her look at, he kept his word and walked with her right up to the gate, a quick goodbye and a quicker tight hug, and he watched as she walked up the steps and used her key to open the door.          I'll do it. 

[annawoodhull]

bring good news of a world so newly born

Requested by: me and my self-indulgent need for Ben and grilled cheese

Word Count: 1616

Prompt: Outlander AU in which Abigail introduces Ben to grilled cheese. That's the fic.

(Song title from '39 by Queen because I'm trash.)

There were a few inconveniences of being a woman from the future who now lived in late 18th century America. No air conditioning, no ibuprofen, but worst of all, no snacks. Late night runs to the convenience store a few blocks from her apartment with friends were the epitome of any college girl’s life, especially during finals time. And now she didn’t even have that!

But there was one thing she refused to give up (besides her bra if she could help it) was her favorite foods. By God, if she could find ways to modify them to make them work with what this time presented to her, she was bound and determined. The first attempt at this would be grilled cheese. If this went well, maybe she could attempt pizza.

Thankfully, she was able to purchase a loaf of bread and cheese from a few merchants in the town, but the butter was more difficult to come by. She had to resort to the old fashioned way, directly from the cow herself. Going through the process of letting the milk rest and then skimming the creak, or whatever the fuck it was called, off the top before she could churn it with a dasher. It was incredibly labor intensive and more work than she had expected, but again, her stubborn Irish ass was going to see this through.

She hadn’t intended to inform Ben of her little project until later on in the week, when they had agreed to meet. Between his battles both on and off the field, a lot of the major’s time was accounted for. She still insisted she would make a good asset to the Culper Ring, but he stubbornly refused to allow it. She suspected she knew the reason, but honestly thought it was ridiculous. You’d think you’d want a spy on your side who already knows how everything will play out.

Anyway, Abigail was sitting on the porch of her small cabin – abandoned by some previous squatter dweller type – and working on churning the butter. Her sleeves were rolled up and beads of perspiration rolled down the sides of her neck, trickling down the front of her bodice. She wrinkled her nose but kept on going. Sheesh, this was labor intensive as fuck. Twenty-first century people really had it made, though there were the Amish to consider.

Too busy plunging the dasher up and down while churning the butter, Abigail was too preoccupied to pay any attention her surroundings. By the time she heard a horse’s snort, she looked up and was pleasantly surprised to see Ben dismounting and leading the beautiful Gaius over towards a paddock to graze.

Then he turned around and took one look at her, a good long look that made Abigail flush from head to toe. She didn’t have to look in a mirror to know she looked like a train wreck, blonde hair all askew, face flushed and damped with sweat. She’d stopped her churning the moment she saw him and nearly forgot all about it when he approached her.

“Never pegged you for the type for churning butter,” Ben observed with a amused grin, “though I’m not surprised you’d be stubborn enough to try.”

She grinned. “There is a reason to my madness, Tallmadge.” She went to wipe her forehead when she remembered she couldn’t let the butter rest. With a tiny grunt, she resumed her work, working the dasher up and down in a gradual rhythm. Hey, she was starting to get the hang of this! “I’m cooking for us tonight and then forgot I couldn’t just buy everything in one place, like I used to.”

“You must be rich, from where you come from,” he commented.

Abigail laughed at that, thinking of all the student loan debt she had accumulated with both her bachelors and graduate degrees. On second thought, maybe it was a good thing she fell through the stones when she did. “Hardly. But it was convenient, so I wouldn’t have to resort to this.”

Ben’s gaze flickered between her face and to her hands, observing as she worked it rather well. Her hands twisting with purposeful intent, with increasing speed. It reminded him of something Caleb had often teased him about, something he hadn’t done in quite some time. And now that he had this visual in front of him…

Abigail glanced up, having no idea where his line of thought had taken him, and found that his face was now just as red as the coat of a British officer. “Are you all right?” she asked, confused and mildly concerned.

Clearing his throat, Ben shifted his position, angling himself so that he was now facing partially away from her. Odd. “Yes, just a bit… flushed from the journey. Could use some water, perhaps.”

Abigail nodded, understanding. “I just made a few bottles from the creek. Help yourself and cool down.”

He thanked her and practically took off like a bat out of hell into the cabin. Abigail continuing churning, increasing the pace. He was an odd duck, that one. A very attractive and delicious looking one but odd nevertheless.

It took quite a while to achieve the finished product, but with Ben’s company, from a suspicious far distance, the time just flew by. She carried her butter inside, grinning in triumph at her accomplishment and held it out proudly for him to inspect. He nodded his approval with no small amount of affection, which made her feel even more accomplished.

“So what are you preparing for us this evening?” he asked, “since you went to all the trouble churning butter.”

“Nothing terribly fancy I’m afraid, at least from my time,” Abigail admitted, “but in my opinion, it’s one of the finest delicacies in the world. A grilled cheese.”

Brows furrowed, Ben titled his head, much like a confused puppy. “A… what?”

“Trust me, you’ll like it,” she promised. She went to work on working the hearth, which Ben had to assist her with at several points. While he helped, she told him all about stoves and the different kinds that ran on gas versus electricity, both of which mystified and fascinated him. The more time she spent in that time and with him specifically, the more comfortable she felt sharing different tidbits of the future. The very knowledge there was a future for the country that he was fighting for was enough to give him hope. The thought of being the source, or at least associated with the source, of his inspiration made her feel things she had no right to be feeling.

Yet, she was completely and hopelessly attracted to the him.

Once everything was settled, she went to work on slicing the bread and cheese, which she set on separate plates. Then she buttered the bread generously on each slice before setting the buttered side down in the skillet, quickly followed by the cheese and the other slice of bread. She brought the skillet over the makeshift grilled and watched with amazement as the fire worked its magic.

It didn’t take too long before she flipped it over. A few minutes of cooking on the other side, she pulled back the skillet carefully and plated his grilled cheese before working on hers. It was a little tricky getting the sandwiches out of the skillet, but she had to admit, they didn’t turn out half bad.

“Do you want yours cut in half or diagonally?” she asked, right after she performed an elegant diagonal slice for hers.

“However you cut yours is fine with me,” he said. He had risen from his seat to poke around her, curious to see her creation and drawn to the wonderful mixture of grilled cheese, butter, and crispy goodness.

When done, she handed him his plate but warned him, “Be careful. It’s hot.” His soft, amused smile at the domestic remark caused her heart to skip a beat.

They sat together at the small wooden table, and after a few minutes, they dug into their meal, though Abigail waited a bit so she could take in his reaction. After his first bite, Ben’s eyes widened before closing with surprised delight. He moaned appreciatively. “Oh, this is very good.”

“Really?” she asked happily.

Nodding eagerly, he took to consuming the slice with an almost single-minded determination. He hesitated on picking up the second slice, perhaps figuring he should make it last. She grinned at his sudden look of sheepishness. “Thank you for sharing this with me. Believe me, after a few months of camp rations, this is just…” he sighed with pleasure.

Abigail grinned. “I’m glad you like it. Grilled cheese can cure anything. It’s the American dream, baby.”

“Is all of your food in the future this good?” Ben asked, enchanted by the mere thought.

“Depends on where you’re looking, but for the most part, yes,” she said. Spotting a bit of crumbs and cheese on the side of his mouth, she smothered a giggle. She touched her own face. “You’ve got a little…”

“Where?” he asked, immediately touching anywhere on his face but the area where she pointed.

Rolling her eyes in feigned exasperation, she leaned over the table and brushed it away herself, her thumb gently pressed against the corner of his mouth. His gaze locked onto hers at the touch, the sudden proximity. He inhaled sharply. Abigail swallowed nervously. The cabin, which was already quite small, felt even smaller, more intimate.

“We should…” he murmured, trailing off.

She blinked slowly. “Finish our dinner?”

After a beat, Ben nodded. “I… yes. Dinner.”

Who knew that all the trouble to make grilled cheese could cause even more trouble?

[harrylee94]

In Worse Arms - Chapter 1

You can find this on AO3!

Summary: "He could see the first buildings of the town coming up now, buildings that all looked somewhat uniform in a small town sort of way, but were different enough for Din to be able to tell that it was unlikely that the same builders had made them. It was likely that the town had grown one house or a small section of housing at a time, though he couldn’t tell from this distance how the details might have changed depending on when each home had been built.

Before he could get there though, his headlights struck a figure on the side of the road."

On the way to a job, Din passes through a small town in the middle of nowhere and picks up a hitchhiker. However, there's something a little off about him...

Notes: God damn it TIOOIW Discord chat! Now I have an entire LIST of DinCobb stories to write!

The title is from a poem called The Apparition by John Donne:

When by thy scorn, O murd'ress, I am dead

And that thou think'st thee free

From all solicitation from me,

Then shall my ghost come to thy bed,

And thee, feign'd vestal, in worse arms shall see;

Then thy sick taper will begin to wink,

And he, whose thou art then, being tir'd before,

Will, if thou stir, or pinch to wake him, think

Thou call'st for more,

And in false sleep will from thee shrink;

And then, poor aspen wretch, neglected thou

Bath'd in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lie

A verier ghost than I.

What I will say, I will not tell thee now,

Lest that preserve thee; and since my love is spent,

I'had rather thou shouldst painfully repent,

Than by my threat'nings rest still innocent.

——————————————————————

I’ll come back

The radio was playing some inane tune that seemed to be all that played these days as Din drove past the sign to another small town, the lyrics making no real sense even if the beat was good. He didn’t pay much attention to the name since he wasn’t planning on stopping, but he did turn on his lights. It was getting darker earlier, as was the way of the world at this time of year, but he still had some way to go before he could stop yet.

He worked as a contractor, mainly working on the wooden bones of a house before all the extras were added, and his next job was for a new building site, which just so happened to be several hundred miles away from his home. The client was paying for gas and his room, since there was no chance he was going to be able to commute that far from his home every day for potentially weeks on end, but it was still frustrating. He was going to miss being able to cook his own food for so long, the familiar bed sheets and the nights out at the bar with his friends.

He was supposed to be there the next day, and it would have been nice to have had a whole weekend to make the trip, but he’d had to stay an extra day at his last job due to some idiot not being able to read the architect's plans properly, and so he’d only had one day. One whole day of driving across the country with barely any breaks and terrible gas station food. Frankly, he was exhausted, but he still had a few hours to go before he could stop for the night, or he wasn’t going to make it in time in the morning.

He was looking forward to checking into the hotel. It hadn’t looked like anything fancy on their website, but it was a bed and a shower and a place to just stop thinking and sleep for a good few hours before he had to wake up too damn early. It was also fairly close to a diner and a convenience store, so he’d be able to keep himself topped up on essentials for the duration of his stay.

He rubbed his eyes as he yawned, quickly blinking with exhaustion and washing it away with a swig of lukewarm coffee from his thermos. Hopefully that would give him enough of a boost to get him to his destination. He didn’t usually risk it, but this client was important, and he didn’t want to fuck up on day one by giving a wrong first impression.

He could see the first buildings of the town coming up now, buildings that all looked somewhat uniform in a small town sort of way, but were different enough for Din to be able to tell that it was unlikely that the same builders had made them. It was likely that the town had grown one house or a small section of housing at a time, though he couldn’t tell from this distance how the details might have changed depending on when each home had been built.

Before he could get there though, his headlights struck a figure on the side of the road.

From what he could see of the figure’s back, it was a tall man with silvered hair that was a little longer than Din’s, wearing jeans, what could only be described as cowboy boots, a leather jacket and a deep red scarf. He had his hand out, thumb pointed up in the international sign for a hitchhiker, and when he looked over his shoulder, Din could just about make out a smile.

He considered it for a moment, thinking of his self-imposed schedule, but a driving companion wouldn’t be unwelcomed, what with how mindless the music was.

The tyres crunched against gravel as his truck came to a stop next to the stranger, and he wound the passenger-side window down with a quick press of the finger.

“Where’re you headed?” he asked the stranger as they came closer to lean against the open window, only to swallow when they finally came into view.

Shit, they were hot.

“As far as you’re willing to take me,” they said with an easy grin. “You stopping in the town?”

Din shook his head. “Through it. I’ve got to be somewhere by morning.”

“Then I’ll join you.”

“Hop in.”

The silver-haired man nodded and then, with some impressive upper body strength that almost had Din blushing, heaved himself through the open window and settled in the empty seat beside Din. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Din replied after swallowing thickly, turning down the radio, which had started to break up a bit. He pulled back onto the road again a few moments later and quickly closed the window to keep out the evening chill.

“So what’s got you coming to this part of the world, stranger?” the man asked, making himself comfortable, his jacket opening a little to reveal a close fitting white shirt. Din quickly looked away and back to the road.

“Work,” he replied simply. “And it’s Din.”

“Din?” the hitchhiker repeated.

“My name.”

“Oh!” They shot him a delighted smile which made his throat go dry. “Cobb. Cobb Vanth.”

“Nice to meet you,” Din said with a nod.

“Pleasure’s all mine," Cobb said, and Din melted a little at the way his Southern drawl curled around the words.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

"So what do you do, Mr Din?"

"It's just Din," he replied, trying to ignore the feeling of eyes roving up and down him. "I'm a contractor. I work on houses. What about you, Mr Vanth?"

"Cobb," they said, "and I was… I'm more of an odd jobs kind of guy -- jack-of-all-trades and master of none -- that sort of thing. I've worked a little on buildings before, plumbing wires and such like, but it's mostly been bar work in recent years. I’ve worked at the local for a bit and it's a good way to get to know people."

Din hummed, but he tapped his fingers against the wheel in thought. 'Was'. He turned up the radio a little, the song entirely replaced by crackling static now, then turned it back down again. He glanced at the fabric of the seat beneath Cobb, then at his feet, then turned back to the road.

"Have you been in the area for long?" he asked.

Cobb shrugged, his fingers twitching as he glanced between Din and the radio. "About a year or so. I'm not sure exactly; it's hard to keep track sometimes."

Din nodded slowly. "Why don't you drive yourself then, or ask a friend? If you've been here for long enough, and you 'get to know people' at the bar, then wouldn't someone give you a ride?"

"... I’m not all that close to anyone really," Cobb replied a little stiffly. "Plus they’re all busy. I chose the worst time to go, but it's too late to reschedule now."

His twitching fingers started tapping at his leg.

"Well, if you were trying to get out of town, then why were you standing on the road in?"

The hitchhiker didn't answer.

"Where's your bag, Cobb?"

"... My bag?"

"Hitchhikers usually have bags, don't they?" Din said, glancing over at him and spotting a flash of panic in his eyes. "Pretty sure you'd want at least one change of clothes with you if you were travelling this time of night."

Cobb swallowed. "I-"

"I'm going to ask you two questions, and I want you to answer me honestly, or you're getting the hell out of my truck."

"... Okay."

“First; how often do people see you?” It was an innocent enough question that could be misconstrued to mean something other than what it did, or was confusing enough to be unanswerable if he was so completely wrong that he just sounded like a maniac.

“Uh, not often. I… keep to myself mostly,” Cobb replied, his fidgeting becoming more intense from what he could see from the corner of his eye.

Din nodded, twisting his hands around the wheel in some vain attempt at finding courage. "Second; are you a ghost?"

There was a long pause, but Din didn’t dare look at him in case he’d pegged this all wrong and he’d just seen things, or that Cobb was actually some sort of serial killer that was really good at bluffing.

“... How did you know?”

Din released a relieved breath, though he did curse his luck; why did all the hot ones have to be dead?

“It’s a… gift,” he replied. There were many years where he’d thought that it wasn’t, that it would drive him insane, or that other people would think he was, but he had learned early on how to hide it. Not even his friends knew about this side of him, and he wanted it to stay that way. “Plus your toes are going through the car.”

Cobb looked down at his feet and pulled the ends of his boots back, revealing the extra two inches that had previously been sunken into the footstop. “That’d do it.”

“I’ve seen plenty over the years. It’s the first time I’ve picked one up from the side of the road though, and you are admittedly a lot more present than what I’m used to.” Cobb looked like he was corporal in fact, and had it not been for the hints he might never have known.

“Have you helped any of them?” Cobb asked, hope lacing his voice.

Din sighed. “I really don’t have time to help you right now.”

“It won’t take long!” Cobb insisted, shifting on the seat to face him, his knee going through the dashboard. “Look, it’s my body-”

“You know where it is and you want me to help you get it.”

“Yes! Look, it’s not that far away, and it won’t be hard to find-”

“I can’t be late!” Din interrupted, and his passenger deflated, a look of disappointed incredulity on his face. “Look, I’ll come back and help once I’ve finished my contract, but I have to be there tonight or I’ll never make it in time.”

“No, no, you have to help me,” Cobb said, and Din shivered as he felt the ghost’s hand try to touch him, only for the skin and muscle to go cold and stiff instead with no other physical signs of the contact. “It’s not like the others, I swear.”

Dim hummed. That’s what they all said, but it always ended up the same; Din being led to the body, him leaving an anonymous tip at the local police station, and then reading about a body being found in the news a few days later. The ones who wanted to send a message were harder to manage, but at least this one wasn’t one of those.

“Please,” the ghost continued, “I need help. I can’t do this on my own.”

“I’ll come this way on my way back,” Din said again, glancing over at the man as they passed the far edge of the town. “You said it’s been about a year since you’ve been here; what’s a few more weeks?”

“I might not have a few more weeks, you son of a bitch!” The air in the truck cooled a little with Cobb’s anger, the man gesticulating  through the windscreen as he spoke. “My body-”

The ghost was suddenly cut off, and Din was aware that his passenger seat was empty of any spirits again. A look in the rear-view mirror showed him that Cobb had been ejected from his truck and was currently stuck at what must have been the border of the town if the sign was anything to go by. He was stood in the middle of the road, staring after him, but when he saw that Din had no inclination of stopping, or even slowing down, he kicked at the ground and ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

“I’ll come back,” Din said to himself as he watched for a few seconds more before turning the volume of the radio up again, a new but equally nonsensical song playing as he continued on to his destination.

——————————————————————

And thus begins the journey... I hope you enjoyed it! The next chapter will be up soon.

Chapter 2

[joonsdiary]

the proposal

↳ part one of the: (not) the love of my life series

pairing. ceo!seokjin x hotelier!reader (female) genre. arranged marriage au // humour with a dash of fluff and sprinkle of angst (mayhaps future smut?) word count. 4,8k summary. after losing ownership of your hotel to the satan-spawned ceo-to-be, kim seokjin, you are forced by the powers that be (your parents) into marrying him. you agree under the assurance that you won’t be out of job, but with the title of manager instead of owner. as it turns out, he has other plans and approaches you with a proposal that’s hard to refuse.

note. a cliché, overused trope? check. a series with (maybe) no plot and is just about jin as a billionaire ceo? check. this was initially supposed to be a sequel, but i couldn’t follow it up with the same ambience and mood, so i decided to leave the drabble [as a standalone] and write a spin-off instead. this has been in my drafts for the longest time, so i’m excited to share to you a series that literally nobody asked for.

warning-but-not-really. not all corporate ceos are as chilled out as jin will be portrayed here. may give you high expectations of literally some of the worst people on this planet lmao also purely self-indulgent! read at your own risk tbh

the proposal | the first date | the ceo’s keeper | the engagement

The premise was simple.

Get married so you can keep running your hotel business or refuse and lose everything to the man your parents have personally hand-picked to become the owner.

Scratch that.

The man your parents sold your hotel to, thus making him the newly appointed owner.

Choosing the latter and having your freedom would mean giving up your hard-earned company to the lousy billionaire’s first-born son, who happened to own half the hotels in metropolitan Seoul.

The Kims.

Notorious for their enormous amount of wealth, their class, and having three strapping young men for sons who knew nothing else, but privilege handed to them in a silver platter.

Despite growing up in a well-off family, you’ve always taught yourself that independence and hard work was the key to success. You distanced yourself as much as you could from your parents’ money, stuck it out for four years in college, and graduated with a degree. Running the hotel full time while attempting to finish your master’s in business administration part-time had been the theme for the past year. Until your parents dropped the bomb on you.

Words like, do you really think you had full ownership of that run-down hotel of yours and we had to sell, or we’ll go under had been thrown around. As if keeping the secret of having a huge amount of debt would make you feel better about seeing your hotel assimilated into Kim Hotels. Not only would you lose ownership, but you knew that you were bound to get fired, if not demoted. It usually came with the change of proprietor.

Conveniently enough, the Kims had other plans. Their current CEO, Seokjin’s father, agreed to let you keep working as the hotel manager instead of the owner, which is honestly miles better to you than being jobless. But it came with a hefty price: you were to marry their oldest son, Kim Seokjin. They drove a hard bargain, and you found yourself agreeing. You loved the hotel more than anything you’ve ever owned; having to pour your heart and soul into making it worth being proud of. And you were. That’s why hearing your parents say that it was in debt felt gut wrenching.

Initially, you tried to get a hold of him, hoping you could convince him to re-think the situation. You thought perhaps the media had been wrong about him, and all the talks of him being a calculating corporate shark was a lie. Maybe he would let you work as the manager without having to marry him. But the COO of Kim Hotels refused to meet with you, despite hearing from your parents that he’d been “more than willing” to be married to you.

You scoffed at their baseless statement. Seokjin had a reputation for taking women to bed one night before leaving them to dust by the next morning. As if selling his soul to the devil in order to be worth billions of dollars wasn’t enough; of course, he was sleeping around as well. You weren’t one to judge anybody’s lifestyle choices, but you were sure that someone in that calibre wouldn’t agree to be wed to a person they hardly knew just because. There was something in your gut that told you there was more to the agreement than a simple arranged marriage.

Or maybe the feeling in your gut was due to the bad pasta you had.

“Good evening, Ms. Hwang.”

You’re greeted by Mr. Park, the doorman as soon as you enter the lobby, cradling a piping hot tea you hoped would alleviate the stomach cramps you were having. His smile gave away his old age, wrinkles dotting the corner of his eyes and the lines in his cheeks. You returned the gesture.

“How was your dinner?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you laughed softly, shrugging away your coat without spilling your drink. “I’m never eating out ever again. Please tell me Yoongi is in.”

He nodded, gesturing to the entrance not too far from the lobby. You bid him good night and head to the restaurant in the hotel, which was sparse with customers. Friday nights were usually teeming with life and excitement, but unfortunately business had been relatively slow all week. The worry pooled deep in your stomach – as if you needed any more ratification that your hotel needed to be bought, or you’ll close down.

“Yoongi! I need your cure-all soup,” you called out as soon as you sat on the barstool, propping your tote on the table. Jungkook waved at you from the far end of the bar, concocting a drink for the eager gentleman waiting in front of him. Yoongi popped his head out from the kitchen’s double doors to scowl at you but was met with your beaming smile.

He returned several minutes later with your request and you quietly thank him.

“Bad date?” he asked, wiping his palms over his well-worn apron. Jungkook had inched closer by this time, mindlessly wiping the area beside you.

You nodded. “And terrible food. I should’ve just asked him to take me here to Grigio instead.”

Yoongi raised his brows, but a grin was threatening to burst from his lips. “Why didn’t you?”

“He insisted on going to that posh new restaurant that just opened last week. Said it took months to book and he couldn’t just cancel on a whim,” you rolled your eyes, carefully blowing cold air into your steaming soup.

“This is why I told you to stop looking around,” Yoongi leaned into the counter, studying your expression.

“It’s cuffing season,” you joked. “Blame social norms for my behaviour.”

He gave you an impassive stare, before sighing. “You’re literally cuffed already.” He said, followed by a quiet, “I still can’t believe you’re getting married soon.”

You waved your right hand nonchalantly before lifting the spoon to your lips. You moaned as soon as the flavour filled your senses.

“Did you know you’re the best chef ever?”

“It’s just chicken noodle soup,” he said drily.

“Exactly! The simplest meal yet you manage to bring out so many spices at once.” He rolled his eyes at your attempt to boost his ego. Either way it was true; for you, nothing beat Yoongi’s cooking, no matter how simple he thought the meal was.

You forgo the tea and asked Jungkook for a bottle of white wine. “Nothing fancy — Les Capriades is fine. I heard they came in last month, and I have yet to try them.”

He nodded at your instructions before disappearing off to the back to find your drink.

“Stop avoiding the topic, Y/N,” Yoongi rested his chin in the palm of his hand.

“I’m not avoiding anything,” you stated confidently, yet you couldn’t meet his gaze. “The devil incarnate himself refuses to see me. I guess I’ll have to meet him at the altar.”

“Three weeks from now,” Yoongi said, almost exasperated.

“Until then, I’ll enjoy my freedom.”

“What freedom?” Yoongi scoffed, rounding the table to slide into the seat next to you. Jungkook returned with your promised bottle and your eyes beamed with excitement before quietly thanking him. “You didn’t even date around before any of this marriage circus happened.”

You agreed with the “circus” part and ignored the indirect jab. Besides not having a say in any of the planning for your wedding, your supposed fiancé refused to introduce himself when you tried to reach out multiple times.

Okay, perhaps it wasn’t multiple times. You called his office when your parents broke the news to you a week ago, but his assistant said he was busy with a meeting and that you should call back. You didn’t, and that was the end of it. You’ve been putting off trying again, but it’s been a week and he hasn’t contacted you back either.

Maybe it was mutual disdain; if one of you was testing the other to break, you didn’t want the first to be you. It already felt undignified to be marrying someone for the sake of keeping a semblance of ownership to your hotel, so you weren’t about to grovel and demand to be spoken to when it seemed like he wasn’t willing to spare you a second of his time.

Yoongi chatted for a bit before he had to go back to work, so you were left to pull out your laptop from your tote. For the next few hours you immersed yourself into finances, staring at the excel spreadsheet displayed on the screen far longer than was medically allowed. Surely, you’ll go blind before you see your hotel overcome the negative deficit you were in.

“See you tomorrow, Ms. Hwang,” Jungkook thrummed his fingers on the table as he passed by. You looked up in time to see him mime something unintelligible. Your brows raised in confusion.

“Your glasses,” he laughed quietly, fingers hovering close to your cheek. You mumbled a quiet oh, before pushing the rim higher until it settled snugly against your nose bridge.

“Thanks.” You sighed, tipping your head to one side. After feeling the satisfying pop! you turned back to Jungkook with a grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You slumped back to your work as soon as Jungkook was out of sight. Glancing at the clock on the corner of your laptop, it blinked 00:37, which automatically caused you to yawn. Yoongi should be out soon, so you willed yourself to stand up and prop the close sign by the entrance.

From where you stood, you could see the lobby clearly, as well as the spinning doors of the hotel entrance. A few patrons trickled in, no doubt coming in from their busy day, and filed sluggishly to the elevators where it would take them up their floors.

That was the most fulfilling part of being a hotelier to you. The satisfaction of giving people a comfortable stay, whether they were mere tourists or locals wanting a getaway from their normal life. It certainly isn’t as posh and sleek as the Kim Hotel with their towering glass buildings and boring black, white, and grey colour palettes. But what you had was something you were proud to consider your home, with the vibrant earth tones of the walls and furniture, as well as the rich velvet tapestry draped along the ornate windows. High ceiling chandeliers peppered the lobby, casting an ambience of warmth and security without lacking luxury.

“‘Night, Y/N.” Yoongi clasped your shoulder, startling you out of your mini daydream. “Stop using my restaurant as your office, will you?”

You mustered a small grin. “Bye, Yoongles. Drive safe.”

Yoongi turned to you as his face contorted violently. “I hate that nickname.”

“Love you too!” You called out as he exited through the revolving door before placing your hand down with a sigh. Back to work. You were about to turn and go back to your forgotten laptop when the door welcomed in another guest.

With bated breath you watched the man stalk towards you, eyeing you dangerously as if you were his prey. His midnight black suit made him look slim but highlighted his broad shoulders all the same. You were arrested at the spot, unable to look away and felt as if you’ve been robbed of oxygen. The more he stepped closer, the more unclear your thoughts became.

It’s not as if you hadn’t seen the man. He often appeared on several business magazines — gossip tabloids more so. Yet there was something different about seeing him in person, in front of you, in your hotel.

No. His hotel.

“Ms. Hwang. I was hoping to find you here.”

You blinked up at him, not trusting your voice to form words under such immense pressure. His usually slicked back ebony hair is more mussed; a day’s worth of stress was evident in his restless feature.

When you didn’t reply, he took it upon himself to study you from head to toe, and your body went rigid. Your long, honey-coloured hair had been tied up in a lazy bun and glasses framed your face. You didn’t bother changing out of your mini black dress from your date earlier, whose thin straps clung onto your shoulders for dear life.

You squirmed uncomfortably, finding a small ounce of strength to wrap your hands protectively around yourself. “What are you doing here, Mr. Kim?”

“Please,” he rolled his eyes, supple lips bending upwards for a grin. “Call me Seokjin. Mr. Kim is my father.”

And with that, he welcomed himself in the threshold of your restaurant.

Technically, it’s his restaurant now, too.

You let your anger simmer for a bit before turning to follow him.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you declared. It was hard to keep your annoyance down when he had showed up unannounced after ignoring your existence for a whole week.

He slid next to the seat you had claimed yours, and you almost tripped in your heels as you followed, immediately snapping your laptop shut. There was no new information he could have garnered from looking at the finances of the hotel, as he’s probably aware of them. But the thought of him snooping around made you feel queasy.

“I wanted to see what had my father so enamoured that he’d actually buy this…” he trailed off, waving his hand dismissively, “…hotel?”

You hated the underlying judgement in his tone of voice. You had also heard rumours that he’s unabashedly forward and hard to deal with, on top of all the other rumours that plagued him. So far, all the boxes in the checklist were proving to be true.

“It’s quaint. Not at all what I expected.” His gaze studied you momentarily, and you can tell he wanted to say more but he smartly held himself back. Good. You don’t know what you would do if he strung one criticism after another.

“Well, you’ve seen it. You can kindly screw off now.”

Seokjin seemed taken aback for a second, but his surprise didn’t linger. He leaned back on the stool and swiveled forward before pointing at the shelves lined with alcohol.

“I’ll have a whiskey, neat.”

In an attempt to ignore his ridiculous demand, you powered up your laptop once more. No way in hell would you let him step all over you, not even when he owned the hotel where you now stood. “You have very capable legs and arms. I’m sure you can whip one up yourself.”

Was this man joking? Granted, you know your way behind the bar since you had the privilege to work as a bartender for a few years during your college tenure. But that doesn’t mean he’s welcomed here to treat you as if you were a subservient of his. Which, semantics aside, you were, though that’s beside the point. But if he made an effort to come down here and order you around like a scullery maid in an attempt to intimidate you or put you in your place, then he was barking up the wrong tree.

“I was told you have terrific hospitality. I guess they were mistaken.”

Not for the likes of you, I don’t. You rolled your eyes, not bothering with an actual reply.

Seokjin maneuvered off his suit jacket and unbuttoned his cufflinks before he rolled his sleeves up meticulously. He then rounded the bar and began grabbing materials with familiarity, not stopping to ask where anything was located. You watched in awe from the corner of your eyes, attempting to be discreet.

“Want one?” he gave you a slanted gaze.

You wrinkled your nose in disagreement and raised your wine glass.

“A refill, then?”

Pressing your lips firmly together, you gave him a defiant headshake.

The mild shock of seeing him traipsing behind the bar had rendered you absolutely mute. The fact that he knew where everything was piqued your interest. Was it an outcome of years of experience as a habitual drinker? Or did he often just randomly raid bars, hence his extensive knowledge of their layout? You didn’t want to know, but at the same time you did.

It took him a while to find a coaster before settling back to the spot beside you. Typing away at your laptop, you refused to give him even an ounce of attention despite his attention solely being yours. The silence that ensued was more uncomfortable than anything you’ve experienced.

Suddenly, you were all too aware of your crooked posture and your body snapped, straightening your shoulders rigidly. It felt stupid, but necessary for the sake of your sanity to keep your façade. Although it crumbled ever so slightly when Seokjin laughed beside you.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel tense,” his voice was languid and inviting.

You steeled yourself, refusing to be lulled into a trance by his intoxicating presence. “What did you really come here for, Kim Seokjin?”

“She speaks!” he exclaimed, clearly amused. You turned to give him an impassive stare. “Do I need a reason to visit my fiancée?”

His statement caught you by surprise, your poor heart bearing the brunt of suddenly having to pump more oxygen than usual. It brought warmth to your cheeks and you allowed yourself to fall into the fantasy of marrying the most eligible bachelor in all of Seoul. The fantasy, however, was short-lived as his wink broke the spell you were under.

“Don’t worry, this will be strictly business,” his back straightened up on cue. You tried and subsequently failed not to watch the way his deft fingers moved to loosen up his necktie. He then slightly deflated with a sigh, before grabbing his drink and taking a sip.

For courage, perhaps? It brought a small amount of accomplishment to know that you might have The Kim Seokjin nervous before you.

“It’s about the wedding, which you know is coming up soon.”

This was it. The topic you’ve been narrowly avoiding for the past week suddenly poured on you all at once like a bucket of ice-cold water. It wasn’t the most refreshing way of waking you up to reality, but it got the job done.

“I hope you aren’t getting cold feet now, Kim,” he grins at your attempt at humour.

“I apologize for not getting back to you sooner, by the way. My secretary said you tried to get a hold of me.” You remembered the woman’s monotone voice on the other end of the phone call. Part of the reason why you were reluctant to call back was due to nervousness from hearing her apathetic voice.

You shrugged in response, finding him less of an asshole than you had previously. Was your expectation of decency so low that you found anything remotely human he did to be an act of chivalry on his part?

Yes. Yes, it was.

“I tried calling because I wanted to know if I would be able to talk you out of this deal.”

Seokjin was visibly surprised by your candor.

“Oh yeah, and how would that have played out?”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. Surely, it was too late to take anything back, so you tossed all caution out of the window. He might as well hear your piece.

“The ceremony preferably cancelled. The Hwang Hotel back to its rightful owner, as if the whole thing hadn’t occurred in the first place.”

Seokjin regarded you with amusement in his eyes. The warm lights of the Grigio soften his rugged features, making it seem like he was glowing. You came to understand how he had the whole country enamoured by him. He was distressingly handsome.

You gagged at where your thoughts ended up and leaned back a little, terrified of feeling too intimate with the man who had claimed your hard-earned success for himself. The hotel means more to you in ways you know Seokjin will never be able to relate. A man who, with a little twirl of his fingers, would be making more money than you could ever hope to imagine. They say no hard work goes unpaid, but for him it was probably akin to: No hard work, but I get paid either way. How comfortable must it be to sit atop that domineering tower of his, overlooking the city he practically owns?

“And what do I get out of that possible scenario?” he began after a brief pause.

You refused to wilt under his imposing gaze. With a confident voice, you said, “The satisfaction of doing a noble deed.”

He barked out a laugh, tilting his head back in obvious enjoyment. You didn’t share the sentiment as you sighed before removing your prescription glasses. Perhaps hoping for the impossible was futile, after all.

“Look, I don’t care about this little passion project of yours,” Seokjin waved his hands around condescendingly, and you felt a familiar pang of anger surging from your chest. “And you’re lucky my father swooped in to purchase this hotel before you went bankrupt.”

“Thank you for the constant reminder,” you deadpanned, but he ignored you and continued. The gall of the man to show up and ridicule you made you irate. I take that back, he’s still an asshole in every aspect imaginable.

“To be frank, I think we’re both in a pinch here. You want your hotel back, and I’m willing to grant you that tiny little wish.”

You perked up; interest piqued. But you felt an ultimatum coming, so you squashed all hope arising from his statement. There was always a catch.

“My parents have been grooming me to become CEO ever since I learned how to walk. For me, acquiring the position is a no-brainer.”

“But?” you offered, and his grin widened.

“But lately my father refuses to hand me the reins. He’s been wanting to retire, but every year he keeps sticking it out. Then I unceremoniously learned my engagement with you. All of a sudden, his mood shifted, and his plans for retirement began piling up.”

Your brows creased in confusion, unable to see how you fit into all of this.

“My reputation precedes me, so I’m sure you’re aware of what I’m insinuating here.”

Something clicks in your mind, and you willed yourself to hold back a scoff.

“Enlighten me, Kim,” you propped your chin against your palm. If you were going to agree to this, you might as well have a little fun for yourself.

“My parents aren’t amused by my…” Seokjin trailed off.

“Decision to debauch half the women’s population of Seoul?” you offered, unable to hold yourself back. You grinned triumphantly; he had set himself up for that moral beating.

“I was going to say my inability to settle down, but sure, we’ll go with that,” Seokjin was unfazed, much to your disappointment. “He hadn’t explicitly said it but seeing the way everything is being handled so quickly, I can tell it’s what he wants. For me to get married; then maybe he’ll consider giving me the position.”

“And you didn’t oppose?” you asked incredulously. It seemed at the moment you were the one who is prepped to lose the most. What if it wasn’t you who the Kims chose for their son? Were you supposed to just accept defeat and give up your hotel?

“Oh, trust me, I vehemently opposed,” you nodded at his statement. At least you agreed on something. That was a start. “But that’s partly the reason why I’m here.”

“What more can we possibly do? We’re basically left with no option,” you grumbled, turning back to your laptop. For you, there was no way around this. Both your families have decided for you, so you have to either fall in line or risk losing your business.

“What if I tell you we can go back to our normal lives a few months from now? We won’t be married to each other. You’ll have your hotel back, and I’ll still be the CEO.”

You inadvertently leaned towards him, eager to know where the conversation was going.

“We just have to convince my parents and yours, as well as the board of directors of Kim Hotels and the public alike how we’re hopelessly in love with each other.”

Your mouth formed into a visible scowl, forehead creasing in confusion. You searched for hints of frivolity, waiting for him to say just kidding! at any moment. But his stoic face told you that he was being serious.

“And we’re doing this because…?” your patience had worn thin, expression marred by weariness and fatigue. You had a lot to get back to; you didn’t have time for silly games.

“It will make the divorce more believable.”

You paused, the gears in your brain turning. The agreement your parents told you about hadn’t involved a divorce; so, you were curious as to where Seokjin was going with his idea.

He was offering you an out; a way to get out of his family’s mess unscathed. You’ll have your only prized possession, and he can go back to sleeping with as many people as he wanted while retaining his coveted position. The proposition was too good to be true.

“What’s the catch?” your lips pursed, and you found yourself considering his ludicrous proposal.

“No catch,” he holds his two hands up in surrender, the corner of his mouth forming a smirk. You eyed him with suspicion.

“Just that you give effort into this whole thing. Make my father and the board believe enough to think I’ve ‘cleaned up my act’,” he paused to roll his eyes, “so that they’ll hand me the position without question. I promise you full ownership of the Hwang Hotel, without debt, as soon as we separate.”

While your parents’ original plan had been to marry you off entirely (which you did not want at all) Seokjin was sensible enough to figure out that you had no desires of tying the knot to someone you barely knew. He probably shared the sentiment, hence his proposal.

“This doesn’t make sense though,” you said pointedly. “Wouldn’t they find out about your motives when we divorce? And our parents technically arranged this, so they’ll be mad — I’m sure yours will be more than mine.”

You’re all in for finding a loophole in this whole arrangement, but you’re not sure you’ll agree if it will give you more problems in the long run.

He shrugged, unconcerned. “They can question it all they want. But like I said, if we make it believable enough, we can always reason that we ‘fell out of love’.”

In an attempt to alleviate a developing headache, your hands slowly massaged your temples. The information was a lot to hand, but no matter how many scenarios you played in your head, they all seemed to have the finale you wanted. Regardless of what happened within the upcoming months, you were going to get your hotel back.

“If you’re really that worried, let’s just say I cheated,” Seokjin’s words snapped you out of your muddled thoughts.

Your eyebrows creased in confusion. “Wouldn’t that be worse for you?”

“The public already thinks I’m a man-whore,” he said wryly. “The board is not going to kick me out of office for something tedious like a divorce once I’m CEO. And I’m sure I can reason it out with my parents when the time comes.”

You laced your fingers together, hoping to wring the concerns away. There was no use in overthinking the situation; it certainly beats staying miserably married to someone you barely know.

You let out a shaky breath, before mustering the confidence to say, “Fine.”

“Great, I knew you’d be reasonable.” He flicked his wrist to look at his watch, gaze composed despite the tiredness in his eyes. “I’ll have my secretary e-mail you a written agreement.”

“Great,” you mimicked his deadpan tone. Gone was the casual Seokjin who paced around behind the bar with much familiarity. This was the COO of Kim Hotels Seokjin; precise and straight to the point.

Better get used to that.

“Thanks for the drink, future wife,” he slid off the barstool with poise, the distance between you and him closing ever so slightly. He smelled like pine and cedar, with a hint of citrus; it was enough for you to suddenly sober up, unaware you were inebriated, to begin with.

“No need. You forced your way in, anyway.” You said dismissively, pretending to switch tabs on your screen. Where was that random website you were looking at earlier?

With a quiet laugh, he turned to leave. You listened to his rhythmic steps and perked up when he paused.

“See you tomorrow, fiancée,” he said without turning.

“Tomorrow?” you tried not to give away the surprise in your voice.

“We have to start going on dates to convince them that we’re serious about this, right? Pick you up at eight, sharp.”

With a wave of his right hand, he stalked off towards the exit, leaving you alone in the restaurant.

Suddenly, the premise didn’t appear so simple. You reached for your glass of wine and finished the rest of your courage drink in one gulp.

NEXT ; 

thanks for reading! feedback is always appreciated ;u;

[averyrogers83writes]

Destiny

Title: Destiny Authors:  @endrega23  & @averyrogers83 Warnings: Fluffiness Rating: General Pairing: WinterHawk: Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton Summary: Clint is a sex-repulsed asexual - he falls fast for people, but since he doesn't want to have sex with them, they sooner or later leave him, because those just seem to be the kinds of people Clint would find for himself. Bucky on the other hand has a hard time falling in love with anyone and finds he’d much have a “friends with benefits” setup with Nat then to go out and find someone. That is until Nat knocks some sense into him and makes him realize something she’s known for a long time.   Words: 2904 A/N: This is a collaboration between @averyrogers83writes and @endrega23 for the Marvellous Ace Valentine’s Collab Link: Here

@kimmycup @one-crazy-writer @shield-agent78 @hotoffthepressfics @chuuulip @buckysforeverprincess @thorfanficwriter @the-soulofdevil 

There were three things Clint couldn’t function without. Coffee, pizza, and pretty much Bucky. Clinton Francis Barton, AKA Hawkeye, was a mess when Bucky wasn’t around. On his own during his down time he could be a basic basket case. He was like a kid with ADHD on steroids. It was probably all the coffee in his system. If he could, Clint would put an IV filled with coffee straight into his veins. It’s pretty much why Bucky often made two mugs of coffee before he left the apartment and would meet up with Clint on their way to work.  

Bucky sat down on his couch, looking out across the street through the very conveniently placed window. On the other side, he could just see into another apartment: Clint’s, who for some reason was extremely animated as he talked to Lucky. Bucky shook his head fondly. He never knew what Clint was up to at any given moment, but whatever it was, he could be sure to be amused and and exasperated.

His phone pinged. Bucky glanced down reflexively and his heart stopped for a moment.

Nat - 1:1

Any plans for Valentine’s, yet? I’m excited to see what you come up with this year ;)

Shit, Valentine’s was next week, wasn’t it? He needed to figure out what to do for Nat. She was hard to come up with ideas for. In fact he really couldn’t remember what he did for her last year for Valentine’s Day, but either way it was only right to do something nice for her.

Just as he was scrolling through his phone for ideas, there was a persistent pounding at the door.

“Alright, hold your horses, I’m coming!” he called out He reluctantly got up from the couch and opened the door without looking up from his phone. He knew it was Clint - no one else knocked quite so enthusiastically.  

“Bucky, dude, I need your help.” Clint pushed his way past Bucky, and Bucky looked up. Clint sounded… frantic, somehow.

“What is it this time? Please tell me you didn’t find another cat for me to adopt. Alpine is more than enough for me, thank you very much.”

“No,” Clint shook his head, practically jumping on his toes. He didn’t even rise to Bucky admitting to liking Alpine. What the hell? “I’ve found the one.”

“The one what?” Bucky asked, but damn he knew what the answer was gonna be. Not again.

“You know..the one I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. The one I’m going to marry.”

Bucky sighed. “Yep, exactly what he thought”. Being Clint’s best friend came with some exclusivities, mainly being privy to how chaotic his love life could be. Bucky knew everyone Clint was ever involved with because it seemed like he was with a new partner constantly. When Clint fell, he fell hard, only to break up with them a month or two later. All through college it was the same thing. Clint didn’t fall in love with someone because of what they offered physically, but more emotionally.  It’s one of the things that Bucky and Clint had in common.

That wasn’t the only thing they shared, though. Clint’s dad messed him up so badly that the poor kid ended up partially deaf in one ear after a beating. After that Clint swore that he’d find a way to get out and he did. Bucky’s dad was an alcoholic that was more mentally abusive than physically, but he was known to toss Bucky around a time or two. It sucked that their shitty childhoods are what they had in common, but it allowed them to understand each other more where others couldn’t.

“Yeah? And what makes this one different?”

“She’s hot, smart, makes gravity her bitch - I mean have you seen her dance moves? I just know she’s the one for me and I need your help to plan the perfect Valentine’s date. I’m going to ask her to marry me.” Clint shrugged, and Bucky pinched his nose. He could feel he was going to give in. “Please, dude, you’re my best friend and I really need your help on this one. I don’t want to screw this up.”

Bucky sighed again. How could he deny his best friend his assistance? Besides, maybe they could help each other out in trying to figure out the best dates.

“Fine. I’ll help you, but you’ve got to help me with setting something up for Nat.”

“Are you two finally getting serious?”

Bucky just grunted. Where Clint could fall in love with someone quickly, Bucky found it hard to fall in love. He fantasized about it, don’t get him wrong - but finding someone? So far, it really seemed impossible. It was easier to find someone that he didn’t mind hanging out and occasionally having sex with, but anything long-term was nothing more than a dream and the sex - well. He didn’t really care if the relationship was physical at all, but it certainly seemed like the only kind of intimacy he could get. So for the majority of the time he would hook up with Nat.

Natasha was another one of their long time friends. Where Nat and Clint would often partner up on projects, Bucky would be the one to help make their vision a reality. It was what made the three of them such great friends. It was also why Nat and Bucky were so good for each other. They both pretty much wanted the same thing: a friends with benefits situation where there was no real commitment to each other, just an occasion meet up for sex.

The rest of the day the two spent throwing ideas back and forth on what to do. The ideas went from the simple to the down right over the top. Bucky settled for a more simple route for Nat. She wasn’t one that liked frills and fancy stuff so a nice dinner and maybe some flowers would be enough.

Clint, on the other hand, wanted it to be a night Jessica would never forget. So Bucky helped make reservations at one of the most expensive and hard to get into restaurants in the city. Lucky for them they knew someone that could get them a table. Of course then he had to hire a violinist down to the best wine and champagne. But the more Clint talked about how Jessica was the one, the more Bucky felt agitated. He tried to help with getting the reservations set up or the flowers ordered and just found himself getting frustrated faster.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to or liked helping Clint, but the longer he had to deal with it, the shorter his fuse got. When Clint asked Bucky to go with him to the jeweler to help pick out the perfect ring, Bucky finally felt close to breaking. But it wasn’t like he really had a reason to be frustrated, right? Clint would do the same for him. So he made himself take a few deep breaths and went.

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

The next day Nat invited him to the new Star Wars movie at the mall. The movie was fun (though Bucky would always swear by Star Trek), but what was really worth it was their usual sushi place next to the theater.

Bucky wasn’t quite in the mood, though. He was quiet, he knew - he just didn’t feel like talking.  He could feel Nat’s eyes on him, studying him, and he knew it would bite him in the ass, but…

“James.”

Bucky grunted.

“Do not do this with me,” Nat poked at him with her toe. “You are better than this.”

Bucky glanced at Nat and shrugged. “Am I though?”

“James, what is this?” Nat frowned and set her bowl down. “I thought we were over this. What brought it up?”

Bucky let his head fall back.

“Just… I don’t know, Nat. Clint is getting married and all I can feel is annoyed. It’s not like him getting married is so rare,” Bucky waved a hand in the air. “This is the third time I can remember, and you’ve known him longer. Just.” He rolled his head over to look at Nat. “Why can’t I be happy for him?”

Natasha blinked. "James…” she trailed off, then took a harder look at him. “Please tell me you’re just playing ignorant. Dummy, you're in love with Clint."

"What?" Bucky blinked. "I'm not... What?

He couldn't be, what was Natasha even talking about? Clint was his best friend. Sure, they hung out all the time, but it wasn't romantic. Was it? Noo, no way. It wasn't.

"James Buchanan Barnes." Natasha glared at him. Shit, full named? "Tell me you knew that.

"Nat, come on," Bucky pleaded, his eyes going wider. It couldn't be, right? "You're joking, right? Clint is my best friend, I'm not in love with him.

Natasha stared at him. "You're not kidding.

"Uhm..."

"I can't.” Natasha shook her head. “Just... Think a bit about it. I'm going to get ice cream.

"Rude," Bucky muttered to Natasha's departing back. Leaving him in an emotional crisis and getting ice cream without him? Rude. He should be the one getting the ice cream.

But Natasha couldn't be right, right?

October, 2014

Bucky stared out of his window. If he stood just so, he could see into Clint’s apartment on the other side of the street. Of course, Clint could also see into his, but where that would have bothered him with anyone else, with Clint, it was fine. Clint was fine.

Except right at that moment, Clint wasn’t right, because just as Bucky was preparing to turn away and settle in for his solo night in, Clint tripped right in the narrow strip Bucky could see. Probably over Lucky. The poor dog always got in Clint’s way whenever Clint was getting ready for a date, and really, Bucky couldn’t blame him. He often had the urge to trip Clint up, just so he couldn’t leave on his newest date.

Which was stupid. Clint was an adult, and they’ve known each other long enough that Bucky knew Clint didn’t appreciate others directing his life for him. So Bucky wouldn’t, really. Clint had the right to go on date after date, fall for person after person, and every time he got dumped, Bucky and Natasha would be there with ice cream. Because that’s what friends were for.

Clint tripped right in that narrow strip again, and Bucky sighed. Maybe he should go rescue Clint from Lucky. Maybe Alpine wouldn’t even mind, and that way, at least he’d have a cuddle buddy, even without Clint.

August, 2015

“Hey!” Clint shouted as he pushed open Bucky’s door. “You ready for our pizza night in?” Bucky sighed. “In the kitchen!” he called back. “You know, I distinctly remember locking the door.” “Oops?” Clint grinned at him from the kitchen doorway. “What are you making?” Bucky sighed again, but he couldn’t stop the smile curling his lips. “Just some salad. Natasha threatened again to force-feed you greens, thought I would preempt it.” “Awww, you’re my hero,” Clint fluttered his eyelids, and something in Bucky’s chest squeezed. “Yeah, well,” he said brusquely to cover it up, and pointed at the spare chopping board he set up. “Get chopping. The onions are yours.” “Aw, onions, no,” Clint complained, but obediently stepped up to the board. “Do you have to make me cry?” Only fair, Bucky thought, but bit his tongue before it slipped out. Where the hell did that even come from?

December, 2015

“Come on, Clint!” Bucky shouted to the kitchen, twisting impatiently. “The episode is starting!” “Shit!” Clint cursed, and something crashed. “I’m fine, don’t have to come!” “Sure you are, buddy,” Bucky muttered to himself. The day Clint would be fine in the kitchen was the day they married. Instead, he twisted back to look at the TV, playing the intro of Dog Cops. Why Clint loved that series, he’d never understand, but it made Clint happy so it didn’t much matter. “I’m here!” Clint announced and plopped down next to Bucky. “I think Alpine ate the chicken wings. Sorry.” “Well, whatever,” Bucky grumbled. “Come here.” “Yes, sir,” Clint grinned, and threw his head down on Bucky’s lap. “You’ll have to feed me, I can’t reach the popcorn this way.” “Oh no,” Bucky deadpanned, but obediently reached out to grab a fistful of popcorn. “Now shush.” He dropped the fistful into Clint’s open mouth. Clint grinned up at him, cheeky, but his mouth was full so Bucky just shoved his face to look at the TV. “Dog Cops. Now.”

As if on cue, the intro ended, and then suddenly Clint wasn’t that interested in annoying him anymore.

“Aww, I didn’t miss it!” Clint crowed from behind the popcorn in his mouth. “Yeah, dummy,” Bucky snorted, and sank his hand into Clint’s hair. Really, getting to       pet Clint might be his favorite part of watch parties.

“Oh, shit,” Bucky whispered. “I’m in love with Clint Barton.”

“What?” a voice came from behind him, and Bucky turned, confused.

“Jessica?”

“Yeah, dummy,” Jessica frowned at him from the door to the sushi place. “What did   you just say? Because to me it sounds like you just professed love to my boyfriend.”

“Oh shit,” Bucky cursed. Jessica was staring at him expectantly, but Bucky’s mind was blank. He could feel his heart start to race and his breath coming shorter. He couldn’t believe that he said that out loud, for fuck’s sake.

Jessica sighed. “It’s true, isn’t it? You know, I should thank you. You made things so much easier.”

“What?” Bucky frowned.

“Don’t you worry your pretty head about it.” Jessica smiled tightly and turned.

“What? Jessica…!” Bucky finally sprang into motion, but it was too late; Jessica was gone.

What the hell had she been talking about?

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

Bucky was going out of his mind. He wasn’t able to find Jessica in the mall, and she wouldn’t answer her phone. He wasn’t able to find Nat, either, and when he called her, she just laughed at him and hung up. Honestly, he should just call Clint, but…

But he was a coward. What if Jessica told Clint? What if Clint now hated Bucky? There was no way Clint felt the same way - Bucky knew what Clint in love looked like. It came quick, it was flaming, and it was over just as fast. They’ve known each other for years, now. He should just go to sleep, right? He had work in the morning. But when he looked around the apartment, it was… empty. Specifically, it had a Clint-shaped void gaping at the center. Well, that wasn’t going to change. He might as well get used to… Loud banging on his door interrupted Bucky’s train of thought. What the hell? He rushed to open the door before the banging woke the whole building. “Clint?” Shit, Clint looked awful.

“Jessica broke up with me. She just got up and broke up without any warning other than that I needed to talk to you.”

“Clint I…”

“Bucky what the….What did you say to her! Tell me!”

“Clint I didn’t realize that she was near and she...she apparently overheard me.” Bucky’s heart was racing, he knew he had to come clean, but… “Come in, at least? The whole building doesn’t need to hear us.”

“Oh,” Clint smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

They walked to the couch in silence, but Bucky could feel the tension bubbling up in Clint. To be fair, he wasn’t much calmer.

“Tell me what she overheard,” Clint demanded once they reached the couch.

Bucky took a big breath. Well, here goes nothing.

“She overheard me come to the realization that I love you. I know you don’t feel the same way, and I don’t expect you to. Honestly, I just want things to stay the same; I value your friendship more than any romance.” Bucky’s face flushed. “But I’ve never felt more like myself with anyone else, and, well. You wanted to know.” His palms were sweating and he felt like he was going to faint, and Clint was just staring at him with an open mouth. An actually, comically open mouth. “Clint?”

“Where the fuck did you get the idea that I don’t love you?”

“Wha..what?” Bucky blinked.

“I’ve loved you since the day we met,” Clint said, and a shit eating grin started to appear on his face. “You were everything I ever wanted from a relationship.”

“But…” Bucky blinked again. This was… this didn’t make sense. “You kept falling in love with people!”

“Polyamory,” Clint shrugged, and oh, that made sense. “I kept hoping someone would turn out half as good as you. No one did, though.”

“I… Okay, okay.” Bucky took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, this is a lot to process. Oh my god.” Relief started to fill him. A stupid smile stretched his face, and it felt like he could fly away. Oh god, could he really get to have this? “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Clint grinned back at him, then leaned over to kiss Bucky’s cheek, and Bucky’s face erupted in flames. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time.”

“We’ll have to talk things over.”

“I know.”

“Things can’t be this easy.”

“Can’t they though?”

“Wanna cuddle?”

“Hell yes.”

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 84: The Second Task

James almost landed on his feet this time, stumbling forward madly in what could have been anything from icy slush, to mud, to quicksand, it was so shocking and repulsive to his bare feet, and quickly found himself face first with a solid block of water. He blinked dazedly several times as he rapped his fist against this new oddity, it didn't even come away wet, then screamed as his eyes adjusted through the murky swill to the sight of the four dead bodies.

He scrambled backwards so fast he found himself tripping right over someone and ruined any pretenses of clean that bath had given by now being covered head to toe in muck like everyone else, heart hammering out of his chest, unable to find his wand, and still looking right at them.

Sirius was trying to get madly to his side, wandless as well and feeling more naked for it than if his boxers had somehow vanished in between jumps this time, but finally getting unsteadily to his feet and hurrying over to Prongs to see the exact same thing. It was a horrifying sight to behold, and looking quickly down to see James uninjured and tangled up, nearly naked with Smith wasn't even distracting him.

Nobody else even looked down to notice the same yet, all eight of them were transfixed at the four floating figures tied down to a crude statue of a merperson carved into a boulder.

"Are they really-" Lily began in a quiet, broken voice, eyes on the little girl, she had to be younger than Regulus...

"N-no!" said Black's voice was shaking too much to even poster at his usually superior nature. "This, this must have something to do with, aha!"

He lunged forward for the book, held down by the blunt end of a trident so half buried in the muck as well as them, and pulled the now dirty blue binding free, instantly flipping it open to reveal the new chapter title, The Second Task.

"So, they had to come down here and find, people?" Frank started rubbing at his chest to get feeling back in it, now leaning against the barrier for support. "That's what they meant by recovering something taken? I bloody hate this tournament."

"I'm long since past," Alice promised, shivering in more than cold despite the mud clinging to her skin. "Mind getting off of me now Potter?"

"Eh?" He glanced down and seemed to realize he was keeping her pinned down, and dutifully rolled off with a quick uttered apology. Then his already pale visage went ever worse as he did a quick look around and didn't see his clothes anywhere, with his wand in it! Oh bloody hell, what happened to the shit they left behind, did they ever find out?!

"Here," James very suddenly found himself with Sirius's pants in his face. "Thought you idiots would like those back."

Sirius did not care that thanks to his brother he now knew what his sock tasted like, he quickly shoved his hands into every available pocket before coming up with Prongs's wand, looking over to see him doing the same with his own.

"You two really are idiots," Peter repeated as he watched Prongs get dressed. "What if he hadn't thought of that eh? And after Regulus went through all that trouble with his shoes?"

"We were having some bleeding fun for once," James scowled, his voice only slightly muffled by his shirt. "Maybe if you lot had joined, we all could have gotten zapped out of there at everyone's convenience!"

"That's all this is to you, isn't it? Fun," Regulus shook his head in disgust.

Neither of them answered, as they did not feel the need to explain themselves to him. Sirius huffily put his pants on and purposely turned away from him to go back studying the no longer dead, but still really, really dead-looking four.

"So, that's Ron and Hermione huh?" He said purposefully loudly to Remus. It was admittedly a guess, but not a wild one, considering the amount of times they'd been described. "Ron's taller than I pictured. Not hard to see why Harry's got a fancy for Cho though, she's a looker, eh Prongs?" Her's was much more wild in said guess, but if Ron and Hermione were down here, logically these were people the champions would care about.

"Eh," he barely cast another look at the girl with long dark hair, he was straightening his shirt and watching Evans, who was now studying the nearest merperson's house with great interest as it sank in for everyone where they must be. Beneath the Hogwarts lake.

It was far too dark down here to get a sense of anything too far from their little bubble of air, but what they could see was admittedly attention-grabbing. The seashells acting as a sort of roadway, the tangled seaweed much shorter than they'd have thought leading to the fun question of what they used to keep that cut down here, and even the houses were something few wizards had ever gotten the chance to see in such detail. The one closest to them was thatched together very cleanly, with no front door apparent.

"I don't understand why we're already at the second task when Harry has no idea what he's going to do to get down here," Frank was frowning heavily at the four victims still. "I'd have thought we'd get a whole chapter dedicated to that at this point."

"I'm not complaining, the sooner this is over, the better," Regulus muttered under his breath as he kept going through Harry's classes, his friends of no more clue than them how any of this was going to work out.

Remus' robes were now dripping with muck and water, he still wanted to kick Sirius for the impromptu bath, but he was frowning at him for a wholly other reason as instead of putting the Bagman jersey back on, he was flipping it this way and that with a frown.

"You don't have to keep showing off Sirius, you swimming around nearly starkers did that plenty," he reminded.

"This turd's been bothering me," he said off hand, before dropping it into the mud and crossing his arms. "Offering Harry all that help, avoiding the twins, something's up with him."

"So, what, you're going to run around shirtless now?" He laughed. "It's February up there Sirius, you'd die of frostbite in minutes."

"You'd keep me warm, wouldn't you Moony," he grinned, uncrossed his arms and leered at him, the scars visible on his chest courtesy of Remus making him wince and try to avoid looking at him.

"Your knackers would fall right off," Remus shot back, very proud he barely had a change in expression.

"You'd keep me warm," Sirius repeated, quite the opposite now with a salacious grin.

Remus was saved the tongue-twisting issue of responding to that by Sirius himself, but in the future. His return note to Harry was more than distracting enough to draw everyone's attention.

"Why do you want to know the Hogsmeade dates?" Evans actually asked of him.

"To take a stroll around, obviously," he rolled his eyes at what he clearly thought was a stupid question.

"And you don't find that the least bit dangerous?" Longbottom asked as if checking his sanity, which clearly slipped a few degrees when he answered.

"Nah, I know that place like the back of my hand. Honestly, can't believe I haven't met up with Harry in there yet."

Potter was now picking mud out of his nails without a care in the world, but at least Lupin and Pettigrew were looking at him with slight concern. It was good to know they weren't all insane, Regulus decided.

He continued on with more build-up instead, including a lesson from Hagrid over baby unicorns and another pep-talk from the gamekeeper. He couldn't help but sympathize heavily with Harry when he didn't ask for help because he was too afraid of disappointing Hagrid, if that wasn't the story of his life in the shortest words possible he didn't know what was. Bolstering quickly past that found the eight of them all laughing in surprise at Ron's response to this challenge.

They all looked affectionately at the redhead floating behind them, his absurd suggestion to just shove his head in the lake and ask for, well himself back was ludicrous, but seeing him here in person really put a funnier spin on that. They were all equally eyeing Hermione with great interest. Her bushy hair was hardly subdued by the deep water, it was almost strange to see her without a book in her hand, even in this place, as that's how they always pictured her in their head.

Frank and Alice would readily admit it was a blessing and a curse not to see Neville down here, to even have the image of how he'd look like this for even a second, while also getting to admire him in the closest thing they would get to see in person.

"Do you think, if we'd ever been in the hospital wing while she was petrified, we would have seen her then?" Alice asked.

"I imagine so," Frank shivered in further unease, thinking they'd look even more dead with their eyes open and glassy.

It was a shame, Lily thought, that they couldn't watch all of this happen in real time regardless, while they stayed hidden away or something. She'd have liked to see Harry ageing before them if that had been the case, but now it seemed she may not even get to see a picture of him at this rate, let alone in the flesh.

As the twins led Ron and Hermione away to McGonagall, presumably leading them down here, they all began looking even more anxiously at his friends. What would happen to whomever Harry was down here to grab if he couldn't accomplish this task? This tournament was still years above him after all, and these two wouldn't be in real danger if he couldn't win at a game, right?

Then Dobby was shaking Harry awake, and the poor kid was having to rush down to this tournament, fearing for his best friend's life while swallowing a what exactly? None of them had heard of gillyweed!

James couldn't stand the tension anymore, he ruffled up his hair, the wet and mud causing a hilarious mess as he suavely turned to Evans and told her, "you know, I'd still come down here and get you even if I didn't have magic to hold my breath for an hour."

She gave him a sour look for joking at a time like this, the boy really had no bounds.

This remark did have the effect of getting someone else's attention though.

"What do you mean it'd be Evans down here?" Sirius Black whined like a kicked puppy. He came over and gave his friend a good prod in the side to make sure he had his full attention.

"Oh come on Padfoot, we all know the merpeople would have murdered you out of sheer annoyance, even if you were asleep. At least I have a chance at getting her out in time," James Potter more than happily teased him.

Lily was watching all of this with a single raised brow and complete disbelief this idiot thought she needed anyone's help, he knew better than anyone what she was perfectly capable of. So then it really was just a show, one her, Alice, and Frank found themselves sucked into. By the time Harry had eaten the odd plant, gotten into the water, and found himself past the grindylows, almost all of the tension had been sapped out of them.

Now Harry was actually down in the village, the first one to do so, and honest fascination as first Krum showed up, transfigured into a shark! James could have kicked himself he hadn't thought of that one, he really had been worried. Then Cedric with something odd, like a fishbowl on his head, they'd never even heard of that one. Then Harry decided enough was enough, he wasn't going to leave the poor little Fleur junior girl down here and took matters into his own hands, dragging her and his best mate up.

It was nice to have the chapter end on such a happy note for once, Regulus decided, as Harry was awarded high marks for his act of bravery, even if he should have realized they wouldn't have just left the kids down here to die, obviously, he'd known that all along... the errant thought didn't stop his eyes from lingering on the four one last time as he warned the others he was almost done, their gaunt faces and the meaning they held leaving him with a sinking feeling heavier than the mud they were still standing in. It was obvious who Sirius would have down here, whom everyone around him would be able to really answer in an instant they'd pick. It was an obvious answer to everyone, except him.

[tlbodine]

An Irritated Review of an Aggressively Bad Book

As a child of the 90s, I cut my teeth on R.L. Stine’s books. Goosebumps in elementary school, graduating up to Fear Street -- with its guts and gore! -- by my tweens. But the time came when I had voraciously consumed all of the R.L. Stine at the library, and I hungered for more books in the same vein. 

Which led me to Christopher Pike. 

Christopher Pike was another of the “Point Horror” series writers popular through the 80s, and they were an obvious thing to recommend to a budding young horror fan (especially as his books tended to be popular with young girls, thanks to the romantic subplots they often featured). But I just never really enjoyed them. I read a handful, shrugged it off, and eventually moved on to reading Stephen King and other adult authors instead. 

Which brings us to this motherfucker. 

@comicreliefmorlock​ sent me a small stack of vintage YA horror titles, because reading ridiculous cheesy teen thrillers sounded like good nostalgic fun. 

But this book isn’t the fun kind of cheesy. It’s the kind of cheesy that drives me to start blogging in irritation at 12:57 am. Because this book isn’t just bad, it is aggressively bad, and it says a lot about 1984 and the state of horror fiction and YA fiction and publishing in general that this fucking book launched Christopher Pike’s career. 

So let’s talk about this sumbitch below the cut.

The story is about a group of teens who meet up for a ski weekend. The girls were all very close when they were younger, but drifted apart after an accident that left one friend badly burned and her little sister dead. The burned-friend is the one whose family owns this very fancy house and so graciously invited everyone to come hang out. 

Our characters don’t really get much in the way of actual characterization, but here’s the cast: 

Nell, who has some facial scarring and whose family is apparently loaded

Nicole, the dead little sister

Lara, the main character (ostensibly)

Dana, who likes to eat and crack jokes (funny fat friend solidarity fist bump)

Rachael, the gorgeous blonde beauty rival of Lara

Mindy, who chews gum

Celeste, a shy girl with back problems who they’ve befriended somewhat recently 

They arrive and hand over their keys to a park ranger to valet-park their car while marveling at how they don’t really know if he was a real park ranger, because I always give my keys to strangers when visiting an isolated location. Celeste asks some innocent questions about why the group hasn’t hung out recently, and the group neglects to mention the dead sister, but the reader figures it out. 

Don’t worry, we’ll hear all about that in a moment. But first there’s a small, stupid mystery about a disappearing snowman, that melted really fast like it was burned and Lara will continue to fixate on this for the rest of the book. 

They spend a little time getting settled in before hitting the slopes. Celeste and Nell hang behind despite being the two people at this gathering who presumably don’t know each other, but they hit it off great right away so good for them. 

At the ski lodge, they run into a pair of boys that Rachael and Mindy know -- Percy and Cal. Lara falls into an instant and irritating infatuation with Percy for some reason, deepening that rivalry with Rachael. Cal creeps on Dana, trying to grope her when they get a minute alone, but Mindy of course gets jealous of Dana for horning on on her man because of course she does. 

Note: The book was written by a man in 1985. 

Anyway, at the ski slopes, Dana disappears, and everyone kind of assumes she’s just trying to avoid Cal even when they find one of her skis sitting in the middle of a very mysterious patch of snow that seems to have some ash and ice in it (just like the snowman! gasp!) but it’s probably fine! 

Somewhere in here we get an entire chapter told in italics to provide helpful background information about how Nicole died -- which involved a bunch of 6th graders at a sleepover getting drunk from stolen brandy in the liquor cabinet, deciding to hold a seance, knocking over a candle, catching Nicole on fire, and then Lara trying to put her out with the brandy (because it’s wet!) and that of course creates a Nicole-Flambe situation. Nicole is whisked away to the hospital and dies there and Lara is wracked with guilt and so forth and so on. 

And scene. Back to the present, where Dana is still missing, they can’t find the ranger who has their car keys, there’s a storm bearing down on them, but of course the most important thing is whether Percy likes Lara better than he likes Rachael. They invite the boys to come over that night. 

Dana’s not back at the house, so Lara calls the lodge to ask for them to have her call if she shows up, but otherwise big shrugs about the friend’s disappearance and presumably being lost in the middle of a storm. Celeste is scandalized that they were going to eat cold cuts at a party and sets to dressing and roasting two whole chickens and a bunch of side dishes, which is of course an extremely normal thing for a teenager to do at a party. 

The boys show up, and Lara feels kind of bad about not really caring where Dana is, except not guilty enough to do anything about it. Dana, you’re too good for these people, get better friends. 

Anyway, they eat and do some drinking then play charades, which Celeste and Nell are eerily good at (hmmmm) and then Cal creeps on Celeste which starts a whole argument culminating in Percy punching him in the face, Cal stumbling backward, and Mindy’s arm catching fire because Nell had bitchily thrown alcohol at her earlier. They throw out the boys and start doing some first aid on Mindy, including dosing her on some codeine that they conveniently have lying around. 

Percy’s gotta go, so Lara walks him out in the woods, refusing anybody else’s offer to come with her so she doesn’t get lost because she wants to make a move on him. There’s some painful flirting, some kissing, some talks about pyrokinesis and the mysterious Dana disappearance (and the snowman! that damned snowman!) and also Percy has a flare gun in his pocket for some reason. 

Gag. Ugh. But ok, fine, Percy gives her the flare gun, presumably because he’s letting her walk back through the woods alone in a blizzard. She scoops up some of the ice from Dana’s disappearance-spot to bring home for evidence and then goes to bed. When she awakens, the ice has melted and she can see bones! and ash! Ahhhh! 

This causes her to panic, so she runs out of the house at 3am into the woods and then, idk, freezes or something. Cal is there for some reason? She conveniently blacks out and awakens to find herself tied up in Nell’s basement. But hey look, Dana’s here! And so is Rachael! 

We helpfully learn that Dana’s been tied up in a closet this whole time. Also, SURPRISE! Celeste isn’t actually Celeste, she’s Nicole! (in case this wasn’t already painfully obvious from all of the foreshadowing). She didn’t die after all! She just assumed an entirely new identity! She was just pretending not to know who Nell is! 

Never mind that Celeste has parents who we have literally talked to in this book (they briefly call to check on her and Lara speaks to them instead). Apparently Nicole’s family....gave her up for adoption? but she’s still really close to her sister? Or else Lara somehow doesn’t realize that Celeste’s parents are Nell’s parents? Literally no part of this is explained in a way that makes any sense at all. 

But anyway, turns out this whole weekend was just an excuse to get everybody together so that Nell and Nicole/Celeste could get revenge by dousing them in kerosene and burning them alive. Like you do. 

There’s a lot of waffling and trying to win over Nicole with the power of friendship, and then she changes her mind about the plan but Nell doesn’t, which leads to some dramatic scuffling and ultimately Lara shoots Nell with Chekhov’s flare gun, but it’s totally OK because her expression is “the most peaceful” Lara has ever seen so that’s cool, and then they manage to rescue Mindy before the house blows up.

From there, we’ve just got some loose ends to tie up. We’re rescued by the suspicious ranger from earlier who it turns out actually is a ranger, so that’s cool. How did he find them? Why, that strapping young man Cal tipped him off that they might be in trouble! 

You heard it here first, folks. Cal, the guy whose characterization up to this point has been “gropes girls without consent” and “tells funny war stories about napalm” is actually the real hero here! What a find stand-up young gentleman that serial offender is. 

Also, again, Dana, you are too good for these people, find new friends. 

Anyway, the girls end up in the hospital, where they promise a vow of secrecy but also Lara and Nicole are totally going to be best friends now, no harsh feelings. Also Lara is totally going to hook up with Percy, because that was definitely the most important thing to come from this weekend and she’s definitely not in any way going to be traumatized about any of this. 

The end. 

distant gagging sounds

[84reedsy]

An Invitation

Characters/Pairings: Severus/Hermione, Violet Snape (OC) Summary: Severus and Hermione have settled into the quietest life they can following the end of the Second Wizarding World. They own a little business and live in their cottage with their daughter Violet. An invitation for a holiday may stir things up a bit, but who says that has to be a bad thing?

Rating: Mature (Suggestive Themes) Word Count: 2125

“Bloody bird,” Severus mumbled as he tried to straighten his now crinkled daily prophet. His lips curled downward as the owl shook its head and tried to steady itself; the letter had planted itself firmly in a stick of softened butter, “You’d think after all this time the Weasley’s would have invested in a halfway decent messenger by now.” His distaste for the family or at least their expansive brood went back years and years to Bill’s early years at Hogwarts. It was mostly harmless.

Hermione hid her smile by turning back to the stove, stirring the morning’s porridge as she added a flavor changing serum to liven it up a bit. She’d never say it aloud, but she somewhat enjoyed her husband’s jealousy towards her high school sweetheart. Ron had been on Snape’s last nerve from the first day of their first year - being friends with Harry didn’t help his cause. But the few years post-war and post-Hogwarts when she and Ron still dated - he’d clearly detested him the most. 

She’d had no idea Severus fancied her at all until the first Order reunion after the breakup. She’d been single all of a month. He’d approached her straight away, which seemed a bit odd at the time. Even more odd was later in the evening when he’d asked her to dance. She sighed happily at the thought of dancing with him. His long legs and smooth movements, his quiet confidence. 

“Oh Papa, Errol’s a good bird, just a bit clumsy,” Violet leaned far over the table, having to kneel in her chair as she stroked the greying birds feathers. She offered him a bit of her scone. The bird gently nibbled her fingers, causing her to giggle and her eyes to flash purple. She plucked the letter from the butter, her tiny hands careful as she used her napkin to wipe the mess from the envelope, “See, all’s well, Papa,” 

She waved as Errol nearly missed the open window, flying off.

He held out his hand as Violet clammored over the chairs around the table to him. She placed the letter in his waiting palm as she stood on a chair next to him. She craned her neck to see the letter. 

“It’s for you,” He said, reading the greeting line, recognizing Molly Weasley’s flowy penmanship. He held the letter behind him as Hermione plucked it from his fingers.

“Oh, how sweet. Molly wants us to come for a holiday. I’d imagine they have all sorts of room in the new burrow with everyone grown and gone. What do you think, Sev? Fancy a drive out into the countryside?” She smirked knowing his thoughts by now. He’d stare off and remind her that apparition was far more convenient than her fossil fuel driven muggle contraption. She’s retort with a defence that it was only mentioned in a cliche’d manner. 

“Papa, Papa, Papa, can we go??” Violet now climbed in his lap, her tiny legs with their pointy, jabby knees digging into his thigh as she ascended his tall form, “We ‘aven’t seen Aunt Molly in ages,” She begged, trying not to facetiously pout. Her curly black pigtails bounced as she attempted to contain her squirm of excitement. 

His sigh almost sounded annoyed, though both girls knew it was his last line of resistance before he’d give in. 

“Will that daft git, Ronald, be there?” He picked his paper back up and shook it to straighten the creases; Violet turned in his lap to read along with him, laying her head back against his chest. 

“Doubtful,” Hermione was doing a poor job of hiding her amusement. She placed the bowls on the table, joining them now. She creamed and sugared Violet’s bowl before preparing her own, “He’s travelling with a regional Quidditch team as an alternate. Likely Molly misses the din of people around. That’d be my guess for the invite.” She bit the corner off her toast as his dark eyes peered over the top of his paper to meet hers. Though it was covered by the rest of the Daily Prophet, she knew he held a sour countenance. 

“I know you’d rather not be particularly social, but it might be nice to holiday. Just a few days?” She appealed to him with a bit of a compromise from the week long stay Molly had offered. 

“Papa, we can get some shrivelfigs! Aunt Molly has that lovely grove in the back. I bet there’s lots of good ingredients we could get for the laboratory!” Violet might have been just a small girl, barely the age of five, but she was clever and intuitive - she knew how to persuade her father in a way that didn’t make him feel taken advantage of, but rather part of the advantageous.

“I suppose there are worse places to take our holiday -” He waited longer than necessary to affirm his participation, “Will the store be properly staffed?” He questioned Hermione, laying his paper down once more. Violet looked back and forth between her parents. 

“As if I hadn’t already considered that,” Hermione cocked an eyebrow as she pointed Violet to her seat. She wriggled from her father's lap, but didn’t once take her concentration from the conversation, “We were due for some time away from the apothecary, so I’d already filled any vacancies.” 

“Put your napkin over your jumper, little miss,” Severus said just before she was about to blindly scoop a heaping spoonful. She tucked a napkin into her neckline, protecting the green velvet jumper, covering the silvery embroidered ‘V’, “We could use a bit of countryside,”

Hermione knew that was as close to an affirmative answer she’d wrangle from her husband. 

“Yaaay!!!” Violet cheered, flinging her spoon in her pumping fists. The porridge on it sailed through the air, landing on her father’s freshly pressed clothing. Luckily his cloak was still hanging by the door, but his trousers and black buttoned coat had a less lucky fate. Violet went wide eyed, covering her gaping mouth with her hand. Hermione’s eyes widened as well, but her hand concealed a smile of amusement more so than a gasp of shock. With Violet being so young and unable to legally practice magical spells, they did a number of things without them. Occasionally they would teach her something or user a bit of magic here and there, but in this moment, Hermione could see that he wanted to whip out his wand and clean the soiled garment, but her eyes warned him not to. He pursed his lips the way he always did that made the corners almost curl upwards. 

“I’m sorry, Papa…” Violet seemed apprehensive, worried she might draw scorn. But as always, Severus remained calm with her - Hermione was often amazed at his even temperament when it came to raising their child. She’d witnessed many times where his patience was thin at best and his temper short-fused. 

“Violet, you must remember to be aware of yourself and your actions,” He tried brushing away the mess, but the black cloth shown stains all to obviously, “I ought to change again,” His own napkin snapped to the table as he stood. The chair legs scooted against the floor. He glanced back at his daughter whose eyes flashed purple again behind the welled up tears, “I don’t care for this shirt much, anyway,” He did not smile but there was a subtle wink as he excused himself. Hermione wasn’t even sure he really had until the tender smile on her daughter’s face gave him away. 

“Finish up and go collect your books, it's almost time for school,” Hermione ushered her daughter to finish breakfast. She finished the last few bites of her own before excusing herself from the table as well.

Severus hadn’t been particularly thrilled with the idea of his child attending a muggle primary school. It took quite a bit of coaxing and outright bribery to win over his agreement. 

“Who’d have ever thought that a five-year-old girl would have Severus Snape wrapped around her tiny little pink painted finger?” Hermione teased Severus as she entered their bedroom. He was unbuttoning the sleeves of his shirt, stone faced as ever. Though she teased, she still approached him, starting to unbutton the main division of his coat. 

“I could imagine you’re somewhat jealous of that fact. So many men are similarly taken with their wives while you lose out to a toddler.” His sarcasm and satire were always so dry and subtle that a less keen ear wouldn’t have picked up on them. But after all this time, Hermione had learned much about being in the affections of Severus Snape. He was clever and funny, but in his own unique fashion. You had to work to understand him and not react with too much impulse. His rapport was challenging and its what Hermione needed to stay engaged and interested.

They were far more of a pair than either of them (or any one else on Earth for that matter) had imagined. 

“I’m not worried about my place in this family, not one bit,” She replied with a confidence that matched his wit, “I’m not easily threatened, darling,” Her words sounded sweet, but they were equally venomous. 

“Oh?” He cocked his eyebrow, his eyes darting towards their bedroom door, barely cracked open, “Are you also not easily…” His hand slid behind her neck, snaking up into her hair as he grabbed a handful of her curly mane, “manipulated?” He titled her head back as that small gasp escaped her lips. She had to steady her body by pressing into his. His chest and torso were bare as his shirts hung open. 

“If I recall correctly, you respond rather well to being told e x a c t l y what to do,” His voice quieted - he leaned forward, letting his hot breath and lips graze the exposed arc of her neck, “In fact, I bet if I slip my hand down your knickers I’ll find a soaking wet cunt desperate for,” he purposefully stunted his words, his eyes drinking in every feature, every instinctual reaction of her body, “Satisfaction,”  

“You think so?” She tried to sound contrary, but she struggled, “Cocky sod, aren’t you…” 

A chuckled hummed in his throat; that sound alone could obliviate her knickers in an instant.

“I like it when your feisty,” He released her hair and the two stood toe to toe, breath to breath reveling in their own sexual tension. 

“I’m ready!!” Violet’s cheery voice called from down the stairs and Hermione tried to unflush her cheeks. 

“Perhaps when you return from dropping Violet off, we could start our own little holiday a bit early,” He suggested, his finger tip tracing the line of her lower lip. She’d grown into such an incredibly attractive and desirable witch of a woman. He couldn’t believe how often he was compelled to touch her. 

Hermione smirked, kissing the tip of his finger before suckling it, letting her tongue slowly and lazily swirl around it. 

“Perhaps when I get back, Professor Snape might feel like putting a naughty little school girl in her place…” She suggested before kissing his lips softly and retreating from their room to leave him with that thought. 

She’d been surprisingly open to being sexually adventurous with him; for them roleplaying wasn’t entirely taboo, but considering he had been her professor, this was maybe a little more so. He redressed in something he often wore as a teacher, imagining the way Hermione still fit marvelously well into her school uniform, though she filled out the sweater slightly more now. She’d fashioned the skirt slightly shorter, the v-neck lower; she played the part of a naughty student well considering how well behaved of a student she’d been...for the most part. 

Just as he buttoned up his shirt, Violet burst through the door, her arms wide open for her father. He knelt down without hesitation and accepted her into his own embrace. She was a spectacular child and he loved her deeply, moreso than he’d even imagined. 

“Love you, Papa,” She whispered, pulling away slightly.

“And I you, my little flower,” He tapped her forehead with his own then gently nuzzled the tip of his nose to hers. As she ran off again, Hermione stood in the doorway smiling. Severus Snape as a doting, affectionate father (at least in his own way) was not a sight that anyone could have predicted, crystal ball or no.

“You know, the two of you can be nauseatingly sweet sometimes,” She ribbed him a little before following their daughter out of the house.

“Disrespecting the faculty,” He murmured to himself before smiling wickedly, “That’s worth at least one detention, Miss Granger.”

[juliandev0rak]

Apron Strings

Lysander visits her shop and Beatrice does all she can to keep him there.

a little continuation of the Vianan series

characters: Beatrice Viano my apprentice and Lysander Lonan (@leila-of-ravens’ oc)

pairing: Beatrice Viano x Lysander Lonan / Vianan

words: ~1760

warnings: will the pining ever end

read about their first meeting written by  @leila-of-ravens

part 2 , part 3

It’s been a long day at the shop, but Beatrice has to make money somehow. She spends all day wishing she was at the palace library instead, but her need to be responsible for a few days takes over. If she’s being honest with herself, she misses a certain research partner more than she misses the actual research.

Lysander is returning to Umbra soon and their time together is quickly ticking away. She harbors no expectations that anything will happen between them, she’s barely recognized her own feelings for him so she certainly can’t expect him to have any similar feelings towards her. They’re friends, and that’s really all she can hope for. Still, her mind wanders the well worn path of Lysander all day, tracing along the curve of his jaw, the lines of his hands reaching for a book. 

It’s a busy day at least, her hands stay busy despite her mind being miles away. By closing time she’s wondering if she can still make it to the palace before Lysander’s done for the day, maybe she can get a few hours of research in. The store finally emptied of customers, she moves to start closing for the day. The tinkling bell of the shop door rings to alert her that someone’s entered and she sighs, she should’ve locked up first to avoid extra customers.

“Beatrice?” A familiar voice calls. She immediately whirls around to face the figure by the door, smoothing down her apron.

“Lysander! What are you doing all the way over in Center City?” Beatrice smiles, unable to hide her excitement at seeing him suddenly standing in front of her. He stands with his hands in his coat pockets, looking handsome as always. It’s unfair, Beatrice thinks, how he always manages to look like a tragic prince from a fantasy novel. 

“I was visiting Leila, she gave me directions to your shop.” He explains, taking a step further into the shop. “I apologize if you were about to close for the day, I’ll let you get back to it.” 

“Oh no, don’t leave!” Beatrice takes a step closer to him, voice rising despite her best efforts to seem calm and collected. “That is, you can stay if you like. You can take a look around while I close up.” 

“If you’re certain my presence won’t be an imposition?” He asks, already inspecting the labels on the shelf of bottles next to him.

“Of course not! I’m glad you decided to stop by.” Beatrice says encouragingly as she unties her work apron. She’s too focused on his pensive face as he looks around the shop and before she notices, she’s tied her apron strings into an impossible knot. “Oh dear..” she mutters, twisting around to try to see the tangle better.

“Do you need assistance?” Lysander appears beside her and she startles at his proximity. 

“Oh um, I seem to have tied myself into quite a knot.” She turns her back to him to show the mangled apron strings. Without saying anything he steps towards her and reaches for the knot, his nimble fingers making quick work of it. This is the closest they’ve ever been, she can feel his breath on the back of her neck and the gentle tug against her waist as he unknots the apron.

“There.” Lysander says, pulling the final knot out. He steps away and she turns around to face him again.

“Thank you, that was a mess.” Beatrice laughs, pulling the apron off. He’s watching her face closely and she wills herself not to blush under his gaze.

“I brought you a book.” He reaches into his coat pocket and retrieves a small leather bound book.”I think you’ll find it interesting, and as you won’t be able to return to the library at present I thought you might need something to read.” 

“How thoughtful! Thank you Lyse.” She smiles, not noticing the way his nickname slips out until it’s too late, a name she isn’t sure she’s allowed to call him. “Oh, I mean Lysander.” 

“You can call me Lyse, if you prefer. Leila does.” Lysander holds the book out towards her, giving her a slight smile.

“Well Leila’s your sister, I wouldn’t want to presume to use a nickname.” Beatrice flushes, accepting the book. It does look like something she’d be interested in, the autobiography of a teacher from somewhere up north.

“It’s fine, really.” He replies, his hands disappearing back into his pockets. “I thought of you when I saw that book.” 

“Thank you for thinking of me. I wish I could be with you instead of stuck in the shop all day.” She says, then immediately adds, “That is, I wish I could be in the library, researching.” 

“Do you like running the shop?” Lysander asks, turning to inspect one of the fancy astrolabes hanging from the ceiling. 

“Sometime! It’s nice to use my magic to help others, but I mostly keep the shop out of nostalgia. It was my aunt’s shop.” Beatrice explains. The silence stretches as he continues to look around with fascination and she wonders what to do next. She remembers her aunt’s old mantra, when in doubt, have some tea. “Would you like a cup of tea or anything? I live in the apartment upstairs, when I’m not staying at the palace out of convenience.”

“Thank you, but I just came from Leila’s shop so I’ve already had enough tea for the day.” Lysander replies politely. 

“Of course,” She searches for another reason to keep him here a bit longer, now that he’s here she’s realized just how much she’d missed seeing him today. “Oh, actually I think I have a few books you might like as well. I can go get them if you’d like?” 

It’s not a lie, she had spent most of the morning staring at her overflowing bookcase and wondering which books he might like from her collection. She heads towards the stairs and Lysander looks up from the herbs he’s inspecting to watch her. 

“Sure, I’ll take a look.” He says, following her up the stairs. She opens the door to her apartment, trying not to focus on the man standing only a few inches behind her. They walk in together and he takes in his surroundings, looking around the small living room.

“I’m sure it’s not quite what you’re used to, Leila’s talked about your family manor before.” Beatrice laughs, she’s not insecure about her less-than wealthy background but she wants to put him at ease. 

“I think it suits you, it’s very tidy.” He says, taking a step towards her bookcase which takes up most of the room.

“Well thank you!” She replies, stepping over to join him. “Hey, I might not have a manor, but I do have manners, would you like me to take your coat?” 

He surprises her with a laugh, a real laugh that makes her want to join in.  

“That was an awful joke, Beatrice.” Lysander smiles, turning his attention back to the bookshelf.

“Oh yeah? Why did you laugh then, if it was so bad?” She teases, glad he’s turned away and can’t see her face turn a hundred shades of red.

“Maybe I was laughing at you, not the joke.” Lysander replies, turning to smile at her again over his shoulder. She’s losing track of how many times that’s happened now, but it still makes her catch her breath a little every time. 

“Hey! I thought you were a Lord, is that any way to treat a lady?” Beatrice laughs.

“Well you’re not a Lady, at least not that I know of.” He responds matter of factly. “That is, you don’t have the title of Lady, I’m not insinuating that you’re not ladylike.” 

“Ahh so he’s a gentleman after all.” She grins, her voice laced with sarcasm. 

“Would you mind if I borrowed this book?” Lysander asks, holding up a book which happens to be one of her favorite novels.

“Of course! I didn’t think you were the novel type.” Beatrice replies, “That’s one of my favorites.”

“I thought it might be, from the worn edges.” He comments, flipping through the slightly tattered pages. 

“Yes, I apologize. I wasn’t so careful with books as a child.” She says, chagrined. “You might also find a few of my annotations throughout, hopefully none of them are too embarrassing.”

“I look forward to reading your writing as well, then.” Lysander says, setting the book down on the side table next to him. Beatrice reaches for another book she thinks he’ll like at the same moment he reaches for it and their hands brush. She pulls away right as he pulls away which makes her lose her balance and nearly topple over into him. He reaches a hand out to her shoulder to steady her, but it does nothing to steady her pulse.

“Thank you.” She murmurs. “Great minds think alike! I think you’d really enjoy that one.” 

“I think these two will suffice.” Lysander says, holding up the books. “I’d better return to the palace, there’s still quite a bit of work to do.” 

“Alright, but you’re welcome to borrow more books any time.” She smiles, following him towards the door. They walk down to the shop in silence and stand staring at each other in the half light by the door. She thinks she should probably say something like “goodbye” or “please stay” but the words don’t come out.

“You’ve never put your hair up like that before.” He comments suddenly, and she’s taken aback. She certainly hadn’t expected that. 

“I put it up when I’m making potions, it gets in the way otherwise.” Beatrice replies, awkwardly raising a hand to smooth back her undoubtedly messy hairstyle. 

“It suits you.” Lysander says, and she, predictably, blushes in response. “Well, goodnight then. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“I won’t be back in the library yet, I’m planning to spend another day in the shop.” She reminds him.

“Leila wants to stop by the shop to see you, and I said I’d go with her.” Lysander explains, tucking the books under his arm. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Until tomorrow.” Beatrice says, watching as he opens the door to leave. He turns around one last time before he closes the door fully and smiles at her. Beatrice wonders if she should commission a painting of that smile so she can look at it forever. 

She leans back against the door after he’s gone, catching her breath. Leila was right, she is in deep.

[punkandsnacks]

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Four; Acquaintances.

Author: @punk-in-docs​ & @adamsnackdriver​

Also on AO3-

Trigger Warnings: Nothing much to trigger in this chapter - just as the title suggests, a swooning moment or two perhaps-

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~

The sky remained hard. Resolutely letting snow sift from the thick great heavens, like icing sugar drifting down. The ground also continued to be frosty hard and scattered with patches of hidden silvery ice.

 No sooner than the sun had risen over the tumbling flat frosty vista of Hampshire hills and frost crusted meadows, than Iris is up, and going about her daily chores all in the life of a gently bred - yet unwed- daughter, of fairly considerable means.

 She takes food parcels to the poor. Calls on sick relatives or companions for tea. Pays calls. Fetched supplies for cook from the butchers or the grocers, or the fishmongers in town.

 When one of the maids is ill, or is suffering a passing heartbreak until the next suitor comes along, Iris is the one to step into the void and fulfil their tasks. She collects the eggs from the chickens at the farm, or makes the ailing girl a hot milk posset or a cup of hot chocolate to cheer them.

 It seemed like every other week their maids, Meg and Julia, seemed to go getting their hearts broken. Some farm hand. Or the boy from the butchers shop. The milliners son, or the strong handsome one who works in the drapers shop. As ever; Iris steps into the fray when - another - devastating crisis comes their way. She helps cook in the kitchen with supper. Or she helps out with idle cleaning around the house. Or see’s to the chores on the farm.

 This morning is no different. Meg took to her bed with an ailing heart of the most acute kind. For the boy she fancies had become engaged to another girl. Iris brings her a cup of chocolate after breakfast and lends her a handkerchief and a shoulder so she can have a good long cry about it.

 So household tasks fall onto her today. Fetching in what cook needed from market for supper. Even though she’d have liked to have spent a morning reading her book, or helping Julia get on top of the household washing. She’s wanted to take down the parlour curtains and give them a good scrub, for weeks now.

 Or today she had ideally wanted to lend Flora and Posy a hand in drying some flowers, and french lavender and roses. For perfumes and bathing oils. They had to use their home grown stock from the gardens carefully. It was a long winter. And the convenience of summer blooms are far off yet. Dried flowers cost a pretty penny up the market.

 Her duties are endless. She’s got calls to pay. Off to the butchers to buy sweet meats and game for the jugged hare cook is making tonight. She needs to buy beeswax candles and salt, and some more soaps.

 And Posy and Flora are allowed to purchase two new ribbons each. They’ll walk into the village with her. No doubt nattering all the way there about what colours they want. And all the way back that they should’ve chosen different ones.

 Iris steps outside in her wintry best and her cracked leather boots. Two pairs of wool stockings this time. Her navy blue wool pelisse over a thick white cotton dress. For good measure, she puts a bonnet on to keep her ears warm, and wraps a gold embroidered shawl around her shoulders.

 Posy and Flora are trussed up as if they’re off to go personally meet the Prince Regent. Flora is in her gold pelisse with her pink dress under. And Posy had her powder blue coat over her mint green dress. They’re both wearing bonnets that they made up themselves. Their hats staggering under the weight of ribbons and cloth and trims and flounces.

 Iris’s was far simpler - No fuss. No trims. A gold straw bonnet with grey ribbon tied under her chin.

 Iris has to chide Posy, when they step out of doors, for forgetting to wear her gloves. She insists she hasn’t a decent pair and slips back into the house to go up to Iris’s room to conveniently borrow her grey rabbit fur lined gloves. Making her elder sister roll her eyes. The plot was clear.

 They had a heavy basket each to carry. Some old granary loaves, soused herring, and some jars of Jam from their kitchens to go to the poor. They’re not even at the end of the drive and Flora is whinging about the weight of her basket. Iris heaves a sigh and grabs it off her.

 She trudges behind them. Both arms carrying heavy baskets.

 Her and Posy link arms, giggling, walking along merrily, animated and discussing last nights ball. Or, more accurately; making sport of the people who’d attended.

 “Did you see that awful Lavender gown Jane Penwell had on?”

 “I thought it suited her very ill indeed.”

 “And did you hear about Lawrence Fisher? Apparently he’s now to be courting Lucy Miller.”

 “I cannot stand her. Last night she was so boastful about the lace trim on her dress. She’s vile. And I haven’t had any new lace on my dress for over a year! Not since last summer. I’m sure she does it deliberately, just to vex me.”

 “You are far prettier than Lucy Miller. She has ten million freckles and no conversation at all. She’s a pale ugly little thing.” Posy’s insisting fiercely to her younger sister.

 Iris is amused by the sheer frailty of their worries.

 “And besides, Mama said she had a letter from Mrs Thornby today, and apparently Lord Ren and Iris were the talk of the ball all night, last eve.” Flora says cheekily.

 Turning over her shoulder to scrutinise her sister with a smug grin that flashes her straight little row of teeth.

 Iris rolled her eyes. Strongly suspecting that as of now, her and Lord Ren would be gossiped about in front parlours for weeks. This was a sleepy country village with little amusement and not much variety to sustain it.

 Mama’s and girls of the Ton would fall on the new shred of tittle-tattle like wolves.

 “He left the ball last night without talking to any other girl, mama said.” Posy explains.

 “The poor man probably didn’t have time enough to get through all the desperate Hampshire girls, eagerly throwing themselves at him to make an acquaintance.” Iris thinks aloud.

 They walk up Westwell’s frosted drive and out onto the snowy lanes that cut through quaint countryside and woods.

 The golden sun is in its early rising, striping ribbons of thick satin gold through the trees. The ruddy browns and ash greys and ochre coppery rusts of the Turner-esque English countryside. Of fields and hedgerows and treetops. The grass is no longer green. It’s a musty white. And that same cloying powder clings onto the dead taupe leaves and branches of every tree. The air is bitter to breathe in.

 Iris takes a deep lungful of it, and its like a chest full of sharp pins. Needling at her lips and her neck. She should’ve thought to employ a wool scarf. As it is she can only tuck her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Tucking the heavy baskets into to dig deeper into her elbows. The frost numbs her feet, and sneaks up her skirts and snatched cruelly at her legs.

 She clenched her numb fingers, scrunching and unscrunching them up in her much too thin gloves.

 Posy and Flora continue their giggling and swapping tidbits of gossip about Lord Ren.

 “You know he didn’t even dance with anyone!”

 “A great sin, I’m sure. Punishable by death.” Iris thinks to herself under her breath.

 “He probably didn’t have time-“ Posy remarks.

 “Or he doesn’t know how.” Flora supposed.

 “A man that lofty, of course he can dance. Maybe he prefers not too.”

 “Maybe he has a false leg, or, or a war wound!”

 Iris rather wishes her ears were purely ornamental by this point.

 Give me a pair of vestigial ears anytime you wish. She idly prays. Turning her eyes skywards.

 “Maybe he’s shy-“ Flora squeaks. Posy clasps her hand over her mouth and laughs so loudly it startles the chaffinches out the trees.

 “I don’t think he can afford to blend into the wallpaper with a stature like that.” Flora grins.

 “His shoulders were twice the width of me.” Posy says dreamily.

 “Did he have soft lips Iris? For you must’ve felt them through your gloves... Were they heavenly?” Flora demands to know. Both sisters walking in step alongside her now.

 She side eyes them. “That is not a proper thing to discuss. And well you know it Flora Jane Ashton.” Iris insists. Concealing her secrets to herself.

 She wasn’t telling her sisters how her whole body burst into shivers popping and skipping up her spine. How his touch made her skin feel like it was dancing of its own accord. Free from her body. She shivered yet she was blushing hot.

 His lips were the softest, sweetest things that had ever come into contact with her body.

 Her whole arm felt dizzy afterwards. It wasn’t possible. But that’s how it felt. Hours after she was still rubbing the patch where his lips had lain on her satin gloves.

 When she got home after the ball, she peeled her glove off and looked at her hand.

 It still looked ordinary. Her skin wasn’t red or marked - but it felt like it should be. It felt as if something utterly astounding had happened to her.

 The memory of his eyes gazing their arrow-striking glare into her own haunted her head all night long. Swam behind her closed eyelids in her sleep. Those opulent piercing eyes.

 “We won’t tell a soul.” Posy promises

 “Oh, look. Here is the Barton’s cottage. Flora pass me the ointment for Mr Barton.” Iris demands.

 Seeing the little boxy cottage coming into view. Roof thick with iced thatch. Walls butter yellow. With fat pink sickly rose vines creeping up the walls. Iris sees the chimney is smoking. They must be home keeping warm on this frigid morning. Acrid woodsmoke from the house drifts across the woods.

 They deliver the ointment into Mrs Barton’s hand. Along with some jam, a loaf, and pickled goods to see them through the wintry cold week. They were a frail elderly couple after all. And Iris likes helping people. She always had. Her mother always insisted she’d been cursed with an unshakable vein of kindness.

 Which often meant as a child she was forever taking in birds wounded falling out their nests in the gardens. Leaving carrots out for the wild rabbits. Seeds for the birds. Feed for the little monk-jack deers. She shared all her dolls as a girl. Forever saw to caring for the people and creatures which surround her. She visits the infirm with medicine. Reads to the lonely old matrons who’d lost all the grandchildren of their own.

 Now she’s grown that inclination hasn’t left her. She likes making sure none of the infirm elderly, or the more impoverished friends of her acquaintance suffer through the bitter cold climes. They never have to struggle alone. Iris is a balm to the hurting. She gives what she can. And is a friend to everyone kind enough to recognise it.

 Before long, the trio of ladies dispense their generosity upon those who need it. Giving what sustenance and leftovers they can spare. It’s not much really- when all is said and done. But it’s helping in any little way possible. And that’s what matters.

 They come eventually into Pembleton high street. The every busy and jagged row of higgledy Tudor houses. Separated by a lane of sticky brown mud where horses hooves and carts churn up the dirt. Carts and stalls line the streets. Modest shopfronts sell their wares. The air is full up of woodsmoke and the scent of roasting nuts from the brazier on the stand nearby.

 Iris loses Posy and Flora very quickly to the haberdashers, where the ribbons hang from great silken trails in racks from the ceiling. Every colour Imaginable.

 She sees them fussing over Belgian lace and leaves them be. She steps into the butchers for Cooks desired hare and sweet meats. She buys the candles, salt and the paper wrapped little cakes of soaps from Mr Milton’s shop next door.

 She crosses the street to the grocers. Fills her basket with green leeks, onions, potatoes and carrots. She tucks everything in her basket, around the poor lamented hare with its fur still on, and covers it with a patterned linen cloth.

 She has a shilling spare- she wanders over to Mr. Greeley. The proud proprietor of the roasted nuts stall. She buys a bag of warm, buttery sweet chestnuts.

 Hides them from Posy and Flora. This was her one little indulgence for today. She sneaks one of the hot things onto her tongue and savours it.

 She strides back up the line of shop windows. Looking and listening to the clack and bustle of the street behind her. Clopping hooves, rattling carts, ponies and traps clunking along the high street. Friends and acquaintances stopped to gossip and chat in the street. Young and old. Of every walk of life.

 She looks in the drapers window. The reflection off the glass, showed her a watery image of a gaggle of matronly mamas stood behind her across the street, loudly gossiping in her direction. Pointing and gesturing toward her.

 She rolls her eyes in huffing annoyance.

 She wasn’t enjoying being the inconstant centre of attention. Open to such censure and fascination in odes to the Hearst’s ball last night.

 Also in odes to the mysterious new stranger to these shores, too. The dark, dashing, and taciturn Lord Ren.

 Every wet-behind-the-ears girl in all of Hampshire was busy envisioning their swirled initials joined with his in their embroidery. A big handsome stranger from far off lands. It was the precursor to the stuff of romance from drippy novels. A harbinger of a great love story.

 Maybe not hers. Lord Ren may have kissed her hand and called her handsome. But so have countless other rich suitors, and then two months later them and their pretty blonde heiress of ten thousand pounds, are lavishly married and installed in a house in Brunswick square. She’s sure he’ll eventually find some far more moneyed girl to march into matrimony.

 It won’t be her- not her turn to pick out her wedding clothes. It never is.

 She lets the whispers and doubts about her, flourish from unimportant mouths.

 She never cared for the savagery of society. She won’t start being missish about it all, now. It won’t serve her any purpose-

 She can only hope the next scandal or engagement or elopement, or any other source of fascination to the bored inhabitants of this county, comes flooding in quick to snatch away all unhealthy - and rather undue - interest in her.

 She waits outside the haberdashers for her pair of silly sisters. They eventually come out. Comparing their new ribbons with each other’s. Flora has a pink, Posy has some frothy white lace.

 Posy hands Iris a teal silk ribbon. “For your hair. It would become you so well. And it will go with your eyes.” She insists.

 Iris smiles. Wrapping the long length of satin around her grey glove. It was very pretty.

 “Pray how did you afford this?” Iris narrows her eyes in smiling suspicion at the pair of them.

 “I saved up my allowance.” Posy insists plainly. Iris continues her look. She tilts her chin down a notch. Let’s her eyes harden to steel. Arched her muddy shaped brows.

 “...And the haberdasher’s son is so very obliging.” Flora beams. The younger Ashton’s giggle together knowingly.

 Iris sighs again. Strongly suspecting she could safely boast that she had two of the silliest siblings in the entire country. Hell, in the entire British Empire.

 “Let’s take our leave shall we...” Iris says. Slowly heading away. Down the street in the opposite direction they came. It took them home down on the woodland path.

 She picks up her pristine white skirts and steps over the mud. Baskets heavy with her goods now thunking against her hip as they walk. One filled with meat. The other with candles and potatoes and other luxuries for supper.

 Posy and Flora trail behind her. Discussing how best to use their ribbons. On bonnets or around the waistline of their favourite dresses. Iris drowns them out and listens to the crunch of her feet on the frost. The silver wisp of her breath as its whisked away up into the reach of the sky. She likes how sun glimmers off frost like sparkles and diamonds and gems. Like something fine and rich.

 They just come across a curve in the lane. Leading through an open meadow full of frosted grass and withered wildflowers. When a thundering sound gallops into being, hitting the hard ground in succession from beyond the bend.

 Iris looks up, attention captured swiftly by the beast of a large rider atop a colossal shimmering black horse, moving quick towards where they are walking along the quiet little lane. The peace shattered by the horses hooves pounding the earth.

 A great hulking beast of a man sits astride it. Who indeed almost matches the brutally-enormous muscled intensity of the creature he rides.

 Lord Ren.

 Iris startled and went to move aside. But he sees them and is already slowing the horse. She draws a deep breath and watches as he tugs the reins to reel in his galloping mount. Reducing to a canter, a trot and then to a slow stop. Hooves churning up frost and spitting wet and crushed muddy grass, under its enormous stomping treads.

 The sun in fiercely shining behind him. So Iris can only make out the silhouette at first. There’s no mistaking that singular body for another man. The primal size and bulk of him is unmistakable.

 But then he shifts forwards on his horse as it stops. Lumbering towards them all. And that winter sun shines amber over his shoulder and she’s met with the full face of the handsome man she became acquainted with yesterday. His breath and that of his horses turn to silver smoke in the cold air

 He passes the strops of its black reins into one gloved leather hand. His attire not much changed since yesterday. Still all black. The shining calf riding boots. The breeches that sit entirely too snug to the sturdy trunks of his legs and hips. The tailored black wool coat. White shirt tied with an elaborately knotted wine coloured cravat. Diamond pin studded central into the tie of the cloth.

 His hair is free and rumpled by the wind. Desirable and untamed. Wild. He wears no top hat on his head like most gentlemen of civility did, when out riding.

 Something about that lack of full dress she admires. Maybe he likes to feel the wind tangle his hair. The suns kiss his pale skin. The wind stinging at his cheeks. Likes galloping across the terrain at full speed on his mammoth sized beast of a horse.

 “Good morning ladies.” He nods to them all. Still seated on his horse.

 “Miss Ashton.” He smiles directly down at Iris as his horse shifts and stomps and nibbles the dewy wet grass below.

 She ducks her head and curtseys. “Good morning. Your Lordship.” She says politely. Dwarfed by his horses shadow.

 He holds her gaze for a second and smiles. Eyes more opulent charcoal in their shade than ever, this morning. He even had a kiss of pink colour in his cheeks. He looks healthy. Less alabaster pale. She strongly suspects its because of the icy wind stinging his cheeks as he rode.

 He unlatched his right boot from the stirrup and smoothly swings himself off the horse. Grips the pommel at the front of the black saddle and swings himself down. Feet land to earth with a crunching thud. Frost and grass crushed underfoot.

 His long wool riding coat flaps at his knees. Billowing open at his chest to show just his white shirt beneath it. Such thin layers. He must’ve been freezing.

 “If I may be so bold, Miss Ashton, allow me to see you along to your intended destination?” He asks kindly. One big hand patting the solid flank of his horses shoulder when it huffs at his dismounting.

 Iris’s cheeks go flaming red. She’s sure of it. Throat dry she manages to answer.

 “Oh. Forgive my impertinence Lord Ren. But I don’t wish to take you out of your way. Only we are heading in the opposite direction to your path.”

 “With your permission. I should like to walk with you. I’ve done a sufficient amount of riding for this morning.” He tells her.

 Iris smiles. Flattered that he’d rearrange his ride, just to see her safely home. Just to walk with her for a moment or two.

 Posy digs a sharp elbow into Flora’s ribs. Which jolts the youngest into speaking. “Iris. We were just going up the lane here to call on Charlotte Morris.”

 Iris gazes pointedly at Flora with a piercing state that could’ve rivalled a dressmakers needle. “How remiss of you not to bring it up until now...” Iris glares a little.

 “Should you mind?” Posy asks. Fluttering her lashes.

 “Of course not.” Iris says flatly. “Mind the hour home and do for heavens sake be sensible.”

 “We are the very vision of sensibility.” Flora beams.

 Iris quirks a wry brow at the both of them. Teeth grit.

 The two most transparent pests on the planet. Their plot was clear as day- One of sneaking away and leaving their elder sister unchaperoned and alone with him.

 They turn away giggling and make for the little lane opposite. Gabbling and whispering all the way. Loud giggles follow them like fluttering birdsong.

 When she turns back to Lord Ren he looks slightly amused. She blushes.

 “I feel I ought offer an apology, your lordship. They are- most puerile and trying at times.” Iris offers as she shifts to step nearer to where he is.

 He smiles gently. “They are young girls who fancy themselves cunning, I wager. No apology is necessary for that.” He declares affably. Patting his horses neck.

 He brings the big horse around. Holding the gathered reins in his left hand. He leads his gigantic horse around with a click of his tongue and some soft words in urging Bavarian. The big creature follows his lead. She moves and alters the heavy baskets on her arms.

 He sees this. Kylo frowns at the heavy weights at both her elbows. She shouldn’t be tasked with fetching and carrying like a damned pack horse. He extends a hand. “Allow me, Miss Ashton.”

 “Oh, no it’s- I couldn’t.” By the time her protestations die on her lips. He has one basket in one hand, the other, he tied the handle to a saddle bag strap on his horse. Lays it rest against the saddle.

 She’s mortified that a Lord offers to carry her basket for her.

 “That’s truly a magnificent horse. I’ve never seen the like before.” She says. The steeds eyes glitter as if it knows it’s being discussed. “What’s his name?” She asks rummaging in her basket he holds. Hand slipped under the cloth.

 “Erland.” Kylo says. The horses ears twitch.

 “Erland. A majestic name. For a majestic beast.” She smiles at him.

 She steps up to the horse and strokes her gloved hand down the flat bone between his eyes, leading down to his snout. Scents of hay and oats and animal sweat pour musky off his coat.

 “He’s a lovely animal.” She says. Stroking his solid flank.

 “Percheron. He’s a French draft horse. His breed originated in the Huisne valley in western France.” Lord Ren tells her.

 “Bred for use as war horses, and pulling stagecoaches. This one has a fair mount of Arabian blood in him too. Makes him far too proud and headstrong.” He announces. Erland flicks his swishing tail at his owner. Snorting at him.

 “I bought him with me from Bavaria. He’s the best riding horse I’ve had for a while. Stubborn temperament.” He offers. He watches her stroke his head. Touch the soft spot behind his ears.

 “You like animals, Miss Ashton.” He states.

 Most girls, as far as he’s aware, deigned horses as smelly, ugly creatures, whose only purpose was beneath them. Or to pull their carriages. She seemed to like this big equine creature very much.

 “I do. Especially ones who are as beautiful as him.”

 “Careful. Or else that flattery will shoot right to his ego.” He warns lightly.

 She smiles.

 Erland’s hairy velveteen muzzle cheekily nudges at her shoulder for more affection. He clearly likes her touch. Kylo tugs on his reins and frowns at him.

 “Benehmen Sie sich.” Kylo rumbles in a firm Bavarian command at his horse. Calling him back. Telling him to be good. Rubbing his stocky shoulder. The round strong bones of him and the hot silk of his coat underneath his gloved palm.

 She smiles. Lets the carrot she fetched from her basket, sit in the flat cradle of her gloved palm. She offers it to Erland, who snuffles it up and crunches on it. Breaking the frail vegetables skin with his big teeth. Munching it all down. Nuzzles her for more when he’s done.

 He snorts when Kylo speaks up. “Anymore and you’ll get fat. You great beast.” He assures his horse in that soft foreign dialect. Shoving his snout into Miss Ashton’s hand for yet more treats. Erland’s head was so big and his power so strong, he could’ve very realistically knocked her over with one push.

 She steps back and takes her place alongside a Lord Ren so they can continue in their walk. He’s a busy man. She doesn’t wish to hold him up. They fall into step easy. Her on Kylo’s left, Erland in his big lumbering enormity on Kylo’s right. His master has his right hand holding his stallions reins. The other easily carries her basket for her.

 “Did you enjoy your introduction into Hampshire society, Your lordship?” Iris can’t help but ask him with mirth creeping into her voice and on her smile.

 He turns his head to look at her. “The sheer amount of handsome and accomplished young ladies hereabouts is staggering.” He comments with dry humour. “I wonder if this isn’t the most accomplished county in all of England.” He states.

 Iris finds herself smiling. Every desperate mother worth her salt last night would be crowing her daughters praise to high heaven. Enough to induce the possibility that her very accomplished, pretty and upstanding daughter might have a chance at landing him.

 “Mothers can be so very domineering when the subject of marriage arises.” Iris promises. Looking down to step over a particularly frosty puddle.

 Kylo looks across at her. Watches her profile. Along the curve of her nose and the swell of her smiling lips. It occurred to him then, that she didn’t know of her beauty. She was not aware of its potency. He could sense it; this was a girl who overlooked her own worth and highly underestimated her attractiveness.

 With her pebble-ash eyes shining in the marigold sun like that, sparkling as if made of moonstone gems, and her rosy smile so unguarded and free. She didn’t see her beauty then. Not the way he could. Didn’t see it lay in the kiss of pink in her cheeks or the merriment of her face. On the geniality of her laugh and smiles.

 “I know I shouldn’t comment on such things. But I do feel so dearly for every new suitor who comes to this village. Every Mama and every daughter must veritably drown poor men with their female offspring.”

 Kylo raises one brow. “Rest assured. I’m not a man so inclined to favour polite safe conversation.” He promises her. He doesn’t tiptoe around propriety.

 “And I will admit I lost count of the young ladies I was introduced too last eve. My ears were quite ringing with names and sickly smiles by the end of the evening.” He confesses.

 She smiles wide again. Looks across. “I do sometimes wish that the people here could look beyond the scope of their own ignorance. To look beyond the defining goal of matrimony.” She confesses.

 “Why should a woman’s worth be tied onto who she weds? Can she not be her own person and find a man to suit that.” She avows. Letting her stalwart brain run away with her rather passionate mouth.

 “That’s very forward thinking of you.” Kylo says to her with a kind smile. Her face falls. She’s inspired insult with that comment.

 She’s flushing with embarrassment.

 “Mother would faint if she heard me confess that to you. Do forgive me, for the impertinence of my tongue.” She begs. Face wrinkling into a worried frown.

 “You have a mind. Miss Ashton.” Kylo says. “It’s entitled to make itself known.”

 “I’m a gently bred, unmarried, woman. And the eldest daughter, Lord Ren. My mind should be silent at all times. And possessed only, night and day, by thoughts and longing for matrimony.” She says. Quoting one of her mother’s rants.

 “Well. You have my word. I’m most blessedly glad it’s not.” He says. Turning to look deep into her eyes.

 She seems curiously confused. “You are?”

 “Indeed.” He answers plainly.

 “It means you are the one woman in this entire county with whom I can conduct a refreshing conversation. One that doesn’t revolve around reminding me again and again, that I’m a rich man who desperately needs a wife.” He offers.

 “I’m glad to hear it.” Iris says laughing. “Not often I happen find someone on the same page as myself.”

 “English men may find your so called ‘impertinence’ intolerable, Miss Ashton. For they were raised to know no better. But I am not a English man. Where I came from, it is applauded that a woman might speak her mind and have judgements and executions of her own.” He supplies.

 “Our way of life here must seem so strange and strict to an outsider.” She dares. The defining pinnacle of English country society was its savage nature, after all.

 “I don’t see much of the society in Bavaria.” He explains. “I see to the welfare of tenants on my land. I go hunting every season to pass the time. I’m afraid I rarely indulge in attending parties and balls.” He tells.

 “A castle must be an incredible home.” She guesses.

 “Even so- it can be very limiting being confined to it in the cold dark winters. Very little company. Little to entertain. I found myself wanting a change of scene. I had looked for some land opportunity’s to enclose in over here. When Hellford became available. It seemed a good opportunity to travel. Sink my teeth into a new venture.” He smarts. Eyes darkly roaming over her face with that handsome smile.

 She nods. “I quite understand.” Erland clops alongside them in the misty morning sunshine. Snorting breaths silver and wispy still in the biting air.

 “What are the winters like in Bavaria?” She enquires.

 He smiles. “Beautiful. But bitter.” He explains. “The snow can be deep. As tall as me some days when it falls.” She smiles at his description.

 “The castle stands out of a tall pine forest. A lake and a river to the east. One of the biggest woods in the country. Full of wolves, boars, and deer. It’s quite a wilderness in its own right.”

 “Goodness- wolves. Isn’t that terribly dangerous?” She frets.

 Not as much as me. He thinks. Matter of fact, when he steps foot in that forest, he is the most bloodthirsty dangerous animal in it.

 “The beasts respect the boundary of my castle. I respect the forest is theirs. It’s a symbiotic relationship.” He tells her.

 “Surrounded by wolves. You must feel very at home here too, then.” She jokes.

 He laughs. “There’s something familiar I grant. Though the wolves back home don’t don lace caps and thrust all their daughters at me.”

 She laughs at his remark. And suddenly, she goes spinning off course. Her worn boots slipping on a sneaky patch of frost and ice. No grip to their soles in this devilish cold. A yelp leaves her mouth as she skids. Blood flashing flushing hot and terrible suddenly. The shock of slipping stabbing at her stomach.

 He acts quick. He lets go of Erland’s reins and steps that big form forwards and snatched one arm out to grab her. Slips back around her waist, cups the back of her hip, and yanks her tight to him to stop her falling.

 She gasps and trembles as her vision spins, to be quickly halted by a sheer wall of cold, dark clad muscle. She barely registers where she is now.

 Because she’s pressed right up into Lord Ren’s redoubtably firm chest. Her palms crushed flat on his lapels. His arm seizing her back and cupping her onto him to stop her slipping. She can feel under her coat how her breasts are crushed flat to him. Can feel his breathing heaving up and down, much like her own.

 A shaky gasp leaves her mouth as she looks up, peering past the peak of her bonnet with flaming cheeks. Realising that they are slanted very close together. His face is right there, and he’s gazing down at her.

 She’s in his arms. Buried into his chest. And it feels incredible. Such musculature and sheer masculine mass under her palms. Her head swims. He’s dizzying. Hypnotising.

 Eyes as dark as burnt-ember molasses flecked with gold, and his lips look so invitingly pink ripe and soft- she curses at herself for that treacherous thought and her blush rises more. His wool coat and cologne nearly smacks her in the nose as she almost collided into his pectorals.

 Kylo can hear her fluttering heartbeat. Like a racing preys pulse beating wild. Frail and fast, like a baby birds. A huge drift of her fragrance absolutely drowns him, pulls him under. Clary sage, French lavender and peppermint. Sweet and calming. Addictive. He wants to lean down and taste the salt of it off her neck...

 It seems an eternity passes before he speaks.

 “Are you hurt?” He asks. Making sure she didn’t turn one of her ankles. Or damage the bone

 “T-Thankyou. I’m, I’m well.” She gasps. “I’m so sorry- I” She explains moving her hands down off his chest. He nearly swept her up off her feet. Now only her tiptoes brush the icy ground. The only part of her barely rooted to earth. Lost in those eyes.

 Domineering, commanding, brutal, eyes. Eyes that had seen this world ten times over. But never gazed upon anything comparable to her-

 Erland brings them both back down to earth. Snorting and fussing. Swishing his tail and nudging his nose at his masters shoulder.

 Sense swims back through the fog of attraction and the heady bloom of lust. Kylo unleashes her back and her hip from his hold.

 Quite liking the feel of her he accidentally - and literally - caught underneath her coat. The plump of her thighs and the shapely flesh of her hip and her bottom. There’s doubtless a figure to rival Venus herself, under this shapeless coat and thin dress. She slowly drags her hands off his chest and steps back. Avoiding the ice beneath her toes. Her gloves rasp on his fine wool coat.  

 “You fell. Miss Ashton. No need to be sorry for such a thing.” He tells her.

 “You’ve a steady hand, Lord Ren.” She compliments. Thanking him further. He still held her basket in the arm that had not reached out to catch her. He looked as if he barely had to flex out an arm to catch her. Just twisted his body. His reflexes were sharp and cunning. As strong as he was.

 He reached out and retook Erland’s reins.

 They continue walking carefully along the little lane. For Westwell is just beyond the tree line now. It saddens her that she’ll be home soon.

 Back to her daily chores. Back to scrubbing curtains, and helping cook roll pastry and mediating the silly shouting screeching arguments that Posy and Flora have over who gets to take turns to wear their favourite bonnet

 She reflects how restoring it is to talk to someone so fully - without having to watch or guard her tongue. It’s even more enlightening to talk to someone such as him. Someone who, like her, feels like an outsider. Never fully fits in. And harbouring no desire too.

 She feels her heart sink, morbid mournful and grey settling in her ribs, when they come to the meagre gateway along the short drive to Westwell. The twin stone pillars signifying the gateway were old and crusted with frosted moss.

 Kylo calls Erland to halt. She pats the wonderful beasts strong shoulder in goodbye. He rubs the great velvet plain of black his forehead at her. Kylo untied her basket and handed it to her.

 “I’d have no hesitation in seeing you to the door directly. But I fear your mother might see fault with our being left unchaperoned.” He disclosed. Giving her back the groaning full wicker basket with a clever grin.

 She shivers when their hands brush. If she had any doubts in her attraction, that betraying little Judas of a tingle that thrashed her body, made her realise otherwise.

 She likes him-

 “Astute observation, your lordship. I Thankyou for your discretion.” She blushes. Hooking the baskets back on her arms. Adjusting the shawl where it had slipped down from her shoulders.

 She looks down into her basket, and smiles. “A token of gratitude.” She explains before handing over the still warmed bag of chestnuts across to him.

 He cradled them in his leather gloved hand. Appreciative of the gift. He rarely ate food. There wasn’t much need for it and it wasn’t the manna that’s sustained him. He had little joy in any human sustenance - apart from humans themselves.

 When he did eat food, it was red meat that was still rare, juicy, and dripping blood. And he only drank sharp deep red wine.

 He reaches over and took her hand. Once again dropping Erland’s reins. He took her dainty hand and brought it up and bows to kiss her palm.

 He’s tired of satin and calfskin under his lips. He rather wanted to grasp a taste of her skin. Soon.

 “Always a pleasure, Miss Ashton. I hope the experience of your company repeats itself shortly.” He compliments.

 She smiles, apples of her cheeks creasing dimples with her widened smile. She nods politely and curtseys. “Your Lordship.” She curtseys gently. Bonnet tipping forwards. Criminally covering that beautiful face of hers.

 She turns and he watches her walk up the pale lane to home. Sun striping through the trees onto her bleached linen white skirts. Bleached by sunshine. And softly scented of fresh cotton and French lavender.

 Miss Ashton is made up of good intentions and possesses a giving heart as pure as gold. Pure. That’s his little dove all over-

 He looks down in his hand and weighs the small bag of nuts she’d gifted him. He lifts it to his nose and inhales their scent. Buttery, sweet, burnt and acrid.

 He tips his eyes back up to watch her. Thought creases up his brow. He’ll never know how it is to have such a virtue as a kind heart.

 She was made up of honour and purity and softness. Doves feathers, lavender and rose petals. And he is made of cruelty. Of war and broken glass and shards of steel. He was made between ash and snow and a landscape soaking swimming festering in blood. 

There’s no kindness in him. No mercy. Barely any love in him either. 

 He cares little for humans. After he was turned. That’s just how he became. They became meaningless specs of nothing to him. She has no idea what he is- who he is- he’s sent entire scores and countries of men shrieking to their deaths and writhing in agony into hell, cursing his name on their lips.

 And here she was handing him this little harmless gift, like he wasn’t one of the most fearsome beasts put on this earth.

 She’s not far away when she turns back - just as he’s about to mount Erland to ride back to Hellford Park once more. He tucks her meaningful present into his coat pocket.

 “Erland... Is that a Bavarian name?” She turns and asks curiously. A kind frown on the lintels of her eyebrows. She tilts her head curiously. Her grey eyes glitter innocently off the sun like honey poured onto slate.

 She’s so innocent. And it strikes him so deeply right then. How much he admires that.

 He hoists himself into the saddle using the pommel. Feet slipping in the stirrups. Hips resting back onto the cantle behind him.

 “It is a Norse name.” He calls to her. Erland is whinnying excitedly. Stomping his hooves to get out to the open fields and get his blood pumping. Kylo can feel the excitement shivering through his stocky legs.

 “What does it mean?” She seeks.

 “In old Nordic tongue, I believe it means ‘Outsider.’” He tells her.

 She smiles. “Well. I trust you both know you have atleast one friend in this Hampshire county.” She smiles.

 “Good day, Lord Ren.” She beams brightly. She turns away and she’s already missing the gaze of those melting cocoa eyes appraising her warmly.

 Her skin still thrashes from the memory of his touch. All over her skin is alive with the memory of that strength of his. His chest under her hands she’s never felt the like- he was as cold and solid as marble. Some Greek god manifested out of carved stone and come to life.

 He turns Erland back onto the snowy road. Clicks his tongue and urges him to run with a sharp dig of his shoe into his side. He feels the ice and the wind sting his skin for all the ride home.

 He thinks about her parting gift and her touch against his body for the rest of the day - truly he does. It’s moved him.

 He hasn’t been moved so much by another being in all of his years.

   ~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~