#this has been stuck in the paused queue for ages-

[youlikefanficdontyousquidward]

Fever for the Doctor

Prager x human!reader

Summary: Prager has a crush on the human doctor assigned to the group. They won't admit it mutal until something happens!

Ring the dinner bell, Prager lovers come get yalls food!

Being the youngest recom was terrible. Technically they were all the same age and he'd tell them this. Although it did little to stop the constant jokes and baby talk.

He'd been barely 22 when he'd signed up for the Pheonix project. He'd never even met the others before they were all lined up in front of the link units. He'd asked the woman in front about it, confused as to why they were going in the avatar drivers thing. The woman, Zdinarsk, had broke out in a devilish grin before repeating his question loud enough for the whole room to hear. Everyone had laughed and he'd gone into the machine still burning with embarrassment.

Then he woke up. Now he was stuck with the group continuing to pile on the jokes. He got it, everyone was struggling with the change and he could take a little jab to lighten the mood.

To his delight he wasn't the only fresh face in their barracks. The doctor they'd assigned the team was the youngest doctor the RDA had. You must have been a quick study to switch from human to Na'vi biology so easily. Quaritch had scowled at your youth and messy appearance but softened upon seeing your credentials.

You were less enthusiastic about the assignment. Seemingly seeing it as some sort of demotion from your previous role. Still you dutifully gave them their assessments when they'd landed on Pandora.

Prager had sat on the lowered bed watching you work beside him. Even purpose built to assist you in reaching they all towered over you. You tilted Mansk's head, shining a light past his eyes before giving him an approving nod. Sunglasses quickly back in place he wandered over to the others to get dressed.

Prager was already feeling rather bashful, sat there in his underwear watching you assess everyone else. Zdinarsk, or Zdog as she preferred, had bumped him down the line.

"Last born, last place!" She smirked jumping the queue.

You stepped in front of him now, reading down a clipboard. He'd found himself staring this whole time. You were cute, no you were down right hot, so painfully his type it felt cruel. He prayed he could ignore the twitch in his pants until he was alone.

You turned to him now neck craning up, looking him in the eyes through your lashes. Your face was neutral as you tapped your chart. You were so close to him, he could smell your scent, he could feel the heat radiating from your skin.

"Let's see, last one here, Prager?" You paused. Prager caught himself having been lost eyeing your form. He nodded dumbly, eyes tracing back down to your messy shirt. You'd left quite a few buttons undone and he was having a real hard time focusing on anything but your exposed skin.

You hummed, reaching your hands out to click your fingers by his ears. He sat painfully still attempting to let you do your job quickly so he could scamper off. Prager caught Lyle's eye behind you, smiling widely as Zdog whispered to him. He felt his face flush, he was so busted.

He didn't have much time to react as you took his face in your palms. Prager swallowed hard, eyes flicking to yours. He squinted as you shone the bright beam in them. Satisfied at his pupil response, you let go of his cheek, ticking a last box.

Prager couldn't wait to run off, just needed you to move out from in front of him.

"Hey Y/n!" Lyle called over, your head turning to him. Prager felt anxiety bubble up in him, his tail thumping on the bed. He wished you'd just move so he could run over and shut his superior officer up.

"I think Prager there might have a little fever!" He continued. Zdog looked pained, barely holding in a laugh at his side.

"Yeah kiddo, lookin' a little red there!" Lopez chimed in, choking back a laugh when Prager shot him a glare.

You turned back to him quizzically. There was no way you didn't notice the growing blush he felt. Prager's ears pinned back as you continued to assess him a moment.

He was worried how red he must look. Or maybe purple? How would his new form blush? He needed to turn this around, ease his embarrassment, maybe gain some respect from the others.

"Hey I'm happy to stay here and play doctor." He tried to sound relaxed, flirty, not like his heart was thundering behind his ribs.

He looked back to you, watching as your face twisted from concern to anger.

"Right then. Dismissed, all of you." You ordered, storming off to your desk and slamming your clipboard down. The others burst into their laughter as they left. Prager followed sheepishly, shooting you an apologetic glace as he passed. Lyle clapped his shoulders in the hall the group still howling.

He saw you often in the weeks that followed. Being on call for them meant being housed just past the air lock to their barracks. You didn't often join them, preferring to stay hold up in your office. You mainly shot them all glares when they saw you. Being a little rough patching up the scrapes and bruises you tended to.

The recom unit still had to eat in the mess hall. Tugging air masks up to breath their own air throughout their meals. It was there Lyle had found you eating alone. You'd made an attempt to leave before his large hands had pushed you back. Joking about joining them all for a lunch date. Maybe his way of trying to break the tension with you, though your sour expression would've frightened Prager off forcing it.

Still it became a routine of sorts. They'd find you in there at some mealtimes and would gather around. You always made to leave but were crowed in and ended up stuck there. Despite this you had began actually talking to them. Prager found himself relaxing around you after the others jokes died down. Though there was still an occasional flirtatious comment slung your way.

"Pipe down! That's Prager's lover, show so respect!" Zdog barked, jabbing Lopez in the ribs.

"In his dreams." You smirked to a chorus of laughter and fists banging the table.

He'd been finding it so much easier to chat in the last few days. Prager had told some dumb story about his teen years and you'd actually laughed. It was a sudden and loud sound that silenced the whole table. It was beautiful, by far the best thing he'd heard since he woke up.

You'd been embarrassed by the sudden attention and probed him to continue. The buzz of chatter resumed but he caught the growing smile on Lyle's face.

Prager did his best to ignore it focusing on his new friendship with you. Finding himself often visiting you in your office, watching over your shoulder at your experiments. Little flirts became a joke between you both. Though he'd never admit he meant it.

Prager had always been a rather tactile guy. So when you'd made to avoid sitting with them again it was him that snuck an arm out to catch you round the waist. Plopping you down next to him, the table laughing at your flustered state.

"And just where do you think you're going my love?" He smirked at your pouting face.

"I've got work to finish. Dear" You stuck your tongue out and made to get up but Walkers hand rested heavily on your shoulder.

"Nothing so pressing you should skip your lunch date." She jeered, wrapping her arm across your shoulders. You grumbled but relented, stealing what you could eat off of others trays, Lyle feigning disgust when you ate the bug proteins.

Prager could feel his crush growing everyday. Sure you were stern sometimes, well most of the time but you were funny and even sweet. You're care for the team softening, Prager had even found himself jealous of the stitches you gave Lopez. Your small hands delicately holding his arm and soft voice praising him for sitting so still. Prager had to leave before he pounced on his friend.

He'd began to really miss you once they were sent on a longer mission. It'd been weeks since he'd heard your sarcastic remarks. He missed basking in your scent as you worked or stealing contact with you that left his skin buzzing. Hell he was considering getting into an accident just so he could get sent home to you. Lyle and Zdog had caught on and joked with him about pinning for his lover. He'd laughed but it was half right, he was pinning for you.

Prager could barely keep his eyes open. The pain so intense it was the only thing he knew. The sharp twist in his gut keeping him from falling away. He felt otherwise so odd, like he maybe could just drift away if Lopez would stop knocking into the arrow.

It was a sneak attack and he'd not been the only one shot, though he was the only one they we're taking back. Quaritch and Lyle pulled the prisoner away as the landed, Lyle shooting worried glances back as he left.

The stretcher was rushed past bright lights, the strobing affect leaving his head pounding. A human face drifted above his own, your face, features twisted, pained. He wanted to reach out, to smooth the line between your brows away. Something cold spread through him now, the pain ebbing away and taking his consciousness with it.

When he woke Prager felt like lead. His body so heavy not even the na'vi strength could lift it. Fike was with him, asleep on a reclined chair and drooling. He smirked, wishing he'd be able to just nudge the leg he balanced on. He caught Mansk's eye, the other man having stood when he saw him wake. Mansk looked between Prager and Lopez, smiling before kicking Lopez's chair.

He squealed, a high pitched sound Prager would have never expected as he fell to the floor. Both men now laughing at his prone form.

"Oh not funny guys!" He grumbled, scrambling up. Prager's laugh broke into an uneasy cough, fresh pain coursing from him stomach. Mansk made to move when you burst through the door. Your hair was extra messy, shirt buttons barely aligning. Your wide eyes narrowed at Lopez and Mansk.

"Right out boys!" You ordered moving to hold the door for them.

"Aww y/n we just..." Lopez didn't finished, freezing under your glare and scuttling out with Mansk in tow. You sighed heavily as you closed the door behind them.

Prager smiled towards you, dropping it when you didn't even look at him. Instead you turned to the monitors, checking his vitals. He smelt Lopez and Mansk's scents, heavy in the air and tinged with sadness. You were closer now, at his IV drip. He inhaled the scent he'd craved all that time, it was soured with your own worry.

He reached a hand to your arm. You looked to him then, eyes bloodshot, tear tracks still visible. Prager wilted under your gaze, the sadness in your eyes passing to anger.

"What the hell were you thinking!" You screamed at him, his ears pinning back at the sudden sound. He fumed suddenly indignant at your response, like it was his fault he got shot!

"I was doing my damn job!" He shouted back, his own voice less intimidating with how scratchy it came out.

"No, no, your supposed to go out there and watch each others backs. You supposed to have been watching someones back! Why was no one watching your back?!" You screamed back, fresh tears spilling as your arms waved. You stilled suddenly, red face turning away. "Why did no one have your back." He barely heard the whisper, your tears falling freely.

You were still so close. Prager lifted his hand to your cheek, thumb wiping your cheek. He turned your face to him, his other hand coming to cup your face. You sniffed, eyes still cast to the floor.

"You had my back..." Prager spoke softly, letting his giant thumbs stroke you small face. You looked back to him, wide eyed again as he hummed.

"Yup! You were here, stitched me up good as new right?" He swore he heard his heart stutter on the monitor when you broke into a smile. Nodding your head in his palms, an uneasy laugh escaping.

"I'm sorry." You spoke, new tears spilling again as your face scrunched. Prager hushed you, pulling you closer to tuck your head under his chin. It was an awkward hug with him still on a gurney but you stayed there until he let go. Pulling back he felt heat rise in his cheeks, your gentle expression meeting his. Your soft hand touched his cheek, finger tips lightly tracing his stubbled jaw.

"You'll be careful right? I don't wanna play doctor this way again." He felt your breath against his face, ears burning at the proximity. Prager broke into a smirk.

"Can we play it another way?" His heart thundered as you lent in and kissed his cheek.

"When you're better." You promised, resting your forehead to the side of his face. Perfect moment ruined when you both startled upright, hearing a whoop from behind the doors window. Lyle cheered before he was tackled out of sight by Zdog.

[squishneedsahero]

Healing Wounds

The Lost Padawan

Part 8 of ?

Word Count: 2122

You were raised in the Jedi order, Padawan of Jedi Master Obiwan Kenobi.

A/N: btw comments are the thing that gives me motivation to continue these stories so anything is appreciated <3

"Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit-" is the only thing echoing through your mind as you run through the abandoned star destroyer. You'd all been a tad bit late to the party and Wrecker's chip had taken over. He was the reason you were currently running, and now ducking from blaster bolts.

He had targeted you, since the Jedi were the clone's main priority to eliminate. You'd taken off, but didn't want to get so far ahead that he turned his attention to the others. So staying in sight but dodging open fire wasn't something you were excited about. Lightsaber whirling through the air as you duck and cover and dodge and block all the blaster bolts he was eagerly firing, luckily his name was Wrecker and not Crosshair or you'd have been dead by now.

In all honesty you were functioning and fending for your life but trying so hard not to go into a full blown panic attack. Your friend trying to gun you down, while you hadn't personally experienced it you'd been a witness. Every night when you closed your eyes had only brought visions of Cody shooting down Obi Wan, and your many other friends whom you considered family. Only an hour ago you'd dove into murky water to save Wrecker's life and here he was now trying to kill you. It wasn't his fault but it still hurts.

You're brought back from these thoughts as Wrecker shouts behind you, something about you not getting away. You can hear the others shouting, further away but still there as they tried to defend you. You didn't need them dying for you though, so you tried to keep Wrecker's attention.

"Hey-" your voice cracks. You start again, "hey! You can't catch me Wrecker! I'm a Jedi and I'm still alive, you're disobeying orders!" You taunt him, finally gaining some small sense of stability as you duck behind a crate.

You hear him growl and his booming footsteps growing closer. You couldn't take him if he got ahold of you, you knew that much. He'd fought a Rancor and won, you were basically just a kid. Sure a battle hardened veteran, knowing nothing but war your entire childhood, except for when it was kind of just tense, but still you were a kid.

You glance around you as his footsteps grow closer, there's a vent above you. You know for a fact you can fit inside, you'd hidden in them plenty of times. You use the force to pull the cover off and send it flying towards Wrecker.

As you leap up into the vent you hear a solid thud and grunt before the metal clangs to the floor. You then hear another angry shout, you'd definitely hit Wrecker. From inside the vent you crawl back the way you had come, being sure to clang around and make some noise to keep his attention. A few blaster bolts firing through the ceiling and up at you in the vent tells you that you do indeed have his attention.

Your heart is in your throat, your throat is closing up from anxiety and you can hardly breathe, you can't keep this up for much longer and you know it. The tears you've been holding back for weeks are welling in your eyes and you know once you break there will be no stopping it. You'd be too broken to defend yourself for a hot minute while you got ahold of yourself and your emotions once again.

You crawl another 30 feet, dodging the blaster bolts, except for one that grazes your leg but you're feeling so numb to everything you hardly feel it. Once you crawl another 2 feet you realize everything has stoped, Wrecker falls silent, the shooting stops and the others stop their shouting. You allow yourself to collapse to the vent floor and just lay there on the cold metal, taking heaving breaths and trying to get ahold of yourself.

"Y/n? Are you alright?" from the tone you can tell Hunter asking you this.

You take another breath before speaking, hoping to keep your voice from cracking again, "yeah I'm alright. I'm-" you pause in thought, "I'm going to stay up here a minute... at least until Wrecker's alright."

You hear some whispers before he responds, "alright." If you'd cared you would have gone and tried to hear the whispers but you didn't care at that moment. Let them say what they need too, you needed to pause even for the slightest of moments in a vent on a star destroyer, somewhere you felt protected enough to let your masks fall and the emotional dam to break.

You listen to their heavy footsteps move away, carrying Wrecker back to the medical bay, then it happens. Everything you'd been holding in comes falling out. A tear for master Obi Wan, a tear for Cody, a tear for what Cody had done to Obi Wan, a tear for each of the clones you'd been close too, and a tear for the life you had lost. The only thing you'd known and now it was gone and it was slowly setting in that you'd never be getting that back even if you still spent all your time with a different group of clones. Once the tears start you cannot stop, you stay right there on the cold, growing warm metal, creating your own little pity puddle, a puddle of your tears.

~~~~~

"... at least until Wrecker's alright."

Hunter goes to respond but Rex places a gentle hand on his shoulder first and shakes his head, before responding for Hunter, "alright," and you couldn't tell the difference, one of the few perks of being a clone. The two then get Wrecker up and with a nod for Omega, who'd saved the day, to follow they carry their brother to the med bay and get him in the machine to begin the surgery that would hopefully work. The surgery that hopefully wouldn't kill him.

Once Wrecker is settled Hunter turns to Rex and asks, "why'd you leave them there?"

Rex shakes his head gently, but responds, "I served around them enough to know despite their training that they need some time to themselves."

Hunter lets that sink in for a moment before nodding, he trusted Rex on this, he had hardly spent any time around the Jedi, usually their team worked alone. He didn't know enough to dispute the idea that you just needed some time. Sure, you were probably close to the same age as the Clones were, but they aged much faster than you did. You'd had as many years experience as they did, but you were still mentally and physically a child. Order 66 and all the aftermath had to have hit you harder than you let on, but Wrecker going after you had been your breaking point.

Omega is worried about you, but to her you seemed invincible always ready to face danger and sacrifice yourself for your friends. For Omega, Wrecker is the priority of her worry, she stays by his side knowing how dangerous this procedure is to him, how he might not wake back up despite their best efforts. Finally the procedure is over and now they all wait on edge to see if their friend would wake up. After what feels like forever he does, he finally wakes up and the first thing Omega does  is hug him, throwing her arms around his neck as she lets out a breath of relief.

Wrecker apologizes to her, as he'd gone after her at one point, then looks up and asks, "how- how's y/n?" Sure, he remembered some stuff but you'd been in the vents, what if he'd hit you with a lucky shot? He could hardly bear the thought that he'd hurt or killed you. He quite liked you, you weren't stuck up like other Jedi, you fit in with their little family perfectly and if he'd hurt you even on accident-

He's pulled out of his thoughts by Omega answering, "y/n is still in the vent, they weren't ready to come out yet. I'm sure as soon as they're ready they'll be glad to know you're back to yourself."

That isn't the answer Wrecker wanted but his head was aching and the world was spinning so he couldn't go find you at the moment, he had to just lay back down. From there the next person is prepped for the surgery and they begin moving, going to get everyone fixed up before anything else could happen.

As soon as everyone is distracted and paying attention to the preparations being made, Omega makes her move, Hunter was fine, so now she needed to make sure you were fine. Whether you liked it or not she'd made you part of their little family, you were her sibling too, she had all her older brothers, and you.

"Y/n?" Omega's soft voice sounds below you, "can I come up?"

You don't get much of a chance to answer as next thing you know the vent in front of you opens up, and Omega crawls in. Fuck. She was also small enough to fit in the vents. "Uh," you quickly wipe your face and try to dry the puddle where your head had been, "hey- hey Omega, what's up?"

"Wrecker woke up, he's okay... I thought you should know." She settles in place, laying on her stomach and facing you, obviously not leaving.

You offer a slight smile, "okay, thanks..." you trail off not really sure what you should say, and not really in the mood to talk.

Omega obviously picks up on this since, despite being somewhat secluded all her life, she was inteligent and could somewhat read emotions despite not picking up on every little queue. "Are you alright? Wrecker didn't mean to-"

She stops as you look at her, you don't look harshly but you making eye contact once more is enough, "I know Omega. I don't blame him, it isn't his fault," you quietly say, "I don't blame him at all it's just-"

You pause wanting to backtrack, seeing the curiosity in her eyes as she innocently asks, "it's just what?"

You chew on the tip of your tongue for a moment before looking at her for a moment. It had been long enough. She was your sister. You needed to accept that you weren't a Jedi any more even if you were connected with the force. You didn't need to follow all those rules, you could accept that you cared and got attached to people. That you considered them family. And most importantly you could afford to show emotions.

You'd shown emotion anyways with Obi Wan, because you trusted him and you were only learning. You'd seen him show emotion on occasion. It's in this moment as you're facing your sister that you realize and accept the fact that you don't have to follow the Jedi code and you feel a weight lift from your shoulders.

You take a breath then say, "those chips caused me to loose everyone I was ever close too. You grew up on Kamino and never left there. That was all you knew. The Jedi Order was all that I knew," tears well up in your eyes once again but you don't try to hide them this time. "I lost all of that then to have it almost happen again, in a way, to have someone I consider a friend once again try to kill me? I just-" you take a shuddering breath as you try and ground yourself again, "the Jedi tell you to not show emotions or get attached to anyone, and I cannot help but do that, so loosing everyone, it hurt. But I've been trying to following those rules and it's just hard to change and stop it. I need to stop it if I'm going to be able to help all of you." You wipe your eyes and take another deep breath.

Omega smiles softly at you, "that makes sense, but we're family, you don't have to hold everything in."

You smile back, knowing she's trying her best to help, "yeah, it's just a matter of learning that... thanks Omega..." you pause before changing the subject, "you said that Wrecker's awake?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'm sure he's worried about me, let's climb down and I'll go see him."

Once out of the vent the two of you share a hug and it's all alright, except for the wound where the blaster bolt had grazed you which you'd been numb too until you were on your feet. Fuck. It hurt, and you'd have to get it patched up, but first you needed to make sure Wrecker was patched up.

[pinoyrella]

“A Love So Beautiful” Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Dear Tsukishima Kei

FT: Tsukishima Kei, Yamaguchi Tadashi, Yachi Hitoka, Hinata Shoyo, Kageyama Tobio, Vice Principal, Minaho Ono + 3 Mean Third Years

TW: “Light” Rejection. Acts of bullying/teasing/taunting. Mild Language.

GENRE: Fluff, Comedy, Angst, Coming of Age + Slow Burn

Word Count: 3,300+

“A LOVE SO BEAUTIFUL MASTERLIST”

a/n: i recommend to read the prologue and character list before diving in! it may help the story make a bit more sense! thank you, and i hope you enjoy!! lubbb uuuu!! 💞

“Welcome to Karasuno High, where dreams fly. Today you are a proud crow of Karasuno, and tomorrow Karasuno will be proud of you.” The intercom says loudly as the students leave the auditorium, the orientation being over. You see Tsukishima on your way out, making your way to him. 

“Tsukki!” You say cheerfully as you jump to him. He takes a step back before preparing his headphones. “We are in the same class again this year! This is called destiny, don’t you think so?” You let out a cheeky smile as he looks at you, only to look back front, putting his headphones in.

“So the entry score for this school is quite low this year. I guess they’re letting anyone into college preparatory classes.” He replies bluntly, not making eye contact and placing his headphones over his head.

“Kei! Only by 5 points! But thanks to that 5 points, or else I wouldn’t have been able to get in.” You say looking up into the sky. “How lucky I am!” You clap happily.

There's awkward silence for a moment as you gulp nervously and clear your throat. Turning to look behind you, to your sides, before back at him in front.

“Tsukishima Kei.” You call out clearly. The tall boy stops walking and turns to you, as you take a few steps towards him, leaning onto your toes, cupping a hand to your cheek. The lean boy removes the headphone from one ear before leaning down to reach your height. “I like you”. Tsukishima's face contorts into a bit of shock while allowing red to spread through his cheeks, as he watches your face redden and you give a genuine smile, before replying harshly. “I don’t like you.” He puts his headphones back on, and begins walking at his pace again. You stand there taken aback by his cruel and blunt response. A small tear is felt ripping into your heart before you respond to his rejection. “Okay… I’ll figure it out.” You squeaked before running off ahead of him. Tsukishima watches as you run away.

--

You sat at your desk at home, scrolling through your computer with a hand under your chin. An idea popping into your head. ‘How to get a boy to like you’ you type before hitting the search bar. “Be yourself...” You read on the screen. Grabbing the table mirror by your desk, you place it in front of you and stare at your reflection for a brief five seconds. “I’m y/n!” You let out a small laugh, combing your hands through your hair before going back to the browser, typing in ‘How to swoon a guy’. “Write a… love letter?” Conflicted, you immediately text your best friend, Yachi. 

Recipient: “Yachi-bear🐻”

Y/N: “heeey yachhhh, can u pls help me w somethin tmmr?”

Yachi-bear🐻 is typing....

Yachi-bear🐻: “Of course! I’ll see you first thing in the morning.”

Y/N: “you are an angel sent from heaven, ilyyyyy bb”

You place your phone on your desk, before turning to grab some of your “special occasion” stationery supplies. “Pink paper… check! Pink envelope… check! .38 Gel pen… check! Dinosaur stickers… check! Let’s get love letter writing ready!” You say to yourself before pulling your hair back with a headband.

You end up falling asleep on your desk half past 4am.

-

“Good morning y/n!” A short blonde girl cheers as she sits beside you. “Y/n?” You are sound asleep on your desk, head in your arms “Tsukki… Zzzz…” The blonde takes a deep breath before- “Y/N!!!” “AH!” You wake up startled, facing the culprit who had just interrupted your dream wedding with Tsukishima. “Ah, Yachi! Good Morning!” You give a tired wave before laying your head back down on the desk. “Ah ah ah! I woke up extra early just for you! Don’t you dare fall asleep on me.” Yachi grabs your head before it hits the desk, facing you to her. “What is it you needed help with?” She asks. “Oh! Yes I remember now!” You jolt awake. Digging into your bag, you pull out 3 pink envelopes. “I need help writing a love letter!” You wave the pink envelopes in your hand.

Yachi pauses, her brain short circuiting before gasping. She grabs your hand, leaning you in closer. “Are you really?!” You pull away before blushing heavily, nodding and giving a small smile. “AAAHHH!” Yachi lets out a squeal before you slap your hand to her mouth, quieting her. “SHHHH!!!” “I’m so sorry, I’m just so excited for you! Here lemme help!” She pulls out a blank sheet of paper, handing it to you with her pen. “You’re going to want a rough draft before using one of those.” She points towards the pink envelopes in hand. “Yes! Let’s go!”

-

Not even 15 minutes pass and the two of you are stuck. 

“Yaaaaachi” You whine as you place your face into your hands. “Don’t worry y/n, we can figure this out!” Yachi pats your shoulder, trying to comfort you. Hinata makes his way towards his seat behind Yachi, fresh kare pan in hand as he sets his books on his desk. “Goof Morfinf” He says, kare pan now stuffed into his mouth. And as on queue; the bell rings, indicating class has begun. 

Throughout class, you spend your time writing and glancing towards the direction of the blonde you were writing for. Frustrated half of the time, the bell for the start of break period rings and you make your way towards Yachi before seeing Yamaguchi approach her. “Yachi-san, Ono-sensei is calling for you.” You watch as the flustered girl makes her way up the desk, running out of the class. You turn around hoping to find your orange haired sunshine of a friend behind you, but at last he has vanished. Sighing in frustration, you reach for your wallet before heading to the vending machines.

As you reach the vending machine, you drop your coins in the mini slot. After dropping your coins, you hover your finger over the ‘Strawberry Milk’ button. You press, and press, and press. But the vending machine doesn’t seem to be responding. Just to add to your frustrated mood, you raise your leg ready to kick the shit out of the machine.

Around the corner comes Kageyama Tobio, he looks at the sheet of paper in his hands trying to navigate his way to said “Class-4”. As he turns, he looks up from hearing a grunt. His eyes widen at the sight of you raising your leg. Not too far away in feet from him, you kick the vending machine, the two of you hearing a CLINK as the desired product comes from the bottom bin. Kageyama is stuck frozen there, you still haven’t noticed the presence.

You drop to your knees, grabbing the strawberry milk carton you bought. Stopping as you feel two, you grab both and pull them out. Confused, you stare at the cartons of milk before finally noticing the presence only a few feet from you. Looking up and making eye contact with the boy who just witnessed your violent and aggressive actions with a poor machine, he tenses up visibly before you offer one of the milk cartons to him. “Here” You hold the milk carton to him. The boy stands there confused before reaching out for the milk carton. “Sorry you had to see that” Kageyama stands there dumbfounded. “Kageyama.” “I’m sorry?” “Kageyama Tobio, m-my name. It’s nice to meet you.” He says taking the milk carton from your hand, and using the other to offer a handshake. From his kind but super awkward gesture, you feel yourself relax before taking his hand and shaking it. “Nice to meet you Kageyama Tobio.” You give him a soft smile, and for a second he felt his heart skip a beat. “I’m f/n l/n.” You both pull away before he gives a nod. “But you can call me boss.” You say jokingly, giving him a wink with finger guns. He lets out a small chuckle before looking at his hand at the strawberry milk carton. “Sounds good, and thanks boss.” You both part ways as you make your way back to class, thinking of the recent encounter with Kageyama.

You pause in your tracks realizing. ‘Wait.. is he new?’ Worried he would get lost in this hell of a campus school, you ran back to where you had parted ways, only to find him gone. ‘Awh shit.’ You sigh before making your way back to class.

-

You make your way past Tsukishima at his desk, headphones in as he scrolls through his phone, before plopping into your seat head down. The bell rings once more indicating that class has once again begun.

Moments pass until Yachi makes her way back inside the class, sitting beside you. Immediately, you turn to your best friend about to tell her about the weird interaction with this strange looking boy. “Yachi, you wouldn’t believe what happened earlier, I was at the vending machine and-” 

“Y/n.” A matured voice calls out to you, interrupting your conversation with Yachi. You freeze before replying with a shy “Yes Ono-Sensei?” “Would you mind coming up to the board and writing the Kanji for this word?” She asks, ready to hand the chalk to you. “Yes ma’am.” You hear chuckling coming from the class before grabbing the chalk and making your way to the blackboard. “The word is mountain. Write the Kanji for ‘mountain’.” She repeats. You stand facing the blackboard, a little too long for your liking. No idea coming to your mind. 

“Fork” You hear a familiar male voice say. You and the class turn towards the front door to the classroom where the voice had come from. Kageyama makes a “3-finger salute” motion with his hand, before you go back to the blackboard writing “山” before handing the chalk back to Ono-Sensei, and scurrying back to your seat. Ono-sensei then speaks after you are seated. “Bold of you to interrupt my class, Mr. Kageyama. Takeda-Sensei has mentioned you, please introduce yourself to the class.” She says as said boy makes his way in. “My name is Kageyama Tobio and I set for volleyball. Nice to meet you” He finishes with a polite bow. “Good, now take your seat behind y/n.” Ono-Sensei says as she picks up her textbook, ready to begin the next lesson. Kageyama gives you a small nod before greeting a “hey boss”. Tsukishima turns from hearing the new guy speak to you call you boss. Already feeling irritated with the new kid.

Again, you spend this period finalizing your love letters on the pretty pink stationary, adding a dinosaur sticker on the final “final” love letter, that you plan on giving to Tsukishima.

-

The bell for lunch rings and the students quickly make their way out of class. Yachi turns her attention to you. “Alright y/n let's get back to business! I’ll meet you outside!” She says as she jumps and exits. “Y-Yachi wait!” You quickly grab your letters, but one slips from your grasp. Before you can even realize, you run after your friend leaving one of the rough draft letters on the floor. Tsukishima being one of the last students to leave his desk, he gets up only to notice a pink envelope under his foot. Bending over to pick it up, he notices his name scribbled over the front of the envelope. Curious, he sits back down and opens the unfinished rough draft-letter.

As you finally catch up to Yachi, you notice a couple of third years towering over her. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you!” She says bowing repeatedly. Just as one of the third years takes a step towards her, you maneuver your way in between, blocking them from her. As you do, your arms spread wide, the third years take notice of the pink envelopes in your hand.

“What’s this?” One says, snatching one of the pink envelopes from your grasp. Your eyes widen in shock as you try to reach for it. “Is this a little love letter? To your little girlfriend? Is that who you were protecting?” The third years snicker before tearing your letter open. “NO!” You yell in hopes for them to not put you through this torture. 

At this time, the commotion between the two of you and the group of third years has caused attention among the students nearby.

Yamaguchi makes his way running back to the classroom to notify Hinata of the situation. His entrance causing Kageyama to wake from his nap, and for Tsukishima to listen into their conversation. “Hinata- Yachi and Y/n- Third years- Fight” He says breathlessly before Hinata jolts from his seat. Running out with Yamaguchi. Kageyama soon follows and Tsukishima sits there, internally worried, but letting out a restless sigh, folding the letter back into the envelope and sliding it into your desk, before running out.

“My dear love-” “Please stop!” You try pleading but the third years wouldn’t. “Oh how I love your eyes- your smile-” Yachi is near to tears at this point, trying her best to help you grab the letter from their hands. “How I can’t imagine a world without you in my life-” The third years pass the note to each other to read the lines before a short, but fast figure jumps, snatching the letter from their hands.

The third years stop in confusion, you and Yachi turning to see Hinata’s head facing the ground, before turning back to the third years. “You know it isn’t very nice to read love letters out loud.” He says folding the letter and placing it into his pocket. “Hinata-” “Oh? And what is a shrimp like you going to do about it?” One says. You feel someone pull you to the side, feeling the soft cushion of someone pressed to you. Looking up you meet eyes with Kageyama. “You okay boss?” He looks back at the third years before calling out a “Hey!” sending shivers down their spine. “Did you hurt my boss?” The third years, intimidated by this new face and his very tall stature, shake their head in denial. Kageyama lets go of you as he rolls his sleeves up, cocking his head to the side. “Y/n- Yachi-San-” You feel another hand grab your wrist, pulling you from the situation. 

Tsukishima makes his way through the crowd, he watches as Hinata and Kageyama begin to corner the third years, and as Yamaguchi drags the two of you from the situation. Just as he was about to intervene. “Hey! What is going on here!” The kids begin to disperse, besides Hinata, Kageyama, Tsukishima and the cornered third years. “Picking on your seniors!?”

-

The heavy drop of 4 textbooks are heard coming from the desk. You and the students in your class flinch as the Vice Principle stands in front of your class, pacing back and forth.

“This class has displayed absolute despicable behavior within the first month of the school year beginning” He starts. “Never in my 15 years of teaching have I thought to ever give this kind of lecture, let alone to a college preparatory class.” He continues. “Oh how disappointed I am with this class.” He stops walking before turning to face the class.

 Scanning the classroom, he catches you fumbling in your desk, you notice one of you pink envelopes but don’t remember sliding one of your letters into your desk. “F/N L/N!” He yells. “Y-yes sir?” “Bring them up here.” “I’m sorry?-” The slam of heavy textbooks is heard again. “Don’t play dumb with me. Hand THEM over.” He repeats, emphasizing ‘them’ as his eyes sneer towards you. You shake as you pull the letter from your desk out, as well as the other one on your desk, making your way towards the front of the class, handing them to the Vice Principal. “Go back to your seat.” He says after snatching the letters from your hand. “Hinata Shoyo” “Yes sir!” Hinata jumps frightened. “The one in your pocket too.” Hinata feels his pocket before giving you an apologetic look, forgetting how he had the letter that the senior snatched in his pocket. Making his way to the front, he hands it to the Vice Principal before taking a seat.

The class stays silent as the Vice Principal keeps a single envelope in his hand, setting down the other too. You immediately notice the dinosaur sticker sealing the envelope, your gut clenched and your heart racing. ‘He’s going to read my love letter to Tsukishima to the class.’ Is the only thought going on in your head.

“Let’s see what’s in this letter that gets you all so riled up.” Whispers spread around the class before the sound of a chair sliding stops the Vice Principal from unfolding the paper. Kageyama stands there awkwardly for a moment, thinking of something to say. “I-I, Mr. Wig- Bald Principal-” He stutters and the students snicker around him. “QUIET BOY! Just because you are new doesn’t mean I won’t be going easy on you.” The Vice Principal glares. The sound of another chair sliding causes the Vice Principal to face the shorter boy next to him. “He’s right bald- I mean Vice Principal sir!” Hinata tries to stall. Before the Principal could let out a word, the sound of another chair sliding caused him to face forward, Yachi. “S-sir please… Y/n worked really hard and it’s my fault we are here in this… this situation and…” Yamaguchi slides his chair, standing and speaking up. “Yachi-san excuse me, Vice Principal I apologize for the intrusion on this discussion but” He looks to Yachi before looking at the Vice principal. “I find that it is an invasion of privacy if you were to read y/n’s letter, especially in front of the class.” 

The Vice Principal stands there appalled. “Yamaguchi Tadashi. I have thought of you as a good and well behaved student. How dare you not only interrupt a classmate, but question my actions on what is right or wrong!” Before Yamaguchi could reply, the chair beside him slid. “Yamaguchi is right. It IS an invasion of privacy. I would suggest you leave y/n’s letters alone, and let this situation go. It is unnecessary and it is taking time from our academics.” Tsukishima speaks clearly, yet with his blunt tone.

The Vice Principal pauses in shock and confusion. “W- I- TSUKISHIMA KEI!” From the harsh call of his name, the blonde boy’s still unfazed. “OUT OF ALL STUDENTS-” The Vice Principal stops before crying furiously. “Y/N, YAMAGUCHI, HINATA, KAGEYAMA, YACHI, TSUKISHIMA! THE SIX OF YOU IN MY OFFICE AFTER CLASS!” He lets out before storming out of the class.

The six of you let out a sigh of relief before sitting back down, looking at each other giving a thumbs up.

-

The group of six students from Class-4 are seated in the Vice Principal’s office.

“And I don’t want any of you to leave! Not after you write me a 1,000 word apology for your atrocious behavior today!” He instructs as he sits back in his chair.

“Yamaguchi-kun” Yachi says quietly, catching the attention of the freckled boy sitting beside her. “T-thank you for saving me- us… twice today…” She thanks, blush spreading over her face. The boy nods before returning a soft smile. “It’s no worries, I-I’m always here to help.” He respond quietly, his heart skipping beats.

“Tsukki~” You call out to the blonde beside you. “Tsuuuuuuukki~” You call once again. The boy lets out an audible sigh before making eye contact with you. Your faces just inches apart. “You stood up for me today~” You gave a wide smile, before Tsukishima took the notebook he was writing on, pulling it up and between the two of you, using it to block your face from his. 

“Hey Kageyama” “Huh?” “You said you’re a setter? Can you set for me?!” Hinata whispers loudly to the blue-eyed boy. “Stupid! If we make it out alive here!” The Vice Principal lets out a hiss as the six freeze in their spot, making eye contact with each other before letting out a low chuckle.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading everyone! Again I sincerely apologize for the horrible HORRIBLE English and grammar and writing in general! Though I hope you enjoyed this chapter 🥺I’m still having a lil bit of a hard time figuring out how to use tags and label the chapters and genres, please bare with me for a little longer! Next chapter release date will be announced soon on the masterlist!!! Stay Safe and Healthy, until then!!! ILY ALL MWAH!💞

TAGLIST: @cvlliesstuff​ 

Please lemme kno in the comments (or in asks) if you’d like to be added to the taglist!! Thank you so much!! 💖

“A LOVE SO BEAUTIFUL” MASTERLIST 🌸

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 127

Annnnd a-one, and a-two, and a queue-queue-queue!

This chapter has one of my favorite things in the world to write - Interpersonal relationships (if you are surprised, I’m going to assume you are new here....).

Specifically, one of my biggest pet-peeves is when friends or siblings are written in a way that shows that the author doesn’t actually have any friends or siblings they are close enough to that all rules of societal politeness go whizzing into some far-off dimension as soon as they are in proximity.

When I get to write a chapter with such close friends/ersatz-siblings and also have @baelpenrose cackling and egging me on, it literally makes my whole day.

P.S: If anyone has wondered about the ages of the characters, several are clearly lined out in this chapter......

EDIT: Fixed some insane formatting issues.

“The food festival, Sophia? Really?” an incredulous voice asked before the door to my office even opened all the way.

I resisted the urge to scream, but did surrender to pinching the bridge of my nose and breathing slowly. “Hello, Arthur. Do come in. Long time no see.  Of course I’m not busy…” My one day each week to have a few hours to myself - no mentees, no assistant, even Tyche was off work….

“We saw each other last night when I came over for dinner after sparring with Conor, and  you’re never busy on Saturdays, Alistair makes sure of it.” He dragged a chair in front of my desk for what I felt was the sole purpose of putting his boots on my desk instead of the conference table.

“I thought you two didn’t even like each other, how did you - “

He waved a hand dismissively. “Enemy of my best friend’s enemy is my friend, that sort of thing. Anyway - “

“Did you just call me my own worst - “

“You are, let’s not pretend otherwise. Anyway.” Arthur arched an eyebrow at me and waited for any further objections, but I couldn’t think of any. “The Food Festival. It’s my one favorite tradition on this ship until armed combat becomes a spectator sport, and you are putting Parvati and Hannah in charge of it?”

After a beat pause to make sure he was done, I glared at him. “Everyone has asked me that, and I don’t understand the issue.  They’ve both helped in the past, even before they started training to replace me.  I’ve handed more and more off to them each time, and they did great! Plus, they have three months, it will be fi - Wait, why do you even care, Arthur?”

He held up one finger with the authority of a deity who would have smited me if he could. “One, Parvati Fletcher does not like mapo tofu. You do. Specifically, you like it from that one vendor who grows her own Sichuan peppercorns and uses them like they are an infinite resource. Two, I spend entirely too much time working with Zach Khan, and he won’t shut up about how stressed Hannah is. Three - “ I was seriously starting to get concerned he actually could smite me at this point - “As much as I love you in the most platonic way possible, you are an obsessive, compulsive perfectionist who insists on doing everything herself and running herself into the ground so that everyone else has the time of their lives. So why are you trusting this, the largest and oldest event on the Ark, entirely to other people?” Dropping his boots from the desk, he leaned forward, palms down until we were nearly nose to nose.

“Sophia Reid, I swear on any god I can kill if you are dying…”

“WHAT!?” I squawked, jerking back and standing so fast I knocked my chair over. “For the love of little fish, I’m not dying! I haven’t had a near death experience in four years, thank you.”

“Three, not counting the fact that there is a reason Alistair makes you drink anything through a straw anymore.”

“How did - Nevermind.” I shook my head and tried to focus on the topic at hand. “No, I’m not dying. Nor am I injured, having a midlife crisis, rethinking my life choices any more than I ever do, or so much as in possession of a stuffy nose.” Taking a deep breath, I rolled my eyes and started counting off before I could stop myself. “Conor and Maverick and I are fine. No, I’m not arguing with Tyche again. Yes, I’m still going to therapy. Else is fine. No new sentient plagues or rogue cult leaders that I’m aware of. Nor have I become immortal, queen of the universe, savior of humanity, pregnant by Noah, or possessed.” Carefully, I picked my chair back up and sat down.

“Good...to… know?” He gave me a funny look. “Who asked the most disturbing one?”

“Immortal or Savior of Humanity?” I asked for clarification. “Those were Maverick and Derek, respectively.”

The look only got worse. “I meant ‘pregnant by Noah’, but fascinating to see where your priorities lie….?”

“Oh. That was Charly.”

“Dammit,” he swore softly. “I had her pegged for ‘possessed’.”

“I’m pretty sure she is, but the suggestion that I am came from Tyche, on no fewer than 3 occasions, by 4 different entities. She seemed pretty hopeful that Else was potentially mind-controlling me in an effort to make me take a nap,” I admitted.

“That tracks.” A nod of approval prefaced the question I had been avoiding - successfully, thus far, I might add. “Now that you’ve ruled out every possible plausible reason that you would entrust this to literally anyone other than a clone of yourself, why?”

“Why what?” My face was composed in an expression of innocence so convincing that I probably deserved an Oscar.

“I can and will convince Charly to turn all your coffee to decaf, so help me, Sophia.”

Realizing that he was, legitimately, worried about me and at the limits of his usually-impressive patience, I held up my hands in surrender. “Fine. You get the scoop.  Please record this and send me the loop, so I can just flick it at people who ask, please?” When he nodded, I exhaled slowly.  “It is no secret to anyone that I never wanted this job. I made the mistake of establishing the Food Festival, which as you point out is the largest event of the cycle on the Ark - the last three years, literally everyone attended in some capacity.” When he opened his mouth to argue, I held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t get me wrong. I love the Festival. What basically started out as a potluck because we were homesick and needed to meet - you know, the rest of humanity - is a huge, three day holiday.  It’s amazing!” I spun in my chair, arms flung wide for emphasis, before stopping to face him. 

“It also consumes my life, for months, to prepare for.  And that’s just implementing changes to make it more accessible so people don’t miss out! That doesn’t include adding things to make it more interesting or keep it from getting boring, or whatever. I literally don’t have time to do any of that!”

“So, you’re inflicting this on them instead?”

“Inflicting?” I snorted.  “Hardly. This is their final exam, their capstone project, their dissertation.  If they pull this off, I will gladly hand the entire office over to whoever is elected, cheerfully and knowing the Ark is in good hands.  But, they have to pull this off.  It’s the only major part of being Councilor of Resources and Relations that they haven’t done yet by themselves.”

He rubbed his face, looking somewhat impressed. “That’s honestly not what I was expecting.”

“I don’t think it ever is, honestly.” I shrugged at the question he glanced towards me. “For Evan, it was coordinating the weapons exhibitions.  Charly managed to pre-empt her own by designing more efficient aqueducts and filtration for when we reach Von - you know, the ones that also produce light?”

“Of course she would invent glow-in-the-dark plumbing. Who else?” Something caught up with him. “Evania Josue got away with planning an event? Seriously?”

“Oh, that’s right… you weren’t on Level One…” I murmured. When he only looked more confused, I clarified. “She was Maverick’s co-pilot when we needed people to pilot the Ark, which was not designed to pilot manually, via dead reckoning, using cameras pointed out the few viewports we have, for several weeks after the sensors were sabotaged.”

“She was whose co-pilot?”

“You really never heard this story? You practically live with seven people who were there…”

“Usually I get the bits about ‘Sophia nearly got her brains bashed out’ and ‘that traitorous bitch’, then start tuning out while I try to decide what it would take to get Charly to teach me necromancy… If Evan was the co-pilot, then why is Maverick….”

“Not in line to replace any Councilors? Arthur, we know that would be a disaster for him.”

He nodded reluctantly. “Your younger partner is a nice boy.”

“For fuck’s sake, he’s thirty seven!” I groaned.

“Nice man, whatever,” he waved off. “Which is exactly what I would like for you as a partner. You need nice partners, and blunt siblings. But I see what you mean about him being a Councilor… he’d be miserable.”

“What was yours?” I asked mischievously, dropping my chin onto my hands.

That earned me a flat stare, until he finally surrendered when I didn’t flinch. “The Twentieth/Early Twenty First History curriculum.”

“Seriously?” That had literally been the first thing he had done when Eino tapped him as a possible successor.

“I didn’t budge on points even he admitted he would have, out of fear of offending people.”

“Which is a fear you very much lack,” I pointed out.

“The truth is the truth. Coating it in sugar only makes it taste worse.” He shrugged nonchalantly before suddenly looking dangerously like he was thinking again. “There’s two of them.”

“Yes, Arthur. Hanna and Paravati are, in fact, two distinct and separate women-type-lady-people.”

“Thank you, Fee, I was well aware.” I suppressed a growl at the nickname - he knew I hated it. “I meant, only one can win the election, smartass.”

“Better to be a smartass than a dumbass,” I muttered.

“Sophia, you are forty five. Please grow up just a hair?”

“Tyche doesn’t want to be HR forever, you know.”

That brought his mind to a visibly screeching halt. “Wait, what?”

“What what?” I asked. “She does it because she is phenomenal at it, but it isn’t her passion.  She only stuck around as long as she did to make sure I didn’t trip over a chair and brain myself while I was at work.  When I’m gone, she’s gone, loser take the spoils.”

He whistled softly before shaking his head. “It’s bizarre to think of you two retiring around the same time I’m just starting the position.”

“I’ll have been a Councilor for a decade when I step down,” I pointed out.  I almost included unless I die first, but that never seemed to be as funny as I thought it was.

“But you aren’t that much older than me,” he sighed dramatically. “Anti-aging technology is frustrating.”

“Annnnd this is a natural extension of your career, with a ten year break thereabouts the middle.”  My grin was so bright it made him scowl before I finally got a begrudging smile.  “Think of it as getting elected head of the school board.”

The groan he let out probably echoed for several levels throughout the ship. I had basically just pointed out that he was becoming that which he most hated.

Or not. He seemed to recover with a gleam in his eye. “Pfft. Dean of Students, at the very least.”

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[redbirdbella]

Natalia didn’t do Christmas. The winter wasn’t forgiving and people were never wonderful no matter what time of the year.  But the fair is nice, the kind of thing suburban families come to play our some American dream. A capitalist wonderland. She appreciates the idea though of trying to light up the cold and dark with decorations and music with more warmth than Natalia has felt this year even it does seem stunningly naïve. Maybe in another life she too could be caught up in the Magic but for now she wanted to remain a sceptic.

 A cold hard killer, clearing up some trouble for the Mistress. Its a personal request - the destruction of a group now disloyal to the motherland who had once raised them. The boss is here, laundering the money in with the Christmas cheer the 3 day event would create. Natalia locks her eyes onto the square that now serves as the make shift food court snaking her way through the crowd. She isn’t expecting him, its been 3 months, especially walking across the busy walk way directly into her. His arms are quickly out to steady her. The American.  Her American, Barton.    

 His shoulders have broadened, more pronounced in his winter coat, it rids him of the last shadows of boyhood. Natalia half wonders if he’ll ever evolve further youth stripped away into the comfort of fatherhood and the middle-aged spread most of her targets had. He looked good, for now at least.

 “Hello Stranger” he says with a grin, “Didn’t know you’d be back from College?!”

 “I didn’t know you’d be here. I thought you moved to Boston!”

 He’s wearing a black baseball cap but its no longer enough to hold back his blonde locks. The military buzz cuts gone and Natalia quickly quashes the urge to run her hands through it. Its nice-he’s nice. Less sterile and clinical, somehow all the more human under the Christmas lights.

 “I just cant seem to keep away. We’re holding everyone up, were you going this way|? id love to catch up”

 The targets working at the back of one of the food carts. A particularly greasy trailer, with a queue of cold patrons round the side. He’s not going anywhere fast.

 “Sure” She concedes.

 He follows her lead, letting her pause to inspect the wares at a particularly sweet looking market stall. Its tastefully lit with off white fairy lights giving the small little wooden trinkets a magical quality Clint doubts they’d earn in the day time. It doesn’t look bad on the Russian either.

 She soon moves on focus returning to her target and a stall in better eyeline but the pushy sales person puts her off almost instantly. The crowd is growing steadily now, numbers multiplying with locals just out for a drink and a little holiday sparkle. It’s better then, she tells herself, that she takes his hand then have US intelligence wandering around the place unchecked. Americans Natalia had learnt have a habit of getting into places they were not wanted.

 He takes it as some sort of signal to speak pulling in closer the pair seamlessly blending in with the other couples “Where are we going Trouble?”

 Its childish, the way Barton calls her Trouble. Oddly affectionate and scolding all at the same time. She’s never given him her name, and to his credit he’s never pressed for one. He was Lieutenant C Barton, she knew that. His name popping up from the military database the first time they’d met. Trouble was a understatement. She’d get him killed if he stuck around but he made it sound like a compliment. Like sweet praise she’s not sure she’s earnt.

 “We aren’t going anywhere Mr Barton.” She says with a sweet smile “Not until you tell me why your here”

 “I’m here to say Thank you about Kuwait. Your source was good”

 “How did you find me?”

 “Looked up who’d upset the Russian mob this week. Waited for you to make a appearance”

 “Just to say thank you?”

 “And to return the favor. Reports are the KGB have got a score to settle here. The Mob bosses been doing someone else’s dirty laundry. And somehow its all found its way back to the FBI. Its going to be a blood bath.”

 “I’m not afraid of the KGB”

 “I didn’t say you were. Its the aftermath I’m warning you about. US intelligence is lazy they’ll let the KGB take out the mob, then take out the KGB. I’m part of a task force coming over in 3 days sooner if the mob is dealt with. We have warrants to take out anyone connected to either the mob or KGB. You have to go-”

 “I can handle myself”

 He shakes his head “I hope so, hope your as bulletproof as you think”

 “You came here early to warn me?”

 “I had to try. The KGB are nasty sons of bitches I didn’t want you caught in the crossfire”

 Natalia laughs and the sound stings her tongue like a burn.

 “I liked it better when you were visiting from Boston”

 “Oh Trouble we all know you could beat my ass if you really didn’t want me round” Clint grins wrapping his arms around her lower back to pull her closer. “The key I just put in your pocket is to my flat. Co-ordinates engraved give you where to go. If you need me, come find me”

 Natalia can smell him now, his aftershave snagged in the soft fur of his hood. It smells like relief, like home, like the earth after a much needed storm. He’s watching her, Her Barton but his arms never move from her back. He’s shaved recently she notes. It makes his cheeks glow a little with the cold. It shouldn’t matter but it does.

 She wonders distractedly if her mother ever felt like this when she had fallen for one of the guards. He leans down closer still and Natalia can feel his breath against her cheek. Its lust she tells herself that makes her want to lean in. That makes her breath shudder like she’s caging back a animal. He smiles wiping away a snow flake from her cheek, leaning in further still.

 “Barton” She’s scolds quickly breaking eye contact. The Black Widow wants him to fear her. To be disgusted, she wants to be known by him.

 “Menya zovut Natalia” (My name is Natalia) She whispers before she even realizes what she’s admitting to.  

 She’s screwed. He must have heard her, must be able to figure out her shameful secret. The Widow cages her secrets behind gritted teeth and meets the Americans gaze. Barton smiles searching her eyes for something he doesn’t seem to find.

 “Do you want a drink trouble?” He asks softly, pulling away.

 “Yeah. Vodka and coke please. The alcohol tents over there” He’s 21 next month but she’s seen his fake ID. He’ll be fine.

 He nods and smiles before quickly dissolving into the crowd flooding from the tent. Its her chance. She can let him escape again. The Black Widow pulls up her hood. She has a job to do.

[faithhopeloveandtherapy]

I’ve been volunteering at the vaccine hub again this afternoon. It was crazy busy because we were doing two days worth of vaccines in one day.

We got told last week a batch of AstraZeneca vaccine was arriving on Tuesday and then later that a batch of Pfizer was arriving on Wednesday. The Pfizer has to be used in three days, so we had to do ALL the AstraZeneca today. 700 doses. We had to open a waiting room for the waiting room, because even with the best will in the world, 6 vaccinators cannot get ahead with those numbers. Every time one vaccinator table paused to draw up more vaccines, or to give a little extra time to someone who needed it, the queue built up.

I did a 5 hour shift and walked 10000 steps. “Next please! Hi there.... come through.... follow me.... just take a seat right here” *big smile behind mask so that it spreads to my eyes and they can see it* Return to the door. Repeat. I think I might be doing it in my sleep.

I’m back there again on Friday. I think today it was the 65+ age group as well as healthcare workers. We are moving on to people not in the top four priority groups for the next few days, I think. Tomorrow I was meant be meeting a friend in the morning for a walk and another friend in the afternoon, but because our car is stuck on our road in the snow and likewise for my friend and her car, I’ve had to cancel the morning friend. I can’t say I’m too sad. A rest will be nice.

[chubbyreaderchan]

Blood and Fur | 1 | Geralt x Reader

Geralt wandered the small town. It was a quiet one, for the most part. However, it seemed a werewolf had been lurking in their forest. It hadn't been very long it seemed, from what he could gather but he knew it would be best if he killed it. The job didn't pay much, as it was again a small town. Barely one or two merchants and no sign of a blacksmith. Apparently the only one they had went with a few hunters to try and take care of the furry problem. That pissed Geralt off, especially when it could have made the problem worse. They were lucky that they were all killed instead of cursed like who ever was lurking in the woods.

He adjusted the swords on his back and rubbed Roach's muzzle. He needed to prepare for the night. A drink and some food would do him some good, that was sure but he was concerned whether or not they would serve him at all. He secured Roach in a horse stall and wandered into the small tavern. It was quite crowded, but he supposed it made sense. They were afraid to leave anyone alone at night.

Geralt pushed through the crowd, golden eyes looking at an older barmaid probably well past her 40th winter. Her eyes still shown bright as she chatted with a man around the same age in a flirty fashion. She chatted away, ignoring the Witcher as he approached the bar.

The white wolf began to speak but stopped as she held up a hand. A younger woman had approached her at the same time.

"Mama" the girl was probably in her late teens. "(Y/n) is walking home alone again. At this hour."

Geralt half groaned in annoyance and a bit of anger at the delay in getting mead and bread. He supposed he'd choose speaking to his daughter over some monster hunter if he was in her shoes. His thoughts paused however, as she mentioned a young girl walking alone at night where a werewolf lived. He growled low and deep.

"Which way does she live?" Geralt interrupted.

The barmaid had a bit on concern in her deep chocolate eyes. She glanced at her daughter and then at Geralt. The daughter was the one to speak. "About a half an hour ride east of town. It's quite deep in the woods. We tell her she needs to come and stay in town but she never listens! She doesn't even have a horse since the last one-" She half whined, tears fell from her eyes she couldn't finish speaking. "She's always been lucky before but I'm worried... She might not always be so lucky."

Geralt let a small his of frustration leave him. He wasn't planning on fighting a werewolf the second twilight hit but damn it, he supposed he had no choice.

"She's alone? No father...?"

The girl looked up at him. Her dark hair held kinky curls that just framed her face, they bounced as she shook her head. "No, she lives alone. Her father was one of the men that..." She whimpered. "Witcher, please find my friend." Geralt grunted again, shoving past the crowd once more. He slammed the door open and hopped aboard his dear Roach.

"Let's go Roach" his voice was gruff as he pulled the reins to turn the horse the correct direction. He dug his heel into the ribs of the horse allowing the horses speed to take over.

"Faster" he grunted as the sun began setting into the greying twilight. He was on full alert as the forest became thick with trees. His nose tingled, there was an earthy and herbal scent all around him. She must've been some kind of healer or at the least grew the herbs. He noticed some berries for an elixir that he may need later but opted for racing to make sure this girl didn't die. He hadn't smelled blood, at least not much. Perhaps the blood of a chicken which would make sense with her living alone. Nothing human. At least not yet.

There it was.

A small cabin in the deepest part of the woods. Surrounded by herbs and--. Shit.

The door had a large gash and the coop of chickens nearby were not gone but eaten. Feathers and blood lined the pen. He growled. Did she get attacked? Maybe she was still inside the cabin? Maybe the wolf was still inside.

Geralt took a deep breath in. It was hard to filter through wolf, chicken and herbs but he could smell her. A faint smell. Nothing metallic besides what was discovered earlier. He sighed again, a small fuck escaped him. A massive gloved hand pushed the door open with a soft creek. It was unlocked. His golden eyes scanned the room. A ripped piece of fabric laid on the ground. A bit of blood stuck to it, glueing it slightly to the floor. He squatted down picking up the piece. He sniffed it. Human. Definitely human. And something sweet.

He groaned, he better find her damn body.

Geralt gripped his silver sword, leaving the small farm allowing his horse to stay where it would be safest. The beast would definitely be in a cave, he knew. He sniffed the air again, searching for any fresh scents.

More hair.

He sniffed it up close, wincing slightly at the musky wet dog smell. "Mm" he grunted throwing it down and following that path. Deeper he went into the woods, not quite sure where he was, he followed it into a small cave. Blood, musk and piss filled his nostrils. A thin and freshly dead body laid in his path. There wasn't a face but he assumed it was the girl. He stepped over it, tensing when he heard a bowl echo through the cavern. The sound of paws against damp earth became louder as a large set of wolves and a large werewolf approached. It hadn't seemed as if they knew he was there yet but it wouldn't be long.

As if on queue a large wolf came bounding towards him, clearly smelling his own scent. Geralt held up his silver sword gracefully slashing the beast.

One after another until it was just he and the werewolf. It lunged at him and he block. He swung and hit. It felt like the damn thing wouldn't die. Geralt cursed at the damn beast when finally his silver sword landed a blow against it's leg. It yelped in the same manner a pup would, running past the Witcher before he could react and out of the cave. He felt sick. Light headed as he fell to the cold dirty floor of the cave.

"Shit." Was the first thing out of the Witcher's mouth. He shifted, a rough blanket caressed his skin as a cool wet cloth ran over his forehead. "What the fuck?" He say up quickly, his muscles body was bare save for a slightly bloodied wrapping around his torso.

"Don't move!" She half shouted. 'She'? He looked around in a slight daze. "What the hell?" He groaned. His golden eyes landed on a woman. She looked around (age). Geralt looked around again, he was inside that cabin.

"You live here?"

She frowned, clearly taking offense. "I suppose I could have just left you in that cave to be eaten by who knows what kind of beast"

A grumble came up from deep in his chest. His body twitched from pain but he was already better than before. "Are you the one who insisted on walking home alone at night during a full moon in a village that has...?"

"Yes. Yes.. I know it's stupid but I really would rather be here alone and risk..."

"Where were you?'

"Last night? I was here."

He grunted. "No, you weren't. I looked."

"I was out looking for wolfbane" Geralt wasn't sure if he believed her but left it alone.

"I know it's stupid.." she sighed.

"No, you were lucky you weren't home when I came. You would've been dead."

"I pieced that together,"

"Hm" he grunted. She grabbed a pestle and poured oil in it, grinding it a bit and grabbing a spoon. "Swallow this. It'll heal you... You are free of bites too... I made sure to look"

Geralt looked at the mashed green on a spoon. He grunted, if she was the one to kill him with green goop so be it. He felt like shit. With one hand he took the spoon shoving the whole thing into his mouth swallowing the bitter leaves in one quick gulp.

"Fuck." He complained. It was awful.

"It's not supposed to taste nice" she grabbed the spoon taking it to a small bucket of water and dropping it in.

He watched her walk across the room to do so, noticing a slight limp in her step. He frowned. Muscles tensed in a painful way. "How did you get me back here?"

"I'm a lot stronger than I look" a shrug accompanied a sweet look of 'no biggie'. "And a lot more patient than I look"

Geralt watched her again as she pulled a loaf of bread from the fire nearby, carefully placing it on a platter. She twirled again, wincing slightly as she filled a bowl with some form of broth. She placed that on the same platter and began slicing the bread.

"Here"

Her strides were sure as she held out the tray. "Eat. This will help you"

His strong brow furrowed. When he did, he felt warm blood begin to leak through the apparent bandage around his head. The woman frowned, leaning over him to fix and clean the wound.

"What is your name?" She asked while her breasts were mere inches from his face. "I know you're a Witcher but--"

"Geralt" he said slowly.

She pulled away, smiling at him now. When was the last time someone smiled at him, he wondered?

"I'm (Y/n)" she introduced herself finally. "I'm sorry the Tabitha was so worried about me"

"She had every right to be. I will say I assumed you to be younger... Since she said you were friends" Geralt wasn't one for small talk but something about her held his curiosity.

"Mm... No. I'm just reaching Tabitha."

The Witcher gently stirred his broth wondering if it may be bitter like the medicine from before. Or poisoned. He sniffed it from the distance before deciding to take a sip.

"I've lived in these woods my whole life. A werewolf isn't going to change things."

Shit. He still had to kill that wolf. Or cure it. He'd prefer to cure it but killing it wasn't far from the prefered.

He hmm'd softly at her words, shifting slightly.

"Were are my pants" he spoke suddenly.

"Outside drying"

"Why?"

"They were covered in dirt and blood" she instantly became defensive.

"No, why did you take them."

(Y/n) rolled her eyes. "I needed to make sure you weren't injured anywhere unseen. Don't flatter yourself" she could feel the tips of her ears burning as she felt embarrassment sink in.

"Mm" he grunted, taking a bite of bread. He could feel his body already getting stronger. He would be fine to destroy the best by night fall by this rate.

He watched as she left out the door and grabbed his hanging clothes. "Here. But you need to rest" she pushed.

"Mm. I'll be fine." He finished his bread and broth grabbing the clothes from her. Instantly she turned as he began shamelessly pulling his clothes on. A soft his caused her to glance over her shoulder. "Do you need help?"

"I've got it." He said gruffly.

He finally pulled the shirt over his head and his pants over his bottom.

"Geralt..." She said softly. "Are you going to kill it?"

He looked up at her, studying the back of her again. Her dress hugged her body in just the right way. (Y/n) turned to face him. He was now looking at her with intention, noticing just how attractive she was. "If it comes down to it. If I can cure him.."

"Or her."

"Hm" Geralt grunted. "If I can I will but if not..."

She winced slightly giving the Witcher a bit of confusion. "I hope you can save them."

Surprise appeared on his masculine features. "Didn't they say it killed your father?"

She looked at him with a bit of a frown. "I suppose so but I know... They wouldn't have if they were..."

Geralt frowned. She knew something.

"Just try to save them. Please." She paused. "You can even take whatever you need."

Geralt felt something was more.

Something in his gut with this girl.

He had a feeling he knew what.

[artificialqueens]

the most wonderful time (crystal/gigi) - aries

summary - it’s winter, it’s too early in the morning, and gigi and crystal are going ice skating.

a/n - it sure as shit is mid-april, and i sure as shit did just write a christmassy fic because it’s what i wanted to read in quarantine. self care! i’m not used to writing happy stuff and it shows, but i needed more of these clowns in my life after untucked last night. on ao3 here!

It’s 8:30am, the streets are near enough empty, and Gigi can’t help but be incredibly jealous of everyone else that’s obviously sleeping in late on this lovely Saturday morning, especially in this God-awful weather.  When she arrives at Crystal’s house, she’s unsure of what to do. For a moment, she considers getting out of the car and knocking, but it feels too childish, somehow, so she resorts to texting. It doesn’t take long for her to answer.

Gigi barely has time to register the sound of Crystal’s excited laughter before she opens the door and climbs into the passenger seat, and when Gigi turns to look at her, she suddenly feels extremely underdressed. Of course Crystal’s wearing a Christmas sweater - she wouldn’t expect anything else - but apparently she took today’s plans as an invite to specifically wear the brightest, ugliest one Gigi’s ever laid eyes on, and after years of Christmas sweater days at work, that says a lot. Sighing, she looked down at her own much more plain black shirt. 

‘Was it not enough to drag me to the markets this early, in the snow, on a Saturday? Did you have to come dressed as a tree ornament as well?’ Crystal rolls her eyes in response and fastens her seatbelt, but for a split second, Gigi sees a flash of genuine insecurity on her face.

‘Is it really too much? I can go and get changed.’

‘No, you’ll blend in. It’s fine. There,’ Gigi replies, motioning to the takeaway cup of hot chocolate that sits, albeit lukewarm by now, in the cup holder. ‘It might not still be warm, but it’s there. There’s a mince pie in the little bag for you too -’ she pauses, gauging Crystal’s reaction, but she doesn’t look immediately disgusted, ‘-so you can have that if you’re hungry.’

‘Thank you! I’ll get lunch or whatever while we’re out,’ she replies, obviously distracted by the prospect of a mince pie.

To Gigi’s surprise, the rest of the drive passes reasonably quickly. They arrive in the city by about ten o’clock, and despite the fact that the markets themselves have only been open for two days or so, the streets are already streaming with people. It takes another half an hour to find a place to park, but then they’re free to roam the ornately decorated streets, cold drinks in hand. Whoever it is that got stuck in charge of decorations really hasn’t done an awful job at all, Gigi thinks; strings of multicoloured lights hang from basically every available surface that’s more than a foot off of the ground, there are signs on every corner directing tourists and locals alike to the nearest place to buy several million types of festive merchandise, and even the quickly falling, oddly disorientating snow manages to look vaguely magical under the glow of the stalls’ candles. Crystal looks as if she’s just stepped out of the car into her own personalised version of heaven, and twirls around, sticking her arms out to catch snowflakes on the sleeves of her coat. She turns around, catches Gigi staring and glares at her jokingly as if to tell her not to ruin her festive fantasy.

‘Where to first?’ she questions, unable to hide her almost childlike excitement. Gigi throws her empty coffee cup in the nearest bin and consults a sign that lists the many attractions. 

‘There’s an ice skating rink about ten minutes that way if you’re up for it,’ she sighs, realising her mistake almost instantly. She doesn’t know how to ice skate to save her life, but judging by the look on Crystal’s face, she’s never heard a better idea.

‘What are we waiting for, then? Come on!’ Crystal beams, and all of a sudden Gigi’s being dragged through streams of tourists towards the igloo-shaped rink in the distance. She sighs, lamenting her fate. If any higher powers were looking down on her and seeing that this is, in fact, the last thing she wants to spend my morning doing, they’d make it easier for her to just go in and get it over with, but apparently not; there’s a huge queue to even get to the ticket desk.

‘God, that’ll take ages,’ muses Crystal. Gigi rolls her eyes, convinced that the line should be a good enough indication that they should find another activity. Crystal evidently doesn’t agree; she marches herself (and, by extension, Gigi, who’s still holding onto her arm) up to the very end of the abnormally long line. ‘Excuse me,’ she begins, tapping the exhausted-looking man in front of us on the shoulder, ‘how long do you think the wait will be?’. He gives her a tired look before telling her that he has no idea and that it could be an hour at this rate, apparently. Gigi groans, but that doesn’t seem to stir Crystal, who thanks him with a smile and pulls out her phone, visibly prepared to wait it out.

‘Aren’t you tired?’ Gigi whines, and Crystal looks back at her in surprise.

‘No! Well, earlier, sure, but all I really need to wake me up is a hot chocolate, and you sorted me out with that one.’

‘If I’d have known it’d make you this perky, I’d have just gotten you a bottle of water,’ Gigi replies snarkily, but Crystal doesn’t seem offended in the slightest. 

The line inches forward and continues to do so at a horribly slow rate for about thirty-five minutes until they’re finally close to the front. Until now, neither of them could see the entry fees. This actually turns out to be a blessing in disguise. If she’d seen how much entry was earlier, Gigi thinks, there’s no way she’d have stayed in the queue for more than thirty seconds. 

‘Thirty dollars for an hour? ’ she whispers in horror, elbowing her in the side. ‘We could build our own ice rink for that much. Fuck. ’

‘Don’t be so stingy,’ Crystal mutters back. ‘It’s all about the experience, you know? Plus, I told you, I’ll get lunch.’ Reluctantly, Gigi slides her money over the counter and trudges into the igloo to rent her skates. 

After way too much hassle attempting and failing to tie them, they finally step onto the ice. In Gigi’s case, this includes immediately falling back down and potentially fatally injuring herself in the process. Crystal, who is apparently an expert at figure skating, looks down at her. She bites her lip to stop herself from breaking into a fit of laughter, which is more patronising, Gigi decides, than it would be to actually laugh. Gigi rolls her eyes and takes Crystal’s hand to pull herself up, then hobbles over to the side, grabbing the railing. Crystal obviously can’t hold in her laughter anymore - she actually cackles when she spots Gigi almost lose her balance again. She skates over to her in a way that’s so smooth it feels like a direct attack

‘How does it feel to know you just paid a whole thirty dollars to fall flat on your ass?’ Crystal stops, shredding ice as she turns her foot towards Gigi. What looks like a four year old boy kitted out in three scarves and a wooly hat that’s every colour possible skates past and points at Gigi, laughing to his mom. She shoots him a glare, closes her eyes, and channels every elegant professional Olympic skater she’s ever seen. She tries to step forward and skate again, but her movements are more akin to a baby deer in Louboutins than any kind of professional. 

Gigi has to admit defeat when she falls once more and smacks her head on the barrier to her right. Crystal obviously finds this hilarious , and can barely stop herself from falling over too, she’s laughing that much. 

‘Oh my God, I didn’t expect you to be so bad at this,’ she wheezes, and Gigi shoots her a venomous glare. ‘Do you want one of those penguin things with the handles?’ she asks between spurts of laughter, motioning to the same four year old from before; he’s now holding a penguin-shaped balance aid and whizzing around to the discontent of his parents. 

‘No,’ Gigi insists, struggling onto her feet once again. ‘I’m not a child. I can skate.’ Trying to prove her point, more to herself than anything, she pushes herself forward about a foot and manages to stay upright for a whole second without grabbing onto the barrier for stability. ‘How can you do this so well?’

‘I was a figure skater when I was little,’ Crystal answers, gliding effortlessly forwards to join her. ‘I quit when I was about thirteen, so I can’t do anything, like,’ she sticks out her arms in a grand-looking flourish, ‘fancy, but I can still balance.’ She gives Gigi a once-over as she clings to the side of the rink. ‘And that’s more than can be said for some people.’

‘I can balance!’ Gigi shouts, focusing more on defending herself than actually proving herself right. As she crashes to the ice once again, she’s not convinced Crystal believes her at all.

‘I’m never letting you drag me anywhere like that again, you bitch,’ Gigi sighs as they step down the stairs out of the rink and make a beeline for the nearest food stall. Crystal laughs and grabs her hand, swinging it as they walk. 

‘You’re the one that suggested we go, actually,’ she replies, and steers the two of them towards a quaint-looking wooden cabin advertising German hotdogs. 

‘I didn’t expect you to want to, though,’ Gigi pouts. ‘I didn’t want you to upstage me.’

‘Tough,’ Crystal grins. ‘Get used to it, sweetheart, I’m basically an Olympian.’

[hufflepuffwriter]

some writing

So for my English we had to do some creative writing, and we had to describe a party. I thought oooh what if I do a 1920s one, I’ve been meaning to do a 1920s story for ages, and it’ll be a bit different, but then the inspiration image was from the flipping Great Gatsby! But I stuck with my 20s theme, and I have a whole backstory planned for it. This is one of the first times I’ve really put my writing on a platform where everyone can see it, so let me know what you think!

I throw open my balcony doors, and the sight takes my breath away. The gardens have been completely transformed. The pool is lit up, rose petals scattered abundantly across it, and flamingo-shaped floats bob up and down in the water. The maze is festooned with twinkling fairy lights, creating a path to the centre where a grand piano is set up, and a woman in a beaded dress is playing a passionate piece of music. Among the shrubs, blush-pink sofas and chaises are hidden, where guests are already reclining with a drink in hand. Softly lit round lanterns are strung overhead, on wires so thin it looks like they’re floating. A magnificent cocktail bar is by the poolside, with a gleaming marble countertop, and rows of glass bottles crammed onto shelves behind. The queue for this stretches round the side of the garden to the real highlight of the party - the walled orchard. The trees are hung with ribbons and tiny ornaments, and more lights are twisted among the branches, creating a fairy-like atmosphere. Small nooks and corners are filled with yet more sofas, this time olive-green. In the centre of the orchard, an enormous dance floor has been created, and on a raised wooden stage in the corner, a jazz band are playing, the music thrumming through my soul. 

I pull on my shoes and, with a last swipe of red lipstick, hurry down the stairs, my heels clacking on the marble steps. At the landing, I pause again, taking in the sight of the downstairs. Guests fill the space, a bustling, dancing throng of sequins and feathers and satin. The hallway is decorated with gold. Streamers, balloons, everything you could possibly think of and more. The fountain in the centre is flowing with champagne. An orchestra is set up on the mezzanine, playing a fast-paced song the crowd are loving. Even the glass elevator in the centre is done up with lights. I spot Florence, clad in a daringly short gold fringed dress, in the middle of the dance floor, holding a glass and laughing wildly. She tilts her head back to look up at me. 

“Clara!” she calls. “Come down and join the party!” 

I gladly obey, weaving my way through groups of guests clustered up and down the stairs, until finally I’m with her at the main door. 

“Did you really arrange all this in two weeks?” I gasp incredulously. “It’s amazing!”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Not just me. Marjorie helped a lot.”

I gasp again. “Marjorie’s here? No!”

Florence nods smugly. “Oh, yes she is. I knew you’d be pleased. The whole gang back together at last!”

I smile wickedly. “Well, in that case... what are we waiting for?” I grab her hand and lead her outside. 

We make our way toward the bar, the crowd parting for us, which gives me a little thrill in my stomach. Florence orders, thrusting a pink drink into my hand a moment later. I take a reckless gulp and feel the bubbles rushing to my head. From then on, the party becomes a little blurred around the edges, the colours a little more vivid, but I don’t care. We pull off our shoes and run into the orchard, just as the band strikes up a new song that everyone cheers at, and pushes onto the dance floor. The music is so loud it’s vibrating through the floor into my body, urging me to dance. Florence reappears by my side, not that I’d realised she’d gone, this time accompanied by a head of striking red hair. 

“Marjorie!” I squeal. “You’re back!” 

“And so is Daniel,” she replies, squeezing me into a hug. “He’s with Jack and Oscar, in the maze.”

I look at her fully for the first time in weeks. She’s still as beautiful as I remember, deep green eyes and peaches-and-cream complexion. Tonight she looks stunning in a rose-coloured sheath dress, which shouldn’t work with her hair, but really, unexpectedly, does. Kohl lines her eyes and tiny pink silk rosebuds are pinned above her ear.

“Let’s not go and see them yet,” Florence says. “We’ve only just got here. Come on! Dance!”

We wind our way into the middle of the dance floor, and I feel, tonight, that for once it isn’t just my friends turning heads - it’s me too. We are the life of the party, Marjorie luscious in pink, Florence with her tanned skin and curling dark hair, and me, in a blue and green sequin dress that catches the light like a mermaid’s scales, sending rivulets of gold running through my mousy hair, pinned up with a pearl clip. We can dance until the early hours, we can drink endless cocktails, we can laugh and sing and shout as much as we want, and nobody can stop us, nothing in the world could make us tired. 

Eventually we find ourselves dancing our way out of the orchard, making our way to the poolside where we find the boys laughing and joking, seated on the leather bar stools. Daniel lets out a low whistle when he sees us. His copper hair is made darker by the oil he’s slicked through it, and he’s wearing a moss-green necktie the same shade as his and his twin’s eyes. He’s playing with the chain of a gold pocket watch. Oscar glances up from behind hooded eyes, white shirt sleeves rolled up. He murmurs a greeting, then resumes talking in a quiet voice to the bartender, one dark eyebrow raised. He taps out the rhythm of the music on the countertop. 

I try my hardest not to look at Jack. 

He makes that harder by tapping me on the arm, the light touch of his fingers zinging against my skin. 

“Clara,” he says in greeting. “I haven’t seen you for a while.” 

I stammer a reply, trying to avoid his gaze as long as possible. But I can’t do it. I raise my eyes to his face, taking in his earnest, open expression, his messy dark blonde hair, the hazel of his eyes. Though he’s Florence’s brother, he looks nothing like her, except maybe in the shape of the lips, the set of the chin. 

Marjorie moves silently up behind me, arching eyebrows quirked. “Jack...” she says, in a slow, soft voice. “How are you? I’ve missed you.” 

She reaches forward to take his hand in greeting, and my nails dig into my palm. I turn sharply toward the bar, and ask for another cocktail. I take a long sip pointedly, the headiness of the alcohol turning me dizzy. 

Florence taps her long nails on the counter abruptly. “Enough chit-chat! This is a party, and we’ll have enough time for catching up tomorrow!”

“Hear, hear!” Daniel cries. “I say we get ourselves lost in the orchard, and dance ourselves silly!” 

He moves as if to take my arm, but I dodge subtly out of the way and run with Florence back toward the orchard steps, laughing as my last cocktail takes hold. The pearl clip is long gone. We turn the corner among the trees, and, impulsively, I grab a pear from a branch, biting into the sweet flesh, and flavouring the world with the scent of the sticky juice. Jack follows my example, and so do the rest, until we’re all eating our fill of fruit, dancing around one of the sofas, hearing faint strains of the jazz band and singing raucously along. 

Feverish, we race back to the main garden, and to me there could be nothing more natural than diving into the rippling blue pool. The cool water closes over my head, and I push off the bottom with my feet to rise back to the surface, head tilted up to the sky, rose petals floating around me. My friends follow suit, gasping at the cold. Our eyes gleam. This is what freedom feels like, we think. Everything is forgotten, and we have not a care in the world.

[nonsensicalobsessions]

Lucky

When Tom stopped to reflect on his life, he was always keenly aware on how very blessed, how very lucky, he really was.

There were all the obvious reasons: Dumb, stupid, genetic chance gave him health, a level of physical attractiveness he did nothing to earn, a brain to give him a jump start for intelligence and an ability to learn. Affluent parents who could and did provide every advantage, such as a beautiful home in a safe neighborhood, as well as the opportunity to attend the most prestigious schools in the area, and then the world. Drawing breath in a place and period of time where clean water, relative peace, plentiful food, and quality medical care were all readily available to him (although those were also due to his parents, he was aware of as well).

But there were other things...meeting the right people, at the right time...the right roles...

Of course, not everything was luck. He didn’t discount his hard work. No one would argue he was one of the hardest working actors in the industry. 

The one area where his luck soured was his love life. Friends he had in abundance, but between his intense desire for intimacy, rather than random, casual hookups, and for private, meaningful conversations as opposed to shop gossip and small talk, he found himself without a partner for months, even, God help him, years at a stretch. He was embarrassed to admit how lonely he found himself at times. He longed for what seemed like the most common thing in the world, love with someone who would see him as he was, not as how he was packaged and presented. At times, he wondered if he was simply fated to remain caught in a solitary existence.

And then, just like that, his luck changed, even as it preserved him once again.

Tom was driving home from holiday shopping. Carefully, as was his wont. As usual, it was raining and the traffic was as thick as could be expected for a Saturday leading up to Christmas. He was stopped at a traffic light, the second car in queue. He played with the music on his phone, until he found the song he was looking for, and smiled as he selected it. 

https://open.spotify.com/track/2IuUMx3uxxJAHcH41aYtn0?si=j7EFmnjuSUqGpb_6LPIGBg

The light changed. The car in front of him paused for a moment, then proceeded to resume its route, and Tom did the same. He was humming “Winter Wonderland,” tapping lightly on the steering wheel, when something terrifying happened.

There was a loud screeching of tires, horns, the squeal of brakes, and in front of his horrified eyes the car in front of him was plowed into as another vehicle attempted to run the red. The culprit wasn’t even close to clearing the intersection in time.

If Tom had been the first car in the queue, he would have been struck, it was unavoidable. 

With the slickness of the roads, there was quickly a massive chain reaction of collisions. It was only by very good fortune Tom escaped unscathed.

As soon as the screeches, the slams, the crunches, and the crashes stopped, Tom left his car and raced for the innocent’s vehicle. He had already dialed 999.

There had only been one person in the car, a female driver, as far as he could tell. All of her air bags had deployed, and she had been struck on the passenger side, which was the only saving grace in the situation. She was crumpled over the steering wheel, pinned between the slowly deflating air bags and what was left of the passenger side of her vehicle. It was quite the grisly scene, with shattered glass all about, horns blaring, and yet she made no sound. Tom frantically pulled the door, already fearing it to be futile as all car doors in his experience locked once the vehicles began moving.

To his utter shock, it opened. The car was an either older model than he anticipated, or else the locks malfunctioned.

He reached for her pulse in her neck and found it quickly enough, even as she was bleeding heavily from under her hair as well as from other cuts and abrasions. Soon she was moaning and beginning to stir.

“Steady,” Tom pleaded. “Don’t move. You’ve been in a crash, and an ambulance is coming. Can you tell me your name?”

“Maddie,” she whispered. “Madeleine Robillard...”

“Maddie, my name is Tom. Whom may I call for you?”

“No one,” she groaned.

Tom blinked, even as he could hear sirens growing louder. No one? That couldn’t be right, certainly there was a family member or a friend to be notified...

“No, there isn’t anyone, just me...” Maddie mumbled, and Tom realized he must have spoken aloud.

Maddie was fighting to keep her eyes open and focused. She looked around Tom’s age, but tiny to his eyes. “Tom...I can’t move, I’m stuck...” He could hear her voice becoming frightened.

“Maddie, don’t even try to move, you’re wedged in with your air bags and your seatbelt has you locked in tight and proper, just as it should. I am going to stay with you while you wait for help to arrive. You’re not alone, understand? I promise you.” He smiled at her, and stroked her cheek.

She blinked as a tear trickled down her cheek, obviously in a great deal of pain and disoriented. “I’m going to be late for work.”

“Maddie, I’m certain your employer will understand.”

“No...already so short staffed...” she was becoming agitated again.

“Hush, darling, hush...where do you work? Tell me, and I’ll ring them for you...”

Within what felt like a blink of an eye, there were ambulances, police cars, and fire trucks pulling in, even helicopters circling overhead looking for places to touch down. Tom could scarcely hear Maddie’s reply as she named a luxury hotel and spa not far from their location.

Tom dialed and asked for Madeleine Robillard’s supervisor, plugging his other ear with one finger as he did so, the ambient volume increasing every moment.

“This is Madame White, with whom am I speaking?” Tom flinched, the voice did not sound friendly, or helpful.

“Madame White, my name is Tom Hiddleston, and I am calling on behalf of Madeleine Robillard. I’m afraid she has been in a terrible car accident, and...”

“Young man, I don’t know what you think you are playing at, but I am far too busy to be playing games. Maddie is due to cross over the threshold of this facility in precisely thirteen minutes. If she does not do so in thirteen minutes and one second, why, she does not need trouble herself to do so in thirteen minutes and two.”

“I beg your pardon.” Tom’s voice was suddenly glacial, proper, and distinctive. “My name is...”

There was a loud sigh. “Spare me the impersonations. Her final check is in the mail.”

A click. A tone. And Tom was left staring at his phone in utter disbelief.

“And Happy Christmas, you utter...”

It was the first time he was told his impersonation of himself wasn’t convincing enough.

“...Mr. Hiddleston?!”

Tom found himself facing a completely shocked set of first responders.

“Hello, yes...this is Madeleine Robillard...”

And so, because of his good luck, Tom was spared a potentially devastating collision, and met Madeleine Robillard in the bargain.

Maddie knew it was pointless to grouse about luck, good, bad, or otherwise.

“It is, what it is,” she would shrug, and try to keep going as best she could.

Born on the wrong side of the blanket. The wrong side of the tracks. The wrong side of town.

She did the best she could, with what she had. Bounced from foster family to foster family, she learned quickly doors didn’t lock or latch even when they looked like they would, so it was best to wedge them tightly closed with blankets or books. If something looked like it was too good to be true, it never was. If someone gave you the creeps, it was for good reason. The best thing you could do was keep your nose clean and powder dry (but never use the stuff for the nose), keep your head down, do your best, and keep out of sight. Getting yourself noticed never ended well. Shoes don’t stretch, men don’t change, and in this life, you’re on your own.

She got through school well enough, then started working. She was a hard worker, and an unobtrusively clever one, because she didn’t want to be seen as clever. Being smart wasn’t something she saw rewarded. It was fine to be smart, and clever, but it was best to keep it to yourself.

She lived small. Saved her pounds. Lived quietly.

Sometimes she looked over the edges of bridges and wondered what kept her from sailing over the sides, what was it was all for, but kept going anyway. Low spirits did not stay with her long because she had curiosity to help keep her going. There was always another book to read, another idea she wanted to chase down in her head.

There were a few times she was loved and left.

She read at the library. She fully recognized novels as fairy tales for adults. She didn’t watch television or go to movies because couldn’t afford them. She stayed healthy enough because of the NHS. She listened to music on the radio. She was computer literate because of schooling and the library. She enjoyed sketching. Sometimes she would go to the library and watch videos on YouTube to improve her way around a pencil. She particularly liked sketching birds. To each their own.

She was kind, because it was how she wanted to be. She treated the people she worked with, worked for, and lived around, the way she wished to be treated, whether she was or not.

She was so proud when was able to buy her used car. Between her savings, her hard work ethic, and innate gentle nature, she was able to build up enough recommendations to get hired on at the spa at the grand new hotel as a receptionist. She was willing to take on as many hours, as many shifts, as possible. Madame White didn’t seem to like her very much, but there was no rule saying she had to. If the woman was spiteful, what of it? She juggled schedules, demanding clients, availability of staff with requested services, made certain all supplies were fully stocked, and more, all while answering the phone and greeting everyone with a smile.

And now, because of an entitled tit of a driver with a problem with the bottle, her car was gone, her job was gone, and soon her savings would be gone. Her health had certainly taken a hit.

But this Tom fellow was very kind, definitely handsome, and apparently a very big deal. For some reason, he was determined to stay with her. He stuck to her like a burr before the ambulance arrived, followed her to the A&E, sat with her throughout all the confusion and fuss there. He found her uncomplaining and patient. She found him gentle, and a surprisingly staunch advocate. 

Even after her surgery, he would stop by and visit. He was surprised she had required the procedure, had undergone it without a word to himself or anyone, but then, how would she have contacted him? Why would she? By then even she knew what he was all about, at least in theory, and she was as confused as ever. The staff in the hospital was very quick to educate her about how very lucky she was, and how out of her league he was.

Every day, he came to see her, bringing her some small token, a gift to make her smile. One day it was several pairs of soft, thick socks when he saw she was still wearing the ones she had from the day of the accident, because her feet were cold. They felt like spun sunlight. 

Another day, it was a collection of poems, after she had confessed her love of poetry rather than novels when she was tired or stressed, because “a gifted poet can say in just a few stanzas what a gifted novelist needs pages to accomplish...I don’t have the concentration to read pages and pages right now, but those few stanzas...they stay with me for hours.”

He presented the anthology to her only after making her promise she would not stay awake pondering. Maddie was laughing as she did, and Tom neatly plucked the volume from her hands.

“I am altogether serious,” he gravely informed her. “I can tell you are quite tired, and it is a known fact you heal while you sleep. I will not be responsible for impeding your recovery.”

She had to solemnly assure him she would not deliberately remain alert at night, pondering verses when she should be asleep. Looking at her with a serious face, Tom returned the book, and with a sober tone of voice, said, “I’m trusting you, Maddie.”

Maddie would sooner rob a church’s poor box than let Tom down. Not after he looked at her with such an intense expression, and used that tone of voice. She suspected he knew it, too.

But as much as the little presents were amazing, a novelty she couldn’t get over (certainly the first gifts she had received in a very long time), it was Tom’s presence she cherished more than anything he handed her in a gift bag or wrapped (albeit slightly clumsily) in cheerful paper. Although she lacked his level of formal education, and what she had received certainly wasn’t of the same caliber, Maddie was a keen scholar of human nature, as well of the school of hard knocks. She kept that alma mater to herself, but it made her observations on human nature very interesting to Tom, especially when it came paired with her intrinsic kindness and character. They spent hours talking about books they had read, Tom sharing stories about his childhood and amusing anecdotes about his day. Maddie did not have anything similar to reciprocate, so she would deflect and ask him a general question that would not be considered too personal. Listening to Tom share his reflections, being able to explore his thoughts, laughing with his quirky sense of humor...she had never enjoyed anyone’s company so much in her entire life. Just a few hours in the evenings were making such a huge impression on her.

But it couldn’t continue. Maddie lived in the real world, and although she enjoyed his visits immensely, she could also see where she was getting very attached to them, and him. With each successive call, it would be even more of a wrench when they stopped. It would be best to rip off the bandaid, as it were.

By December 23, enough was enough.

She was drifting in and out. Between pain medication and exhaustion from physical therapy, it was easier to sleep sometimes. Better. She didn’t want to think about how she was likely to lose her flat. She was unemployed (although on the dole, likely to receive compensation from the drunken ass responsible for this utter disaster, and possibly for wrongful termination). 

“Depression” wasn’t a word in her lexicon. Again, she just took life as it came. If life sucked, well, it just sucked, and what else could you do about it? Right now, there wasn’t a lot she could change. She did as she was told. She ate as best she could, although she couldn’t stomach much. She worked as hard as she could to regain her strength, because it wasn’t as though there was anyone who was going to take care of her. When she was discharged, she would have to make sure she could shift for herself.

Sleep was an escape she had best take advantage of while she had the opportunity.

“Darling? Asleep already, are you so exhausted then? You’re doing too much!”

Ah. Well and good. She needed to take care of this, anyway.

She opened her eyes to see Tom, standing there smiling at her even as his voice sounded concerned. It would be a shame to send such a handsome man on his way, because God knows she’d never meet anyone so finely and perfectly created ever again. He was a walking ray of sunshine. Truly a good man. 

She was going to miss him, with all of her heart.

“Tom.” She smiled as best she could, and tried to sit up.

“No, no, enough of that,” he scolded, and showed her the bed remote once more. “Why must you always try to do all the work when all you have to do is press a button?” He helped her raise the bed to ease her into a sitting position. “How are you feeling, sweetheart? Are they talking about sending you home soon?”

She dropped her eyes, flushing a bit. “Soon,” she evaded. “It’s lovely of you to come and visit me Tom...soon you won’t have to be fussed with coming all this way...in fact, I am sure you must have so many things you could be doing instead. Loads of parties and get togethers, I keep telling you, please don’t feel obligated to keep coming here day after day.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “And I keep telling you I am doing nothing from obligation, and everything from pleasure. Why can’t you understand I wish to spend time with you? Unless...” his face changed expression, “you no longer wish for me to come visit you...?”

Maddie’s face morphed into complete shock.

“Nothing could be farther from the truth. It’s...I didn’t know before, you see. But they’ve told me, I get it now. Come, Tom, I know how the world works. It’s Christmas, on top of everything else. You should be with family, and your friends. You don’t have to...well...” Maddie’s face was a study in discomfort. “I am deeply appreciative. Truly, I don’t want you to think I am ungrateful. It’s because I am so aware of how busy you are and how precious your time is...You’ve been coming here, every single day, and each time, you have a little gift for me. I’ve never been treated such, in all my life. You don’t need to keep doing this. Thank you, Tom, but you can enjoy your holiday now, with a clear conscience. It’s quite all right. You don’t have to do this anymore.”

“Wait...just a moment. Who told you what, exactly? Has someone told you I visit you out of some misguided sense of pity? As a...visiting the sick charitable work? A Christmas giving back?” His face was livid. “Who is telling you these lies? Point me in the right direction...!”

Tom had just started to get a good rant going, but stopped the moment he saw tears shimmering on her lashes. “Oh, no. No, no, no...please, Maddie, don’t cry...it’s not true. I promise you, it’s nothing like that.” He quickly dropped the side rail to gather her carefully into his arms for the first time. Up until now, he had only ever held her hand.

“I didn’t know anything about you the first time I saw you,” Maddie wept. “I don’t go to movies, plays, or watch television. I just read. So everyone so quick to say how lucky I was...and how you were so...so...” Tom could not help but notice how she did not melt into his embrace, but rather had her arms wrapped around herself as best she could, before he even had the chance to try comforting her. He recognized it for what it was: the hallmark of someone who only had their own arms to hold them when things were bad. He softly rubbed her back.

“Maddie, what happened to you that day was the very opposite of luck,” Tom answered grimly. “And anyone who said otherwise is disgusting. I will go so far as to say you are lucky to be alive...lucky you weren’t injured more severely! But beyond that? How could anyone be so crass as to say you were lucky that day just...” he shook his head, appalled.

“If anyone was lucky was day, it was I. I wish I never had to meet you in such a fashion, but in a city of almost nine million people, it was my car you were in front of that day. I was the one that was able to hold your hand. I was the one who could brush the hair out of your eyes and wait with you...and now, I am the one who gets to visit you every day, and who hopes to bring you home before Christmas.”

“Bring me home?”

“Darling, I don’t want to discourage you, but you are going to need a lot of care when you are finally discharged...and well...I...I know this is terribly forward of me, seeing as we’ve only known each other a few weeks...but as you’ve mentioned you’re rather alone in the world, I was hoping you’d consider staying with me for awhile. Just until you’re back on your feet again,” he concluded in a rush.

Maddie looked at him, rather exasperated.

“You see? Tom, you cannot do this! You are...you! I am a barely educated, unemployed receptionist. An orphan. I have nothing. I am no one...Tom...what would your mother say?!”

Tom threw his head back and laughed, delighted as she sputtered with indignation.

“See, this is exactly why I can and will do this. Because you do care about what my mother will say...and Madeleine Robillard, I will have you know you are indeed someone. You are someone who reads poetry and thinks about it all day long, even as she goes though physical therapy to regain her strength after a horrible car accident...someone who can sit and debate with me how social media and texting has impacted people’s ability to actually speak to one another...”

“That was just my personal observation...” Maddie mumbled.

“Yes! You notice things no one else does, sweetheart. You pay attention in a world where everyone else is content to just sit back and wait for information to come to them...you observe. You are honest...when you met me, you had no idea who this lanky goofball was...”

“Not a lanky goofball...a thoughtful, considerate, very handsome man who paid more attention to my well-being than any other man ever has in my life,” Maddie corrected him, picking at one of her many healing abrasions. 

Tom stopped her scratching without even looking. “As I said, so many people are just sitting back, passively waiting to be told what is important, what is attractive...and you are flying high and away over them, darling. The men of London must all be blind fools.” Slowly, he picked up her hand, and brought it to his lips. “I love listening to your thoughts. I wish you’d share more of yourself with me.”

“Tom...there’s not much to tell. I don’t have a gilded background, in fact, it’s fairly a grim story. I used to think if I had any luck at all, it was bad luck...but then, on the very worst day of my life...I met you. So, maybe, just maybe, my luck is turning? If you don’t mind coming to see me, or calling me, every now and again? Because I admit...I would miss you, if you were to just...stop.” Maddie looked down in embarrassment. 

He guided her chin up so she could see the bright smile beaming from his face. “Madeleine, I think you can safely say both of our luck has turned for the better. I promise you, I have no intention of walking away from anyone that makes me smile the way you do.”

Maddie could not be discharged in time for Christmas. Tom was very disappointed when he learned this later that evening. When Maddie went for her PT on the 24th, he and a few of his friends quickly transformed her room from austere to festive by adding a small pre-lit tree and some decorations, including a stocking and setting up a speaker to play Christmas tunes. When she returned, she found the lights in her room dimmed, a Christmas tree twinkling, Tom dressed in a lovely sweater and sharply pressed pants, smiling at her...she couldn’t help the tears that leapt from her stunned, moved heart.

“Thomas...? You did all this...for me?” She knew the question was foolish, but she was so shocked, she couldn’t help it. Never had she had such an experience before. Never had anyone lifted so much as a finger to show her a perfunctory kindness, so the thought someone had planned, then executed this level of a Christmas surprise gift for her would have brought her to her knees if she wasn’t already in a wheelchair.

The orderly escorting her had already disappeared, undoubtedly to spread the word of the lovely moment that was going on in room 5139 B.

Tom approached her quickly, and crouched down. “Darling, you can get around without the chair, yes?”

“Yes, it’s just after PT my muscles are tired so...”

He simply extended his hand, and she took it, rising slowly, legs shaking like a newborn fawn. Carefully, he led her away from the wheelchair, and wrapped his arms around her. “I’ve been longing to give you a hug since I first saw you. I hope you don’t mind my giving you this one now.”

The way Maddie was resting her head on his chest, he didn’t think she did. Her arms were around his waistline, making it natural for Tom to gently hold her figure to him and rest his cheek lightly on the top of her head. “You are very precious to me, Maddie Robillard. I think you are a breathtaking, remarkable, intuitive, beautiful soul residing in this delightful body that needs to be cherished and allowed to heal. Please let me be a part of that.”

She didn’t answer, just took a deep breath, and remained in his arms.

“That’s not a no...” he teased. 

https://open.spotify.com/track/7aEjsTKJKspp01vkeVgeRr?si=r4xZlBPyS7iwgJmiMWZ-ww

Christmas music continued to play in the background. “Christmas Time is Here” from the Charlie Brown television show began to play, and they both began to giggle, which morphed into full blown laughter. Tom guided Maddie into a very careful dance, mindful of her condition.

“‘You know, Santa Claus and ho-ho-ho, and mistletoe and presents to pretty girls...’” Tom mimicked perfectly, waggling his eyebrows. Maddie rolled her eyes indulgently. 

“Good grief,” she responded drily, even as her eyes twinkled. She couldn’t help it. 

Tom helped Maddie back to her bed as he could tell she was at the end of her physical strength. He then produced his next treat, his computer loaded with every Christmas movie he could think of he thought she might enjoy, beginning with the oldest made for television cartoon specials to recent movie releases. There were bags of microwave popcorn, and hot chocolate. Maddie was reduced to just shaking her head in disbelief. 

She was beginning to feel overwhelmed. It was too much, and she didn’t know how to process it all. Not only was this already the best Christmas she already had, but she didn’t even have a gift for the too-good-to-be-true man sitting next to her. In her life, too-good-to-be-true never was, but every one of her hard earned instincts promised he was sincere. Maddie had spent her entire adult life taking things as they came, but Tom was giving her a surfeit of riches. Too much attention. Too much affection. Too much presence...and dear God, her hormones were certainly reaching an all-time high.

He noted how she was not relaxed, nor was she reaching for the popcorn offered. “Maddie? Are you okay? You’re just sitting there...are you hurting, is something wrong, should I get a nurse...” She was taking shallow breaths as she looked at her hands, clenched in fists as her thumbs kept rubbing her index fingers.

“Please...I just need a moment,” she managed.

He was beginning to get worried. “A moment...help me, Madeleine, I don’t know what that means...I’m getting a nurse.”

Before she could object, he was gone.

Maddie’s fortunes were changing for the better, because she was attended by one of the older staff that was neither desirous of Tom’s attentions nor starstruck. “Well, Robillard, what’s going on that’s got that handsome man in a dither...and oh, you’re not looking so well...” Nurse Sarah Howard went to get her equipment, and suggested Tom give them some time alone.

After a exam and a gentle heart-to-heart, the nurse left her charge in search of a few medications, and certain gentleman who needed to be enlightened on a few things. 

Sarah found Tom pacing anxiously in a quiet area of the halls. “Tom? May I speak with you for a moment?”

He responded with the speed he was known for, and that was part of the problem she thought wryly. “Is Maddie all right? Did I do something wrong? Is she overtired? I didn’t think I kept her on her feet for too long but in retrospect...”

Sarah sighed and led him into an unoccupied patient room, then pointed to a chair. “Sit.”

He obeyed as quickly as a well trained hunting dog...or then again, a child brought up run by a religious order, as she had been, she though with a inward smile. “Tom, she is going to be just fine, but you need to understand a few things about Madeleine.”

“Yes, of course,” he swiftly agreed.

“That. That right there,” she pointed at him again.

“What?” He looked around him, puzzled.

“You move very quickly. Right now she needs a little more patience. In a lot of things. You are a very intense man, and I have no doubt when she is back to her prime she is going to keep pace with or even outrun you more like. Women often do,” she sniffed. “But she is tired, in pain, and healing. But more important, you are a bit like a tsunami. Madeline has never had anyone like you in her life. She is used to being marginalized. Ignored. Even exploited. You have showered her with more good things in the past two hours than she has experienced in the last two years...longer. When she add up her physical exhaustion with all that...she is overloaded.”

He bristled at her faintly reproving tone. “All the more reason she deserves to be surrounded by everything she has missed in her life. It’s Christmas Eve. She’s in hospital. I want to give her some Christmas magic...”

“Yes. You want to give her these things. How about you stop for a moment and think about what she would like to receive?” Sarah’s face was undeniably stern.

Tom wilted, his righteous indignation fading. “Should I just go home then? Does she need some space?”

Sarah took a breath, God grant me patience. “Tom, if you left now I think it would break her heart in a way she might never recover...I am just suggesting you stop plying her with everything at once. i know it is Christmas Eve and you want to play Father Christmas...” she trailed off as Tom visibly flinched and he surreptitiously glanced at the clock on the wall. “What. What is...oh, no. No. Tom, you didn’t...He’s not...”

“Well, not now,” he petulantly answered. “It’s nowhere near midnight yet.”

“Thomas Hiddleston, do you mean to tell me that you have arranged for Father Christmas to come to my ward tonight?”

He squirmed. “I...I know people, all right?! And she told me a few days ago Santa Claus never came for her before...”

“And did you ever once think of what kind of commotion and disruption such a visit might cause?”

Tom made a dismissive motion with his hand and head. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that...it’s covered. No one will be the wiser.”

Sarah put her hand on her stomach. “You are not helping your case.”

Completely unrepentant, Tom asked if Maddie was feeing better. Sarah sighed. “Yes. I gave her something for pain, because she worked very hard at her PT today, she is pushing herself...and then she was overwhelmed, as I said. Go easy on the girl, Hiddleston. And by the way, you are way too tall to be an elf!”

Tom replied with a wide grin. “Does somebody need a hug?”

Maddie was resting on her side, facing the door. She was feeling a little floaty in the head, because of the shot Sarah had just dumped in her hip, but also because of what Sarah had just given her to think about—that Tom liked her, and was, in many ways, just an enthusiastic spirit who wanted to deluge her with everything all at once, simply because he could. If she felt it was too much, she needed to grab her big girl panties and say so. Otherwise, he would never know and continue to shower her with everything as he wished until she was either drowning or waterlogged. 

And if she didn’t know how to swim...he needed to know this too. Immediately. Or else he might think she didn’t want to swim, not that she didn’t know how.

Tom poked his head in to find her eyes searching for his.

“No, Maddie, don’t get up.” He reached her side in three quick strides. “I am sorry. I forget how sometimes I am...well...a bit of a whirlwind. In fact, it’s gotten me in trouble in relationships before. You’d think I’d learn, but...” He looked away, unwilling to meet her face, as he reflected on past affairs of the heart that turned into wounds. He so desperately wanted to build a solid foundation in the short periods of time he had available that he threw himself into it with all the fire and energy he did his roles...and yet, that never worked. Too much. Too fast. And then he disappeared, as he must, leaving his other half gasping, then resentful.

She reached out for him.  “Tom, I’d like to see you more as a cloud bringing rain to a desert...I would so love to be able to grow some flowers...but too much rain at once is just going to cause a bit of a mess, yeah?” Her voice was sleepy, but affectionate. “What time is it? It must be getting late. You need to be in bed or else Santa won’t come...”

“Ah, but it’s never specified whose bed I have to be in...” Again, he waggled his eyebrows roguishly. 

“You’re so silly. Aren’t you going to spend Christmas with your family? Seriously, Tom, I don’t wish to get in the way of that.” But as she spoke, Tom noticed she was holding his hand just as securely as ever.

“I told my family I was spending Christmas with you. I told them that awhile ago,” he confessed without shame. “It’s not as late as you think. Would you like to see a movie? Or are you tired, and wish to give it up and call it a night?”

He knew he wasn’t playing fair when he worded it thus. Maddie blinked her eyes deliberately, and he could just see her shaking off mental cobwebs.

“Tom, I would love to watch a movie with you...would you pick your favorite?”

He all but bounced and vibrated as he queued up Elf.

As the end credits rolled, Tom cast a surreptitious look at Maddie. She had been laughing delightedly at the comedy, but he could see that she was disturbed by the aspect of Buddy being the misplaced orphan, and he was kicking himself about it. How stupid and short sighted he had been...Halfway through, Sarah had come in, given Maddie her nightly medications, and sighed that they were going to make her droopy, but it couldn’t be helped, as she looked at Tom significantly.

Now, Tom was sitting next to Maddie on her narrow bed, and she was curled up next him, her head pillowed on his propped up shoulder. When Sarah had spied this, she had rolled her expressive brown eyes again, and brought a cushion for her head. “Bag of bones that man is,” she muttered. Can’t see where you’ll be comfortable otherwise. You’re welcome.”

Mmm, wouldn’t hurt to close my eyes for just a little moment... 

https://open.spotify.com/track/7y2CBABAGfYVvCOvZDc01H?si=MCb3zvZfSz-82YyXq_Z9Qw

Bells.

Why on earth was she hearing...bells?

Maddie could feel that she was sleeping in a very, very unusual position.

For one thing...she was in a man’s arms.

As she began to pull her fragmented wits together, she realized she and Tom must have fallen asleep watching another movie, because her head was still on his shoulder, and his arms were still very much around her, keeping her pressed up against him as he slept, taking in slow, even breaths.

Oh, the dear, ridiculous, foolish man...on Christmas Eve, no less...now to wake him and send him home in the middle of the night? How to do this...and why are there such loud bells in the movie...?

She opened her eyes and tried to move slowly, not to startle Tom. No one liked to be suddenly awakened when in a strange place...

                         And what to her wondering eyes should appear...

There was...a strange man in her room...fiddling with the stocking...dressed in a...red suit...

“Excuse me,” Maddie called out quietly, “But, um...may I help you?”

“Ho, ho, ho...Maddie, girl. You should still be asleep.”

The figure turned around, revealing the face of a veritable Santa Claus.

“Oh, come on,” Maddie coughed. “I didn’t get those kind of drugs. I know I didn’t.”

“Ah, Madeleine Robillard. I have been looking for you a very, very long time. I don’t know why it was so hard to find you, but...” Santa spread his hands wide in a display of helplessness. “Sometimes, things don’t go as they should.”

“Ah...yeahhhh...Listen, uh...I appreciate this, ‘Santa,’ but whatever you are up to, whoever you are, there are tons more people more deserving of whatever you are putting in my stocking than I am, on this very floor, I am willing to bet...so if you would be so kind, would you give them my share? I would consider it my Christmas gift. Truly, I would.”

“Maddie. You’ve been a very, very good girl. All year. In fact, all your life...for all that you are looking at me like I am some fellow off the street corner in a suit rented by the hour. But I understand, of course you don’t believe in me. How could you? I’ve done nothing but let you down. But that stops now.” 

Santa’s voice was rich, like Tom’s...like melted chocolate, but firm. Like a real father’s might be, she thought wistfully. If any of this was real. Which it most decidedly was not.

Tom stirred. “Maddie.” His voice was thick with sleep, but content, and his embrace tightened as she wriggled away from him.

“Tom, you should wake. For one, you cannot be comfortable. You should be home. For another, we have a visitor, and I have no doubt it is no surprise.”

Tom’s eyes flew open. “Maddie, what...?”

“Happy Christmas, Thomas.”

Father Christmas, or Santa, was rather wry as he addressed the lanky man as he struggled to sit up without jostling Madeleine. 

“Uhm...Happy Christmas, sir.” Tom looked at the clock on the wall. “You’re...early?”

“You dare put me on a time schedule, Thomas?”

“No sir, I, um...”

“Tom, honestly. As if you haven’t orchestrated this entire encounter...”

“Maddie...”

“Oh, Madeleine. The term is ‘Doubting Thomas,’ not ‘Doubting Madeleine,’ but once again, I understand.” Santa approached. “Give my beard a good tug. Go on. Or better yet...” With a small wince, he plucked a hair from his flowing white beard, then his head. “Real hair. Not nylon.” He then patted his hand firmly on his rounded abdomen. “That’s all Mrs. Claus’ most excellent cooking, dear one. No stuffing here, unless it has cranberry and walnuts in it, ho ho ho...”

Almost instinctively, Maddie’s forehead wrinkled. “But that’s not healthy. Your joints won’t thank you for it, you know.” She stopped, horrified when she realized she had spoken aloud. “Oh, God...I’m...so sorry, that was so rude, please forgive me, I meant no offense, truly I didn’t—“

Her stammering apology was drowned out by the man’s loud, ringing laughter. “Oh ho, ho, Maddie-girl. Think nothing of it. I know it came from a place of care and love.”

Meanwhile, Tom’s mouth was hanging somewhat open, as he was looking blankly at the clock. And shaking his head, all but counting on his fingers.

“Trouble, Thomas?”

“No, sir.”

“Would you say you have been a good man this year?”

Tom found himself pinned by a pair of bright blue eyes that outstared his own.

“Well, I...”

“Yes, he has.”

Maddie’s voice was resolute.

Both turned to look at her, surprised.

“Maddie, you’ve only known him for a few days of the 365. Perhaps there have been times he was impatient. Arrogant. Perhaps there were opportunities that he let his pride or selfishness get in the way where kindness would have better served the situation, or those around him.”

“Perhaps he is only human. Perhaps I have done the same.”

“Perhaps he has had many more opportunities to do good than you have, and let them slip through his fingers. Perhaps you have done so much more with what you have,” Santa volleyed back sternly, looking back at Tom.

“Perhaps he is right here,” Tom grumbled.

“I cannot argue with you, I am sure,” Maddie deferred to the older gentleman, falling back on her time-old defense of hiding in plain sight rather than begin a quarrel that she was sure not to win in the long run, even if she did in the here and now. “However, in all good conscience if Tom is found to be lacking in character and integrity in your eyes, I do not wish to receive anything you would give me. I cannot speak plainer. I have never given so much to a perfect stranger like he has. I do not speak of gifts. I speak of self. I’ve...” her voice became strained, and Tom promptly reached for her hand, “I can’t remember anyone ever being so kind, being such a friend...and when I needed one the most. Was it luck? fate? that he was behind me? I don’t know, but I’m grateful for it, because nothing so good has ever happened to me before, for all that I’m so banged up, and I don’t have a job, and my car is totaled, and oh my God, I’m going to lose my flat...” Maddie’s voice broke.

Tom now had his arms wrapped around her. “I promise to take care you, Madeleine,” he vowed fiercely. “I know you won’t let me carry you, your pride would beat me like a club...but I won’t let you go under. I’ll help you find a job on your own merits. And I will make sure you heal like you need to...and by God you’ll get compensation for what the drunken sot did to you. I swear it.”

Now it was Maddie’s eyes that were pinning him. “Truly, Tom? You won’t treat me as a charity case and keep giving me things? It’s not that I don’t appreciate everything, I do, but I have to do things on my own. I can’t face myself otherwise.”

Santa nodded approvingly. 

“Good man, Tom. Good man.” Then he looked at the clock. “Goodness. Time does have a way of going on though, doesn’t it? Perhaps the two of you should both be going back to sleep. Maddie. Forgive an old man for losing his way. I hope to have made up for it. Happy Christmas. And Thomas? Keep up the good work...and let bygones be bygones, boy. Let old hurts go. Carrying them around isn’t armor, a shield, or even a wall. It’s just dead weight. Remember that. And sometimes...what looks like the worst luck in your life turns out to be the biggest blessing you can ever imagine.” He nodded almost imperceptibly at Maddie, who was clearly beginning to become limp in his arms as she fought sleep, unsuccessfully. “Rest well, Madeleine Robillard. I will be keeping a special eye on you now that I’ve found you...and catch up on sleep yourself, Thomas Hiddleston. You’re going to have a busy year, methinks.” He gave them both a tender smile, as he could see Tom also struggling against encroaching slumber.

A soft sound of bells lulled them gently into pleasant dreams.

                         Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night.

[winterromanov]

we will grow taller together - bucky x reader

PART ONE - THE GENTLE HUM OF EXISTENTIAL DREAD

parts: zero

Pairing: bucky barnes x reader

Extract: “No. No, what I’m saying is, he needs—they both need—someone. He needs someone to help look after Clover while they both get their lives back on track.” Steve pauses, looking you straight in the eyes. “Someone like you.”

Genre: romance, nanny x single father!AU

Taglist: @blindedbyyourgrace17 @verygraphicink @igotkatiepowers @welcome-to-my-studylife (taglist still open, reply/message to be tagged)

PART ONE

“Next please!”

The queue shuffles along until your face-to-face with yet another tired-looking college student, purple eye-bags visible underneath a pair of circular rimmed glasses. It’s fall dead week and if most of your customers are anything to go by, it certainly lives up to its name. Every single one of the tables spread out on the main floor of Vormir Coffee has been crammed with sleep-deprived teenagers and textbooks, meaning you and your colleagues have been swept off your feet with orders for caffeine products refills. You expect the rush to continue over the next few days as revision turns into actual mid-terms—as is tradition, you’ll be offering free chocolate muffins throughout the week by the door, because nothing heals the pain of a shitty Econ paper like chocolate muffins do.

Yet…as you look in the near-dead, distant eyes of your latest customer, you feel a pang of jealousy deep within your chest. While you’re pouring coffee into refillable mugs and forcing your best service smile (which is a difficult feat nine hours in to a ten hour shift) they’re reading and learning and absorbing.

You miss learning. God, you miss learning, even the terrible impossible chaos of one exam after another and deadlines piling up around you like sandbags. But being, y’know, poor, means there’s not much you can do about your grad school dreams, even if you do spend your free hours searching the internet for outlandish scholarships and funding schemes.

So. For now, it’s coffee. Potentially forever if you want to continue to eat and have electricity, which is just about all you can afford right now. And the occasional lipstick if you’re feeling particularly extravagant.

“What can I get you?” you ask the student, whose scruffy brown hair doesn’t look like it’s been washed in a few days. Oh well. Desperate times require desperate measures. At least you’re not his roommate. He grunts for an inevitable espresso and fishes round his wallet for some spare dollars while you get to work. Moments later you offer him the finished product and he drops the exact change into your hand, skulking away to a table without another word. Well, you’ll forgive a lack of manners during one of the most surreal weeks in the academic year.

“Hey, (Y/N).”

On the announcement of your name your glance flicks back to the remainders of the gradually quietening queue, and your face subconsciously breaks out into a grin when you finally see a customer that doesn’t look like a vacant zombie.

Steve Rogers grins back at you. He’s wearing a beanie over his blonde hair and a warm winter jacket—the temperature was freezing when you practically slid from the subway to work this morning and as the day slowly eclipses into evening, the temperature is falling back down with it. His cheeks are flushed from coming into the warm.

“Hey Steve!” you greet him cheerfully, because seeing an old friend is the perfect way to end a tiring shift. “How are you? How’s Natasha?”

Steve dips his head bashfully, like he always does when he’s asked about himself or his girlfriend. “We’re both great, thanks. What about you? It’s been a while.”

You gesture around you as an answer. Taking all the shifts you possibly can means you probably spend more time in Vormir than your own apartment. From what you can recall Steve has been back in the States for a few weeks after his most recent tour of Afghanistan; him or Natasha keep dropping you invites here and there, but you’ve been working or too dog-tired to accept them. It kind of makes you sad, as you watch your social circle shrink, but being an adult is the worst and staying alive is reasonably important to you.

“That bad, huh?” Steve asks sympathetically. You nod back, dramatically rolling your eyes.

“That bad. Always that bad, Rogers. I’m a slave to consumerism, but don’t let my boss know that.”

Steve laughs, leaning onto the counter. “I actually… (Y/N), when do you finish up here? Do you want get a drink? I’ve just got something I wanted to run by you.”

You narrow your eyes with curiosity. The clock that ticks mercilessly above the door reads six forty-two, so you’ve got less than twenty minutes left of your shift, and the look on Steve’s face is too intriguing to turn down just so you can rush home, open a bottle of cheap white wine and watch Stranger Things on Netflix. Even if you are up to the season three finale.

“I clock off at seven,” you reveal, but you nudge your head in the direction of the remaining customers who are starting to get annoyed at the hold-up. “Grab a seat. I actually have to do my job for a while longer and I’d rather not get fired because you’re distracting me.”

Steve holds his hands up in mock surrender and slowly backs away from the counter, allowing your next customer to slide into his position. You watch as he drops into a two-seater by the window, scrolling through his iPhone, a muted grin tugging at his lips.

-

Steve’s favourite bar is a short walk across town, the kind that is warm and dark and a little bit retro. You’ve been to Endgame before with him and Natasha, and you’d all split quarters so you could play ABBA songs on the Jukebox by the entrance. Right now it’s playing Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac, so it seems today’s patrons have taste.

You grab one of the more private booths through the back while he gets the drinks. You’ve not seen your phone since your lunch break so you take the spare seconds to scroll through your social media—less than an hour ago Natasha’s posted a photo to Instagram, both her and Steve making stupid faces in the living room of the apartment they share. It’s captioned who do I have to kill to make sure you’re not deployed again?

Your heart melts a little. Steve and Nat. Nat and Steve. Two people who have been together for longer than you’ve known them, and they just work so fucking well, two halves of the same coin and all that. Your thumb hovers over the like button for a moment before clicking it, because you’ve never had someone in your life like that. You’ve not found the other half of your coin.

Most days you’re too exhausted to really think about it. But sometimes…something will click in the back of your brain and it dawns on you like an avalanche that this might be your life forever. You’ll be serving coffee forever. You’ll be on your own forever.

Fortunately Steve slides into the seat opposite before you can go into a full-on existential crisis, but you sure as hell know that’s what will inevitably cross your mind when you’re stuck staring at the cracked ceiling of your apartment in bed tonight.

Steve’s smile is concerned as he pushes a desperado in your direction. “You look troubled.”

“When am I not?” you say with a shrug, taking a sip of your drink. The alcohol burns in your empty stomach. You haven’t eaten since lunch—maybe liquor isn’t the best idea, after all. “Anyway. As much as I love seeing you, Rogers, this isn’t just a friendly drop-by is it?”

Steve is drinking some generic American beer. He wipes his lip before speaking. “Yeah. Like I said. There was something I thought I’d run by you.”

“Ominous.” You wiggle your eyebrows. “Are you going to spend the next half an hour or so pushing a pyramid scheme you swear isn’t a pyramid scheme? Because I really didn’t think that was your style.”

“No. Not a pyramid scheme.” He shakes his head in mild disbelief, probably wondering why he’s still friends with you. “It’s more…do you remember my friend? James?” When you look back blankly, he elaborates. “Bucky. Guy I used to go to school with. Dark hair. Lost his arm in Afghan about a decade ago…”

“Oh! Oh. Bucky Barnes. James Barnes.” You feel kind of bad that the arm was what made it click, but you do remember a quiet, well-mannered guy standing in the background of a few of Steve and/or Nat’s social events over the last few years. You’ve never been formally introduced but Steve talks about him every so often, just casual mentions in conversation, nothing detailed. They’d grown up together, trained together, but their career paths parted after Bucky’s car nicked an IED on the outskirts of Kabul. Truly horrifying. “Yeah. Sure. I remember him. What about him?”

Steve grimaces. “Well, it’s a bit…complex, to explain, so I’ll just go straight into it. About seven years ago he met a girl, she got pregnant, they had a daughter.”

“Oh! I never knew he had any kids.”

“Yeah. Clover. She’s six now. Way too smart for her age, really mischievous—doing crazy things like sending vegetables in the post to the grandparents she doesn’t like and reading fucking Frankenstein. Big Mary Shelley fan, to Buck’s sheer delight. Awesome kid.”

You smirk, not sure what any of this has to do with you, but little Clover sounds exactly how you were at her age. “She does sound pretty awesome.”

“But Connie, her mom…she passed away just over a year ago in a really awful car wreck.” Steve’s face falls into a look of heartbreak, empathetic as always. “Her and Bucky haven’t been together for years but they shared custody of Clove, Connie having her a lot of the time.”

You feel something shift in your chest, like shards of glass are pressing in between your ribs. Real loss stories have always been pretty hard for you to digest, regardless of who they belong to. You think about death a lot in, like, an abstract and unreachable kind of way. You think it gives you size, an awareness of your place in the world, the universe. But that’s your own death. You’re kind of comfortable with that one day you will cease to exist. It’s just the people that you care about you fear for. And everybody cares about somebody.

“God, that’s awful, Steve,” you murmur, eyes softening. “Is he looking after her on his own now?”

Steve nods, biting his lip. “Yeah. And he’s not doing too great, (Y/N). It’s not my place to go into details about what goes on in his head, but nobody gets over the trauma he went through and goes back to before. And the loss of Connie and suddenly becoming Clover’s only parent, and her trauma, as well as trying to hold down a full-time job…like Jesus, I’m surprised he can even get up in the morning. Sometimes he doesn’t.”

You ache for Steve’s oldest friend as is only natural, but you’re still at a loss as to where this involves you. You rest your chin in your hands, looking at Steve intently. “It sounds like he’s going through a tough time. I’m really sorry. But is this…any of my business? Because you can always confide in me about things that are on your mind, but this sounds really personal.”

“No. No, what I’m saying is, he needs—they both need—someone. He needs someone to help look after Clover while they both get their lives back on track.” Steve pauses, looking you straight in the eyes. “Someone like you.”

The laugh that erupts from your chest is involuntary, but Steve’s expression is still completely serious. Is he really suggesting what you think he’s suggesting? “What? You’re asking me to be a nanny?”

“I suppose you could call it that.” When you stare at him with disbelief, he rolls his shoulders. “(Y/N). Why is this such an eccentric idea? You hate your job. Buck has a spare room at his place which, no offense, is way nicer than your apartment. You’re great with kids, you’re funny, you’re smart…and you’ve already said you think Clover sounds like an awesome kid. You two would get on great.”

“That’s all irrelevant considering a, I’m not a nanny and have no experience looking after a child in that close and intense an environment. And b, Steve, this is an eccentric idea. Other than the scraps you’ve given me I know absolutely nothing about James, and what the hell does he know about me?” When Steve’s face looks a little guilty, you roll your eyes. “Oh my god. Steve. James hasn’t even said he wants a nanny has he? He doesn’t even know you’re asking me this.”

“This would be so good for him,” Steve half-pleads, puppy dog eyes engaged, “He’s fussy about strangers and Clover, but he knows you through me. He’ll trust my judgement.”

“Steve. You can’t just go making decisions like that! This is insane.”

(Steve has a habit of thinking he knows what’s best, for himself or other people, and rampaging down that path in the pursuit of a happy ending. Sometimes people don’t need his version of a happy ending.)

Steve eventually relents, relaxing back in his seat. He’s forgotten you’re not usually one for blindly going along with one of his Heroic Schemes, preferring a more idealistic approach. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll discuss it with him first. But I think you should come along when I do that.”

“Steve.”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, but I think you should meet them both properly. You could be a good friend to him either way. It wouldn’t hurt, (Y/N). Maybe it would be good for you too.”

God, you’re way too done for this shit, your legs aching from a day of being constantly on your feet and dead inside from getting up at six this morning. Steve is not the kind of guy to give up on something he’s clearly passionate about in his quest for the greater good, and this point it is just easier to agree to his requests. Even though his idea is way too bizarre for anyone normal to actually accept.

Being a live-in nanny for a guy you barely know and his daughter, both of whom have just lost someone extremely significant in their lives? And him being totally unaware that his best friend is proposing a job he has no authority to give? Yeah, fuck that.

Steve is right about one thing, though. You do really, really hate your horrible job.

When you reluctantly nod, and Steve grins, you jab a finger in his direction. “Like you said. It means nothing. This is weird as hell, but you’re super annoying when you don’t get your own way, and I’m totally allowing you to receive all the backlash when it backfires.”

“I think I can deal with that.” He gestures at your empty bottle. “Want another drink?”

The alcohol has made your body a little lighter, but your stomach growls loudly in argument. Instead, you clamp your hands on the table. “No, but you can buy me a pizza. It’s the least you can do for me, weirdo.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, used to your directness. “Pizza it is, then.”

Okay, so maybe Steve Rogers is the most annoying person in the world, and maybe his aggressive selflessness in the hope of doing right for his friends will eventually be his downfall, but he’s usually a pretty nice guy. You sometimes forget that you’re lucky to have him.

[hiddendreamer67]

Sorcerers of Sanderly Place (pt. 2)

Summary: Patton is the youngest in a long line of cafe-owning vampires. When one of their rival owners comes over to scope out the place, a handsome young wizard no less, Patton doesn’t think twice before inviting Logan into his home. 

Check out more of my writing at @hiddendreamerwriting!

(Check my reblog for links to the previous parts and the taglist)

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If Patton had a heartbeat, he was certain it would be one so fast that his heart would surely leap right from his chest. The young vampire felt incredibly nervous, guiding Logan down to his bedroom. He knew his family was watching him, likely thinking he had finally decided to partake in some mortal prey. They had been bugging him for centuries to settle down and properly suck a human’s blood. Thankfully, all the coffee scents in the shop above had masked Logan’s magical aura, or else Patton would have never even made it down the stairs.

Wizards were a vampire’s greatest enemy. They liked to hunt down vampires and would love to send a stake through Patton’s heart or send him to prison for eternity. As it turns out, eternity is quite a long time when you actually live that long.

Was Logan armed? Patton realized he should have checked before leading the wizard down into his home. Then again, Patton had a habit of acting with his heart rather than his brain. Besides, Patton couldn’t blame Logan for coming prepared- after all, not many vampires had souls like himself. Most were bloodthirsty killers just like the wizarding world feared.

“Well, here we are.” Patton announced, opening the door. It was the first time he had shown anyone his room in several hundred years, and Patton was now nervous for a multitude of reasons.

“…oh.” Logan said, staring around in surprise.

Patton gave an awkward chuckle. “I take it’s not what you expected?”

“Well, I did not have time to adequately prepare a hypothesis, but upon second evaluation, it suits you.” Logan gave a slow turn in the middle of the room. The walls were a bright blue, and the room could almost be taken for that of a human child if not for the Birch-wood coffin pressed against the back wall. Logan approached it, softly running his fingers along the white velvet lining.

“Thanks.” Patton gave a proud sort of smile, closing the door to keep Logan’s scent from wafting up. He absolutely reeked of alchemy.

“Is it not claustrophobic to rest in a coffin?” Logan asked, and as he turned back to Patton the vampire could see more questions brimming behind his eyes. Patton knew he wouldn’t be able to help but answer every single one, in the hopes of seeing Logan smile again. Wow, Patton had really fallen fast this time, huh? Usually it took Patton at least a year to build up a crush this strong. But then again, the men of the past didn’t have Logan’s eyes.

“Not really, no.” Patton shrugged, sitting cross-legged on one of his high-rise stools. They were quite nice for perching on when Patton felt like reverting to bat form. “I’m a deep sleeper. Dead as a door-nail.”

“Is that a fact or another pun?” Logan squinted.

“A bit of both.” Patton laughed. “So, I take it wizards don’t have any fancy bedding of their own?”

“No particular magic traditions, no.” Logan confirmed. “Although in our youth my brother and I shared a bunk bed.”

“Oh, I’ve always wanted to do that.” Patton sighed wistfully. “Ever since humans invented them I always thought it was such a fun idea.”

“Were you around for their invention?” Logan seemed surprised, and Patton could see him trying to recall when bunk beds were invented.

“Yup!” Patton gave a playful grin. This was always one of his favorite parts, when boys tried to figure out his age. “I think that was back in the 60’s or so.”

“The 1960’s?”

“The 1460’s.” Patton corrected, watching Logan’s eyes turn into wide saucers. Patton outright laughed, amused by the adorable bewildered expression on the wizard’s face.

“You’re…” Logan paused, clearly doing rapid calculations in his mind. “…five hundred and sixty years old?”

“Older, actually.” Patton teased, never once having given away his actual age. Logan observed him again, and for a moment Patton worried that his age might drive the cute mortal away.

“…you’re quite attractive for your age.” Logan said finally, causing Patton to laugh again. The young vamp hoped his cheeks didn’t appear as pink as they felt from Logan’s compliment.

“Vampires mature more slowly than humans.” Patton was quick to explain. “I’m not full grown yet, that’s why my fangs haven’t grown in.” Patton opened his mouth, his tongue running along the human-esque teeth.

“I was wondering about that.” Logan admitted, sitting on a stool next to Patton as he inspected his teeth to confirm.

“They’re due to grow in soon.” Patton explained, closing his mouth again. He watched Logan subconsciously rub at his neck, and Patton couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt. “I still won’t bite, though.”

Logan quickly returned his hand to his side, unable to hide the tremor in his voice. “Ah, how does b-blood, ahem, blood transfer work for you creatures?”

Patton winced, not fond of being called a creature. “Well, most vampires just take directly from the source. My parents included, sometimes, but we don’t suck anyone dry. That can be lethal, or turn someone as well. I am against that  and drink blood substitutes, like animal blood. Recently I’ve also taken to blood bags donated from different facilities who want to help our kind. There’s a bit of pressure from my family, however, because while my methods are fine for a baby bat, everybody wants me to find ‘real’ prey once my fangs come in. I’ve been very firm about that though, and the topic has been dropped for the past several years.”

“Is your resistance to direct human blood perhaps a consequence of your humanity being retained after you were turned?” Logan suggested.

“Oh, I wasn’t turned.” Patton corrected. “I was born a vampire. We’re rare, but I’m not the only one.”

“Intriguing.” Logan leaned forward. “Do all vampires communicate with each other?”

“No, not everybody, although we’re mostly aware of each other.” Patton shrugged. “I’ve traveled around a lot with my family, and met vampires of… all kinds. Other supernatural beings as well. Not many wizards though, and I’ve certainly never had one come so close.”

“What makes me special then?” Logan asked, and suddenly Patton was hyper aware of how close they were. When had he leaned in to meet Logan? The two of them were practically nose to nose, but Patton saw no fear behind Logan’s glasses, only unbridled curiosity.

“Well…” Patton found his words drifting off, unable to vocalize the way Logan made him feel. The way that little twitch of his eyebrow indicating Logan was waiting for an answer only sent a thrill up Patton’s spine. He wanted to run his fingers through Logan’s hair, which would be so inappropriate for having just met and yet already Patton felt his hand lifting of its own accord. What would Logan’s lips feel like against his own? Patton found his mind wandering as he imagined pulling Logan closer-

“PATTON!”

Patton jumped, separating quickly from the wizard and turning on his stool to face the pounding on his bedroom door. His face was beet red, both embarrassed about what he had almost done and terrified that he had forgot to lock the door. “Y-yeah?”

“Hurry up darling, we need you for the lunch rush.” That was his mother. She was not a patient woman.

“Coming!” Patton dashed over to his desk, pulling out a quill and cursing quietly when the ink would not flow as quickly as Patton’s superhuman limbs could twitch.

“Perhaps that is my queue to leave.” Logan stood up, only for Patton to suddenly be putting a hand on his chest.

“Wait.” Patton insisted, flapping the card so it would dry faster. He felt bad, having clearly startled Logan with his speed. “Sorry. Um, here.”

Logan took the card, glancing down at the numbers scrawled. “…you have a telephone number?”

Patton laughed, once again amused by Logan’s queries. “Just because I lived through the middle ages doesn’t mean I’m stuck in them, you know.”

“I apologize for my ignorance.” Logan corrected, fanning the card once more before placing it in his pocket.

“Don’t; you’re cute.” Patton booped Logan’s nose, a jolt of happiness running through him when he got that adorable bewildered expression again and wasn’t driven away. “I was thinking maybe you’ll give me a call at a later hour, and we can go somewhere besides my bat-chelor pad.”

Logan took a moment to digest Patton’s pun. “That was atrocious.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Patton teased, slipping his hand once again into Logan’s own. “Here, you can go out the back exit. I doubt my parents will take too kindly to you.”

“There’s a back exit?” Logan said, seeming unfazed by the implication that Patton’s parents were still bloodthirsty killers.

“We’re vampires living on the same street as wizards, of course there’s a back exit.” Patton realized a moment too late that meant perhaps he shouldn’t be showing Logan this passageway, but as he moved the bookcase Patton found he didn’t care. He trusted Logan. More importantly, he liked Logan. A lot. Patton hadn’t felt butterflies this strong in centuries.

“Just around this corner.” Patton pointed, not wanting to risk getting caught in the sunlight on the street.

“Thank you.” Logan took a step forwards, but Patton continued to hold him still by the wrist.

“Sorry, I just…” Patton paused, not sure what he wanted to say but knowing he didn’t want Logan to go. “I’m being silly, but I feel like I miss you already.” And now you’re being desperate. Patton cringed, scolding himself. You’re just going to fall for another mortal and get your heart broken all over again.

Logan was quiet. Then, he took a step forward, leaning forwards to plant a kiss on Patton’s cheek. The vampire gasped, immediately releasing Logan’s wrist to cradle his cheek as if to confirm that happened.

“I understand how you feel.” Logan said softly, before disappearing around the corner.

[littlejeanniebean]

Ep. 3 | The Marauders: Riddle Records

A/N: “Come to the dark side. We have a solo career.” - Tom Riddle Jr., probably. On a lighter note, I can just see them backstage like this by the lovely artist @theimpossiblefifth​. Read on AO3 :) Enjoy! - J xx

One look in your eyes

I can read your mind

 You're naughty, my type

Care for a good time?

You could be just like all your high society friends at high tea

You could get with a football player

But there’s nothing like a shot of adrenaline in the morning

You know you want a dragon slayer

“Like me,” James mouthed seductively to the camera and winked.

“I’m Alice Fortescue, these wonderful lads are The Marauders, thank you for joining us this Saturday Night Live!” the actress grinned widely as the camera backed away.

The boys all gathered around her in a group hug.

“Holy shit! That was incredible!” Obviously, this was Sirius speaking.

“You were wonderful, honey,” a low voice whispered.

A smiling man with sweet eyes and a mop of dark hair put his arms around Alice.

“Oh, everyone, this is my boyfriend, Frank!” the bubbly actress grinned widely, “He’s a photographer for GQ.”

“Sick!” James shook his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Frank; lovely working with you, Alice; hope you’ll both come to one of our shows sometime, ta-ta!” Sirius practically dragged the band away before anyone could say anything more.

“What was that?” Remus tutted at his boyfriend.

“Yeah, ta-ta?” the bespectacled boy wiggled his nose to adjust his glasses that had gone askew, “Who says that?”

“Not what I meant,” the pale, mousy-haired boy shrugged off his suit jacket in their shared dressing room.

“Look, I’ll explain later!” Sirius pleaded, “Just hurry up and let’s get the hell -”

“Yoo-hoo! Siri!” a warbling, high-pitched voice giggled on the other side of the door, “This is their room here, Tommy...”

“Christ,” the dark-haired boy covered his face with his hands. 

“We’ll deal with Bella,” James set his jaw and turned to the other two, “Ready?”

Remus and Peter rolled up their dress shirt sleeves and nodded.

The trio filed out of the dressing room, forcing Bella Black and her friend backward, and immediately shut the door behind them.

“He doesn’t want to see you or any of your family again, Bella,” said James sternly, giving the show's new cameraman the stink-eye for good measure. 

Bella stuck her tongue out childishly. 

Her guest grimaced and offered his hand to the boys, “I’m sorry about her. She overheard I was interested in speaking with you young talents and… well, it got a bit out of hand. I’m Tom Riddle, of Riddle Records.” 

Really, the man with chiseled features and dark slicked back hair wasn’t much older than they were. But he was dressed more expensively than they could ever be comfortable with, even with the fresh success of their debut album.

“You’re Senior’s kid,” James nodded, his mother being an agent in the industry. He noted just the smallest flinch at the mention of the man's father. “With all due respect, we already have a label.”

“A label that has you locked into a contract as a group,” Tom gave them each his card and presented James with another one for Sirius, “We would pay any fees associated with breaking your current contract, then we would launch your solo careers - James as the pop prince, Sirius as the rock and roll bad boy, Remus as the R&B god, and Peter as the jazz legend!”

“We’re better musicians together,” said Remus.

Tom leaned in, “Your success now, quadrupled. Plus the potential for high-engagement collaborations among you. The freedom to create in your own style on top of that. Imagine it. And give me a call.”

"Ta-ta," Bella blew them each a kiss in a way that could only be described as menacing. When they were out of the boys' earshot she simpered, "You're such a clever businessman, Tommy."

"Don't call me that," he yanked his arm away and pressed his phone to his ear irritably, "I found us some new business and laid the groundwork. Can I have my allowance now?" 

The Marauders flew back to Scotland that night and rehearsed for months until they were ready to drop before flying back to LA for Night One. 

“Nervous?” Sirius whispered while they waited for their opening act, DJ Dedalus Diggle, to finish his set.

“Why would you ask me that?” James huffed, adjusting his bright red tie for the umpteenth time. 

“You need more glitter,” Molly patted his cheekbones lightly with her pointer finger, which was covered in the golden stuff.

“Five minutes, boys!”

“Thanks, Arthur!” Remus spoke for them all.

“We’ve got this, Jimbo!” Peter bounced excitedly on his heels.

“Easy for you to say. You’ve been performing at recitals since you were big enough to reach the keys from the bench.”

“The jitters never get old,” his baby-faced friend told him, “but we’re all going out there. And with everything we do together, we always have fun.”

James nodded to himself and made sure to check on their drummer for the tour, “You good, Kingsley?”

The man in a rose-red disco suit twirled the sticks deftly in his hands, “Let’s do this.”

“... and now, Los Angeles,” Diggle hyped the crowd, “give it up… for The Marauders!”

The lights went up and the boys looked out at the incredibly emotional fans who’d come to see them.

“Right,” James whispered, reaching for the microphone with shaking hands, “A-one, two, three.”

I don’t have a lot of time

I’m running for my dear life

Can’t breathe without you by

Aye aye aye

It’s a full house

But I’ll seek you out

It’s a wild crowd

But I’ll seek you out

I don’t know how

But I’ll seek you out

James couldn’t help grinning ear to ear as Sirius broke out into his guitar solo.

Remus pointed out a sign that said, “Marry me, James Potter!”

The lead singer laughed and spoke into his mic, “Well, will you buy me dinner first, at least?” 

The girl promptly fainted.

Arthur was by her side immediately to make sure she was alright.

“Oh, dear, you’ve hit your head,” Molly crouched down beside him and handed the young girl an ice pack.

The red-headed manager got his first good look at the videographer and her multi-pocketed fishing vest and cargo pants.

She noticed him staring, “I’ve known these boys a long time. You never know what you’re going to need.”

“Good advice,” he helped her and the fan back up in one go, “I’m Arthur.”

“Molly,” she grinned, hoisting her camera back onto her capable shoulders and focused back in on James.

Under your spell, I like how you play it

Keeping it cool is so overrated

Waiting on you, every breath bated

Hey hey hey

They played LA two more nights before moving on to San Francisco. Then Vegas, then Seattle, and across the rest of the continent, all the way to New York.

“Madison Square Garden,” James swallowed, taking in the iconic jumbotron above their heads and the entire stadium, really.

Just three hours later, he was up on that very stage, sweat trickling down his back and the bridge of his nose as he sang his heart out about a funny story the designer, Lily Evans once related about her sister via Instagram post.

There’s a little house on Privet Drive

Where nothing ever happens

Little curtain twitcher of a wife

And a little boy and husband

But when they leave for their nine to five

And the little boy goes to school

The little old lady with cats ninety-nine

Does what she wills to do

Living next to ordinary no. 4

So much to do, so much to explore

The grocer down the street from me

His daughter left for university

And he needs the comfort of my tabbies

Yessiree, that’s what I’m here for

Your neighbour next to ordinary no. 4

After that, they went all over South America. The streets were typically too narrow to drive a tour bus around, so they often jetted from one country to another and rented a little convoy of minivans to take them to the arenas from their hotels and back.

“Shit, Petey’s got food poisoning!” Remus fussed over the poor boy.

“I’m fine! Really!” the blond insisted before doubling over and retching once more.

“I can fill in,” DJ Diggle adjusted his signature flat cap, “I have all your songs pre-recorded -”

“We have half an hour to get it out of his system!” Sirius declared determinedly, “We’re not going on without you, Pete!”

“I’ve got the doctor!” Arthur came in, followed closely by a middle-aged woman with apple cheeks and curly hair.

“You need to replace your fluids,” Molly handed Peter a bottle of electrolytes.

“Yeah, it’s a common bacterial infection going around among tourists,” said the doctor, giving him a dose of antibiotics, “He’s not in any shape to perform, you lot, so you might as well let him rest.”

“I can - oh,” Peter ran to the bathroom.

“How soon can you give him another dose of that?” Sirius asked anxiously.

“Not any time in the next half hour,” she narrowed her eyes at him, apparently having overheard his earlier proclamation.

“Poppy’s right,” said Arthur, “Peter’s health comes first. Dedalus, isolate the keyboards in every track and queue the set list.”

“Try to keep in time,” Sirius added.

“No improvising for tonight, lads,” Arthur warned the regular band members.

“But -” 

“I’m serious.”

“And so am I!” he could only maintain a straight face for two and a half seconds after he said this.

James sighed as they waited for the DJ to introduce them half an hour later, “It’s not going to be the same without Peter.”

“We’ll make the best of it, Jimbo,” Remus assured him, “and he’ll be back with us for the next one.”

The frontman set his jaw, pushed his glasses up his face and pulled the microphone to his lips.

Do you remember

The games we used to play

Mermaids underwater

Aliens in outer space

Do you remember

The sticks we’d raise aloft

We called them swords and never

Lost the battles that we fought

Peter was back on stage the next night, to much celebration and all too soon, they flew back across the pond for their European leg. Of course, their first stop was Scotland.

“It’s so good to be home,” James sighed happily, pausing to wipe his glasses on the hem of his shirt and winking at a girl who lost it at the sight of his abdomen, “This is our last song. Please join in if you know the words. Or make them up. Just have a good time. Be as loud as you want to. We love you all, thank you for everything you’ve done for us. We’re the luckiest boys in the world.”

Is there a risk to it?

Is it a challenge?

If there isn’t, if it isn’t, I don’t want it

Yeah, I wanna do some damage

I feel lucky tonight

I got you by my side

Seven days in a week

And you spend them with me

So hell yeah, I feel lucky

"That sounds really good, Pete," said James from where he lay on the floor of their stage after the arena emptied, "We could use that."

Peter chuckled, "It's Chopin. A waltz."

James ambles over and his friend makes room for him on the bench.

"It's a split C chord, then F, A flat..." he guides him through the song. It's out of time and messy, but they're having fun. "James…"

"Yeah, Pete?"

"What are we going to do about Tom Riddle's offer? I mean, his dad’s label practically owns half the music industry. And Castle is just this little independent… He could make our lives more difficult than he already has." 

"Unless we join him, you're thinking?" 

"We could ask Arthur to negotiate a group contract just the same. I doubt they'll dislike the idea of paying less upfront."

"But what about loyalty to everyone at Castle? McGonagall? Urquart?" James shook his head, "We're having a successful tour in spite of the ticket bots Riddle set on us. We're looking out into seas of fans all wearing our merch in spite of his shipment hijacking. And we're having bloody good time because we're not letting any of the homophobic slander he's fueled the press with get to us."

"Here, here!" cheered Sirius, clinking his beer bottle with his boyfriend's.

"Right, rest up, lads! You deserve it with all the work you put into this show," James stood and ambled back to the tour bus, where Shacklebolt was already sleeping soundly, being the earliest riser of them all.

“Goodnight, all!” Peter loved his friends, truly. But he was convinced their stubborn sense of the meaning of courage would do them a great disservice.

As always when confronted with a decision to make, he visited the only jazz bar in Scotland, the Leaky Kettle. Immediately upon stepping inside, he let the smooth piano carry away the stress. 

“The usual,” he told the bartender.

“Put it on my tab,” Tom Riddle swivelled around on the bar stool, "Fancy meeting you here."

"You mean you didn't expect to? Didn't plan it?" Peter received his drink with barely more than a sideways glance at their adversary.

"It's just business, Peter. I know you understand that."

"Then why go through all this trouble for one act? There must be thousands - hundreds of thousands - of talented artists who could make you rich."

Tom rolled his eyes, "My father was always… a bit single-minded. He wants to put me through my paces before handing me the keys to the kingdom, so to speak. But don’t worry about that. Just know this: I think your group is talented and I can see that you’re the musical glue holding it all together. You’re the only one with any formal training, after all. And I really can see to your career’s longevity. If you stick with this boyband too long, though…” 

Peter raised his eyebrows, “Then what?”

“Well,” the label executive leaned in, “then you’ll need to think about what that does to your image as a real, serious musician.”

The blond boy finished his drink. 

“Another one for my friend,” Tom told the bartender, took his jacket, and left.

His calling card sat heavy in the keyboardist’s wallet.

[yogaposesfortwo]

4 Ways to Awaken your Creativity

Despite the title, what you’re close to read is way more about not doing, than doing. Today, many folks are experts at doing. We check tasks, reply to emails, schedule social events and infrequently spend each day without documenting some aspect of our lives on social media. All of this achieving sends messages to the brain that give us a touch hit of dopamine and adrenaline – we feel a way of happiness and pleasure that we’re achieving, and we’re amped-up to try to to more… The thing is, all this doing means we tend to spend much of our time during a reactive and restricted state of mind, with a narrowed perspective on life and a diminished ability to use our creativity. Creativity, it seems, needs space. It needs freedom, and if we will tap into our creative power, research shows we’re likely to feel less stressed and more relaxed, we’re likely to return up with new and interesting ideas, more efficiently problem-solve, and begin feeling far more present with each moment. Search online for ‘creativity’ and you’ll see countless YouTube videos on ‘How To Be More Creative’. in fact however, we have already got an abundance of creativity bubbling away within us, it’s just usually covered over by being ‘busy’ and getting to to-do-list-type tasks. We are already creative, we just got to create the space for it. Pause for Creativity Running on the treadmill of lifestyle often means we’re stuck in habits and states of mind that leave little room for creativity. In an age when time is money, and dalliance is actually a modern-day sin, allowing time to pause and for the mind to wander are some things many folks probably attempt to stop ourselves doing. It seems however, that pausing and even day-dreaming is that the exact action that permits us to tap into creative energy. In a discussion with the Dalai Lama , Eckhart Tolle uses football to elucidate the need of pausing. He says that the likelihood of a player scoring a goal during a penalty shootout is dramatically increased once they take a flash to pause before kicking the ball, as against the players who reactively attempt the goal as soon because the whistle is blown. This moment of pausing allows us to attach to a ‘non conceptual intelligence’ and a ‘deep, intensely alive stillness’, redirecting attention faraway from the specified outcome (which we've no control over) and therefore the specialise in ‘I, me, my’ (the ‘ego’) . Tolle says that this deeper reservoir of awareness is where all true creative power resides. to seek out this for yourself, try pausing before launching into an ingenious task, taking regular breaks to pause throughout the day, and spending time in un-structured quietness, taking note of the deeper awareness within. Go for a Walk Whilst stillness may be a powerful thanks to hook up with creativity, walking is additionally referred to as one among the foremost creativity-enhancing practices there's . Researchers at Stamford university found that taking a walk boosts creativity by about 60%, and lots of of the world’s most famous creatives like artist Picasso , writer Henry David-Theroux, composer Beethoven, and writer Woolf were loyal to their daily walks. Woolf’s walks in London were said to offer her great inspiration, and she or he often walked for hours in London parks. What these successful artists also had in common was that nearly all of them stopped working to enjoy dinner with family and friends – no phones or out-of-hours emails! once they worked, they worked, and once they chose to prevent , they really stopped, which allowed time for his or her brains and bodies to re-set before another day of creativity. to spice up your own creativity, try taking a daily walk without the interruptions of technology, emails social media. Get Into The Flow State The ‘flow state’, also referred to as being ‘in the zone’, is described as a state of being ‘fully immersed during a feeling of energised focus, full involvement, and delight within the process ’. The word absorption may be a pretty accurate thanks to rdescribe the flow state, and it’s likely you experience this without realising whenever you’re engaged with certain tasks. Being during a state of ‘flow’ has been characterised as having the subsequent components in combination: Intense concentration on this moment Actions and awareness merge Loss of reflective self-consciousness A sense of private control over things Altered sense of your time Experiencing the activity as being meaningful and rewarding Being so absorbed within the experience that other needs become negligible When of these experiences are combined, we seem to encounter what many yogis describe as deep states of meditation; where the sense of ‘I, me, my’ disappears, and we’re fully immersed within the here and now . we will experience a ‘flow state’ with any activities that need focus which we enjoy, like running, playing an instrument, knitting, practicing yoga, writing, playing a sport, cooking or gardening. within the flow state, the mind is released from its usual day-to-day functioning, and Alpha brainwaves are most dominant. Alpha brainwaves are the frequency between the conscious and subconscious , also present during deep relaxation. This state allows those often original and artistic thoughts to occur that appear to ‘come out of nowhere’. Change the Scenery to Awaken your Creativity If you would like to feel differently and spark new, creative ideas, try taking a visit somewhere different, walking a special route, or just changing where you would possibly sit to figure from home. Our brains form habits quite easily, and we’re triggered by external queues all the time without even realising it. An example of this is often the space you practice yoga in, or maybe your yoga mat; once upon a time, you actively chose the space you practiced in, and you made a choice on which mat or set of props you were getting to use. Now, once you step into your practice space or get on your mat, you start to trigger all the thoughts and sensations you've got about yoga. Your external environment flips a switch in your internal environment. This also happens once you walk into your kitchen within the morning and automatically start making a cup of coffee, or once you open your laptop and instantly attend check your emails. The more we repeat these habits, the more we shape how our mind works. As you'll have experienced during lockdown however – doing an equivalent thing a day can start to lose its enjoyment! To awaken your creativity, change your external scenery, and along an equivalent lines – try experimenting with different sorts of yoga, different guided meditations, or interacting with new movement practices you’ve never tried before! Author: Emma Newlyn Source: https://www.yogamatters.com/blog/4-ways-to-awaken-your-creativity/ Discover more info about Yoga Poses for Two People here: Yoga Poses for Two Read the full article

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Thirty-One: An Accessory ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura ] [ SasuHina, NaruSaku ] [ Verse: A Light Amongst Shadows ] [ AO3 Link ]

When it comes to her appearance, Hinata has always stuck to the basics. Never has she been the sort of girl to dress up or look flashy. If anything, she’s more comfortable and content to blend into the background. Whether it’s her no-effort hair (unless she gets a wild hare to put it up in a ponytail), baggy clothes (she’s not keen on being too straightforward given her body shape), or her lack of accessories, she simply keeps herself low-maintenance.

In a way, she envies the other girls her age. Ino has always been so fashion conscious. With hardly any effort, she can put together an ensemble that sweeps people off their feet. Glamor without going overboard. Even her hair is more lustrous than Hinata’s own: the long golden tail is far more eye-catching than Hinata’s plain dark locks. Sakura’s choppy, rosy strands get more attention despite their lack of upkeep, too.

Sometimes, she wishes she could be pretty. Be out there. But between her self-conscious nature, and shyness at being noticed, she’s not sure she could ever actually handle putting any more effort into her appearance. The dual feelings of wanting attention and yet being leery of it can be rather...depressing.

But, in the end, she keeps to her typical habits. She’s been this way all her life, after all. Why change? It’s not like there’s anyone she wants to attract, anyway. Naruto, after all, has always set his gaze elsewhere...and her actions never swayed that. Not enough, at least. Already it’s evident he and his female teammate are romantically involved...even if neither has the heart to tell her.

She remembers the rosette offering the possibility of seeking companionship with her own teammates: Kiba, or maybe Shino. And yet, that idea wrinkled the Hyūga’s nose. For quite some time, the pair have been far more like family...like older brothers that both tease and bolster her, snapping at anyone who gives her trouble. She’s not sure she could ever set that aside and attempt to have something...more with either of them. It just wouldn’t feel right.

Beyond that...she really has no clue.

But Fate has different ideas...and starts placing someone specific in front of her.

It started with the whole of team seven. Sasuke, newly returned for his brother’s reappearance, begrudgingly spent time with them...even if that meant mostly being a third wheel as Naruto and Sakura get a bit involved with one another’s company.

And given her friendship with the pair, that often left Hinata as wheel number four. At first, she thought little of it. Having been made privy to Sasuke’s circumstances due to mutual acquaintances, she already knew much of what had transpired in his past...and how it still affected his present. In the same vein, she was one of the few able to understand...and willing to move on. True, the pair had been relative strangers before he left, but if anything that served in her favor. Sasuke held no ill will against her. They had a fresh slate from which to start.

And then came the alliance with the Hyūga. As Itachi’s future hung in the balance with his prior convictions held over his head, it was the other dōjutsu clan that was called for help. But her bloodline have always been shrewd...and then arranged for an alliance. Sasuke had rebelled against the idea, but eventually acquiesced at Itachi’s urging.

Thus, Hinata and Sasuke seemed almost unable to get away from each other. She served as the liaison between the two clans...mostly because it was she the Uchiha knew (and tolerated) best.

With that, Hinata conceded, and accepted that she and Sasuke were simply apt to bump into each other more often than not.

Like today, for example.

Yet again, Naruto and Sakura have invited them both out for a day of catching up. Naruto has been busy learning under both Tsunade and Kakashi. Sakura has been gearing up to take a leading position in the hospital. Hinata’s work with her clan and the Uchiha has kept her busy, as it has Sasuke. So the four have had little time left over to simply spend together.

So, they’ve taken to wandering an outdoor market. The weather is fine, not too hot yet, and they peruse the goods alongside a small crowd of people. The more boisterous pair are at the front, Sakura openly ogling as Naruto looks sadly to his frog wallet. Behind them, the others aren’t really as interested, mostly just taking in the sights. Sasuke isn’t one much for stuff, and Hinata’s frugal habits mean avoiding most anything not terribly necessary.

“Ooh, Hinata! Look at this!”

Attention caught as Sakura waves her over, Hinata steps up and takes a peek.

“Isn’t it beautiful? It looks just your style!”

An ornate hair clip - silver adorned with white doves - rests atop a small stand, gleaming in the light. Hinata’s eyes go a little wide. It is extremely pretty...and also very expensive. “Oh, well...I-I’ve never really worn hair a clip before…”

“Don’t you have that dove print kimono? You could wear it to the matsuri next month! It would be so perfect, Hinata! Don’t you think?”

“W-well, I…”

“You should get it.”

At once, all three of the others turn to look at Sasuke. Blank-faced, he looks back. “...what?”

“Didn’t think you’d have an opinion about hair clips, Sasuke,” Naruto muses, a brow perking.

“Am I not allowed to?”

“Well, no, but…”

“I-I’m not sure if I should spend the money,” Hinata quickly cuts in, not wanting to spark one of the boys’ many arguments. “It is very pretty, but...I don’t really need it.”

“Aww, boo,” Sakura replies, lips pursing in a pout. “It would go so well with that outfit!”

“Yeah, well...m-maybe next time.”

With that, Sakura shrugs and moves to the next booth, Naruto right on her tail. Hinata can’t help a small sigh of relief.

“...do you like it?”

“Eh?” Turning as Sasuke speaks, Hinata blinks at him. “W...what?”

“The hair clip. Do you like it?”

“Well, I...I guess I do, but -”

“I could get it for you.”

Flustered color quickly blooms in Hinata’s face. “Oh, n-no! Sasuke-kun, please don’t. It’s so expensive, and -”

“But you want it.”

“I...I said I like it, not that...I want it.”

The Uchiha perks a brow. “...what’s the difference?”

“Well...I can like something but not want to get it. I don’t, um...I don’t really wear hair clips, anyway. I wouldn’t use it enough to justify the cost.”

That doesn’t seem to clarify much for him, but Sasuke doesn’t push the issue. “...all right then.” With that said, he keeps walking, Hinata following suit...with just one last little backward glance to the clip.

No, Hinata...you don’t need it. Leave it alone.

By the end of the day, it completely slips her mind. There’s far more important things to worry about, after all. Embroiled back into her work, she forgets about the little exchange entirely, and life goes on.

And then, the matsuri arrives.

As per usual, the four of them agree to go together. By then, it’s long since been accepted (and explained) that Naruto and Sakura are, indeed, an official couple. Though a bit somber about it at first, Hinata quickly finds herself glad for them. Happy that Naruto’s affections are finally returned, and that her friends have someone to rely on.

Though it does make for the typical arrangement of Hinata and Sasuke feeling more like tagalongs than part of a group…

Sighing lightly to herself, Hinata brushes back hair behind her ear as they wait in line at a food stall. Naruto is having difficulty choosing, which is holding up the queue.

“...Hyūga.”

“Hm?” Turning, she startles a bit as Sasuke holds out a piece of folded cloth. “...um -?”

“Here.”

Blinking, she accepts, feeling something within the fabric. A few tugs later, she brightens. “...Sasuke-kun, you…?”

“I knew you wanted it, so I got it. Figured I’d just make it a matsuri present.”

Going a bit pink, Hinata carefully retrieves the dove clip. “...you didn’t have to do that…”

“I wanted to.”

Moving to use it, Hinata fumbles for a moment before stilling as he urges it from her hand, able to see what he’s doing. Carefully, he pins back her hair. “...there. It really does match your kimono.”

Still pink, her head bows shyly. “...thank you…”

“...you’re welcome.”

When the other two are finally finished in line, Sakura quickly notices the change. “Oh, you got it?”

“Um, well…actually, I -”

“Looks good,” Sasuke offers, cutting off her explanation.

After a pause, she realizes his intention. “...thanks.”

“You should wear your hair like that more often, Hinata,” Naruto offers, mouth full of food.

A small smile pulls at her lips. “...maybe I will.”

                                                        .oOo.

     I won’t lie...this one took some thinking, lol - neither Hinata nor Sasuke really seem the sort to indulge in accessories, but...well, maybe they would if the other gets something for them x3      Sneaky Sasuke, picking up that clip...! Pretty smooth there, guy...even if maybe he doesn’t quite fully realize what he just did, haha!      Buuut yeah, that’ll do it from me tonight! Thanks for reading n_n

[thescorpioracesfestival]

Challenges I to IV

My debut into the festival, starring the tourist Elisabeth and the rider, Jem.

Part 1: Elisabeth Bradbury-Stuart

Chapter I

The island existed only in stories. There was a single photograph that her mother had shown Elisabeth while she was young, and even that didn’t really show it. It was of herself as a young girl, taken in the late 1890s. Elisabeth’s mother was small and slight and happy, nestled into the side of her stern-faced mother.

Elisabeth had thought of that picture often, especially as she got older. She couldn’t help thinking about the unknowingness of those young eyes. No idea that in less than a decade she would leave that island and never return.

But here Elisabeth stood, feet planted on a ferry that bobbed back the way her mother had come all those years ago. Sea spray in her eyes, she lifted one of the last Marlboros she’d brought with her, lighting it.

“Oy, missy!” called a voice, and she turned to see a man looking like two hundred years of wave had been carved into his face. “Don’t you be standing so close to the edge or you’ll find yourself in a capaill uisce’s breakfast.”

Right, it was only breakfast. Elisabeth hadn’t paid attention to the time, having spent all of early morning on the prow.

Elisabeth smiled at him, but only took another step towards the edge, her fingers curling around the railing.

She had been on ferries before while perusing the archaeology of Greece, but this was different. Back there, the air had been hot and balmy; the waves quiet and blue like the petals of bluebells. This ocean, however, was dark like the bottom of a saucepan, the crests of foam like suds of greasy liquid.

The boat made a dip over a rise, and she gripped the railing tightly, suddenly conscious of dress fabric that would hardly help her swim.

The man from before was laughing at her. “I warned ye!” Elisabeth ignored him, going inside and making her way to her cabin. She ignored the sound of her roommate whimpering into a bucket. Instead she tugged out a small bible and focusing on the small pinpricks of letters.

It was a good few hours before the roommate set down the bucket and finally spoke to Elisabeth.

“You going for the races?” she asked, her voice raspy. Elisabeth had never once felt seasick; possibly a side effect of her mother’s island upbringing. Elisabeth raised an eyebrow and the girl stammered. She was a slight blonde waif of a thing, crawled out of a Bronte novel. She looked to be about fifteen, with a tiny upturned nose. “My nan says she saw them once. She said a man died on the beach and everything- You know, I saw a dead body once. When little Marianne got the whooping cough.”

Elisabeth watched the girl, tucking the bible back into its draw. She smiled. “I suppose. My family lives on the island.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Where are your parents?”

“Oh, my mam’s back at home. I’m supposed to be staying with my mam’s old friend to learn how to be a proper lady, since I’m not so good at listening to her.” To prove her point, she sniffed and pulled out a small note. “It’s because Thomas Walley says he’s going to marry me, but nobody believes me. But he told me his own self, and I know Thomas Walley better than any of those girls.”

The talkative girl spoke quickly, forcing Elisabeth to keep up. Elisabeth smiled, in a way reminded of her own sister. This girl was about the same age as Lucy anyway. “What is your name, sorry?” she said, interrupting the girl mid-sentence. The girl’s eyes widened, apparently having forgot the subject altogether.

“My name’s Francine but everyone calls me Dorothy. It’s cause I look just like my cousin. What’s your name-” And then, stuck clumsily to the end of her tongue, “Ma’am.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dorothy. I’m Elisabeth, but everyone calls me Lisabet. Because my mother was Elisabeth, too.” She lit a cigarette, leaning back against the bed and letting smoke fill the tiny room; clinging to the shitty. She felt Dorothy watching her closely, possibly trying to will a cigarette into her own mouth. She seemed like the kind of girl with a sailor for a father.

Elisabeth didn’t know when she fell asleep, because she didn’t know she had until the ferry whistled the signal for land. She had slept through lunch and dinner, and she was suddenly terrifyingly aware of the cavern in her stomach. She reached down, grabbing her belongings and making her way to join the long queue of people leaving the boat. Different emotions spilled over everywhere, and Elisabeth tried to block them out.

But what Elisabeth felt was numbness, as she stepped out onto the only dock on the entire island. It was not the only beach, but it was supposedly the only place where the water horses didn’t breach; the railing covered with rusted iron.

It was beautiful, though. Turning her head, she could see the beach, mostly empty except for a few people still trying their hand at catching a horse to train for next year. Elisabeth paused, watching as sunlight spilled over not-quite-equine flanks. There were a few yells from the men, as well as those around her, but all she could wonder was How could her mother have left this?

“Oy, get a move on,” grunted someone behind her, and Elisabeth rushed to take her place on the land; away from the gruff men and their never-satisfied faces. Some vendors carted tourist trap souvenirs, but the only souvenir Elisabeth intended on taking were the Thisby-red locks her mother had given her.

And answers. Elisabeth was hoping for some answers. She reached into her suitcase for her wallet, and paused when she felt it missing. She remembered that teenager, Dorothy’s, wildly glinting eyes. Elisabeth felt for it one last time before letting out a wild, “Fuck!”, something quickly met by horrified gasps. But she didn’t care, for the young girl had already gone.

The evening didn’t improve. Crackling telephone exchange had told her that her uncle would be there by seven, but it was currently 10 and Elisabeth knew that this island was not that large.

It was strangely quiet in this town, especially after the day she’d had. When night time fell, it truly fell, as the people turned their lights down in order to not be noticed. The only sound that existed was her breathing, as well as the rush of waves in the distance.

No one was coming for her. Elisabeth figured this out and stood up, grabbing her briefcase and making her way through the town.

Her mother had never said a word of her life here. What little she knew came from her father, Earl Ebenezer Bradbury-Stuart. She knew that he’d met her mother at these races when she was 18, that she had jumped at the chance to leave her island home behind and never interact it again, save for bits of money that she sent back to her family for Christmas.

Elisabeth had felt no panic, because her mother had decades to tell her… or she was supposed to have decades.

Biting down on bile, she was suddenly jerked to attention by the sensation of being watched. Horses, Elisabeth thought with a panic, but found that she couldn’t move. Her knees were locked into place by the tension of attention.

She had just mustered up the self-control for a breath when a low voice spilled out over the cobblestones. “If I’d been a horse, you’d be dead already.” Elisabeth shivered, making eye contact with the silhouette of a man leaning against a number of boxes. She couldn’t say anything, because she didn’t know this island, and she certainly didn’t know these animals.

“Are they really horses?” she forced, wincing at the way her voice sounded like a squeaking gate. The man chuckled, the glow of a cigarette humming a few inches from his mouth. “Don’t step any closer; I keep a knife.” A tactic she’d had to learn while surrounded by men in Rome.

“A knife is nothing against a capaill uisce. You’re a tourist, right? It’s not safe at night, here. No place to go?”

She shook her head, crossing her arms. “Someone stole my wallet.”

The man tutted, but then started walking down the street away for her. He stopped, turning to look behind himself. “Are you daft? I know somewhere you can say.”

A million and one reasons bubbled up inside Elisabeth’s mind. Murder, rape, the list went on. But she didn’t really have any other options, and so she ran up the street to follow him.

They didn’t stop until he halted at the foot of a two-storey fixture that looked dangerously close to teetering onto the street. He knocked hard on the door, humming something to himself until the door was cracked open by a young woman looking to be around Elisabeth’s age. The island had worn her older though, her hands appearing cracked and dry below the tassels of her shawl. Still, youth spilled out of her as she pulled the man into a hug. “Jem, what on earth has you up at such an hour? And who’s this?”

The man’s demeanour had changed around the woman, allowing him to crack an awkward smile. He cast a glance at Elisabeth, and for the second time that day found herself saying the name ‘Lisabet.’ “Had a tussle with the Bolley Brothers at the pub, found her wandering the streets in what is hardly appropriate wear.” He gestured to the hem that ended mid-calf. Elisabeth had hardly noticed the weather. “Says she lost her money to a pickpocket on the ferry.”

“Oh dear!” the lady grinned, pulling Elisabeth into a surprising hug. “Don’t you worry, dear, there’ll be no kelpie feasts under my roof. I suppose I can’t be too mad at your drunken antics for once, but for God’s sake, Jem.”

‘Jem’ chuckled again, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “Sorry, Madeline, it won’t happen again.” He glanced at Elisabeth once more and cleared his throat. “Would it be a problem if I stayed the night as well? They say Stu Dorricky saw hoofprints on the sand.”

A few minutes later and Elisabeth was sitting at the table with a bowl of stew. She didn’t know what it was, but in her hungered state it felt like bliss. Madeline was holding a swaddled infant to her shoulder, patting its back as she tried to pay attention. “So, what leads you to Thisby? Just another tourist?” “My mother was from Thisby,” Elisabeth swallowed, “Left here when she was 18 to marry my father, but I never heard anything about it. Until her death, when her childhood best friend ended up talking about Thisbean rituals and whatnot at the funeral.” Elisabeth smiled unsteadily. “Bertha Parton?”

“I know of the Partons,” said Madeline. Jem was sipping stew as well. Elisabeth had filled in the gaps that they were probably brother and sister. “Not personally, but their names get tossed here and there. They’re real old Thisby folk, from right before the Christians came.”

Even this was more than Elisabeth had ever heard, and she felt a wide smile grace her cheeks. Before she could thank her hosts, Madeline was handing off the child to Jem and standing. “Dear Lord, you must be exhausted. Let me set up a bed for you. Jem, please can you handle Tilda.” Then Madeline was gone, leaving Elisabeth and Jem alone.

Elisabeth shifted uncomfortably. “Cute kid,” she mumbled at the same time he said, “Sorry about your mother.” Elisabeth nodded her thanks.

“Our mother’s still alive but barely. Well- our birth mother died having Madeline, so my aunt’s our mother now.”

“I’m sorry,” Elisabeth hummed.

“So, is your mother’s death the only reason you came here? To try and reconnect with her, or whatever?”

Elisabeth shook her head. “I’m an anthropologist by trade, graduated from Wellesley College in America. This place fascinates me. All the age of it,” she trailed her finger along a splinter of wood that clung for dear life to the kitchen table.

“Most wouldn’t,” Jem was watching her hand, “Be fascinated by it, I mean. I imagine there aren’t many who would choose to keep this place in their body. It isn’t exactly Paris.”

At that moment Madeline called Elisabeth’s name, more of a whisper than a call. She said goodnight to Jem and followed the voice to the guest bedroom; a small wallpapered place that teetered gingerly on its side. When at last she was in bed, Jem’s words nagged at her mind. It isn’t exactly Paris. Well, Elisabeth had seen Paris in all its glory, had seen the Eiffel Tower and the Champs Elysees. And she didn’t want it.

  Chapter II. Challenge 4.

Jem Martin.

Jem wasn’t going to buy a horse. He was standing on the strand, sand caked into his boots as he observed the competition with something likened to paranoia. But paranoia was the only rational response to the capaill uisce, especially with a beach that bubbled with the beasts. In the distance a bay was twisting snake-like around her master’s hand, foam telling of the man’s approaching doom.

He already had a horse, bought two years before from a dud auction. Like that interaction with Lisabet, it had been built on a rash decision. He had seen the creature, not quite full-blood but some fucked-up creature that craved the ocean more than anything. Her hocks were thick, forelegs showing hints of feathers, but her neck still held the serpentine anger of the water-horses, her nose quivering at the scent of the ocean.

The hypothesis was that the mixed blood came not from her water horse parents but from a few years back, some Frankenstein’s creature of a Percheron and his mate. As such, she now sported her fair share of brute strength and scars that dotted the length of her body. Some had been made from iron, others from teeth, and one side of her face held no eye but a gaping cavern of a socket. She made up for it with rigid awareness and scent that could mark one out a mile away.

“Hello, Jem, what’re you doing down here? Don’t you have that murder machine back home?” came the barking laugh of Tom Crawley. He was holding his own horse, a thing that appeared more calm than most but that did not deceive Jem. A water horse was still a water horse, a carnivore, a monster that was currently paying slightly too close attention to the side of Tom’s neck.

“I’m seeing who has what.” He lit his cigarette, glancing at the horse as it gave a cautious look to the flame. “What’s its name.”

“Her name is Great Jack. I thought that if I put the part Great in there it would do me good.”

“Why Jack?”

“Because it’s a beautiful fucking name, isn’t that right, Jem?” Tom smacked the mare’s chestnut neck; making her flinch and move her hindquarters away. Her left ear flicked towards the man who held her lead tight enough for his knuckles to pale.

After a few minutes, Tom moved back to the main throng. Time wore on, and Jem was about to pack in for the day when a dreadful scream filled the beach. Every person on Thisby knew that sound, whether they followed the races or not. Jem turned his head in just the right angle to see Tom’s mare, Great Jack, turning and biting a black stallion on the side of the face. The stallion seemed intent on breeding, but the mare was having none of it, and clearly had the upper hand.

Tom tried to get her attention and the chestnut kicked out, her hooves meeting Tom’s face and knocking him into the sand. She shrieked again, her lead ripped out from her ‘owner’s’ hand as she ran to fight the stallion.

Jem just turned and walked quietly away from the agon, not stopping until he reached Madeline’s house.

When he opened the door, Lisabet was with Madeline in the kitchen. She was not particularly talented, asking Madeline for as many hints as possible.

“Uncle Jimmy!” came the cry of a toddler, and he turned around to see his oldest niece, Joyce, tearing up the floor towards him. He let out a whoop of delight as he hoisted the two-year-old into his arms, resting her on his hip.

“Hey there, Joyce. You been behaving well for your mother?”

“No…” she pouted, and Madeline laughed in the background. “I didn’t be quiet when she told me to, and I didn’t go to sleep for a long time last night.”

“That’s not very nice of you, is it?” Jem smiled, pushing a blonde lock of hair behind the prominent ear she had inherited from her father; a sailor who had disappeared in the middle of the night. They’d held a funeral for the fellow, but the truth was that no one really knew if he’d died or gone to the mainland. Either way, it wasn’t much of a loss, but Jem knew when to keep quiet. He knew it too well.

“No, Uncle Jimmy. I’m sorry.”

“Say sorry to your mother and Lisabet.”

“Sorry, Mummy and Lisabet!” He let her down and she ran off again, probably to play with her younger sister.

Jem crossed the room towards the women, before resting his shoulders on the counter. He snuck a carrot off the counter. “I think Tom Crawley died today.”

Madeline stopped mid-smile. She took a deep breath before continuing chopping. Lisabet turned to swipe the carrot back out of his hand, giving him a reproachful glare.

He stole a beer instead, cracking off the lid and taking a swig. “His mare kicked him in the face but I didn’t hang around. But if he bled, then he’s fucked. Broken bones? That’s fine, but god save you if your blood carries on the wind.”

Quiet settled on the house. He knew what Madeline was thinking about- she was thinking about the grey-black mare that was currently nickering for meat in the stable down by his house. If she didn’t get it, she would hardly struggle to get past the gates capped with iron.

“I’d better get back,” he said, and left.

When he got home, he grabbed a bucket of meat. A favour from the butcher, he sloshed it onto the floor of the stall and watched as Angel bowed her head, tearing at it while using her hooves to apply tension. Her ear was flicked towards him, watching him carefully.

“How you doing, Mutt?” he hummed affectionately, reaching out a slow hand to rub her neck. She snorted, blood bubbling along her muzzle. “Nice dinner?”

She didn’t respond, barely acknowledged him until she lifted her head and let him touch her jaw. With him came the one piece of draft horse temperament that had probably ever existed in her at all.

After she was done, he grabbed her halter- a ragtag piece made to match her face of traumas and lackings- and slipped it over her ears. He led her out to the round yard and finally got to work on sliding the blanket and saddle into their proper position.

Then he was on her, easily 18 hands high, but not the biggest horse he’d ever seen. She quivered under his touch, turning her good eye towards him. Her nostrils flared to catch his scent.

Finally he urged her to move. And move she did.

It took a single touch for her to burst into a gallop, bucking as she took off along the grass path down towards the Lachlan household. “Whoaaa,” Jem called, feeling his heart buck out of his chest along with the angry mare’s movements.

But then she was soaring over the partition, and bucking right after. Jem felt his body lift from the saddle and he dropped the reins, his body slamming into the hard dirt of a wheat field. A loud ‘oof’ left his body, and he braced for death. But then he opened his eyes and his mare was looking at him; as though curious.

Movement sounded on the property, however, and she twisted her head in the direction of the Lachlan house.

“Hey!” called Mr Lachlan, one of his children pressing gingerly into his side. “Get that thing off our property before it ruins not just our bodies but our livelihood too!”

“Sorry, Mr Lachlan!” Jem called and turned around. But he needed to figure out how to get over this fence, first.