#the odds of me running into him are relatively high

[ancano]

The fun thing about old trauma is you'll go so long without a trigger that you'll think you're over it but then you realize that's not true and the things that trigger it have just reduced in quantity.

[bitethedevil]

Raphael going to a noble party of some kind, disguised as a human, in order to find and schmooze with current and potential clients. While engaging with one such individual who seems particularly taken with him, from across the room he spots Tav, for once not dressed in adventurer's gear but decorated with finery. The Hero of Baldur's Gate is so radiant that, at a glance, one could be forgiven for mistaking the mortal as an angel in disguise. However, like the cambion, Tav also has noble-born partygoers vying for their attention, asking (and more often than not being granted) a dance with the hero, and perhaps gossip of nobles approaching the hero with dowry proposals and attempts at wooing this illustrious guest begin to reach the fiend's ears.

Thank you for the prompt! <3 Super interesting. This is just Raphael being Raphael pretty much. It's not super edited so bear with me.

And to others who have also sent me prompts: I have gotten so many of them! I'm very grateful and I'll try my best to get to as many of them as I can, though I have already warned that I am pretty slow.

Revenge (SFW)

Viola Gist, an elderly member of the Gist family who had run the trade of dyes in Baldur’s Gate, was talking Raphael’s ear off in the corner of the grand ball room. Nobles from all over the city had gathered in High Hall for one of the city’s annual balls.

Raphael was dressed in his best as always and managed to fit in so well that no one ever bothered to question if he actually belonged to the nobility of Baldur’s Gate. It was an art he had perfected many centuries ago. He rarely needed an invitation to go anywhere.

It was even easier when he happened to know quite a few people there. There was not a family in the Gate that he had not dealt with at some point. The ones who knew what he was kept wonderfully quiet, for no noble wanted to confess that they had asked for the help of a devil to keep their place far above heads of the smallfolk.

In fact, Lady Gist’s late husband himself had been a client of his and his soul was currently stashed away in his House of Hope. It seemed that his wife had moved on rather quickly, with the way she was dressed and the looks she was giving Raphael.

He indulged her, of course, with his smiles and charming comments. Her soul was not worth much, but what could he say? He was a collector, and he did love the idea of having the full set. Was their son and heir as gullible as his parents, he could be tempted to swing by to get him too in a couple of years.

Viola Gist kept blathering on while he tried his best to look intensely interested in what she said. He already had her. He was sure that all she needed was the tiniest push to convince her to sign his contract. Lady Gist was interrupted by some commotion behind her. Raphael raised an eyebrow and looked to where people seemed to be gathering around something or someone.

“Oh, it’s her,” the elderly lady said with a sneer after looking over her shoulder. “Can you imagine that? She was barely even raised in the city and now that she has returned, everyone is fawning over her for her hand in marriage. Between you and me, she might have the Sashenstar name, but she is truly only a distant relative to the main family.”

“Indeed? What a shame,” Raphael said and smiled at her. “The men of Baldur’s Gate surely must have terrible taste to hunt for anything new and shiny when there is such a magnificent jewel such as yourself right in front of them.”

His flirtations worked like a charm. Lady Gist blushed and giggled like a woman at least 40 years younger than what she actually was.

“It’s kind of you to say,” she said with that shrill giggle of hers. “Furthermore, I have been raised like a lady. You would not see me traversing through the wilderness with strangers, killing creatures of any sort like some brute.”

An odd description, Raphael thought.

“A brute, you say?” he asked. “What is the lady’s name?”

Lady Gist looked like she was trying to remember.

“Oh, it’s some dreadfully simple name,” she said and looked at the floor as she was thinking. “I don’t recall. It’s that girl that saved the city, or so they say. Mav? Tav?”

Raphael’s eyes widened slightly.

“Tav?” he asked slowly. “Tav…Sashenstar?”

“Yes, her,” Lady Gist said and waved her hand in a dismissive gesture.

That was news to him. He had done so much careful digging on the adventurers back then, but the fact that the little mouse who had snubbed him of his crown was a noble had not come up.

He looked through the crowd over the Lady’s shoulder. There she was, being almost smothered by suitors, wearing a dress, looking…presentable. Raphael might not have recognized her had he not been told she was there. Her smile was strained but polite as she greeted the people around her. She was rather pretty when she was not dressed in shabby armor and her hair did not look like a rat’s nest, he thought.

He had not seen her for so long. He had of course heard about their success with defeating the Netherbrain and everything that had happened after. He also knew who the Crown of Karsus had been given to and how that had ended. Perhaps there was an opportunity here…

Tav looked over the crowd and her eyes fell on Raphael. Her eyes widened completely and the smile on her lips fell when she saw him. She immediately averted her eyes from him, acting like she never saw him. Raphael smiled widely.

“We will talk again later, Viola,” he said and kissed Lady Gist’s hand. “There is an old associate that I simply must talk to.”

Tav had almost forgotten about him amongst all the noise and all the people, particularly young men, who wanted to speak and dance with her. She was dancing with a young man who was her age. He seemed nice, but like all the others, he was dreadfully boring, and it was so painfully clear that he was trying to sell himself to her. She hated it. She hated all of it.

The music finally stopped, and she was freed from him. She smiled politely to him before curtsying. When she turned around, someone grasped around her waist and caught her hand as the next song started. She looked up and panicked. She tried to move away but Raphael’s grip on her waist was firm.

“Ah-ah, dear,” he said and began to lead the dance. “No reason to cause a scene.”

She was still staring at him with wide eyes and dug her nails into his shoulder as he lead the dance with complete ease.

“Why are you here?” she asked hurriedly with a frown while trying not to fall over her own feet.

“I am working,” he answered with a smile. “I would ask why you are here, but word travels quickly in these circles. It’s been a while, hasn’t it, dear? Does the noble life suit you?”

“I don’t need anything, and you are not getting my soul.”

Raphael chuckled deeply.

“You wound me, dear,” he said and spun her around. “Is it truly such an impossible thought that I simply wanted to hear how you were faring?”

“Yes,” she quickly answered. “I’m fine. I’m doing wonderful.”

“Splendid,” he purred with a smile. “Although…I am terribly sorry to hear about your little sweetheart. The God of Ambition, was it? At least it must be to some relief to you that one of you got what you wanted.”

She stepped down hard on Raphael’s foot. He groaned and tightened his grip on her.

“Whoops,” she said and smiled spitefully at him. “I’m still getting the hang of this dancing thing, I’m afraid.”

“Mm, yes. How clumsy of you,” he grumbled and then continued talking. “And now you are to be married to one of these fine men in here. Has anyone caught your eye?”

“You know I could just tell everyone in here what you are,” she warned.

“So no,” Raphael sighed. “Marriage…Such a dull concept, isn’t it? You have seen horrors beyond most mortal’s comprehension, beaten terrible odds, saved the world, and now you are soon to be a noble lady. Sitting pretty beside some fat patriar. Is that truly what you want?”

She looked at him with anger in her eyes. He knew the answer to his question, of course, but she was all too easy to rile up.

“I wanted him,” she confessed quietly with a frown. “That’s all I wanted.”

“And all he wanted was the crown,” Raphael said with feigned sympathy. “Now Gale Dekarios is a god of the Heavens. He got everything he wanted, and yet you lost the man you loved, and I the crown I craved for centuries. Poor us. Fate is cruel, my dear.”

She sneered at him. The song finally came to an end and Raphael let her go. He smirked at her and bowed. She headed straight for the balcony, grabbing a glass of champagne on her way. Raphael followed. She was not going to escape him so easily.

“You look stunning tonight, by the way,” she heard Raphael’s voice from behind her. “Any of these poor fools would be lucky to have you.”

She looked over her shoulder and glared at him.

“Piss off, devil,” she grumbled and took a sip of her champagne.

“I see that your dancing is not the only thing you will have to work on,” he said with a chuckle and leaned against the balcony railing beside her. “Those manners of yours are horrendous as ever. Hardly befitting of a noble lady.”

She leaned her back against the railing and looked at him with her arms crossed and a furious frown on her face.

“I know what you are doing, you know.”

“Oh? What am I doing, my dear?” Raphael asked with a wide smile at her.

“You are trying to lure me into something,” she said. “Trying to remind me of my past, what I lost, but oh you can ‘help’, isn’t that right? You can make it all go away and make me happy again, if only I sign my name on one of your contracts. So, I reiterate: Piss off.”

Someone was on their way out to the balcony. One of her suitors from the look of recognition in the young man’s eyes. Raphael snapped and made the door close and lock in his face without even looking over his shoulder.

“You have me all figured out, haven’t you?” Raphael purred. “No, Tav. I simply stumbled upon an old client who seems miserable with the way that everything has turned out. No matter how much you smile in there, you cannot convince me that this life is something you want.”

“It’s none of your concern,” she said firmly.

“Oh, but it pains me to see people like yourself drenched in so much misery,” he cooed with feigned sympathy. “And it is miserable, isn’t it? To be so close to greatness just to have it snatched away again and be forced to face the same old dreadful sense of normalcy in one’s life.”

It bothered her to no end to have him compare losing the Crown of Karsus to her losing the love of her life. She knew that a part of him was just taunting her for not making the choice of giving the Crown of Karsus to him, because things would have been different if she did. Gale would never have ascended if she had.

“We are not the same,” she said. “And I really do not need your shoulder to cry on.”

“Perish the thought. I am not pitying you. I am simply saying that we are not so different after all. We are simply…” he waved a hand as he looked for the right word. “Talking…Bonding. Isn’t that what your sort calls it?”

“Bonding?” she said and wrinkled her nose at the absurdity of his words. “Spare me your annoying sales tactics and get to the point. What do you want?”

“You,” he said casually and carefully caught her hand with his. “Not your hand in marriage, you understand, though I am sure the two of us could have an awful lot of fun together, and ambitious men do seem to be your type…”

When she did not remove her hand, Raphael smiled and snaked his other hand around her waist. He had her right where he wanted her, and his little theory had been correct: she was lonely, and she was desperate. He was almost salivating at the thought.

“I am proposing a partnership of a different sort entirely,” he purred and wrapped both of his arms around her waist. “One that can reignite that spark in your eyes and take you far away from this dull new life of yours. You won’t even have to give me your soul. You simply have to answer one little question…”

She was looking up at him with expectant eyes. She was interested and there was no doubt about it.

“What?” she asked.

“Your lover left you to pursue greater things,” Raphael stated and ran his hand slowly up and down her back. “You tried to convince him not to, but he didn’t listen to you. He left you here, all alone, forced to go back to a life you never wanted in the first place because you did not share his ambition. My question is this: do you still only want him, or is it something else you crave now? Is it love…or is it revenge you are after?”

Her breathing got slightly heavier as she thought, as if caught up in conflicting emotions.

“Revenge,” she admitted in a quiet voice after a while.

“Good,” Raphael purred with a wicked smile. “Then it is settled, is it not? I want the crown and you want revenge. You are possibly the only person he would ever let into the Heavens. We can both get what we want and let me assure you, I never forget those who helped me to power like your dear Gale did.”

“I’m not sure,” she said quietly as she looked up at him. “Gale is a god now. He might be watching over me. That could be a hindrance in your little plan.”

They were standing so close now and the way her eyes ever so briefly went to his lips did not go past him. He could easily give her a taste of that revenge she so desperately wanted, just to draw her in further.

“Indeed. He might be,” Raphael purred and smiled. “Should we give him a show then?”

Raphael pushed her further back against the railing with his body. One of his hands went to the back of her neck as he pulled her in for a kiss. She kissed him back eagerly. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she pulled him in further. It was a hungry kiss.

Raphael was no fool. He knew that it was all simply to anger her old flame, but that did not mean that he didn’t thoroughly enjoy her enthusiasm. They stopped when they heard a knock on the door to the balcony. They both looked and saw a group of nobles looking at them through the glass window.

Tav was blushing when Raphael looked back at her. He smiled and snapped his fingers to take them away to the House of Hope to further discuss their plans, away from the nobles and gods who might have been listening.

[lovebotmo]

like the movies

chapter four - the feathered visitor

series masterlist

pairing: theodore nott x reader

wc: 1675

author's note: so so grateful that you guys are enjoying the story so far!!! its been incredible to be inspired and motivated when it comes to writing. i appreciate those who let me know they want to be on the taglist - lmk if anyone else wants to be added!!!

also if i missed someone my apologies!!! first time putting a tag list together hehe

song inspiration: how sweet it is (to be loved by you) by marvin gaye

Clambering into the compartment containing your friends after separating from Theo, you are greeted with expectant silence. Ten eyes peer at you with varying emotions; curiosity, caution, surprise, excitement, and intrigue all seem to swim in the faces of your dear friends.

Slapping your hands onto your knees, you smile nervously at them. “Well, what is it?”

“Don’t keep us waiting!” urges Hannah, who’s practically vibrating with excitement. “What was that all about? Running after Nott of all people.”

Your brows furrow unconsciously, “What d’you mean?”

Ginny laughs at your apparent confusion. “Nuh uh, Y/n. We all saw you go after Nott, no need to be coy now.” She winks cheekily at you. “Are you two seeing each other?”

You sputter at her brashness, “Me and Theo? There’s—”

“It’s Theo now, is it?” Padma asks. “When did he become Theo, eh?” Padma nudges your shoulder with her own.

“Oh, shove it, Pads!” You could practically feel the red rising in your face and neck at the undivided attention now being paid to your very short, tiny, essentially minimal interaction with a male specimen. You felt like a research subject whenever your friends interrogated you like this. “I was just worried Theo was going to miss the train—a very normal thing to be worried about considering he’s my potion partner and I bloody well can’t use his brain if he’s stranded in Hogsmeade! Besides,” you said, pulling at the sleeves of your wooly sweater, “that fight between Malfoy and him looked downright awful.” At that, the girls abruptly halted their aggressive probing, uneasily remembering the spat that had taken place very publicly in The Three Broomsticks. All, except for Luna, who continued to peer at you with that typical all-knowing, dreamy look of hers that seemed to suggest she knew better.

As if there’s anything going on between Theo and me. I barely know the guy…or almost barely know him…kind of know him?

Shaking the disorganized thoughts from your head, you turned to the girls to continue the conversation that had abruptly stopped at the tavern. A train ride filled with trolley sweets, gossip, and uncontrollable laughter soon led to your arrival at Hogwarts, just in time for the evening meal.

Retiring to your room shortly after dinner, you found that your housemates’ beds were empty. You guess that they were likely meandering around the grounds before curfew. You savored the silence and stillness of the room. However, all too soon, it was interrupted by an odd sort of sound.

Clink.

At first you ignored it, thinking something had just shifted in your room.

Clink…Clink.

This time, your eyes swept across the room, searching for whatever could be causing that sound. It didn’t sound like a water drip, someone in heels, or even coins moving around in a coin purse.

Clinkclinkclinkclink!

As the sound increased in volume and frequency, you realized it was coming from the window of all places, even though you were elevated relatively high in the tower containing your bedchamber. That is to say, no person could have been outside your room without the aid of a broom or the flying charm. You cursed under your breathe that the window was glazed, meaning you couldn’t see what lay on the other side. Undergoing a momentary crisis of whether you should open the window, you decided in a split-second to just open it and hope for the best. However, you made sure to grab your wand.

Can’t be too careful now, can we, Y/n?

Your hand grasped at the brass handle, quickly swinging the frame open. An autumnal evening gust of wind greeted you, along with something else.

What the fuck.

Perching on your windowsill, was a quaint tawny owl peering at you rather oddly. The bird cocked its brown and white feathered head as you did the same.

What the devil is a bloody owl doing up here? “I don’t suppose you intended to come up here, did you?” Looking at the owl, you noticed it was clutching something in its claws, a small parcel of sorts. “Is that for me?”

As if answering, the owl flew past you and landed on your desk. Its head cocked once more as if wondering whether you were going to join it or not. Realizing you were standing dumbly in front of the window and letting all the warm air out, you shut it. You did not lock it, however, anticipating that your feathered friend would be departing shortly.

You joined the owl at your desk, sitting in your chair. You were now eye level with the mysterious bird, its dark eyes gazing into your own.

“May I?” you inquired, gesturing towards the little package in its clutches. The fowl relented, gently releasing it onto the wood of your desk. Before allowing yourself to rip into the bundle, you pulled out a small cannister of crickets you kept in one of your desk drawers for when you visited your own owl in the aviary. Lightly placing it in front of the owl, you allowed it to treat itself while opening the unknown gift.

Inside, you found a small package of caramel creams, just like those you had gifted to Mr. Flume a few short hours ago.

“How…?” You looked to the bird who was still pleasing itself with your offering of crickets.

You couldn’t begin to wonder at who would have known to gift you that particular candy, who would have noticed your quick interaction among the thick throng of students that had filled Honeydukes earlier. No one had stood out to you in the little time you had spent in the candy store, wholly preoccupied with your candy exchange.

Where could they have even bought it from? It’s not like Mr. Flume even stocks this specific sweet, no matter how much I may beg the man to.

“You must have been flying for ages to bring these to me, I reckon.”

“Hoot.”

Laughing at the short, clipped response of the owl, your eyes noticed a small piece of parchment paper within the parcel. Grasping and opening it quickly, your eyes were met with the same script you had seen on the previous note that had accompanied the moly bouquet currently residing on your nightstand. Once more, the note was succinct and saccharine.

Y/n,

Sweets for you, sweetheart.

Yours,

Teddy

“Seems your owner fancies me,” you said to the owl as you carefully refolded the note. “I don’t suppose you would be able to give me a clue as to who they are?”

“Hoot.”

Sighing, you replied, “Alright, alright. I won’t badger you for answers.” You rose from your chair, intending to allow the plumed messenger to return to the aviary. The bird flew from its perch on your desk to your shoulder, its head gently rubbing against your cheek. You smiled at the little show of affection. Once more, you opened your window, allowing your avian visitor to rejoin the skies. Looking back at the caramel creams and clutching the note to your chest, a warm feeling began to leak out of your heart. Whoever your admirer was, he was rather…sweet.

A few caramel creams later, you were sprawled on your bed and surrounded by your friends as you recounted the entire rendezvous with the tawny owl. You shared the sweets among your friends, but you kept the contents of the note to yourself. Your friends had already seen the first note and none of them had recognized the handwriting. There was no harm done, really.

Besides, you thought, it’s kind of nice to keep something between just me and this elusive ‘Teddy.’

“You didn’t recognize the owl, did you?” asked Ginny. “Godric knows everybody can tell when I’ve sent an owl. That bloody bird, Errol, is hard to miss.” She gives you a vexed look that makes you chuckle.

“No, it looked like any other owl I’d have seen in the aviary. Anyway, there are hundreds of owls here, they’re not exactly easy to differentiate.”

“Well,” Padma says, “at the very least, we know that your little admirer is a third year or older.”

Hannah’s face shows her confusion, “How do you figure?”

“They were in Honeydukes, weren’t they?” Padma shrugs, “Whoever he is, he has to be, at minimum, thirteen years old to go to Hogsmeade.”  

Groaning, you flop back onto your bed, hands covering your face in dismay. “Blimey, I hadn’t even considered it might be someone younger than me. What if it is a third year? Fucking hell, I’ll never be able to live it down.”

Moving your hands from your face, Hermione smiles gently at you. “If it is a third year, which I seriously doubt, you’ll be gentle in letting them down. No big deal.”

“I’d be a laughingstock, ‘Mione,” you say grumpily.

“No, you won’t, Y/n,” replies Hannah. “Besides, it’s just the six of us that knows, right?”

“About that…” Ginny looks at you sheepishly. “I may or may not have possibly, accidentally let it slip when I was perhaps…potentially talking with Lavender…”

The redhead’s confession gets you to shoot up quickly from your horizontal position. “You did what?” You toss at a pillow at her, which, with her incredible athleticism, she easily intercepts. You frown. “Lavender is possibly the worst gossip I’ve ever met. I’d be surprised if Filch didn’t know about it.”

“It was an accident, promise!” Ginny exclaims, “Lavender asked if you were seeing anybody—I think she’s interested in Lee Jordan—so, I suppose she was trying to determine whether or not you were—”

“Ginny.”

“…Yes, Y/n?”

“I’m going to give you until the count of three.”

“Count of three—what for?”

“One.”

“Oh please, Y/n. I didn’t mean to—”

“Two.”

“For the love of Merlin—”

“Three.” At your last count, you sprint at the girl who starts to run from you as you chase her with your wand. She sharts to shriek with laughter, dashing as far from your incurrent wrath as possible.

“You’re going to get it, Weasley!”

taglist: @melllinaa, @randomgurl2326, @lovelyygirl8, @abaker74, @mypolicemanharryyy, @vanevafu, @laceandsuch, @agent-tempest, @themarauderswife7 & @adoraspace

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

9: ONE

Chapter 8 <MASTERLIST > Chapter 10

SUMMARY: You run away with the Winter Soldier, a man who has recently discovered his identity and is in search of his truth.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warning: SMUT: Mutual hand job, Fugitive situation — If there is any more you find not listed here please be sure to let me know so I can add it.

Your heart was pounding, the blood rushing through your ears so loudly that you could barely hear anything he was saying. There was a feeling bubbling up inside you, a potent mix of excitement, fear, and anticipation that threatened to consume you whole. Your breath came hard and fast as these turbulent emotions threatened to overwhelm you, your chest rising and falling rapidly. But through it all, your hand remained firmly in his, a grounding anchor amidst the storm raging within. 

The darkness had fallen early where the clandestine facility was situated, far removed from the trappings of real civilization. The dismal weather offered convenient camouflage, the overcast skies and biting wind masking your presence as you scanned the area, searching the shadows for any sign of your soldat. Just as the feeling of dread began to creep in, his hand suddenly clamped over your mouth, muffling the surprised yelp that escaped your lips at his abrupt appearance behind you. In that moment, time seemed to stand still as the world narrowed to just the two of you, hidden away from prying eyes in the enveloping darkness. The adrenaline coursing through your veins was nearly overwhelming, but his steady presence grounded you, reminding you why you had risked so much to be here, in this precarious but electrifying moment.

“Shhh, Kotyonok. No noises.”

His voice was a deep, authoritative whisper, the harshness of his tone at odds with the gentleness of his touch against your mouth. He held you firmly, his body a solid presence pressed against your back, his hand a warning against any further sounds. His breath was warm against your ear as he spoke again. "Follow me.”

You followed him, your feet stumbling occasionally over the uneven snow-covered ground. The world around you was a blur, the snowflakes dancing in your vision like swirling stars. His hand was a strong, guiding presence, pulling you along without pause or hesitation. He moved with purpose, his steps swift and sure, leading you down alleyways and side streets, always keeping to the shadows, avoiding the dim pools of light cast by the street lamps.

As you moved, your mind was racing, desperately trying to come up with an escape plan. But there had been no time, no opportunity to discuss anything of the sort. You were both acting on instinct alone, following Soldat's lead blindly, trusting him to keep both of you safe. You could sense his tension in the rigidity of his body, the way his grip on your hand tightened every time you stumbled or slowed. He was on high alert, his senses sharp, his eyes constantly scanning the shadows for any hint of danger. 

Soldat's mind was a maelstrom of thoughts and calculations. He had a plan, but it was not one he had been able to fully think through. It was more instinct than strategy, more desperate gamble than foolproof escape. He had spent precious minutes scouting the area before coming for you, searching for the most efficient route out of the town and into the vast expanse of wilderness beyond. It was a dangerous venture, one fraught with risks and uncertainties.

"Where’re we going?" You whispered.

Soldat paused for a moment, pulling you into a small alleyway between two buildings. The shadows concealed you well, the only light coming from a single, dim street lamp at the end of the alley. He turned to face you, his eyes meeting yours in the darkness. "Somewhere safe," he replied, his voice a rough whisper. "Somewhere they won't find us.”

"Where, Milyy?"

Soldat's heart clenched at your question. He wished he had a better answer, a definite destination he could name. But he didn't. All he had was a rough plan, one that relied heavily on luck and the element of surprise. He sighed deeply, leaning against the cold brick wall behind him. His eyes flicked downwards, avoiding your gaze for a moment.

"We're going east. Towards the river. There's a farmhouse there. It's isolated and remote. We should be able to lie low for a while.”

Soldat gently pulled you along once again, his hand still firmly around yours. He moved carefully, silently through the shadows, his footsteps making almost no sound against the snow. You followed him, your footsteps slow and faltering. The snow was starting to fall more heavily now, making the ground slippery and treacherous, but Soldat seemed unfazed, his stride never faltering as he made his way towards the river.

Soldat felt you stumble, his grip on your hand tightening as he slowed his pace momentarily, allowing you to catch up. He kept his gaze straight ahead, his expression unreadable in the shadows. He knew you were struggling to keep up with him, your steps slower and more labored, but he couldn't afford to slow down. Every minute counted, and he could feel the urgency of the situation like a weight on his shoulders.

“Sorry, Kotyonok.”

He could see the tiredness in your eyes, the trembling of your body as you struggled to keep up with him. It tugged at his heart, but there was no time to rest, no time to stop and catch your breath. He glanced back at you, your face barely visible in the darkness. His voice was a mere whisper, a soft, ragged edge to it.

"We're almost there," he reassured you. "Just a little further.”

Just when you thought you couldn't go any further, Soldat pointed out something in the distance. You followed the direction of his gaze, your eyes struggling to make out anything in the falling snow and fading light. For a moment, you saw nothing, just the endless expanse of white snow and shadowy trees. But then, faintly, you saw a silhouette flickering in the moonlit distance.

Soldat nodded, his grip on your hand tightening momentarily. "That's it," he said. "The farmhouse. We're almost there.”

Soldat helped you settle by the fireplace, wrapping the blankets tight around you as you shivered slightly. Lighting a fire was out of the question. Even the smallest flicker of light in the window could give away your location and alert your pursuers to your location. The farmhouse was small but cozy, the shelter and isolation offering a much-needed respite from the bitter cold outside.

He pulled you closer to him, the blanket wrapped tightly around both of you as you sought each other's warmth. His flesh arm was wrapped around your shoulders, his body a solid presence against yours. He was silent for a moment, his body was tense, his senses on high alert as he listened for any signs of danger outside. You watched him listening to the quiet stillness of the house and the faint sound of the falling snow outside.

He tensed for a moment at your touch, his body instinctively responding to any contact. But then he relaxed, his muscles unfurling under your hand. He looked at you, his gaze soft and tender in the dim light.

"Sorry," you whispered.

He shook his head slightly, his gaze locked on yours."Don't be sorry," he whispered back. “Your touch... it grounds me. It helps.” He placed his metal hand over yours, covering it with his own. The cool metal contrasted against the warmth of your skin. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, a silent reassurance.

"Do you hear anything?”

Soldat tilted his head slightly, his senses straining to pick up any sound in the stillness of the farmhouse. His ears were tuned to the slightest noise, his body taut and ready for action at a moment's notice. He shook his head slightly after a minute. "No," he said softly. "Nothing. Just the sound of the snow outside. We're safe... for now, at least.”

You were both silent, contemplating your choices, the decision you had made to flee from HYDRA.

"Tell me again," he asked, suddenly. Soldat's voice was quiet, but there was an intensity behind his words. His eyes flicked to your face, searching your expression in the low light.

You looked at him in confusion for a moment, trying to grasp his meaning. And then you understood. He wanted to hear it again, to remember the words that had started this journey. You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before speaking softly. "You’re James Bucky Barnes," you said, pronouncing each syllable carefully. "Not the Winter Soldier. You’re more than what they made you. You’re free.”

“You’re from Brooklyn, New York. You were born in 1917, on March 10th. Your best friend is Steve Rogers, Captain America. You fought in the second world war, in the 107th unit but you were part of a special team called the Howling Commandos.”

Soldat - Bucky - was silent as you spoke, his eyes fixed on your face as you recited his history. He drank in your words, processing each one with an intensity that was almost physical. With every name you mentioned - Steve Rogers, the Howling Commandos - the memories stirred deep within him, faint at first but growing stronger with each passing moment.

He sat frozen, his breath coming in short, sharp puffs. The words were like a lifeline, pulling him back from the darkness of his past, reminding him who he truly was. His eyes never left yours as you spoke, his expression intense, as if he was trying to hold onto every syllable, to commit each word to memory. With every new detail, his expression shifted, recognition and realization slowly washing over his face. His eyes widened slightly, his expression almost pained, as if the memories were both a revelation and a torment.

"Buc-ee..."

His voice was rough, the syllables coming out slowly as if his mouth was unaccustomed to forming the words. He repeated it again, the nickname rolling off his tongue with an effort. The foreign sound of it was unfamiliar and yet, somehow, it felt right. He repeated it, his voice rough and ragged.

"Bucky," he repeated, his lips forming around the syllables. He looked at you then, his eyes searching for confirmation, for reassurance that he had said it correctly. He fell silent for a moment, his gaze distant as he seemed to lose himself in his thoughts. But then he blinked, his eyes clearing and sharpening once again as he focused on you.

“Why?” he asked.

You tilted your head slightly, not quite understanding his question. "Why what?"

He looked at you intently, his eyes studying your face in the dim light. He seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment, struggling to find the words to express what he was feeling.

Finally, he spoke again, his voice a low, barely audible whisper. "Why did you help me?”

It was a question you'd been asking yourself. Why had you left the security of your position to run away with a man who didn't even know who he was?

You had contemplated your decision the night before as you lay awake, waiting for him to come out of cryostasis. "Because you deserve more, because this isn't who you are... because... I love you.”

Bucky's eyes widened at your words. He hadn't expected that. But as he looked at you - your eyes, your face, your expression - he saw the truth in them. He understood then, the depth of your feelings for him, how much you had cared for him even when he hadn't remembered you. It was a strange sort of paradox, your intense connection and devotion to a man who was both himself and yet not himself at the same time.

He felt a mixture of emotions then, a cocktail of gratitude, guilt, and something more tender he didn't quite want to name. His heart gave a painful lurch in his chest, and he found himself struggling to speak for a moment. He was not used to expressing himself, not emotionally, not about things like love. But for you, he would try.

"I..." he started, his voice hoarse. "I don't deserve you.”

"You deserve so much more. You deserve to know who you are, you deserve to live a life of your choosing.”

Bucky stared at you, he had spent so long not thinking about what he deserved, living in the shadow of his past actions, that your words were almost too much to bear. He took a shaky breath, his gaze not leaving yours. "I don't know who I am. There's so much in my head... memories, thoughts, feelings... I don't know what's real and what's not.”

“Let me help you.”

He wanted desperately to believe you, to trust you, but there was a part of him that was still wary, still distrustful. He swallowed hard, his hand clenching unconsciously in the fabric of the blanket. "You'd... do that? You'd help me?" he whispered.

"I'm here, aren't I?”

A small, humorless chuckle escaped Bucky's lips. You were right. You were here, risking everything to help him, to be with him. He looked at you, his eyes softening as he took in your expression.

His right hand came up to cup your cheek, his flesh and bone fingers gently caressing your skin. "Yeah," he said softly. "You are.”

Bucky's touch was gentle but possessive as he leaned in to kiss you. His lips were soft, a stark contrast to the rough stubble on his face. He tasted of bitter cold and a hint of fear, and yet, underneath it all, there was something else - something undeniably warm and familiar.

He pulled you closer to him, his hand moving from your cheek to the back of your neck, keeping you closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking entry into your mouth. Bucky felt the shift in you, the way you pressed closer to him, seeking more contact, more intimacy. His touch was a desperate caress, his fingers tracing the curve of your back, your thighs, every inch of skin he could reach under your thick coat. He pulled down the zipper, longing for more.

Bucky's hands stilled as he felt you shiver under his touch. He looked at you, his eyes dark and intense as he realized the effect his touch was having on you. A spark of concern flickered in his gaze, and he shifted you slightly so you were tucked tightly against him, his arms wrapped protectively around your waist.

"Are you cold?" he asked, his voice husky.

"It's fine, I'll be fine," you answered, dismissively.

He raised an eyebrow at your response, his expression saying that he didn't believe you. Bucky reached out, his fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. He studied your face for a moment, taking in the way your teeth were clenched together to keep yourself from shivering.

"You're shivering," he pointed out, his voice a low murmur.

Bucky's hands moved gently as he zipped up your coat, his touch careful and considerate. He knew you were frustrated, wanting more, but his concern for your well-being outweighed his own desires. Sitting back, he studied your face, his expression torn between pulling you into his arms and his need to keep you safe. As you placed your hands on his face, Bucky felt the warmth of your skin against his, your touch gentle and soothing. He closed his eyes, pressing his cheek into your palm and savoring the sensation - a tenderness he was unaccustomed to experiencing.

"I just... I don't want you to get hurt… because of me," he whispered.

Bucky's breath caught as you kissed him, his body instantly reacting to your touch. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in tight against his chest, craving to feel you, to have you as close as could be. His lips moved with yours, the kiss starting soft and tender, but soon intensifying with desire and passion. He deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth, one hand gently cradling the back of your head, holding you firmly against him.

"Still feeling cold, Kotyonok?" He murmured against your cheek.

His whispered words, the low timbre of his voice, and the gentle caress of his lips against your skin sent a delicious shiver down your spine, igniting a smoldering heat within you. You instinctively pressed your body closer to his, craving the warmth and comfort of his touch.

You let out a soft, breathless chuckle, your voice a little hoarse as you spoke. "Not anymore," you whispered.

"Kotyonok, can I... feel you?” Bucky's words were a soft, hesitant question, his voice a low whisper in the quiet of the farmhouse. His gentle fingers traced down your clothed arm, the warmth of his touch perceptible through the fabric. Your eyes met his as you considered his question.

Bucky's hand slid around your waist, dipping beneath the waistband of your pants, as you shuffled closer to him. His touch was warm and possessive, pulling you firmly against his body. A wall of heat radiated from him, his breath hot against your ear as he spoke. Slowly, deliberately, his fingers traced lazy circles over your skin, his touch gentle but purposeful.

He spoke in a ragged, husky whisper, "You feel so soft."

Exhausted from the day's stress and harsh weather, you sighed with relief as you were finally able to rest and be cared for.

Bucky heard your weary sigh, and it stirred an ache deep within him. He knew you were exhausted, worn down by the tumultuous events that had unfolded. Yet, despite the immense stress and peril, you remained by his side, still allowing his touch. Holding you close, his solid form anchored against your back, Bucky's hand moved in slow, gentle caresses. His fingers traced delicate patterns on your skin, eliciting soft moans and sighs to escape your lips.

"Just let me take care of you," he murmured softly.

Bucky's breath caught as you parted your legs, hooking your left knee over his right thigh. His hands gripped you tightly, responding to the heat of your skin against his. His body reacted instinctively, muscles going rigid at the intimate contact. Desire burned in his eyes as he looked at you, his fingers moving slowly, deliberately. He felt your body responding, your breath hitching, your muscles clenching under his touch.

Bucky's body stiffened involuntarily as your hand slid into his pants. For a moment, he tensed up but made no attempt to stop or pull away. Instead, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips seeking the sensitive spot behind your ear, where the familiar scent of your shampoo lingered. The hand on your thigh tightened slightly as your fingers found their mark, drawing a low, rumbling groan from deep within his chest.

"Easy, Kotyonok," he rasped, his voice a gruff whisper.

Bucky's breath came in ragged gasps as your hand moved over him, your touch igniting a fire in his veins. He fought to maintain his composure, attempting to mirror your movements with his own fingers, sliding them up and down your slick folds. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he sought your skin with his lips, grazing your pulse point with his teeth as he fought for control. Yet, your touch overwhelmed him, eliciting an involuntary physical reaction he could not restrain.

"That's it, Soldat. You like that, Milyy?”

Bucky's breath caught in his throat as you addressed him as 'Soldat'. The name felt cold, distant, and out of place. It no longer fit, not with the way he was feeling, not with the intimate touch of your hand. Bucky pulled back, his eyes locking onto yours, a desperate plea in his gaze. "Not Soldat," he ground out, his voice rough and urgent. "Call me Bucky. Please."

"Bucky," you moaned.

Bucky's breath hitched as he heard his name on your lips, the desire in your voice making something primal flare inside him.

"Tell me!" he growled. "Tell me again... who am I?”

He looked down at you, his gaze dark and intense as you spoke.

“You are James Bucky Barnes… you were born…” you whimpered softly as his fingers rubbed your clit. “...in Brooklyn… New York… in 1917.”

Bucky's gentle yet deliberate touch accompanied his soft-spoken words as he took control. He sensed your responsive movements and the soft whimpers escaping your lips, which ignited a reciprocal reaction within him.

"I fought in the Second World War," he continued, "and was captured by HYDRA and turned into the Winter Soldier. But now, I am free. I’m Bucky.”

"Oh, Bucky," you moaned.

Hearing his name on your lips, hearing the way you moaned it, sent a jolt of desire through Bucky's body. He couldn't deny it anymore, the heat between you was building, and it was intense.

He pulled you closer to him, his hand continuing its slow, deliberate movements. His other hand came up to cup your face, his touch gentle but possessive.

"Say it again," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "Say my name, Kotyonok.”

"Bucky!" You stroked him faster. 

Your breathless, urgent utterance of his name sent Bucky reeling. Tension coiled through his body as your hand moved over him, quickening with mounting urgency. He pulled you in closer, face buried in your neck, lips trailing over your skin as he panted against you, voice a low, ragged whisper.

"Yes, like that," he gasped, his hips arching into your touch.

"Come, Bucky,” you encouraged him gently. “That's it, come for me.”

Bucky let out a strangled gasp as you encouraged him, his body responding instinctually to your command. Your words and your touch were all too much, and he couldn't hold back anymore. With a low, guttural cry, he came undone, his release pulsing over your hand. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath coming in shuddering gasps as he tried to regain control of himself, his body trembling against yours.

"Fuck,” he whispered. “Love you, Kotyonok.”

Bucky's fingers resumed their movements, his touch more urgent and insistent as he focused on your pleasure. Desperate to give you the same intense sensations you had provided him, he kissed and nipped at your skin, his fingers circling your clit in slow, tight motions. He yearned to hear you cry out his name, could feel your body tightening in anticipation, knowing he had pushed you to the edge.

"Bucky, oh Bucky... I'm... I'm gonna...”

He continued his ministrations, his fingers relentless as he worked you towards your release, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered your name again and again, a low, ragged incantation.

"Come for me, sweetheart. I want to hear you. Let go.”

“BUCKY!” Your shout was swallowed by the wind howling around the desolate farmhouse.

Chapter 8 <MASTERLIST > Chapter 10

[konnosaurus]

iiiiit's sonny!!

sonny is such an intriguing little character to me. i really like him, but am very curious about his character and his placement in the series. i'm gonna stick a few thoughts about him (and diesel, honestly, and their interesting dynamic) under the cut!

even though sonny first appeared in the Last Series of the show, he felt like he had been designed with longevity in mind (at least to me!). he had personal character relationships with thomas (positive), diesel (complicated) and james (intriguing). unlike a lot of the characters introduced at the very of the series run, sonny was given these relationships that made you feel he could have his own character growth and also influence other characters and their stories.

sonny and diesel specifically are an interesting pair. diesel had only relatively recently had his minor/major redemption arc in springtime for diesel, but more recent relevant episodes, in my opinion, are diesel glows away & diesel do right. these episodes have a very interesting understanding of diesel which honestly remind me quite a bit of james (which is probably odd to say!). he thinks he is great, and that his presence makes the railway a better place, but in reality… he isn't really helping all that much because his high opinion of himself makes him do his jobs worse than if he just… tried to do them himself. it makes the other engines have a worse opinion of him than if he just talked to them as equals.

this is where sonny comes in. diesel, who has learnt through his past few episodes that he can't make other engines like him by being a nuisance and that he must put his own effort in to do his jobs correctly, is introduced to a new engine who has no preconceptions about him at all. in fact, he seems to enjoy his presence! but this is a whole new thing to diesel, who has not really had a chance to have a new interaction without the other engine involved having been told about his ways~~. while he probably hadn't had toooo many interactions with nia before diesel glows away, it was never implied she was unaware of the way he is, where as this is clearly all new to sonny.

these interactions between sonny and diesel show the two growing close very quickly- neither has really had any close buddies at any recent point, as far as we know. nobody seems to particularly enjoy the company of diesel, and sonny has been implied to have been on his own engine-wise, with only baz and bernie for a while at least. sonny is shown as inherently good- he tries to help james, he tries to do the other engines jobs. diesel as shown as inherently bad- even though he has grown, and we have seen him grow, his first instinct when given the opportunity is to use someone for his own gain. but it is different this time! when diesel causes something to go wrong for somebody else, he apologises without having to make it a whole ~thing~, which was exactly what he struggled with in springtime for diesel. he could apologise, then, but not directly. now he was able to manage it!

sonny managed to bring out the best in diesel, get a direct apology from him ((and also a direct (though sliiiightly reluctant) apology from james)), and get himself into the good books of other engines in essentially one day. though this happens quite a lot in the childrens-morals stories of thomas, there is something about him that brought that out in the characters in a way that felt entirely natural. and i just think that is neat!!

[peppershark]

WOLFER --- The real California history behind the Tomione Fic

Convict Lake Camp (OwensValleyHistory.com)

When I was a kid, my family frequently visited Bishop, California. I can still feel the light-headed enchantment of hopping out of the van at a relative's green, creek-watered ranch shadowed by towering granite faces of the High Sierras. The dusty road and sage-sharp aroma propelled my imagination two hundred years into the past.

Wolfer is set in 1890 Bishop Creek, and while some of the location names are changed to fit the story, the town really had ranching barons like the Sacred 28 families, churches which exerted certain levels of social power with the well-to-do folk, boarding houses for mill workers and on-farm worker housing for fruit pickers and cowboys--or perhaps the odd wolfer.

It's amazing what you can dig up when you're procrastinating working on your WIP, lol. I did a lot of initial research while writing a Gingerrose fic set in post Civil War Bishop Creek.

Here are some things I found.

Main Street, Bishop Creek 1880 (OwensValleyHistory.com)

In Chapter 1, Tom rides down Main Street to the marshal's office (played by a grudging Severus Snape) and runs into Hermione.

Way off into the upper right you can see the steeple of the First Baptist Church on Main Street.

East Line Street, Bishop Creek (OwensValleyHistory.com)

Tom chases Hermione to Line Street, where he pushes her up against the Brown's Machine Shed, which is of course re-named to fit Lavender Brown's family.

(OwensValleyHistory.com)

Check out that snow! Sitting at 4,000 feet of elevation in the foothills of the East Sierras, the snow can get quite voluminous.

W.D. Roberts Ranch, Round Valley (OwensValleyHistory.com)

The ranch near the dry saltbeds of Owens Lake where Draco visits Harry, (by way of Mad Eye Moody) might have looked like this.

Cerro Gordo photo taken some time between 1871 - 1879 (OwensValleyHistory.com

We get a brief glimpse of the Cerro Gordo silver mine when Draco and Harry ride off into the sunset together for a night of wild debauchery. The brothels and bawdy houses within these sprawling mining towns would have perhaps been some of the only public places for late 19th-century gays to be themselves. Miss Lola's was among the more famous, and I'm struggling to find the website where I originally learned this this but I believe she hosted queer sex workers and provided space for an early LGBTQ+ scene.

The silver mine itself brought together a richly diverse group of fortune seekers. I accessed California census documents and found that while Bishop Creek was mostly white, Cerro Gordo had a much more diverse population (interestingly all marked with 'I', even Latinx names).

I did a phone interview with the Inyo Historical Society and chatted for an hour with a local historian, telling him I was getting context for a novel. (He didn't need to know that my novel was also a fanfic, hahaha.) The historian told me the mine had Mexican, Black, Chinese, and Indigenous populations working as miners, teamsters (people who drive wagons), cooks, brick masons, farm laborers and all kinds of interesting jobs related to running the mine.

Main Street in Bishop Creek, 1878 (OwensValleyHistory.com

One thing that sticks out in my mind from the conversation with the historian is how the white and Mexican ranchers demolished the irrigation canals the Numuu Indigenous tribes had dug to create a green landscape in Owens Valley. Native Americans have been 'farming' America's landscape for thousands of years in a low-impact way. In Chapter 4, Tom muses on this detail as he's setting a wolf trap on Rosier's ranch.

Perhaps the most illuminating account of the region comes from Sarah Winnemucca, daughter of Chief Truckee (after whom the town is named). Sarah travelled as an advocate for Indigenous rights and cataloged her experience and the story of white settler colonization in her book, Life Among the Pauites: Their Wrongs and Claims which you can read for free here.

Thank you for diving into California history with me!

Read Wolfer here.

[rowretro]

𝕾𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝕸𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗

✧taglist✧: @nxzz-skz   @nshmrarki @wntersm

✧CHAPTER 4✧

Babe walked out of school silently. With the boys having to stay behind for basket ball practice, she had plenty of time to make it home before they ever catch sight of her. 

Home.

The one place she can finally find peace. Now she's moved out of the toxic household of her family, without the need to visit those judgemental relatives that don't even know her, she finally found herself at somewhat peace.

Once she arrived home, she made sure to lock her garage and lock the doors of her home, sighing in relief. However, she knew there's no way she'll be at peace even in the four safe walls of her own home... the paranoia was eating her insides.

Not even a nice cold shower or warm bath with a side of red or white wine could calm her nerves, though she was still feeling icky as she had just gone to school.

After weighing the odds of one of the boys appearing in the shower with a knife in hand to stab her, she finally decided it was safe to take a shower, with some loud music playing in the background. 

7 songs had passed as she finally stepped out of the long shower, drying herself as she wore some comfortable attire. She rushed downstairs, feeling that she's be more at peace there.

With her Spotify playlist blasting in the back, and a pencil at hand, she sat at a rather messy desk, dried acrylic paint strides decorating the surface as many other art pieces surrounded the room. 

Only that corner of  the room was such a mess, and she wouldn't even try to clean it up as it will be worthless if she starts painting again. For a second, she forgot those boys even existed. 

For a second.  

She received a text from an unknown number, as she clicked on it her blood ran cold...

Unknown number: 

Aw you didn't wait for us?

Babe.

Babe answer me right now.

For every minute I have to wait on your text, will be the amount of time you will experience hell...

Babe read the texts, wondering what to text, but it's not like she had all the time in the world to come up with a response... She had totally forgotten that she had given Sunghoon her number.

Babe: 

Sorry I kinda forgot

Uhm this is Sunghoon right?

Unknown:

Sunghoon??? you gave Sunghoon your number? 

Babe: 

Well yeah he did ask for it

if this isn't Sunghoon than who is this?

Unknown:

Riki. I copied your number

Your pin number is so basic babygirl

Anyways. you took 17 minutes to respond... but you can make it up to us if you get to our home on time. 

Riki sent her the address as Babe hastily slipped on her high heels, running over to the building, not wanting the boys to take note of any of her vehicles.

Taking a deep breath, she rang the doorbell. As if he was waiting there for her, Riki answered the door almost immediately.

His bare face handsome as ever, those pretty chocolate moles now visible, his dark eyes, held a spine-chilling psychotic look, while looking rather alluring, and those perfect plush lips. So perfect... so kissable...

He was so handsome, his hair wet, the white shirt fit him perfectly, and the way he towered over her...

But that was all overlooked... that psychotic look in his eyes, that deadly smirk plastered on his lips, the way he snaked his around her waist... one'd think he was a loving boyfriend up to some mischief.

"You're early... I was kinda hoping you'd arrive a little late.... you see im feeling bored darling" Riki added pulling her inside as he shut the door.

Babe sat on the couch, silently as she observed her surroundings. So elegant... the place looked rather classy. "It's just you and me tonight... the boys are busy working" Riki randomly said as he noticed how the girl nervously picked at the hem of her skirt.

"You're lucky I don't feel like cleaning up blood today... you're off the hook." Riki said as the girl looked up at him in shock. Only then did she notice how he was seemingly hot, the sound of his sniffles and coughs were heard as he gulped a spoonful of medicine, the disgust evident on his face.

The male simply dragged her up the stairs to his room, and pushed onto his bed, triggering her instantly, but she froze when he simply rested his head upon her belly, snuggling her as his arms wrapped around her figure.

His eyes were already closed as he babbled nonsense. Confused, Babe got up a little, balancing the weight of her upper body on her elbows. The psycho looked so peaceful, his body was really warm. Hesitant, she lied back down, running a hand through his slightly wet hair.

She reached for a towel, softly trying to dry his hair, trying not to wake him up. A few minutes passed as she heard the familiar voices  of the other boys, filling the building.

Sunoo froze by the doorway as he noticed Babe trapped in Riki's embrace "Jungwon Riki caught us a deer." Sunoo called out to Won as Heeseung frowned "But I'm right here-" Hee said as he walked over to Sunoo.

"Not you idiot- her-" Jungwon pointed at Babe who blinked. "Leave her for now... Riki's sick if you yank her away from him he might just leave another scar on your back." Jungwon as Sunoo rolled his eyes 

And the deer fell right into the deadly trap, now stuck underneath the demon himself...

✧𝕾𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝕸𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗✧

[elderflowergin]

A little rant about MBC My Dearest, purity and men who weaponise it:

(Trigger warning: sexual assault, rape as a war crime)

Fusion sageuk or not, this world has some set rules around purity, even in the relatively loosey-goosey Neuggeunri, where women and men can and do commingle, chat and meet in groups. The last barbarian invasion hangs over them; the old ladies in Gil-chae’s hometown tell the girls that death is better than allowing the barbarians to touch you and that if they do, you should kill yourself for the sake of said purity. Death is preferable to lost purity in this time/place; that’s firmly established from the beginning of the show. (It’s reinforced midway when Injo’s court reports of women who jumped off cliffs into the sea at Ganghwa rather than be taken by barbarians, no doubt perceived not as an avoidance of pain and torture, but a praiseworthy act designed to retain and restore purity).

Gil-chae and Eun-ae have to grapple with this when Eun-ae is attacked by a barbarian. Eun-ae was violated and felt violated by what happened. They know what they are supposed to do, what the old ladies told them to do; and yet Gil-chae holds Eun-ae close and says, nothing happened. We were hurt and our clothes were torn because we rolled down a mountain. Nothing happened to us. She rewrote that story, in the face of everything that said Eun-ae didn’t deserve to live anymore. Consummate survival requires rewriting stories, even the ones that are the hardest to paper over.

Because it appears again in Hanyang, in relative peacetime, when Eun-ae feels she cannot accept Yeon-jun’s proposal, because even if Gil-chae rewrote that story, it’s harder to reconfigure shame when it’s under the skin, when it’s attached to the thing that makes you valuable as a woman. Yeon-jun may never know what it took for his future wife to survive, and that ignorance too, is a privilege. But Eun-ae knows, and perceives her value differently now than before. It’s Gil-chae who persuades her again, who reminds her that they rewrote this story together, two women who survived against all odds.

In this postwar, still somewhat vulnerable time, the possibility is high that there are assault survivors around, just as there are women who may have had to sell their bodies to feed their families, or broken any number of rules around purity for survival. It’s foreseeable that women survivors have been through or seen unimaginable things happen to other women, to their friends and have experienced it themselves. I’m not saying this to undersell the general trauma of war on men - just to say that war crimes hurt women in a very different, very intensely long-lasting way* as compared to theatres of war and fighting.

All of this to say: it didn’t take Jang Hyeon very long to go from “you’re not as pure as you think you are for loving a taken man” a few episodes ago to “you couldn’t live without a man for a day? If you were going to give it away you might as well come to me at least once.” I am truly horrified that he pretty much gets away with it; Gil-chae moves with the punch and gets in a hit of her own, but that’s a bone-chilling thing to tell a woman, any woman. It would be a terrible thing to say to a woman now, let alone in a time when that mattered so much to women, let alone in a time and place where it was forcibly taken from so many women, many of whom died so it wouldn’t be.

This callous attitude continues later when she’s run away with him and they’re in a room for the night. She tentatively asks about marriage, saying that it would be hard for her, since she’s almost a married woman, and people would consider her “used”. (Her fiancé later tells Yeon-jun that he is permitted to kill his partner and the adulterous lover, so this isn’t a gossip without consequence.) In essence, Gil-chae put her life on the line for a man who still says “Husband, no. I am your servant and my body is yours”, a promise that carries little substantive meaning in their world. Marriage isn’t a luxury good that she’s asking for as a whim. It’s what protects Gil-chae and her family from harm; it’s what will allow her sister to find a suitable match later on.)

Jang Hyeon is shown from the start as a man of his own ideas, someone who who doesn’t truck with traditional Joseon morality. He can and does reinvent rules for himself, and clearly doesn’t think that much of notions of purity, but he’s fine using them against Gil-chae.

Yes, Jang Hyeon saved her life during the war, but Jang Hyeon also had the choice of participating or not, the luxury of stepping back if he so chose. Gil-chae had no such luxury, no such choice, an open target on the run. He no doubt understands that the barbarians are raping women, that to survive as a woman is fraught, that sex has become fraught. To use purity to attack a woman he claims to love, to reduce her momentarily the way those old women did - to express his anger by lashing out in this way, in a way calculated to hurt, to violently pierce at the foundation of what it means to be a woman in this time and place is a cruelty that is hard to countenance. It’s telling that his anger at her leads him there, that it escalated with all that time, because he knows that’s what hurts. He knows it’s valuable, knows it hurts when he strikes at it, and yet will do little to protect it for her. I don’t know if there’s any amount of growth that will change this, whether it’s something he can change at all.

There are many upsetting things about this episode, but Gil-chae’s choice to stay at the end is the least upsetting part of it, and the most conceivable, intelligent choice she could have made in the face of a man who - in her perspective - can only offer her fervent words and a feverish gaze, things that will not feed her family or protect her reputation, her business or her heart.

[senka-mesecine]

Would you be able to write a list of Barnes relationship headcanons or at the very least your perception of what Barnes would be like as a husband? I absolutely adore your writings about Platoon since there’s so little fan content for it around! <3 I appreciate what you do

-

― Admittedly, it is fairly hard to imagine Barnes living a civilian life seeing as how he's pretty much synonymous with combat and to quote Rhah, war's his high, which is exactly why I think he'd make his civilian life so as to as closely resemble the army as possible, and whether he'd do this consciously or subconsciously or both is up for debate, but I feel the structure of his day-to-day existence outside of a platoon hierarchy isn't all that different from his time in the 'Nam --- meaning that I envision that as a spouse he'd be a working man. Entirely proud of it too. He thinks that's what a real man ought to be and that anything other than that isn't ought to be. He's the toiling from dawn to dusk type. Hard manual laborer. He still finds a way to bark orders at others and instill fear and admiration into their bones, to the degree he might as well still be in the military because he sure isn't here giving himself any breaks just because he's rotated back into the world from the bush. In fact, there's no difference between now and then. He's soldiering out there and he's soldiering now. He gives commands there and he gives them in his civilian life too. It's that ingrained thing that cannot be shed. In fact, it is very possible to imagine him going mercenary post-Vietnam and seeking out the next war available because it's what he is.

― That being said, married life with him is...shockingly simple, I think. Why? Because I think of him as a man of routine; a professional deformational of his military days. He likes breakfast with the spouse. Dinners. Suppers. Waking up early. Coming back home at night to them. The odd match of poker. Sharing a bottle of whiskey. Having a smoke. Living off the beaten track somewhere. And it almost comes off as weirdly idyllic and downright wholesomely pastoral that he might practice isolationism precisely because he views his home life as a separate bubble positioned against the rest of the world almost as if the domesticity he has with you is a base and everything outside of it is potentially a minefield or enemy territory. It's not necessarily said outright, of course, but, Barnes doesn't much care for the comings and goings of the outside world and if he lives with his spouse on a sort of societal margin, he doesn't have to follow its rules and he doesn't much care to anyway. I can visualize him going back to the Hill Country of East Tennessee and as far away from any rustle and bustle as humanly possible. Frankly, the fact few people will ever run into you there and that he, in ways, has you all to himself, suits him just fine and the fact can be silently possessive as well as incredibly daunting.

― I'm not talking country life, I'm talking house in the mountains deep in the woods type of life. The locals know someone lives up there; Barnes and his woman, but they don't assume they ever saw you to the point you might as well be make belief, which is how Barnes wants it anyway because if anyone has any problems they should come to him with it or so god help them. He becomes a bit of a local urban legend, almost; the scarred man in the night who scares people and lost hikers off of the woods and the mountainside and probably does far worse than just that if push comes to shove and genuinely, regardless of his civilian status, this is a reputation Barnes embraces even in domesticity. I think people could very much be afraid of him all while he lives a relatively reclusively and tucked away life with you. He doesn't give me the impression he'd like too many individuals once he's out of the army and has no interest in communicating with most any of them nor does he make any effort to re-socialize himself post-war; there's a frightening yet passionate singlemindedness to him. You're about the only chosen person he wants and that's that on that. Are you a hostage? No. Well, maybe. Can you get away? No. Does he want you to? Also no.

― Frankly, there's a certain impression he has about his various scars being the cause of stares and judgement now that he rotated back into the world especially when juxtaposed with you and the fact that you're a beaut. Barnes doesn't want stares. He doesn't want whispers. He doesn't want anyone as much as uttering the words in the vein of 'What's she doing with him and how does she wake up next to him in the morning, looking at that mug'. Doesn't want anyone as much as looking in his general direction or yours because he knows he might kill over it, which is the overall reason, among others, for so much reclusion, seeing as how Barnes doesn't 'delude' himself that anyone's going to be tremendously welcoming back home, leading to his territorial tendencies towards you as a spouse. He doesn't want you leaving, he doesn't want you perceived, he doesn't want you getting tremendously close to anyone else and he doesn't want you potentially developing an interest in anyone else and attempting to run away, irregardless of the fact that it is a fruitless endeavor and he'd find you, but still, he's selfish, he's jealous, he's vindictive, he'd take a personal interest in making anyone's life a living hell over you, he's a mean motherfucker and he knows it. He's got one person that's his and that's you and he'll be damned if he'll go around being generous with your presence.

― Meaning that as a husband, Barnes would be intense. Intense with a capital I. Especially once all restrains the military put on him and the close proximity of civilization's presence as a whole are gone. He's not bad, but intense. All in. So much of his character and who he is and was dedicated to war, the platoon, his men and what he thinks is right that once all of that inevitably ends there's a gaping hole in its place where you get poured into, meaning that you consume him the way the war itself did and he doesn't need anyone else but you, quite literally, and this is a deliberate and conscious choice he makes to the point he lives outside of the bounds of pretty much, well, everything and by extension, you do too because he isn't going around sharing you with anyone. It's an all-consuming existence where it's just you and him; he strikes me as the type who'd drive down to the nearest city, say, once a month, bring back whatever's needed and spend the rest of the time almost like he's awaiting for some sort of attack, ambush or siege that never arrives. It's safe to say he'd be angry at the world for what he'd see as the loss of war in Vietnam precisely, because the way he'd see it, people like him weren't allowed to fight the way a war's 'meant' to be fought and he'd want no part in society (least of all one that would judge people like him post-return) and so you're both blessed and cursed with the gift of being loved by a man who only loves you out of the whole wide world.

[modernroyalswrites]

Conflict of Interest

Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that your former law school rival, must be opposing counsel on the biggest case of your career. Or, overworked & underpaid nonprofit lawyer Hermione Granger v. trust fund nepo baby Draco Malfoy. Antics ensue. Dramione, legal drama.

Chapter 3 : jus sanguinis (right of blood)

Draco Malfoy woke, as he did every morning, at 5 A.M.

He threw on a robe and padded downstairs. Stopping in the kitchen, he prepared an espresso before making his way over to the terrace, where he sat, breathed in the fresh air (objectively untrue, but he was at least up high enough to avoid most of the smell), checked his email (nothing important since he last checked late last night), and monitored other miscellaneous notifications and text messages to ensure the world hadn’t fallen apart since he had gone to sleep (it hadn’t).

His ten minutes of (relative) peace and relaxation complete for the day, he left his cup on the table and made his way back inside. Fig, his housekeeper, would take care of it when she arrived later that morning. Walking back up the stairs and into his closet, he shed his robe and donned his typical black t-shirt and shorts. Barefoot, he made his way into the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and splashed water on his face. Adjusting (admiring) his hair in the mirror, he noticed Astoria had left beauty products of some sort on the opposite vanity.

He smirked. Subtle.

Slipping on his sneakers, he made his way back down the stairs and into his elevator, riding the 65 or so floors down to the Equinox in his building, where he met his trainer, who he paid an exorbitant amount of money to kick his ass every morning.

Workout complete and legs quivering, he made his way back to the elevator, tapping his key fob for access to his condo. A quick shower (and a wank) later, and he was back in his closet, dressing for the day.

Dressed and ready to depart, he padded back into his bedroom. Astoria still slept amongst his sheets. He ran a hand down her hair, offering her a glass of water when her eyes opened. As she sat up, the sheets spilled down her torso, revealing the silk chemise she had put on last night after he’d fucked her in the shower. The silk accentuated the points of her nipples, and he tore his eyes away. 

“I have to go. I have breakfast with my mother. My housekeeper will be here in about an hour, at eight o’clock. Would you like me to call you a car?”

Disappointment flashed across her face, which quickly transformed into a pretty smile. He knew she hoped for an invitation to his breakfasts with his mother, but that wouldn’t be happening any time soon (or ever, if he was being entirely honest). It would signal a level of commitment he had no interest in. He had made that explicitly clear early into their time spent together, but he suspected that she harbored a hope that, by patiently endearing herself to him, he would eventually change his mind. A relationship was not in the realm of possibility for him right now, and none of his words nor actions indicated anything contrary. 

“That’s alright, I’m meeting Daphne for a Tracy Anderson class. I’ll have her pick me up on her way.”

He nodded, quickly kissing her brow. He headed back down the elevator and out of the lobby. 

His driver Kreacher (an odd name—but who was he to judge? His name was Draco) was outside, engine running and ready to whisk Draco uptown.

“Straight to the Manor, sir?”

Read the rest of the chapter here:

[aceofbooks-creative-anthologies]

Reposting because I said so (I brought back the small font, sorry) 🩶

Anyway, here is the beginning of the end for Ace x Chigiri (can you have an end without a start?)

It's been three years since the tear.

Three years of developing an actual friendship. I might even call him my best friend at this point. Lord knows that the girls on my team have started to resent me, which bleeds into my friendships in the classroom. So even if I don't call him my best friend, he's the closest thing I have.

Three years of carefully measuring myself against the Japanese Olympians. Three years of mediocre training that I have to compensate for elsewhere. Three years of biting my tongue about my potential because I don't want to remind him of what he's lost.

Three years of hiding my growing feelings for him. Childhood cooties turned into a pre-teen crush over a boy I knew next to nothing about. Well, besides his shoe size, his height, his stride length, his speed range, his favorite color of shoelaces, his preferred electrolyte mix, the faces he makes when he's breathing hard, the way his heart beats in the jugular vein when I out pace him..... Those childish fancies blossomed into real romantic yearnings and aspirations. But I'd never act on them.

And now we tell each other everything. Well not everything. I don't tell him about the doodles of our names in a heart. Or that the girls at school make fun of me for my "girlfriend" whenever they happen to catch a glimpse of my camera roll. I don't tell him that I don't tell them the truth because I want to keep him all to myself. If he met any of the girls on my team or in my class, he'd want to—

The news comes over text message:

Red: i've been invited to trial for an exclusive soccer program Red: can i call you? Red: actually can we meet up? Red: i want Red: no i NEED Red: to talk with you about this in person

He's never asked to meet up outside of our time at the park before.

Blue: yeah sure Blue: when?

My phone pings, an alert to a high priority email. I clear it from the activity log.

Red: now? Red: i know it's before dinner Red: so i'll see you in a couple hours Red: but

The blinking ellipses taunt me as he types and erases his message over and over again. They settle as his message finally comes through.

Red: please? Red: *GIF of Puss in Boots pleading*

Blue: fine Blue: omw

Down the stairs and into the front hall. "Hey mum?" I call over my shoulder as I lace up my running shoes. They're looking pretty beat up, will probably only get a couple more meets out of them at this rate—if I'm okay with running without any soles. Maybe I should ask for an advance for my New Year's money from Gramma.

"Yes dear?" Comes my mother's call from inside the kitchen.

"I'm going out to meet up with Red for a bit. I should be back in time for dinner."

"That's odd. You'll just see him after dinner." I can almost hear the furrow in her brow.

"He got some important news earlier. Wants someone to talk to about it."

"He can't talk to his parents?"

I'm halfway out the door as I call back, "I don't know, mum. But this will probably be the first and last time, yeah? Love you." Her response is muffled by the door as it latches into place behind me, but there's a ninety-five percent chance it was about my homework, which is finished anyway.

After a few static stretches in the yard, I take off down the street at a (relatively) slower pace of eight min/km. I don't need to run at my training or race pace when I know he's going to take longer, even though he lives considerably closer.

Unless he's already there and was just hoping that I would agree to show up.

With each stride, I can feel the pavement pounding its way through my shoes. Thump, thump, thump. Doesn't quite match my heart rate yet, but it'll get there. There's a trill from my watch, noting the sudden spike in my heart rate and decrease in my oxygen levels. But no threshold alerts, so I'm all set to keep going.

The high priority email vibrates in my pocket four times before I reach the park.

Deep breaths. In through the nose. Count to five. Out through the mouth. Count to seven. In. Count to five. Out. Count to....

Hands over head. Keep the chest open.

It's like my trainer is in my head. I can almost see his mustache ruffle as he breathes, muttering about how I'm training too hard.

Dynamic stretches to keep the blood from pooling.

Five minutes into my cool down, and he still hasn't arrived. I check my phone, hoping that I don't see a text from him saying that he fell twenty minutes ago.

Nothing from Red, but there is that pesky high priority email. Might as well check it while I wait for him.

From: The Japanese Olympic Athletics Team

To: kyori.ace@joshi-kou.edu

Dear Miss Ace Kyori,

We are pleased to notify you of our interest in your performance at your recent meets and at our informal training camp last month.

Pending the status of your next few meets, we'd like to extend an invitation for you to compete at our —

"Hey Blue!" I almost drop my phone at the sound of his voice behind me. And then I do drop my phone as I turn around, because I've never seen him not wearing athletic gear. I mean, we've sent a couple of silly selfies at like school or whatever, but this is genuine casual clothing in person. It's just a navy sweater and jeans, but it's still so out of the normal that my heart and brain stutter for a second.

I can feel my face heating up as he reaches down and grabs my phone for me because I haven't moved. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting long." The smile on his face seems somber, like something has made him upset in the almost hour since we last spoke.

"Only an eternity." I sigh dramatically, using an old joke to try and lift his mood. He had good news earlier, and I have some now too! We should be celebrating.

"Right, sorry that me and my handicap—" I wait quietly for him to finish his line in this exchange, a script that we've used hundreds, if not thousands, of times at this point. He lets out a breath after a moment and then, "Sorry. I'm not really in the headspace to joke about it right now."

"Oh. That's fine! Do you want to go for a walk or—"

"No, this shouldn't take long. We can just stay out here."

"Right."

Minutes start to tick by as he wrings his hands and stares at his feet.

"Look, Red. I told my mom that—"

"Right, sorry." He's running a hand through his hair now, trying to pin it back so it's out of his face. I silently offer him my spare hair elastic, but he waves me off with his other hand before letting the first hand, and by extension his hair, fall. It shrouds his face in a way that I know he despises, but I resist the urge to step in closer and brush it away. He takes one, two, three deep breaths......

[sugar-phoenix]

unfinished rought unedited short story about vampires

alright so the winning vote out of the polls was "yes" so I'm deciding to post my unfinished short story draft here because I'm too impatient to wait until i finish it to post it

My new roommate is a vampire.

How do I know this? Simple.

Johnny Robert-Mulligan told me, about a week after he moved in.

“Now you seem like a respectable man, Daniel, so I'll tell you straight up: I'm a vampire.”

I nodded, thinking that he was joking or high or something.

“I will be having blood packets delivered to me each week. You need not make dinner for two. And don't invite your friends over on nights of full moons unless you want them to be sucked dry.”

We stared at each other for a moment. It was then that I realized that he was being completely serious. And then, he laughed, quite loudly, which scared the wits out of me.

“I'm just kidding, of course,” he said, chuckling.

“Oh, thank God. I thought you were actually a vampire there for a moment.”

“No I am, I am a vampire. I was joking about the full moon thing. That's a werewolf thing, not a vampire thing.”

I only stared at him in shock again.

“Oh, don't tell me you believe in werewolves? Those are completely made up.”

“Well,” I responded, “until five minutes ago I didn't think of the possibility of either vampires or werewolves being real.”

And thus began our odd friendship, of which I learned a great deal about vampires. As it turned out, vampires were a lot less untouchable than I had previously thought.

“Is it true that vampires die from a stake to the heart?” I asked one lazy Sunday afternoon, while we were watching the game. The ads were rolling, and I was eager to take this chance to ask my new roommate more about himself.

“Technically speaking, a stake to the heart could kill anything. You could also kill me by stabbing me, shooting me, running me over, throwing me off a cliff,” Johnny proceeded to count off his fingers. “Anything that would kill you would kill me.”

“Oh, I see. I guess that makes sense.”

“We're not immortal either,” he added, taking a sip out of his Coke can. Although soda did nothing for him in terms of sugar intake or energy, he told me that he had gotten quite hooked on the taste.

“You aren't?”

“No, we're just extremely long lived. I think my great grandfather lived for almost 600 years.”

I let that sink in.

“How old are you, Johnny?”

“I think I'm turning 197 this year.”

I turned to look at him.

“That would mean you've lived through both of the World Wars.”

“Oh yes, I did. I don't remember anything though, I was too young. You see, vampires only reach adulthood at around 150 years of age.” He took another sip of his soda. “You know, come to think of it, my parents might have stolen blood from the opposing sides to keep us fed. I think there was a movement or something. ‘Make The Nazis Paler’ and all that.”

“I see.”

And then the ad roll finished, and we were back to watching the game.

 I neglected to mention that Johnny was roommates with me because we were both enrolled in a local college. I was undertaking my bachelor’s in graphic design, which meant that I was more often than not buried under design projects, the likes of which could run from posters to redesigning entire corporations. Thusly, I would often have myself shut in my room during the busier weeks, specifically midterms and finals.

Johnny told me that he hadn’t decided what his major was, and that he was simply experiencing what college was like. He doubted that he’d have a use for it, to which he told me his mother disagreed, since he would at least need to take a job of some sort and make money, but what was the use if it was only going to last him so long and in about 300 years it would probably become obsolete?

I only nodded and hummed to his explanation. I didn’t quite like thinking about these things. Everything seemed so impermanent when you were a vampire, and as a relatively short-lived human, it was creepy to think about.

Thankfully, Johnny got along quite well with my friends. He didn’t have any friends of his own, which I thought was strange, but it’s possible that he drove them away with his casual talk of things that happened long ago. If you didn’t know he was a vampire you’d probably think he was a freakish nerd of some sort. But because Johnny was my roommate, and because he got along with my friends, they were apt to invite him along with me whenever they had parties.

It was at one of these house parties that Johnny met Cynthia. She was a psych student, and she often twirled her hair around her finger like as if she could will it to curl just by doing so. She always had one or two girlfriends around that she talked to, and rarely did she talk to anyone outside of them. But for whatever reason, she caught Johnny’s eye.

“I think she’s a vampire,” he said to me one day, as I was trying to work with the pressure-cooker in our kitchen.

“Yeah?”  The contraption hissed steam at me, and I prayed it wouldn’t take my eye out. “What gave you that idea?”

“I think—no, I know she’s a vampire. She’s got that quality about her.”

“What quality?”

“Vampire quality. You know, we can sense each other out.”

“I see.” I didn’t particularly believe him, but I wasn’t going to say that either. What do I know, perhaps vampires did have a sixth sense for each other, and perhaps this was what was happening, rather than my initial theory that Johnny had a big fat crush on Cynthia and was secretly hoping she was just like him. Of course, I kept all this to myself.

“Go and speak to her then,” I said.

“What? No. Women must be approached carefully, Daniel, otherwise you risk spooking them away.”

“You speak as though they’re skittish deer. I think you’re just scared of talking to her.”

“Scared? No. I’m simply being strategic.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Strategic, scared. Either way, you haven’t talked to her yet.”

“I will talk to her. Soon. Next chance I get. I plan on it.” I nodded, gingerly lifting the lid of the pressure cooker to reveal the pasta and sauce within.

divider by cafekitsune!

[nighthaterfrfr]

take a deep breath for me

1st request from @jben073 , grace getting overstimulated and steph comforting!

im no stranger to being overstimulated, but im still not sure how to write it as someone who im pretty sure is neurotypical?

so fair warning if its inaccurate, i tried pulling from peoples experiences and a bit of my own for grace.

anywho, lets get to it! a nighthater tumblr preview ig

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

If someone had told Stephanie Lauter, reluctant daughter and overall "girl-who-doesn't-give-a-shit" that she'd have to help someone like Grace Chasity with being overstimulated, she'd look at the them confused and laugh in their face.

So how the fuck did she get into a situation like this?

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

Ever since she's been hanging out with Pete, Grace, and the rest of the school's so-called "Nerdiest Prudes," most of them have been safe. Well, because of her and Jägerman. Even then, some people still harass the students often. Especially Grace. Yet today was a little different.

It's a rare occasion when Max Jägerman misses school. The boy rarely got sick, and his father never cared enough to take him anywhere besides school and football games. So whenever he's gone, the rest of the school preys upon the prudes. Today was also a good day to go after Hatchetfield High's resident preacher.

Grace has had a relatively rough day already. Her father ended up dropping her off late for homeroom and she's been behind in completing all of her assignments. Her mind's a mess since the Waylon Place, and it has not been treating her good.

On her way to her AP Biology class, two of Max's football friends had decided to smack the notebook she had held and laughed at her while she picked it up. One of them taunted, "Aww, what's the matter? You gonna cry to Jesus about it?" Usually, Grace would easily refute back at them with the very repetitive, "You will all be going to hell!" speech, but today she just let them continue. One more thing to add onto a massive, unstopping headache that left her agitated.

When she got to AP Bio, some of the cheerleaders were waiting there. They immediately took the notebook again, and tossed it over to the two originally picking on Grace. She was mad, but it felt odd. It felt like it was all too much. The louder they laughed, the more that Grace felt like she needed to get out of there and scream. The loud insults, the sun getting in her eyes, the bell ringing? It was all too much for Grace "Chastity Belt" Chasity.

Somehow, Steph was also in Grace's AP Bio period. She may be a bit misguided, but she's certainly not that stupid. Sure, it's almost a failing grade, but hey, a 63% is all right with the mayor's daughter. As she was once again late to her classes, she saw that people were once again, picking on Grace. Steph knows better, and she knows that Grace Chasity always wards people like that easy. However, seeing her run off, tears rolling down her face and a face that looks like she'll kill someone was a different situation.

The group of people teasing and making fun of Steph quickly left, and Steph went after the crying girl right after they left. Look, she's not one to help comfort people, but seeing one of her closest friends cry is her limit. Following Grace, she ended up in a storage closet in the school. Steph decided not to go in right after Grace, as to give her some time to relax a little.

"Oh gosh darn it!" Grace had been breathing heavily and shaking for quite a bit. She's obviously upset, but for what? She has no idea what in the world is causing this, and it seriously sucks! To be honest, this kind of thing would happen frequently with her, especially when she was younger, but it was never like this. Never where Grace Chasity would have to skip a class to calm down.

The smell of the wood in the room was a familiar sense. Shop Class, from her junior year. She always did like Mr. Houston the best as a teacher. Looking around, Grace's breathing slowing down and her temper cooling, she hears a knock at the door. She quickly backed away and considered hiding, but she knew she'd been caught.

"Chasity? You... you doing better? It's um, Steph. I just wanna check on you, that's all." The voice of Stephanie Lauter soothed her a lot more. Yet, it also scared her. The fact that Steph was also skipping Bio just to see how she was doing? It was charming. And really thoughtful, too.

Grace stood up and walked towards the door, letting Steph in as her notebook dropped on the ground. Steph quickly went to go pick it up as the two of them sat on the floor right by the door. Sitting shoulder to shoulder, the room was silent. Steph had no idea what to do in this situation, so she didn't talk or engage in anything with Grace unless she did it first.

Breaking the silence, Grace had began to ramble, saying, "I'm sorry Stephie, I just kind of freak out sometimes like that. I don't even know why I do this! I mean, I've been doing this since I was young, but I guess I've been repressing like my parents sa-" Steph quickly saw that her breathing got quick and her face was about to cry, so she stopped her, holding out a palm with one of her rings on the inside.

"Just take a deep breath, ok? It's fine, Grace. You're just here in the shop storage room, and- and it's clear that a lot is getting to you."

Steph may haven't been the quietest person, but she's a damn good observer. So much so, she knows that Grace loves to play with a ring whenever she has one on. Steph also knows that Grace frequently taps her foot in a very syncopated rhythm when nervous. She also knows that Chasity repeats the phrase "cool beans" as a way of motivating or calming herself down. Along with biting her nails when nervous, shaking her hands and almost spinning when she gets excited, and biting her tongue when confused.

Steph had quietly noticed all of these traits. Thought it would be no big deal until now. After all, it's just her friend Grace Chasity and all the little things she does.

Grace grabbed the ring, sighing as she puts it on her finger and fidgets with it. "How did you know I liked to do this, Stephie?" Grace asked her, causing Steph to twiddle her thumbs and looking elsewhere. She replied, "Oh, y'know. Just noticed it during AP Calc, I guess." Grace smiled slightly as she put her hands down, mumbling to herself.

"Stephie, do you know what autism is?" Steph looked at her, a bit off guard with the question. "Yeah, I do. How come?" Grace looked a bit nervous, trying to keep eye contact with Steph. "So- uh, I'm on the spectrum? I mean, I was diagnosed when I was younger, but I have just kind of been ignoring. My mommy and daddy says to just pray to God and hope it goes away, y'know. I've prayed and prayed everyday, pleading that I won't be so overwhelmed."

"So why won't it go away?"

Steph looked at Grace, her face filled with concern and a hint of confusion on how to answer a question like this. "Because... it's just a part of you. You've been denying you've been so overstimulated for a while, haven't you?" Steph asked, Grace nodding yes. "Um, I'm not on the spectrum, so I have no idea how you're feeling, Grace. However, I know that, if needed, I'm here for you. If you want, of course." Grace faces Steph fully, her attention on her as she smiles.

"Thanks, Stephie." Grace said, getting her notebook back from the other girl. Standing up, Grace looked around the storage room. SHe didn't want to go to the class, but she also knew that both Steph and herself would be in trouble if caught skipping. Trying to think about the possibilities for trying to hide in the room, Grace walked around.

Weirdly enough, the rows of plywood in the room comforted Grace, letting her think more. Maybe it reminded her of her favorite class, or her favorite class, or her favorite kid to babysit. Nonetheless, she knew that she couldn't be here for long. Breathing in deeply, she walked back to the door, opening it. Steph stood up, peeking out once Grace opened it slightly.

Thankfully, there was never many students that would skip a class so early in Hatchetfield High, so there are rarely any hall monitors in the school. Because of this, Steph and Grace quickly snuck out of the big storage room and returned back to their Biology class in the same hallway they were in. Steph held onto Grace's hand to reassure her and to remind that she has someone to rely on when something like this happens again.

After all that, Steph was still trying to make sure that Grace wasn't too overwhelmed with any of the classes they had together. From giving her one of her airpods to take a break from all the noise and instead listening to Steph's very explicit (and very good) playlist to helping isolate herself during a group activity if it seemed like too much.

Grace was very appreciative of this, and got even closer to Steph. Every time she'd get overwhelmed at school, somehow, Steph was there.

Even then, what's that feeling that Grace gets whenever she's around Steph?

Whatever- she's gotta cool her beans.

Cool, cool beans.

[neonscandal]

I keep thinking about where the chasm between BKDK really started. We know it's when Bakugo manifested his quirk, developed an attitude problem and the humbling that took place at the river.

What if the reason Bakugo became so incensed when Deku tried to help him was less his concern about being perceived as weak and more about looking at his hand, in that moment, and feeling that accepting it would carry more weight. He's always taken fear and unfavorable odds right on the chin even when up against upperclassmen when he was just a pipsqueak and his other friends lauded him for it. Even as he kept tears at bay. But suddenly, there's this person who's looking at him with concern in his eyes and an outstretched hand and it no longer feels like the hands they caught bugs with or hands that ripped open All Might merch together. There's a frightening connection there and Bakugo feels seen and embarrassed that it's come to him in that moment, when he was already feeling a bit sheepish. He didn't know what grabbing that hand would mean, but perhaps he recognized a distinct difference between the "friends" that would watch over his triumphs from afar versus the friend who would climb through the muck with him.

But this feels too much like person A bullies person B due to unresolved feelings and internalized homophobia and I hate that problematic ass trope.

Instead, maybe, he processed a different internal shift. Rather than feeling conflicted about Midoriya, perhaps he always knew where he stood there. Midoriya was never one to bite his tongue over how amazing he thought Bakugo was. Midoriya was always brave in that way. Even when he was powerless in the situation that unfurled before him, he would step in nonetheless and with tears in his eyes. It's what All Might would do. Sometimes, Bakugo wondered if he would too. Izuku always tried to rise to the occasion and, as they aged past the point of his quirk manifesting, it became apparent that their paths would no longer run parallel. It's something they didn't talk about but it gnawed at the growing distance between them. They carried on until that day on the bridge. Bakugo was shaken up but he played it off for the onlookers above; however, he was astounded to find Izuku and that outstretched hand of his. For a minute, he might have wondered "what's that hand going to do for me?" but what if he saw Izuku in all his pure, quirkless fragility and, rather than feeling looked down upon, he felt a cowardly sense of concern. Like, "Rushing in like this is going to get you hurt, Izuku". It was silly, sure. While the bridge was high, the water was shallow, not much harm could come to him or Bakugo. But would Izuku always chase after him like that? Recklessly? "You're no hero, Izuku. You weren't made for this like I was. I can take a hit, but what about you?" Wondering whether the very hands that would make Bakugo a hero one day could actually, in that moment, cause Izuku harm with his unreasonable temper and Izuku's relative weakness. Maybe he didn't trust himself and couldn't come to terms with some far off loss he'd never thought to imagine. So he scoffed at the only hand that had ever been extended to him, the only person who saw him as someone who needed saving because he hoped to break Izuku of that senseless desire to help.

It didn't. No amount of chiding or bullying would make Izuku yield to his own weakness, even if Bakugo thought it was for his own good. After a while, it was simply a pattern between them too broken to correct but we know that that day in the river became a core memory for Bakugo. Something he twisted in his mind to justify his mistreatment of Izuku for so many years. Something he finds himself thinking back on at the edge of his life when one is consumed with thoughts of what matters most. Perhaps, in some way, it became somewhat of a guiding light, as well. “Will I ever measure up to the person you were who chased me down into the river?”

[mollywog]

In an attempt to avoid my District 13 fic I wrote a little something based on Katniss’s brief mention of the lynx in the first book. Thank you @professionalfangrrl for reviewing and giving me ideas on how to punch it up for future use 😜

This will likely be I incorporated into a poorly named Teacher Peeta TWHHA story eventually.

“This is incredible!” It’s probably the tenth time I’ve said it, but I haven’t gotten over my initial amazement at being beyond the fence with Katniss Everdeen. She’s ahead of me and turns in my direction with an exasperated glare. I mouth a ‘sorry’ and snap my mouth shut. She’s so quiet. I can’t imagine ever being over the awe of the forest. Not that she takes it for granted, but she doesn’t seem to notice the way the light dances as it filters through the leafy treetops or the smell of pine and wet earth all around us.

“Am I the first person you’ve brought out here?” It’s a dumb question as evident by her soft snort.

“Hardly.” She pauses, contemplating before continuing “I didn’t ‘bring’ Gale out here: We met in the forest when I was 12 and reluctantly became a team. I brought Prim a handful of times, but she’s a healer, not a hunter and the risks are too high to let her tag along just to gather. Madge has an odd fascination with the woods, so I took her out a couple of times and showed her how to shoot, but that was just for ‘fun’: Rory and Vick I brought along and taught them to hunt for survival. Then Vera, of course, but she sort of followed me here, wouldn’t let up until I showed her how to handle the snare runs.” She trails off staring back at my boots. “You’ve got to be more quiet. Watch where I step.”

“Sorry” I say bashfully. I’m not sure what I’m doing, but it’s clearly offensive. It’s peaceful out here, but not silent. The woods are alive with sound: distant water rushing, birds chirping, insects buzzing, leaves rustling. I’m not sure how she can hear a snapped branch or two over all the other noises. I try to follow in her footsteps, but am easily distracted by the surroundings and forget my feet. We walk on in relative silence for a few steps before I speak again. “But Gale’s been your only hunting partner over all these years?” I don’t mention her father, it’s implied and I know she’d rather I not say it out loud.

She nods. I feel a pang of jealousy for a moment. I know nothing romantic happened between them, but their hunting bond is still a form of closeness, an intimacy I’ll never achieve. Especially if the way she keeps glaring at my shoes is any indication.

“I take that back.” She says abruptly. “There was this lynx that used to follow me around back in the beginning”

My ears perk. I love her woodland stories. “Like the big cat? I kind of thought those were made up to keep us afraid of the woods.”

“No, they’re real, though they don’t hunt naughty children. They mostly like to be left alone”

“Doesn’t sound familiar at all”

she rolls her eyes but smirks all the same. “He wasn’t bad company.”

Now I’m feeling jealous of the cat. “And what happened to him? Should I be worried we’ll run into him and he’ll get territorial?”

“Nah, you’ve got me to protect you.” I glance over at her. It was an off handed comment: as if it was obvious. I try to ignore the implication: that I am somehow dear to her, worthy of protecting. She continues unperturbed “Besides he’s dead.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be too sorry, I was the one to take him out; he scared off all the game. Not to mention reinforced Gale’s stupid nickname.” She shades her eyes as she looks up into the treetops. “I almost regretted it... But I got a decent price for his pelt.” She ends with a shrug.

That was not the story I expected. I’m standing dumbstruck when I notice her turn her head slightly to get a peak at my stunned expression, but it’s enough that I can see she’s barely containing a smile; She’s messing with me.

“Okay!” I raise my hands in surrender. “I get it! Tell me where I should go to be out of your way. But just so you don’t get any ideas, I doubt my pelt would be worth much.”

She laughs and motions me to follow her.

[afreakingdork]

Weak Spot - Chapter 4

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia

Synopsis:  When falling in love is the easy part where does the difficulty lie? In a society where we’re defined by our job, it’s those little details as a relationship goes on that ends up setting a course for whether or not a couple can make it in the long run

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

As a cherry on top of an otherwise roller coaster meeting, Donatello hit you with a one-two punch before departing. The first being that he had a change in schedule that required his attendance that weekend. It meant he would not be able to continue his sandwich escapade until Monday. The second was that in accordance with this change he would lighten the restrictions on texting.

On one hand, it meant that your fourth meeting would again coincide with work; something that you were hoping to avoid. As you made your way back to your building, you were plotting any number of ways you could avoid your boss’s attention. Risking a tongue lashing was worth it for Donatello, but that didn’t mean you’d walk into the scenario willingly.

Alternatively, you now had free reign to bother the object of your affection as much as you wanted; within reason, at least. He’d been quick to add that he preferred substantial conversation be made in person and you got that sense that he was testing you again. The weekend now felt like a trial run on whether or not you could keep your new privileges and somehow, even though it felt acutely childish, it also struck you as a fun gambit. Hopping up the steps to your high-rise, you yanked on a door with twirling force.

-

 You: and they only told me to that I needed to pick-up the coffee when I was already standing in front of the building!

Donatello: A pathetic mismanagement of time and resources.

Kicking your legs hard enough to make your office chair rock back and forth, you put your phone back down on your desk. Against all odds, Donatello had been a relatively attentive texting partner though you had taken great care in crafting your messages. You’d given him a reprieve until Saturday and then opened mid morning with brunch conversation. He found the conventions of which overblown and you’d used that as a jumping off point. It was curious that his responses came at a surprising pace considering he had plans, but you weren’t about to point that out. He’d been pretty clear about what he’d divulge and even if you were curious, it was still early enough in whatever this was that it wasn’t about to be an issue.

You straightened.

Had he just called you a resource?

Bouncing on the idea, your chair squeaked as you went for your phone again. It was just begging to be addressed.

“So, that’s it…”

Stalling and instinctively shoving your phone under a folder, you darted up to see a co-worker hanging off the wall of your cubicle.

You gave the man a soured glance and pulled your phone back out. You weren’t on ‘go to lunch with’ sort of terms with this employee, but you’d built up an ‘office gossip’ sort of rapport. “Happy Monday to you too.”

“Who’s the beau?” He took a sip of his water bottle.

You sunk down until your chest was almost touching your desk. “That obvious?”

“Only if we add in those late lunches…?” He trailed off with a smarmy grin that said you had to respond even though he already knew the answer.

Finally collapsing down, you held your phone outstretched and activated it out of habit. “Fine, yes. I met someone on my lunch break.”

“Is he hot?” Your co-worker pulled his arm free from the metal frame to enter your space.

“Yes, but I don’t have any pictures yet.”

“Too bad.” The man nearly sang the phrase.

You hummed in agreement when his introductory phrase came to mind. “What did you mean earlier?”

“The boss wants to see you.”

You shot up so fast the papers on your desk flittered away from the movement.

Your co-worker smirked into another sip.

“You didn’t think to, I don’t know, open with that?!”

“I had to find out why. Thankfully it was written all over your face.”

You glowered at him as your quickly snatched up any necessary paperwork. “Big help.”

“Anytime.”

“So, that’s just it? He’s mad about the lunches?” Making sure to lock up your bag with the phone inside in case someone got any bright ideas, you rounded your desk to stare the man down.

“He didn’t seem mad actually.”

You squinted.

“Maybe a little mad.”

You folded your arms.

“Look.” The man finally relented by bringing his bottle up. “He just laid into me for filling up my water too often and then asked me to grab you next. It’s going to be one of those days. Everyone’s going to get their ass chewed out.”    

“Was that so hard?” You huffed, exiting your cubicle with him in tow.

“It was less fun!”

With a flick of your wrist you banished your co-worker as you took a sharp corner. Your boss had a windowed office down the hall and you headed towards it. The blinds inside were pulled shut which was never a good sign. He was the kind of man that liked to keep them open for peak vigilance. Already dreading the exchange, you marched up to the door and rapped your knuckles on the glass. From inside there was a muffled affirmation.

Opening the door revealed your boss at his desk with his elbows craned to the tabletop. From there his fingers were thread which obscured his mouth from view.

Either he watched one too many anime in his day or he really was just that cartoonishly evil.

“Y/N.”

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

It was playing out the lines of a surreal office drama.

“18, 27, 36.”

You stared at him blankly.

He stood, his thin gaze focused solely on your face.

“Some type of lotto numbers?” You knew that wasn’t the answer, but you needed something to break the silence.

“That’s over an hour of time.”

You gave a tight nod and tried to keep your mouth in a similarly taunt line.

Your boss sighed and one of his arms fell over. You watched as he groaned into standing until both palms were flat on his desk and he was hovering over it. “How long are you going to play dumb?”

Any answer would be used against you so you pleaded the fifth.

“The lunches!” Your boss roared and slammed one of his hands down for an echoing thud. “All last week you took longer and longer lunches.”

It was only Wednesday on, but interjecting that fact now wouldn’t help your case.

“Did you think no one would notice? Your co-workers certainly did! Imagine them coming to me when they can’t seem to find you?”

He was lying through his teeth. Barely a soul in this company bothered to communicate without an email’s read receipt.

“How am I supposed to get anything done like that? While you’re gallivanting off, who knows where, on company time!”

“I’m sorry, sir-”

“Sorry, huh?” He clipped your apology with a sneer. “Not sorry enough to inform anyone of your absence or offer to make up for the lost time!” He snapped upright in a rigid fashion, but then his spine seemed to loll as if it were made of jelly. “So, you admit that you thought you’d just get away with it? That you deserved special privileges that none of your fellow associates have? That I would surely be too busy to notice? That your time is worth far more than anyone else’s?”

A hundred defenses sat on your lips, but you crushed them by squeezing them together until it stung your jaw.

“At least you know enough when you keep quiet.”

You loathed this bastard.

“That means you’re not a lost cause.” His shoulders heaved forward as he rounded the desk. “You’ll make up the 81 minutes with your lunch break today.”

You had meant to stay neutral. Even the slightest move would act against you, but at the command your shoulders seized up in fear.

Donatello in his black coat flashed in your mind’s eye.

“Oh, sorry.” On that springy spine, your boss bounded forward to catch a bottom up look at your face. “Am I interrupting something or do you actually want to keep your job?”

One of your eye lids twitched and you hoped from his awkward angle that he hadn’t picked it up. The exaggerated candor of his voice grated on your ears in a way that made you sick to your stomach.

“You’ll take your lunch, of course. State laws and all, but you’ll have to move your plans. Oh, wait…”

Since his gaze was still trained on your face, you flexed your fingers before knuckling them white.

“No need to bother heading back to your desk! Did I mention it’s already prepared for you?” He rolled back, leaning a little too far. “That’s just how considerate I am! Even when an employee doesn’t return that same sort of thing!”

You watched him your jaw so tight it was near spasming. 

He walked the few feet over to the cord in the corner of his office and pulled swiftly. It opened up the blinds to a view of the office. Several employees nervously glanced at the move out of their periphery wanting to see who’s head was on the chopping block, but not wanting to bring attention to themselves to be next.

“See that copier.” He pointed and you moved your body stiffly. Said machine had a multiple daunting stacks of paper shoved onto the desk beside it along with multiple repurposed postal crates below.

“Yes.”

“You’ll need to scan all that and file it accordingly.”

They had a kid for this. A grunt hired on part-time for this kind of menial task.

“Oh, and do remember to remove and re-staple each document after scanning! Don’t want to jam the poor thing up!”

Hard copies weren’t even kept. Shredding was something else the part-timer did.

“When you’re done, you can take your lunch. I’ll even adjust it so you can still go home on time. Quite gracious of me, don’t you think?”

You’d quit right on the spot if you had anything else lined up.

Returning to food service never looked so good.

“What was that?” Your boss mimed putting a hand to his ear.

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” You could only manage the barest of nods and he seemed to relish in your silent fury.

“Call Bernie over next on your way out.” There was the sharp noise of the blinds closing again and you turned for the door. You heard your boss retreat and assumed he was falling back into the asinine posing he’d concocted. Crossing the space to the copier, you caught the next victim’s eye and signaled to him that his time had come. The man scurried away and you seethed into the first page. Picking it up found dozen of documents in the first stack with only a couple of pages stapled together in each set. Anger depleted at the futility of it all. You couldn’t even sneak away to tell Donatello you’d be late.

You really hated your boss.

-

Belting down the sidewalk, you narrowly miss several pedestrians as you ran towards the sandwich shop. The scanning hadn’t taken as long as you thought, but you were still almost two hours late. Donatello hadn’t even sent you a questioning text.

Did he think you’d ditched him?

Had he simply left?

There was no way anyone sensible would still be waiting.

Still, you ran.

Closing in on the shop’s door at an alarming pace, you threw on the brakes in a manner that had your heels grinding against the concrete. Stopping shy of the door, you didn’t see his large figure inside, but this shop had some rustic décor that would have been easy to conceal him. In the barest form of your reflection, you attempted to smooth you the jog’s ruffling before grabbing the door handle. You gave a sharp tug that it protested before you realized it was a push door.

Choosing to believe you were burning from the exertion and not embarrassment, you shoved the large wooden thing. It heaved open and you took several hurried steps inside before it gave you enough vantage to view the space.

Your heart sank.

He wasn’t there.

Your shoulders gave out and your arms dangled pathetically. With weak limbs you procured your phone to find your messages in the same state as when you had run out of your building. Bitterly you guessed that your boss would at least be satisfied to find there was no chance you’d be late again. Sighing, you hovered a thumb over a text window to type a message. You got out exactly four letters when a sharp stream of cold air blew against your neck and down your collar.

You yelped at the sensation; goosebumps cropping up on your arm. Several patrons looked towards you and you slapped a hand to the back of your neck. Spinning around, you stared up, scandalized, as Donatello watched you with the corner of his mouth quirked.

Damn him and his love of scaring people.

“What are you still doing here?!” You hissed, still rubbing your neck.

He straightened up and gave the barest shrug. “Taking a late lunch.”

Your hand fell away as you stared at him. He evaluated you flatly in return.

He’d waited.

All that time.

A few clucking chuckles petered out of you before you started laughing. One of his brows raised at the action and you had to put a hand to your stomach to keep from doubling over.

“A-Ah, sorry!” You waved at him, trying to reign yourself in.

He continued to watch.

“I just imagined you, waiting behind the door all that time!”

You could sense the way he soured though his face were clean of any unsavioriness.  

“Thank you.” You came out of your fit with your eyes shining and beamed him a smile.

He took it in and brushed past you.

Rapidly becoming accustomed to the song and dance, you chased after him without hesitation.

He got to the counter before you could properly catch his side so you waited as he placed the order. You watched his interaction and remembered how he’d mentioned this place’s archaic ordering system. From the look of the shop it seemed more probable that they forwent online ordering to preserve the ambiance. He paid again and you cursed yourself for getting caught up in errant thoughts.

“That puts me three behind.” You griped as he lead the charge to the table.

“A scoreboard that only you will be keeping track of.” He tucked himself into a chair and regarded you languidly.

“You have to care some. It’ll get annoying if only you pay!” Taking your own seat, you looked at him with set features.

His flat gaze said it wasn’t worth his time.

You sighed.

“I’m more interested in what kept you.”

Coming off the puff of air, you looked away. It might be another thing only you were keeping tally of, but your boss had already been giving way too much air time. From texts to capping off nearly every meeting, you hated the thought of giving that guy one more second.

“I had… work to catch up on.” It was the kind of sentence you only decided on about halfway through. It meant it would either sound unconvincing or exhausted. Checking back with your companion found him staring with what felt like a higher intensity.

Or it could have been the guilt talking.

“You know, from being late?” You offered, turning towards him in hopes the move would read more open.

For the first time his stoic gaze felt suffocating.

You drowned under the weight of it until he shifted his position.

“What about you?”

“You already thanked me.” He reached into his coat and you watched curiously.

“I mean… Yeah, I did, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still curious. You waited all that time and didn’t send a message? How long would you have waited if I hadn’t shown up when I did.”

He pulled out something you couldn’t quite see and removed his glasses. You stared, taking in his relatively unmarred face greedily as he seemingly adjusted them. You wondered if he ever went out without the bandana before he donned his frames again. Adjusting through the colored lenses, his attention drifted towards the kitchen.

“Donatello.” You gave a scolding note to your voice.

Had he done all that in an attempt to throw you off his scent?

It had almost worked, but that wasn’t the point.

His eyes returned to the table, but avoided yours in a way that brought your brows up. Whatever he wasn’t saying was something he really wanted to avoid. It made you all the more curious.

“I don’t…” He started and his lips curled slightly showing his distaste in the peek of a canine. “Like to speak in uncertainties.”

You straightened as the statement absorbed into your person.

He didn’t know.

Your stomach flipped.

He didn’t know how long he would have waited for you.

He had done many things at this point that did it for you, but something about this one in particular warmed your cheeks. You brought up a hand in an attempt to cool them when you caught a glimpse of a waitress walking over. She had thankfully come with your meals and you bobbed an embarrassed nod at her in appreciation. She took it with a knowing giggle and scurried away so as not to interrupt further.

“I like you.” The phrase jumped off your lips and you moved to close them off with a bite of your sandwich.

“You’ve made that abundantly clear.” There was an amused air to his voice.

“Seriously though…” The rhythm of chewing had an oddly soothing effect. “I’m gonna have to haul ass back to work after this. I can’t be late again.”

From where he was about to take his first bite, Donatello halted and looked straight at you.

It was only then that it dawned on you that you might have negated your earlier boss dodging comment.

“You got in trouble.”

His careful eye was a blessing and a curse.

“I… was hoping not to get into it.” You tucked your gaze into your bread.

“For my sake or yours?”

Within a blink, your eyes widened. “What?”

He gave his usual silence.

“No.” You finally looked at him. “I’m not expecting you to repeat yourself, I actually don’t know what you mean.”

He seemed to take in two things at once.

You realized you had yet to verbally confirm you’d deciphered that bit of his speaking mannerisms.

You’d been hoping to keep that one closer for a little longer, but it was bound to come out sooner or later.

“You’re one to speak your mind, but you also pay far too much attention to me.”

He’d seen right through you.

 “I could be trying harder to get another job…” The muscles in your shoulders bunched up.

His eyes shot downward and then right back to you.

You wilted under it, but he didn’t follow it up with anything else. Unsure yourself, you moved back to your sandwich. He didn’t resume eating and his intense gaze continued to bore into you.

“I’d love to, but unfortunately I can’t read your mind.” You finally forced out when you couldn’t take the atmosphere any longer. 

He continued the stifling leer for several more seconds before he broke it. He turned his head fully away and then spoke only out of the corner of his mouth. “If it’s upsetting you, then feel free to talk about it.”

Your features softened. “It won’t bother you?”

He huffed. “That is the exact sort of response I was hoping to avoid.”

Whatever gooeyness coating your features translated to your innards feeling similarly like mush.

He certainly didn’t want to answer your question because he would out how kind he was being.

Overwhelmed by the feeling, you gently kicked his leg from beneath the table.

While he didn’t exactly look offended, he seemed it. In retaliation and in spite of the table’s protest, he folded his legs away from you.

“Eat. You’re wasting time playing footsie.”

Giggling down at your meal, there was a sobering quality to your sandwich. There was something else to this meal you’d almost forgotten. As you picked it up, the heft of it being the last one weighed heavily in your hands. You took a small bite, but the time constraints meant you couldn’t make it last. “I had to do a bunch of busy work to make up for the cumulative hours I’ve missed.”

Across from you Donnie finally began to eat.

“It’s stupid because we literally have an employee for that. I’m sure it was some stupid pseudo-example of office power dynamic garbage.”

You scarfed down several bites in annoyance.

“There wasn’t even a threat of being late again! I just don’t want to give him any more fodder to complain!”

Your sandwich was slowly disappearing.

“Not… that it matters after this…”

The feeling you’d been trying to chase away with your latent angry reared its head.

You hadn’t made those additional plans.

“Does your company participate in those lax days?”

“Lax like casual Friday?”

He gave a nod.

“Not really, though everyone has a TGIF sense and less work definitely gets done at the end of the week.”

You took another bite and something about the conversation jogged your memory. When you brought your attention back to Donatello, he seemed to be waiting with a knowing look.

“If it’s on Friday when everyone else is loose with lunch hours than he can’t whine!”

“As long as that’s the case.”

“But… this is the last shop.”

“There are others.”

“No, you were very clear about there being four.”

He gave you his patented look.

You gave a coy one of your own and he deferred against it having not realized you were messing with him. You wanted to relish in his embarrassment, but there was simply no time. “Won’t that interrupt your sandwich study?”

“There was no exact time frame.”

You smiled.

“Finish.”

It was a reminder so you dove back into your sandwich. Polishing the last bite off, you looked up at him curiously and he nodded in a way that meant you’d cleared the ticking threshold. You noticed he hadn’t finished his meal and he simply wrapped it back up in response.

“Did this shop…?” You turned, ready to pounce on more staff.

“No, since I missed my usual consumption window, I’m not as hungry. Otherwise, they were a decent showing.”

“I wish my body worked like that.”

He gave a tepid shrug and you both packed up to leave.

“Ugh, I don’t want to go back yet! We’ve barely spoken!” You gave a dramatic flourish and jumped ahead a few steps. He watched on dully as you turned and held out a longing hand to him.

He allowed you to hold the pose for several beats before making a large sidestep to open the door. Your laughter chased after him.

“Dinner typically takes longer.”

You only heard the comment as you passed by him to head outside. You double took so quickly you almost reentered the restaurant.

“Are…” You held your breath. “You have to clarify if you’re asking me out.”

He stepped closer as he let the door close and you hadn’t quite moved away. Before you could give him his space, he crowded yours in a manner that brought his face right up to yours. “Thursday, go on a date with me. I’ll make a reservation.”

From where you were holding your breath, you were surely suffocating as your forgot how to take in anymore.

He was so close.

The way he’d said it.

You wanted to ascend.

“You have to confirm if you want it to happen.”

“Yes!” You watched, up close, as he winced when it came out a little too loudly. “Yes, yes, a million times yes!”

“I’m regretting my decision already.”

“I’ll see you Thursday… wait and then lunch on Friday?!”

He straightened up and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Remembering this probably fell into the repetition category, you adjusted yourself and gave him your best molten stare in gratitude. “I’ll be waiting for the details.”

He gave a nod that seemed tight for a different reason and departed.

You resisted the urge to click your heels as you headed the opposite way.

NEXT