#today my boss told me I appeared in his dream dressed very cool and giving wise advice

[idontknowiknow]

got a little notif that my main blog is 11 years old and id just like to give a blanket apology for every lousy thing that I've ever posted and thank everyone who saw me being embarrassing on the internet over the years for apparently not holding it against me too hard

[oro-e-diamanti]

Quiet Music: Scherzo (Chapter Six; Part Two)

In collaboration with @bethanysnow

Butterflies getting caught in throats with no words to help explain. Time standing still with a heart breaking. Determination and a willingness to see it through float away in sleep.

Content | Fluff, slight smut warning, tw injury (nothing major, just a wrist injury)

Pairing | fem!Reader x Damiano

Word Count | 6644

Shoutout to @damianodavide​, who was a superb help on this chapter and the real life nurse behind this one ;) 😘

***

Damiano’s head was spinning. As soon as he closed his eyes, Y/n’s face appeared in front of him, eyes hooded, lips plumps from just having kissed him, and an expression that promised a need for more. It left him bothered in a way that he knew would not let him sleep until he took care of it. Trying to pretend it was her feminine hand instead of his own rather undignified touch, he reached into the waistband of his underwear immediately letting out a hiss at the contact. 

He was desperate for her, but if he couldn’t have her, his imagination would have to do. Pictures flashed through his mind as he moved his hand. Her on her knees, looking up at him through long lashes. He had already gotten a taste of the way she reacted when he complimented her, watching her eyes go wide as he called her a good girl. Her being good for him. Her on her back, ready to be devoured by him in any way he pleased. Feeling his hands go into her hair pulling her face up to look at him. Her bent over whatever furniture he could find, willing to let him have his way with her. Deeply, madly, irrefutably, he wanted it all. She was truly making him lose his mind. Her body and the way she moved were infatuating. Her laugh when someone did something dumb. The look in her eyes when she teased him back. He could still feel the kiss she left on his lips. He never wanted that feeling to end. Brava ragazza mia.

He came with an embarrassingly loud groan, unable to hold back or keep quiet. For a moment, in the silence, he wondered if anyone had heard. He was well aware that his room was surrounded by those of bandmates and crew, but he couldn’t remember who it was exactly anyway, and it didn’t bother him for long, his hazy mind drifting around once again. 

***

“Where is your mind at?” Y/n looked up as Victoria pulled her out of her thoughts unexpectedly. Y/n had stopped in Victoria's room after breakfast, trying to keep tabs on what everyone’s plans were on their day off. She had meant to get some work done as Victoria was busying herself getting ready, but it had ended up with her staring into the distance, laptop almost forgotten on her lap.

“Oh, sorry. I’m here, what were you saying?” 

“I asked where your mind is at.” Victoria fell forward laying on the bed. Y/n knew that the blonde was starting to learn to read her like a book and she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.

“Yeah, um, listen. What would you say to someone that may have absolutely decimated her career, by maybe accidentally kissing her boss while they were all high?” She didn’t dare look at the bassist, bracing herself for whatever negative reaction would potentially come from this.

Victoria sat up in surprise, eyes wide and the hint of a smile playing on her lips. “I’m going to need a lot more information than that.” Without giving in to Y/n’s slight protest, she removed the laptop from the assistant’s legs, closing it shut and putting it away. “Tell me everything.”

“Well, there wasn’t much to it really. We sat on the couch, you know that. And I said something stupid about how his eyes looked like chocolates, or maybe gemstones? I don’t quite remember. Anyway, then he pulled my hair out of the hair-tie. I went to kiss his cheek, but he turned his face. Fuck, it was bad. Not the kiss! He is very good at that! But I shouldn’t have done that. And then he just went ‘it's cool, it happens’. What does that even mean?!” She was talking much too quickly, getting it all out before the rational part of her brain would make her shut up. Make her remember she was talking to someone she’d only just started getting to know a week ago, who she was working for. “Then Thomas crashed and you know how that ended. Now I might be avoiding him. Just a bit.” She looked at Vic with a slight panic in her eyes, unsure if she had said too much.

Victoria, on the other hand, seemed delighted to no end, if a little shocked. “Wait, as if you kissed with all of us there and no one noticed!” She exclaimed, briefly pausing, contemplating, but shaking it off to get back to the conversation. “So… Good kiss, huh? Did you enjoy it then? Wanna do it again?” Her eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“Victoria! That is not what I am worried about here! I could lose my job. I- I could never show my face out there again if people found out. And I really enjoy this job, you know!” Her face scrunched a little bit, calming down with a sigh. “...But also, yes, he was a gentleman, and if he wanted to … kiss me again, I probably wouldn’t say no. But I also wouldn’t say yes. I work for you. This is not the time to be thinking about how much I enjoyed kissing Damiano!”

Her eyes went wide as her voice dropped to a whisper, looking down at her hands. “Ah fuck, I said that out loud.” 

“Okay, let’s look at it from a rational standpoint then.” Victoria turned slightly more serious at seeing her panic. “There is no way you’ll be losing your job over this. Maybe I wouldn’t advise hopping into bed with the whole band and crew, but we always got a tight-knit relationship with people we work with anyway, you know that. None of us would rat you out to management or anything. Plus, if you liked and Damiano liked it… wouldn’t it be a shame to worry about anything else instead of going for it?”

“I don’t know if he liked it. I was busy trying not to pass out, to be honest. I avoided him this morning by going straight to your room. I actually kind of avoided everyone, I’m scared the words of what happened will just come out to anyone who asks… Kind of like they just did with you.” She let out another deep sigh, switching between looking at her nails, picking at them, and out the window. “If he ...you know ... Then maybe. I honestly don’t even know what I would do with that information. On the off chance that he did like it though. And wanted to go for it then I’d consider it.” She tried to remain as put together as possible and, well aware that she was failing miserably. 

“Well, in that case, we have to find out what Damiano wants!” Victoria’s enthusiasm was back with a vengeance. “You should talk to him! Or should I talk to him? Maybe I should lock you in a room like those romcoms and threaten to not let you out again until you kiss.”

“Or you don’t do that because that is entrapment. I think I would be cool with you talking to him. But I still have to do my job. That comes first. Because as far as I am concerned,” Y/n got up and grabbed her laptop again, “it is business as usual. And last night was a fluke. Not to crush your rom-com dreams, love, but if I spoke to him I’d put my foot in my mouth faster than you can play bass.”

The smirk on Vic’s face didn’t promise anything good. “We’ll see about that, we’ll see,” she ominously muttered, before jumping up from the bed. “Now stop trying to pretend you got work to do, we’re going vintage clothes shopping.”

*** 

The thrift store turned out to be a small hole-in-the-wall kind of place, just off a side street - perfect for shopping in peace without getting much attention at all. Y/n hadn’t been all that keen on keeping the band company for this little adventure, but Victoria had insisted, claiming she needed a female perspective in case the boys were being stupid again. It had only taken a serious case of the puppy dog eyes to win her over, and Victoria found herself making a mental note to remember it.

The store was stuffed full of clothes, a kind of chaos that seemed to have an order that only the owner really understood. But it looked like heaven, and within seconds everyone had vanished into some corner or other, dying to find their newest favourite piece. For a moment, Victoria contemplated who she wanted to follow first, feeling the need to talk to at least two different people but also never wanting to miss out on a chance to go crazy with Thomas. Ended up deciding on Damiano. It seemed the more pressing issue. She hadn’t failed to notice how he would try to pretend that everything was normal, yet continuously evading Y/n’s eyes. She had kept her distance all the same. This wasn’t acceptable. She had to do something, Victoria decided.

She found the singer shuffling through some blouses, although much more half-heartedly than he tended to be when it came to vintage clothes. Looking out from the racks Victoria saw Y/n doing the same. She briefly considered how to go on about this - admit that Y/n had told her what had happened? Pretend she had actually seen the kiss last night? - but figured that Damiano would start talking on his own accord sooner or later. Especially if this was affecting him the way it was Y/n, and she was almost hoping it was.

“Okay, spill, what’s up with you today?”

Damiano shrugged, pulling a shirt out from the rack, and holding it against his body, waiting for Victoria's opinion. She raised a brow and put it back wordlessly.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he responded rather vaguely.

“Damia, you’ve barely spoken at all today. Normally you can’t shut up. And you know, I’d be thankful for some peace and quiet from you, but you’re actually worrying me. So what’s going on with you?” 

Damiano had a panicked look on his face as he scanned over the racks of clothes, his eyes flickering back and forth, obviously noticing Y/n shuffling through some things and slowly getting closer. Taking Vic by surprise, he dragged her into the dressing rooms. 

“Okay, that’s…. Weirdly intimate, but go on,” Vic mumbled to herself as he closed the curtain behind them, still nervously looking around the small space.

“Rather talk to you in here, than her hear me out there. I may have fucked up, royally.” He crossed his arms over his chest and Victoria was sure he would be burning a hole into the wall with his vision if he possessed that power. He was avoiding looking at her and she knew it.

“Explain,” she simply demanded, sitting down on the tiny stool in the corner and looking up at Damiano. She wanted to hear it from him, hear what had happened in his version of the story, hear what was bothering him so much.

“So we were at that bar, right? Y/n was sitting next to me. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, you were there. Anyway. We were talking. I don’t know if it was the smoking or whatever else, but I looked at her and - I don’t know why I did this but I did. I pulled her hair out of her hair tie.” He leaned on the wall, his head hitting the brick behind him. He groaned but Vic assumed it didn’t have anything to do with the pain. “And… and she was so beautiful. Her hair just all around her. So soft. And at that moment, she was laughing and it sounded heavenly. And I went to look at her again and suddenly my lips were on hers…” His voice softened at the end, losing his train of thought and drifting. She had never quite seen him like this. “Then she was freaking out, and I told her some fucking stupid line like ‘it happens’. I just wanted her to calm down but… Now she must think I’d just...” He groaned, slumping a little and finally looking over at Vic. “Then she ran off to help Thomas.” 

“So, what you’re saying then is that you did enjoy it? Potentially wanna do it again?” She felt transported back to the conversation she’d had with Y/n just hours earlier, posing almost the exact same question. She had never been this involved with any of her friends’ relationships to this extent, but something told her that her help was desperately needed in this case.

He raised a brow at her. “Did you not hear the part where after we kissed she then proceeded to freak out? I doubt that she even wants to see my face right now.” A heavy sigh left him and Victoria found herself laying a hand on his arm. “And of course I want to kiss her again, Vic. I close my eyes and she is there. Hell, she wakes me up every morning! I can’t escape. She is everywhere I go! I turn a corner and she is there. She's the one we go to when wanting to eat, she arranges the cars, she helps us with concerts, she’s doing everything all the time. I don’t know how much more I can take!” 

*** 

Y/n stood in the shoe aisle holding a pair of heels in her hand, contemplating for a second, before putting them on. Turning towards Ethan, who was walking towards her now, she realised it had eliminated all height differences between them. Definitely too high, she thought to herself. Holding onto his shoulders, she clumsily took them back off.

“Hey Ethan, find anything good?” The smile on her face felt forced but she was praying he wouldn’t see it.

He proudly holds up a black, studded belt with an intricate design on it, as well as a pink suede jacket. “How about you? I think I saw some nice trousers over there that might suit you. Wanna check it out?”

Y/n scoffed. She didn’t want to let her mood out on Ethan, trying her hardest to stay diplomatic. “Love the idea, but I doubt any of the clothes in here would go over my thigh. They’d fit you guys just great though. The jacket looks good, by the way.” She tried to distract herself from - well, everything - by putting the shoes away, mindlessly letting her fingers wander over the other pairs standing there.

Ethan looked at her in contemplation for a moment, but seemed to decide against following his train of thought. “At least try on some more shoes. Here, what about these?” He excitedly grabbed a pair of high-heeled boots, very much in the style she could see any of them wearing on stage - much less the one she usually went for when working.

A little intimidated, she took the shoes, if only to humour him. Ethan was nothing but a sweetheart, this was the least she could do. She put them on only with some slight struggle. She once again reached his height, almost amused by the feeling of seeing eye-to-eye with him, but the shoes felt strange. Very far removed from the usual flats, sneakers, boots, or whatever other pair that would allow her to keep running around all day without regretting it in the evening.

“Do I look silly?” 

“You look gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous.” His voice had the most earnest tone to it and it was only supported by the way he studied her, looking her up and down. “Maybe walk a few steps to see if you can get used to it.”

She laughed as she proceeded to strut and partially dance some steps down the aisle to the song playing in the store. “I haven’t worn heels in so long, still got it though!”.” Her small smile grew into a grin, rather proud of herself for still being able to keep up. Going to the mirror near Ethan she looked at the shoes, then at herself in the shoes, then back at Ethan. Still, the insecurity took over for a moment. Her voice seemed small when she asked, “You think so?” 

“I wouldn’t lie to you like that,” he replied, putting a hand over his heart for emphasis. “Want to go and see what the others think? I saw Thomas over there, and Vic and Dami disappeared into that corner a while ago.”

“Right, good idea.” She walked over to the dressing room looking for Damiano and Victoria, figuring they had gone to try on some things. Well, she was mainly looking for Victoria, still uncomfortable at the thought of facing the singer. She was in the middle of calling out for them when Damiano’s voice seeped through the curtain instead. She didn’t mean to listen, only to wait for him to stop so she could interrupt, but the second she realised what he was saying she wished she had never come over.

“Hell, she wakes me up every morning! I can’t escape. She is everywhere I go! I turn a corner and she is there. She's the one we go to when wanting to eat, she arranges the cars, she helps us with concerts, she’s doing everything all the time. I don’t know how much more I can take!”

She stepped back. Frozen in place. Her heart was beating out of her chest, hurting, aching, breaking just that little bit. Processing what he had said seemed to happen not at all and then suddenly all at once. She couldn’t breathe. She needed air. Anything but this suffocation. She needed to leave.

“I need some air.”

The words came out of her mouth much louder than anticipated, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care that people were looking at her now. She didn’t care that was still wearing a pair of shoes that she had definitely not paid for yet. She just needed out, out, out, and away from all this. From him.

She didn’t realise she was walking on cobblestone until she wasn’t anymore, her ankle giving way, arms desperately trying to keep her from falling as she stumbled.

***

Damiano and Victoria stopped in their tracks as they heard someone approach from outside of the dressing room. Both heads turned towards the sound, when Y/n’s voice came through, telling maybe no one in particular that she needed some air. Her voice sounded strange. Damiano was convinced he had never heard that particular tone in it. As he threw back the curtain, he saw her stumble outside, clearly hectic, and he could feel a surge of panic run through him. Something wasn't right here. He forgot all about the conversation he was having, all about Victoria, and made his way outside. Not quite running, but the worry had him out of the door quickly. His heart sank when he saw her, lying on the floor just outside of the shop, holding her arm awkwardly, some scratches already beginning to bleed a little. As she looked up at him, he could see tears pricking at her eyes.

"Fuck, are you okay? What happened? I just saw-" The look on her face - or rather, the way she turned away from him - shut him up instantly. This wasn't the time to bombard her with questions. It didn't matter anyway. Instead of bothering her further, he quickly knelt down beside her, helping her sit up in return. He was acutely aware of the way she pulled away the second he touched her skin. Like she had been burned. ´

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Sorry to ruin the shopping trip, you can go back in if you want to," she mumbled, trying to wipe some tears away but instead spreading some dirt and drying blood onto her cheek instead. Damiano wanted to touch her, clean her up, dry her tears, but the way she had pulled away a minute ago made him not want to try. The last thing he wanted to do was overwhelm her more. He watched as she pulled out her wallet, handing it to him. "Go pay for the shoes please. And stop looking at me like that, I said I’m fine."

Yet, as soon as she moved, she winced in pain, taking a deep breath before getting herself up to a standing position. He found himself holding her arm in support, but she only accepted it for as long as necessary. As he let go, she let out a small cry of pain, obviously holding her hurt wrist the wrong way.

“You’re obviously not fine,” Damiano sighed. He desperately wanted to reach out to her, but she was already in tears, turning away, and it simply didn’t seem like a sensible option. He looked around at the others as they gathered around Y/n. Only Thomas was missing, probably still blissfully unaware inside the shop and browsing for clothes. He tossed the wallet to Ethan. “Would you mind paying for her shoes real quick?” Ethan nodded, walking back into the store. Y/n was still standing between them, holding her arm close to her body in a protective gesture. Almost a similar expression to the one she had had on her face on the plane all those days ago. He wondered if something was scaring her the way the turbulence did back then. 

“I am and will be fine, Damiano.” Her voice was stern. “I cry at a lot of things, this is no different. I wrap it up, put ice on it for a while and I’m golden.” 

He watched as Victoria put a tentative hand on Y/n’s shoulder. She didn’t pull away from her touch, he noticed. “Y/n, that really doesn’t look like nothing. Look, it’s starting to swell up already.” 

"What do you want me to do then?" She almost sounded resigned now as she looked back and forth between Damiano and Victoria. "We are in Amsterdam. I don't exactly have a GP on speed dial here. Now, where is Ethan with my wallet?"

She started walking towards the door of the shop, but Damiano defiantly held out his arm to stop her. "We are taking you to A&E."

Her face seemed to drain of all colour, and this time it was not because of the pain. "You are not taking me to a hospital."

Damiano looked at her, determination in his eyes, trying to make her understand that this was non-negotiable. Just for now,  he would forget about the way she was brushing him off, the way she was evading his touch, the way she did not even want to look at him. Because right now she needed him and he would be there for her, if she wanted him to be or not.

"Yes, I am. Final decision. You would do the same for us if we got hurt. But we're responsible for you too, you're part of our crew, and right now, being responsible means getting this checked out. Besides, you're not getting your wallet back until you agree."

As soon as Ethan stepped outside again, this time with a slightly confused-looking Thomas in tow, Damiano snatched the wallet from his hands only to put it in his own jeans pocket. She was mad, obviously turning whatever was bothering her into anger, but Damiano was having none of it and he hoped the look in his eyes told her so.

"Fine! Take me to the hospital. But know that I am not happy about this."

"I don't need you to be. I just need you to come with me."

***

A quick refresher of her rudimentary Dutch verified that she was indeed looking for "spoedeisende hulp", another search on the internet confirmed that there was a hospital nearby, and before she knew it, she had been whisked into a taxi with Damiano. The others had decided to make their way back to the hotel, no point in clogging up the waiting room. Damiano promised to call with any news immediately.

Y/n wouldn't tell him, certainly not right then and there but she was happy that Damiano seemed to take the lead for once. She wouldn't have had any problems had any of the others needed medical help - but having people fuss about her? Making her the center of attention in a way she did not intend to be and having to accept help from others?... It was a completely different story. Still she appreciated the way he handled the situation, making sure she got registered with the administration straight away, listening attentively for further instructions, and leading her into the waiting area. She was also glad that it seemed to be quiet, not only because it would result in less of a wait, but also because the bustling would have made her all the more nervous.

This was out of her comfort zone. She had managed to avoid hospitals for the majority of her life, and yet here she was, because she panicked and couldn't handle her shoes. Looking down at them, she wanted to curse them. Curse the fact that they made her walk over to Damiano and Victoria in the first place, curse the fact that she had heard Damiano speak about her that way, curse the fact that they carried her out the door but not much further. She didn't even know where her actual shoes were. Hopefully, Ethan had kept his head and collected them on the way out after paying.

A few seats down, someone coughed loudly, reminding her exactly of where she was. It wasn't the worst hospital she had ever been in, that much was true, but she would rather not see one from the inside at all. She was dying for some comfort, some soothing words, a gentle touch, but as soon as Damiano made any attempt at reaching out to her she pulled back. His words were still heavily playing on her mind, the swelling of her wrist and the heat that seemed to seep from it a painful reminder. There was no way she was going to let herself fall, be reassured and consoled by him when he was so obviously sick of her presence. She wouldn't do that to either of them. Victoria with all her good intentions be damned. At least right now. 

“Why are they not calling you in, it doesn’t even look like they’re doing anything,” Damiano grumbled next to her, eyes on the nurse’s station where a few of them were sitting. A few eyes were on them, something that looked like an excited discussion.

“Stop it, I’m sure they’re busy at work. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean they aren’t”, she bit back, slightly harsher than intended. He shot her a look, eyebrows raised, but she turned away, not looking to have a deeper conversation.

It left Damiano sitting in silence. Leaving both of them in the same situation, again. Y/n and him alone. Well, alone enough. Alone enough to not have anyone distract her from the uncomfortable feeling that settled over them. No Thomas being silly, no Victoria making a dumb comment, no calming presence of Ethan. Through this whole process, Y/n had basically crawled back into herself. She wished she could disappear.

She didn't know how much time had passed when they were finally called, too preoccupied with her own thoughts and the pain in her wrist. The nurse that beckoned them over had the warmest smile on her face, albeit tired eyes and it surprised Y/n how much comfort she found in the soft expression of the woman. White slacks, rolled up sleeves, pockets so full it looked like they were bursting at the seams, dark hair up in a bun. She found herself looking over at Damiano, wondering if he was aware of how gorgeous this woman was, how kind and calming her aura was, but his eyes were trained solely on her. She didn't allow herself to get lost in his gaze, quickly dropping hers and following the nurse into an examination room.

“Hi, I’m Ana, I’m going to be your nurse for today. You only speak English, am I correct?” She asked, gesturing for both of them to sit down, Y/n on the examination table and Damiano on a chair next to it. There was a slight twinge of an accent in her speech, but it was clear that she was fluent, which was a relief. Y/n didn’t even want to think about trying to get this done with the few words she knew in Dutch. She nodded, gratefully. “We’re going to go over what happened, and then I’ll do a physical examination, and the doctor will see you after as well.”

Y/n watched as the nurse fumbled with the computer, seemingly already typing things before Y/n had even said anything. “So, what exactly happened?”

“I, uh, tried on some heels and tripped on the cobblestone outside,” Y/n explained, taking a moment to glare at the offending shoes still on her feet. “Fell forwards, tried to soften the blow with my hands and now my wrist looks like this.” She held up the offending arm, gathering that the sight would speak for itself. The dried blood of the little scrapes on the palms of her hand did its best to make it look more dramatic than it felt.

“Oh, yeah that looks quite painful,” the nurse winced. “I see you’ve scraped your knee as well.”

Y/n looked down, slightly confused, only to realise her jeans had torn, revealing a beat-up knee underneath. Crap, she hadn’t even noticed, too occupied with… well, everything else. This felt like it was getting worse by the second, she never wanted to get back to a hotel room this badly. She felt like crying, but letting Damiano see her composure waver was the last thing she would allow.

“It’s nothing,” she sighed, moving her legs as if it gave her a chance of hiding her bruises.

“It’s not nothing, Y/n,” Damiano sighed next to her, before turning towards the nurse. “I think it’s more serious than she’s letting on.” In the same determined tone from before. 

The nurse looked back and forth between the two of them. “It’s probably the shock of it.”

Oh yeah, the shock. Mainly that of finding out that Damiano didn’t want her around, apparently.

The nurse asked a few more questions, time of the accident, previous medical history, medication she was taking regularly, but they barely reached her. She found herself answering curtly, with Damiano filling in where he could. She wouldn’t tell him she was thankful for it. Even though the idea of him taking care of her made her emotional. 

“Right, let’s get that wrist looked at then.” Y/n had feared it would be painful but as soon as the nurse started handling her? She knew it was her job to feel the joints, test her range of motion, move her arm. But unwelcome tears emerged in the corners of her eyes. She didn’t have the energy to push Damiano’s hand away, as she almost reveled in the comforting touch on her back. The small talk didn’t even begin to make for a distraction. Yet, something was nagging at the back of Y/n’s head as she watched the nurse interact with Damiano. There was a familiarity in her eyes… Did she know who he was? Surely not.

“This will need an X-Ray to make sure it’s not broken,” the nurse concluded, finally letting go of her wrist. Damiano whispered a quiet ‘You okay?’ over to her, but she couldn’t do anything but nod. “I will bandage the scrapes a bit while we wait for a doctor. So, what brings you to Amsterdam today?”

“Work,” Y/n answered, trying to keep some degree of privacy, but Damiano didn’t seem to mind butting in immediately.

“I’m in a band, we’re on tour. She’s our assistant and overall angel.” She wanted to shoot him a look, both at the unnecessary honesty and the over-the-top way he was describing her, but a touch to her banged-up knee distracted her.

A doctor popped into the room quickly verified everything the nurse had told him And before she knew it she was being led down a hallway to get an X-Ray. Damiano stayed behind in the room.

“Cute couple, the two of you,” the nurse piped up next to her.

“Um, yeah, no. Not a couple. Just a working relationship.”

“You sure about that?”

Y/n almost wanted to stop dead in her tracks, ask the nurse what on earth had given her that idea, but she also knew she was here to get examined and the last thing she wanted to do was annoy the person responsible.

“Very. He doesn’t like me like that, he’s made that crystal clear.”

“Well, he certainly doesn’t look like you in a way that suggests he doesn’t like you. If anything, I would have guessed he was head-over-heels for you.”

Y/n was stumped for a reply. Was this woman making fun of her? She didn’t look like someone who would. So why would she say these things? With a deep sigh and a heavy heart, Y/n decided she would have to talk to Damiano at some point. Have him either stand by his statement and back off, or explain what the hell he was doing. Because she was starting to lack comprehension about any of it.

She was glad the rest of the appointment seemed to fly by in a hurry, or maybe Y/n’s brain had simply gone into power-saving mode, not really taking it what as happening around her anymore. Her exhaustion was tangible. The X-Ray was done quickly enough, someone sent her back to the  examination room, and before she knew it, the doctor had announced that it was, in fact, not broken. A quick wrap around her wrist, some instructions on how to care for it (that Damiano seemed to listen to more closely than she did), and she was almost out the door. She was sure she would have fallen asleep on the examination table.  It was only the nurse quickly saying her goodbye and adding another comment that almost threw her off balance again.

“Bye, guys. And by the way, nice show yesterday. I promise I wasn’t the one who threw the bra.”

***

It was dark out by the time Y/n and Damiano made it back to the hotel. He had made sure to text the others, telling them to go for dinner without them, they’d be fine, and he figured she would need some rest. The hotel restaurant was quiet enough and he motioned towards it, but Y/n shook her head.

“I’ve got a few snacks in my room, but honestly, I’m not hungry at all. I just want to go to bed.”

Yet, tired as she was, it only took one pointed look for her to shut him up, so he simply nodded and led her towards the elevators.

“At least let me bring you to your room and see if you need any more help. And I can give you your wallet back.”

He could tell in the way she stiffened next to him, the way she barely reacted to his words, that she wasn’t keen on the idea, but he wouldn’t let her get away with it. He was desperate to find out what was bothering her and why she was so distant, but he couldn’t figure it out. Was the kiss still playing on her mind? Was she uncomfortable with him? It was the last thing he wanted. He needed to show her he was willing to be there for her.

Closing the door of her room behind him, a shout rang through the room.

“These fucking things, I hate them!” She was loud and angry while trying to get her shoes off, but her voice was wavering and if he watched her in just the right light he was convinced he was seeing the beginning of tears forming in her eyes.

“Shh, shh, it’s fine,” he tried to soothe, unsure if he was going about it the wrong way, but quickly bending in front of where she was sitting on the bed. She kicked her heels once more in frustration, obviously unable to get them off with her wrist still compromised.

“Don’t shush me when it’s all your fault,” she whispered and he almost stopped dead in his tracks, but he figured she hadn’t meant for him to hear. He stayed quiet, against everything in his heart telling him to find out what she was talking about. Instead, he focused on removing her shoes, gentle touches against her bare skin. Looking up at her, he realised that she was studying him, watching his every move, and he concentrated even harder on being the perfect gentleman. Yet, when he pulled the second shoe off her, he couldn’t help letting his hand rest on her calf a little longer than necessary.

“Come on, let’s get you into some pyjamas,” he decided, getting up and putting some distance between them. Too afraid of getting ahead of himself, of letting his hands wander more than appropriate places, of saying something he shouldn’t. He threw what he gathered to be her sleepwear in her general directions. “If you need any help changing because of your wrist, let me know.”

He hoped his smile was as sincere as he meant it. Either way, she didn’t give him much of a reaction, grabbing the clothes and disappearing into the bathroom. A few sharp hisses reached him through the door, but he knew better than to offer his help again.

He wasn’t sure what the acceptable place for him to sit was, but since the room didn’t offer anything but a worn-out armchair and the bed, he decided that choosing the far side of the mattress wasn’t too bad. He didn’t even realise she had left the en-suite until her voice reached him.

“We really need to talk, Damiano.” She sounded resigned and tired and he wished he could wrap her in his arms and tell her everything was alright, but it didn’t seem like the right time. As soon as she reached the side of the bed opposite him, she all but collapsed on it. She sleepily grabbed one of the many unnecessary hotel pillows they placed on the bed and nuzzled her face into it. 

“There will be more than enough time for that tomorrow,” he replied, grabbing the blanket and making sure she was fully covered by it. “It’s been a long day, try to get some rest.” 

She didn’t even manage to argue anymore, eyes already fluttering closed, breathing slowly becoming more steady. She was gorgeous like this. A soft calm overtaking the scene. No wall up that kept everyone else from her inner thoughts. No front that she put up in desperate attempts to remain professional. Just a softness etched into her features that highlighted her natural divine beauty.

He wanted to take her worries away. He hoped that whenever they did get to talk tomorrow, it would yield some clarity. The last thing he wanted was for her to ever feel this way. He had grown so attached to her, so obsessed with the idea of having her around, that he already feared the end of the tour. If she would give him any option to stay in her life, he would take it, whatever way it was.

Damiano barely noticed the way he was slipping down on the mattress, his fingers softly patting her head, eyelids getting heavy. The last thing on his mind was Y/n, sleeping soundly next to him and wishing for nothing but to make her happy.

***

Taglist | @damianodavide @lizstans @its-afucking-mess @ethaneskin @dont-let-me-drown-in-you @vampirtet @lividisuigomiti @juststalking @tabi-toast @ethan-torchio-angelo @cheese-toastie-11 @thewitchinthemountain @ethanesimp @sofckinelectric @man3skin @daddydamiano @finelinejpm @superchrystaldrug @ginny-lily @nientedaridere @rainbowmarta @tiaamberxx @shaunthesheesh @enjcltaire @rocketqueen @aleksanderwh0r3  @damianodavidhands @megann-duff @teatrodellavita @coven-daddy @till-you-scream-and-cry @solasullabarca @fanfictionandfluff @makapaka11 @slave4yourlove @geklutst-ei @marriedwithmarktuan @bookish0918 @mehrmonga @kanevill @butterfly-skinnylegend @lidiyabest @killerqueen1985 @ccweasley @bluscryn @deluxeplanteater @ohtorchio @messyhairday-me @bidet-and-legolas @maybanksslut @katyldamusic @fuckim-so-gay @demoiselle-en-detresse00 @petit-poussin @fedorable-killjoys @luvbadass @buttercup-beeee @navs-bhat @etaerealboyv  @tryymebitch @mell-bell @fenhakwe @solacestyles @softforlukescurls @vicsangel @theimpossiblehologramtree @alina-exe @cherricola66  @supercorp-mari @onlykissystyless @thatonebraziliangirl @dannasixxworld @immrbrightside @lifeofa-fangirl @gr8rainbowpunk @que--sera--sera @unitersmoonshine @achilleveleno​

[honesthammie]

From my prompt list:

4) After reaching your 16th birthday you gain the ability to see everyone's red strings of fate and on your 18th you finally get to see yours, except yours dissappears into the ground/sky.

Fandom:Doctor who

Pairing: 13 x gender neutral reader

This is my first fic on tumblr. I know its hella long and not all of my fics will be like this. This came to me from a dream I had recently. I love Jodie and I decided to write the spider episode from a different perspective. I may have change the episode slightly to fit the reader. I am thinking of doing a part 2 but it may be a while before I do as I have deadlines and stuff to keep up with. The next part may be more fluff between 13 and yourself. I know this didn't have much but it's something. I'm also sorry to any Americans reading this, I love yas but its just the personality I put to go with the readers personality. I'm also sorry for any spelling mistakes as I'm doing this on my phone.

Summary: spider episode with a small change I'm plot to accommodate your beautiful self in this fic

Warnings: slight description of a couple of panic/anxiety attacks, swearing and a bit of angst. Long intro for small fluff. And it's a part 1 do I guess a small cliffhanger is a warning?

Beep beep beep. Your alarm starts blaring in your ears, waking you up with a start. You glare at the interrupting machine before turning it off. After such a crazy night, you did not want your sleep so rudely interrupted. Why did you have a crazy night? It's your 18th birthday today and your friends decided to visit your place for a little house party, last night, to celebrate and now you have a pounding headache.

You groaned as you realised, you would need to take some pain meds before you even think about going back to sleep. Slipping out of your bed, you walk to the bathroom and find the cupboard with all sorts of medicinal and bathroom bits and bobs. You then grab the glass that you placed there in preparation for the definite hangover. The glass was a little cold to the touch but you filled it with some cool water from the sinks tap.

You took two, just so you could have a longer sleep. You waddle back into your bedroom and just as you get comfy, you widen your eyes at the memory. You needed to see your mother today, she said she had a gift for you but she would only be at home until 11. You looked at the machine that you hated for the time. It was currently 10:05. You jumped to your feet and rush to get ready.

As you walked outside, you saw the regular red strings that you saw everyday. Why do you see strings? You honestly didn't know, but you knew their purpose, it helped match 2 soulmates together. But something seemed a little off, there was no one on the street anymore, so why could you still see one line of destiny? You decided to follow the string south, down to your own (s/c) hand which was now slightly shaking at the sight.

"Fuck. Fuck,fucky fucking fuck. Why now? Why me? What the shit is going on with me?" You curse to yourself. You could feel your breath getting rapid and your head started spinning slightly. You quickly unlocked your car and sat down to help calm you down. You took a few deep breaths and focused on your senses.

When you eventually calmed down, you decided to look at where the string led. Oh, how you shouldn't have looked. It didn't go in any way of a compass, it went straight up and past the clouds. How? You had so many questions but you had to focus on the day ahead.

You had been to your mothers house and collected your new (fave game series) and your card. You were incredibly thankful as you have been saving up to buy it for yourself one day. You had played the previous games and loved every one of them and to say you were excited was an understatement. You almost ran back into your place if it wasn't for needing the key to access the gates.

Living in a gated community helped you feel a lot safer but it did also make you a big target for thieves to practise picking locks. No one had figured out where the hidden camera that kept alerting the authorities was though. Even you have tried put of plain curiosity but you got stumped after the 10th day of searching. You were sure you looked in every possible hiding spot, yet the camera always seemed to evade you in the pointless game of hide and seek.

As you unlocked the gate, you felt a twitch on your finger. The string was moving down and at a very fast pace, almost falling speed. You looked up and saw a small black dot heading towards the ground, if thats your soulmate, they would certainly be dead the second they meet their fate. When you could no longer see the dot, you kept your eyes glued to the string, waiting for it to disappear like everyone else's did when a soulmate died.

After five minutes, the string was still there and was still as red as ever, like no harm had come to them. But thats not possible. No creature could survive that especially from that great a height! You were beyond curious and quickly went into your living room and searched on all your social media for anyone else that may have spotted the dot in the sky, yet no one had but you knew (b/f) had another massive fight with their roommate, Stella, over whose turn it was to do the dishes again.

If you didn't know that Stella was in a relationship with another, you would have sworn those two were in a relationship. You giggled at the silly thought, "if Stella ever goes through a break up with her, I'm totally gonna set those two up."

You give up on finding anything out today, maybe it'll be on the news tomorrow and you set off to go on an online shopping spree, you had a few codes and now, thanks to your wonderful mother, had a little cash to spare and you did see that gorgeous top on sale. Once you had spent the day either shopping or gaming you decided to head to bed but you couldn't stop thinking about that dot and what the red string meant for you.

When your alarm had went off, you hit it and got dressed for your new job at some hot shot posh hotel run by an aspiring American with High expectations and little experience with Sheffield. You had been told you wouldn't get to meet him much and you were beyond fine with that, you hated Americans, simply because you hated violence and guns were the big no on your weaponry list of avoidance. You didn't mind weapons in video games, those were harmless to the outside world. You didn't mind verbal violence though, it was all you had to defend yourself with and in Sheffield, that was better than nothing. You were very short tempered when it came to your anger but you found that it was either verbal or physical, you chose to be verbal.

You looked at your phone for any messages from (b/f) and had a good luck message. You replied with a smiley face and a "ill need all the luck I can get. I've heard from a few employees that he can be a real asshole for no reason and fires people just because they made eye contact for too long. It's like he suspects someone is out for his blood."

After 2 minutes you received a reply from from them. "You better be on your best behaviour then, young lady!"

"That's the problem. I wonder what the record is for the quickest a person has got fired? Because I may break that, you know me! I don't exactly do as I'm told, that's why finding a job has been so hard. Anyway, I best get ready, gotta look the part! First impressions and all!" You replied with a nervous face. What you failed to notice was the red string no longer pointing towards the sky and you were making it shorter with every step you took. You did give up on finding out about the strange dot and came to the assumption that it fell in a lake, there were plenty of them around.

You walked into the swanky looking hotel and noticed the cobwebs that definitely were not there two days ago when you had your interview, yet they looked like they had been there for weeks. You would have put it down to Halloween decorations if it wasn't for the fact that it was June. You decided to not ask in case this was some sort of strange new American trend that your boss was following to help bring in the youth. It does help make it fit into Sheffield a lot more with the run down and abandoned look. It would need some rust, water damage, mold and cracks to finish the look but it was a start. If you had to be honest, the spider webs helped bring the place together. It was way too posh for Sheffield but you had to lie and say you love it in order to get hired. Just from that lie alone you knew exactly the personality of your boss, arrogant, vain and ignorant.

"Hello, you must be my new helper! I'm Najia, your second in command here. As you can see, there are loads of spider webs so they should be priority. If you could start cleaning in the south west second floor and continue that floor, that would be amazing. Now here's your cleaning trolley and if you happen to finish the floor early, send me a little message through the walkie talkie and I'll give you another room or floor. Do you have any questions?" Najia spoke softly. She seemed lovely and it was shame that she had to be in a place that would get more damage than its worth.

"Just one question: why so many spider webs?"

"I don't know, they just seemed to have appeared, I thought it was silly string from some teenagers that managed to break in somehow but it is actual spider web. It wasn't here when I left last night. I guess I'll have to ask someone about that."

And with that you separated and got to your floor when you finally noticed a slight burning sensation on your finger, it wasn't hurtful. It was like putting the finger in a really hot bath. You looked down and noticed it now pointed downhill and seemed to be glowing a shade of gold ever so gently that you would miss it if the weird sensation didn't make you look.

You left your trolley outside a toilet to make it seem like you were in there when really you had wondered off to follow the string. You would probably lose yourself in the maze of hallways that all looked the same as the last if the string didn't help lead you to a ballroom. You opened the door and instantly screamed. A giant spider was walking towards you, however you couldn't get out, you had used a staff door which needed a key card to use from this side as the other side still needed to be fitted and you left yours in the trolley, near the toilets. And the massive spider seemed to be blocking the other way out so you were trapped.

You weren't scared of spiders but seeing them at the size of a van did intimidate you. You started shaking from fear of what it would do to you. Out of pure instinct, you put your hand out to protect yourself and the sound of 8 legs against wooden flooring had ceased. The only sound was your laboured breathing. It stayed like this for what seemed like hours but in actuality was only 5 minutes. You opened your eyes slowly to see 8 more stare right back. 8 eyes that showed fear but no intention of harm. Instead the spider gave you space to breathe by walking back a few feet. Then it seemed to be watching you, studying your next move to see if you were a threat and whether or not it should kill you.

You stayed still for a moment, wrapping your head around what had just happened before gently walking towards the creature with both hands forward to show them clean of weapons. You decided to try and speak to the spider to see if it can understand you.

"Hello. I'm new around here, I'm sorry if I'm trespassing on your area, I wasn't aware of you being here to be honest. I mean you no harm, if anything, I want to help you but unfortunately, I'm stuck in here aswell." You spoke carefully as if it was a child that was afraid. You gently put your hand in its head and it seemed to understand your good intentions and your situation as it let you pet it. Now you were close, you started to admire it and realised it wasn't poisonous or venomous, it was just a regular house spider. But you couldn't figure out how or why it got this big but it did explain the cobwebs everywhere.

You had been with the spider for hours and it seemed like Najia either didn't care or has gotten fired as she hasn't asked about you. You had spent the time talking or singing to the spider. She, as you found out after looking it up, seemed to put her body around you to protect you. You had even met a couple of her children as they gave you food from the cafeteria to nibble on when your stomach growled.

Eventually the burning on your fingers turned up massively and was causing you pain. The spider seemed to sense this and wrapped her web around your finger to help cool it down a little. It didn't help but you showed gratitude anyway as she was only trying to help in anyway she could. You gave her a small smile and her eyes seemed to show sympathy in return.

Then the doors opened again and the sound of several feet walked in. "Oh thank god. I thought I was never going to be found in here." You thought to yourself as you heard the voices mumble to each other and probably about Betty and what's the best way to get rid of her. You would have paid more attention if your finger didn't feel like it had caught fire and was tight as if your soulmate was amongst those that had walked in.

Now you were nervous. How would you introduce yourself? What did they look like? Were they male or female, not that you really cared? So many questions made you feel lightheaded so you grabbed onto Betty to keep yourself planted.

Then the door opened again and a familiar voice echoed in the hall and you knew exactly how he'd want to deal with Betty and after your bond today, you would rather die than her. She was obviously innocent here and maybe the others could see it. Then you heard the familiar click of a gun safety being taken off and your body reacted before your mind did and you jumped in front of her to stop him, although you had a feeling it wouldn't, but it was worth a shot for the others to stop him.

"Don't you fucking dare shoot that gun Dickhead! Not without going through me!" You spoke with fire in your eyes and maybe a slight mix if fear aswell. That's when you looked over at the new group of people. They all seemed trustworthy enough.

There was Najia, who welcomed you here earlier and she looked sad, so she had definitely been fired. Then there was another woman who looked a lot like her, you guessed she was a daughter or something and she was pretty and definitely somone with authority with the way she stood and held herself, maybe she is a police officer? A man who looked as though he was in his 50s and definitely did not belong in this weird group. A young man who looked of a similar age to the police woman, maybe they are friends.

Then you laid your eyes on one of the most beautiful woman, no, human, you had ever seen and would probably never see again. She had short blonde hair in a bob. They seemed to be brunette at the root. She had beautiful chocolate honey eyes that glimmers with so much emotion and age well beyond her years, like she had experienced thousands of years before this moment. You also noticed her odd sense of style but you admired her boldness and it did look amazing on her. You decided she could only be described as sunshine and rainbows.

Then you noticed her hand And a familiar red string that was also glowing a beautiful subtle gold. Like millions of tiny golden stars circled around the string in a beautiful dance of love. Your eyes started to follow the string down and back to your own. She was your soulmate. That goddess that stood before you, was to be yours forever some day.

Then you looked into her hypnotic eyes before you remembered where you were and what situation you were in. And you realised everyone was staring at you for your previous action towards a spider.

"If you want to keep your job, I'd suggest you move out of the way silly girl!" Your boss grumbled in a threatening tone.

"Nope. You are about to hurt an innocent creature that is stuck and terrified. You built on top of landfill and didn't bother to check and thought of no consequences. This is your fault. Is this how you would treat a child that was a mistake after a one night stand or something? Would you shoot a child that had no choice?" You spoke with confidence yet more nerves now she was there listening to every word. When he didn't answer you shouted "Answer me! Would you shoot your mistake of a child?"

He glared at you. "This is different. This is an animal. A pest. It needs to be killed so more can't be born! I made my mistake and now I'm fixing it!" He bellowed just seconds before a shot was made from his gun. You had expected pain but instead you heard a horrible shriek from behind you.

You quickly turned around and petted her whilst whispering sweet words as she took her last breath. You stood up and made your way over to the murderer. You couldn't stand him and you were so tempted to take his gun and shoot him with it, but you didn't. With fire in your eyes and pure hatred, you slapped him hard enough to leave a mark and maybe a bruise as a reminder of his shitty choices. "You can't fire me because I fucking quit you arrogant dick! She had caused no harm to you or I and I'm sure if you would have sorted it sooner, so many more lives could have been saved as she only had humans because flies didn't fill her anymore! She was so kind and just so afraid. I hope you lose everything you pathetic sad sack of boiled shit! You are truest one of the lowest excuses for a human I have ever met and if we meet again please be very afraid, because next time, it won't just be a slap you have to worry about! It'll be your balls as I cut them off beacuse men like you shouldn't repopulate the planet! You horrid scum! I hope your empire fucking collapses!" You spoke with venom lacing every word. You were seething and boy did his face look punchable. Instead you walked away with your middle finger proudly being the last thing he sees as you walk out the normal doors.

Once you were outside, you sat in the steps and finally let out all the emotions. You cried so hard, over your loss of yet another job and a newly found friend. You screamed at him with a string of curses that would offend just about anybody. You suddenly felt somone sit at the side of you. You knew who it was when the string was burning more than ever before and yet you couldn't feel it over the pain your heart.

"You did brilliant back there. You chose, not just your job, but your life over a creature you barely even knew! If you wouldn't have jumped in when you did, I don't think her children would've had a chance to escape to my TARDIS because he's going on a hunt right now for the rest of them. Sure, you didn't save her but you saved so many more lives than you think. And I know each one is eternally grateful for what you did. I know I would be." Her words were certain and sympathetic. They seemed to calm you down instantly. Or maybe is was the way she talked that helped with her soft but strong voice and you knew you already couldn't get enough like it was the best drug ever. You could listen to her all day and yet, she had said very little to you. It was a strange effect but you liked it.

She fell into a silence for a while just keeping you company as you came to terms with had happened.

[vanityeols]

Dangerous Ride 》 Jungkook F1 Pilot AU

PART 1.

After your boss gave you the hard task to interview the most famous, hot and womanizer F1 pilot Jeon Jungkook, you considered yourself the luckiest columnist in Celebrity Magazine. C'mon, have you seen him? And he is single, for God sake...

"Bring me a good article. I need juicy news about him. Write a front page deserving article or don't even bother coming back young lady." Your boss's voice echoed in your head the whole flight.

You settled down in the hotel in Monaco after your flight from New York, and you are now near the bar area, preparing for the interview. When you turn around, you drop your notebook on the ground and when you are about to catch it...

Oh, god! It's Jeon Jungkook. Just the man I was looking for.

He beats you to it, and hands you your book.

"I think you dropped this."

He looks amazing. White shirt, black suit, messed black hair. What a man...

"Thank you."

Jungkook stares at you with a seductive smirk on his lips and takes a seat next to you. Please greek God, if you come any closer I won't be able to keep my hands to myself.

"A water please". He orders and turns to face you. "Do you want something?".

"I'm already served..." you smile politely.

"I'm too late as it appears." He smiles back.

You can't help but notice his perfect features, his magnetic aura. He is incredibly good-looking. Jungkook catches your gaze and smiles.

You are about to introduce yourself, but he and his husky voice beat you to it.

"I'm Jeon Jungkook".

"Yeah, I know. I'm Y/N."

You stare over the crowd of reporters with a few racing drivers giving press conferences. "Aren't you supposed to be there?"

He nodded, looking back at them. "Yeah I should, but I'm not a big fan of the media."

Which makes my task so hard to complete.

"Oh let me guess. You are a fan of privacy."

He smirks and leans closer to you. "How did you know?" Ok, too close loverboy.

You shrugged and looked down to your water cup. "Gossip flies around."

He nodded and licked his juicy lips. "So will you be watching the race tomorrow? I suppose you're here for that?".

"Indeed I will. In fact I came here just to see you.." you told him, tucking your hair behind your ear, in a innocent but at the same time flirty way.

He eyed you from head to toe with an arrogant smile playing on his face. "Then, I better take the pole position".

"Oh, someone is being confident."

"I'm being realistic."

You're impressed by how easy it is to have a conversation with him. Rumors say he is not nice to interviewers. But they also say he loves to play around women so you must be one more easy target to him.

He leans toward you, his woody scent galvanizing your senses. Keep your cool Y/N, keep your cool. A ghost of a smile spreads on his face when he notices your breath fastening by the sudden proximity.

"I better go, I don't do social appearences too long." He whispered in your ear, before pulling away subtly.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Jungkook."

"Likewise, beautiful. Will I see you tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow night?" I asked, confused.

"At the after race party. I would love to see you there."

OK Y/N AM I DREAMING?

"Maybe, who knows."

He smiles before brushing his hand behind your back. "I don't accept no's or maybe's lady Y/N. I will be waiting for you tomorrow night."

And with this, he leaves. And there you are trying to hide your blush. Damn is he hitting on me?

You go back to your room and text your bestfriend and colleague, Hanna, who's a huge fan of Jeon Jungkook.

"I just ran into Jeon Jungkook in the hotel bar."

"LUCKY BITCH!!!! I'm so jealous right now. What happened?"

"Well...he wants to meet me tomorrow after de race."

"Is it a date?"

"Of course not! I still need to interview him."

"But you know he is single, right? But as your bestfriend and a huge fan of him, I need to warn you. He is never serious about relationships. He never goes out with the same woman twice. In fact we never heard of him having a girlfriend officially, but he is a playboy. Believe me, I know a looot about him."

"Interesting. A man like him doesn't scream engagement, I know. But it's not like I want to have something with him. I just need a few answers to my juicy questions, that's all."

"But Jungkook wasn't like that two years ago. Something must have happened. My theory is that a woman screwed him over. That's why he is single for so long. You should try your luck. The bad boy falling for the cute and petite interviewer."

"Hanna, that's ridiculous."

"You two are very alike, trust me. But at least he enjoys the pleasures of life."

"Ok, I got it Hanna. I'm not here for this. Anyway, I got to go."

"Good luck babe, you got this."

The next day you are getting ready to watch the qualification race, and even though you brought the best of your clothes with you, seems like you got nothing fancy enought to wear. I'm meeting Jungkook tonight, I should dress up well, it's an exclusive party invitation only.

You pick a tight black dress a little above the knees with long sleeves and a heart shape cleavage. To finish the look you added a beautiful gold necklace, black high heels and a black purse. Your hair was perfectly straight, falling down your back. To finish the look, you added a red lipstick to your lips and voi la.

A few minutes later, you are watching the qualification race of the Monaco Grand Prix in the VIP area. You spot Jungkook's red car as the crowd cheers for him with thunderous roars.

"And Jeon Jungkook is leading the qualification race! He's bending the track to his own will." You hear the voice of the commentator on the speakers.

In a flash, the drivers pass in front of the crowd, leaving the screaming, brutal sounds of their engines behind them.

"Jeon Jungkook is driving a blistering speed, and Kim Jongin is on his tail. Unbelievable! It's only the qualification race but neither of the two want to slow down. This opening lap will tell us which one of the- OH MY GOD!" The commentator gasps.

Jeon Jungkook tries a dangerous maneuver. He is in a skirmish with Kim Jongin. With all eyes on him, he loses control of the car. Tire squealing. Air hissing and....CRASH.

"AND JUNGKOOK CRASHED".

Your heart almost jumped out of your chest. "Oh my god!"

He slams brutally into the barriers. The audience starts to worry and falls quiet. A minute later, Jungkook gets out of his cockpit and waves at the crowd assuring he's fine.

"Oh no, the judge gave him a black flag...." you mumbled, biting your nails.

"Our favorite, Jeon Jungkook has been disqualified. He won't participate in the Grand Prix. This time his reckless maneuver was penalized!"

You see Jungkook getting out of his car. He smashes his helmet on the ground and strides toward his pit. Man that was intense. It must have been terrible for him.

As much as you wanted to talk to him and see how he was feeling, you didn't get the chance to. Journalists were fast to run to him and all you could see was cameras flashing, and he doesn't really like that, like he told you before.

A few hours later you were at de VIP party. All the elites are there: models, celebrities, racing pilots. E everything was peefectly designed. The decoration was spot on. The atmosphere was magical, glamorous, like a Gatsby's party.

And like all great parties, there is drama...and troublemakers.

This can't be true. What is he doing here?

You spotted Park Jimin, aka your ex boyfriend, dancing with some random supermodel, grinding against her hips. Just the sight of him turns your stomach instantly. And to make the mood even better, he spots you right away, smirking when he caught your eye. I know he is from a very healthy family, but why is he in this after party, in Monaco?

"Well, well, well, Y/N, what are you doing here?" He looks at you from head to toe. "And....so elegant...". He walks towards you and you freeze. That good looking bastard, cheated on me with my at the time best friend. He was the man who broke my heart, made me feel worthless, destroyed my vision of true love. Now thanks to him I never believe anyone who tries to get close to me.

"You can stop right there. I appreciate the compliment. Now if you excuse me..." you gave him your best fake smile and rush towards the bar area, as far from him as possible. You call out a bartender, determined to drown your misery and the terrible memories you have of Jimin. "Give me something strong...".

"Coming right up lady." The bartender winked at you and disappeared to get your drink.

You looked around. Your ex having the time of his live. Couples kissing, others flirting...

And here I am, feeling miserable. Not being brave enough to talk to men. Too much of a good girl to be risky and flirty with someone. You shake your head, biting your bottom lip.

Shot after shot, you forgot why you were here in the first place. Anger is getting the best of you. You were about to ask for another shot, when a strong hand grabbed the cup from your hand and pushed it aside.

"Apparently misery does love company?" Jungkook smiled, genuinely, before taking a seat next to you.

Finally someone to make my night, a better night. Hi eye candy.

"Do you need some help? I mean, seems like you have a lot going on in here." He points to his head.

You rolled your eyes at him. "You crashed your car earlier. It seems like you have your own problems to solve."

"Ouch" he placed a hand on top his chest with a hurt (playful) expression. "Ok I probably deserved that one. But what happened to you today?".

You took a deep breath and looked right at him, resting your chin in the palm of your hand. "I ran into my ex boyfriend. Yeah, bad luck. I found that douchebag in Monaco. What a coincidence. Of all the places he could go, he is here. In this party. Almost having sex on the dance floor with some supemodel. You grabbed your drink and took it down with one gulp.

Jungkook blinked and looked around. "Where is he?"

"You see the guy with the white shirt wearing black pants? The one next to the blonde supermodel? That's him."

Jungkook nodded. "What a bad haircut. And to be honest he looks like a robot trying to dance. If you ask me, you are way out of his league." And when he said that, his hand rested on your thigh. "Way too attractive miss Y/N..."

You looked down at his hand and then back at him. A playful grin on your face. "Mr.Jeon Jungkook, are you flirting with me?"

You both laughed. Jungkook bites his bottom lip, something he seems to do a lot to his own good, and pulled you closer.

"Why don't we make this night better for both of us?" His breath mixed with mint and alcohol is sending shivers down your spine. His hand is now down your back. You drank way too much already and it's not helping.

You remember what your bestfriend Hanna told you about him being a womanizer and only doing one night stands kind of things. But you were tired of being the good girl. Tired of not having adventurous memories because you were too good for your own good and ttonight.Damn tonight, a hell of a man was in front of you. Wanting you as much as you want him and even if it's one night only, the present is what counts.

I wanna live this moment.

You look at his perfect lips, wondering how it would feel like to kiss Jeon Jungkook.

And just like you, Jungkook is staring back at your lips, waiting for you to do the first move.

"Like what you see?" You asked, feeling daring.

He smirked. "Oh, I'm definitively enjoying the view."

You licked your lips, tracing your fingers down his arm. "You must know I'm here for business."

Jungkook nodded "is that so?"

"I'm a columnist."

He shrugged. "And?"

You remember your boss's words. "Interview Jeon Jungkook, give me juicy news, write a front page deserving article or don't even bother coming back young lady."

"...and I'm here to interview you. I've been trying to do it all day..."

His expression changes. As if he was...mad.

I know he hates the media, but I would hate to be fired.

"It's for a women's magazine. You sure know you have a huge feminine fanbase who would love to know more about you...."

Jungkook gives a deep breath and nods. "I see..but what about you? Not the Y/N columnist, but the real Y/N...."

You raised an eyebrow, obviously confused.

"What about me?"

He wrapped an hand around your wrist and pulled you close to him, his grip gentle, his lips brushing your earlobe.

"Would you like to know me?"

[byunsboyz]

Jamais Vu - Part One

Exo Fanfiction

Baekhyun x Female Reader

Warnings: some light swears.

Genre: Fluff/Angst?

W/C: 2560

Part Two Part Three

_____________________________________________________________

Everybody has that ‘what if’. The one who got away....not quite regret, but thoughts that would drift by late at night when insomnia has set in and you’re deep into your latest existential crisis.

What if things had been different? What if you had said what had been on the tip of your tongue that day?

Byun Baekhyun was your what if. 

He had been your best friend in college and the only person you had truly loved.

You had no reason to run into Byun Baekhyun. You didn’t share classes. You an Accounting major and him Architecture. 

You didn’t run in the same social circles, he was part of a frat house and you opted to remain in dorms with your small group of friends. 

But what had brought you together was music, meeting in your second year while working at the campus radio station.

You had applied for the role of Production Director on a whim, looking for a hobby outside of classes and studying and also benefited from the extra credit of managing the finances of the small college club. 

The first time you met you were positive you’d never understand him. After all, you were complete opposites. He was loud and outgoing; always the centre of jokes and a far cry the quiet loner you were perceived to be. 

But from the first show you ran with him, he has surprised you. Baekhyun was the On-Air Presenter for the Sunday night Jazz & Blues segment and as soon as the light would turn red he’d take on a completely different persona.

His voice would become soft and melodic as he’d whisper sweet nothings into the microphone about the classics of Miles Davies and Frank Sinatra. 

You’d often be on the same late-night shift together; downing coffee after coffee, discussing your favourite artists and organising records until the early hours.

He wasn’t exhausting like the rest of your extroverted friends, his presence giving you a warm sense of comfort. 

Without noticing you became joined at the hip for the rest of your college days. 

Not to the point that you were a regular at his crazy frat parties but you’d hang out at the radio station, would marathon movie after movie at each other’s dorms on the weekends and crammed for all your major test’s together. 

You hadn’t even realised you were in love with him until you’d just graduated, you even had the crazy idea to confess.

Then the news broke that he was moving to a different country.

He had been in two minds on whether to go. You’d always talked about living and working in the same city and he’d been concerned about you being alone and him going back on his promise.

Honestly. Who achieves their dream job at a globally famous architecture firm and worries about their dumb friend during the happiest moment of their life?!

You remembered that day vividly.

‘“Of course you should go! It’s your dream, Baek” you forced the enthusiasm into your voice.

Inside, you could feel your heart tearing at the seams. You weren’t selfish enough to show him just how much you would miss him, as much as you had wanted to.

He was always too considerate of your feelings. 

This wasn’t some Rom-Com TV show, where Baekhyun would suddenly declare he couldn’t live without you. He wasn’t like Rachel choosing not to get on the plan for Ross.

You’d cried so hard the night he’d left. Almost texting the words you’d be aching to tell him for the last three years. 

‘I am in love with you’. 

But the alcohol had knocked you out before you could hit send.

He’d promised to keep in touch but over the years you drifted. As life and work became more and more hectic it devolved from video chatting on the weekends, to texting occasionally. 

Fading into receiving a generic happy birthday post on social media and then nothing at all.

You’d pushed him to the back of your mind as you told yourself over and over that this is what happens as you get older. 

And with that ten years had passed.

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

You wake with a start. Back aching from where you’d fallen asleep in an awkward position while watching a random ASMR video the night prior.

*Clatter*  

Your sleep-filled eyes search the room, trying to locate the source of the noise. 

*Thud Thud Thud*

It appears to be coming through the wall behind your headboard.

Could someone be moving into the apartment next door? It’s been entirely empty the whole time you’ve been living here, about seven months now.

You've enjoyed the quiet solace of not having to share the walls with another person. Especially being one of the only two apartments on the upper floor, it was one of the reasons you love your apartment.

It’s also located near the subway and tucked far back enough on the outskirts of the city that it’s almost peaceful. There’s also a small cafe bar and a couple of small stores that remind you of the town where you grew up.

*Bang*

You groan again at the loud noises as you stretch your arms over your head and wonder about the people moving in next door.

Maybe a couple? Or a young family. It could even be a cute guy. You snort at the thought. Yeah right. What kind of a psycho moves into an apartment in the early morning anyway?!

You reach under your pillow for your phone to check the time. 8:30 am! SHIT. You overslept and if you don’t leave your apartment in the next ten minutes you’ll miss your train to work!

With no time for a shower, you rush to your bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth.

As you drag a brush through your hair and pull it up into a simple, neat ponytail you start forming a contingency plan…

‘Skip the usual to-go coffee at Dunkin’ and settle for the instant stuff at work’ you think to yourself, ‘As soon as I get to work, throw on some BB cream and mascara with the time I’ll gain abandoning my daily vanilla latte with coconut milk…’.

You sniff sadly at the thought as you step into one of your tailored dresses, fumbling with the awkward zipper in the back.

Within 10 minutes you’re flying out the door and straight into the elevator. Using the short amount of time to button up your sweater and glance through your bag to check that you’ve got everything you’ll need for the day.

You’re in your own thoughts as you stride towards the lobby doors, and almost walk straight into your building manager.

“Oh! Good morning, Mr Sato!” you gasp in surprise.

“Good morning!” he smiles obliviously, not realising that you almost knocked him flying. You move to step around him as he continues. “There’s a package of yours with Ralph” (the doorman) “and I also wanted to let you know about a new tenant moving into the place next to yours...”

“Uh-huh,  of course, that’s great!” You cut him off, waving your hands apologetically “I am so sorry. Please excuse me, I’m late for work!” you call out behind you as you make a mad dash out of the building to the subway station.

You make your train by the skin of your teeth, panting from the final sprint from the ticket gate to the platform. Feeling glad you skipped the makeup as you would have surely sweat a good portion of it off by now.

You currently work for a large accountancy firm Kim & Partners. You could have worked within a finance department of any company as most qualified accountants tend to do but you love the challenges and variety of working with different industries and clients every day.

You manage a small team of four and specialise in bookkeeping for small to medium enterprise, one of the smaller departments in the company but you have a pretty large client base and enjoy the satisfaction of helping others and providing a clear and efficient service.

“We are transferring you to manage corporate accounts,” your boss Mr Kim announces in the morning management meeting. You feel like someones just pulled a step from beneath your footing.

You were aware that your manager Mr Choi had wanted to transfer you out to provide more specialised management accountancy for larger corporate clients but so far you’d been convincing enough from the commission and reputation you’ve built for Kim & Partners to be able to continue as you were.

“Uh, thank you for the opportunity, Mr Kim, I-” you begin shakily, looking for the words or a reason to decline the transfer.

“Fantastic! You’ll handover to Jaehyun for the rest of today and you’ll start in corporate accounting tomorrow!” your boss claps his hands together enthusiastically and with that you chicken out of any further protest and nod your head.

Jaehyun is your second in command and honestly, he really deserves this promotion. You couldn’t think of someone more diligent and detail-oriented.

The rest of your day is uneventful. The handover goes incredibly smoothly despite a very surprised Jaehyun but the more things are explained, the more you realise that this progression will be good for everyone.

You’ll still oversee Jaehyun and his team but allow him more room to make decisions and develop while you work on the larger corporate accounts that keep your company in business.

There was even a hint at the opportunity to become a junior partner, which by your calculations would make you one of the youngest in the company.

You leave work feeling excited, passing up on celebratory drinks with your (old) team so that they can have more fun without their boss present.

“COME ONNNN” Hani, your junior accounts clerk had whined when you announced that you wouldn't be joining “You’re not a regular boss, you’re a COOL boss!”.

You appreciate the sentiment but everyone likes to complain about work and management when they drink and you wouldn't like to take that away from them.

You sit on the train heading back to your apartment feeling optimistic, texting your best friend Aria about the day and making plans for your own celebratory drinks.

You’re walking through the lobby of your apartment building, heading towards Ralph’s desk to collect the package Mr Sato mentioned this morning. Probably the new nutribullet you’d ordered while drunk Amazon shopping a couple of weeks back.

Normally you’d cancel the delivery but drunk you was really onto something this time. You giggle at a dumb vine quote Aria sends you and as you finish typing up your response-

 THWACK! You hit a wall, falling ungracefully backwards onto your butt.

You grunt as the air gets knocked out of you when you make contact with rough carpet of the lobby.

“Seriously!” another voice snaps you back to reality as you realise you didn’t walk into a wall but another person.

 A now very annoyed person, carrying what you assume was their groceries as you glance over at the produce and cans rolling around on the floor between you.

“I- oh my gosh, I am so sorry!” you stammer as you scramble to your knees and start frantically picking up some of the items in front of you. A can of beans, a bag of pasta and a lone orange trying to make its escape. 

“I wasn’t even looking, I promise I’ll pay for anything dama-”, You begin as you look up, expecting to see Mr Sato or one of the other tenants of the building.

The rest of your sentence dies in the back of your throat.

“Baekhyun?...”

His name leaves your lips as a whisper, heart thumping against your chest as you almost drop the items in your hands.

He’s not looking in your direction, you hear him grumble something under his breath that you can’t quite make out as he scoops the remainder of his groceries into a battered paper bag.

Is it really him? Did you hit your head and you’re actually unconscious and hallucinating about a guy you used to know and haven’t seen in ten years?

It sure looks like him. A few extra lines crease his forehead, his hair is a darker shade of chocolate than you remember with a few flecks of silver glinting at the centre of his parting.

You glance to his left hand searching for the mole that sits beneath his thumbnail but it’s not there. Maybe it was on his right hand?

He finally looks up as if finally registering that you’re kneeling on the floor next to him, his lips part slightly in surprise as he looks you over. A tiny mole sits just above the corner of his upper lip. It really is him!

Before your mind has time to catch up you’re throwing your arms around him, allowing your excitement to overtake all of your other senses. You feel him instantly tense up.

“H-hey!” he shouts, pushing you off him abruptly. “What the hell are you doing!”

You shoot to your feet, shaken by the sharpness of his tone you take a step back to create some space. Your throat feels dry all of a sudden. His eyes look you over but there’s no familiarity in them, they’re so cold you almost shiver.

He takes a step towards you, “How do you know my name?” his tone sharp and accusing, “Are you some kind of stalker?”.

Your cheeks start to burn as the realisation set’s in that Baekhyun has no idea who you are. You struggle to swallow the lump forming in your throat as you search for a response. Words seem to fail you right now.

“Y/N, is everything alright?” you hear the worried voice of Mr Sato, by the time you remember to blink he’s already standing between the two of you. You look up at him, dumbstruck as you fight back the sharp prickles in the corner of your eyes.

He looks back and forth between you and Baekhyun, trying to piece together what has taken place. You realise you’re still holding Baekhyun’s groceries, practically hugging the bag of pasta to your chest and your cheeks burn even hotter. 

You hear your name spoken again but it’s not Mr Sato’s voice this time, and you don’t have the nerve to look at Baekhyun again.

So you do the only thing you can think of and thrust the items you're holding at Mr Sato. Run as fast as you can to the stairwell, and find the nearest hole to jump into, aka your apartment.

Your knees ache as you force yourself up each flight. You can’t even remember the last time you used the stairwell and when you finally reach the threshold of your apartment you collapse against the door.

What on earth were you thinking?

What gave you the right to assume anyone would recognise you after ten years?

What was he even doing here? As that final thought crosses your mind someone knocks at your door.

You jump at the abrupt noise, chest still tight from the anxiety (or the running). But there’s no way you’re answering the door.

Your legs still feel like jelly and you really fear that Mr Sato has come to scold you or worse Baekhyun has followed you.

But he wouldn’t know which apartment you lived in. Would he?

You pull yourself to your feet and glance through the peephole.

You watch as Baekhyun turns away from your front door and disappears towards the next apartment.

No way.

*Slam*

Shit.

[haro-whumps]

Group Whumpees 8: Need

CW: death ment, slavery, crying, multiple whumpees, aftermath of abuse, abusive relationship from the victim’s perspective

Tag List: @bleeding-demon-teeth @theycomeinthrees @redwingedwhump @whimperwoods @inpainandsuffering @whole-and-apart-and-between @whump-whump-whump-it-up @whumpingupastorm @newandfiguringitout @lonesome--hunter @looptheloup @icannotweave  @deluxewhump @whumping-every-day @yeet-me-out-a-window @what-a-whumpy-world @burtlederp @constellationwhump @swordkallya @finder-of-rings @fairybean101 @adventuresofacreesty @arlennil @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight

Masterlist

The problem with having sex dreams was that they absolutely never made sense, involved kinks Galo himself did not have, and weren’t even particularly arousing. They just left him vaguely unsettled and staring up at his ceiling with his arms crossed over his belly, squinting.

“Alright. So that’s how we start today, I guess,” he muttered, and hauled himself upright. He unwound the bandage on his arm and surveyed his wounds, and decided that it was time to do away with the bandages, and probably gonna be the last day to disinfect the cuts. He was healing well. He got dressed, brushed his teeth, grabbed the disinfectant, and went to the kitchen.

Now that the funeral was out of the way and he didn’t have arrangements to make or family to talk to or furniture to move, his number one priority could be focusing on helping the slaves. If he were to create a sliding scale on how well they were doing, he would probably put Nyla and Greyson closer to “better” and Evan, Sasha, and Lilah closer to “worse.” Sasha was petrified of him, but she’d done best when he had her making food for the funeral. So he drew the conclusion that she liked to feel useful, and was more at ease when she had a task to focus on, rather than just, like, Galo’s presence or whatever.

So.

“Morning Sasha,” he greeted as he entered the kitchen. She took her thumb off the blender--she’d taken to making his shakes for him, in the mornings, and he had to admit she got them just how he liked--and kissed his extended hand. “Mind helping me with my arm? It goes faster if someone else does it for me.”

Sasha took the disinfectant seriously, focused solely on the task, and he smiled a little. She was kind of intense, in her own quiet way. He found it charming.

“Thanks.” He flexed his hand to test his arm, not making the mistake of flexing the arm itself, and gave a nod of approval. “Has everyone been eating?” Galo asked, knowing he’d not really been around much, the last few days. If anyone had missed meals, he wouldn’t know.

Sasha nodded. Her eyes were wide and downcast, as she handed over his thermos, and he bent over so he could smile at her.

“Good girl, Sasha!” Her eyes darted to him, then down, a flimsy smile tugging at her lips and her shoulders hunching slightly. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Or, well, see. Keep it up, okay?” Galo prompted with a hand on her right shoulder. Another nod, and he gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Good girl.” Another fleeting smile.

Sasha liked praise. Evan did not seem to. Nyla did, Greyson was outwardly passive about it, and Galo still hadn’t seen a lot of Lilah. Just The Incident™ and the introduction meeting and not much else.

He tried to think while he was on the treadmill, formulate some kind of plan on what he was going to do with them all. He knew stability was going to be key. A routine was a must, and to be fair, Galo would need one too. His boss had told him not to bother with the two weeks and so he’d officially quit his job, but just going to the gym wasn’t going to be enough structure for him.

He should volunteer. Put in hours at a soup kitchen or animal shelter or something. He’d look up local volunteer efforts in his city when he got home; if he gave four hours every weekday that’d be enough to give him structure, but not so much that Galo would get fatigued or overwhelmed. After deciding on that course of action, he just ran, mind blank and body sweating.

He showered, drove home, threw a fleece around his shoulders (it was a pleasantly cool day), and then dutifully pulled up his laptop. He opened his notebook and flipped to a blank page, and wrote down “Ongoing observations of praise” with an underline, then listed how each slave currently reacted to it. He also wrote down where they preferred touch, if at all, and then put it away with the intent on updating the list as time progressed. 

He scrolled immediately past any religious-based volunteer groups, not interested in that shit in the slightest, and quirked his lips as he passed by hospitals and blood drives. He was not a medical professional, and while he could theoretically keep up in an environment that fast-paced did he really want to? Nah. He was retiring in his thirties, at least at the start he intended to take it easy and enjoy it as best he could, given the situation with the slaves. So probably not gonna take it easy for a while. But all the more reason not to burn himself out at his replacement for a job. 

He opened a tab for a volunteer firefighter group. He was physically very fit, and fire wasn’t a particular phobia of his. But again, fast paced and high stress, maybe not the best choice for right that particular moment. He bookmarked it, though. Maybe later.

Then he opened a tab for his city’s parks and recreation organization, and got interested. He clicked around a bit, gathering that there was a very wide range of opportunities and tasks that needed handled, pretty much year round, and hey, he’d take rainy days off. He emailed the person listed on the site and detailed that he was freshly unemployed, was looking for daily tasks, was interested in litter cleanup, mulching, gardening, and painting outdoor benches and picnic shelters, and he could start pretty much immediately. He lived in a large city, so there were quite literally hundreds of parks that needed tending. He, a single volunteer, would not be held responsible for anything more than his part, and he was genuinely excited by the idea of doing more with plants than just the little potted buddy on his windowsill. 

“Master?” 

Galo snapped out of his thoughts, head whipping over and then down, to find Greyson kneeling next to his chair.

“Hey, Greyson,” Galo said, blinking and recalibrating his brain. How long had he been there? Galo hadn’t heard him come in.

“Do I interrupt, Master?” he asked without looking up from the carpet.

Galo glanced at his computer screen, with his email that he’d finished drafting but needed to read over before he sent it. Lying was not a good basis for a relationship, but telling Greyson yes might spook him.

“It’s nothing that can’t wait,” he decided on, a truth that ideally took pressure off of Greyson. “What’s up?”

“I would like to request an indulgence, Master Galo. I will do anything you ask in return.”

“You already do everything I ask you to do, Greyson,” Galo pointed out with a gentle chuckle, leaning over the armrest to brush his fingers over the back of Greyson’s jacket. Again, no outward reaction, but Galo assumed Greyson would at least tense if he didn’t like it, so? Galo tugged on the fabric of his jacket, urging him to sit on the floor itself instead of his heels, and Greyson moved fluidly, legs bent to the side. “Go ahead and just ask.”

“May I visit Mistress Bethany’s grave?”

Galo blinked, neither of them moving for a long moment. That was not on the list of things he expected to be asked for. He didn’t have an official list or anything, but if he did, it wouldn’t be on there.

Greyson didn’t seem like an overly vindictive type, so getting written up for public urination probably wasn’t on the schedule. Then again, Greyson didn’t seem like much of anything, from an outside perspective, and if anyone deserved to have her grave pissed on it was Galo’s aunt.

“Yeah, dude, sure. Like, now..?”

“Whenever Master would prefer,” Greyson said quietly, and Galo pat his back between the shoulder blades.

“Lemme wrap up this email and then we can head out, yeah?”

“Thank you Master.” Greyson waited with one hand braced on the carpet, the other resting in his lap, face low to the ground, entirely immobile. Galo might think he was a statue if he was going off of movement alone. He read over his email, corrected a spelling error and reworded his parting sentence, and then sent it.

“Alright, let’s vamonos.” Galo stood and the fleece around his shoulders flared briefly, like a cape almost, and he folded and hung it over the back of his chair. Greyson stood gracefully, and Galo took note of the bright red rose tucked into his breast pocket. It matched his tie. He didn’t comment, though; Greyson could do whatever he wanted with his appearance and Galo didn’t want to make it sound like he disapproved (and it was very easy for him to accidentally sound like he disapproved, here). 

In the garage Greyson swaned ahead of Galo and opened the passenger side door, but did not actually get into the car until after Galo was sitting in the driver’s seat, buckling himself in. “You good, Greyson?”

“Yes, Master,” Greyson said, startling only just a little. Galo might have imagined it. Once he was also seated and buckled, Galo drove the now-familiar route to the cemetery, and pulled to a halt just next to the row.

“She’s the fresh grave at the end there,” Galo said, pointing in the direction. He thought carefully on how to word his next question. “Would you like me to come with you, or can I wait here in the car?”

“Whichever you prefer, Master.”

Eh, should’ve expected that. “I’ll wait here, then. You go do whatever you need to do; take your time. I’m in no rush.”

“Thank you Master.”

“Sure, Greyson.” Galo watched him leave the car and walk down the row, then pulled out his phone. Let the man have some privacy. 

--

“Hello, Mistress,” Greyson said softly, consciously putting effort into moving fluidly, gracefully to his knees. The soil of the grave was still loose, freshly turned, and Greyson’s otherwise immaculate pants touched the strip of grass separating her from her neighbor with two silent thumps.

He took a deep breath. Master did not like when he knelt like this. Slowly, he shifted to sit on the ground, his legs to the side, like his living owner liked, not the one whose grave he sat beside.

“I would kiss your hand in greeting,” Greyson whispered, “but that is not an option any longer.”

Agitation welled inside him. He was sitting incorrectly. He’d learned this lesson, learned proper posture over and over and over with each smoking cigarette. And although Master Galo insisted on new posture, it was not Master Galo that Greyson knelt next to in that moment.

He lurched forward, hand coming up to cover his mouth, and he knelt properly, like he was meant to. His Mistress was dead, but he would kneel beside her grave like he knelt beside her in life. His anxiety abated, slowly, but markedly, as he knelt low to the grass.

“I apologize, Mistress. I reacted poorly,” he whispered to the dirt. It made one of the knots in his stomach loosen, if not unwind. And Mistress was no longer here to punish him for the infraction, so his apology really was the end of it. He knelt there, breathing, saying nothing, for a time.

He should… ‘do whatever he needed to do,’ and stop wasting Master Galo’s time. But he’d urged him to take as long as he needed, and just this once, Greyson would like to actually do what he’d set out to.

But what to say? What to say.

“Your nephew is nothing like you,” Greyson said, hands clasped pristinely in his lap. “We do not understand him at all. He’s pleasant and cheerful, slow to anger, we don’t know his rules, and his punishments have been mild, more or less. Hunger and recitations, so far.”

Greyson lifted his head, kneeling with his spine straight, most of his weight on his ankles. He stared forward, chin and eyes perfectly level. He took in the rows and rows of headstones, the occasional splash of color where people had left flowers. Mistress’s own grave had many, leftover from the ceremony two days before. Without looking, he lifted his hands and unfastened the rose from his breast.

“I wish I knew why I wanted to come here, so badly,” he said, lowering his hands to his lap again, flower clasped between them. He cradled it loosely, careful of its thorns. “I wish I knew what I was looking for.”

He saw the gust of wind before he felt it, rolling through the grass, past the headstones, before rustling him gently. There were a few trees, in this cemetery, but none close to him, and they were fairly far away from each other. 

“I hated you.” He said it louder than the rest he had said so far, harder. He would’ve been beaten for that tone, if she were alive, and not a bad memory lying six feet below him and a little to the right.

“I hated you,” he repeated, quieter, and he felt his throat constrict, his chin spark with unwelcome tension. He blinked. He looked up, breathing in deeply. He willed himself not to tear up.

“I hated you,” he whispered skyward, to the woman who was certainly not.

Rose clasped gently in one hand, he gingerly removed his glasses and folded their arms, individually, and set them in front of him. Normally, if he was kneeling for his Mistress and his glasses were off, it was because she intended to hurt him, and didn’t want to break his glasses. Such an expense was not something to be wasted on the likes of him.

“I hated you,” he said, barely audible at all. 

He lifted one knobby hand to his face and covered his eyes, grinding his jaw as his lips pulled back, a sob trapped behind his teeth. His body curled forward, not to submit, not to bow, just in on itself as the tears spilled over, tension lancing his body so badly his hearing whited out for a moment.

“I loved you,” he gasped, and there. He’d said it. “I miss you as much as I don’t.” He fumbled for the tissue he’d had the foresight to bring and blew his nose twice, then held it beneath his nose. His tears were, at this point, a lost cause. 

“I hate you, I’m glad you’re dead. You hurt the others so badly. You hurt me all my life. You were cruel and unrelenting and the one time I prayed, I prayed for your death.”

Greyson sobbed, fingers curling instinctively tighter around the rose, thorns pressing into his skin in warning. No further.

“But I knew you,” he whined, some distant and untouchable part of him surprised by how high his own voice was, “You were fussy and always so anxious about what other people thought of you, and when good things happened unexpectedly you would get so happy…”

Greyson bent over all the way, fist to the dirt, flower poking out the top, the back of his hand pressed to his thighs as he held the tissue to his face, still.

“I hated you,” he insisted, begging to be believed, “I hated you so much.”  He blew and wiped his nose, running out of dry spots on the tissue. He wanted, so badly, to lie down on his side, to curl up around her leg with his hand to her ankle, beseeching, like he used to. He crumpled the wet tissue in his hand, used up, nothing left for it but to be discarded.

He wept.

--

Galo had started with 195 unread emails in his inbox, and had now successfully pared them down to 17. Most of those were marked unread for strategic reasons, so he wasn’t lowering that number beyond that. He’d responded to all social media notifications, and had even popped into his guilds’ discords to let everyone know that he wasn’t dead, just that his aunt was. He told them he’d ideally be back online here sometime in the future, but he wasn’t quite sure when. 

He enjoyed that, when his guildies sent their condolences, he was able to respond with nah dw abt it, she was a heinous bitch and the world is better with her gone. He also enjoyed that he pretty much immediately heard back from someone agreeing and sharing an anecdote about their own shitty family members, may they not rest in peace at all.

Should Galo… check on Greyson? He knew he told the guy to take as long as he needed, but it had been well over an hour. He glanced at the clock and told himself he’d wait ten more minutes. Ten more, and then he’d wander over. At least ask if the guy wanted to talk about it, if everything was otherwise fine.

--

Greyson pocketed the wet tissue; these pants would need washed, anyway. He fumbled only momentarily before he got his glasses back on his face. He uncurled his fingers so the rose perched on his open palm, red pricks from where he’d gripped too hard marking his hand, but that was fine. They were shallow, and the blood was dry.

The grave had a mass of flowers already, left by Mistress’s large network of peers, friends, family. The rose became indistinct the moment he set it down, a single bloom amongst many.

He left it there as he stood, sorely, and he actually had the audacity to catch himself on her headstone when his right knee buckled. He wasn’t as young as he used to be. He stood, bent improperly, waiting for blood to circulate into his legs again. 

He turned, and forced himself to look at the car, still idling where he’d left it. Now he had to return to his Master, the one who was alive, and answer for the time he’d wasted. Pay whatever price his request had incurred.

Master Galo had been right, after all. Greyson would do anything he liked, with or without the indulgence. Master could order him, and he could hurt or use or claim Greyson whenever and however he desired; perhaps only Mistress Bethany had looked for reasons and excuses to do so. Perhaps such was part of her games, but not his.

Greyson walked smoothly, with the practiced grace of three decades in his heels. He opened the car door (fearing only in the moment that he pulled the handle that it might be locked) and sat down, buckling himself. He knew how he must look. Dirt on his pants, his face an ugly wreck.

Master Galo made no comment, only opened the center console and handed Greyson a pack of tissues.

“Thank you, Master,” Greyson said hoarsely.

“Yeah, dude,” Master said softly. He put the car in drive and said nothing else, the entire drive home.

Once inside, he placed his hand on Greyson’s shoulder and told him, “Take it easy, yeah?”

“Yes Master,” Greyson said, even though he had no idea why that was his owner’s reaction. He’d wasted his time, as well as his own. He should work harder, to make up for the time lost, not take it easy. But an order was an order. And whatever Master Galo’s games were, this one, at least, the family was fairly certain they knew. He wanted to be obeyed, even if the orders made no sense, even if they were strange and confusing.

But Greyson was good at obeying. Even if the orders made no sense. Even if they were strange and confusing. So he would obey, and if he obeyed, maybe he and his family could stay “winning” this round of Master Galo’s mindgames.

Nyla, however, there would be no winning with.

“Where were you?” Nyla hissed, frantic, one hand cupping Greyson’s cheek, her other pressed firmly to the center of his chest as she backed him into the hallway wall. 

“I asked Master Galo to take me to Mistress’s grave. He indulged me.”

“He--you asked for an indulgence?!” Nyla asked, aghast. Greyson didn’t need to nod. “Did you at least have to pay for it?”

“More mindgames.”

“More mindgames--!” Nyla cut herself off, one hand pressed to the cool wood by Greyson’s ear, the other making a fist and coming down, very lightly, twice to the center of his chest. “Grey.”

“Nyla.”

“I rely on you; you know that?”

Greyson lifted his hands and settled them gently on Nyla’s hips. “I know.”

“I need you to not go off the rails, okay? For me? I need to know you’re not going to be reckless and do stupid things anymore. Please.”

“I promise,” Greyson said quietly, “I will not ask for another indulgence. Not until you say I may.”

Nyla sighed, her head dropping and replacing her fist on his chest. He pulled her into a hug, and she returned it tiredly.

“You hold this family together, Nyla.” He kissed her hair. “I’m not trying to make that more difficult for you than it already is.”

“So why--” She took a deep breath. “Why did you ask for an indulgence?” she asked at a much more reasonable volume. “Why that indulgence, specifically?”

Yeah, it’d be really nice, if he knew the answer to that.

“I can’t explain it,” he said honestly, arms tightening around her warm solidity only briefly. “I needed to. I’m sorry.”

He held her, lips pressed to her hair, arms around each other, until Sasha arrived with a soft, “Uhm, Grey?”

Her hands were anxiously tugging on the lock of hair she kept free, specifically for the purpose of anxious tugging. “M-Master said you’re h-home. You need t-to eat.”

“Thank you, Sasha.” Greyson nudged the side of Nyla’s head with his nose before the separated. “Master ordered that I ‘take it easy,’ too. I don’t know why.”

Nyla rubbed at her face. “More mindgames.”

He offered her a smile, terse and a little strained, but well-intentioned, and she was good at reading the meanings of his gestures. She bumped her knuckles against his chest and went off, and Greyson smiled at Sasha, who looked at him with worried eyes.

“Lead on.”

Sasha’s lips quirked briefly and she returned to the kitchen. Greyson trailed after her, silent as a ghost.

Next

[i-need-entertainment]

Dreams Can Come True: Chapter 2 New Home

Chapter 1-Chapter 3

After Y/n’s shift at the daycare was over, she quickly made her way home and changed into more presentable clothes for her ‘interview’. She made her way out of her home wearing shiny black heels, a form fitting black pencil skirt and a loose, comfy white blouse. Y/n made her way into the café and immediately spotted her friend from this morning. 

She walked over, “Hi Kurono, I hope I didn’t take too long, I wanted to look presentable for meeting your boss!” Chrono took a moment to look at Y/n, and she looked good. If not for his keen control on his emotions he was sure his face would have gone red, but he kept his composure and simply nodded. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. The man lives in button ups and slacks, so I’m sure you’ll make a good first impression.” Y/n then took a moment to notice what Chrono was wearing, he too, had changed into something nicer. He was now wearing a white button up and dark wash, not skinny but not super loose fitting, jeans. Dang, the man cleans up nicely. Unfortunately for our little Y/n here, she doesn’t have the same control over her emotions as the stone cold gangster, so her cheeks may have flushed a *little* pink. Chrono noticed her change in appearance and inwardly flushed at the thought of her blushing at him. Being 20 he knew he was in his ‘prime’ or whatever, and most people would have expected him to have a girlfriend by now, but dating wasn’t exactly easy in his position. Sure, he had a few girlfriends before, but they either just got in the way, only dated him to get close to Kai, or in the most unfortunate cases, weren’t exactly faithful. He just didn’t really see the point in dating if he was just going to get hurt in the end, or have to hurt someone in the end, I mean he may be a ‘heartless’ mafia but he does have one. There was also the fact he had a six year old to take care of, and in all aspects of his life, she was his priority. He had always wanted kids, and a wife. But if he could have at least one of those things, he couldn’t complain, right? He snapped out of it, and led Y/n back to the private room his boss had gotten for the night seeing as the Hassaikai had special ties with the owner. As she walked in the room, she noticed a young, fairly tall and built young man sitting down at the head of the table. Chrono led her to her seat at the opposite end, and took his seat to the right of his boss. To Overhaul’s left was another young man. Y/n polite fully bowed her head and introduced herself. “Hello sir, I’m Y/n L/n.” He nodded his head in acknowledgement and motioned for her to take a seat. It was now she paid attention to what the others were wearing. The man at the head of the table was wearing a black button down shirt with black pants and a white-gray tie. The man beside him dressed in all black, wearing a cape like top and a black bowler’s hat. Most peculiarly about the two however…is that they were wearing plague masks. While the one dressed solely in black wore one that covered his whole face, the one seated at the head of the table wore a burgundy and gold mask that covered only half of his face. Wait a minute…You knew who these people were. “Good evening Ms. L/n. I’m sure by now you’ve figured out who we are, yes?” “I have an idea..” Y/n then noticed Chrono had slipped on  white medical mask. “You’re probably wondering what the Shie Hassaikai wants with a daycare worker, Hm?” You simply nodded your head. “I don’t know how much Chronostasis has told you, but we are in need of female caretaker for the little girl you met today. We’re offering you a spot as not only her caretaker, but as a respected member of the Shie Hassaikai. Join us, and I assure you, you will be taken care of.” Y/n took a moment to think about it.

~Chrono POV/ Narrator POV~

I really do hope she says yes, having her around would make taking care of Eri a lot easier, ad it’d be nice to have her around. “Okay, I’ll do it” Yes! “But…” But…? “I don’t want to kill anyone. It’s true I’m not the biggest fan of heroes, but I’m not exactly pro villain either, I just want to take care of Eri, if that’s okay.” Seems fair to me. I didn’t really want her to have to kill either, a girl as pretty and nice as herself shouldn’t have to go through that….wait what the heck am I thinking?! “Those terms are acceptable, welcome to the Shie Hassaikai, L/n. Now, if you don’t mind, we’d like to ask you some more…personal questions.” Oh boy, here we go again, I already know what he’s going to ask, 1. What’s your quirk. “Tell me, what is your quirk?” Knew it. “Telekinesis, I can control small objects and bring them towards me, or place them wherever I can see.” Overhaul just nodded. 2. Any family/friends who would question your disappearance? “Do you have any family or friends that might find your absence…suspicious?” Strike two “Just my aunt Hina, although I’ve been moved out for two years now, so it shouldn’t seem too suspicious.” Overhaul nodded again, “Very well, tonight we’ll go ahead and move you into your new home, since you’ll be a permanent caretaker for Eri, you will need to live in the base.” Y/n simply nodded, “That’s fine with me.” Overhaul stood up, and threw on his coat. “It’s been a pleasure working with you, L/n. Chrono, take her home and help her get what she needs, I’ll have Mimic send the other precepts over to move her out.” “Yes sir.” With that, chrono left the café with Y/n. When they exited, Chrono took off his mask. He really hated wearing it, but it was kind of important. Due to his villain attire, no heroes or police knew what he looked like, so unlike some of the precepts, he could pretty much just waltz around a free man. “So, Mafia, huh?” Y/n teasingly pointed out. “Yeah…sorry about not being completely honest earlier, but I didn’t want to scare you off too quickly.” Y/n simply nodded. “It’s okay, although I doubt it would have, like I said, I’m kind of indifferent towards heroes and villains, so I at least would have heard you out first.” “Thanks…most people aren’t as understanding.” Y/n just hummed and kept walking with Chrono. “So, how did you get the name ‘Chronostasis’, does it have something to do with your quirk?” “Yeah, actually it’s the name of my quirk.” Y/n looked at Chrono with wide eyes, “What does your quirk do?” “Well, you see my hair?” He pointed to his head. “Yeah” “Okay, well you see how the ends are pointed like clock needles?” “Mhm.” “Well, I can control them, but I have to be completely still, and they’re really sharp. So, if I struck someone with the hour hand, they’ll be slowed down for an hour, If I strike someone with the minute hand, they’ll be slowed for a minute.” Y/n’s eyes widened in amazement. “Its not really that flashy…or that useful.” Chrono awkwardly looked away, hand rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. Y/n quickly shook her head. “Nuh-uh, not at all I think it’s really cool!” By the enthusiasm in her voice he knew she was being sincere. He softly SOFTLY smiled and shook his head. “You really think so?” “Yes!! They look really cool, and most people don’t have defenses against being slowed, so I think it’s super powerful!” “Thanks Y/n.” No one had ever told him they genuinely really liked his quirk. Most people just left it alone, or thought it was weird. But here was this bubbly, sweet daycare worker who was practically fangirling over it. “No problem, you shouldn’t put yourself down like that, especially when there’s nothing to put yourself down for…” Y/n averted her eyes to the ground, a soft smile still present on her lips. “Well, here we are. It’s not much, so it shouldn’t take too long.” Overhaul had already called the landlord and arranged for Y/n to be let out on the lease early. (Turns out Yakuza bosses have a bit of power over people.) Chrono and Y/n entered Y/n’s small apartment/house. Chrono looked around, for someone who’s so young, he could tell y/n put a lot of work into her house. “Okay, give me like, five minutes and I’ll get what I need.” Because Y/n only had the one room in the hassaikai, she packaged up all of her valuable collections. Pictures of family and friends, irreplaceable things and gifts, etc. She packed up her clothes and brought a small bag of essentials to get her through the night. “Okay, I’m ready to go!” With that the two left for the Hassaikai base, but not before Chrono called Nemoto to bring the car, since it was going to be a longer drive and it was pretty late. After they got back to the base, Chrono led her into the traditional looking house, got to a door and stopped. He punched in some code, and the door opened to a stair case. This is where the main part of our base is, its where all the stuff goes down. Oh, it’s also where the bedrooms are.” They made their way down the stairs and started walking down the hallway. “Don’t be intimidated by all the guys here, you’re probably going to be pretty popular for the first few weeks, other than Eri you’re the first female to be down her. Also, ignore the petty flirting, most of these guys can count on one hand the number of women they’ve ‘talked’ to, most probably on one finger” “Really?” “Uh-huh, as you can imagine we all stay pretty busy, so no one really has time to go out and meet anybody new, let alone date.” Y/n nodded her head, she knew what that was like. Working at the day care and helping her aunt out once in a while kept her pretty busy. She had dated in the past, but none of her relationships lasted. In fact she hadn’t even attempted any relationships after him. Him being her ex, who she dated through high school, and even for some time after before she caught him cheating on her with her best friend. Chrono then walked her to a door and stopped, well this is it. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.” He pushed the door open and Y/n followed him inside, he then helped Y/n unpack the few things she brought with her. “Alright, hopefully that’s good enough till tomorrow, the rest of your stuff should be here by then.” “This’ll be just fine, thank you for your help…for everything really.” She smiled at him, and he gave a half smile back. “No problem, We appreciate you coming to help…I appreciate you coming to help.” There was a silence between them, although they didn’t know what kind of silence, it wasn’t an awkward silence, more like there was something there…but neither one knew what it was. “Well, anyways, I’ll get out of your hair. The bathroom is that door right there, and the living room and kitchen are just down the hall. If you need anything just text me, you’re probably going to get lost at least once, it’s pretty much a maze down here. Uhm, yeah. Oh and you’ll meet Eri again tomorrow. Her room and my room aren’t that far from here.” “Okay, I will. Thanks again Kurono. Goodnight.” “Goodnight Y/n.” An with that, the young second hand made his way out of her room and towards Eri’s room to put her to bed, seeing as it was about 8:30 pm and he didn’t want her to be cranky when she met Y/n again tomorrow. *Knock Knock* “Eri? Can I come in? It’s daddy.” The door quickly opened and Eri tackled Chrono in a hug. Eri then led him inside and sat on her bed. “Alright kiddo, it’s time for bed. Tomorrow your going to spend the day with someone new.” Eri’s ears seemed to perk up at the mention of someone new since not many new people come around here. As Chrono was getting Eri ready for bed, he started to explain the new circumstances to her as best he could. “Do you remember the nice lady that helped you today at the park?” Eri nodded her head. “Well, she’s going to be your new caretaker.” He realized he definitely should have worded it differently when he stared back at him with big wide scared eyes. “ W-what do you mean daddy? A-are you g-going to leave me?” It then clicked that it sounded like he was being replaced! “No! No sorry Eri! I’m not going anywhere I promise!” He held her in a bone crushing hug before leading her to the bed and tucking her in, looking for a book to read before she went to sleep. “She’s just gonna help me take care of you is all. Not replace me.” “Oh.” Eri seemed to understand. “So she’s gonna be my new Mommy then?” If chrono had been drinking water he was 1,000% sure he would’ve choked. “U-um yes and no? For now, let’s just call her Ms. Y/n, okay?” He could hear the fear in his voice of her asking any more difficult questions. “But why is she here? I thought you took care of me?” “I do pumpkin, but especially because you’re a girl, you should have a girl influence to look up to.” “Because I’m a girl? But why?” Shoot. He thought he could avoid THIS topic for at least 6 more years. What is he supposed to tell her? Yeah, in about 6 years give or take your body is going to turn on you and try to kill you once a month? Not exactly something you tell a 6 year old. “H-how about we talk about it tomorrow pumpkin” If the squeakiness of his voice didn’t give him away, his red face sure did. “Daddy? Is something wrong? You’re being weird.” Chrono just shook his head and tried to compose himself. “Yeah, daddy’s just being weird. Hey! How about we read that book now.” “Okay.” Chrono then read her the book and tucked her in to sleep. Making his way to his bedroom and collapsing on his bed, tired from the events of the day.

[seriouslyhooked]

Feels Like This (Part 3)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1 Here, Part 2 Here. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey everyone! So thank you so much first and foremost for the love you guys have shown this fic. I have been so excited to write this and have been waiting ages to share it all with you. This is the kind of fluff and cuteness I personally need in my life right now, and I know a lot of you probably feel the same. Strap in for my usual dose of CS feels, and yes, for those of you asking, this is the moment CS will meet. Hope you all enjoy and thank you all so much for reading!

“And you’re sure you’ve got everything?” Emma asked, looking at Henry and knowing that he was ready to head into camp. They’d been over this numerous times, and at this point they were already out of the house and in front of the hall where campers congregated every morning. Still, Emma couldn’t help trying to soak up the moment with her kid just a little bit longer, and if that meant running through their list once more, so be it. “You have your lunch?”

“They give us lunch there, Mom.”

“Oh right,” she said, still shocked at how much was provided seeing as this program was free through the University. The children of all faculty and students were allowed to come, and it completely eradicated a need for her to find alternative childcare. Back in the States they had nothing like this built in anywhere. Getting Henry to camp previously either took a funding miracle, an insane amount of luck, or extra shifts at a second job. Usually he stayed with Mrs. H and Emma tried desperately to make it up to their neighbor. But now community sponsored help was becoming a given way of life, and every kid in Montenarro, no matter their background, seemed to have at least one path to a bright and happy summer.

“You’ve got your bag? How about water?”

“Yes and yes. We ran through this already, remember? I told you everything I had while you made breakfast.”

Emma smiled, knowing he was right, as crazy as it sounded. It was wild to her that on a weekday she would have the time, the patience, and the extra bit of cash to afford the spread they ate together today.  They had eggs, fruit, bacon, oatmeal and there were fresh pastries if they wanted. It was like their special holiday brunch, which happened on Christmas or on one of their birthdays, but they’d had this or something similar every day for nearly two weeks. It might seem over the top, but between the later starting hours here in Montenarro, her reduced work schedule with a generous stipend, and the fairer prices at the markets, Emma finally felt like she could give her son what he deserved. For years they’d chowed down on discount cereal, and now, in an attempt to enjoy themselves and resemble their new neighbors, they were taking a slower, and far and away more luxurious approach.

“I remember, kid. So I’ll be back here at four, and if I’m a little late -,”

“I just hang out a while longer, I know,” Henry said, looking to the doorway. A grin appeared at his face as he spotted one of his new friends. The other young boy waved in their direction and Henry waved back, causing Emma’s heart to melt. Her son not only had friends here, he was thriving. He was so happy, and seeing him this way made her happy too. “You don’t have to rush, Mom. I know your work ends early now, but maybe you could do something just for yourself.”

“Are you trying to tell me you’d rather stay later?” Emma asked, and Henry looked embarrassed for a moment before nodding.

“Not too much later, but Michael and Talia stay until five, and we’ve got this cool game going that we made up yesterday. It’s kind of hard to explain. But I can come home at four still. It’s okay, I’ll just -,”

“No, no, Henry, I am thrilled that you’re having a good time. I’ll be here at five.”

“Cool! Thanks, Mom!” Henry exclaimed, giving her a quick hug before heading for the door. “See you at five!”

She watched him get in safely, and the director of the camp who she’d met last week wished her a fond hello as she checked in Henry. Her greeting was pleasant and polite, and Emma knew if she had time the woman would talk her ear off about what it was like to be from America or the upcoming summer festivals. As it was though, Emma had to get going. She wasn’t late for work or anything, but she was eager to get there. Her work at the JR foundation was shaping up to be amazing. She was learning a lot, but she already felt like one of the team. Everyone who was there appreciated her, not just for working and helping out, but for her ideas. They were so responsive to suggestions, and always willing to try out any new concepts Emma had only really read about in books.

Their director, Marco, wasn’t like a normal boss. He didn’t hover or micromanage or come across as inaccessible. In fact, despite all the other calls on his time, Marco was with them all helping the kids and participating in their activities as much as he could. That leadership was so amazing in a space like this, and from everything Emma had experienced, the precedent he set was entirely reflective of the culture at large. Every person at the institute was determined to do right by these kids, and the children, despite the sad circumstances surrounding most of their lives, were doing so well and seemed so happy despite it all.

It was only a few city blocks from Henry’s camp to the center, but Emma let herself linger in the walk. She moved more slowly, matching the pace of the people around her, who never seemed to rush, and instead just enjoyed each day as it came. People were always smiling and laughing, and even the fighting was good natured. The streets were bustling but not full. They were cleaned regularly, maintaining the gorgeous cobblestone walks and the beautiful vintage architecture. It was warm here – a quintessential coastal retreat in the Mediterranean that she’d only ever imagined in her dreams or seen on travel TV. Everything considered, it was the opposite of New York, and despite having lived in the city she and Henry called home for more than ten years, Emma had to admit she didn’t miss it… at least not as much as she thought she would.

Don’t get too attached, Emma. This is temporary. Enjoy it while you can, but your real life is nothing like this.

The voice in her head was negative, but had a point, and Emma had no choice but to heed the advice. She would enjoy every bit of this she could, but she couldn’t get too comfortable, otherwise she’d miss this when they left. Even thinking of the heartbreak that may come if Henry continued to love it here so much left her reeling, but Emma carried on, pushing down that worry as she made her way past the institute’s front gates. It was important that she be in the right headspace when walking through these doors. The kids deserved her at 100%, and that was what she planned to be for them. Shaking off the worry from moments ago she moved inside, and as soon as she arrived, she was greeted by the sound of children running and laughing.

Some people might look at this place right now, apparently filled to the brim with kids who were wired and excitable now that it was officially summer and the school term was over, and think that this was chaos, but Emma knew better by now. Every child here ranging in age from six months to sixteen was attended to and accounted for. They had a large brood of kids, with sixty-seven at last count, and this was the biggest home under the JR foundation, though there were half a dozen more around the small country. Many children who were here would eventually be adopted, or would merge into part of a nationally funded fostering program, known for being one of the best systems in the world. In their last two years of school, older children went to special homes or foster placements designed just for them, to give them the attention and time they needed (instead of leaving them to the wayside for the sake of younger, needier children), and to prepare them for life outside of the system. Emma would eventually shadow a center that worked with those young adults, but for now, she was enjoying the hustle and bustle of the general group.

“Look, Char, it’s Emma!” one young boy named Thomas proclaimed to his little sister Charlotte from across the room, and in seconds every child had turned and was excitedly greeting her. Some of them came right up to hug her or give her a high five, but at the very least they all nodded in her direction and chirped out a fond hello.

“Good morning everyone,” Emma said, noticing the bags along the doorway and how the older kids were dressed in a uniform of navy colored shorts and florescent green shirts. “Did I miss something?” Emma asked aloud, not really to anyone in particular, but an answer came from one of the institute’s most trusted sources.

“Flora is taking the older children to the seaside today for a science lesson.”

The woman who filled Emma in was named Elsa, and despite the humidity in the air and the exuberance of the children all around them, she was totally put together and looked completely unstressed. Her hair was tied back in her usual braid, and her turquoise colored summer dress flowed in a way that looked poised for a summer catalogue. Elsa was effortless in an enviable way, but she was so kind and eager to be of help that Emma couldn’t begin to muster jealousy. In a short time Emma had begun to consider Elsa a friend, but though the two of them were roughly the same age, Emma was still a student and Elsa was a fully-fledged child psychologist who lived at the institute full time. She, and her sister Anna, who also worked at the institute, but as an activity’s coordinator, were two peas in a pod, but they’d done everything they could to include Emma and help her get her bearings in this new world.

“Lessons? In the summer?” Emma asked, not surprised that the institute was providing supplementary schooling year-round. She’d seen as much since starting here, but she was more taken aback at how excited these kids looked. Every child aged ten and older was gathered down here, no doubt waiting to fill the two institute vans out back. Still, how fun could a science lesson be?

“We use the term lessons lightly. For the rest of the morning the children will explore the tide pools at the national endowment’s shoreline about an hour north. There are some very unique ecosystems there, and so there is a whole lot to learn. But Flora will have them break for lunch and Anna takes over in the afternoon.”

“What’s she got in store for them?” Emma asked and Elsa shook her head.

“Well I can’t exactly say, as I’ve been sworn to secrecy.” Her smile grew at how silly that sounded, and she looked over her shoulder to check for Anna, but gave a little more when she saw that the coast was clear. “Let’s just say it’s going to be a jam-packed day that will go out with a blaze of glory.”

The emphasis Elsa used on the word ‘blaze’ made Emma think that there would likely be a beachside bonfire included, but before she could get confirmation, things started moving quickly. The older kids were summoned to the shuttles to go out for their day, and Emma meanwhile saw the clock and realized it was time for her to report to Marco’s office to get her assignment for the day. Moving through the playroom and the sunroom, which had the younger children and the babies respectively, she finally found her way and after knocking she walked into the brightly lit hub of all things here at the institute.

“Ah, good morning, Emma,” Marco said with a big smile, waving her in and gesturing that she should take a seat beside one of the other workers at the institute, Marie. Marie was Marco’s second in command, and though she never used the phase herself, the children had taken to calling her Nana. She had a maternal way about her, and every child seemed to love her as they might a favorite grandmother. “You’re here just in time. I’ve been talking with Marie and we think that today would be a perfect opportunity to try one of your intervention measures.”

“Really?” Emma asked, surprised, but excited at the thought. This would be the third that they had tried, and the last two had gone off without a hitch. “Which one?”

“The ‘Music Makes Me…’ one seems like a good choice. We have a few children who, to now, have been less responsive to our normal socializing measures. Their either shy or hurting, and we’re hoping to help them open up. Elsa’s our counselor on shift today and she’s eager to help oversee this. You’ll take the lead, but she’ll be there for any help you might need. We realize it’s a long-term project,” Marco said, looking down at a piece of paper to check his facts. “You wrote here three times a week for eight weeks. Is that right?”

“Yes, sir. Ideally. Positive identity work can start yielding results as soon as three weeks, but the Princeton Psychology Review did a study this winter that showed children’s habit forming reaches its peak effectiveness after the eight-week mark.”

“And this is one of the projects you modeled off of your own parenting experience, correct?” Marco asked as Emma nodded. Her throat grew tight at the genuine emotion behind this tactic, but this was a place with people she trusted not to judge her. As such, she shared what sparked the idea.

“When Henry first started school, he was one of the only kids that wasn’t in a two-parent household. Even the other single parents had some sort of family behind them, like grandparents, aunts and uncles, or other kids. I’m not exactly sure how long he struggled with being different in that way, he’s an independent kid and he kept his pain over that closed in, probably to spare me from being worried. But when his teachers gave me their assessment and told me what they thought was happening, I set something not dissimilar to this up. We tried painting and crafting to express his emotions, but the music seemed to help so much more.”

“It’s really remarkable, the way you’ve melded your experience with your son and your own past in with all of this cutting-edge research. It’s one of the many reasons we’re so thrilled you’re with us this year,” Marie said cheerfully and Emma warmed at the comment. Telling the story of her son’s pain at not having a father, however vague she had kept it, was hard, especially because Emma lay awake many nights wondering if he was missing something fundamental by not having a father. She wondered if it may hurt him in the long run. But she was reassured by the fact that she always did her best for Henry, and that her experience could help not just her son, but the children here who had no present parents at all.  

“Given that it’s rather late notice, do you think you can manage? We’ve got a window right now for a few hours. Elsa’s already selected the children who may need the intervention most. She kept it in the 5-8 age range as you suggested.”

Emma immediately assured them that she could pull this together, as the concept was not hard. Basically what this practice/exercise included was playing music that was grounded in emotion. Some that were happy, some more subdued, some fast, and some slow, and encouraging kids to do what they wanted when they heard that. For Henry he’d always loved to run around and dance at the fast-paced songs. Then the slower ones were always more interesting. Sometimes he picked up a favorite toy, drew a picture on the supplies she left out, or created his own little imaginary game. All the while, however, Emma’s job was to engage, support, and ask questions.

The questions always started mildly. What’s your favorite color today? (she’d learned early not to box her son into ultimate favorites). If you could have any snack in the world what would you choose? What animal makes the funniest sound? Then the questions would evolve. Her son, like many kids, was a vivid dreamer and Emma often asked about those night time visions. Sometimes they meant nothing but sometimes they told her a lot. She wanted to include that with these kids, but also include more focused questions to them about how they felt here at the institute, what they felt like when they told people from the outside about living here, and what they dreamed of for the future. She’d always ended each session with Henry in two parts. The first was to ask Henry what his biggest wish was for someone else, and the second was to ask his biggest wish for himself. Kids at his age were filled with wishes and wants, but Emma knew from personal experience, that that may already be flickering away in kids without parents. She’d been seven years old when her hope truly started to fade away, and she believed if she’d had these kind of positive affirmations and people who were working to see her happy and well situated, her relationship with the world and herself would have been much easier.

In the end, Marco, Marie, and Elsa decided that there were five best candidates for today’s intervention. Stella and Timothy were a biological brother and sister who had been at the institute for about a year. They were eight and six, and both of them were doing pretty well despite their parents losing custody of them from continued problems with substance abuse. They were likely moving into a fostering situation by the end of the summer, but they had been here a bit longer than normal because they were bonded together and making that accommodation took patience and the right placement. According to Elsa, Stella’s teachers a few times had mentioned her shyness, especially when people brought up her home life. Malek was a seven-year-old boy from a similar situation, though his father was in the process of getting clean for his son. The institute was always cautious for replacement with parents who struggled, but if his father could demonstrate stability and stay clean a full year, the legal system would grant him custody again. Malek, understandably, had mixed feelings about going back, and Emma wanted to try and help him with those through this process. Carlos, meanwhile, was a rambunctious six-year-old who had been given up at birth. He was shaped by his status as an orphan, and had a few close adoption calls that ultimately fell through. Luckily, though, a new family with sincere interest and the means to take care of him was stepping up, and they had exactly eight weeks before the system would process their filing for adoption, a perfect amount of time to help Carlos with some of these image issues before he settled into his new home.

The final child in Emma’s care today, however, was Cecilia, or as the other children called her, ‘CeeCee.’ Cecelia was a newcomer to the institute, and at just barely five years old, she was the youngest in Emma’s group today. She was quiet and withdrawn, but given her background that was all to be expected. At such a young age Cecelia had already been through so much. When she was two her parents had tragically passed in a car accident, and she’d moved in with her grandmother. Her grandmother was loving and did everything she could for her, but she was in poor health, and was now in need of care herself. Emma wasn’t here on the day that Cecelia came to the foundation, but Elsa had mentioned it with tears in her eyes a few days prior.

“I’ve seen so much heartbreak in this job, but watching that little girl realize she was being left behind… It was awful. She cried so quietly and for so long. It took us weeks to get her to say anything at all.”

Even now Cecelia was always quiet. She’d blended in a bit more with the other children, but she wasn’t particularly bonded to any of them. She had grown to be more trusting of the adults, but not in a really promising way. With Emma she’d always been sweet and well-tempered, but Emma hoped that this process might help her, and might get her to a place where she could be better socialized and cared for.  The next few hours proved to be even more promising than Emma dared to hope. All five children not only had fun, but made good steps towards progress. They all confided a little bit in Emma and Elsa, and they all responded well to the method. When Emma asked them if they’d like to do this again in a few days, all five of them were thrilled, and little Cecelia, who was normally so shy, was the biggest shock of all. Over the course of the few hours she’d opened up so much to Emma, and by the end of the session she was holding Emma’s hand tightly, intent on going with her through her day. Emma was so happy to see this little girl doing so much better, and she had to admit she was invested in this child, perhaps more than any other she’d met so far at the institute.

“Do you think it’s all right?” Emma asked, motioning downwards, but not saying everything aloud. The last thing she wanted was for Cecelia to not feel wanted when she’d made such tremendous progress, but she was worried about what might happen if she grew too attached.

“This happens sometimes. Kids have a sense for safe spaces. She was already responding really well to you before,” Elsa said, crouching down and waving at Cecelia, sharing a soft compliment for the toy rabbit she was carrying with her today, which made the little girl smile and chirp out a gentle ‘Thank You.’ Even that little show of gratitude and the genuine smile was an improvement, and Emma felt a burst of pride seeing this young girl come out of her shell. “We’ll keep an eye on it, but I think it’s best to see where it goes. She’s showing no signs of dependency, and hopefully you’ll be the perfect gateway for her to let the rest of us in.”

Emma hoped that Elsa was right, and as everyone in the center gathered for lunch, Cecelia stayed close by. Emma did her best to stay attentive to all of the kids who choose to eat with her today, but she also wanted to lead this lost little girl towards others who may be her friends. She was making good progress with another five-year-old named Ava, who was eager to be friendlier with Cecelia, when Marie approached, appearing frazzled and a little shaken.

“Is everything all right?” Emma asked, careful to keep her words calm and her tone even so as not to scare the kids. Her instincts were that something bad must be happening, but Marie shook her head, quickly dispelling her of that notion.

“Everything is wonderful, dear. We just have an unexpected visitor – actually I guess visitor is the wrong word. He’ll be staying on here for a while to work with us all. It’s a bit unexpected, but I dare say it’ll prove a delight in the end, for us and for the children.”

“Who is it that’s coming?” Emma asked, and Marie looked poised to blurt something out, but then caught herself and weighed her words carefully.

“One of the members of the family who run the foundation.”

Emma now began to understand the sudden rise in stress. Whatever JR stood for, and whichever family it was that could afford to spend so much on these resources, they must be both terribly rich and powerful. Being so new here, Emma didn’t know any background about the endowment, but she hoped that whoever was coming would be a help and not a hindrance. Surely they’d come here and see how much good work was being accomplished. She hated to think they’d be coming to make cuts or roll back funding.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Emma asked and Marie shook her head.

“Oh no dear. You’re doing a wonderful job. This isn’t an assessment of any kind. I believe it’s a genuine act of charity. You see he’s been in the military, and now he’s come home. His family’s no doubt pushing him towards some kind of occupation, and he’s chosen this as his pursuit.”

Emma wanted to ask more, about if this mystery man had any experience with kids or why, even if he was so very rich, Marie displayed school-girlish enthusiasm at his coming, but the older woman moved on to handle something else. Instead Emma waved Elsa over and asked her if she knew the man who was coming.

“Of course I do, everyone knows him,” Elsa said, thoroughly adamant that this stranger was of some notoriety. Then her features softened and she took on a thoughtful expression. “Well I suppose we know of him. We’ve never met, you see. But it’s impossible not to know him.”

Emma nodded, but she was still somewhat surprised. To this point she hadn’t gathered a sense that the family who ran the endowment was exceedingly involved in the day to day of the center. But then again, Elsa had been here far longer than her, and so she probably needed to keep track of the important players who were their most generous donors. Emma could have remained hung up on the strangeness of it all, but instead her mind wandered to the few details she did know. He was a military man, newly home, and he was coming here to make a difference. She thought about that and what that meant, and she found that she already liked him, or at least his attitude. Serving in the armed forces meant a life of service – to come home from that and still want to help others was admirable, and she hoped it would provide a good role model for the children, no matter what his actual child life background might be.

From the window in the great hall where all of the children and staff took their meals, they could all see down the back drive where a second entrance to the center was located. At that moment three black SUVs began their ascent, and the children’s attention immediately perked up as they ran to the windows. Emma felt the growing anticipation at the new arrival, and she wondered why there would need to be three SUVs. It reminded her of the protective details that sometimes came in the city, when big time politicians made their way to city hall where she worked for some sort of meeting or photo op. But what would be the reason for such a display today? Why would anyone need one of those when coming to a children’s center? It was hard to grasp, but then she questioned her instinct. The men who exited from the vehicles weren’t in high profile suits. They were more casually dressed, just like any workers here at the center. She wasn’t able to see all of them, but soon enough there were voices in the hall. Marco and Marie greeted the newcomer, and Emma only caught a snippet of the conversation.

“We’re thrilled to have you here, Sir.”

“Killian, please.”

“Killian. Right, sorry. That may take getting used to.”

“Not a problem. We have time.”

Emma was caught up in the sound of the new voice. It was distant, but even from here she felt an impact at the gravel in the tone and the lilt of the accent. It washed over her, sparking a sizzling sensation that was foreign to her, and after weeks in this country she’d always found the accent pleasing, but never responded like this. She found herself wanting to know what this man looked like, to see what kind of appearance could go with a voice that enticing, but she was getting ahead of herself. What did it matter what he looked like? He was going to be a coworker, right? This was hardly the time or place to be interested in someone. Still her stomach swooped with the tell-tale flutter of butterflies and she shifted in her seat. The action, along with the new voice in the hall, sparked something in Cecelia to change from comfortable to tense. The young girl grabbed at Emma’s shirt, latching on for a sense of perceived safety. Emma’s heart reached out to this poor, sweet girl, and she took her hand gently, trying to assure her as swiftly as she could.

“It’s all right, honey. You’re safe here. I promise.”

“I don’t like strangers,” Cecelia said and Emma tried not to get misty eyed at the sense of uncertainty this little girl held so tight.

“I was a stranger once, wasn’t I?” Emma asked and Cecelia considered that before nodding. 

“But you’re nice to me. You read us stories and play us music. You’re my most favorite friend.”

“And you are my friend too, honey. So let’s wait and see what kind of person he is before we decide if we like him, okay? You never know – he could be your favorite too.”

Cecelia looked skeptical but ultimately agreed, and Emma was glad to have that sorted. She had been so focused on curtailing Cecelia’s worry that she forgot where they were. Now she noticed everyone else was standing, children and staff alike, so she helped Cecelia down from her seat and stood up herself. The sounds of people walking in played out around her, but Emma took a moment to make sure her young charge was settled before looking back up. She patted Cecelia’s hair and brushed her full brown curls from her face, with care. Only then did she look up. But when she did, she never could have expected what would happen. 

As her eyes took in the stranger, their gazes met, and she was struck by a sense of recognition and realization that she’d never felt before. Something clicked for her in that moment, in the first few seconds of their seeing each other, and her awareness grew stronger and stronger. So much bubbled up to the surface, emotions and feelings and desire and interest. It was like something was opened within her, and she felt drawn into this man and unable to resist. This stranger had blue eyes, intense but warm all at once, piercing in a way that they seemed like she knew them and they knew her. Instinctively she looked to the rest of him - Killian he said his name was - but it didn’t help her sense of disorientation. His face was remarkable, strong and sure. His hair was dark, and his figure was no doubt honed for the expectations of his years of military service. She felt herself taking him all in, and then caught herself and thought about what a scene she was making. This wasn’t appropriate. Oggling this man just because he was hot – okay more than hot, he was… god was it lame to say perfect – oh Christ she was doing it again. She needed to stop, but when she looked up at him, she caught him doing the same thing to her. It was incredible to feel his interest, and for a moment it was like the world stopped spinning so the two of them could find each other. 

Find each other? Jesus, Emma, get a grip. The thought ran through her head as Marco began to address them all.

“Everyone, this is our newest friend here at the institute, Killian.”

“You’re big,” a boy named Seamus called out, unceremoniously and for a beat Marco and Marie looked concerned, but Killian only laughed.

“You should see my brother.”

“Is he coming too?” Marie asked, looking like she might actually be done in by the news.

“No, ma’am,” Killian said with a small smile and Marie let out a sigh of relief. What was that about?

“Why do you stand so straight?” another boy asked and Killian explained.

“I was in the royal navy.” This was met by a chorus of oohs and aahs, from the girls and boys alike.

“Are you a good person?” someone asked, and only after a moment did Emma realize it was Cecelia. She was shocked at the display of bravery from her little companion, but then that was compounded by Killian’s movement towards them. He split his looks between Cecelia and her, but when he approached he crouched down so as to be eye level with the little girl.

“What’s your name, little one?”

“Cecelia.”

“Cecelia. That’s a beautiful name,” he said honestly and Cecelia swayed side to side a bit with the compliment. “Now as for your question, I certainly try to be good.”

“But you’re a stranger,” Cecelia said, looking at him with a furrowed brow, as if this was some kind of simple math he should understand.

“For now I am. But not forever, I hope.”

“My Emma was a stranger too. She’s a good person. Are you like my Emma?”

Now Killian rose to full height and he addressed Emma as much as he did Cecelia. “I do like her.” Emma’s heart skipped and then she watched his face shift in embarrassment as he realized what he said. “I mean I hope I’m like her, lass. But only time will tell.”

“Miss Emma, does time talk?” Cecelia asked and Emma bit her lip to keep from laughing as her eyes caught Killian’s again.

“No, honey. It’s an expression. It means that with a little bit of time you will know if he’s a good person. You just have to be patient.”

The look Killian gave her in that moment was packed with so much. Gratitude, interest, and something more. There was a charge between them that she just couldn’t deny, and she could tell he felt it too. But before he could say anymore, Marco called everyone’s attention again.

“Anyone have any ideas as to how we should welcome Killian?” he asked and a chorus of answers came flooding in.

“I know! I know! We should show him our giving tree.”

“No! We should show him our playground!”

“I want to show him my pirate ship!”

“We should feed him the turnovers Cook makes. She hides them in a secret spot but I know where they are!”

“Well that all sounds brilliant, especially the turnovers. Why don’t we do all of it?” Killian asked, before looking to Marco who nodded readily. The kids looked excited, and were eager to go, but before things got too crazy, Killian looked back at Emma and grinned.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Emma.”

And with that, and with so much swag and sexiness it made her a little dizzy, this mysterious new man set off, throwing himself into the deep end with these kids, and showing them all that he could hold as own, just as surely as he could hold her attention.

Post-Note: So there we have it! I know, I know, you’re probably mad I kept their meeting so short and waited until the very end, but next chapter I am planning to include this first meeting from Killian’s POV. This story, as much as any of my stories can, has a bit of a slower build, because there are a lot of elements I really want to include, but I promise there’s plenty of fluff in store and a lot of cuteness that yet to come. Thank you all so much for reading, and I really hope you’ll leave a comment or a review. I’d love to see what you all think and what you’d like to see going forward in this new fic. Anyway, I will do my best to update soon (probably next weekend), but in the meantime I hope you’re all well, safe, and happy in this uncertain time!

[dearsherlocked]

Fallen - A Sherlock Imagine

Hi! This is a series that I’ve been writing for quite some time now. I’ve revisited and revisited themes and characters over and over, and I could not face up posting it. But I think it is time I share a little bit of this work just for my sake. Here are the two first parts. There is more to follow! 

Summary: Five years after The Final Problem, Sherlock Holmes has been bored out of his mind. Having a hard time to teal with trauma and a less hectic lifestyle, he’s feeling like he is rotting away. That is until some very interesting case present itself and reveals to be intrinsically linked to him. Chasing after an assassin through London, he suddenly has to face who he really is. 

Pairings: Sherlock x Reader/Sherlock Holmes x John Watson

Warnings: At the moment, none, but might lead to smut. ;)

NOTA: My first language remains French. If there are inconsistencies, I am deeply sorry! 

Masterlist

The gusty wind pushed violently against the windows, causing a din in the small room in a central London’s flat. The night was already well underway, the reflections of the moon pierced the half-open curtains, illuminating the room with immaculate streaks. Inside, Sherlock Holmes’ face was tense. In his bed, lying on his back, his head tilted to the side as he murmured in his sleep. His eyes moved under the thin eyelids. He saw them, these two icy, impenetrable blue eyes, staring back at him, while the hands of his assailant aggressively surrounded his neck. He felt his lungs emptying as he struggled for breath. He felt suddenly euphoric; he was no longer breathing and he let himself go in this sea of uncertainty, lulled by the sweet feeling of an imminent death. Finally, his eyes opened and his irises increased. He was suffocating and his hands were shaking. Paralyzed, he lay in the same position for a moment. Then, when he regained his senses, he straightened up against the head of his bed, switched on the bedside lamp to his right and rested his head on the cool bedhead. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, then glanced furtively at the half-open drawer of his bedside table. He had to resist, he told himself, he couldn't spend his time running away from his thoughts and memories. He snapped the drawer shut and sighed heavily. Outside, London was still asleep.

Sherlock woke up suddenly later in the morning. He fixed the ceiling for a few minutes, paralyzed by the haunting images that took assault his dreams. He inspired slowly and scrutinized his surroundings. His mornings looked pretty much alike: he woke up whenever he pleased and his waking hour depended on the time he had gone to bed the night before, if he had gone to bed at all. Once awake, he usually struggled to stay in place in the large space that was his mattress. The room felt too quiet. He did not need to take a look at the watch he had left on the bedside table, nor had to open the curtains to guess the time of the day; he usually had an idea of the hour just by simply analyzing the ambient sound of the city outside. For instance, if the noise of the honking horns sounded steadily, he knew that the rush hour was at its height. On the contrary, if everything seemed too calm, he guessed that he was still finding himself at the hour of grace, when London, still asleep at dawn, was just beginning to move. At last, sometimes he could speculate that it was already past breakfast time: Mrs Hudson was already on the lookout, making as much clatter as she could, pretending to do some housekeeping in order to get him out of an unworthy sloth for a man of his age. 

That morning, Sherlock knew that the kettle that the landlady had left on purpose in the living-room table was cold. He sighed; he never liked to sleep, felt that napping was a total inconvenience and a fatality. But he had been bored out of his mind lately and sleeping was a good stretch out between the long hours of agony that had become his banal existence. He took his time to sweep out of the warm sheets and laid his feet on the cold wooden floor. He took a few minutes to enjoy the contact of the ground under his naked toes. He then scanned the room carefully; the pale hue of the day struggled to break through the dense curtains and dust particles floated through its glow. He took a deep breath and exhaled, shook his hair vigorously, putting in place some of the dark curls that had rebelled on his head during the night. He slipped on the clothes he had been preparing the night before and threw a quick shot in the mirror, replaced some curls again, slipped on his watch and headed for the living room. His first reflex was to grab the papers that Mrs Hudson always left beside the kettle. He peered out the main lines of the news, being about the only thing he enjoyed nowadays, and lost himself for a while. As he peered out the main lines of the news, his phone vibrated in his coat. He looked at it and smiled widely. 

It was a beautiful day; London seemed to be straight out of a golden-looking postcard. Sherlock stopped in front of the imposing building that housed the Diogene’s Club. First hesitant at the bottom of the stairs, he scowled and climbed the steps with a determined pace, trying to pull himself together. Inside, John Watson was leaning against the large wooden wall, a take-out coffee in his left hand. When he saw his friend, the doctor walked in his direction and smiled. ‘Still drinking that dirty water they dare to call coffee?’ Sherlock teased, walking with John in the long hall. ‘Each time I think it can’t possibly get worse,’ replied the doctor with an amused tone. ‘And yet each time you’re disappointed. You don’t learn.’ They stopped in front of the elevator doors. ‘Where’s mine?’ enquired the detective. John scoffed. ‘I didn’t bring you one.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘Because each time I do and each time you spit it out and say it’s disgusting.’ ‘It is disgusting.’ ‘Then why would you want one?’ ‘Because now I look empty-handed’, replied Sherlock as they got out of the elevator. John observed his friend walking before him and shook his head. They stopped in front of a part-closed door. Mycroft’s office. They could hear him talking and he sounded concerned. ‘What is it today you think?’ enquired John. ‘No idea.’ ‘Is it another political scandal?’ ‘God, please no. We’ve had enough of these.’ ‘I have no idea what we are doing here,’ sighed John, annoyed. ‘Drinking crap coffee and waited to be called by his Holiness’, replied Sherlock. John scoffed as Mycroft opened the door. ‘I thought I heard voices.’ ‘Then you should consult, Mycroft.’ Sherlock said as he entered the office. He walked directly to sit in his brother’s chair. Mycroft sighed and looked at him, exasperated. ‘Thank you for coming on such short notice,’ started Mycroft. ‘You didn’t give us much choice,’ replied John, sitting in front of Sherlock. ‘I was with my daughter, it’s Sunday.’ ‘Aren’t you always with her?’ ‘That is sort of what parents are supposed to do, taking care of their child,’ answered John, placing his cup on the desk and crossing his arms in front of his chest. ‘Well, I am glad we sorted it out,’ replied Mycroft with a disinterested smile. He turned away to the fourth person in the room. The stranger looked quite ordinary and was about the same age as Mycroft. He was dressed in a posh suit and his salt and pepper beard gave him a severe expression. He looked overall not impressed. ‘This is Darius White, head of the foreign desk’, said Mycroft, pointing to the stoic man. ‘Oh hello,’ replied John, extending his hand. The man stayed in his seat and barely acknowledged the doctor. ‘And this is my brother, Sherlock Holmes,’ added Mycroft. Sherlock waved impatiently. He never was one for introductions. ‘Shall we begin?’ asked the older Holmes, walking to close the door behind them. Darius White nodded and turned at John. ‘Good morning gentlem – ‘ A noise cut him mid-sentence. Sherlock just had taken a sip of John’s coffee and spat it out noisily on Mycroft’s desk, staining the many papers accumulated on the surface. John frowned and looked at his friend, both amused and annoyed at the same time. Mycroft, on the other hand, rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. ‘Sorry, do please continue’ murmured Sherlock, not bothered at all. ‘There has been an assassination of a member on a prolific CEO yesterday.’ ‘Who?’ asked John, suddenly intrigued. Mycroft slid a photograph over John. John gave the photograph to Sherlock. ‘He was not very liked by his pairs,’ added Darius White. ‘Doesn’t make it easy to circumscribe the potential suspects.’ Mycroft cleared his throat. ‘Yesterday, Lennox Burton got out of a meeting at five in the morning, there had been some important transactions during the night. His driver took him home where he was supposed to rest for a couple of hours before returning at his office for a lunch meeting. The driver came back at Burton’s penthouse around noon but as his boss wasn’t answering his calls or coming down, he used his emergency key to enter the penthouse and that’s when he discovered Burton’s body.’ Mycroft pushed another picture to John. Lennox Burton was spread on the floor with what appeared to be a sea of blood around him. He switched on to the next picture, it was a close-up autopsy photograph of the wound: a perfectly horizontal and clean cut on the neck. ‘Neat’, whispered Sherlock. John shook his head. ‘Did somebody see anything?’ he asked. ‘Was there any CCTV in the surrounding areas?’ ‘Evidently not,’ replied Mycroft. ‘Whoever was being the attack managed to alter it.’ ‘So,’ cut Sherlock. ‘It was premeditated.’ ‘Naturally.’ ‘And you want me to find who killed him?’ ‘Quite so.’ Sherlock frowned. ‘But there’s more,’ he thought out loud, staring at his brother. ‘There have been in fact about four similar killings in the past month’, added Darius White. ‘And you think they are related?’ intervened John. ‘Evidence points that way.’ ‘These aren’t just random murders,’ laughed Sherlock. Darius White chuckled. Sherlock Holmes was quick indeed. ‘The first three murders were committed on criminals. Sex-traffickers, drug-dealers, mostly,’ he replied.  ‘But this murder is different,’ observed Sherlock, ‘it was committed on an apparently respectable man.’ ‘Are you sure they were killed by the same person?’ interrupted John. ‘Well, we will need to know for certain. This is why we called you, gentlemen,’ replied Darius White solemnly. ‘I will need to see Mr Burton’s house of course,’ declared Sherlock. ‘I will text you the details,’ said Mycroft. ‘I guess Scotland Yard is involved?’ ‘Already there, brother mine. As usual.’ Sherlock stood up, quickly followed by John. As they exited the office, they heard the grave voice of Darius White advising Mycroft to insist on the confidentiality of this case.

[golbrocklovely]

the chosen daughter // colby brock - chapter one

A/N: READ FIRST!! AHH IT’S FINALLY HERE :) I’m so exicted for yall to read this story. I haven’t written a vampire story in a long time, so hopefully this goes well. That being said, it is similar to the one shot it is based off of, HOWEVER, you need to read this chapter. Things aren’t all the same from the one shot, so please read this otherwise you will be confused. I know it’s long, but that’s because there is a lot of backstory to give first. I’m posting the next chapter tomorrow and then I will be posting once a week. All right, without further ado, here’s The Chosen Daughter ;)

story description

taglist: @far-to-many-bands , @idfk-tbh-oops

trigger warning: backstory (but necessary), cursing, mentions of blood/fighting, mentions of sexual assault, death

word count: 3260

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST :)

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

Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought vampires would be real. Yet, here we are: 2019. The year of the blood sucker. Everywhere you turn, vampires were to be seen.

I relaxed back against my couch, watching the news while I ate breakfast.

A news anchor appeared on screen, a graphic next to them reading ‘Vamp News’. “Today’s top story involves another vampire killing. Last night, outside of the popular club Bloody, two vampires murdered a young female. Police have not released the name of the victim. Eyewitnesses say that the two vampires in question had been harassing the girl during the night. Police ask that if you know these two vampires, to please call in at the number on your screen and if you see them in public, call the authorities immediately.”

Two blurry images from a surveillance camera came on screen, showing the vampires in question.

“How the fuck is anybody gonna know who those two are?” I mumbled out loud, taking another bite of cereal.

I sighed, changing the channel. I hated hearing vampire killings first thing in the morning.

My whole life, as of recent, revolved around vampires. And I guess, a lot of other peoples did too now.

I stood up and walked to my kitchen, dropping my bowl into the sink. I glanced around my apartment.

Empty… very empty.

I’ve always enjoyed being alone. I’ve been alone my whole life. I was born into foster care, my parents dying right after my birth. The only thing I had left to remind me of them was a crystal necklace that I never took off. After bouncing around from family to family, I never got to settle down. When I turned eighteen, I was able to get away and move to Los Angeles. Now I live here in my own little apartment, working at a vampire bar called Vampiro.

Growing up, I was interested in the supernatural. I always liked the idea of vampires existing.

‘Be careful what you wish for’ was a bit of an understatement for me.

When I was in eighth grade, vampires came out to the public. It was… weird to say the least. At first, people didn’t believe they existed – chalking it up to some strange, elaborate prank. But it became apparent very soon that vampires were real. There was a lot of violence, but it calmed down after a while. A good number of ‘powerful’ vampires (celebrities, politicians… you get the gist) came out with a PSA letting everyone know that vamps were harmless, only wanting to be treated just like humans.

They were tired of hiding and wanted to be out and proud.

It took until now for things to feel normal, almost as if vampires always did exist in our culture. However, there was still animosity towards vamps. Some states, especially in the more ‘religious’ areas, hated vampires. They believed they were demons, dressed in the bodies of humans. But that wasn’t the case. But nonetheless, these states didn’t want them, so they banned almost all vampires. Because of this, other states took this as an opportunity to be the sanctuary for these tossed out vamps.

Enter stage left… California. In particular, Los Angeles.

LA was the hub for all things vampy. It was almost the vampire capital of the world. We had sections, stores, bars just dedicated to vampires and the tourism it brought here.

The bar I worked at, Vampiro, was a non-exclusionary vampire bar. Vampires and humans could mingle as they pleased, and no one minded. However, we weren’t the most popular out of all the clubs and bars. Because of this, our human-to-vampire ratio was a bit slacking.

But Bloody, the most prominent and well-known, catered heavy towards tourists and vacationers who wanted a ‘vampire experience’. It was extremely hard to get into, mostly because it was packed every night.

Another famous club, The Trapp Haus, was a ‘vampire only’ place. One night a month they would have a human and vampire night. Those were the nights our bar had its lowest patrons.

I had never planned to work in a bar that’s mostly filled with vampires. But it was one of the only places that would hire me. Originally, I was hired because I was human, which would attract more vampires. My best friend and coworker Ronnie and I were the only two humans in the whole place. I had planned to only stay at this bar for a bit, get enough money to be alright, and then find a better paying job.

But because of this place, I was able to learn something about myself.

One of the reasons I was never able to stay at a foster home for too long was because I was deemed ‘special’. When I look at vampires, I can see an aura around them. It’s always in a different color, and this color depends on the vampire’s power and how they use it.

Oh yeah… vampires have powers.

Vampires’ powers ranged all over the place: from the scariest (mind control), to the least frightening (super hearing). Depending on how old the vampire was, their power could be extremely strong or barely noticeable. This is why certain states believed vampires were demons. No one knew what powers a vampire had or how strong they were unless they told you. And none of them really ever did.

I was able to tell though.

When a vampire would use their power, an aura appeared around them. Every vampire had a different aura, even if they had the same power as another vampire. Their aura was based off them and how they used their ability.

Because I would see these auras, but didn’t know vampires existed, I thought I was crazy.

And so did my foster parents.

Years later, this all makes sense. But as an extra added bonus to me being able to see these auras is that vampire powers don’t affect me. Vampire powers work on everyone, except vampires. And me.

I’ve never told anyone this. Mostly because I don’t have anyone to tell. But also, because it would be too dangerous for me. I try not to let vampires know, but that can be hard when you work at a bar that vampires frequent at.

I get by… but I feel like that’s gonna change soon.

~ \/ \/ ~

“Jade, you’re late again.” Roger, my boss, berated me.

I groaned. “I’m sorry. I tried getting here early, but traffic getting into the city is crazy. The Trapp Haus must be having human night early.”

“Didn’t you hear?” Roger raised his eyebrows. “They’re changing it to two nights a month.”

“Cool… so I’m gonna be late twice a month.” I smirked.

He sighed. “Why did I hire you?”

“Because her blood smells good… apparently.” Ronnie chimed in, walking behind the bar with a tray of empty glasses.

“Veronica! Did you get to table two yet?” Roger asked.

She shook her head. “I thought Jade could get them.”

“Jade’s mending the bar while I go take a break. Go on now.” Roger stated, waving his hand and heading into the back of the bar.

Ronnie rolled her eyes. “I swear if he wasn’t a vampire, I would fist fight him.”

I laughed. “Even as one, I might still.”

She chuckled, grabbed her notepad, and walked over to table two.

The night slowly became a blur. Hours passed. I bartended while Ronnie waitressed, and when the night began to slow down, three vampires strolled in.

You could tell they were vamps. They had a certain confidence that only immortal beings could have. They were all dressed nicely, a little too nice for a bar. Each had different hair colors; black, brunette, and blonde. Blondie and Brownie went to a table, while the black haired one walked up to the bar.

I wiped down the counter as he called to me. “Yo! Can I get ten shots of j��ger? And a pint of blood? B positive?”

“Of course. Since you asked so kindly…” I replied, a tight-lipped smile falling to my face.

I typed in the drinks at the register. Looking up at him, he waved his card at me, smiling with his fangs out. I swiped his card, glancing at his name for a second.

Cyrus Gladstone… interesting.

I handed it back to him with a nod as he went back to his friends.

Grabbing the jäger bottle, I poured out the shots. Going to our mini-fridge, I pulled out a bag of blood and emptied it into a cup. Placing everything on a tray, I glanced around for Ronnie. She was over with another set of patrons, talking and getting orders. I shrugged, picking up the tray and walking over to the vampires.

I set the tray down, sliding all the drinks onto the table. “Ten shots jäger, one pint B positive for Cyrus and co.”

“You know his name? She must have feelings for you.” The blonde haired one joked.

“Right... Anything else I can get you guys?” I questioned, my hands resting on my hips.

“Why don’t you relax, get to know us a little better? My name is Jasper.” Blondie smiled innocently.

“Lovely. Unless you guys need anything, I kinda need to go back to the bar.” I stated.

Blondie lightly grabbed my wrist. “You know, I’m not really into B positive. What blood type are you? You smell like O positive, maybe AB?”

“My blood type is actually super rare. You might have heard of it? It’s F.U.” I deadpanned.

He stood up quickly, gripping my arm tightly as I tried to pull away. “I think you should be a bit nicer to me. I am a paying customer.”

“I’m pretty sure Cyrus is the one that paid. Also, get your hands off me.” I grunted, glaring up at him.

“Why don’t you say that looking into my eyes, sweetheart?” He hissed, pulling me into him, making me stare into his eyes.

The way vampire powers work is first, the vampire must make you look into their eyes. It draws you in, making whatever power they have connect to you immediately.

I could see his pupils dilate and shrink. Suddenly, a deep purple aura appeared around him. It ended at his fingertips, where he was touching me.

In a split second I could tell what he was trying to do to me, an almost vision-like image came to my mind. He was manipulating me, trying to make me feel sexual feelings for him.

“I think you’re feeling apologetic for being a bitch to me. Maybe you want to say sorry to me by giving me just a bit of your blood. And of course, sex.” He whispered. He nodded his head to the rest of the boys at the table. “I think we could all have a turn. Don’t you agree?”

Oh my God, what an absolute douche.

In most situations like these, I would just go along with what the vampire wanted. I didn’t want anyone to know about my powers, but this was too fucking far.

Fuck hiding it.

I smiled, still staring into his eyes. “I... can’t do that for you. Besides, if I say I’m sorry, that would make both of us idiots.” I ripped my arm away from him and took a couple steps back.

His mouth was slightly gaped for a moment. He hid his surprise, immediately glaring at me.

I sneered. “Do anything like that again and I’ll call the cops on you. And let me tell you, they ain’t as nice as me.”

I rolled my eyes and walked back to the bar. I could hear the vamps whispering to each other as I got back to work.

“What was that over there?” Ronnie nudged me as she strolled behind the bar.

I shook my head. “Nothing. Just a couple vamps being dicks to me once again. I think I attract them like a magnet.”

“Sucks to be you.” Ronnie joked.

“That’s not a lie.” I mumbled, starting a new cocktail order.

~ \/ \/ ~

“Night, Ronnie! See ya later!” I yelled, exiting the back door of the bar. Ronnie waved as she walked to her ride, getting in and leaving.

I sauntered towards the employee parking lot, where my car was parked.

A chill ran up my spine. The air wasn’t cold; August in California never reached a temperature below 70. I could feel goosebumps rise all over my skin. I could feel eyes on me.

Suddenly, a gush of wind flew past me. And then another. Another. Another. I looked in every direction hastily.

What the fuck is that?

I ran to my car, keys in hand ready to unlock it. Right as I was opening the car door, it slammed shut, a hand pressing it closed. I was then spun around and pressed against my backseat side door.

“Hello bartender. We meet again.” Blondie smiled, holding me against my car.

“What the fuck do you want?” I snapped, trying to shove his hands off me.

He pushed me harder into the car. I could feel the handle press harder into my lower back, causing me to wince. “I want to know how you did it.”

“Did what? Make such a fine cocktail?” I jeered.

“How did you ignore my power?” He insisted, getting close to my face. “I can make anyone want me with just a single touch. Except you…”

“Guess I’m lucky. What type of asshole has to use his powers to get girls to fuck him? Must be small, huh.” I hissed.

He chuckled darkly. “Saying shit like that really isn’t gonna keep me from getting what I want…”

His hands tightened their hold on my waist. I started punching his chest, trying to shove him away. He just kept grinning down at me, not a single hit phasing him.

“Let her go.”

My movements stopped as Blondie turned around to the deep voice that spoke.

The man stood a few yards back. His body was relaxed, but his face was tense. He was dressed in all black; a fitted tee, ripped jeans, and vans. His hair fell over his forehead and almost covered his eyes. The front of his hair was an icy blue, almost matching his eye color.

He was beautiful.

“Who the fuck are you?” Blondie demanded.

The figure shrugged. “I don’t think that matters. Just let her go and there won’t be any problems.”

Blondie laughed. “Is she your bitch or something?”

“Fuck you.” I fumed.

He turned back to me. The smirk on his face fell. “You know, that is the exact reason why you’re in this predicament.” He opened his mouth and showed his razor-sharp fangs at me. “But you know what? I’ll do one better.”

Blondie grabbed my face, twisting it to the side and slammed his fangs into my neck. I screamed out in pain, feeling his teeth sink into my skin. But before he could drink from me, his mouth was yanked away.

The dark figure had grabbed Blondie and ripped him away from me. They began to fight. The dark figure threw punch after punch, blocking all of Blondie’s moves. Blondie might have been fast, but the dark figure was faster. Stronger.

The dark figure wrapped his hands around Blondie’s neck and snapped it, the loud crack echoing through the lot. Blondie’s body fell to the ground with a loud thud. Then, the dark figure pulled a stake out and slammed it into Blondie’s heart.

My eyes met the dark figure’s. I could feel myself get lost in them, almost like he had me entranced. I pulled myself away suddenly, pressing my body against the car, shaking.

His presence was suddenly behind me. I was turned around abruptly, the dark figure now directly in front of me. His hands rested exactly were Blondie’s had been. The gentle touch of him was surprising, given his overall demeanor. I glanced down at his hands. He noticed and pulled them away softly.

“Are you hurt?” He asked calmly, staring at my neck wound.

I placed a hand over my bite. “No. I… just like to casually bleed from my neck.”

He raised an eyebrow at me, smirking. “You don’t gotta be a smart ass. I did just save your life.”

“I had it under control.” I groaned, running my other hand through my hair.

“Right. My bad.” He chuckled, taking a step back. “So, being cornered up against your car was part of the plan?”

I rolled my eyes at him, not saying a word.

“What was his problem anyway? What did you do?” He inquired.

“Why do you assume I did something?! Motherfucker tried to assault me and I’m the one to blame?! On the news, there’s a new vamp attack every night. I highly doubt they’re all to blame too.” I argued.

He smiled lightly. “And they’re just the ones they tell you about.”

“How would you know?” I stared at him for a moment.

He cocked his head to the side. “Do you really think a human could have taken down that vampire?”

“…You’re a vampire?” I responded, leaning back from him.

I could see his fangs stick out while he talked. “Don’t I look it?”

“Without the fangs, I would just assume you’re emo.” I shrugged.

He bit his lip, hiding a smile. “You know, you’re not the first person to say that to me.”

“It’s because you look like you work at Hot Topic.” I smirked. “Who are you anyway?”

“I’m… X. What’s your name?” He stuck his hand out.

I shook his hand politely, our eyes meeting. “Jade.”  

A blue aura appeared the moment our hands touched. He stared at me for a moment, but suddenly his eyes widen. I tried to pull my hand away, but he held onto it.

“What the fuck?” He whispered, staring at me. The aura intensified in color.

“What?” I gasped, trying to yank my hand away.

X stepped closer to me, his eyes bore into mine. “How can I not see into you?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I exclaimed.

He ripped his hand away, the blue aura evaporating. “I’m able to read people. I can see their whole life by a single touch. How can I not see yours?”

“…Let’s just say I’m immune.” I answered.

X stepped back, stunned. “That’s impossible.”

I shook my head. “Not in my world.”

He backed away for a moment. “That’s why he was attacking you.”

“Not the only reason… I may have also said his dick was small which is why he had to use his powers.” I mumbled.

A light breath left X’s mouth as he shook his head. "Um... I have to leave now. As long as you're safe..."

"Yeah, I'm fine.” I bit my lip nervously, “Thank you, X... for saving me."

He nodded his head slightly, and then within the blink of an eye, he was gone. And so was the body of Blondie.

I sighed, finally somewhat relaxed as I realized I was alone. As I went to get in my car, I saw a white piece of paper on the ground, something that wasn't there until X had disappeared.

I reached for it, picking it up and looking at it. Scribbled on it was a phone number and a name of some sort.

 XPLR Services

(555-0157)

 “What the hell is this even for?” I wondered, gazing around at the empty parking lot.

CHAPTER 2 >>

[xxforsaken-angelxx]

=> A Friendly Secret Visit.

chimericarchitect Howdy! I wanted to ask about the rods and how that was coming along.

xxforsaken-angelxx aww shit yeah i got them i just slipped on messagin you

chimericarchitect Neat! So, let me know whenever it is clear for me to come and get them and I'll do that.

xxforsaken-angelxx gotcha > You'll send her a time for later today, after your shift is over.

chimericarchitect > Presumably he will send updated coordinates since it's a ship in space and you will, at the time allotted, go there to pick up the rods. It'll be great.

xxforsaken-angelxx > He will, and she'll be teleported straight to his block.

> Or at least part of his block. It visibly looks like a study, with floor to ceiling shelves on the two walls without doors that are loaded with jars of herbs, crystals, bones, and basically any other magical trinket that gets used in his kind of trade. That and what's probably a fairly narrow curation of books, most of them looking old or otherwise well loved.

> You're at your desk nestled in there, in front of an oddly old looking computer. You're dressed in full goffik attire, with the boots and the long coat and the whole nine yards.

chimericarchitect > Saness might like what she knows of Grinmaww, she might think he seems a pretty decent troll, but that doesn't change the fact that he is an unknown. She is dressed accordingly, in what she used to consider 'cool adventurer attire,' something good to tussle in or go for an impromptu roam. It consists of a sturdy white vest over long dark sleeves, equally white boots over flexible black pants, an overly vibrant neckerchief, and a wallet chain on her hip that definitely doesn't connect to a wallet. With her sunglasses up in her stark-white dandelion puff of curling hair, useless but available, Saness looks like a starry-eyed kid dressed up as a cosplay biker.

> She arrives in a blossoming yellow-green light, accompanied by the sound of something stretching sharp, the hollow bell-tone echo of a rubber band snapping, an unnaturally compressed static twang. It's only a fall of a few inches to the floor of the ship, boots tmp-ing with the weight of her existence as the glow recedes as rapidly and efficiently as it had appeared. With her face fully exposed, it can be noted on a glance that her hair grows in this shade. That, or she spends way too much time dying her eyebrows and lashes.

> Immediately Saness looks to Grinmaww, the full attention of 5' 10" of dimension-hopping globetrotter drawn right to him by some force unknown. There is a sort of reckless energy to the way she carries herself, careless of her color, focused intently and intensely on the only other troll in the room. It lingers for a heavy second, gears turning behind her eyes, before scattering nearly as immediately under the force of her own curiosity and whimsy, the dopey little 'o' of her mouth and the perplexed pinch of her brow turning to a wowed smile while the slightly flighty hands-out posture of her arms falls to her sides as she straightens. Her eyes gleam when they catch light, a reflective plate of lime snapping here and there over all of the fascinating and colorful doodads filling the walls of this space.

> "My dude, you are absolutely killing this aesthetic."

> She defaults to common Alternian, for all purposes friendly and easygoing in tone, if a little bright with excitement.

xxforsaken-angelxx > That cracks him up immediately, after those few seconds of regarding each other in silence. His face is...oddly stretchy, the skin pulls a little farther than most people when he smiles.

> Which is why he doesn't, when he rises out of his office chair to full 6'5" stature. It's not exactly an Ampora Resting Bitch Face, his eyes stay friendly, but there's all the signs of someone who keeps their expressions trained.

"Well shit, mission fuckin' accomplished then. I'm diggin' your whole look too, though. Y'look cute."

> And how dare she, frankly? Meeting someone from a whole other universe was supposed to be a big deal, both from a mental and security standpoint, but here she was waltzing up with the aura of a box of novelty rubber ducks. It's hard to be all serious at that, bah.

chimericarchitect > Cute, huh? Saness grins a little wider, something easy and lopsided. She's being very loose with her expressions, leaning heavily into what charisma she possesses over her own stranger-danger default; there has not been one single Eridan in the history of fish-or-otherwise bastards that she has ever gotten along with, but in counter she has a great and hopeful fondness for Makaras and clowns in general. All she has to do is be her charming self and *surely* things will work out. Surely. So far so good, right?

"Well shit, mission fuckin' accomplished!" she intones in quick mimicry, momentarily affecting his cant and general tone of bearing. That too falls away, dripping from one instant to the next with the pulse of a rabbit. A flourish places her splayed fingertips over her chest, the goofish mockery of a stuffy tilt to her chin. "Saness Casper Psuede, The Mischief, at your service and pleased to finally meet you, Grinmaww!"

> She is, perhaps, a bit much at full-tilt, hyped to be here and make a solid first impression. Ideally, Grinmaww will like her as much as she hopes to like him. That's the plan. The scheme. The big cannoli. *Maybe* this critically informal introduction will entice him into relaxing as well. A girl can dream.

xxforsaken-angelxx > Hearing his drawl coming out of her makes him laugh again, and he instinctively tries to go for a handshake. Just a casual one. Business casual.  

"Man, you're somethin', arentcha? And somethin' that should use Mischief more often, that's a good one."

> Truth be told, he was already fond of her. Being in the position he was, he tended to like people who had a different view of the world, and Saness kept fitting that to a T. Even discounting her inherent otherworldly-ness, she was people smart in a way he couldn't manage, and just...had a certain way of things. Maybe a way that clashed with his way sometimes. But it was an interesting way, and an interesting clash.

> Sure being the leader of a big ass ship also put him in that same zone of inner stranger wariness, but y'know. So far so good!

"Nice to finally meet you too."

chimericarchitect > The Dreaded Handshake, As The Prophecy Foretold. With how sharp she keeps her claws these nights the best she can do to cover up is to wear fingerless gloves, but that is inconducive to the possibility of reacting to danger, and she anticipated that the ever-present threat of engaging in polite society might rear itself anyway. Thus, a counter arrangement has been prepared in advance: completely naturally, despite her lack of hand cover, as if this was the response expected of her, Saness reaches past Grinmaww's outstretched palm and clasps his covered forearm. A bracing, friendly gesture!

> It's loose enough an action that she doesn't have time to react to new information, or to accommodate the unexpected. From this close, she can feel her hair standing on end, a fresh tingle across the nape of her neck. This isn't Chill Boss Aura, the weight of his presence more intense with proximity, but rather something else entirely. Something otherworldly. The trouble with keeping her features emotionally available and reactive is that, they are, in fact, emotionally available and reactive. Her eye scrunches slightly and her smile ticks one degree toward uncomfortable on the matching side.

> Braced like this, she gives his arm the single handshake pump of proper business, albeit a fraction of a second delayed.

> Quick, say something.

"Ah, yeah, you think so? I thought it was kinda, heh, on the nose. If somebody were to roll up and introduce themself with the title of 'Mischief' you'd have certain expectations, I'd think."

xxforsaken-angelxx > Eridan isn't oblivious enough to miss her sudden awkwardness, but it's also not like he knows his own aura, or any other reason Saness might avoid handshakes. In his mind he just went too formal, like a dumbass. He goes a touch sheepish when she goes a touch awkward, and flicks his hair and plays it cool when she lets go.

> The third eye he draws in his paint wasn't peeking through his bangs until now.

"I mean, sure. But that kind of expectation would probably get you some friends around somewhere like here. Mischief and clowns go together, right?"

> Hopefully, at least?

chimericarchitect > Once released she gives him a conspiratorial smile, waggles a finger, and says, "Those mischievous clowns," in that fake-cursing sort of tone, meant to confirm his assertion.

> Now that she's aware of an otherworldly presence, she is Aware of it. It's kind of just all over the place, isn't it? And her new friend appears to be the epicenter...

> From this point out, her attention is going to be partially split. Whatever it is, it doesn't *feel* directly threatening, but it's definitely unlike the clown deities she's met. It's... not quite familiar. Grinmaww's angels? But it doesn't feel like the angels she's known either, not... quite... Perhaps they aren't angels at all. That's the unsettling part. People and things that identify as other things can have a lot of reasons for doing so. Half the angels she's met weren't so nice anyhow...

> Most of the time she keeps her attention politely fixed on Grinmaww, but it slips through him or past him here and there, occasionally flitting elsewhere in the room. Saness cannot help but be wary in the back of her mind.

> Uncultured, she points right at his face.

"In every timeline I've visited or heard of, face paint holds a lot of personal significance to the clowns who wear it." Her arm drops to her side and she rocks on her toes in a gentle and harmless fidget. "Is it too personal to tell me about? I'm curious."

xxforsaken-angelxx > There's those in the church that don't believe that *any* of the entities are who they say they are. Some believe they're all more of a subconscious figment than anything else- not nonexistant, per se, but a form to let the troll mind comprehend something uncomprehendable. Eridan does believe in his angels, but he's not... unfamiliar, with the idea that they might not be so straightforward.

> He doesn't know that's what's on her mind, but *they* do. They can sense her attention. They know she can feel them. And they...want to play nice, actually. Yes they're everywhere, yes they have him in their grasp, but does that have to feel so bad? They can at least try to be a bit more friend shaped.  

> Meanwhile, their host gets thrown by that question. Not in a defensive way, just in a purely off-guard one.

"Uh, no, it's not, it's-" He gestures, aimlessly. "It's not actually *that* big of a thing? For us? Like it's real fuckin' important, don't get me wrong, but it's not like- it's not *sacred.* It's fashion."

> He shoved his hands in his pocket, and gave his jacket a bit of a flounce.

"I uh...picked mine when I was pretty young. The whole painted on smile and the tears and the secret eye. It's all kinda obvious. But I still like the vibe. Still me and such."

chimericarchitect > Saness can... kind of feel them, the attention of Grinmaww's angels in response to her awareness. She can detect the things they broadcast most blatantly, the more gentle way they coil, the intentional friendliness. Perhaps an act like that would put a more paranoid troll on higher alert, but where most people have a healthy level of mistrust for the unknown, developed or instinctual, Saness has stubbornly hoarded olive branches to clumsily brandish at anything that exists. If they want to be friendly, then by the stars, Saness is going to give them her reckless trust and put her faith where her mouth is.

> Understanding that the angels are at least *similarly* aware of her the way she is aware of them, Saness begins working through the process of lowering her mental hackles, just as intentionally relaxing as they intentionally displayed peace. She loves being cool and playing nice, well and truly.

> It helps that Grinmaww is so cute. Look at him, fumbling and fluffing his feather. Normally she would giggle at him, laughter comes so easily to her, but with her focus split, all she does is smile fondly. It feels safe enough to relax around him, and they all vibe together as a unit, so... Yeah. Everything is cool and she is pleased to make more than one acquaintance. Yep. That's what she's rolling with.

"So, dedication to fashion is really important, but being a clown is not an organized religion beyond being purple and... being goth..." The last part is said almost like a question. "Would you be in trouble if you didn't wear paint, if it isn't sacred? What about like, partial coverage? In public and stuff. Oh, and, um, the whole... distinction thing. Goth is more elegant? Than punk? Or like, grunge, or emo. Are you supposed to dedicate yourself to YOUR aesthetic or is there a dress code? Is 'goth' an important word? Does equating it to other aesthetics come across as rude?"

> Special Move: One Thousand Needling Questions no Jutso.

xxforsaken-angelxx "You don't get in *trouble* for not wearing the paint, no. Like, most people around here wouldn't want to be out an' about without it or nothin', but just in the way anybody else who wears a lotta makeup wouldn't. Partial coverage's fine, too. I know this one chick who does a pattern with half her face, 's'cool as hell. And there is absolutely not a dress code beyond legal modesty and safety regulations, I almost can't believe you gotta ask that."

> He says it with fondness, as he leans up against his desk. He could talk about this stuff forever, he just had to settle into the rhythm of it. His gods seemed to enjoy it too, maybe, almost curling up beside him once he got on a roll.

"Self expression is important to us. It's an inherent part of our magic. We're all brought together around a school of thought with magic that's about experimentation and what you feel, so, like. If you're callin' up the damned with scryin' bones, why the fuck *shouldn't* you wear a full black velvet cloak, y'know? Why not wear it out to get a sandwich every night, if that's what makes you happy?"

"So comparin' us to punk or whatever else is rude just 'cause it's not us. We have an ideology, and punk has a totally different ideology, an' none of us really want to be lumped together when it doesn't stand for the same thing."

chimericarchitect "Then... what is the goth clown ideology? Under that umbrella of self-expression and exploration... are there pretty pastel clowns, peppy and chipper, or clowns that... essentially aren't goth? That sounds really kind of cool though, being encouraged to pursue happiness in the empire. Are there purplebloods that aren't clowns, or is it kind of mandatory?"

> Saness is slowing down a touch, pretty sincerely fascinated by this topic. Culture in general is wildly engrossing, but she has a particular passion for the heavy familial nature of mirthful society.

> She follows his lead, to a degree, crossing her arms and resting her weight unbalanced on one leg, hip cocked out just slightly to accommodate. Very laid-back. One foot taps, keeping time with the pace of her thoughts.

"And, I mean, I *assume* it's just purplebloods and not other colors that join the faith in your society, but it doesn't hurt to ask. Doctrines and ideologies tend to conceptually elude me, but I do so love to hear about them."

xxforsaken-angelxx "Just purplebloods, but it's not mandatory, no. Most of us end up here anyways, but there's plenty that don't. And..."

> There's a pause as he chews on his words a bit. He's had to explain something to this effect several times before, and every time it's a little different. A little closer to what someone who's Grand Highblood might say.

"We think that belief is the most important part of magic. The rituals you do and the entities you work with are just...methods. What makes it *work* is what you feel. And if you *know* that, then you can take your belief and apply it on purpose to somethin' workin' to your advantage. So we just... believe in doin' what personally works for you. Celebratin' what personally works for you. There's no reason you can't be cheery and also goth, or be some pastel fuck and also goth. We're only gonna question you if *you* don't think you're doin' it right. You have to believe you are. Genuinely."

chimericarchitect > Saness inclines her head, an inquisitive pinch to her brow. It's not fully intentional, but she keeps mentally checking in on the spectral presence surrounding Grinmaww, akin to curious little 'are you still there' pokes while he talks.

"That's what goth is? Celebrating the self?"

> Her expression smooths away and she straightens with a soft laugh.

"I mean, heh, wow." She waves a hand, gesturing over his whole him.

xxforsaken-angelxx "I have no idea what you're talking about," he says, playfully shaking his head.

> The angels are also very there. They're Always there. Or at least, some of them are. Sometimes there's more, sometimes there's less, but there's always *something*.

> They tend to poke back, too. It's fun having friends.

chimericarchitect > She shakes her head, still smiling.

"Alright, so, next question. I think I saw the answer before on tumblr maybe, but I don't remember it at the moment. Can you always sense your angels?"

> Yeah she came here with a purpose, but Saness has never been very business-oriented. She hasn't been here long enough for the recycled air to bother her, she's barely been here long enough to appreciate the fact that she's in space. Vacuums and stable pressurized ships aren't as easy to replicate, she's kind of lucky not to be experiencing some kind of reaction to the environment. The thought is starting to creep into her head, the idea that there could be so much more to see.

> Somewhere in the bowels of this contraption, Hydromatic dangles in some kind of torture stasis.

xxforsaken-angelxx > Somewhere, Hydromatic is at their station, filing through dozens of simultaneous requests and trying to scrape up the spare seconds to fantasize about their matesprit. Piers is somewhere as well, possibly finishing his shift.

> And the ship is just generally bustling with life. It was a massive place, filled with a town's worth of purplebloods. Each one had their own magic, their own loud style, their own gods...

"Pretty much always, yeah. Sometimes I get distracted, but they're always there."

chimericarchitect "Does it still get lonely sometimes, even if you're never alone? How old were you when you like, met them? And, um..."

> Saness glances toward the door and lets her continuation hang in the air for a moment, not quite stilling so much as slowing her idle animation. There's a lot to consider, all the mystery and intrigue just beyond, but she knows full well she'd never be allowed to pass through. Not in a thousand sweeps. What would she even do? Act like a lost tourist and get Grinmaww into trouble?

> She slides her focus back into the room, back onto her host and off of stray thoughts of the fantastical. Her hands go into her pockets and she gestures toward him with a shrug of her shoulder.

"Are the subjects of everyone else's devotion so present as yours? Can you sense or otherwise detect them yourself?"

xxforsaken-angelxx "I'm not the lonely type. But I met 'em when I was like...five-ish? Which is young, for us. I had more resources than most wrigs would've, an' I just...had a strong pull, I guess."

> A strong pull and a florid imagination. His eyes follow hers before he can get too wrapped up in thinking about his old hive life, though. If it were anybody else, he'd be glad to show her around the ship. There were constant visitors on the Hydromatic, so one more wouldn't be terribly out of place.

> As long as they were like, actual Imperial citizens with travel paperwork. And not of a blood color that didn't exist here. So unfortunately that wasn't happening, even if they both wished it would.

"...I don't think everybody's are. Kinda depends. But magic just has a vibe, I can feel that usually."

chimericarchitect > ...Huh. What if he's picking up magic vibes off of her? Wicked undid those... locks or whatever, and she did attend a single quarter of lessons at the magic college, even if she was pretty much fully incompetent with her abilities. She would think, 'nah, they're totally different things probably,' but here she is and she can sense his angels, so... maybe not? But maybe it's like, a warlock thing, rather than strictly a magic thing. She doesn't have a magic sugardaddy hovering around her twenty-four seven for him to detect. Or even like. Sugardaddy La Croix. Residual sugardaddy. Hint of having been near a sugardaddy that might have side-eyed her once.

"Well, the angels seem really pleasant and friendly, and if that says anything about you then, heh." Even with all of her training Saness's face is soft, tender cheeks squishing firm when she smiles. It doesn't stretch like Grinmaww's or Ringleader's. "How old do clowns normally take on a patron?"

xxforsaken-angelxx > The magic here *was* different from magic elsewhere, but mostly in how certain the clowns were of its mechanics. Magic was considered an action, a movement of energy. It wasn't something just sitting around in people willy nilly, in their minds. Without something actively magical lying around, there was nothing he was attuned to sense.

> His face softened a little at her compliment, and a small "Aww" slipped out before he could think it through.

"It uh, depends though. Six is when most people really start socializin' online, and that's a big factor for decidin' to participate in the faith. So seven-ish is the most common for gettin' serious with contactin' things, as far as I know."

chimericarchitect > A little 'o,' either of interest or surprise, anoints her.

"Did you meet them before you met any other clowns or joined the faith then?"

xxforsaken-angelxx > His eyebrows raise a little.

"Before I met any other clowns, yeah. But I was pretty set on being involved since I could read what I had about it."

chimericarchitect "Did I ask something strange? Sorry."

> Saness tries to play it cool, another pretty flash of a somewhat sheepish smile, but she is a weenie and the lift of Grinmaww's eyebrows causes her to fret a secret amount.

xxforsaken-angelxx > He tries to look reassuring. Or as reassuring as a much taller goth clown can.

"Nah. Just haven't had anybody ask that. Nobody really asks an heir how they started, y'know?"

chimericarchitect > It works, she's as easily reassured as she is unsettled. Intent is always WAY more important than appearances to little ol' Saness. She tilts her head, birdlike. Why *wouldn't* anyone ask?

"Well... How *did* you start?"

xxforsaken-angelxx > Eridan stews on that for a second, digging through his memories of his old swamp hive for the answer he was looking for. Then, when he found it, he very seriously said:

"Clown grubby books."

chimericarchitect > Her mouth opens, and then it closes. She considers this. Raises a finger. Opens her mouth again with the sound of an H turning to a W, then closes it again. A hum. The finger lowers.

xxforsaken-angelxx > He watches her flounder, and provides nothing. There's a smile in his eyes. Specifically a :o)

chimericarchitect > It ends with her giggling, one arm crossing her front to rub at the other. Her general demeanor has an air of vulnerability at the shift, gentle and earnest in both the way she speaks and the way she looks at him, smiling soft as a peach. Saness's eyes still gleam to an unnatural degree, the ever-present predator, but she's about as scary as a snail covered in dew drops.

"Sorry, that sounds really cute Grinmaww... Were they pop-up books? I hope you had a pop-up book, I have a little collection of those, I think they're very charming..."

xxforsaken-angelxx > He ends up laughing back at her, crossing his arms and actually smiling a little. She's so cute? She's so cute. Why does everything happen so much.

"Of course they were pop-up books. Like just one of 'em but what kinda church would we be if the grubby book wasn't a pop-up one. That'd be bullshit."

chimericarchitect > Her smile widens eagerly, the rubbing arm stopping in more the fashion of a half-formed self-hug.

"I wish I could read them. Obviously it inspired little you? You're here and all, and you seem happy to."

xxforsaken-angelxx "I sure am. Love this place, always have."

> He glances at one of his bookshelves in particular, scanning for a particular spot and then stammering.

"I uh- I still have the pop-up one. Like just a newer copy, lying around. You could, uh...I'd let you borrow it, for as long as you have the tubes, if you want. It's not like it has anything too secret."

chimericarchitect > Saness covers her mouth when she starts laughing this time, both hands. It lasts a good moment, eyes scrunched up with a fond sort of mirth once more. She's been charmed, how dare he. Like really, how dare he. This isn't the troll she made this trip to make friends with!

> And yet, she can't say she minds the direction this is going. Not one bit. What a good place this must be with leadership like this.

> She lowers her hands to rib-height, curled into loose and amicable fists.

"Really?" She pauses to nibble her lower lip, literally biting back another short string of giggles. "If you don't mind, I'd very much like that. Really."

xxforsaken-angelxx > Phththhghbhbhb, goes the clown. There's indignant hand waving and everything. He's trying to be NICE and she has the AUDACITY to like. Handle it in a playful friendly way. Rude.

"I don't mind at all, just lemme fuckin-"

> He strides over to the bookshelf in question, pulling out the thick little book from the spot it's been tucked away in, among serious magical tomes.

> The cover has a generic looking purpleblood wriggler, notably un-goth. They're curled up against a sheeplike lusus in a cool-toned forest scene, watching a glittery butterfly float overhead. A gold whimsical font proclaims that "Magic is Everywhere!"

> He shows her this for a second, then places it next to the other things she came here for.

chimericarchitect > Look at this guy. What a guy! A guy who keeps a copy of his wrigglerhood ��pop-up book in his block! A guy that would lend it to a near-stranger with a smile! A guy that bends and breaks the rules to do whatever is best or most interesting! A guy that doesn't get annoyed when he makes other people laugh! A guy with a really impressive propeller hand dance!

"What, you aren't going to flip through it with me? Don't you want to take a trip down memory lane with your new friend~?"

> Saness flounces along in Grinmaww's wake, leaning around him to rappa-tap a dance of her claws on the cover before he can fully rid himself of the book. She no longer minds the increased density of his aura by proximity, having decided that yes, they are friends now. It's a mostly-sincere question carried on a teasing tone that leaves him room to turn her down without anything getting awkward; he can brush her off as playing or he can take her seriously and crack open the book, and neither answer would be wrong.

xxforsaken-angelxx > Her hands get lightly swatted away. Bap, bap bap. It's kind of fortunate that he has a boyfriend now and everything, otherwise he'd still be terribly unused to people just...approaching him.

"Look, if I'm gonna give this thing to my 'new friend~'," he says, mimicking her badly, "Then I want you to enjoy this the proper way, which is all curled up at hive or whatever. It's the cozy kind of wriggler book. Don't at me."

chimericarchitect > Saness accepts her defeat with wiggly fingers, politely stepping back out of the range of his personal space. She is a self-satisfied creature.

"Cozy wriggler book, you've got it."

> She stuffs her mitts back into her pockets (all better, no touchy) and resumes rocking from heel to toe, watching Grinmaww with interest.

"I have so many more questions for you, but like, I realize this wasn't supposed to be a social visit and you are a very busy troll." Gotta check in. Gotta give him an out.

xxforsaken-angelxx > He settles back into leaning up against his desk, all casual like. But clearly with his feathers playfully ruffled. If it weren't for the paint there'd probably be a bit of a blush...which Saness might can guess anyways, with how much time she spends with clowns.

"Nah, I don't mind. Once I'm off work it's not like there's anything I'm supposed to be doin'."

> That and he's really enjoying her company. But he can't just like, say those words out loud, right?

chimericarchitect > That's enough of an invitation for her! Beaming, Saness makes an invisible 'desk' out of her psi and leans back against it, copying him like the silliest roly-poly.

"Great! You're even cooler than I'd hoped, I like talking to you."

> Apparently she can just say whatever the fuck she wants, unabashed while in her element. A single clap!

"Tell me about your lusus!"

xxforsaken-angelxx > There's clear amusement in her parroting, but also...a lack of questioning how the fuck she's doing that. Miming is a pretty common skill around here, after all.

"A goat? But like, a fish goat. An angler fish goat. Real big fucker that'd go around the swamp eating basically anything."

> There was a bit of disdain in his voice. It's fairly obvious that he didn't have a *great* opinion of his goat figure.  

"Think I gotta pass that one back at you, though. What was your lusus like?"

chimericarchitect "Uh, well..."

> She would be more phased by having bonked so clumsily into the Makara-standard experience of bad wriggler-lusus relations, but Grinmaww just asked a bit of a tricky question. It's obvious that Saness has to really consider how to answer this; for a moment she even looks off to the side, brow pinched.

"I don't really remember my lusus. I had a guardian, and she was a troll."

> The "sort of" that follows is said lower. How does one smoothly segway into 'I have amnesia and also the troll that looked after me when I came-to was actually some kind of life-force golem'? The answer is, you don't. You just don't.

xxforsaken-angelxx > Obviously there's curiosity that arises from that 'sort of.' Like, sort of a troll or sort of a guardian? It's an easy follow-up, and one he doesn't take. Instead, he gives her a somewhat sympathetic look.  

"You don't gotta talk about it if you don't want to."

> It's said both sincerely and flatly. He's not effected by whatever emotions she has around the subject, but is okay with them. No judgement, but lots of instinctual professionalism.

chimericarchitect "R-right..."

> The flat tone doesn't feel like it fits with the sympathetic look. Saness does not thrive in professional or formal environments, and even the gentle stiffness is enough for her to trip and flounder over. What is she *supposed* to say? Is this one of those secret codeword things people do when they like someone and want to be polite, but don't actually want to hear what they have to say?

> And besides... *Does* she want to talk about it? It's reflex to say 'no she doesn't,' and that coupled with the above is enough to sway her decision.

"I don't believe I ever got around to asking. Are limebloods extinct in this timeline?"

xxforsaken-angelxx > He *would* be interested, but he's not... supposed to be. Being a boss has it's tolls, one of them happening to be that he has a firm habit of not prying too hard. Any piece of extra information is something that can trip up the works of Imperial bureaucracy.

> So she takes her out and he lets it be, moving on to answering her next question as if nothing happened.

"Yeah, they are. Though the real dock against you is the fact that you don't have paperwork for existin' here. Like, you could go all hemo-anon or whatever an not stand out, but not havin' a travel record would get you in trouble real quick."

chimericarchitect > She's quick to focus on this new topic, grasping at it a bit like a life raft. It was one little hiccup, everything is fiiiiine.

"Really? Travel record? ...I implanted an identity to assume on an Earth once so that I could open a bank account and a few other things, but like, I imagine something like that might be a bit more difficult in this timeline. Earth is just... Not very savvy. Then again, on a standard Alternia, there are LOTS of available identities to assume, trolls die super constantly on the ground..."

> Grim thoughts are grim, and Saness makes a face. This line of thought isn't pleasant, and she isn't neutral about it, no matter how plainly she likes to talk about it.

"Who even checks for those? Everyone I pass in the hall? Do you have to confirm your I.D. at every doorway?"

xxforsaken-angelxx > Eridan points up towards the ceiling and gestures around.

"Cameras. There aren't any in here, but they're pretty much everywhere else. Anyone out of place would get spotted immediately, an' then you'd get flagged down for some questions."

> There's an attempt to not make the word "questions" in that sound ominous. An attempt. But the eyes of the Hydromatic were in fact everywhere.

chimericarchitect "Oh, so the 'travel records' are digital, and Hydromatic can identify people and locate aforementioned records on the spot, and if something doesn't line up, then yadda yadda? Or do you mean, Hydromatic would send security after me or whoever else walked mysteriously out of a closet because they're just *that aware* of every single familiar face and *that aware* of who has gone where? Because, I've got-"

> Saness grabs for her wallet chain, pulling the end of it out of her back pocket. It's definitely still not attached to a wallet; it's attached to a retro sylladex!

"I've got..."

> Operating this thing is not efficient. She's still flipping through it... There's a reason technology moved on without this little pocket-lunk.

"I've got this amulet, it was a gift. A disguise amulet..."

> Fwip fwip fwip... She just wants to show him a neat trick, man... Why does this have to be so har-AHA!!

> With a declaration of triumph, she retrieves a very simple locket on a very simple chain, proudly holding it aloft and grinning mischief at Grinmaww.

xxforsaken-angelxx > He just...lets her. He's the one with an even more old-fashioned looking computer sitting behind him. But he has no idea what exactly a 'disguise amulet' implies. Like, it *feels* magic, but there's a lot of extents that thing could go to. Instead, he just answers her questions.

"It's like a facial recognition system, just with an actual pair of eyes as a step in the process. If you're authorized to be on board here, and also to be in whatever rooms you're goin' in, then everything's fine, mostly."

chimericarchitect > Saness nods along, but she only half-cares about the answer to her question. It's not like she's going to be skulking about on the ship.

"Okay, so, check this out. Do you have any printed photos? Small ones, or ones you don't mind being folded? Magazine cutouts count, it'd just be cooler if it's someone that you recognize from this timeline rather than whoever I have in my pocket."

xxforsaken-angelxx "Uh-"

> Now it's his turn to awkwardly fumble around for something. He turns to start going through his desk drawer, pushing around this and that. There was a lot in the damn things. A few pipes, art supplies, spare papers, weed...

> Eventually he found a photo tucked away amongst it all, and handed it over.

> It's a picture that was only able to print halfway for some reason or another, leaving only one person in the image. Said person is Nymede, the Hydromatic's lead IT specialist. She was in an open shoulder top and hot pants and fishnets, with big fuzzy legwarmers. Her face was half obscured by a gas mask, and she had bright purple and fuchsia hair extensions.

> She was...probably in the helmsblock, or near it, there was biowire visible behind her, but there was no sign of Hydromatic themselves.

chimericarchitect > Is it void nonsense? A lack of ink? Some sort of printer malfunction? A certain helm being fussy about their picture being taken and purposely botching the job? The world may never know, and further, the world is unconcerned. Saness accepts the photo and gleefully pops open the locket. There was already a photo inside - one of Saness that has been color-edited to have black hair and ordinary teal eyes - that she hastily replaces with the photo of this very Fashion(tm) clown person. She gives it a playful jostle once it's closed away.

"Now, hang on, this is the cool part-"

> The moment she slips the locket over her head, Saness is no longer standing in the room. Instead, in every physically perceivable way, Nymede has replaced her. Eeach visible detail is accurate to the picture, and Saness-as-Nymede gives a little twirl.

"Tadaaa...!"

> It doesn't alter her voice, unfortunately, and Saness still sounds like herself. She moves like herself too, despite whatever change in height there may be, fluffy legwarmers flouncing realistically to match.

xxforsaken-angelxx "Wow what the fuck."

> That was. Perhaps less enthused sounding than he intended, and he cracks up the second after that leaves his mouth.

"Man, what the *fuck*-"

>  It is perhaps somewhat alarming to see a perfect clone of your friend, even if you think it's fucking hilarious. Boy is it realistic, though. He saw Nymede just tonight, and he wouldn't have thought twice if she'd been able to mimic her voice. Scary, but incredibly impressive!

chimericarchitect "Isn't it neat? It's basically a hologram. The projection is magic and it has the most basic of shells to give an amount of resistance when touched, but if you pressed against it you would sink through until you touched me. When used to mimic smaller things, the parts that hang out turn completely invisible, but can still knock into things if you aren't careful."

> While she talks Saness is wafting Nymede's arm back and forth, looking it over herself. She has back some of the same energy she came in with, the excitable quickness to the way she carries her borrowed form bleeding into how quickly she talks.

> She pauses only a moment, snapping her attention from Nymede's arm to Grinmaww's face. There's more she wants to say and show him, but she's not the type to sprint on ahead without someone.

xxforsaken-angelxx > He's following along, mostly, the way someone tends to when they're fascinated by something they don't *really* understand. Holograms were a thing in common use here, hard light was something he understood in theory, using magic to create tech-like results was...imaginable, at least?

> Which amounted as far as it being conceivable, and him having no idea how the fuck something like that would actually be made. Miracles, man.

"Neat is a real fuckin' understatement for that."

chimericarchitect > She chuckles and goes to remove the locket, zooping back to her regular appearance with a sideways flicker as soon as the chain is off her neck.

"You can even disguise things as people, or people as things, or things as other things..."

> Saness looks around the room for an easy target that doesn't look like something personal or sensitive, something she could feasibly loop the chain around.

"...and you can keep the chain on the object you want to disguise while keeping the locket somewhere else, it will continue to function so long as neither are destroyed..."

xxforsaken-angelxx > There are, frankly, a lot of Things in this room, so there's a lot of potential targets. There's several large quartz samples of different colors that could easily have the locket wrapped around, or some of his jars of common herbs like rosemary and thyme. Or for something even safer looking, she could nab a big black candle.

> That last part is what really surprised him, though. The parts could work separately? The locket didn't have to be on the chain? It wasn't just the locket that did the thing? How the FUCK did this thing WORK?

chimericarchitect > Badda-boom, she slips the locket off of the chain and wraps the pretty metal in a loose cascade over an unsuspecting candle. Nymede appears where it was, but nearly completely physically static. If the candle was lit, she'll be wobbling her head around in a way that could be considered eerie, mimicking the flames with the limitations of hair and a neck.

> What's more, a candle is much smaller than a person, and... the projection seems to shiver and warp a lot like it is strained, glitching in a way that Nymede *definitely should not be moving* in. Saness seems to find these wild distortions and unnatural behaviors to be entirely hilarious, pointing up at her and giving the whole thing a very good laugh.

xxforsaken-angelxx > It was not lit, just sitting around waiting for use. But that only mitigated the weirdness of this somewhat. Like, here was one of his best friends, in lifelike form, magically superimposed over a candle when she really shouldn't be. The whole thing wibbled around with the uncanniness of a wax figure and the function of spaghetti code.  

> He also thought it was fucking hilarious, and laughed with her.

chimericarchitect > They'll likely spend a moment in shared laughter before Saness reaches into the illusion to fumble around and remove the chain. As before, Nymede stretches sideways and zlorps out of existence.

> Saness is still a bit breathy with laughter when she speaks.

"See, that's... I can be anyone, or anything, except maybe - pppbb - a candle, or a spoon, haha!"

xxforsaken-angelxx "That's fuckin' mindbogglin' to me. But impressive as long as you're not tryin' to dodge the guards with bobblehead candle clowns."

> He shakes his head, still giggling a bit. What a time to be alive and in charge of this joint.  

"I've been doin' magic for a long ass time an' I've never gotten to see shit like that.

chimericarchitect > A bit more laughter and apparently show-and-tell is over, because Saness is putting her magic tool back into her sylladex - but she courteously remembers to take out the picture and offer it back toward Grinmaww on an open palm.

"The multiverse is a vast place and... I guess I've seen a lot of things!"

> Actually, it was talking to Pierce before that really put it into perspective. She's a veteran of mystery...

xxforsaken-angelxx > The picture gets placed back roughly where it was before, in one of his desk drawers. Possibly not even the same desk drawer? There are only so many things that can be in his goth mind at one time.

"Guess so," he says. "And guess I haven't seen much at all."

> Which was solely exciting to him, really. There was nothing he loved more than learning about the way everything flowed along in the universe. All a vast *multi*verse meant was he never had to stop.

chimericarchitect > Prrp! Saness proceeds to brush herself down for reasons unknown, satisfied with his response. There is a threshold here that needs to be respected, and unlike some of her friends, she's going to try and reel it in before crossing it.

"There are a lot of things I could show you, but I think maybe that's enough for a first meeting. I may not be the most vibrant or interesting tour guide, but I am a willing and attentive one!"

xxforsaken-angelxx > There's a small scoff at that second part, immediately.

"You're plenty vibrant. I do think we're good on the touring for now though, yeah."

> His hand creeps a little towards the collection of things he's supposed to be passing along to her. It's that business instinct again.

chimericarchitect > That was? A compliment? Yeah, no, it's cool. It's COOL. She sure hopes it's a compliment and not some sign that she overwhelmed him though, but if it is then man, it sure does sound like Grinmaww is completely clueless, he should meet her friends, *they're* the vibrant ones... And probably also very literally insane.

> She doesn't fuss when he moves them toward the end of their visit, quirky in her lopsided-smile sort of way. Saness rocks on her toes with her hands jammed deep into her pockets. She'll wait politely for him to gather himself up and bring this meeting to a close; it is his place, after all. Grinmaww is the floor master.

xxforsaken-angelxx > The look he gives her seems to support the compliment theory... But a moment later he's distracted. No objection, time to give her the things. The picture book first, and then the two psychic tube-y things. They're neatly labeled with label machine stickers, one from Pierce and one from Grinmaww.

> They actually came out pretty distinct looking. Both of the glow bits are lit a similar shade of purple, but Grinmaww's is...actually a good bit fainter. He's never really had any other chances to compare himself, though, so it doesn't even strike him as odd. Pierce is just good at shit like this, obviously.

chimericarchitect > Her hands are freed from her pockets! In order! To accept a darling pop-up book! And the actual tools she came for!

"Thanks so much for being such a good sport. I'll get the bracers and your cozy grubby book back to you as soon as I've finished!"

> They disappear from her palms, slorped up by her sylladex like so much loose spaghetti.

"It will take me a little longer than normal to complete these though, as I'm uh, a little bit preoccupied back at hive."

xxforsaken-angelxx > He shrugs, and...smiles just a little. Why must she be so goddamn pleasant all the time always.

"That's fine. Ain't like there's any rush anyways. Just get 'em back when you can."

> There's a moment of realization on his face when he remembers that she's just going to like...zap out of herself out of here. And not use a door. Which means that normal farewell dialogue cues weren't going to happen.

"It was uh, real nice seein' you an' all man."

chimericarchitect > Saness wouldn't know a normal dialogue cue if it bit her full on the bulge, farewell or otherwise.

"Somenight we'll have to figure out how to swap tours for realsies!"

> Rather than saying goodbye or returning the compliment like a civilized or well-adjusted troll, she gives her new friend a big smile and an even bigger dwarpy salute, turning on her heel for dramatic effect as the crackly light consumes her once more.

> Just like that, she is gone.

[dreamcatcherjiah]

HOME PART 18 (W) ✏️

Today you were seeing Namjoon again. After nearly a month, today was the day you were gonna see him again. Your heart had been beating way faster than normal ever since you woke up and it was an awful distraction at work. You couldn’t focus on a single task, and the only thing you could do was run every possible scenario through your mind. It shouldn’t be like this. You were friends, you clicked, something that hadn’t happened to you since long before you moved to Seoul. He got you. He had been the first person you had told about the pain you felt when you gave up your dreams when you had to give up books for a computer. That alone was something you weren’t willing to give up too. Namjoon was your person. And he saw you as a friend, you weren’t about to destroy that because everyone thought you made a cute couple.

It had started simple. Heri jokingly saying she shipped you both, J-Hope and that joke about the wedding album. But things as simple as those had gotten you thinking. And when they left for their Japan promotions, not being able to see Namjoon for weeks, you realized something. You liked him, perhaps as more than a friend, but maybe that was just your subconscious missing affection after you had been single for so long. During the first week of his absence, you were able to rationalize your feelings this way. And then you face timed for the first time, and just seeing his face, his sleepy eyes after a tiring day, the way his face lit up when you told him you had missed him. That night after you hanged up, you realized you’d been in denial. You liked him as more than a friend, but it couldn’t be. “You’re literally my best friend” he’d said on numerous occasions. So, you just swallowed this realization and kept on with the farce. Then you talked to your dad and he was there for you even though he was many kilometers away. He cried with you that night, telling you how useless he felt, not being able to hug your pain away, not being able to make your tears disappear. So, he played Mono and told you how important you were to him. He told you to play their music when you were feeling sad so that he could be closer to you every day. And you did; his voice was with you when your stress became too big to ignore, when the nightmares plagued your sleep, or when you silently cried looking at the ceiling.

It was during his absence that you realized just how much he deserved the recognition and how proud you were of the place the seven of them had made for themselves. Just imagining the sleepless nights practicing, the days it took them to find the right word for a song, the blood, sweat, and tears they had spilled to get from the bottom to the top, made you want to hug them so tight and never let go. They were truly an inspiration.

Thinking this, your day at the office came and went and it was already time to meet your sister and take her to the BigHit Building. She had no idea you were going to meet BTS, you’d just told her you had a reservation in a very prestigious restaurant to celebrate her coming to Korea. She had been so excited and thankful it almost made you feel bad for lying to her. Almost. She was waiting for you in the lobby, dressed so prettily you envied her confidence and looking at you with her big eyes.

“I was about to go up to drop-kick your boss’ ass for kidnapping you.” She said jokingly. She was totally calm and you were interested in seeing how long that calm would last.

You took her to the parking lot and looked for the car Namjoon told you would be waiting for you. Once you found it, it took some convincing to get your sister to enter as she was getting more and more suspicious by the minute. “Your job pays better than I thought if you had the money to hire a driver” she even told you when the car left the company.

You sent a text to the group chat, letting the guys know you were on your way. Nervous as you were, the text was concise and short, but you were satisfied as it conveyed your message.

Fifteen minutes later, the car entered another parking lot and the engine switched off. Your sister now was looking at you as if you had kidnapped her and taken her to an unknown location to kill her. Nothing further from the truth, but she didn’t know that.

“If I didn’t know you better,” she said “I would ask you if dad had anything to do with this and you are conspiring to put my ass on a plane and send me back home… But I haven’t had time to visit half the places I want to, so I would fight you.”

The smile she had on her face was eerie and it reminded you somehow of the Cheshire cat, so you were fast to reassure her that, to get to the place where you were going to eat, you needed to ride an elevator from the basement. That made a normal curious look appear on her face and you calmed a bit.

While riding the elevator, your heart was milliseconds away from jumping out of your chest. You knew the guys would be waiting on the other side of those doors once they opened and, yes meeting the other six members in person was unnerving and you were excited about your sister’s reaction, but Namjoon was what you were worried about. Your own reaction to him, more like. Now that you had accepted you liked him; you were worried that you were going to make your first encounter in weeks more awkward than it should be. You tried calming down because if your sister saw you fidgeting, she would find out sooner and the surprise the guys had worked so hard on preparing wouldn’t work.

The elevator slowly stopped and the doors started opening, and your heart stopped. He was right there, behind Jungkook and Jimin, smiling at you with such a happy face, with his dimples showing that you forgot about everything else. You forgot about your sister, who was looking from one face to the next in utter shock, and about the rest of the guys, who were highly amused and didn’t know whether to look at your sister or at you. You dropped your bag to the ground and went out of the elevator so fast Namjoon didn’t have time to react before you were hugging him and hiding your fate on his chest. The only thing you thought to say was a really small “I missed you”.

This seemed to break the awkward atmosphere when your sister looked at you both with eyes as large as saucers and shouted “SO HE WAS THE KNJ WHO HAS BEEN TAKING YOU ON DATES THIS WHOLE TIME AND YOU DIDN’T THINK ON MENTIONING IT?! WOAH, LOYALTY REALLY IS DEAD!”

The silence that followed was broken when all nine of you started laughing and the tension finally flew out of the window. Introductions were made and questions asked. Your sister was in a trance, she wasn’t able to look at any of the seven men in the face and she kept snapping an elastic she wore on her wrist. During dinner, she was the quietest you’d seen her since she had been little and answered all the questions with either a yes or a no. That was until a shy Jungkook thought to ask whether she had a bias or not. Her head raised fast as lighting and said, very proud: “Bangtan has seven members, so I love all seven just as much.” Right after her cheeks got really red, only to get redder when Yoongi said laughing that after that statement it was clear as water that her bias was Taehyung and someone pass him the kimchi.

Namjoon had been quiet during diner as well, barely looking at you, not even when you thanked them on behalf of your yet again speechless sister for the album they had signed for her. Even when the night was coming to an end and the guys were giving you a tour of their studios, he lagged behind looking distant and in his own world. With a comeback so close, you knew how busy he must have been, so the fact that you were stopping him from working made you feel so bad.

“And last, but not least,” chanted a happy Taehyung, who was acting as a tour guide for your sister, for the amusement of the rest of the band, “here is our practice room! We spend so much time here that I don’t know why we still need a dorm, but isn’t it cool?”

It was huge, with a mirrored wall and the last equipment, nothing less for the best. The guys joked around for a while and asked you and Namjoon for your phones to take pictures. You and your sister hugged and she beamed to the camera when it was her turn to take a picture with BTS. This was going to be the happiest day of her life and you knew that.

You were finally leaving, staying a bit behind to be able to talk to Namjoon when there was a commotion at the door and the seven guys, including Namjoon behind you, started screaming not to let the door close. You were so distracted by so many voices coming from different directions that you were too slow and the door slammed shut in front of you.

The guys on the other side said to stay put, that they were going to go down to the security desk and warn someone and not to worry, but Namjoon was already going at the door full force and cursing colorfully. You had never seen him like this.

“Hey, calm down,” you said putting a hand on his forearm, and trying to mask the hurt when he shook your hand off.

He walked to the centre of the room and sat down with his back to you, like a sulking child. The image was so funny that you started laughing, maybe not the best idea if he was not in a joking mood. His head turned to you, with wide eyes and looked even angrier than when the door had slammed shut.

“What’s gotten into you today? You have been so quiet!”

You were starting to get worried, had he discovered something, had you been too obvious about what you felt for him, was the hug too much? All the possibilities for his sour mood were running through your head, making you oblivious to his movements, of how he got up and faced you. His words, however, got you out of your contemplative mood very efficiently.

“I’m sick and tired of your conformist personality and your astounding lack of ambition. What do you think would happen if you just keep complaining about your job, huh? That something will magically happen and you’ll have your dream job handed to you?”

You were taken aback by the harshness with which those words were pronounced. Namjoon was the sweetest, most understanding person you’d ever known and you had explained to him what was it exactly that had forced you to let go of your dream. You’d initially graduated university with flying colours, ready to take the world by storm you had studied a masters in editing and started an internship in a really good editorial, not one year after graduating. But the internship didn’t pay the bills, there was no prospect of you getting a promotion by the end of it, and your little sister was showing signs of being a prodigy with a brush. A prodigy’s education was expensive and your parents couldn’t keep up. Sarah had enough expenses with her pregnancy and getting ready for a new member of her family so you put on your big girl’s jeans and started working on everything, around the clock to help out at home. That was until your father told you were more of a bother and took it upon himself to find you a job that would allow you to fend for yourself and for them to only pay your sister’s expenses.

After telling him this, it hurt you deeply how Namjoon was being so quick to judge your lack of ambition, as he called it, and after all, you didn’t even know what had triggered this attack.

“What the hell? You know why I gave up. Forget it,” you said; even though he was getting on your nerves at the moment, you were still happy to see him, “let’s wait for the guys, I don’t want to fight.”

“The hell we’re gonna wait. I want you to open your eyes! Taking care of your sister is great, but for God’s sake that job is going to kill you and you just had the courage to tell your sister that you love what you do? Stop being a coward and start fighting for what you want! If you keep this up, everyone is going to step on you, and you would deserve that they did!”

The fact that he called you a coward crossed the line, and in your head, there was only a voice saying “hurt him like he hurt you right now”.

“Yeah, right because it’s so easy. Fighting for one’s dream” you said, making big quotation marks with your fingers, “I am not the one who’s had it all handed to him, the one who happened to know a famous rapper one night and, VOILA! You suddenly were given the chance! That’s not how the real world works Namjoon!” Your finger was suddenly jamming into his chest, not knowing what you were doing, not seeing the hurt in his eyes, you continued; “They just look at you with pity in their eyes! Wow, poor thing, look at her, so young and so tired! What do you think she does for a living? She looks miserable, like a zombie! Well, let me tell you something Namjoon, not all of us are millionaires by the age of twenty-five and can afford running after our dreams. That’s just not realistic!”

Hurt and with tears running down your cheeks, you turned at the noise of the door opening. Hearing shouting, the guys had decided to stop with the foolery and open the door. You took the chance and grabbed your sister by the hand dragging her to the elevator and out of the building. You didn’t expect betrayal to hurt this much, yet you cried.

HOME: Namjoon x Reader // social media au

Part 17 x Part 18  x Next

Plot: Y/N always wanted to do something worth living for. Be it singing, dancing, teaching. But after a huge fight with her parents, Y/N accepts that whatever dreams she may have had are not realistic. She accepts a job in her father’s company and moves to Korea to start a new branch of the business. But what will happen when she gets to know a rapper who advocates for self-love and following one’s dream and his six chaotic brothers?

a/n: Hello sweets!! As I told you yesterday I was having a bit of trouble with this part. It is more or less decent according to my standards, but some feedback would be welcomed as I have never written something like this. Thank you so much for your support and welcome if you have just discovered HOME.  Love 💜🌙 Tag list: @threedecadesofawkward @rjsmochii @luvelyjjk @okaysoplshelpme @sakurauchiha2018 @annyeongerica @thebleuprince

[pllandcompany]

dream on: a new year's eve story

summary: Logan doesn't see what's so magical about New Year's Eve.

warnings: talk of depression, poverty, weight mention, undereating, a smooch, cheerier than it sounds, I promise

tagged: @ziallwarrior @apologieslogan @logansmolbean @crofters-jam @asylia-5911 @ab-artist @band-be-boss-blog @unbefuckinglieveable @flyingfreeyt @thecatchat @thefallendog @backatthebein

notes: I'm waaaay late but I wrote this weeks ago and I thought I hated but then I came across it again today and inspiration actually struck me so I figured I should follow it before it disappears again. Hope you enjoy it!

It was far too cold for Logan Fields to be standing outside on a balcony. However, that was exactly where he found himself tonight against all good judgment. He wrapped his coat tighter around himself as another chilly blast of evening air cut through him, shivering his body down to his skeleton. There was a time when he used to be able to tolerate the cold somewhat but after a recent weight loss, he found himself more sensitive to any decline in temperature. He chuckled wryly at the choice of words that emerged from his turbulent thoughts. Sensitive. Hmm.

Lately, it seemed he was more sensitive to everything. It was an apt description.

The party behind him erupted in a muted crescendo, disturbing the fragile serenity Logan had achieved. Sighing heavily, he stepped closer to the railing, feeling the tiredness creep in with the cold. He checked his watch and frowned with disgust. 10:32. Midnight was only an hour and a half away but to Logan, that was an eternity. He genuinely didn't want to attend this function anyway; in his mind there was nothing to celebrate. Besides, his desire to be alone was only growing stronger by the minute so why was here? Maybe he could just quietly sneak out and head home, ball drop be damned-

"Logan? What are you doing out here?" Logan winced internally at the worried sounding voice behind him. Roman. Of course. How could he possibly sneak out now with the host directly behind him? He turned slowly, plastering a tight smile on his face.

"My apologies for disappearing, Roman, it was merely a bit loud for me. I just came outside to...decompress." Roman seemed to relax considerably, his concerned frown relaxing into a warm smile.

"Oh good. I was worried you might be leaving early."

I was planning on it, he thought almost bitterly. He squinted slightly at Roman's hands, suddenly realizing what he was holding. "Is that a blanket?"

Had the balcony been even just slightly brighter, Logan would have seen the blush that crept onto Roman's face. "Yeah, and I brought tea, too. You...you looked cold." Logan accepted the mug as the writer gently wrapped the soft fleece around his shoulders.

"Oh, well...thank you. It is quite cold."

"Then why were you standing out here so long?" Logan looked up at the velveteen sky sparkling vividly with bright, diamond stars.

"You have quite the view from this balcony. I suppose I became somewhat entranced."

Roman walked over to stand next to Logan, admiring the view for himself. "Ah, yes. This was the element that sold me on this place. I do most of my writing out here when it's warmer." Logan hummed noncommittally, distracted once again by the tornado of thoughts in his head. Roman frowned at the vacant, hollow look in his friend's eyes. He gave him a once over, noting how frail Logan's wrists appeared to be, how dark the circles under his eyes were. He felt his heart break at the obvious state of silent distress his friend appeared to be in.

Well, this just wouldn't do at all.

"What's on your mind, Lo?" Logan visibly tensed up. This was exactly what he was afraid of.

"I was simply considering how silly it is to commemorate the passage of time." He sighed again, a sudden weighed sensation passing over him. "Time, or more accurately, our system to quantify our perception of time marches forward regardless of whether we acknowledge it or not. Celebrating that event is pointless and unnecessary, especially when nothing significant changes in the singular moment of the arrival of a new calendar year."

"Jeez, Specs. Way to harsh a vibe." Logan turned to face a suspicious Roman, eyebrow raised in surprise. Logan offered up a wry smile.

"I apologize, Roman." His face fell considerably. "It's...it's been a rough year." He exhaled shakily, hands gripping the railing as the events of this past year flashed through his mind. The breakup. Getting laid off. Losing his apartment and worst of all, moving back home. Roman placed a soft palm on Logan's back, once again breaking him from his negative spiral.

"You will find another job, Logan. You won't be stuck in your parent's place forever. It will get better."

"Living with my parents is stifling me." His voice was tight with some emotion he couldn't identify. "I feel like a man with no purpose. No direction. I can barely afford to eat, I have no leads for employment and I'm...alone. I have no one and...and no one wants me." And he's crying now, wonderful, leave it to him to cry at a party. Roman didn't even flinch as he pulled Logan in for a tight hug, letting him lean into his embrace without comment. This wasn't the time for teasing; his friend needed him.

"You're not alone, Logan. And you are most certainly not unwanted." Roman pulled back and ever so softly held his friend's face in his warm hands. Logan soaked in the heat for a moment, closing his eyes briefly. It wasn't until he opened them again and saw the passionate gaze Roman was giving him that he understood.

"You...how long?" Roman chuckled nervously.

"A long time. But you weren't single for so long and then the break up happened and I knew you weren't ready to hear it." Logan gasped quietly, heart pounding with nervous elation. The tiniest spike of anxiety surged through his chest as he thought back to the man who left him, the man who told him that he was too cold, too detached, impossible to love, that he was no good for anyone as a lover. Yet here stood the most romantic man Logan knew, an author of several successful novels that detailed the accounts of many a love story with accuracy and passion, this man...wanted him? It couldn't be real.

"Roman, I...I honestly don't know if I'm still not ready or not. This feels like a dream right now and...I need this to be real for me to feel safe. I mean, trust me, I want to move on but..." Logan floundered for his next words briefly until Roman placed a gentle finger on his lips, stilling their babbling stream.

"Shh, hush darling, it's all right. I understand that. Which is why I'm restraining myself from kissing you senseless against this wall. Instead, we're gonna go inside, I'm going to make you more tea and something to eat, and then we're going to watch the ball drop and be happy. Because that's why you celebrate New Year's: to feel happiness. To give yourself over the magic of change and celebrate being alive despite all that's happened to us." A watery chuckle escaped Logan's mouth.

"The magic of change. You can romanticize anything, can't you?"

Roman wiggled his eyebrows. "Would you like to find out?" He gasped, face flushing again in embarrassment. "I didn't mean that how that sounded! Oh God, I'm so sorry, Lo, I don't mean to push you, I swear it-"

"It's quite alright, Roman. I am not offended. You've been waiting a long time, it seems."

"I would wait lifetimes for you, darling." Okay, now Logan was definitely red in the face at that comment. He turned his head and bit his lip, poorly concealing the smile that decided to show up to humilate him further.

"Well, then, maybe we should wait inside? Both of our lifetimes will be very short if we develop hypothermia." Roman smiled fondly at his brilliant friend.

"Lord knows we don't want that." A gentle hand was placed on the small of Logan's back, leading him back to warmth and light. Once the two gentleman stepped inside, they were immediately ushered to the center of the living room by a man with a mop of curly brown hair decorated by a glittery, silver hat with the numbers 2019 illuminated in a flash pattern.

"There you guys are! I was worried sick! You two almost missed the countdown!" Patton brightly chirped as he continued pushing the pair towards the television, where it appeared thag all of the party goers had gathered.

Countdown? Logan wondered. We were out there that long?

Patton grabbed the wrist of a less than sober looking man dressed in all-black down to his own decorated New Year's Eve hat, sans illumination, yanking him close to his side. "You too, Virgil! No one is missing this."

Logan looked over to see Roman looking just as stunned as he was at how an entire hour and a half seemed to fly by as fleeting as a New York minute. It just wasn't possible...was it? Had they really lost themselves in each other that much?

...Ten...nine...eight...

The chanting of the countdown broke into both Roman and Logan's senses and they locked eyes, suddenly feeling unnaturally drawn to one another.

...seven...six...five...

Out of the corner of his eye, Logan could see Patton and his apparent partner Virgil already deep into a passionate kiss, not willing to wait for any proverbial ball drop. Logan felt his pulse quicken once more as he turned back to the towheaded writer, an adoring but patient gaze lighting up his chocolate brown eyes.

...four...three...two...

In a split second, Logan knew what he was going to do.

One.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!"

Roman found himself exceedingly grateful for the deafening cacophony of jubilation in his apartment that exploded at the turn of the new year. The noise made it nearly impossible to hear the squeak that emerged from him the moment Logan's lips pressed against his, cool and inviting. He was simply prepared for a New Year's Eve hug but this? This was his dream coming true in ways he hadn't even imagined. The kiss was brief but heated, both pulling away with pupils blown wide and chests heaving with pants. They stayed there for a moment just drinking each other in, the heat of their passion intoxicating them better than any champagne could. Logan let out another glorious chuckle, his laughter slowly becoming music to Roman's ears.

Maybe there was a little magic in this night after all.

[bettercallsabs]

The Groom To Be 1/?

A/N: Thank you all for your patience with me! My life took a turn in the right direction this week, aside from the unwarranted sickness. I moved back home last week, and started my new job on Wednesday, and it’s been a crazy 2 days. So thank you for baring with me. I appreciate more than you know! So here it is!! Part 1! Taglist is open, so never miss a post dearies! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy. *This series will also be posting to Wattpad*

Engaged!SteveRogers x WeddingPlanner!Reader (plus sized reader)

Warnings: none really, some swears.

Word Count: 3k +

You'd overslept. Of course.

On possibly the most important day of your life you overslept. You had stayed up until 3am getting everything in order for your “big” day. You couldn’t believe your ears when Trisha-your boss- told you Larissa Levingston herself had requested you as her wedding planner, you nearly keeled over in shock. Rushing to make yourself presentable, you took a few moments to assess yourself in the mirror. You could go without washing your hair, but your bare face could definitely use some makeup. You took your time styling your hair, so it framed your face just right. Appearance was a big deal when it came to your job. You as a person, not just your “work”, sets a first impression. And this couple, especially Larissa Levingston, was used to extravagant things, she was a billionaire heiress after all.

Makeup? Check!

Hair? check!

Outfit… Still I’m progress.

You had narrowed it down to three outfits;

Stylish and chic power suit. A black fitted skirt with a ruffled blouse and heeled boots. Or, the fitted, deep maroon, knee-length dress that hugged your curves in all the right places, complimenting your voluptuous figure. You slipped into your favorite black blazer, one that never steered you wrong and you even considered it a tad lucky.

Glancing over the finished product, you hooded at yourself in the mirror, whispering to yourself, confidence is key. You are confident. You truly felt good about today, you were ready. And you looked good too. You were about to whoop add on possibly the biggest event of your life.

I’ve got this

You grabbed your keys from the dainty ceramic bowl your niece had made you, that sat near the edge of your breakfast bar, and headed out of your small loft, locking the door behind you. The air was frigid, the brisk breeze licking at your skin, as you stepped out into the New York winter that was in full swing. Checking the Apple Watch that adorned your wrist, you shifted into overdrive. The last thing you wanted was to be late on possibly the most important day of your life. After a short train ride, you arrived at the office, the 16th floor of a high rise located on w 38th st. The office took up a corner of the floor-sharing the floor with an insurance company and a law firm. You were greeted by Paula -who was your very attentive receptionist- as she handed over a handful of mail and notes. “Thank you Paula.” “Just a reminder, Chaz is out sick with strep, so if you need any assistance, give me a ring.” Of course, Chaz, would be sick on thee most crucial day of your career. But you could do this with

out an assistant. You were Y/N,L/N. You had worked your ass off to get this far. Poured your blood, sweat and tears into this. You could do this. No, you were going to do this! You tossed your mail and shoulder bag onto your desk before sinking into your padded swivel chair. You quickly put yourself to work, perusing your email, sorting into folders based on importance and time sensitivity. You were so engrossed in your work, you were startled as your Apple Watch chimed loudly from your wrist. 15 minutes until appointment.

You silenced the reminder, taking a few moments to tidy around your office, fluffing the pillows that rested in each corner of the love seat, that claimed the south side of the office. As a finally touch, you adjusted the newest issues of bridal magazines neatly dispersed across the rose gold coffee table. There was a soft knock at the door, Paula’s head popping through the slight open door.

“Ms.Levingston and Mr. Rogers are here. Should I send them in?” Smoothing out your dress, as you regained your posture from the hunched over position, you took in a deep breath before flashing a light smile in her direction. “Absolutely. Send them right in.” You leaned against the desk, hands folded together on your lap as Paula left the room. Seconds later, Paula was holding open the door as two unbelievably gorgeous humans walked in.

Larissa was a thin and lengthy woman. Her perfectly tanned skinned was accented by her long, thick strawberry blonde locks that were styled in a curly half updo. Her smile was bright and infectious, spreading to her warm honey brown eyes. Her arm was entangled in Steve’s, her hand resting on his toned forearm. You’d heard about Steve Rogers, butthe again… who hadn’t? He had a reputation that exceeded so many- but you’d never realized how breathtakingly handsome he was. His defined jaw was covered with a light scruff. His dreamy blue eyes met yours, sending a shiver down your spine. Your eyes quickly fell to the floor. You could still feel his gaze on you, making you feel more on edge then you already were. Clearing your throat, you pushed yourself from your desk to greet the -seemingly flawless-couple. “Hi, my name is y/n, I am so thrilled to be working with the two of you to make your wedding dreams come true. Please take a seat.” You directed the couple to plush love seat, grabbing the iPad from your desk. “Can I get you two anything? Water, coffee, tea?” “I’ll have tea if you don’t mind. Iced sweet tea with some lemon, if you have it. Anything for you baby?” Larissa’s southern drawl dripped off her tongue like warm molasses. Steve shook his head no, a faint but kind smile gracing his lips, as his gaze caught yours for a split second, causing your heart race to increase. Shifting in your seat, your body grew warm as you fidgeted with your jacket. “I can definitely make that happen.” You used this as an opportunity to regain your composure, sending out a text to Paula, before sitting down across from the couple, one leg tucked behind the other. You spent the next hour going over their vision for the wedding. Color schemes, theme, flowers, venue. Your mind was blossoming with ideas, you felt flutters of excitement and anticipation consuming you. “So, do you have a set budget you’re looking to stay in?” “Daddy said, money is of no issue. Whatever it takes.” Steve’s eyes widened as his jaw went rigged. He looked slightly terrified, as if he had no idea what he had gotten himself into. What may have been a nightmare for him, was a dream for you. Not having a set budget was what planners dreamed of. The detail you could obtain was nearly unimaginable. It felt as though the world was playing at your fingertips. “I’ll get started on the first steps right away. I’ll be emailing you often, as the work progresses.  I’d like to meet with you both sometime next week, to your venues. When would you be available?” “Oh dear. I’m leaving for Ukraine on Thursday. I have some mission work over there, so my sweet sweet Steve will be handling all of that-“ She wrapped her arms around Steve, giving him a squeeze and a quick peck on the cheek. “He will be my eyes, he knows what I like. And you can always email me for input of course.” “Oh. Okay. Well I will keep you updated via email then. So when you are available Steve? I’m sure your schedule is rather. . . Hectic.” “I’ll have to get back to you on that one. I can shoot you a text? We can text you right?” You couldn’t help but laugh at his innocence. “Absolutely. You both have my number. Feel free to text or call me whenever, day or night. For the next 7 months, I’m at your disposal.” “Perfect. I’ll text you when I know. “ You showed them to the door, closing it softly behind them. Sliding into your desk chair, you let out a deep sigh, exhilaration hitting you like a swift kick to the gut. No y/n. Absolutely not. Get yourself together. You are a professional. You’re career is your life. You can’t become lose your professional for some dreamy blue eyed man. A soon to be married blue eyed man. Get your shit together woman. You did what you knew best, throwing yourself into your work. Within five hours, you had put together 9 color schemes, selected 14 floral arrangements for each of the venues they had picked out. You mocked up a layout for the wedding website. After thorough research, you found a few caterers and photographers that fit Larissa’s-rather extravagant- criteria. The screen of your watch lit up with a notification as it buzzed against the home of your wrist. A text from Steve Rogers. Steve: I am free all of next week after 8am. Given nothing comes up. Let me know the plan. Steve. Picking up your phone from its place on your glass desk, you sent Steve a quick text back. Y/N: Great, I’m going to make a few calls, and I will get back to you. Steve: cool. Thanks. After a few calls and emails sent as urgent, you had set up 4 venue tours. Not a shabby start for one day of work. Y/N: Wednesday. If you could meet here at 10am, we will have a car to drive us to the venues, unless you prefer to drive separate, I can send you the details. Steve: I’ll be there at 10. Please don’t torture me... too much. You burst out in a spit of laughter, as you read his text. Clearly this wasn’t Steve’s idea of a fun time, you were fairly certain that most grooms weren’t thrilled with the whole wedding planning process, especially when they see firsthand how much it costs. You put yourself to work for a few more hours, trying to push thoughts of Steve from your mind. This was going to be a tough 7 months. The sun was set when you left the office, the air even colder than when you had arrived. You snuggled your jacket tight against you as you made your way for the train, ready to succumb to the sleep you so desperately needed. Chaz sat a large cup of coffee on the desk in front of you, the rich scent billowing in clouds of steam from the lid. Cupping your hands around the paper Starbucks cup, you let the warmth seep into your hands, as goosebumps rippled over your body.One of the best feelings on the world.

“Thank you Chaz. God I really need this today.” “I thought you loved touring venues?” “I do! It’s one of my favorite parts of the job, but with eager brides, not reluctant grooms.” You took a sip of the hot coffee, savoring the taste as it drizzled down your throat. “Well, at least he’s massive eye candy. Meow.” You rolled your eyes at Chaz, as she winked, her callous laughter trailing behind her as she left the room. Shaking your head, you collected the essential paperwork, stuffing it into your folder before placing it into your oversized bag. Planer, check. Keys, check. Wallet, check. Phone, check. You ran through your mental checklist once more, before settling that you indeed had everything. As you turned from facing your desk, you fell back against it, your heart skipping in your chest. A surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins, your hand resting over your chest as you keeled over trying to catch your breath. Steve Rogers stood in the doorway, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe. His laughter was the sweetest thing you had ever heard. It sent a warm flush rushing through your body as bubbles popped in your belly. “For someone so fierce looking you sure do scare easily.” Steve pushed himself from the wall, closing in on the space between you. “I’ll have to remember that. I apologize, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Your assistant said I could come in.” “No, no it’s fine. It’s probably my biggest character flaw, startling easily. You’re lucky I didn’t scream.” Your laugh was awkward but not forced, as you hesitantly met his eyes. The  flutters returned, sending blood rushing to your cheeks. You broke the eye contact, trying to collect your thoughts, before speaking. “Uh, the car is waiting if you’re ready.” Steve nodded, extending his arm out for you to lead the way. Grabbing your jacket from the coat rack you made your way to the elevator, suddenly dreading this day more than before. Steve didn’t let his disinterest disrupt the tours. He acted as though he truly wanted to be there, although, his eyes told a different story. He was kind and attentive, as you went into detail about your vision for the venues. The Edison ballroom was beyond lavish. The large room was empty, the chandelier sparkling off of the glossy floor. You watched as Steve took in the view, his eyes lighting up. “This would be the dance floor here. And we’d be doing round tables with a rectangle table for the wedding party, obviously, which would be located here.” You held out your your iPad -that had your vision sketched out as you- as you pointed around the room. “Larissa would love this. Amazing. You are truly, very talented. I see why Larissa wanted you.” You felt the heat rising in your cheeks as the blood rushes hot. You quickly turned away from Steve, distancing yourself from him with a stretch of your legs. You were frantic, and you didn’t know why. You couldn’t understand your irrational behavior. What the hell was your problem? Steve took a step in your direction, his stride smooth and eloquent, his hand light as a feather as it tapped your shoulder. “Are you alright?” You had to think quick on your feet, luckily for you, it was one of your best talents. “Something got into my eye, it startled me. We’re good now.” You put on your most believable fake smile, as you turned the attention away from your embarrassing outburst. “So, where were we? Oh yes, tables. Over there I was thinking the cake display would be perfect. A little-“ “Speaking of cake, I could really go for some food right now. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.” You glanced down at your watch, the time reading 12:36. You hadn’t really thought about lunch, but who were you kidding? Food sounded amazing right about now. What you wouldn’t do for some French fries. “I, didn’t really plan for lunch, but if you think you’ve seen enough here, I suppose I could cut you loose a bit early, look over the specks and placement a little more, maybe finish up my rough sketches and we can meet back here in an hour?” “You don’t ever stop, do you?” Your eyes grew wide as your brow furrowed in confusion. What was he talking about? “Wha- what do you mean?” “You’re a busy bee. All you do is work. Don’t you ever just take a moment to breathe?” All you could do was blink at him. No. You didn’t have time to stop and smell the roses. You were building a reputation here. And you don’t build the best rep on the east coast, by stopping to... breathe. “My job is my life. I would think that you of all people would understand. You know, being a hero and all.” Steve shrugged nonchalantly, his demeanor calm, cool and collected. And not to mention sexy. “If I let my entire life circle only around being Captain America, I wouldn’t have a life worth living. Sometimes you just have to take a step back to really appreciate what you have. That being said, I’m taking you out to lunch. My treat.” You were flabbergasted, as you stumbled over your own words, barely able to get out a comprehensive sentence. “I- Uh- But my work.” “Nope. It’s happening. Come along.” Steve grabbed your wrist, where you expected his grip to be overly strong and painful, it was light, almost as if he was caressing you. It sent shockwaves coursing through veins, as warmth radiated through you. You wanted to pull away, but a part of you was thrilled by the feeling of his embrace. Against your better judgement, you let him drag you along... The tiny cafe was hidden away in the back of a bakery. The aroma of decadent goodies made your tummy rumble. As you took your seat across from Steve at the petit circular table, you could feel your heart pounding in your throat. You suddenly felt uneasy, the urge to get up and bolt and never look back.

You gripped the menu too tight in your hands, trying to control the nervous shakes that travels through you.

This is just a meal with a client. Chill the heck out!

“Benny, two Cubans please.” Steve shouted across the small area. “Best Cuban sandwich you’ll ever have. I guarantee!”

Shyly, you glanced up from your menu. A crooked grin graced Steve’s handsome face, you thought your heart might melt.

Oh come on. . . For fucks sake!

As you contemplate running away again, a small and stout man rounded the corner, carrying two large plates that smell like heaven.

You said nothing, as you stared at the plate in front of you in awe. The sandwich was huge! It looked and smelled absolutely delicious, you could feel the excess saliva collection in your mouth.

“I’m sorry, I should have asked before I ordered. I just got excited. I’ll get Benny back-“

“No. It’s alright. This actually looks amazing! Thank you.”

You flashed Steve your award winning smile, and it was genuine. If he hadn’t ordered for you, you would have been sitting there for ages trying to decide.

Steve smiled back, a grin that spread to his eyes, forming wrinkles in the corner of his eyes.

“Larissa would kill me if she knew I was eating this, so let’s keep this between us.”  He laughed before diving into his sandwich. You chuckled softly to yourself, before taking a bite yourself.

Steve’s eyes lit up, as he set his sandwich down, his gaze focused on you.

“Did I just hear a laugh? Did you just laugh?”

“Umm…” The blood rushed to your face, your sandwich falling onto the plate with a thud.

“That was a adorable. I didn’t think someone so serious actually laughed.”

Steve returned to his sandwich as if what he said would have no effect on you. Boy was her wrong. You were swooning. Over a client! And engaged client!

Thankfully, there was food in front of you, to help distract you…

After devouring the majority of your sandwich, you were craving a long nap snuggled up in your comfy bed with your favorite fuzzy blanket, and to forget about Steve Rogers for a moment, but that wasn’t going to happen, at least, not anytime soon. . . 

FOREVER TAGS:

@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked

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@princess-evans-addict 

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@mariekoukie6661

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TGTB TAGS:

@lilypalmer1987

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@patzammit 

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@notyourtypicalrose

@ereboring

@whatmakesmebeme-tblr 

@stark2510strange

@pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t

@mrsalh32611

@cattfeine 

[artificialqueens]

Undone, Chapter 10 (Bitney) - Stephanie/Veronica

A/N: Welcome to Chapter 10 of UNDONE, our slow-burn Bitney lesbian AU. Here’s a link to the previous chapters. This is a repost from AO3/RGF - once we’re caught up, new chapters will go up.

Summary: Bianca opens up to Courtney about the baby blues.

TW: This story deals with themes of emotional abuse, and since that can be subtle, we’re going to keep a general TW on all of the chapters, even when it seems like it doesn’t apply.

***

On Monday morning, Bianca arrives on set early to try and knock out some work before the craziness begins. She opens the trailer door to find Courtney twirling on a stool. A hand flies to her chest.

“Good morning!” sings Courtney.

“Fuck you. You scared the shit out of me,” Bianca sighs dramatically.

“Sorry,” Courtney laughs, standing up and walking over to help with Bianca’s multiple bags.

“It’s okay. What are you doing here so early anyway? Aren't you supposed to be at CrossFit or SoulCycle or whatever your bougie ass is into this week?”

“Class was cancelled today, so I did a sunrise run instead.”

“Of course you did,” Bianca scoffs, rolling her eyes. Courtney grins, eyeing her up and down. “What?”

“Nothing, you just look…” Courtney takes Bianca by the hand and spins her around, admiring what looked like a new outfit, but especially her five inch Louboutins. “You look like you made daddy very happy this weekend.”

“Fuck you, cunt. I’ve already told you, that’s not how my marriage works. My friend Latrice bought me these.”

“Late birthday present?”

“No, she just knows that I like pretty things when I’m stressed. And that I’d never buy these for myself.”

“Stressed? About what?”

Bianca lifts Dede out of her carrier, turning away slightly.

“Nothing, nevermind.”

After a long beat, Courtney offers, “Alright.” She knows by now how much Bianca hates being pressured to talk. So she lets the older girl deposit Dede into her arms and pick up a clipboard.

Courtney watches her for a few moments, making notes on her clipboard and then picking up a dress from the rack and sitting down decisively at her sewing machine.

“So, uh, my friends loved you.”

“Oh. Cool. Yeah, they were fun.”

“And we’re planning to do brunch at the Abbey on Sunday. Think you might wanna come? We just kind of chill and day drink.”

Bianca looks slightly uncomfortable at this proposition, and so Courtney quickly adds, “You won’t be the only straight person! Like, it’s the Abbey, which is the straightest gay bar around. So...if that’s what you’re thinking, then-”

“No, I’m not...I don’t care about that.” Bianca smiles, and for the first time that morning, Courtney can see the light in her eyes. “Thank you. It sounds fun, I just...I have to go to my friend’s baby shower on Sunday. So...I guess I’ll be day drinking, too. God willing. Because lord knows I can’t handle those things sober.”

Courtney laughs.

“Well...okay, I guess, rain check?”

“Sure thing.”

“Also…”

“Yes?” Bianca asks.

Courtney tilts her head, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“Tell your friend that she’s got good taste. ‘Cause you look insanely hot today.”

Bianca opens her mouth to spit out a snarky comment, but nothing comes out. She feels like her cheeks are on fire. After a few moments, she lands on a lame, “Shut up,” before looking down at her sewing machine.

***

Later, Bianca is buttoning Courtney into her dress when she notices something amiss. She frowns, walking over to her desk and pulling out a binder. She heaves an aggrieved sigh.

“Something wrong?”

“Yeah, I just...Jamie!” Bianca bellows.

When Jamie appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame, brushing the brown hair out of her eyes, Courtney nearly laughs. She remembers how the petite girl used to run around, leaping with fear at the sound of Bianca’s voice. Now it appears that she’s realized her boss is all bark and no bite.

“What’s up?”

“The buttons on this dress...you used ivory. Farrah’s are black.”

“Oh...I thought the ivory looked good,” Jamie says.

“That’s not the point! They have to match! She’s a fucking double. It has to be an exact duplicate!” Bianca throws up her hands.

“Oh...shit.”

“Yeah, shit is right.”

“Do you want me to fix it?” Jamie asks.

“No time, I’ll do it. But you need to pay more attention. This is the kind of continuity that makes a difference.”

“Sure. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just do better next time,” Bianca replies, helping Courtney out of the dress.

“Right.” Jamie stands awkwardly for a moment, then asks, “Um...do you guys want anything from crafty?”

“I would love a piece of fruit,” Courtney says.

“Yeah, grab me a bag of SunChips.”

“Sure thing!”

“Thank you Jamie!” Courtney calls as she heads out, then says to Bianca, “You know, just because there’s a picture of grains on the bag, doesn’t mean it’s healthy.”

“Noted, Dr. Hamilton,” Bianca replies with an exaggerated eye roll.

Courtney giggles, watching Bianca walk straight to the shelves and, after consulting the polaroid in her hand, reach up to grab the plastic box with the correct buttons. Her shirt rides up and Courtney’s eyes widen.

“Bianca Del Rio.”

“What?”

“What is that?!” Courtney’s expression is pure delight as she steps forward, gesturing to a mark on Bianca’s hip, a mark partially obscured by her jeans.

“Oh. That.” Bianca shifts uncomfortably. “Just a permanent reminder of how stupid I was when I was 18.”

“Awww,” Courtney giggles. “I bet you were adorable.”

“Yeah, real adorable. Stumbling through the French Quarter, drunk off my ass, deciding to scar myself for life on a goddamn dare. I mean, I guess it could have been worse - my friend DJ got Spongebob on his ass. Try explaining that one.”

“Oh my god,” Courtney asks. She peers down at the Asian characters on Bianca’s hip, then coyly inquires, “So...what does it mean?”

Bianca shakes her head.

“No. I will not give you the satisfaction of knowing about the clichés on my mind when I was an idiot teenager.”

“Tell me!”

After a resigned sigh, Bianca admits, “Fine. It means…” she cringes visibly. “It means ‘dream big.’”

They lock eyes, and Courtney smiles.

“That’s beautiful.”

“Oh, fuck off-“ Bianca stops abruptly as Courtney drops to her knees. She presses a quick kiss to Bianca’s hip, right over the offending tattoo. Bianca inhales sharply, the feeling of her lips lingering as goosebumps prickle her arms. “What are you-”

“I’m supporting the clichés of your youth,” she explains with a flutter of lashes.

Bianca clears her throat, backing up with the plastic box of buttons, nearly stumbling in her heels. Courtney tucks her feet beneath her, stomach twisting with the fear that she’d pushed it too far. But then after a moment, Bianca begins to chuckle drily, shaking her head.

“You’re a dumb slut,” she proclaims, sitting down at the sewing machine and picking up her Starbucks cup.

“How very dare you,” Courtney grins, standing up and adding, “I’m not dumb in the slightest.”

Bianca snorts with laughter, nearly spitting out her coffee.

***

“Oh my god,” Bianca groans, falling into bed, hurling the sequined dress she’d just taken off across the room.

Jared chuckles, sliding in beside her.

“Thanks for being such a good sport tonight. I know those work cocktail parties are your least favorite thing.”

“I just hate small talk so much. It’s fucking exhausting. And I’m already exhausted. And those sequins scratched the fuck out of my skin, and-” she stops talking as Jared leans over, pressing a tender kiss to her bare shoulder, right where her skin is the most irritated.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Jared murmurs, and Bianca relaxes slightly.

“Plus those drinks were really weak,” she adds, running her fingers through Jared’s hair. “I’m barely buzzed.”

He laughs.

“Sounds excruciating.”

“It is. I’m much less hateful when I’m drunk. As you know.”

“Alcohol does bring out your inner charm,” Jared agrees, nuzzling her neck.

“Plus I have to work tomorrow, and it’s really cool that Beth is letting me design pieces, but that’s in addition to my job, and so…” she sighs. “Sorry if I was a bitch all night.”

“Nah, you were a delight. Per usual.”

Bianca laughs, rolling her eyes.

“Oh yeah, that’s me.” She leans back, eyes falling closed, then opens them again quickly, giving Jared a light shove. “Hey!”

“What?”

“You said that you had a surprise for me!”

“I did?” Jared bats his eyes, watching her mouth form a pout. “Ohhh, yeah. I did.”

“Okay, well, cough it up, sir.”

Jared heaves himself up from the bed. A minute later, just outside the door, he shouts, “Cover your eyes! No peeking!”

When he removes Bianca’s hands from her eyes and gestures to the foot of the bed, she gasps. She’d been expecting jewelry or maybe tickets to a show. But what she sees is a small, antique cradle.

“It was my dad’s. And mine,” Jared explains. “I had my mom send it.”

Bianca nods, moving closer to inspect the rich wood, running her fingers along the side. She takes ahold of one of the handles and rocks it slightly.

“I know that things with Dr. Silverman didn’t go like we’d hoped. But I know that we’ll get there. And when we do...he’s gonna need a place to sleep.”

Bianca wraps her arms around Jared’s neck, too overcome to speak. 

“Are you okay?”

“Mmmhmm…”

“Wanna practice for Game Day?”

Bianca pulls back, looking him straight in the eye, a smirk growing on her face.

“Your sense of romance is truly extraordinary...”

***

Bianca tries not to stare. Tries not to seethe with envy. She’s well aware that being envious of her neighbor struggling to strap in a car seat while her son sings incoherently in her face is...well, crazy.

He’s about two, with mop of curly dark hair and big brown eyes. Bianca has seen them many times since moving into the building - him and his exasperated parents, who generally fail to keep up with his boundless energy. She’s seen him grow from a wailing baby into a rambunctious bruiser with chubby legs, who carries a green plastic bucket at all times as he careens down hallways and grabs at the potted plants in the lobby.

She doesn’t know his name, but she knows that he loves dogs. He shrieks delightedly every time he spots her walking Sammy and Dede, reaching for their tails while one of his parents lifts him up and gives a lecture he probably doesn’t understand that begins with “no touch!”

And every time Bianca sees him pull his mom’s curly hair, or burrow into his dad’s neck, or giggle infectiously at something that he alone finds hilarious, her heart feels like it’s breaking.

She leans on the frame of her car door, chest constricting, a tickle in her throat. It’s not fair that the mere sight of this little imp gives her physical pain. It’s not fair that, once again, she’s been told by a doctor that there’s no medical reason preventing her from getting pregnant.

It’s not fair that every month is another failure.

She swallows hard and gets into her car, giving Sammy and Dede a few extra kisses before turning the key, pressing the heels of her hands against her cheekbones to relieve the pressure without destroying her makeup.

***

Bianca seems far away today. Courtney holds her tongue, aware of how violently she reacted last time she was pushed. In the chaos of the morning, she almost got away with faking it. But at lunch, Courtney can’t help noticing just how distant she is. How, in the quiet moments, her eyes grow dark and her hands grip the edge of the bench, knuckles white. But then, a second later, she blinks it away and she’s back to sparring with Adore, trading loving insults and unsolicited wardrobe advice.

Courtney would almost believe that she’s fine, except that she’s not making any eye contact, and hasn’t all day, and two of her normally perfect nails are bitten down to the quick.

So later, after Courtney returns her costume to Jamie and gets dressed, she takes the chance of poking her head through the curtain to say goodnight. Bianca is standing in front of a whiteboard, marker in her hand, staring vacantly at it. Her eyes look glassy and her shoulders sag. Courtney looks down, feeling like she’s invaded a deeply personal moment. She knocks gently on the wall and Bianca’s head snaps up.

“Hey. Um...got a minute?” Courtney bites her lip, hoping that Bianca doesn’t feel as assaulted as she looks by the intrusion.

“Sure.” Bianca turns to her, straightening her back and blinking a few times. Courtney immediately clocks the fake smile that flashes across her face. “What’s up?”

“Uh, well...sorry, I was just coming in to say goodnight but...are you okay? I’m sorry, I know you hate this question and I promise that if you tell me to fuck off, I’ll get out of your hair, but I just-”

Bianca sinks down into her chair, shaking her head.

“Do I really look that bad?”

Courtney leans her head against the wall, a sympathetic smile on her face.

“Do you want me to lie?” she asks.

“Kind of,” Bianca replies softly.

After a beat, Courtney says, “I wouldn’t say bad. I would say...not exactly yourself.”

Bianca heaves a sigh like she’s got the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“Wanna share?”

“It’s literally so...I dunno, Court, I feel like such an asshole even bringing it up. It’s such a trivial...bullshit thing, a dumb personal problem, and I just, you’re not gonna give a fuck, and-”

“How about, for like...two minutes, you pretend like I give a giant fuck about you and your trivial bullshit problems?” Courtney walks forward, dragging the stool over to sit by her. “We can call it a thought experiment.”

Bianca chuckles slightly, then looks up at Courtney, eyes melancholy, lips pressed together.

“Come on. Spill it,” Courtney says.

“I don’t know where to start.”

“How about ‘today I’m concerned with…?’”

Bianca shuts her eyes. “I’m concerned with the idea that I might never get pregnant. I...we’ve been trying for over a year, and I’ve been to four doctors, including a specialist, and we’ve taken every test, and...fuck!”

Courtney takes her hand, wanting to ask more questions but keeping her mouth shut.

“They all say the same thing. I’m fine. Jared’s fine. Keep trying! But I just...for how long? How long until someone takes me seriously that there’s an actual problem? What if they’re missing something? Or what if…”

Bianca sniffles, shaking her head and looking tearily up at Courtney once again, the raw emotion making her throat hurt.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this hard. I come from a family of 6, I have a shit ton of cousins, my sisters have been popping out kids for years. And, I was the one who wanted to wait, you know? I mean maybe...maybe if I’d been trying when I was younger, like he wanted, I’d…” Her breath hitches.

“Bianca, there’s no way that this is about your age. You’re barely 30, and people have kids well into their 40s-”

“Other people. What if my time has run out?”

“B…” Courtney squeezes her hand, wishing she could think of something, anything, to comfort her.

“I told you it was stupid.” Bianca looks down.

“It’s not stupid. Not at all.”

Bianca swallows down a lump in her throat.

“I think maybe...it just seems like you’re putting an awful lot of pressure on yourself,” Courtney says, thumb rubbing the back of Bianca’s hand.

“You sound like my doctor.”

“At the risk of sounding annoyingly New Agey-”

“Oh god…”

Courtney smiles and squeezes her hand again.

“You’re already a mum, Bianca. I mean, look at you...you’re generous and protective and strong and smart and everything a mum should be. You are a mum, you just haven’t met your baby yet.”

“You...are right,” Bianca says slowly, taking a deep breath. “That was really, really annoyingly New Agey.”

“Sorry,” Courtney laughs.

Bianca smiles, wiping her eyes.

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m such a whiny bitch today. That was...sorry.” She stands, walking over to the shelf and reaching up for a plastic box of buttons.

Courtney watches her for a moment, then jumps up and wraps her arms around Bianca’s waist in a tight embrace from behind, face buried in her hair. Bianca is stiff at first, but then allows herself to relax, leaning her head back, resting her hands lightly on Courtney’s wrists.

“Thanks,” Bianca says hoarsely.

“Anytime,” Courtney replies, holding on as long as she dares, and then slowly loosening her arms.  

***

“Good morning, babe...” Courtney murmurs, wrapping her arms around Bianca.

“Ughh, five more minutes…” she groans.

Courtney giggles softly, trailing kisses up the back of her neck.

“You’re gonna be late…”

“I’ll skip breakfast,” Bianca grumbles, sighing and pressing her body back against Courtney’s. “You smell good.”

“That’s because I’ve already gone for a jog and showered. Unlike you.”

“Alright, alright, alright!” Bianca turns around, huffing indignantly, pushing Courtney onto her back and pinning her arms above her head. “I’m up. Happy?”

Courtney smiles up at her, lashes fluttering.

“Thrilled.”

Bianca rolls her eyes and starts to climb out of bed, and Courtney catches her arm, pulling her back.

“Five more minutes,” she says, watching Bianca’s face break into a grin, dimples deep in her cheeks.

Courtney’s eyes fall closed as Bianca captures her lips in a kiss.

BANG!

Courtney sits up, alarmed, heart pounding. She can hear muffled noises down the hall. She rubs her eyes, fear and confusion and a strange sense of loss swirling around in her chest.

“Hello?”

“‘M sorry,” calls out a weak, slightly slurred voice.

“Adore?”

A few moments later, Adore pushes open her bedroom door. Her eyes are glassy and her hair is a mess. Clothes half off - Courtney assumes that she’d been shedding them as she stumbled down the hall to the guest room.

“Hi babyyy,” she says. “Sorry for waking you. I found...” She pauses to hiccup, then continues, “the extra key, in your...thing.”

Courtney nods, holding back laughter at her friend’s drunken baby voice.

“I’m sorry,” Adore repeats, and Courtney shakes her head.

“It’s okay, drunky-pants. Wanna cuddle?”

A wide grin spreads across Adore’s face as she climbs onto the bed, under the covers that Courtney holds open.

Courtney wraps her arms around Adore’s body, snuggling against the warmth of her skin. Relief washes over her, and she lets out a deep, contented sigh.

“G’night baby. Love you.”

“I love you too, Adore.” Courtney murmurs, squeezing her tight.

[ciarawritesmarvel]

Pillows and Pocket Knives [1]

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Language? I think that’s it

A/N: This is my entry for @diinofayce‘s 500 follower challenge! Thank you so much for this amazing prompt and congrats again, I just know you’ll only grow more and more from here. I’m in love with AUs like this and my original writing always has a ‘fantasy’ type element so I loved writing this. If people like this, I might do a part two? Depends on the response really. Anyway, let me know what you think! <3

Prompt: Everyone is the God of something. Unfortunately, it’s usually something mediocre. 

MASTERLIST / PILLOWS AND POCKET KNIVES MASTERLIST

One - 1892 || Training: Not Started

You swiped your finger over the cloud in front of you, rolling your eyes at yet another person tossing and turning in front of you. With a sigh, you expanded the image into a small hologram on your desk before closing your eyes and flicking the subject’s head on the hologram. You opened your eyes again to see the person stop moving and make the ‘independent’ decision to sit up and adjust his pillow, turning it over to the cold side. He smiled, content, as his head the cool fabric and within a few minutes you could hear soft snores rumbling through your headset.

You inhaled sharply. It pained you to think that moron thought he was the clever one for thinking of turning his pillow over when it was, in fact, all down to you.

Your headset beeped and you tapped the earpiece twice.

“This is Pillows, how can I help?” you greeted in the best customer service voice you could muster. Even now, after almost 9000 Earth-Years of introducing yourself as ‘Pillows’, you found your heart sinking each and every time you did.

“Y/N? I need you in my office,” you felt your eyebrows raise involuntarily at the unexpected sound of Goddess Potts’ voice and you quickly agreed, pinching the cloud to return it to its screensaver, before waving your hand and dissipating the pile of pillows you had been sat on. Whoever had assigned you this house all those years ago was someone you wouldn’t mind having a word with.

When the Ultimate God had created the you, Goddess of Pillows, you were sure he’d made some mistake.

You slipped on your white pumps, hung your headset on the stand and headed out into the street, ignoring the smug wave from Tony as he sped by in his flashy sports car. How and why he’d obtained one when it was so utterly unnecessary eluded you, though you had a feeling it might have been something to do with his...special relationship with the Goddess of Objects herself, the very one who’d just summoned you.

Upon remembering that, you resumed hurrying towards your road’s fast travel station, searching the wall of buttons for the correct one. When you finally found the one labelled ‘Objects Office’, you pressed it quickly, closing your eyes as the sudden gust of wind whipped your hair into your mouth. You spat it out in disgust, swiping the hair back into place with the back of your hand. Opening your eyes, you found yourself outside the familiar large red door and knocked decisively.

You heard a faint signal for you to enter and pushed the door open, striding into the middle of the room, bowing your head for a few seconds as a sign of respect.

“Please, sit down, Y/N,” you’d always loved the fact that your boss had never referred to you as ‘Pillows’. She’d consciously never referred to anyone as their guard objects, determined to see the people instead of the position. It was refreshing and was one of the only redeeming qualities of the Objects Realm.

She’d leave soon enough, you were sure. No one remotely good at their job stayed in Objects for long. That was why you were still here, after all.

You took a seat on the other side of her desk, made of a beautiful mahogany wood that you couldn’t help but envy. On top of that, her gorgeous orchid dress that pooled at her ankles had you crossing your arms over your striking white skater dress. Pillows was not only the worst guard object but also came with the worst sense of style you could imagine. Every single day was your fucking wedding day.

“How can I help?” you asked politely, moving your hands to your lap after deciding that folding your arms might give off a more standoffish impression than you were going for.

“I have an extra assignment for you. It’s extremely important and something that, looking at your file, you’ve never done in your 8891 Earth-Years of service.”

Your breath hitched at the word assignment and you forgot to breathe again until she’d finished talking. An extra assignment? You’d been applying for different positions and supplementary work for as long as you could remember. Now, it was finally going to pay off, you were finally going to do something new. You held in your grin and stayed professional.

“I’m up to the challenge, Goddess.”

“We both know it’s Pepper, Y/N,” she smiled and you saw something glint in her eye. Guilt. All hope you’d had vanished in an instant, “Anyway, I’m going to be putting you forward for the mentorship programme here in the Object Realm. Normally, people are put forward every 1000 years so I’m not sure why you haven’t done it before but I know it’ll be a great chance for you to demonstrate your leadership skills and te-”

“Oh no, no Goddess, I’m sorry, you’re mistaken,” you cut her off, something you’d never normally allow yourself to do but this was something too preposterous for you not to interject, “The previous Gods of Objects all decided that I just wasn’t fit for mentorship and they were definitely right. It’s not for me, but thank you anyway.”

You began to stand up, but Pepper was on her feet before you could even hope to be.

“Number one, I am not a God of Objects. I’m a Goddess. As are you, which brings me to number two. You can do this, Y/N. I know it.”

“But G-”

“I didn’t mean to make it sound like you had a choice.”

Her last sentence was clearly her final one as she sat back down at her desk and put her own headset back onto her head, her desk lighting up with a hologram of the entire realm. She didn’t look up at you as you stood still in the middle of her room and you later guessed that she knew that eventually you’d have to simply turn around and leave.

As you pressed the button to return to your road, you breathed out a heavy sigh, feet suddenly feeling the artificial gravity more than they ever had before. You’d never been a mentor because it just wasn’t in your nature. You kept yourself to yourself, had few acquaintances, even fewer actual friends and none of them would ever describe you as nurturing. Caring. Helpful, even.

This was destined to be a shitshow.

You trudged back into your house, scowl firmly painted onto your features. As entered the solitary room, you grabbed the headset from the stand and slung it onto you head, reaching down and touching the fluffy ground next to your desk. You slowly moved your hand directly upwards and watched as a stack of pillows formed beneath your fingers and your hand sank into them once it was high enough. You couldn’t help but spare a thought for the God of Concrete.

You may have hated pillows with a passion unrivalled, but at least you were comfortable.

As your headset beeped again, you groaned, hoping it wasn’t anyone who was going to make you move yet again, before sitting down and double tapping the earpiece.

“Pillows, how can I help?”

“Whats up, Pillows?” the teasing voice at the other end of the line had you breathing out a sigh of relief. You clicked your fingers, a floating pillow appearing behind your head and you leaned back into it.

“Nat, I swear, if you keep calling me pillows, I will take one of your keys and stab you with it,” you warned, knowing she’d simply chuckle at your threat.

“Someone’s particularly cranky today...”

“Sorry,” you apologised, but it was half-hearted. Neither of you were sunny people who needed to justify yourselves to each other and that was the main reason you’d become close friends over the last 30 Earth-Years that Nat had been here, “Guess who’s been entered into the mentorship program?”

“No. Way.”

“Yes fucking way.”

“I thought you’d always been told you weren’t cut out for it?”

“Goddess Potts clearly had other ideas,” you sighed and swore you heard a small chuckle on the other end of the line, “Hey, you’re still in training, Keys, I will kick your ass.”

“Oh I would love to see you try Pillows,” she laughed outright this time and you smirked fondly, “Anyway, I’ll let you go then. You’ll want an early night if you’re going to start a mentorship tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?!”

“Well, duh, idiot, tomorrow’s the start of a new Earth-Year, of course it’s tomorrow. You on something?”

You threw the headset on the ground and it hung up with a click.

Glancing at the calendar, your eyes widened when you saw the date. You really hadn’t been keeping track, every single day had been practically the same for the past - what was it Potts’ said earlier - 8891 Earth-Years? And with each Realm-Year equating to 100 Earth-Years you’d lost track of it since the mandatory calendar on your wall had always been far too confusing for you to decipher.

Deciding against trying to work out how time worked at this precise moment, you clicked your fingers and the pillow chair extended into a bed beneath you, clouds levitating it off the ground as you flopped down onto it. Sinking into the fluffy hell you’d been sentenced to, you fell asleep in seconds, dreaming of a life filled with adventure, filled with danger, filled with love.

*

The flat soles of your shoes pounded against the pavement as you ran from the fast travel station to the already huge line of mentors lining up to collect their mentees. You peered over the crowds to find the person you wanted to sign in with and slotted yourself into his queue. Perhaps seeing him would make this whole ordeal worth it.

An hour of taking small steps forward and occupying yourself with some holographic games to avoid talking to people and you finally stepped up to the front of the line and the smile you were greeted with…was not worth all this hassle.

But it was nice to see all the same.

“Y/N! I haven’t seen you in ages, how are you?” Steve said, leaning over the desk to give you a quick and friendly hug. He was probably the only person in all the realms you’d allow to hug you, but knowing someone for almost 5000 Earth-Years meant you had quite a lot of time to trust each other.

“Same old, same old, how about you Steve, how’s things with Peggy?” you asked sincerely, even managing a small smile back at him which only made his grin grow. You weren’t a child and didn’t entertain the notion of having best friends, the closest you’d come to ever telling him how much he meant to you was putting him down as your emergency contact.

“Better than ever, we’ve actually applied for a house merge recently!” he exclaimed happily and your smile grew just ever so slightly. You remembered the days when Steve was newly created and had lost his way and the helplessness you felt. It wasn’t as if you were a ‘sunshine in the midst of darkness’ type of person. When Peggy had come along, you knew he’d have enough light in his life forever.

“I’m so pleased for you Steve, really.”

“Anyone on the scene for you? Romanti-”

“You and I both know there isn’t so don’t even try,” you cut in, shaking your head at the kicked puppy look in his eye, “Oh, don’t look at me like that, just give me my stupid ‘mentee’ already.”

“I still can’t believe they signed you up for this, it isn’t very...you.”

“You think I, of all people, don’t know that?”

“I take your point,” he made a few motions on the monitor in front of him and then brought up a mini hologram of a person on his desk, “Here he is. Name’s James Buchanan Barnes. Created yesterday, of course. He’s going to have the guard item of a new invention called a ‘Swiss Army Knife’.”

“He gets knives? Knives! I’ve been doing Pillows for however long and he’s born one day and watches over knives the next?”

“They’re hardly proper kn-”

“Just bring him out, I want to go home.”

“I have to go through this briefing, Y/N,” he scolded and you pouted: he was clearly enjoying being in charge far too much, “As you know, he’ll be living in an additional room which will be added onto the side of your house for his one Realm-Year or 100 Earth-Years of training. If you don’t get on, tough, and knowing you, you probably won’t. Make the best of it, okay? These kinds of things can change peoples’ lives.”

“Whatever you say, you lovesick fool,” you smirked and he pressed his lips together to stop himself from retorting. He closed his eyes at your stubborn nature as he tuned his headset into the backroom and called for Barnes to come through to the desk. Soon enough, he came through the door, looking altogether bewildered at the sudden burst of sunlight as he came outside.

You tilted your head slightly. The hologram did not do him justice but you pushed that thought to the back of your mind as soon as you got the chance to.

“Hi!” he smiled brightly at you and you blinked, “I’m James Buchanan Barnes, but people call me Bucky!”

“What people? No one’s ever called you anything?” you questioned coldly but his smile didn’t falter. This only made your frown deepen.

“Not yet, maybe, but they will. What’s your name, doll?” he asked, putting a hand out and since you presumed he was going to shake it, you put your hand in his but you couldn’t hide your shock when he brought your hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. You quickly pulled it away and got close to him, pointing at your feet to place a floating pillow beneath them so you could look down on him.

“Listen, punk,” you began, glaring down at him and ignoring Steve’s chuckling somewhere next to you, “Let’s get a few things straight - I’m not your ‘doll’ and I never will be. No touching, under any circumstances. This isn’t a partnership, I’m your mentor and you’re out of your depth. So do as I say, when I say it and generally stay out of my way and we’ll get on just fine.”

You stepped backwards off your pillow and walked away from the two men who were standing, stunned, beginning to smirk at your display of dominance but quickly scolding yourself when you realised you were swinging your hips just a little more than you usually would. You wanted to make your point, not make him point.

As long as he knew you were in charge, this would all go completely smoothly.

You hoped.

BONUS:

The two men watched as you walked away, Steve focused on the smirk he could just about see from his angle with Bucky’s eyes focused decidedly elsewhere. Steve felt the need to apologise for your attitude.

“Sorry about Y/N, she’s a sweetheart deep down but her walls are so high that-”

“Oh, don’t apologise, pal. I like her already.”

And with that Bucky was following you, eyes alight and a certain spring in his step.

Steve smiled knowingly. Bucky clearly wasn’t out of his depth.

But you on the other hand...you just might be.

*

TWO - 1892