#trying to keep her hair in the same silhouette has been the hardest part of these since i draw it kinda thinner than the cover silhouettes

[kvroii]

Book Divider (2/3) - Poisoned Memories

[heliads]

Second Best

Based on this request: “a Zoya Nazyalensky story where she and the reader are friends and one night they get into a fight and Zoya confesses her love?”

masterlist

The task before you is simple. All you have to do is use your abilities as a Grisha Squaller to pick up the metal spear before you and launch it across a clearing into the awaiting target. It’s almost offensively easy, something you’ve been training to do since you arrived at the Little Palace all those years ago. It’s very simple, although the fact that you’re now next in line to complete the task makes it seem strangely harder.

However, the eyes of the rest of the Squallers are upon you, so you can’t exactly back down now. You step forward, lifting your hands in the traditional gestures used by the Etherealki whenever they have it in their minds to do something particularly interesting, and the spear lifts before you. You let it hover there, suspended in the air for a second, and then you fling your hands forward, palms facing the target. The spear flies in unison with your movement, burying itself halfway through its length in the target. It’s almost a perfect shot, maybe off by a hair’s breadth. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

You can hear applause from behind you, the usual aura of surprise that comes with the feat you’ve just accomplished. With a casual gesture of your fingers, the spear yanks itself out of the target, with only a few sparse pieces of straw falling to the ground as any sort of damage. Well, that and the gaping hole in the center of the target, although that is quickly mended by the Fabrikator kept on hand. You can’t help but grin to yourself as the spear returns to your hand. Let’s see anyone else match that.

You may have spoken a little too soon- seconds after you’ve returned the spear to its awaiting position near the front of the courtyard, it’s hurled again through the air, shooting with the precision of an arrow to land in the direct center of the target. You thought it might be impossible to improve upon the slight difference in your shot, but this latest Squaller has managed it with ease.

Normally, any other blue-garbed Etherealki would be looking around in horror and dismay, upset as to what would cost them the first place spot in the class and curious as to who could land a perfect shot such as that. You, however, are somewhat used to this now, and just keep walking with a grin. You can hear footsteps approaching behind you, and don’t even have to turn around to acknowledge the girl now matching your strides.

“Nice one, Zoya.” The girl beside you smirks. “I should hope so. If I so much as missed the center by a hair, you wouldn’t let me forget it for a week.” You laugh. “Of course not. How could I let go of the chance to not tease Zoya��Best In Class’ Nazyalensky? It would practically be  a crime.” Zoya nods, pretending to be serious. “Absolutely. The Saints might invoke their wrath upon you if you didn’t act upon such an opportunity.” You fling your hand over your heart dramatically. “Here lies Y/N L/N, dead after the Saints wanted to see her make fun of her friend and she let them down.”

Zoya snorts graciously as you pretend to faint on her, shoving your mock limp body aside. “Oh, you consider us friends?” You catch yourself easily, rolling your eyes. “Zoya dear, I know it would bring you no greater pleasure in the world to consider yourself a lone wolf, forever at the front of the pack, but I thought you’d realized by now that you simply can’t get rid of me. We’re friends.” 

You can hear Zoya grumbling, but when you glance over at her, there’s an ill-concealed smile dancing behind her eyes. “That’s an interesting way to convince people to like you, annoy them and make sure you don’t ever leave you alone.” You raise an eyebrow at her. “And did it work, yes or no?” Zoya huffs. “It did, but we’re not talking about that.” You grin. “Of course we’re not.”

You pause by the halls of the Little Palace, ready to part ways as usual. Although the Etherealki and Squallers specifically all have their quarters around the same area, Zoya’s rooms are a ways away from your own. This is typically where you split up, where you go your way and Zoya returns to her own devices, where she’ll most likely plot how to take control of the next lesson and prove herself the best of the students yet again.

However, Zoya shakes her head, continuing to walk next to you. “There are too many people waiting by my doors. I’m staying in yours instead, if that’s alright.” You nod, unable to keep a teasing grin from your face. “Of course it’s alright. It must be so hard, having to deal with suitors and fans so often. I imagine it to be simply exhausting.” You’re expecting Zoya’s vexed scowl and smack on the arm, so you’re able to duck out of the range of both.

This is how it is to be close friends with Zoya Nazyalensky, after all. You laugh with her, develop a thick enough skin to stand the constant scathing remarks that must of course be exchanged, and do your best to keep up with the neverending flow of power and possibility that always seems to come her way. That’s how it has always been, and how it will always be.

It’s not that you mind this, of course. You learned early on that no matter how hard you try, she’s always going to come in first in the class competitions and Grisha displays of strength. Being second out of so many Etherealki is pretty damn good for you, and you can tell that there’s a slight sigh of relief in Zoya’s eyes when you never seem to mind her showing off or ruining what might have been a first place finish for you. Hey- you never came to the Little Palace to always be the best, you came to learn and laugh, and you do that with Zoya. You would never trade what you have with her for fierce competition, even if it meant that you’d start besting her in contests.

This isn’t to say that you wouldn’t change slight aspects of your friendship, of course. For some reason, your heart decided to join the scores of other Grisha and even otkazat’sya that were foolish enough to fall in love with Zoya, and you’re just as hopeless as the rest. It’s just the way that she laughs when she wins, the glimmer of competition and spirit in everything she does, the undeniable thrill in your chest whenever you spot the familiar blue-clad silhouette heading briskly your way. No, you don’t think there was ever a way that you wouldn’t fall under her spell, even if you tried your hardest to fight it.

You could have told her you loved her, you think. You could have mentioned it to Zoya at any point, but you don’t. You’ve seen the way she watches potential friends for their weaknesses, having to always second-guess why they’re talking to her. Is this latest Corporalki approaching her because he truly wants to be her friend, or is it because he instead desires the secrets of her skill in Grisha abilities or as another girl in his bed? For anyone else, you think the constant doubts would drive someone mad, but it doesn’t for Zoya. She’s able to tuck it inside herself, bury it until you wouldn’t even know it was there at all.

She told you once, when the night was dark and long and Zoya couldn’t stop herself from having slightly too much kvas after a hard mission, that she sometimes terrifies herself over the fact that she might always be alone. You can still picture her there, curled up in a chair by your fire, the haunted look in her eyes. You know something happened before she came to the Little Palace, something that made her never trust another soul unless they worked to prove it, but it’s hovering in the back of her mind right now.

So, you nodded at her, and gave her another one of your sapphire blankets to help the way that she won’t stop shivering, and you listen. When Zoya looks up at you again, as if expecting to leave like the others or at least shoo her from your rooms, you simply offer for her to stay the night and not have to go back to her empty quarters. You think that was the moment when she finally accepted that you weren’t going away, when she really started to trust you.

This is precisely why you cannot say a word about how you feel- if Zoya finds out, she’ll begin to wonder if your entire friendship was just borne of a lie, the same as any of the other heartstruck Etherealki who think themselves brave enough to tame Zoya. So, you make sure to direct your lingering glances towards the woods and the scenery around you instead of her, and you force a joking smile instead of a soft look. She would know what you meant if you didn’t hide your heart, so you must do your best to deceive her. 

You’ve arrived in your rooms by now, tossing your outer coats to the side and warming your hands by the fire in the corner. You talk for a while about the class and the other students and the way Marie won’t stop staring at Sergei, a Corpoalki who she most certainly should not be associated with. Zoya stays until the candles burn low, and then she says goodbye with a smile. You return her smile. You always do.

You have a most interesting conversation over the next week. It’s not with Zoya, as it turns out, but General Kirigan. Truth be told, you weren’t expecting it at all. He’d caught you unawares in the library one night, while you were studying the particulars of the making at the heart of the world for a class lecture the next day. He hadn’t been there one second yet appeared the next, looming over your book with a shadow that seemed too tall and menacing to be real.

You had looked up in surprise, but he held up a hand, quelling any doubts that you’d accidentally done something wrong. He spoke to you about a regiment of Grisha in one of the backwater towns, some part of the Second Army that was asking for far too many supplies in exchange for the lackluster job they were doing to protect the potential Grisha in the city. For some reason, he asked your opinion of what to do about them, and you gave it. He thanked you with a smile, then left.

This happened twice more. All three times, he showed up, talked with you for a little bit, and asked a question on what you thought of a particular issue. Sometimes, it was still with the Second Army, and sometimes it was with the opportunities presented to the Grisha at the Little Palace itself. He seemed intrigued to hear what classes were like, saying how he had heard you were one of the best Squallers there were. You had smiled at that, and his eyes had glinted like a hound about to take down his prey.

That was the third visit, the most recent visit. You’re walking back to your quarters now, unable to keep a slight grin from your face. This is it, isn’t it? This is how you make your way from the classrooms of the Little Palace to the battlefield, to a real chance to do something different. When you open your doors, Zoya is propped up in an armchair inside, although this does not surprise you. You’ve long since given her free reign of all that is yours.

She looks up at you, a question already bubbling up in her inquisitive glance. “What’s got you so excited?” She’s never been able to miss a detail, has she? You can’t seem to tuck your smile away. “I’ve been speaking to General Kirigan, three times now. I think he might be on the verge of offering me a job in the Second Army.” You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting from Zoya- an expression of surprise, maybe some congratulatory words. Whatever you thought might happen, you were certainly not expecting her to stand up, face twisted in something that looked almost like fear and anger.

“You can’t do that. You should avoid him as much as possible.” Your feet stall from where you’d been crossing the room to her. “What are you talking about?” Zoya shakes her head, almost manic. “You should stay away from him. What did he tell you?” This, coming from your closest friend when you’d been so excited, is enough to make your happiness start to leach from you, replaced by a cold bewilderment and betrayal. “What does it matter? Zoya, this could be my future.”

Zoya seems unwilling to hear you out. “Tell me what he said, Y/N. You can’t trust a word he says.” You scoff. “I’m not a fool, Zoya. I know what he said, and none of it was a trick. He spoke to me like a friend, and last time he talked to me about potential openings within the Grisha ranks. I could have a position. Isn’t that excellent?” Zoya shakes her head once more. “It’s a trick. He won’t give you anything. Don’t tell me you’re actually going to believe what he says?”

You draw back from her now, all traces of excitement gone from you. “Why are you saying this? Maybe I don’t know if he truly means it or not, but you don’t know anything about this. Saints, I thought you might actually be happy for me.” Zoya almost winces at that. “I’m not- I would be happy for you if I thought this was something real, Y/N, but it’s not. Nothing is with him.” You can feel yourself rising up in anger. “Oh, and you would know about that, wouldn’t you? From all of the time you spent with him? Are you truly doubtful, Zoya, or do you just not want me to be involved with him because you don’t want me to have anything that you hadn’t had first?”

The words are coming out faster now, one after the other. Truth be told, it’s almost good to hear them aloud after so long keeping them inside. “I never had a problem with you being first in class, first in everything. I never will, but I assumed that you would extend that same courtesy to me. Why is it that we’re friends in everything, but the second I seem to get some sort of headway, you have to prove it wrong? Can’t I have anything that isn’t yours already?”

Zoya draws back as if you’ve slapped her. “That’s not how I feel. I’m just trying to keep you safe.” You want to laugh. “This is how you keep me safe? By taking everything away from me until I’m only in your shadow and nowhere else?” Zoya flings her hands in the air. “If it means he doesn’t get his hooks in you, yes! I would rather have you stay here forever than lose you.” You look at her, unbelieving. “And why is that? Because we’re such good friends that you’d trade my future for my complacency?”

Zoya’s voice is soft now, barely there at all. “Because I cannot stand to lose you. Because I love you, Saints damn it, and I’d rather have you hate me than never have you at all.” You stand there for a second, then another, then another. Your breath is sharp and harsh in your chest, but you cannot seem to say a single word. You try for a few, anyway. “You love me?” She nods once. “Yes.”

You do laugh now, incredulous. “Why didn’t you say so, you idiot? I love you too.” She looks almost surprised. “I thought- I thought you just wanted to be friends.” You shrug. All of your anger is receding away from you now, washing back into the banks after a flood. “I did, because I thought that’s all you wanted. I didn’t want to make it seem like I was only your friend because I had feelings for you.” Zoya stands there for a moment, then something almost like a sigh comes from her and she steps forward, wrapping her arms around you. “You generous, impossible fool. I can’t stand you.” You laugh, returning her embrace. “Of course not. You love me.”

requested by @villnella​

grishaverse tag list: someone who would be my squaller bestie @underc0vercryptid​, @darlinggbrekker, @cameronsails​, @aleksanderwh0r3​

[bipercabeth]

“Something’s wrong, I can tell” for percabeth 💖🔪

(in which we ignore the fact that hoo exists)

Annabeth’s alarm clock blinks 5:00 PM on her bedside table, the bright red casting a glow over her dark dorm room. Her blinds are drawn back, but uselessly so. The sun hides behind rain clouds that drown the city in their gloom. And so the turn of spring is more limp than victory march, or maybe it just walks to a cadence Annabeth can’t hear. The moment her feet hit the floor this morning, it felt like she was stepping out of time. 

The darkness presses in heavily on Annabeth, like maybe it’s her fault the sun rose wrong today. The girl with a plan for everything can’t even rouse herself out of bed. Afternoon collapses into early evening, and the weight of the lost day pins Annabeth below her comforter. Alone in a twin bed, the way it way built to be. Even after nearly a decade of sleeping in a cabin with all her siblings, that’s all Annabeth has ever really been: alone, the way she was built to be. 

Sneakers scuff the carpeted hallway, stopping when they reach Annabeth’s door. A key scrapes the lock without a knock, which is how she knows it’s Percy on the other side. 

Light from the hallway follows him in, and both of them blink as their eyes adjust. Annabeth is blind for a moment, able only to focus on Percy’s silhouette. Even in the lowlight, she can see the way concern softens his brow and stiffens his hands. 

“Baby...” he says, a nickname that has become a common occurrence in their seven months of dating. This is the first time it has failed to warm Annabeth’s chest. “What’s wrong?” 

Annabeth tries—she really does—to sit up and wipe the tear tracks from her cheeks, but her nose is snotty and half her hair falls out of its scrunchie from being upright for the first time all day. Her voice cracks when she says, “M’fine.” 

Percy just crosses the room and turns on her desk lamp, giving the place a soft yellow glow. He looks like the sun sweeping away the shadows of a dim day. With gentle hands, he undoes Annabeth’s scrunchie and coaxes her curls into a bun that will hold in the wake of her wallowing. Annabeth leans her head back into his stomach to look at him upside down, at which point he holds her cheeks and breaks her with a gentle, “Something’s wrong, I can tell.” 

She just gapes at him uselessly, because isn’t the lack of words the very core of this pain? All the power of Athena’s wisdom, Daedalus’s laptop, and Annabeth’s own mind, and she cannot string together a sentence about Luke Castellan that rings true. 

He was a hero. Naive. 

He was a monster. Calloused. 

He loved me. 

Well, aside from that, which is the only thing she knows to be true. 

Percy senses the tectonic shift within Annabeth and holds her tight, laying her back on the mattress and tucking himself in behind her. His arms wrap around her like he can prevent the earthquake, but all that tension can only do one thing: snap. 

Luke loved her. It’s the one thing she knows. None of it makes sense if he never loved her. She has to make it make sense. 

Most days her brain buries the ache. Annabeth is a runner; she is good at lacing up her shoes and hitting the road, but her feet cannot carry her far enough. She is the house she’s running away from. Luke’s influence is a painful design that fuels self-hatred and frustration, but the bones were good. At its core, the house was built with love, the kind you want to share with family. Before her fearlessness and fire were her own, they were his. Luke was the first person to put a weapon in her hand, and Annabeth is nothing if not a warrior. He made her to be the exact thing she needed to be to survive him.

Seven months after his death, and sometimes a day goes by where Annabeth doesn’t think about it. Some days are too full of Percy’s sunshine smile for the sky to dream of dimming. Other days—ones she keeps to herself—the thought of Luke shines in the rose-tinted lens of nostalgia. And then there are days like today where she is rendered immobile by the mere memory of him.

Closure is a sick and twisted joke. Luke’s love for Annabeth saved his soul and the world, just the way she wanted. All the pain and suffering of the past four years was worth it. She was right to believe in him. So why does the burden still burn into her shoulders? 

Percy presses his lips to the back of Annabeth’s neck, drawing her back to the present. His arm rests underneath her neck and wraps around her shoulders while the other falls over and around her torso, linking their fingers over her heart. He’s grown considerably since the summer, a fact that bothers Annabeth until moments like this where the width of his shoulders eclipses her own. It almost fools her into thinking he can protect her from this. 

“Easy.” His voice is low, whispered into her neck. “You’re okay. Just breathe with me, alright? I’ve got you.” 

Each swell of Percy’s chest coaches Annabeth through her own. Inhale. Hold. Feel his hands squeeze each second. Exhale. Listen to him whisper affirmations like prayers into her skin. Repeat. 

It takes a while, but Annabeth’s heart slows.

Percy’s voice resonates again her back. “What happened?”

This, she thinks, is the hardest part. Annabeth doesn’t have an empathy link like Percy and Grover, nor does she have someone with shared experience to speak to. In her struggle with Luke, she is truly alone.

“It’s not fair,” she manages, breath hitching.

“What isn’t?”

“That he—“ A stray tear leaks onto her pillow. Percy’s lips linger on her shoulder, patient and steady and everything Luke couldn’t be. Annabeth sobs, a mortifying sound, and she’s glad Percy can’t see her face as she presses it into her cold pillowcase. The stain of fallen tears waits for her, inviting her back into old pain. “That he loved me. It’s not fair that he loved me.”

Though he tries to hide it, Percy’s body goes rigid. They have fought about this on Annabeth’s rose-tinted days or whenever someone brings up Luke’s legacy, be it as hero, pawn, or monster. Part of Percy will always be the twelve year old boy who was betrayed by Luke, and part of Annabeth will always be the seven year old girl who found a family with him.

“Love isn’t always enough,” Percy says, and she can hear the tension in his jaw. Bless him though, he tries for her. “It’s not your fault he couldn’t do a single damn thing about it.”

He pulls her into his chest and lays his head on her shoulder, keeping her from falling off the bed while her body shakes. She withers at the realization that she can’t offer him anything in return, not even a promise that she’ll take his words to heart.

Luke did something about it: he died. He became the hero Annabeth saw in him after years of struggling, and then he left her again.

But he kept his promise. 

Annabeth’s chest aches as it always does when she thinks about Luke, it just runs a bit deeper today. It was in his nature to cut to the bone. 

“I just don’t want to feel like this anymore.” She sounds every bit the small, bitter runaway. 

The cold of the pillow is replaced by Percy wiping away her tears and dabbing at her nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. “What can I do? Tell me how to help.” 

“Just stay with me.” She leans into his palm, kisses his wrist. “Hold me a little longer.” 

“As long as you need,” Percy promises, dropping kisses along the line of her neck, her jaw, her cheek. “But I need you to look at me.” 

They untangle their limbs for Annabeth to flop onto Percy’s chest. His arms wrap back around her, this time firm around her waist while his free hand slides to her neck, his thumb under her jaw to hold her gaze. His eyes blaze with the fierce love she is still learning to accept, the one that burns to protect. 

“I love you so much,” he says, his voice aching as though it almost hurts. “And if I could take this away, I would. You don’t deserve it. I know we don’t... That he...” Percy frowns, then tightens his grip on her. “I know I don’t get it. I know. But I’m still here, you know? I don’t want you to be alone. Ever.” 

The gears in Annabeth’s brain take a moment process, and her response comes out in a breathless, “I love you.” The phrase is warm, as it always is, like the sun shining through the rain on her window. Loving Percy turns the light on in every room she enters. The rest of her words fall short, though they’re honest. “I don’t know what to say.” 

Percy’s thumb swipes across her cheek. “Me neither. We’ll figure it out together, yeah?” 

She throws herself into the crook of his neck, knocking the air from his lungs. He just softens and holds the back of her head while tracing circles on her hoodie—steady, sweet, supporting. He holds her tight and kisses her temple with the same tenderness she presses into his collarbone: a small attempt at reciprocity, but a meaningful one nonetheless. They’re trying, which is all they can do. 

[liptonsbabe]

The light is coming [B.W]

Bill Weasley x Lexington! reader

Chapter 1

Summary: The power of the Dark Lord shakes the entire magical community to its foundations, no one is safe as Lord Voldemort  is so strong and the boy who lived becomes weaker; The magnanimous Order of the Phoenix is in dire need to gather all its members and even to recruit wizards beyond the borders of the community.

Albus Dumbledore knows that amidst the reign of darkness, the light will return to restore all that it took and bring with it extraordinary powers, even if it leaves an aftermath that cannot be erased. The Order of the Phoenix will need all the help it can get, including the help of the mythical (Y/N) Lexington.

Harry Potter's parents were not the only ones killed by the hands of Lord Voldemort.

Word count: 1.8K

Warnings: none

A/N:Hi! A new Bill’s fanfic for you all. This story is finished so if you like this part let me know so and i’ll update as soon as i can! Again, reader’s last name is Lexington but is just for the plot of this story 

English not my mother language so please don’t kill me. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: The Order Of The Phoenix

Charlie and Bill Weasley had returned from their jobs abroad with the only purpose of duly serving the Order of the Phoenix commanded by Albus Dumbledore. For Bill it hadn’t been a sacrifice to return home, things in Egypt were not going at all well and he only asked for his transfer to an English office to work and at the same time help the Order. It wasn’t the same for his brother Charlie, cause he had to leave all his errands in Romania along with all his beautiful dragons.The journey to Grimmauld Place had been complicated cause, despite not missing anything from the countries they were returning from (with the exception of Charlie's dragons) they could quickly get used to the quiet, anti-Voldemort pace of life that the English magical community was vitiated by.

Both brothers were welcomed by their mother Molly Weasley, with tears in her eyes she hugged them as tightly as she could inviting them into the farthest room possible. Bill remembered Grimmauld Place very vaguely, the only time he set a foot inside the house was when Dumbledore asked him to help him clear the rooms and turn them into curse free spaces where they could quietly discuss classified Order business.

No matter how many times they cleaned that place, the old house of Black would always remain with that grayish appearance and the musty smell of worn wood. Sirius didn't seem to have any intention of renovating its fallen parts - of which there were quite a few - but seemed to enjoy watching the house fall apart. Be that as it may, Bill thought that any place was a good place to plan the crazy moves Albus Dumbledore had in his head.

The room was filled with people Bill had met before through letters his mother sent him informing him of the Order's progress, Dumbledore thought the best way to gain the upper hand against Voldemort's dark army was to recruit wizards who were willing to give their lives to protect the magical community. Surprisingly more people arrived than Bill could have imagined in addition to all those wizards and witches who had already been part of the association for years.

Taking a seat by the door, Bill and Charlie recognized the silhouette of Nymphadora Tonks. Not that it was very difficult to recognize her as her short, straight, bubblegum pink hair stood out among all the others. The metamorphmagus managed to acknowledge the newcomers sending them a warm smile before gluing her gaze on the door.

Charlie elbowed his brother's shoulder

“Dumbledore and his crazy schemes making us come here just for the Order business....”

“It was necessary," Bill cut him off, looking at him out of the corner of his eye, "Do you even know what's going on with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, don't you?” Charlie shook his head “it’s a real mess and you'd know it if you didn't spend so much time with your dragons.

“Don't bring them into this”

“They're some of them now?”

“Yeah, we got a shipment of Peruvian Vipertooths in this month and oh, brother, they're beautiful!”

“Wait” Bill frowned ”Those things doesn’t eat people?

“well yes, but that's only part of their diet, they also feed on goats and cows. We keep them in a cage near the forest because that species was supposedly exterminated after being considered dangerous to wizards and muggles alike, but I think they're beautiful”

Charlie's eyes sparkled and Bill couldn't help thinking that he was the odd one among his siblings. His admiration for dragons frightened him even though he found it adorable at times.

“You know, I'm not surprised you're still single. Knowing you as i do, you'll end up marrying one of those dragons or in the worst case, eaten by one”

Charlie didn't like his older brother's comment.

“What about you? As far as I know, you're not dating someone either”

Charlie's sudden criticism made him clear his throat and settle better in his seat. When they looked over at Tonks, they noticed that she was still staring at the door. Charlie hurried him to answer his comment.

“I met someone” His brother's blue eyes widened, amazed “I mean, we met in Egypt, she was traveling and we only went out a couple of times, nothing important.

“That's what you always say, William” Charlie looked at him mischievously ”No one seems to be good enough for you, huh? Or are you still thinking about someone since our childhood?”

Bill knew what his brother was trying to do and immediately shook his head. He had had this adolescent love for a girl who had left to France without anyone knowing the reasons why. Bill was totally hooked on her, yet the disappointment of her being thousands of miles away from him had broken his heart in a way he couldn't explain. Charlie knew about it, because he was the only one of his siblings who was old enough to understand; still, that didn't take away from the fact that he made fun of her misfortune a couple of times.

“Shut it”

Albus Dumbledore brought an end to everyone's conversations after standing up and clapping his hands a couple of times to get their attention. With a sincere smile, Dumbledore dimmed the lights in the room to reveal dozens of candles levitating all over the place. Bill fell silent and looked at the man

“I know that most of you here had to pause your activities just to attend this extraordinary meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, and for that I want to thank you," Dumbledore smiled at them, "We are fully aware of what is happening in the magical community thanks to the terrible presence of Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore ignored the shrieks of amazement from the audience “That leaves me with the advantage of not having to explain what is obvious to you, so the important thing about this assembly is to make it clear that, despite the magnificent increase in our membership over the past few days, we are still in the minority against the Dark Lord's ranks”

The murmurs grew louder and louder, causing Dumbledore to ask for everyone's calm.

“This doesn’t mean that your help is in vain, what I am trying to say is that we need more wizards and witches to join the Order”

“Where will we get more people?”Asked a witch wearing a yellowish hood on her head, "People are afraid, they're not going to join the Order just like that”

“We'll try to convince them," Dumbledore said calmly. "Of course, all of those who want to join will have to undergo proper training.

“So you're asking for more Aurors?”Minerva McGonagall asked. Professor Dumbledore smiled broadly

“Indeed”

The hubbub in the room intensified for a couple of minutes before Albus Dumbledore called for silence. Bill agreed with everyone that this was sheer madness. It was practically impossible for aurors to enter something as sensitive as the Order of the Phoenix - with the exception of Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody, Bill thought those two were insane - without them reporting every movement of Order members to the Ministry. Yes, the aurors were the best trained people for this kind of work, however, they were the hardest to convince

“Why don't we just make Harry a part of the team?”Asked  Sirius from the middle of the room. Molly Weasley let out a shriek of indignation.

“What are you talking about? Harry's just a boy!”

“Molly, please, the boy knows more about this situation than any of us put together!”

“Even so, it's still dangerous for him”

“It is for everyone. I don't see what difference it makes if Harry is in on it, that way he'd have more support from the Order and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would stay away from him”

-If it is true what Sirius says," Dumbledore interjected, "It's no less true that Harry can't be a member of the Order yet. Not until he fixes the problem he has with the ministry after he used magic in front of a Muggle trying to ward off the Dementors that are getting closer and closer to non-wizards. Right now Harry should be being moved to this place to stay at least until the new school year begins.

“And in the meantime what are we going to do?” Severus Snape asked. Bill raised his eyebrows, noticing how Nymphadora Tonks raised her hand to give her opinion.

“I hope this isn't too hasty, but I've been sending some letters to Beauxbatons College in France in search of a response from the Aurors. It is well known that none of them have been willing to give us their help, but this afternoon I received a letter from one person who is willing to help us in any way she can," Tonks looked at everyone before continuing, "I know that one person doessn’t represent a great addition to our ranks, but I am absolutely certain that she is our best option”

Bill's eyes flicked from Nymphadora to Dumbledore repeatedly. He had that strange feeling that Dumbledore knew who she was referring even though she hadn't said the name yet. Dumbledore nodded a couple of times asking Tonks to continue. She cleared her throat

“She should be here soon”

“We’ll wait patiently”

Dumbledore's nod wasn't necessary cause seconds later the door flung wide open letting in the light from the main corridor. Bill glanced at the newcomer noting your expensive French clothes and your perfectly coiffed hair in a ponytail. His breath quickened as he took a close look at your face and recognized those features he remembered from when he was a teenager. A quick glance at Charlie was enough to confirm that what he saw was not an illusion.

The whole room rose to their feet, and as you entered the room raising your hands to the sky, the room was filled with a bright light that caused everyone to take cover before it blinded them permanently. Bill caught a glimpse of Tonks' pleased giggle before you reached Dumbledore giving him a handshake as a greeting while keeping the light alive with your opposite hand.

Your wand was in your jacket pocket and from your hands an endless fountain of light gushed forth, bringing peace to the members of the order.

The mythical (Y/N) Lexington didn’t needed a wand to have magic.    

[ecclais-fouoras]

SOFTER ON THE INSIDE

"if you hurt me again, I swear I won't forgive you"

Previous one here

WARNING ⚠️: Slight violence, mention of abusive relationship and sexual violence.

Dinner time was around the corner, sometimes you and mina arrived at the table at the same time. Gaining looks from everyone else at the table, they had already been suspicious when they'd heard you make her laugh, to which she had replied that she was just laughing at how ridiculous you were.

People were really wondering what you had done to gain Ms Venable's clemency.

Wilhemina venable was a strong woman, she needed to keep her bitter and strong look in front of everyone else, even if she truly loved you, at times she had trouble trusting herself enough to let you help her and show you her true self. When the lights were down she'd let herself sweep in your love as you'd hold her in your arms, and spray kisses up and down her neck. You're love making was tender and passionate most of the time, you were still surprised at how well she could let you fuck her recklessly. Here moans filling your hears so nicely.

She had never known love before you, and she convinced herself she would never. But you showed her true adoration.

At dinner tonight everyone was sat down she entered the room and made a move to lower herself on the chair, but as she was bending down, a pain shot trough her back and she stepped outwards before stumbling. She fell on her ass and Everybody started laughing.

You immediately stood up to pick her up, leaning down to help and she flinched when your arms reached her shoulders. She lashed out suddenly at you. "AND WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING MS Y/L/N." She stood back up regained her scary posture, straightened up her back. The look in her eyes was unlike anything you'd ever seen, the mina you knew was far gone. With those eyes she could have killed you. You're hands reached up to hold her steady and you muttered.

"Mi..ms..venable....are you okay.."

Something flashed before her eyes and she raised her hand in the air and slapped your face. You stubbled and backed away into the corner of the room.

"Everybody out."

She ordered the other survivors and guards when they didn't move.

"Grey's too"

You were shaking badly and starting to hyperventilate. Head resting between your knees as you held your body in your hands protectively.

She tried to get on the floor next to you when she realized what she had done.

"Oh god. I'm sorry y/n" when you didn't reply she tried to place her hand in your hair, the movement in your shock state made you push her away.

"DON'T touch me !"

"Y/n.."

"I SAID DON'T TOUCH ME"

"IF YOU want to have it this way."

She got back on her feet and left the room.

The evening passed and you were able to calm down a bit. You're heart was still racing fast form the panic attack and you're palms were sweating.

Another grey came to you and tried to make you feel better. They talked to you and brought you some water.

When you had fully came back to your  senses you got up.

The nauseated state you were still in made it hard for you to go back to your room but you still managed to make it.

You were definitely not expecting wilhemina to sit on the edge of your bed.

"What are you even doing here"

"Come on. You can't be mad at me for such a simple thing"

"Get out. I'm not in the mood. I'm too tired to fight with you"

She stood up and went to you.

"Y/n..."

"Seriously mina. Go back to your room, maybe some sleep will actually show you how much you fucked up"

"How does it feel to be such a touchy feely person"

"I'm not a "touchy feely" person you slapped me ! In front of everyone"

"I can't treat you any differently than anyone, they'll get suspicious..."

"I don't care. We are dating ! And the real problem isn't that you can't treat me different. It's that that's how you treat everyone else."

"You never had a problem with how I treated people, that's who I am."

"No. That's not "who" you are, that's how you act. Now get out" she let out a Laugh before trying to place her hand on your arm.

"Why are you making such a big deal out of this ?"

"Because I was trying to help you up and you hurt me ! For no reason ! I saw the look in your eyes Mina ! I saw what you are capable of."

"Is that really what you think of me ? Do you really believe I'm going to hurt you ?"

"I honestly don't know. And I can't take that chance so please leave"

"I..i don't understand...i thought..i thought you loved me ?"

"I do. But that has nothing to do with what you did"

"I don't understand... Slapping is nothing.."

"Slapping isn't nothing"

"My parents slapped me and I turned out just fine !'

"Yeah, that's why you're scared of being vulnerable, never show you're feelings, has a shit tone of self hatred. Seriously ? "

"I..I'm.."

"Yes slapping isn't the most violent act ever, bit it's usually the first one before them. I can't let you hurt me. I can't even take the chance."

"I...I would never hurt you again...I'm sorry I was just out of my mind... humiliated..I didn't know how to react anymore..."

"I know. And I'm sorry for that, I truly am."

" I never thought you'd react so badly"

"That's the thing, you don't know what people might feel when you hurt them. Some of us have trauma, some of us have complex and singular PTSD, some of us can't bear being yelled at, some of us have spent our lives being degraded by people we loved, you can't just go around treating people like shit."

"I...know..I'm just..."

"Trying to protect yourself I know, but you don't need to anymore, I'm here, I'm not going anywhere unless you hurt me ever again, and I love you"

"I'm sorry."

"I know you are, you should be"

"I really am, that's why I came here, I feel terrible about it. I should have never raise a hand on you" she didn't know all of your past, of course you had talked about it a bit, but you left the hardest parts away, she didn't know about the tremendous amount of times where she had apologized to you like this after hurting you, you swore to your life you'd never fall for that again, and here you were forgiving her, you needed to make things clear, wilhemina had her own demons, but sharing them would make them easier to fight. Together.

So, you took you're clothes of and went to bed, signaling her that she could do the same. Your gaze following her silhouette across the room while her hand ran through her hair, and the other one adjusted her nightgown.

You both laid facing each other, mina's apologetic Look piercing your skin and you battling away when was the right moment to speak. Her hand found your cheek where she'd hit you, her delicate fingers caressing you as if to say, 'you are safe, I made a mistake and I'm deeply sorry, but I love you still'. You took a deep breath and started

"..I reacted badly because...I've been there before. I've let it happen once, what's to say it's not gonna happen again. Here. Where I don't have anywhere else to run to. I can't let that happen again, it hurt to much then. It took me years to build myself back up, years of medication, therapy, and it had taken me years before that to build me again. I've been shattered to many times, I've had people break me for fun, for love, for traditions for family to many times before."

She listened in silence a single tear leaving her eye as she tried to sniff quietly.

"There was the person I called my best friend, there was my biological father, there were my other relatives. They all hurt me by using my body for their own pleasure, some more violently, but in the end Sharon was the only one who apologized, she was the only that I loved and the only one who claimed to love me back. In the end she ended up with her hands around my throat and my blood on her clothes in front of my son."

Her hand found my neck while she tried to bring me, or was it herself, some comfort.

"And I need you to promise me that you will never ever do anything like what you did to me today, I don't care if they know, my safety should be more important than hiding our relationship."

"I know...I'm sorry for what I did today, I love you so much" she said while crying sofly.

"And I love you too mina baby"

You said cupping her face and kissing her lips gently.

"Now we should sleep it's late and I'm exhausted."

You both laid in each others arms, the live you had for each other was enough to heal the bleeding wounds that you both wore on your heart.

A/n sorry for the delay I'm very very very very busy

[everlarkficexchange]

A Simple Choice

Written by: @justajjfan​

Beta’d by: @sunsetsrmydreams​

Prompt 83: Katniss is whipped instead of Gale in Catching Fire, Peeta’s the one who’s there to take care of her after. [submitted by anonymous].

Prompt 116: Peeta braids Katniss’ hair to soothe her. [submitted by anonymous] 

Rating: Mature 

Warning: Mention of whipping 

A/N: My thanks to @everlarkficexchange​ ; @javistg​ and @xerxia31​ for allowing me to go way over the deadline. It was a real struggle but I’m so excited I finally have something post-worthy. My apologies to the 2 anons who have been so patiently waiting for their prompts to be turned into stories. I hope you like what I’ve written. A special thank you to @sunsetsrmydreams​. This story would be nothing without you. 

 ~~~

Chapter 1

“Trust me.”

I did. I trusted Katniss with my life, and so it seemed at the time…with my impending death. 

After everything we both went through to survive, enduring the pain and horrors only The Hunger Games could bring, it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough. 

The Capitolites craved this abhorrent form of entertainment and under the watchful and devious eye of President Coriolanus Snow, thrilled at the sight of children kill and be killed.   

As it was in previous games, once the first wave of bloodshed was spilled, tributes from Districts 1 and 2 formed packs like wolves and hunted down the weak and vulnerable one by one before turning on themselves until only one was left standing.   

The Victor.

All this savagery was broadcasted live each year across Panem in all its goriest detail and deemed mandatory viewing for every citizen.

Through it all, Katniss and I beat the odds and fought our way out of the gruesome web the Gamemakers spun to be the last two remaining tributes from the same district. But I should have known better…should have never allowed myself to be duped into believing the odds would at last be in our favour. 

All our valiant efforts to stay alive was thrown in our weary and battle-scared faces. 

President Snow had no intention of honouring the change in rules by allowing both of us to live and for the first time in The Hunger Games infamous history, have two tributes jointly crowned as Victors. So when the words bellowed in the air announcing the revocation of those rules, it came as little surprise to me. 

The promise of a peaceful life and all the wealth any citizen could ever want held no sway over me. Already knowing the odds would never be in my favour, I accepted my fate. 

For as long as I could remember, it had always been a fanciful dream of mine to live a life with Katniss, if she would allow it. Dreaming of our toasting and the vows I would say to her as I broke a piece of bread I baked myself and brought it to her sweet mouth. The feel of her soft body as we made love for the first time, even as far as raising a family of our own someday was a stupid pipedream, and I foolishly clung onto it all. Any hope of it becoming a reality was ripped from my grasp and shattered into a million pieces. 

The choice was a simple one. When we were reaped, I vowed to do everything I could to protect Katniss even if it meant sacrificing my own life so she could live. I had no chance of winning and besides…no one needed me back home. But it became apparent Katniss had other ideas. 

“Together?”

The sound of her voice echoing my question came as a soft whisper and in that moment we understood each other. If we couldn’t leave the arena together, then we would die…together. 

In the face of death itself, that one singular word gave me a strange sense of calm and peace. 

“One.” 

Starting off the count knowing how little time I had left in this cruel and merciless world, the chance to tell Katniss what I’ve always felt in my heart was before me…and quickly ticking by. 

“Two.”

I inhaled a deep breath sure the words would flow but instead my voice fell silent. Time was clearly against me but how many words would I need to express what Katniss meant to me?

In the precious dying second, my hand as if possessed with a will of its own, reached for her braid. This was something I had always longed to do and if I couldn’t say those words to Katniss, then I hoped she would feel them through this one innocent touch.

I would have given anything to sketch those steel grey eyes staring back at me. A chance to kiss her deeply and unravel her braid as I gently combed my fingers through the silky dark tresses the way I hoped she would like. Just one last chance to watch over her as she slept soundly in my arms and whisper the words she should have heard me say years ago.

But this was the cruel reality I was faced with and the closest thing I would ever get to realising any part of my dream. And I made sure not to let that final moment between us slip by.  

“Three.”

I focused on the only image I would take with me into the darkness…her eyes.

Slowly, we brought the handful of poison berries to our lips, ready to end this before the Gamemakers took the choice away from us when the deafening sound of Claudius Templesmith’s desperate shout rang out from the hidden audio speakers, freezing us both from any further movement.

“STOP! STOP! STOP”

…and so we did.

***

All that seems like a lifetime ago instead of weeks. The Hunger Games, The Victory Tour and everything in between changed after the cameras finally stopped rolling and we boarded the train for home. And as we sped closer to District 12, Katniss began to withdraw from me and eventually shut me out completely and it confused me.

What did I do to make her feel so indifferent towards me?

Those lonely nights on the train were the hardest to deal with. Sleeping without Katniss beside me was a new torture all on its own but it was what she wanted. I guess in the end, conscience got the better of her and I was finally put out of my misery with the hurtful truth.

It was an act…a show that Katniss and our mentor Haymitch Abernathy devised to fool the Capitol into believing we were star-crossed lovers desperate to be together even in death, only it was me who was completely fooled.

But their plan worked, and it kept us both alive. The cave…the embraces…the whispered words…all those kisses were just part of the act and she wanted to forget them all…but I didn’t.

When we finally arrived home, the citizens of Twelve were all at the train station to welcome us home. To my astonishment, they were cheering us both as heroes. Perhaps they too, were acting in front of the cameras. But as soon as the scripted speeches were done and the crowd slowly dispersed taking Katniss and her family along with it, the finality of it all hit home.

I was alone.

***

Living in the Victor’s Village was a new start. But even in our proximity, Katniss avoided having any sort of contact with me. I tried my best not to let it affect me, but the hurt I felt inside festered like an open wound.

I missed her so much.

At first, I blamed myself for Katniss distancing herself from me. She said she wanted to forget and maybe I reminded her too much of the arena and the nightmares those memories brought her.

But I had nightmares too.

Hearing her screams in the dead of night will haunt me forever and even now, it takes all my willpower to stop myself from crashing through her front door and rushing to her side.

She doesn’t need me.

At first, I thought time alone would help her figure things out in her head and I of all people, understood. But time wasn’t what she needed. I finally came to terms with what was real.

Gale Hawthorne had been her choice all along.

***

As one lonely day slowly creeps into the next, working in my family’s bakery has been my saving grace, helping me cope with my new life a little more each day. With both Bran and Rye learning new trades from the Merchant businesses they successfully married into, it left my father with no resources to help run the bakery, making me his only viable option.

The strain showed on his face and although dad would never admit to it, especially in front of my mother, I knew he needed my help desperately. So, when I suggested I could work in the bakery for a few hours each day, he accepted my offer in a heartbeat. In an odd kind of way, it felt good to be needed even if I was being used to keep our family business afloat.

It wasn’t like I had anything better to do.

Understandably, my older brothers were quick to register their new living and working arrangements at the Justice Building, automatically forsaking any claims of inheritance or ownership of the bakery. But it was a small price to pay as far as they were concerned, if it meant being free from under our mother’s thumb.

So, technically speaking I am now part-owner of the Mellark Bakery with all rights and privileges bestowed to any Merchant business holder, making mother my employee.

An ironic twist in fate.

***

Safely hidden in the darkness of my own room, my racing heart begins to calm after waking from my usual nightmare. As it is on most nights, my first compelling impulse is to rush towards the opened bedroom window and look in the direction of her room and breathe out a sigh of relief when I see her.

“It’s okay…just another bad dream…she’s safe,” I whisper to myself as I stare at the shadowy figure pacing the floor from across the way. Even in the darkness of her room, I would recognise her silhouette anywhere and she’s becoming alarmingly thinner by the day.

Katniss always leaves her lamp on during the night because she fears being left in the dark. Her phobia started soon after her father’s tragic death in the mines and the thought of him being buried alive in the explosion has left her emotionally scarred. At least that’s what she told me once before she drifted off to sleep in my arms.

Now, each night I watch on helplessly as Katniss paces her room. When I leave my house in the early hours of the morning for the bakery I try so hard not to look, but it only takes two steps outside my front door before my eyes dart towards her dimly-lit bedroom. She’s always there. Standing at her window, sleepless, anxiously twirling her messy braid around her fingers. When she spots me, she’s quick to move from sight.

I tell myself I must be imagining it, but I swear I can feel her eyes boring into the back of my head as I walk along the pathway, towards the gate. But I won’t allow myself to turn around and see if I’m right. She’s probably glad to see me leave while she waits for Gale Hawthorne to arrive.

It’s no secret Gale and Katniss are together now. My mother takes great pleasure in reminding me of this fact.

“Stop pinning over that Seam trash! She used you! It’s a known fact what she does with that Hawthorne boy in those woods. She’s probably carrying his brat inside of her. Time to get on with your own life and find a wife to help you in the bakery…a nice Merchant girl…someone pure like Delly Cartwright. She’s smart, pretty, comes from a respectable family. Those qualities are a rarity. Delly’s the perfect choice for you.”

Choice. Why do I always cringe when I hear that word?

I can’t continue to ignore the facts before me. Katniss hates me. She spends every Sunday with Gale sneaking off to the woods for hours. When they return, he stays at her house until late and the curtains in her bedroom which are usually left open even during the night, are drawn until he leaves.

I’m surprised Mrs Everdeen who was brought up with Merchant values would allow such a thing, but I guess after watching us in the cave during The Games and The Victory Tour, she’s not troubled by it now and happily overlooks her daughter’s lack of propriety because it’s with Gale Hawthorne after all.

I’m sure to hear the announcement of their toasting soon.

I need to keep reminding myself what Katniss does with her life is none of my business. What made me think it ever was? She’s clearly moved on with her life and maybe it’s time I thought about doing the same with mine.

For once my mother may have a point.

tbc…

[hopeshoodie]

Rarepair Sunday- Hopeisol

Headcanons

The actual power couple we deserved. The both came into the game with opposing strategies- Hope thought it was important to be cordial with everyone and play the social game, Marisol came in prepared to be extremely competitive and selfish. 

But throughout the game, they gradually adopt each other strategies unknowingly (as Marisol burns through partners she’s only tethered by her platonic relationships with MC and Noah, and Hope reverts to being territorial and selfish because MC/Priya sabotaged her relationship and didn’t have the decency to not gamify it). Marisol approaches Hope towards the end, after she breaks up with Graham for flirting with MC, to thank her for the advice. “You were right, the only thing keeping me sane is the friendships. It was dumb to actively TRY and sabotage friendships with the girls for the sake of gameplay.” And Hope starts silently crying because she feels like she hasn’t had the luxury of that. 

They hug, Marisol leans in for a kiss, Hope hesitates, then Marisol pulls away and starts apologizing profusely for ‘misreading the situation’. Hope shushes her by kissing her back, and it gets heated.

When they pull away Hope laughs lightly and admits “that hardly helps my inability to build friendships.” Marisol grins and kisses her again, deeply. They get a little handsy, but it doesn’t go much further.

Neither of them talk about it after. Marisol starts dating Elisa, and gets really involved in the toxicity of that relationship. Hope finishes the game with Noah. 

Both relationships don’t survive the real world for more than three months. Hope finds her mind periodically drifting back to Marisol…

After sending a text, they meet up for brunch and the rest is history. For some reason being out of the villa erases a lot of their awkwardness- now they’re just best friends. They ramble about politics with each other, have most of the same values, and consume the same kind of media. Hope invites Marisol on a work trip to somewhere in South America, and they become more than friends.

Best. Dressed. Couple. Ever. Neither of them keep active social media, but what does get posted to instagram is absolute fire. Marisol has that really classic, monotone, sleek fashion taste and Hope has the really elegant style with bright contrasting colors and sharp silhouettes. They are… Stunning.

A lot of LITG couples struggle with the day to day. Hope and Noah struggled with this- they were totally fine when they were doing grand gestures or being intensely affectionate, but then when little hiccups came up or the daily minutiae of making food/going about their daily life set in they couldn’t keep the same affectionate energy. Hope and Marisol do not have that problem what so ever. While they can be super affectionate, that part of their relationship is a bit more lacking whilst they get along really well on all the little details.

Their dynamic is like highschool lovers because neither of them have had such an emotionally important sapphic relationship before. They’re absolutely infatuated with one another and feel like it’s them against the world. There’s a ‘we’re building our empire’ vibe. But equally explosive is their arguments- Marisol is passive aggressive and Hope is SO reactive. Their disagreements, though few and far between, end in screaming and sobbing in separate rooms. They definitely break up a few times, then Hope will bring flowers and beg to get back together or Marisol will awkwardly show up and pretend that nothing ever happened. They mellow out with age and consistency in the relationship, but the first few years are super intense. 

Love is Hope making an effort to plan out vacations/events for them then insisting Marisol follow through and come. Love is Marisol encouraging Hope to find a WOC therapist and talk about anger management and insecurity with her. Love is Hope holding Marisol accountable for making selfish mistakes and insisting, calmly and firmly, that she needs to apologize and make amends. Love is Marisol finding little jokes that make Hope laugh and then peppering them around her world, forcing Hope to admit that she loves the ducks of the month. 

No kids, no attachments to their hometowns, two large corporate incomes- they live their absolute best life. Travelling and fashion are the big investments for them. I don’t think either of them really feels a need for home ownership, so they periodically upgrade just for the hell of it and enjoy condo/apartment living. 

Almost every day they visit each other’s office for lunch. It’s not a consistent ‘at noon my wife comes’ because it changes with their workflow. But even if it’s a busy day, Hope will visit and sneak Marisol a coffee during a 5 minute break, or Marisol will show up and they’ll eat lunch in Hope’s office with the door firmly closed and the blinds drawn. They’re not overly affectionate in public though- Marisol is a fan of kissing Hope’s wrist and the back of her hand, and Hope loves to run her hands through Marisol’s hair and hold the back of her neck. 

Light nsfw but they definitely come into their own sexually through each other. Neither of them has a lot of experience with women, and I think if they were with someone who was experienced it would be a process of embarrassment and discomfort. But because they’re both learning together, the power dynamic is a lot more balanced and they don’t enforce strict roles onto themselves. 

They adopt a really crotechedy, mean old cat and constantly joke that he’s the man of the house. He’s an asshole, but they’d both die for him (and they both just want some other presence to be in the home, even if they don’t interact with him outside of sitting in the same room). 

While they’re still friendly with the other contestants, they’re much closer to their non-Love Island friends, and are generally more isolated than other characters. They’ll show up to the 1 year, 5 year, and 10 year reunion, but not much more than that. Neither of them were close enough to keep tabs on or reach out to other islanders. Maybe Noah reaches out years down the road and he reconciles with Hope, but neither of them feel the need to keep in touch. 

They are SO supportive of each other’s projects and careers. They both intently listen to the other ramble about their workdays, have a deep understanding of what the other’s position and role is, and want the other to be challenged. Marisol often jokes (and honestly it’s kind of true) that if Hope was sick she could fill in, and a couple of times when ranting about a negotiation Hope has suggested a tactic that ended up working. 

When Marisol’s dad is struggling with alzheimers, Hope is honestly more attentive to him and the situation than Marisol can bring herself to be. Hope visits him at least three times a week, takes charge of all the arrangements, and encourages Marisol to visit him on ‘good days’ while quietly discouraging her from visiting on bad days. 

They’re the best aunties to Hope’s brother’s kids. Hope and Marisol 100% spoil them, and are happy to watch them for a weekend, but are always relieved when they go home and the house is quiet again. 

As they age, they both get a lot more philanthropic than they were. I can see Marisol retiring and accepting a role on some kind of board or nonprofit. Hope will work for as long as she possibly can (and considering she works in corporate, that’s a lot longer than you’d expect). They both struggle with retirement, and how to provide structure to a day when they can’t work like they used to.

Hope really struggles with losing the mobility and strength that she’s used to having. Not being able to do things that she ‘should be able to’ brings her to the point of a breakdown multiple times. Marisol struggles to know what to do, outside of laying a sympathetic hand on Hope’s forearm and nodding sadly. They still travel a lot, but it’s more confined to tours and cruises than it used to. Admitting that her health/bodily abilities make an annual trip unfeasible is the hardest thing Hope ever does.

And despite how Hope’s health is the first to start wavering, Marisol has similar problems to her dad. Far too soon. Maybe a year after Hope admits they need to opt out of another trip abroad, Marisol starts to turn sharply downhill. Hope can pretend it’s fine, that Marisol hasn’t been blankly sitting on the couch for 9 hours or forgetting basic information or getting lost in the middle of stories. But then the wandering starts, and the fear and confusion at not recognizing where she is. Admitting Marisol needs more care than their condo can provide, that SHE can provide, absolutely shatters Hope. They both move into an assisted living home, because Hope can’t bear to leave Marisol alone.

The worst days are when Marisol outright doesn’t remember her. There wasn’t anyone in her life early on who looks like Hope, so there’s no one for Hope to ‘pretend to be’ like a sister or aunt. Marisol will just assume Hope’s a nurse on these days. Being brushed aside and dismissed is better than not seeing Marisol at all. 

But the good days are so lovely. Gentle. Soft. Both of them feel whole.

Marisol passes before Hope does, and Hope doesn’t have it in her to move out of the home and be on her own again.

[yuta-nakamots]

Candle Light - l.hc ; Part 1 of 2

Pairing - College!Haechan x Ghost!Reader

Genre - Angst in the beginning, but it’s just fluff from there

Warnings - Character death, supernatural activity (you are literally a ghost)

Summary - As the resident ghost that haunts your old apartment, you take pride in scaring away those who dare move in, not wanting them to ruin your memories. Though your mission changes after a group of boys arrive. These are the four boys you allow into your space and your heart. One of them is the candle that supports you, and you are the fire that burns atop it, his beacon of light.

Word Count - 5.7k

A/N - this series is inspired from a discontinued series that @soleilhyuck​ originally wrote on her old blog. let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list :)

Tag List - @sunflowerhae @eunsangelical @soleilhyuck @neoyoungho @carefreebubble​

You are a ghost, to put things simply. The past three years of your undead life have been spent wandering through your apartment complex, though you mostly stayed to your unit and scared away those who chose to move in, as it is your precious space. It reminds you of your family, the people who had moved away shortly after your accident because they couldn’t stand constantly walking past the place where you took your last breath.

Three years ago, you were in your second year of college and making your way back home from your on-campus job late at night when you were hit by a car as you crossed the street. You had your phone out to finally respond to the messages that were built up and read all the emails waiting in your inbox, you didn’t even see the car speeding down the road. Apparently, it was a classic drunk driving case as the light above you was red, telling them to stop, but they were too inhibited to recognize the traffic signal.

You remember the feeling of getting hit and blacking out, but when you came to, you were a few feet away from the crowd of people in front of the car. When you pushed yourself off the ground and made your way over to them to see what they were making such a big deal about, that’s when you saw it. Your lifeless body was sprawled out on the road, bruised and bloodied from hitting the hard pavement and the impact of the car.

Within the crowd were a few of your coworkers who probably left a little while after you and were making their way back home or to their dorms as well. One of them was your childhood friend who lived a few floors below you. You ran to him and said his name, trying to get his attention, but he didn’t answer. You tried again, eventually yelling and reaching out to shake him by his shoulders but you watched as your hands passed right through his frame.

You were in denial at your current state and you stayed frozen in place as he whipped out his phone and called your mom. It felt as if everything was going all too fast around you, like the Earth was rotating faster than you could keep up with. You saw your parents and little sister running across the street, all of them in their pajamas.

You watched as your mother knelt down and held your head to her chest as she wept, her tears sinking into the fabric of the shirt you were wearing.

You watched as your father spoke to the paramedics when they arrived, telling them that he had just gotten to the scene and he was alerted by your friend who stood behind your mom, looking over you as he shook his head in disbelief.

You watched as your sister, only fifteen years old, struggled to grasp the situation at hand. She had never lived a single second of her life without you. Regardless of all the fights and arguments the two of you got into, at the end of the day, you were her older sister, the person she looked up to most, the best role model she could’ve ever asked for. She stood at the edge of the crowd, too shocked to even move.

You watched as the paramedic team loaded your body onto the stretcher and into the ambulance where they tried to take your vitals, all their efforts in vain. They pronounced you dead on site, silence washing over the group of people who had been witnesses and those who knew you and stayed to offer support.

You don’t know what came over you, but you found yourself walking the path back to your apartment as if nothing had happened. Walking through the lobby, you made your way to the elevator and hit the button out of habit and waited for the familiar rattling as the elevator made its way down. The doors opened and it was empty, as usual for it being this late at night, but you didn’t mind.

When you got off at your floor and trudged through the hallway to your apartment, you reached around to get your keys out of your backpack, and tried to insert it into the doorknob, watching as your hand and key went straight through the door itself and reality came crashing down on you again.

You could only sigh as you shut your eyes willed yourself to take a daring step straight through the door that would’ve definitely stopped you in your tracks hours ago, yet when you opened your eyes, you were met with the familiar sight of the unit you spent almost your entire life in. You were numb by now, you felt tired and drained, You threw your bag on the ground of the room, not even noticing it as it simply disappeared while you flung yourself onto your bed and allowed your eyes to close while you drifted into a state of unconsciousness.

It had been three years since that fateful night, your family moving out not even a month later. You tried your damn hardest to get their attention as they packed the tan boxes, crying out that you were still here, you were still alive. But none of it ever seemed to work, they continued their movements without a single glance at you.

Ever since then, you had remained alone in your apartment, playing with those who chose to move in. Most didn’t last more than a few months, losing their mind to your antics as you closed and opened doors, slammed windows, flipped light switches, and even moved their belongings around the unit. Simple things like these were enough to make tenants terminate their contracts and move out of your home.

Part of you felt the slightest bit of guilt for doing this, but it was your space. Besides, it wasn’t as if you were hurting them. You wouldn’t call yourself a bad ghost, per say, as you were quite peaceful, never going as far as to physically harm anyone. Though you didn’t know how much longer you could stand aimlessly roaming around before you truly lost your mind and went mad.

July 2019

In the sweltering summer heat, which you fortunately could no longer feel, you were broken out of your drifting trance as you heard the front door to your apartment open. You watched from the sofa as four handsome boys walked in, lugging suitcases and boxes behind them. You peeked around the wall separating the main room from the kitchen as you heard them arguing with each other and talking about their classes.

From their conversations, you gathered that they were going to be second year students at your university. They were your age, though you were theoretically older than them, but whenever you were able to manifest the silhouette of your human body, you look just the same as you did back then, three years ago.

You were also able to learn their names as they shouted at each other, trying to figure out whose boxes were whose.

“Jeno, put that one down in the main room.” One of the boys yelled, the black haired one looked up as he found the room in question and yelled back in acknowledgement as he carried one box in his right arm while guiding a bike with the other. He seemed to be the most well built out of all of them, the black tank top he was wearing doing nothing to hide his strong arms from view.

“Hey, Jaemin, go open some windows.” Jeno commanded as he set down the box with a thump and you watched as the grey haired boy split off from the rest of them and went to open the windows next to the door that slid open to the balcony.

“Guys, come look at this view.” Jaemin exclaimed, Jeno and the brown haired boy joining him as he looked through the glass and admired the view of the city.

“Can someone please help me with this.” Said an anxious voice from the front door and you turned along with the rest of the boys, the fourth and smallest of the group as he struggled to make his way through the suitcases left haphazardly in the hallway while carrying an easel that was just as tall as him, if not taller.

“Yeah, sure thing, Renjun.” The tan skinned boy with dark chocolate colored hair walked over and laid down in his tracks, causing the shorter boy to curse in frustration and the other two to let out laughs from across the room.

“Haechan, I will literally step on you if you don’t move.” The aforementioned boy had immediately caught your eye. He was like the physical embodiment of summer itself.

You sat back down on the couch and watched as Jaemin and Renjun claimed your parents' old room since it was the largest and could fit both of them plus Renjun’s easel and other art supplies. Jeno took your younger sister’s room, finding barely space to store his bike alongside one of the walls before venturing into the shared bathroom between his and Haechan’s room. The latter boy took your room, the smallest one with a window offering the same view the balcony did, not minding the cramped environment as he didn’t bring much with him in the first place.

A feeling of annoyance built up in you when Haechan opened the window and stuck his head out the same way you used to do ever since you were younger. You couldn’t deny the fact that he was attractive, heck, all of them were, but that wasn’t enough to quell your irritation at how these boys were in your home.

As Haechan pulled away from the window, you were about to slam it shut right in front of him and begin your plan to get rid of them. But before you could move, Jeno burst into the room, telling Haechan to “come look at the refrigerator this place has, it’s got a screen and everything” with much excitement.

You left your bedroom, following Haechan out as he paused to take another look out from the glass panelling that separated the main room from the balcony, one of your most sacred places as it was where you often enjoyed doing your homework due to the cooling breeze that would occasionally blow by, ruffling your hair as it passed.

August 2019

Halfway through the month, the boys had all started their classes and you were able to learn their majors and educational plans. Renjun was an art major that was just getting his core classes out of the way before transferring to a school with a specialized art program. Jeno majored in biology with hopes to become a physical therapist or veterinarian, he was having a hard time choosing, believe me. Jaemin was a business major and you felt like an idiot for not realizing it sooner with all the smooth talking he does and his way of persuading the others to do his share of chores for him. Haechan, the boy that bothered you most out of all of them, was undecided. This didn’t surprise you either as he was always on his computer playing video games, not showing much interest in anything else.

You found it entertaining to listen in on their conversations as they talked about their school activities like when Renjun joined the astrology club or when Jeno had joined the humane society club. Though Jaemin didn’t join any clubs, he had joined many other outside volunteer organizations. He especially loved talking about volunteering at the local orphanage and care homes for the elderly. He even got a job at the new cafe that apparently opened up recently just a block away from the apartment complex. Haechan, unlike the rest of them, didn’t do anything outside of school. He’d come home, do some of his homework, and immediately go to his computer to play Overwatch regardless if he was truly done with his work or not.

By this time, you had already started messing with them by fooling around with their doors and windows. None of them were truly phased though, passing it off as just the wind or the weight of the windows themselves being heavy enough to close on their own. The only one who seemed to have any suspicion of your existence was Renjun

September 2019

Around this month, the boys’ school semester was in full swing and you could truly see what type of students they were. Renjun and Jeno were both very organized and self-disciplined, wanting to finish their work before they allowed themselves to relax. Haechan and Jaemin were the opposite of that, wanting to relax first and recharge their mind before doing any school work. Jaemin always made sure to finish his work though, even pulling a few all-nighters unlike Haechan.

Even though you’ve continued to mess around with them, they were seemingly unbothered by your antics, only blaming themselves when you started misplacing their objects like when you moved Haechan’s keys from the kitchen island to the coffee table in the living room or when you moved Jeno’s notebook from his desk to the bathroom counter. It was quite funny though, when Jaemin came across the notebook after using the toilet, yelling out into the hallway “hey Jeno! Were you reading your biology notes while taking a dump or something? You forgot your notebook in here.”

Jeno came in muttering as Jaemin finished washing his hands, “I could’ve sworn I left it on my desk when I finished taking notes” his voice trailing off at the end as he reached up and scratched the back of his head while taking the notebook from the counter and making his way back to his room.

Again, it was only Renjun who seemed to have any amount of brain cells that were alert of your presence. One evening, you were watching him paint in his shared room and you had accidentally knocked down the cup that was holding his paintbrushes, wincing as it crashed down onto the floor from his desk. “Ah!” He had exclaimed as he whipped around from the canvas, taking in the sight of his brushes scattered on the floor and his cup rolling beneath his chair. He turned around again, peering around his easel, checking to see if the window was shut, “I swear this place must be haunted” was what he said when he realized that the window was indeed securely shut.

October 2019

As fall started to settle in, the leaves changing color and the air growing colder, you were given less opportunities to play around with windows and doors, forcing you to come up with more ideas to get them out. Your next momentous idea came to you on Halloween night as you were spread out on the seemingly unoccupied armchair, watching the horror movie the boys had put on. All four of them were crammed onto the couch because it had the best view of the TV and none of them wanted to sit on the floor or in another chair where they’d have to turn their neck to look at the screen.

You weren’t really a fan of horror movies but it’s not like you could complain. Besides, they were younger than all of the previous tenants and seemed to be active users of Netflix, allowing you to see all the new things that had been added to the streaming service. You found it funny when you noticed that they all had their own profiles on Jaemin’s account seeing as how he was the only one actually making enough money to pay for it.

It was about half an hour into the movie when the first jump scare happened. You laughed as Jeno practically threw the bowl of popcorn that was peacefully resting in his lap into the air, most of the popcorn landing on Haechan who was sitting next to him. “Wait, guys, did you hear that?” Renjun asked as he looked in your direction, pupils searching for the source of your laugh while you sat frozen in shock.

“It was probably just the neighbors.” Haechan said nonchalantly as he picked pieces of popcorn off his head and shoved them into his mouth.

Renjun shook his head, “no, I swear it sounded like it was in this room.”

“Dude, if you’re that scared of the movie then you don’t have to watch it.” Jeno said, earning a giggle from Jaemin.

“I’m not scared, I just thought I heard something.” Renjun mumbled as he slowly turned his attention back to the movie.

Only a few people could hear you and even fewer could actually see you. You were used to being totally invisible to the wide majority of tenants who moved in, not many of them believing in ghosts until you began your pranks and scared them into realizing that ghosts do indeed exist. The fact that Renjun had heard you was enough to let you know that he was a believer already and you planned on using this to your advantage soon, and by soon you meant within the next hour or so.

Right after the boys witnessed a gruesome death in the movie, you had turned off the TV, pressing the power button on the back of the monitor to match the timing of the characters’ unconscious body dropping to the floor. They initially thought it was part of the movie, that it was a cut to a new scene, but they soon realized this was not the case as the TV screen stays black.

Renjun’s eyes went wide as he frantically searched for the TV remote on the couch and coffee table in front of them, his breath getting stuck in his throat as he saw it sitting atop a stack of magazines, certain that he would’ve noticed if anyone had moved to grab it. “This TV doesn’t have an auto-timer feature does it?” He asked, his voice quivering in fear.

“I-I don’t think so.” Jeno admitted, clearly also quite shaken up.

Jaemin glanced around the room before remarking, “the power is still on though so I don’t know why it would have shut off.”

“This is what I mean when I say this place is haunted,” Renjun burst out, abruptly standing up and letting the blanket they were all sharing fall to the floor, “I’m going to bed before anything else bad can happen.” You smiled at his innocence thinking he could just sleep away your presence.  As he passed you on his way to his room, you whispered his name and held back a snicker as he jumped, his head whipping back and forth to find you. “Who’s there?” The other three boys just laughed at him, enjoying the show they thought he was putting on. “Guys, I’m being serious.”

“None of us said anything.” Haechan remarked, obviously thinking that his friend was going insane.

In Renjun’s panic, you had moved to get out of his supposed path to his bedroom, but you weren’t ready when he suddenly made his way back to the boys on the couch, threatening to punch them. He walked straight through your form and froze as the cold air hit his skin, causing the hair on his arms to rise.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” Jaemin teased.

“Did you guys really not feel that gust of air?” Renjun asked, eyes blown wide in disbelief.

Jeno shook his head, “nope,” he stated, popping the ‘p’, “I think you should really get to bed though, you stayed up kinda late last night so maybe you’re just imagining things.”

Renjun stomped his foot angrily before turning on his heel and storming off towards his room, “fine, but don’t come crying to me when this ghost starts messing with you guys too.”

Sure enough, that’s exactly what you did. Later that night, when they were all asleep, you had come up with your own way to mess with each of them, mentally high fiving yourself as you made your way to Haechan’s room, which was actually your room.

You proceeded to open the single window, along with all the doors, even the sliding one for the closet. You took it upon yourself to empty the contents of his pencil case, placing them in the shape of a sun in the middle of the floor, remembering how he called himself ‘full sun’ though admittedly it resembled something more of a summoning circle so you quickly scrapped the idea, opting to simply just scatter them randomly.

Happy with your work, you passed through the shared bathroom, which was surprisingly neat for two boys, your gaze landing on Jeno who was letting out light snores as you entered his room. He was the neatest out of all of them, his desk always cleaned up before going to bed, his outfit for the next day already planned out and resting on his chair. You knew how much he valued his cleanliness and organization, so those were the things you were going to ruin.

You opened all of his desk drawers, taking a few things out and placing them around the room, even into different drawers that they didn’t belong in. You then took apart his stack of books, opening them to random pages and placing them on top of each other in any which way, making your own precarious leaning tower. The finishing touch was when you turned his clothes inside out and laid them on the back of his chair. You looked over at his sleeping body, snoring even louder than before, smiling to yourself as you moved to the last room.

Jaemin didn’t have much on his side of the room for you to play around with but you noticed his hand was hanging off the bed so you decided to try out one of the pranks that you’d learned about from your friends back in high school where if you placed someone’s hand in warm water while sleeping, it would make them pee in their sleep.

You made your way into the kitchen and willed your power to manifest your semi-solid human body, needing it to grab a cup from the drying rack and turn on the sink to fill it with water. As you popped it into the microwave and pressed the buttons to heat it up for 2 minutes, cringing at the obnoxious sound of the beeping, remembering the horrid couple that brought it in with them.

While waiting for the microwave to finish it’s job, you leaned against the counter, eyeing the mountain of dishes in the sink in disgust, wondering just when will these boys actually clean up. They were relatively neat for a bunch of boys but that doesn’t mean they were in an acceptable range of overall cleanliness, barely of them making any use of the washing machine in the hallway. You stopped the microwave just before it went off, and grabbed the warm cup out before making sure to reset the timer and close the door.

You turned around, trying your best to balance the cup and not spill any until you looked up and saw a wide-eyed Renjun standing in the doorway. “W-who are you?”

You dropped the plastic cup out of shock, the warm water spilling all over the floor, not that you could feel it or care about it. “No one” you responded quickly, before forcing your body to revert back to it’s normal invisible state.

“Wait no, come back. You’re the ghost from earlier aren’t you?” Renjun pleaded as you moved slowly to stand behind him, making sure not to cause any gusts of air. “What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking, and why are you here?” He questioned, staring at the place you were previously.

“Get out.”

You watch the hairs on his neck rise as he froze in place and began stuttering “P-p-please don’t hurt me, I just want to help you.”

“If you want to help me then get out” you jeered.

“Don’t you wonder why you’re still here? I can’t just leave you to endlessly haunt this place,” Renjun said, trying to reason with you. You sighed realizing that he was one of those types of believers, and he wouldn’t be leaving as easily as you thought. You left the kitchen, the breeze following you signaling to Renjun that you were moving, “isn’t there any way I can help you?”

You didn’t respond, only heading through the living room to the balcony where you turned around and sat down in a lawn chair one of the boys had set outside, your gaze settling back on Renjun’s in the hallway. You heard him sigh as he walked into the kitchen and then some shuffling around as he was probably cleaning up the water you spilled before he headed back to his room.

November 2019

As the weather grew colder and their workloads grew heavier, you often found the boys exploring new ways to warm themselves up. Jeno took to impromptu workout sessions even when he was fully clothed in a hoodie and sweatpants. Renjun opted to simply drink warm drinks while the funnies of them all was Jaemin who preferred to wrap himself in blankets, keeping himself in his cocoon as he moved throughout the apartment, even when he went to use the bathroom and when he cooked. You didn’t mind those things, the only coping mechanism that really bothered you was the scented candles that Haechan would use.

He’d often go to bed, forgetting to put out the candle and you’d watch as the hot wax melted down, some of it dripping onto the desk it was on, your desk to be specific. You swatted at the flame, effectively extinguishing it as you slammed the window shut, rousing Haechan from his sleep. Seeing as how nothing was out of the ordinary, he fell back asleep within a few seconds making you scoff at his ignorance at possibly burning the whole place down.

This became a regular occurrence as Haechan’s assignments grew in their numbers and intensity, forcing him to stay up later and work through the cold of the nights. You were glad he was making an effort to keep up with his schooling, but not when those obnoxious candles were left ablaze every single night as he drifted off into dreamland.

December 2019

Renjun had finished his midterms the earliest out of all of the boys, meaning that he got to stay in while all the others still went back to campus. You enjoyed being in his room while he painted, liking the ambiance it gave off. You often found yourself drifting in and watching him as his brush ran across the canvas.

Though one day, as you sat on Jaemin’s bed on the other side of the room, he suddenly spoke out. “I know you’re there.” He didn’t stop his motions, only dipping his brush back into the orange paint he was using before returning his attention back to the sunset inspired painting he was creating. “You know so much about me, yet I know nothing about you. Don’t you think that’s a little unfair?” He stated as he turned to grab another brush, dipping it into the royal blue resting on his palette. “If you were going to hurt us, you would’ve done something by now. We’ve been here for nearly five months at this point and you only seem to pull harmless pranks on us.”

You materialized behind him before speaking. “Is it too much to want my own home for myself?” He jumped a little, much to your amusement.

“I’m sorry?” he said, not seeming to understand what you were getting at.

“This is my home, I want you to leave, let me live in peace.”

“I don’t think you understand” he began, “you’re not even alive. Your spirit may be but you have no physical embodiment to live here.”

You bring a hand up to his cheek, his brush stopping in its tracks, “I’m more alive than you think, Renjun.”

“I don’t even know your name, so how am I supposed to believe--”

“Who are you even talking to?” Both of you whip around, not remembering having heard Haechan come through the front door, too immersed in your own conversation.

Renjun suddenly notices your floating blue lit figure next to him, “her! I was talking to her” he exclaims.

“Who?” Haechan asks, clearly confused.

“Don’t you see her?”

“No, Renjun, I do not see her or anyone else in the room for the matter. I think those paints must be toxic for you.” He remarked, walking out of the room.

“Haechan, no, wait-- come back” Renjun pleaded as he scrambled to force Haechan to see what he was seeing, which you knew was impossible since Haechan was a non-believer.

In Renjun’s haste, he kicked one of the legs of his easel, tipping it over. Before it could hit the floor, you grabbed it, causing it looking as if it were hovering in the air. But to Renjun, who could very much see you, it made him that much more certain that you were real and it made him that much more persistent to figure out why you were here.

Barely even a day has passed since then when you learn that Renjun is able to see you even when you weren’t in your misty human form. He could see you as you floated throughout the rooms and wandered through the hallways. You only realized this after watching his eyes follow you as you made your way from the kitchen to the living room, passing in front of the TV that he was currently watching.

“You can see me?” you asked, not believing that he actually could.

He seemed just as surprised as you, his mouth open in surprise. “I-I think so?” A few seconds went by as you both tried to process what was going on. “Why can I see you and hear you but the others can't?” He asked.

“They don’t believe in ghosts, or at least not as much as you do.” You explained, shrugging your shoulders apprehensively.

Renjun leaned back into the couch, his face showing just how shocked he was, the realization of being able to communicate with a ghost only now hitting him. “Can you at least tell me why you’re still here?”

You scoff before responding to him, “I told you, this is my home and I want you and your friends out.”

“I’m sorry, but we’re just a group of broke college students. We don’t have anywhere else to go. I promise that we’ll move out at the end of the school year.” You rolled your eyes at him as you move to sit out on the balcony, ready to figure out a new way to force them out before then.

Two weeks later on new year’s eve, being the ‘broke college students’ they were, the boys had settled down in the living room with the TV on as they watched the ball drop while eating instant ramen and drinking from the two cheap bottles of bourbon they had bought earlier in the week.

Growing up, you had always thought it was fun to play with sparklers and watch the fireworks from the balcony of your unit. But now days you found it stupid, knowing that humans believed it would drive away bad sprits, yet little did they know that it really didn’t do much except irritate them. You would know from your own personal experience.

You and Renjun had gotten used to his ability to see you, this newfound ability causing you to hang around him a little more, though the others were convinced he was going insane. They were just about ready to hand him over to the mental ward for schizophrenia when he turned to you asking “are you okay with all the fireworks going off?” referring to the channel they had the TV set on.

“Yeah, it’s fine. They’re annoying at most but I don’t care.”

Haechan dropped his set of chopsticks, his eyes and mouth agape as he stared at Renjun. “What was that?” he questioned, clearly in shock.

“Oh, you can hear y/n?” Renjun questioned, not at all phased as he finished chewing on the noodles in his mouth.

“Who is ‘y/n?’” Haechan asked, bewildered.

“She’s the ghost that lives here, the one I was telling you guys about since like, Halloween?” He said, looking over at you for confirmation, to which you nodded.

“Yeah, Halloween.” You acknowledged, Haechan’s eyes landing on you as he began to see your faint silhouette sitting next to Renjun.

Jaemin, with an eyebrow raised in concern, is the first to break the sudden silence that fell across the room. “Okay Renjun, we’re taking you to see a psychologist tomorrow.”

“No guys, y/n is real, I swear,” Renjun protested, “Haechan can hear her and I can see her too. Look, y/n hold this.” He said, handing you a napkin. It rested on your hand before floating through you and landing on the floor.

You watched as Jeno’s eyes grew wider and his eyebrows raised as he became the slightest bit skeptical of your existence whilst Jaemin was still unamused, convinced that it was just a trick of the wind. Before they could say anything else, voices could be heard from the TV as the crowd started to count down from 30, effectively distracting the boys from their previous discussion.

You noticed that one of them didn’t return his attention to the TV, however. Haechan’s gaze was still fixed on you as your glowing misty blue figure became clearer and clearer to him.

A/N - this series is inspired from a discontinued series that @hyuckgasm​ originally wrote on her old blog. let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for Candle Light :)

[henryobsessed]

The Borrower and Her Bean Part 17

Summery: Melina and Henry have time together on the window sill 

Word Count: 1461

Warning: Gentle Kissing

A/N hehe brain is starting to function again. Hope you like it. :) Selah

Part 16 - Part 18

The Sky was Inky black and the stars shone bright, looking out over the trees and silhouettes of his neighborhood Henry was struck with how big the world looked now that he was only 4.5 inches tall. Once again the perspective difference between now and when he had looked out of this window as his big self was extraordinary. Looking up at the sky he could see why Lina was so enamored with the Moon and Stars. From this panoramic view, they truly looked like Gods in the sky.

He turned back and gazed at Lina, she was lost in thought looking out at the night sky. The light from the moon seemed to be mirrored in her eyes as they shone with brightness. Moving behind her he wrapped his arms around her waist and leant his head on hers. It took but a moment for her to melt back against him. He enjoyed the way she felt in his arms, they seemed to be a perfect fit at this moment in this time as they looked up at the stars. They were silent for some time both lost in the feel of each other. Then out of the silence, Melina spoke "I never thought, not in my wildest dreams imagined I would be standing here. I truly thought I would be alone with no one to share my life with." He could hear the vulnerability in her voice at the spoken statement. He squeezed her tighter against him and whispered into her hair "If I can I will try my hardest to never leave you. Even if I grow big again I will put you first Lina." turning her around to face him he lifted a hand to gently wipe a stray tear from her cheek.

He smiled at her as she leant her cheek into his hand, it was too perfect, she was too perfect leaning down he captured her lips in a gentle kiss. He wasn't sure what he had expected, this was not his first but that innocent gentle kiss left him more breathless than any kiss he had given before. Her eyes were still closed as he pulled away needing to balance himself, leading her over to the edge of the sill closet to the glass, they sat and leant against the trim. He pulled her into his arms as they settled looking out at the night sky again. Her arm wrapped around his waist, her head leaning against his chest. As the night continued they discussed their dreams and fears, Melina sharing her life as a borrower, Henry sharing his as a bean until each one fell asleep. The last thought that lingered on both their minds was how long would this last.

The two sets of silver eyes looked out at the borrower and the bean as they slept in each other's arms. The Star fairies looked at each other as one whispered: "Did we make the right decision Night Song?" Night song played with her dark brown hair as she thought "I don't know Whisper, they seem good together as Borrowers but I know that our wishes never work out the way we want." The two Star fairies continued in silences observing the couple a cheeky grin crossing there faces as they contemplated there next move.

Henry looked at his phone, the morning had been quiet. After waking stiff and sore on the window sill after a night of talking, Melina had returned to her bed. Unable to sleep a nagging thought in the back of his mind that he needed to check up with his agent he had sought out his phone to check messages. It had taken him a few minutes to type in his pin as the phone could not recognize his thumbprint or face he had resorted to manually typing in his pin. Once he had unlocked the phone, it began to let out a continual stream of sound as the myriads of texts downloaded. He scrolled through the texts from family, friends, His agent and even some ex-girlfriends. It seemed that the longer they were in lockdown the more people began reaching out.

He responded to the ones that were most important then settled in to read the ones from his agent. They followed in the same vein as the email "Call me, it's important", "Henry, Where are you call me this is really urgent" he texted her back "Sorry my voice isn't working please text back" He waited but a minute his hands resting on the screen waiting. "Ok, thank God you finally responded. Are you sitting down? They want you, James Bond want you. You finally got it Henry" He did sit at that falling beside the phone. "How could this happen?" he mumbled. Just as he was getting used to this lifestyle the first punch to the stomach. He had coveted this role ever since he got knocked back for being too young. Running his hands through his hair he breathed out a sigh, she was worth it, she was worth giving up his career. Chuckling to himself he knew he had it bad, no one had ever made him feel like he could change his career for them.

He felt eyes on him as Greg stepped out of the shadows. The young man had a frown on his face, had he heard his mumblings? As he reached Henry, Greg a sat opposite him speaking slowly "Are you ok Henry?" just talking to someone else about this gave great relief to him, he sat and shared his news and how instead of being upset and angry at the loss of this converted role instead it had just cemented his commitment to being with Melina. Greg's eyes were serious as Henry came to the close of his story "Henry, no matter what you choose to do, we will support you, Melina will support you. If for some reason you turn big again or you stay a borrower it's all moot point now. Your family." His face broke in a smile at the look of surprise on the bigger man's face, Henry chose that moment to declare " well, as of this moment Greg, I know I love your sister and I hope that I will continue to stay a borrower for both our families futures." Greg leaned over and hugged Henry. Pulling back he stood dusted off his pants and left. Followed not much later by Henry looking forward to what adventures were in store for today.

Melina had woken slightly disorientated, her heart was still giddy from the intimacy of the night before. It had seemed to her that they were well on their way to developing a true relationship both letting their walls down and sharing the deep places of their hearts. Not knowing how much time they had she ran in search of the handsome bean to make the most of their time. She saw his phone glowing on the floor in the living room. He must have been here. Getting closer she saw a communication open, as she read her heart dropped into her stomach. Her worst fear realised. A converted role, one he had been seeking for, reading the passion of the statement from his agent she realised, at that moment she loved him too much to hold him back to rob him of this achievement. She ran quickly back to the window sill, she knew she needed to partition the Moon and the starts on his behalf.

Looking up at the bright sky she hoped they were able to hear her "Moon and Stars please hear my plea. I thank you for giving me this time to get to know Henry. He has filled my heart with joy. but I need you to turn him back. It's not right to keep him from living a human life. I will always love him and be here for him but this is my sacrifice for his happiness please turn him back" she then curled up against the window sill and cried. Her weeping heard until she fell asleep.

Whisper and Starsong looked over there friend, they were always there watching. During the day they were dim as the suns brightness blinded those who looked to the heavens. But they were always there. They heard her plea, her desire for the bean and to fulfil his dreams. The sacrifice she displayed in that one wish gave them the final piece. They had been waiting to know what to do and now they knew. Tonight when the Borrower and the Bean slept they would wake to a very different situation. 

I have Tagged people who follow me and who I follow if you want to be removed or added please let me know :)@keanureevesisbae @darkverrmin @viking-raider​ @littlefreya​ @madbaddic7ed @the-soot-sprite @thelastsock​ @lovetusilver20​ @crimsonrae @demivampirew @ladyreapermc​ @henrycavillobsessed @nitannichionne​ @runawayolives @heartfelt-pen @omgkatinka @star017 @llly113 @sad-ghost-of-garbage @ayamenimthiriel @starstruckkittyangel​  @summersong69 @notyouraveragemochii @imneonpanda @carriebee1 @ivyfatale @thereisa8ella @lucy930@sarahmichelle5 @stuckupstucky @cleodoramer @kmuir1@elliepower @xobriellaxo24 @xxxkatxo @supernovacocorocha@hennerslionhat @xo-mery-ox @waitedforlove743 @ladamari68@coksy @wickedrum @harleyfranquinn @mysticalstrangerearthquake @justrae9903 @willkatfanfromasia@daddys-littlewhitegirl @cavilladdict @lebguardians@theblondetumbleweed @snowbellexx​ @radaofrivia@geralttheewitcher @acdd22 @lana-rose5 @skorimizize @abschaffer2

[rvmmm21]

. you’re a monster .

summary : “what will you do when you’re knocked out in an alleyway and wake up tied to a bed. what next, hm?” the demon’s question rings in her head the entire time she’s being pleasured beyond comprehension. Kang Seulgi begs and pleads, and she reluctantly finds the answer.

small note : forgive the appalling pacing. sorry if i misinterpreted this and it was meant to be soft-ish, but when i saw monster i just went oh cool HARD-ish. also never thought i’d write seulrene but hey! first! i’m so sorry to all the seulgi stans out there, i know she’s soft but i... i saw ‘monster themed’ and i went :o i will softly make it up to you if i get another seulgi ask, i promise! also soft seul stans pls don’t read this if... um you’re not comfy with the concept. it’s hardcore.

[seulrene - demon!irene x human!seulgi]

tw : NONcon, overstimulation, light bondage, and the flippant overuse of the word ‘no’.

...

She tries to roll over in an attempt to relieve that dull ache in her shoulders, but to her dampened shock, finds she can do nothing more than shift about a millimetre away before being pulled back down. Numbness gives way to an accelerated heart-rate as she realises her predicament; with both wrists and ankles securely bound to a cold, metallic bed frame, she’s completely immobile. She gives an experimental tug to find that: the bedposts are dreadfully sturdy, and her binds are surprisingly soft and velvety. Like royal silk, she thinks, but in this light, or lack thereof, it’s impossible to tell.

O-Oh my god what’s happened? Where… where the heck am I?

The air is thick and heavy, but that’s not why Kang Seulgi is choking.

“How lovely. It’s been a while since I’ve had a human.”

The words smoothly puncture her focus; nonchalant and detached. It matches the smile playing on the blood-red lips she can just about see through the fog in her vision. That stare, those eyes; horribly searching, dark and sharp enough to pierce. And it pierces her to the point where it feels like she isn’t wearing any –

Wait. Where are her clothes? Any of them?

She’s stark naked. And it’s a shocking revelation, but the dipping of the mattress on either side really doesn’t grant any time to ponder. A shiver runs through her when two smooth hands start to explore her body without her permission; squeezing her, violating her. She realises just how unforgiving the restraints are when she instinctually struggles, kicks, does whatever to try to get them to stop. But the weight straddling her remains unmovable, and it just mocks her panicked writhing with a laugh like she’s never heard before. It’s undeniably a woman’s, but there’s something about it that makes Seulgi squint maladjusted eyes to sharpen the edges of the silhouette above her. Despite the intrusive groping, it’s slowly taking shape; it is a woman. And she’s drop-dead gorgeous, unfortunately. With long, pin-straight black hair, milky white skin, a deadly scarlet smirk and… when her top lip curls up just right… oh god… are those… does she see fangs?!

That not-so-subtle detail is enough to force the girl out of stunned silence.

A terrified shriek is followed by a breathless – “W-Who – what are you?!”

The hands stop. Everything does, for a while. And then there’s another laugh before her apparent captor ever so gracefully introduces herself.

“Sweetie, you don’t know me. Nor I you, for that matter…” her voice drips like molten lava, bright and scorching all the same, “… but that’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?”

Her response is overtaken by an almost dry heave when the demon woman above her sounds like she’s lecturing a rebellious 16-year-old.

“Pft, mortals,” she scoffs absentmindedly, rolling her eyes as if the human race is the most bewildering thing she’s ever come across. That’s before her tone turns into something sinister. “Living with your little blinkers on, walking home well past sundown, all alone and vulnerable. Never thinking about what happens if you catch someone’s eye… if you’re too adorable to resist? What will you do when you’re knocked out in an alleyway and wake up tied to a bed? What next, huh?”

The irony isn’t lost on Seulgi, and the gentle caress on her cheek does little to settle her terror.

“But lucky for me, humans don’t think like that, do they?”

“… y-you’re a – a m-monster…” Seulgi spits, trying to sound bigger than she currently feels. But it sounds more like a shaky whisper than an accusation, and it only succeeds in stretching that soul-eating grin wider than she’d ever thought possible.

A sinister, throaty laugh takes a rake down her ears and sends an uncomfortable chill prickling across her skin. “Oh, we haven’t even begun yet, darling… why don’t you save those lovely little nicknames for when you really need them, hm? Tell you what, you can call me Joohyun for now.”

The demon taps her on the nose in fake reward.

Seulgi isn’t even aware she’s squirming until she feels a cold hand clamp down on her left knee and shove it flat on the mattress with a dark chuckle. “Now, now, I’d conserve that energy if i were you… trust me, it’ll be gone before you know it.”

“… n-no! … get… get me out, let me go!” Seulgi screams, using all her strength to yank at the material keeping her captive.

Something in her hamster-beating heart drops with all her hopes when a pair of lips plant themselves on her cheek, ignoring the way she reels back in horror. “Run that pretty mouth all you want,” Joohyun sneers, eyes trailing downwards “... your body seems to know what it wants.”

What on earth does that mean? Seulgi is twisting around now, but Joohyun takes hold of her hips, pinning her down despite her futile attempts at freedom.

And then she finds the answer to her question.

The depravity of the situation weighs on her all at once when two fingers drag along the length of her slit, making her flinch. She sees them held up in front of her face, all slick coated. Just from that. When her mind goes blank, it shows. Enough for Joohyun’s determination to skyrocket and for long fingers to find their way back to the girl’s dripping entrance, teasing their way in slowly, curling them upwards. The look in her eyes, now the colour of glowing ember, as Seulgi’s body is forcibly provoked is almost playful.

Oh my gosh why… why does it feel like that… why does it feel… good. Of course, that’s something Seulgi is fully intent on keeping to herself, but she’s clearly not having much luck. Not while she’s rolling her eyes back, not while she’s failing to conceal those increasingly desperate sounding pants leaving lips she can’t seem to keep together… much like her legs. Joohyun just teases her some more, smiling at how painfully obvious it is that her little human is trying her hardest to convince herself she doesn’t want this.

She breaks sooner than expected.

Seulgi finds herself bucking up against it before she can stop, spreading further open so Joohyun’s warm, eager tongue has access to her sensitive clit, pressing on it, sucking it, just driving her insane. She’s grinding against the mouth as much as her binds will allow, thighs trembling violently with strain, but ugh – it’s worth every tremor.

“… wait – ah! Oh gosh! I –” The pressure on her clit increases to where it drives a keening whine from her throat, locking all her muscles in place as Joohyun draws out the first orgasm of the night.

The human barely has time to recover from the initial wave of orgasmic bliss before the demon is lazily undressing, only enough to reveal the textured length between her legs. Seulgi cranes her neck up, eyes instantly bulging at the latex. It’s somewhat hilarious that this… demon of a woman in all her hellish majesty has to brandish a fake cock. A small part of her wants to laugh at – oh god but she can’t – she can’t even think without moaning when said fake cock buries itself into her. It bottoms out with such ease it pulls out a painfully choked sob instead of any snide remark about the ability to ‘pound her into submission without the use of a strap-on’.

No. What is she doing? No, no, no... this is far too much to handle.

The darkness spins above her, as stupid as it sounds, it does. And that’s all she can stare up into. It’s dizzying, but she’s already tried looking down, and let’s just say the nauseating spin is much less… intense.

She’s so wet, Joohyun has no problem starting hard and fast, fucking her deep into the mattress, pushing past the initial squeeze of her walls and pounding into her with nothing less than pure animalistic force. And the human beneath her seems to be enjoying it too. Joohyun knows if her precious little human could see what she looks like taking her cock so well, she’ll flush a shade even pinker than the rose quartz blush trailing up her neck right now.

Poor Seulgi cries out, desperately trying to bring her knees together, but Joohyun catches them, keeping her spread with a demonic strength she can only dream of challenging. She knows she’s found her clit when she’s rewarded with a sharp hiss, and it only takes a couple of brisk taps on it before Seulgi’s walls are clenching down. She’s torn between screaming for it to stop, and ask - no, begging to let her cum again.

It’s horribly humiliating to consider, but she has to wonder whether it’s her begging or her crying that drives the demon harder.

“… J-Joohyun! I’m…” – but that’s all she gets out before she’s turning away to sink her teeth into her shoulder in the hopes of dulling the devastatingly intense sensation of multiple orgasms.

Sweet baby, Joohyun thinks as she watches her thrash and tremble and then go almost completely limp, my sweet little human, so breakable and so, so overwhelmed. She just smiles at Seulgi’s gasp when she swiftly replaces the sensation of the strap with those familiar fingers.

“… no, please… no – no more…”

It’s so much more fun having her humans ungagged, free to beg to their little hearts’ content. Because she adores hearing pitiful pleas dissolve into pained whimpering with a flick of her tongue or just a little more pressure behind her thumb. Joohyun finds it the funniest thing to watch human instincts in action; knowing it’s pointless, but still wasting their breath trying to reason with the cause of their suffering. The knowledge that her victim is too drained to fight back is an absolute blessing. The power she possesses is immeasurable and downright thrilling.

“… oh please, please Joohyun – don’t make – ah! –  not… not again, I – I can’t, please…”

But she’s helpless and she doesn’t get to decide when she stops, if she’ll ever. That’s up to Joohyun. And what Joohyun wants to do is keep fucking her well past her breaking point, she wants to keep teasing her overstimulated clit, she wants to torture her for as long as she can, either until she gets bored or the human passes out.

And she’s proud to admit, those struggles are definitely weaker than before.

Delirious Seulgi doesn’t even notice the fingers pumping in and out of her speeding up over the sound of her moans, increasing in frequency. This is about to be her… what, her fifth? Eighth? God, she doesn’t know… nor can she find the head space to care, really. Her mind is so blissed out from how rapidly she’s being fucked, to the relentless sucking on her sore, swollen clit, that she’s barely even aware she’s tipping over the edge.

Joohyun wears an evilly triumphant grin as she does. “That’s it, give it to me. My sweet little mortal.”

Still, Seulgi manages to rasp a weak – “… m-monster…” before she does, trying her best to put some bite behind the word. But it’s almost impossible to when she’s torn apart yet again, jerking and twitching as Joohyun’s mouth cruelly steals another orgasm from her. There can be no venom behind those adorable, breathless whimpers that grow quieter and quieter until there’s no more resistance. None at all.

Poor thing, she didn’t even know that would be her last one.

Soft breathing, tear-stained cheeks and eyes rolled back in her skull; Joohyun observes her wreck of a human, beautiful and unconscious because of her. She can’t even put a pretty name to an even prettier face yet, but she’s not worried in the slightest.

They have plenty of time for that.

[chalantness]

fic: Here, On the Edge of Hell (3/6)

Rating: M Word Count: ~9,300 (part three) Characters: Steve/Natasha Summary: mafia au. She knows her father hadn’t been lying when he said that Uncle Howard wanted her to keep an eye on Steve, but if this was simply about protection, he wouldn’t have put her on the line at all. Especially not with all of the heat Steve Rogers is getting from the other Families, which means that her uncle has another reason for Natasha to be involved.

He just won’t tell her what it is. 

Read On: [ ao3 ]

A/N: Okay, here's a confession: I kept changing the end of this chapter and then just ended up taking that scene out entirely because it got super long and I felt like it was... too much? This may or may not bump the chapter count up to 7 but for now there are still only 6 parts, so let's celebrate for being (technically) halfway through this 'verse! I'll try my hardest to keep it down to only 3 more chapters, though, so the last three parts might just be super long. I hope you darlings won't hate that!

Natasha seems distracted, but considering everything that happened yesterday, he figures she’s got a few good reasons to be. He asked if she wanted to talk about it when she first got to his place, but she’d given him this coy little smile and asked, “Talk about what?” and he’d simply chuckled and taken it as his cue to leave it, at least for now. She must’ve spent the entire day sorting things out at the club with Howard; if she wants to take her mind off of it, if only for a few hours, then he can give that to her. He wants to give that to her, and honestly, the little smile she’s giving him right now, with her eyes twinkling and her cheeks slightly flushed from the wine, is entirely worth it.

“I ran into your sister this morning,” she tells him, passing over her empty glass when he holds a hand out for it. “She had interesting company.”

Steve breathes out a laugh, pouring her more wine (they’re both on their fourth glass) before handing it back. “Her interesting company invited us to breakfast tomorrow, by the way,” he says, and Natasha raises her eyebrows, her eyes sparkling in pleasant surprise. “Yeah, I know,” he says with a shake of his head, filling his own glass and then setting the bottle back down on the coffee table. “Technically, he said he and Sam wanted you there, and Wanda followed up by saying that she convinced Pietro to join us.”

Natasha laughs, her voice slightly raspy from all the wine. Steve feels his lips curve in response to the sound and he glances at her lips, but only for a second.

“Now that is a conversation I would’ve loved to see.”

Steve exhales a chuckle. “I think they’re all just doing it to make some sort of statement. I overheard Clint advising Pietro to play nice, establish a united front for my sake.”

Even as he says the words, though, he knows they’re not quite right, and the little grin Natasha gets is all the reassurance he needs. “They’re doing it for you, Steve,” she corrects, her voice lilting in amusement. “If this was just about making a statement, there are a dozen other ways they could’ve done that without throwing more fuel on the fire by taking two detectives to lunch. Although,” she adds with a tilt of her head, “I have no doubt that Pietro will insist otherwise until he warms up to Bucky and Sam.”

Steve feels himself smirk. Yeah, he doesn’t doubt that, either. His brother is stubborn as hell and not the type to like anyone at first.

That doesn’t mean that he immediately dislikes anyone, though. He’s simply wary, and maybe that’s because, when he does decide to trust you, he’s almost loyal to a fault.

He’d told Steve last night that he’d been following the Asgards around ever since the drive-by, and Steve knew that wasn’t just another impulse of his. Pietro could be a little reactive sometimes, that’s for damn sure, but something like this – accusing another member of the Family – is something he wouldn’t have taken lightly. Wanda thinking that she saw the car would’ve only been enough to raise suspicion, but it’d been Bucky vouching for his fellow officer identifying the car, too, that convinced Pietro it was a lead worth looking into. Maybe he doesn’t trust Bucky, but he trusts Steve, and that was enough for him to consider Bucky’s hunch about the drive-by being intended for Wanda.

(And Steve knew he didn’t need to remind Pietro to be careful, but he’d said it, anyway, and his brother hadn’t even rolled his eyes or quipped about him being overprotective.

They both know how dangerous things will get quickly if anyone finds out what Pietro is doing, let alone what they might be accusing the Asgards of.)

“Speaking of the twins,” Natasha adds after a moment, her voice softer now, some of the amusement fading from her expression when Steve looks at her. “They didn’t want to be here for this?”

Steve doesn’t need to ask what she means. This, as in finally opening the damn box on the table that they’d found in his mother’s old apartment.

It hadn’t been his only reason for inviting her over tonight; in fact, he never even mentioned in when they made the plans. He’d genuinely wanted to see her, to check on her after everything that happened yesterday, but he also knows she would want to be there to open it with him and honestly? He didn’t even consider doing so without her.

“I told them it was their choice, but that I also didn’t want to put them through it in case it was something shitty,” Steve tells her.

“Willing to carry that burden all on your own, huh?”

He shrugs, staring down into his wine glass. “Something like that, I guess. The two of them have been through a hell of a lot more than I ever have.”

“And you want to, what? Pay your dues?” She gives him a look. “That’s not how family works, Steve.”

He chuckles faintly. “No, I know. It’s not that. I guess—” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head, turning to her with a wry sort of smile. “I know I’m the helpless one out of the three of us, but I guess I just want to protect them if I can. They were the ones that were raised by Dad. If something shitty about him is in that box…”

He trails off, stopping his own thoughts again, but he knows by the look in her eyes that Natasha doesn’t need him finish his sentence.

He knows that there could be nothing important in this box, or if there is, it could be something Pietro and Wanda have already known. It’s not as if he plans on keeping it a secret from them, either. He doesn’t even know why it feels important for him to see it first, but it does, and his siblings trust his judgment.

Natasha gives him this little smile. “You’re a good brother,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper before she takes a small sip of her wine. This time, she’s watching as his eyes shift down to her lips again, and he lets his gaze linger for a moment before turning away, smiling into his own glass. “So, shall we get this show on the road?”

“Might as well,” he murmurs, taking a gulp of wine before setting it aside.

Considering how old the metal box must be, it doesn’t surprise Steve that it only takes a few tries to get it open. That should’ve been his first clue that there might not be anything incriminating in here. There may not have been as many ways to keep things locked up back then, and it’s not as if this box was somewhere easy to find, but still. Going through the offices and coming up empty had shown Steve just how careful a man his dad was, so he wouldn’t have left anything important just sitting in this thing.

And Steve thinks he’s right, for the most part. The box is slim and rather small, so there’s nothing more than a few photos and folded pieces of paper inside.

Sketches, he realizes, when he unfolds the one sitting on top. The penciled scene looks vaguely of a grand building in an open field with a mountain range along the horizon, and there’s something about the architecture that seems like it should make it seem distinct, but the lines are too rough to really tell.

The rest of the sketches are more of the same – a few snowy landscapes, more mountain ranges and more buildings with unique silhouettes – so Steve sets them aside and picks up the small stack of photographs instead, flipping them over to find his mother’s face smiling back at him. She’s younger here, her hair brighter and longer and half-covering her face as it’s angled away from the camera, and the color from the photo is faded from years of sitting, but Steve knows without a doubt that this is his mother.

“She’s beautiful,” Natasha says quietly, her leg pressing against his as she leans in. “You have her smile.”

Steve feels his chest squeeze as he exhales a laugh. He’s heard that before, but even now, he doesn’t quite understand it. He knows he looks almost exactly like his father and that he always has, but he’s also always been told that he has his mother’s smile, too.

“Dad says that all the time,” he tells her, handing over the photo for her to take a closer look, and he watches as she gently traces it with her fingertip. “I don’t really see it.”

“I do,” she replies simply, her eyes flickering to his. “Trust me, you look just like her.”

“Okay.” His chest squeezes again, and he holds her stare for a moment longer before exhaling a breath, turning back to the small stack of photographs in his hand.

There are a few more of just his mother, a few of his parents together and then a few of them with Steve, but that’s it, so he sets them aside with his father’s sketches and picks up the worn leather journal, flipping it open. At first glance, it actually looks more like his mother’s swirling handwriting than his father’s, but before Steve can actually read anything, something slips out from between the pages. He picks it up from his lap, flipping it over, and then his heart slams against his ribcage at the face he sees.

Melina.

Steve has only ever seen her face in photos a few times and only once in person, and she’s much younger in this photo, but he knows it’s her—and he can tell by the way Natasha inhales sharply beside him, her entire body going completely still, that she knows it, too.

He recognizes his father standing next to Melina, his face much younger, just like hers, but it’s without a doubt Joseph Rogers. There’s another man and another woman with them, too, the four of them all right around the same age, not even into their teens yet. The other woman has light, long hair and a sweet, smiling face that seems vaguely familiar, at least at first glance. She has both of her arms curled around Melina, her body half-angled toward hers with the embrace, and the photograph seemed to have caught the two of them in the midst of a laugh. On the woman’s other side is a man that’s tall and broad, his figure imposing and his expression gruff, even in his young age. Unlike the other woman, though, there’s nothing about this man that stands out to Steve, nothing about him that feels as if he’s seen his face before, maybe even in passing.

Then again, maybe he didn’t really recognize the woman at all. Maybe it’s simply the fact that he does recognize his father and Natasha’s mother that’s throwing him off.

Never, not once, had his father mentioned having any kind of relationship with Melina Stark. Not one that came from childhood, at least.

His father is close to the Starks as a family, of course, but he’d always been closest with Howard. And not even Howard has mentioned anything in particular to Steve. If his father had known Melina for so long, Howard Stark would’ve brought it up. Even if he already assumed Steve knew it already, the man would’ve worked it into at least one conversation, especially since Howard knew Steve would be spending even more time with Melina’s daughter—except, fuck, could that have been the reason for it all along?

Steve could never quite put a finger on why Howard offered his niece up as another advisor for Steve, and even Natasha admitted it didn’t quite make sense, either.

But maybe the idea hadn’t actually come from him. Maybe it’d come from Melina.

“What the fuck is this?” Natasha breathes, her hands shaking ever so slightly as she reaches for the photo, which Steve passes over to her before smoothing one of his hands over her back, gently circling. He watches her as she stares at the photo, the shock so crystal clear in her expression that it makes his heartbeat falter in his chest. Her eyes are a little bit wild as they snap onto his. “Why is my mother in this photo with Joseph?” she asks, though he knows she isn’t asking him, specifically. “What am I looking at?”

To anyone else, her surprise almost seems tamed, but Steve knows better.

She may not be overreacting, but the fact that he can feel her trembling and that he can see the genuine surprise on her face means she isn’t trying to filter her reaction, or maybe she simply can’t in this moment. But whether that’s because of all of the wine or because she trusts him, or both, is a matter for Steve to address another night.

“I don’t know,” he admits quietly. He doesn’t quite kiss her temple, but his lips brush against it when she leans into him.

She exhales, her gaze fixing back on the photo for another moment before picking up the journal it had fallen from. Steve knows this is his mother’s handwriting, and as he skims over her words while Natasha flips through the pages, it’s clear that this is more of a diary than anything else. Half of the pages are empty, and there’d been nothing other than this one photograph tucked inside of it. He’s not sure why a picture of Natasha’s mother and his father would be in his mother’s journal of all places, especially since it’s from before his parents had even met—but, as Natasha flips to the last page that’s been written on, it’s clear they’re not going to get any kind of explanation for it, either.

She lets the journal fall closed as she places it back down in his lap, and then she’s standing, the photo in her hand as she starts to step around the coffee table.

Steve is up in the next second, gently but firmly grasping her by her arm, just above her elbow, and turning her back around to face him. He can practically see the thoughts flitting in her eyes as she murmurs, “I have to go.”

“Nat, no,” he argues. “We’ve both been drinking. A lot, might I add. You’re in no condition to drive home, and you’re not getting into a cab, either.”

“I’ll be fine,” she insists, about to turn around again, but he grasps her other arm, too, pulling her against him. He feels her struggle against his grip, but he also knows it’s only half-hearted. If Natasha wanted him off of her, he would’ve been flat on his ass right now.

“Someone purposefully put a car through the club you manage.” He feels his eyebrows furrow as he gives her a hard look. “You’re not getting in a fucking cab. And I know you’re not going to storm over to your mother right now and demand answers. Even half-drunk on wine, I know you’re a hell of a lot more strategic than that.”

She pulls back a little at his words, a reluctant flash of indignation – and also amusement – in her eyes. “I’m not half-drunk.”

He cracks a smile. “We went through an entire bottle of wine in an hour. You’re not half-sober, either.”

“I’ll be fine,” she repeats, though there’s less force behind her words this time. It’s not in defeat, he can tell, but she’s also stopped squirming against his hold. She shakes her head, not so much as flinching when he brings a hand up to cup her cheek, as if he’s touched her like this a dozen times. “I just need to think.”

“Then think here,” he tells her, almost pleading. She tilts her head up to look at him. “This was a big revelation for me, too, you know. Maybe I need you here to comfort me.”

Despite herself, Natasha breathes out a chuckle, rolling her eyes playfully. “Is that really the move you’re going with?”

“Is it working?” he asks, and she chuckles again, more of the tension ebbing from her body as she leans into him. “You can borrow something to sleep in, take Wanda’s room if you want. Hell, take my room and I’ll sleep in Pietro’s.” Natasha’s lips quirk and Steve feels his own smile widen a little in return. “I’ll get in a cab with you and make sure you get home if you really want to. But if all you’re going to do is worry about this alone in your apartment then you might as well worry about it here, with me in the other room.”

“In case you need comforting?” Her tone is mostly teasing, but there’s something about it that tells Steve that she knows what he really means, too.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, sliding his hand down her arm to gently grasp onto the photograph, and she lets him take it from her hand, twist around to set it on top of the coffee table behind him.

Her expression softens when he turns back to look at her. “Okay,” she says, barely above a whisper. He strokes her jaw again with the hand still cupping her cheek, his thumb only an inch away from the corner of her lips, and then he pulls away.

... ...

Natasha can’t remember the last time she slept in. She’s always gotten up early to take a run, even when she was younger; a habit she picked up from running with her father almost every morning, and one she continued even when she no longer in school and didn’t need to keep up some kind of schedule. But she likes having the routine, and she’s gotten so used to it that somehow, she knows before she’s even opened her eyes that she’s slept in, though a quick glance at her phone tells her it’d barely been by an hour.

There’s also a text from Maria that she’d sent last night. Honestly, Natasha had almost forgotten that she texted her at all, and after the revelation from that damn photograph, seeing Sarah Rogers’s signature on a receipt at the café seemed like something that happened days ago rather than just that morning.

And yes, she’d still contemplated telling Steve about it, even though she and Maria agreed it would be best just to leave it, at least for now. Sarah Rogers isn’t exactly an uncommon name, and considering the woman had gotten sick and passed away after Steve graduated high school—something Joseph told the Family himself when he and the twins attended her funeral—it seemed unnecessary bring up something that could be a coincidence. But that didn’t get rid of the feeling that she should’ve told him anyway.

It feels a little less important to bring up after last night, though.

She walks out into the hallway just as the door opposite of her room (well, Wanda’s room) opens, and Steve steps out in nothing but a pair of jeans, a towel draped around his neck as he uses it to rub at his damp hair. He pauses when he sees her, his mouth hitching up at one corner in a crooked, almost boyish sort of grin.

“Good morning,” he greets, and, to his credit, his eyes stay on her face rather than skim down to the tank top and tiny pajama shorts she’d borrowed from Wanda’s closet.

“Good morning,” she echoes, her lips tugging in a smile as her eyes flit over his bared chest. “If that’s how you plan on going to breakfast, it’ll probably end up being free.”

He breathes out a laugh. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure when you’d be awake,” he replies, glancing down at his own torso for a moment before his gaze is back on hers, his thumb pointed over his shoulder. “The shower in my bathroom still needs to be looked at, so I just keep using this one.”

“No need to apologize.” Her smile widens, just a little. “This is your place, after all.”

He presses his lips together, eyes glinting like he knows that she’s teasing—like he knows what she really means—and, since he doesn’t seem the least bit self-conscious, she lets her gaze fall back onto his chest. Now that she’s really looking, though, she can see them: thin, jagged lines scattered across his chest, all of them almost entirely faded into his complexion. But they’re there, and there are a few dozen of them, and Natasha is willing to bet that she’d find a few dozen more on his back if she asked him to turn.

Scars. He’s covered in scars.

“Steve,” she exhales, glancing up into his eyes, the amusement and teasing faded entirely from his face as he simply peers down at her. She reaches up, touching her fingertips to a particularly harsh line curling under his ribcage, and she feels rather than hears the way he takes a deep breath.

“I told you I was a scrawny kid,” he reminds gently, pulling the towel out from around his neck, revealing a few more slivers there, too. “Scrawny is easy to kick around.”

“This isn’t kicking around,” she argues, her voice barely above a whisper. “Did either of your parents know?”

She already has an idea of what the answer will be, so no, she’s not surprised when Steve shakes his head. “Mom always had a lot on her plate and I didn’t want to add another thing for her to worry about. By the time I met Dad, I only had a few months left until graduation.” He gives a small shrug. “It didn’t seem worth mentioning by then.”

Natasha’s chest tightens. “It could be decades from now and it would still be worth it to Joseph.”

“It wasn’t worth it to me, Nat.” He reaches up, covering her hand with his where it’s still pressed against his chest. “Dad would’ve done worse to them in return.”

She feels a little bit like she can’t breathe, and her voice comes out quiet and tight as she asks, “You don’t think they deserve it?”

Steve’s mouth hitches in a smirk, something dark flickering in his eyes—and, in that fleeting moment, he looks so much like his father that Natasha nearly shivers.

“I think they deserved worse than what my dad would’ve done with them,” he admits quietly, curling his fingers around hers in a gentle, almost comforting sort of squeeze. “But I’d made a promise to myself to fight my own battles, always. It just so happened that by the time I was capable of truly fighting back, I hadn’t seen them for a while. I wasn’t going to waste energy on seeking them out, but if we crossed paths again, I’d make sure that they couldn’t kick anyone else around. That time just hasn’t come yet.”

Yet.

His tone is casual, almost nonchalant, but she can hear the gravity of his threat in that one word.

And, not for the first time, Natasha thinks that maybe Steve Rogers is a lot more adept at this life than he realizes.

... ...

Steve honestly didn’t know what he anticipated when he and Natasha first got to the restaurant. There were a few dozen reasons for this to be a tense breakfast, or at least an awkward one, but he also didn’t think it would come to that. If any of them genuinely felt uncomfortable, they just wouldn’t have come.

But at this point, none of them are exactly on opposite sides, even if that’s still the case on paper. Bucky and Sam have been working their asses off to figure out who’d been behind the drive-by, and whether that’s because it’s their job as detectives or that’s because of their loyalty to Steve doesn’t really matter. They’re doing what they can to look out for Wanda, and Bucky has been trading off with Pietro and Clint to watch over her, which is more than enough of a reason for Pietro to give them the benefit of the doubt.

So, no, maybe Steve hadn’t expected all of them to argue the entire time.

But he hadn’t expected everyone to get along so damn well, either.

“Hardly even recognized him,” Bucky says through a laugh as he gestures a hand at where Steve is sitting across the table from him. Steve chuckles as he shakes his head. “He leaves for college and comes back, what? Almost a whole foot taller? With over a hundred extra pounds of pure muscle?”

“You know, I still thought maybe Dad had those photos of you when you were younger mixed up with some other poor sap.” Pietro grins, reaching behind Wanda to smack a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I didn’t realize student research projects allowed volunteers to be genetically modified,” he jokes, and Steve barks out a laugh, giving Pietro a half-hearted shove. Between them, Wanda shoots them both a warning look, though the way she giggles into her mimosa a moment later tells them she’s not actually pissed.

“I thought for damn sure I’d hear about him getting into more fights now that he could do some real damage,” Bucky adds. “Of course, only Steve would decide to stay out of trouble after he was able to throw a decent punch.”

Wanda’s eyes widen as she whirls her gaze onto her brother. “You got into fights?”

“Couldn’t keep the little punk out of them,” Bucky answers for Steve. “Granted, he never started any, and he never threw the first hit. But Steve wasn’t about to let the fact that he was less than a hundred pounds and sent himself into an asthma attack half the time stop him from fighting back.”

His tone is proud more than anything else, even though Steve can hear the hint of exasperation. Steve can’t exactly blame the guy. It seemed like Bucky was always jumping in to save his ass, though the guy hardly minded. If anything, he probably enjoyed putting those kids in their place. He just preferred Steve not to take the brunt of it first.

“I don’t like bullies,” Steve says simply with a shrug, glancing at Natasha beside him. She gives him an almost carefree sort of smile, but her eyes flash in the same way they did just an hour ago, as she traced over his scars with her fingertip—somehow burning bright and ice cold at the same time. He can almost see the calculation in her gaze, as if she plans on hunting down each and every asshole to lay a hand on Steve (he doesn’t doubt she has the means to, either) but he can also see something else. Pride, maybe. Back at his place, it’d almost look like there was awe in her eyes when he’d explained why he hadn’t sought out any sort of revenge against anyone that ever gave him a scar.

Seeing that praise in her eyes had felt damn good, but feeling her gentle, feather-light touch on his skin had felt even better.

Now’s not exactly the time to relive the memory, though. Not with his siblings and his best friends at the table.

She takes a sip of her mimosa as she holds his stare, that dangerous flash in her eyes shifting into amusement as she hides her smirk behind the rim of her glass.

He nudges her knee with his under the table, returning her smirk, but a groan from Pietro interrupts them, drawing their gaze onto his scowling face. “Speaking of bullies,” he mutters, and Steve follows his brother’s gaze across the street, feeling his body tense as he realizes who’s caught his brother’s attention.

Ivan.

Steve clenches his jaw. He’d heard of Ivan before they’d met, of course. Clint never had a single decent thing to say about him and Anton, and considering how mellow the guy usually is, that’d been one hell of an insight that just talking about those two seemed to piss Clint off. Evidently, that still hadn’t been a clear enough picture of them.

He couldn’t have cared less that Anton and Ivan clearly had it out for him and blatantly tried to provoke him into a fight the entire time he’d been with the Starks at Howard’s. What he did care about, though, is the way they eyed Natasha while also completely dismissing the danger she would’ve been in had she been at the club when it’d been hit. Clint had told Steve that Howard put up with them out of some sort of loyalty; Anton had been a key player in getting Stark Industries off of the ground, after all. But none of the Starks had ever liked him (apparently, half of the Family still doesn’t) and Steve had only been in their presence for five minutes before deciding he shared that sentiment.

“He seems like the kind of guy you’d want to hit for no real reason,” Sam comments.

“He is,” Wanda chimes in, turning away from Ivan and wrinkling her nose at her mimosa. “He may not even breathe in your direction, but if you threw the punch first, you’d still have plenty of reasons to justify it.”

“That bad?” Bucky’s voice is gruff. “Kind of sounds like you might be speaking from experience.” His eyes flit back to Ivan across the street, jaw ticking, and Steve is willing to bet his best friend is genuinely contemplating if it could be justified to punch the guy without being provoked.

But when Wanda huffs out a breath, his gaze shifts back to her, softening. “No, thankfully not,” she reassures. “But it’s hard not to know his business with the way he acts.”

“That’s for damn sure,” Bucky mutters into his coffee with a shake of his head. “Ivan’s got more hard evidence against him than anyone else in New York.”

“He’s sloppy and reckless,” Natasha agrees. “He doesn’t give a damn about casualties, and he sure as hell doesn’t give a damn about leaving his mark, either.” She rolls her eyes. “He likes notoriety for his ego, and he loves that every cop in the city knows his face.”

“Isn’t that a thing, though?” Sam wonders. “A way of sending a message?”

“Our messages are far more discreet,” Natasha tells him. “If you don’t know how to cover your own ass, you sure as hell shouldn’t be threatening someone else’s.”

Sam’s lips twitch in a grin. “Sounds fair.”

“You also shouldn’t be putting anyone else’s ass on the line just for the hell of it,” Pietro adds, almost scowling. “He used to just be dick and a mild headache, but now he’s getting stupid and has the rest of us putting out all of his damn fires. I don’t know why the hell he’s still in the picture at all,” he adds to Natasha, arching an eyebrow.

“Trust me, neither do I,” she replies, and then tips her head back, draining the last of her mimosa. “He’s got a reputation.”

“Don’t you all?” Sam’s tone is more joking than condescending, if a little curious.

“Yes,” Wanda replies with a bit of a giggle. “It’s different, though.”

Bucky’s smile widens as Sam chuckles in amusement, neither of them arguing with her claim, and it makes something warm tug at Steve’s chest.

Just a few weeks ago, Steve had almost used those very words as he struggled to explain to his best friends why he couldn’t just use his new role in the Family to turn them in. They’re still criminals, after all, and Steve had been convinced that he would’ve done exactly that if it wouldn’t have meant putting his brother and sister on the line as well. Now? He knows he couldn’t do it so easily. Honestly, he couldn’t do it at all, because he’s not just Family in name and not just in their eyes. He’s Family in his own eyes, too.

He doesn’t want to walk away from them.

He doesn’t want to walk away from Bucky and Sam, either, but he isn’t going to pretend it’s that simple for them. For right now, though, he can appreciate that his siblings and his best friends finally seem to be getting along—and not just for his sake anymore, but because they want to.

... ...

“You’d be surprised how many ‘Sarah Rogers’ are in New York,” Maria says, pulling out a stapled stack of papers from her bag and tossing it onto the counter. Natasha glances at the photo of the woman on the top page (a brunette, though, not a blonde) before passing over one of the martinis she’d poured, and Maria takes it from her by the stem of the glass. “But only five of them showed any activity in Manhattan around the time you would’ve seen her at the coffeehouse. Of those five,” she goes on, sipping her cocktail as she flips to the page she wants, pointing her finger at the picture, “this one is the only one to match the barista’s description.” Maria arches an eyebrow. “Look familiar?”

Natasha hums, taking a moment to study the young woman, with her long, golden hair and hazel eyes.

“Vaguely,” she admits, which doesn’t really mean much. Maria already knows Natasha hadn’t gotten a good look at the woman’s face that morning in the coffeehouse with Wanda, and considering how many faces the employees there must see every hour, asking the barista for a description two days after can only be so reliable.

“She flew into town a few weeks ago but never checked in anywhere,” Maria informs, but something in her tone catches Natasha’s attention.

“And?” she prompts.

Maria smirks, her eyes glinting. “And that purchase at the coffeehouse is the only purchase ever made on her card, other than her one-way plane ticket from London.”

Natasha can’t quite help the way her eyebrows lift in surprise. Well. That’s definitely unusual.

She knows Maria has been digging deeper into this woman, and Maria doesn’t wait for her to ask before she continues with, “So far I’ve only caught a few security camera sightings of her around Manhattan and Brooklyn. She’s been alone every time and she’s damn easy to lose track of.”

“Staying somewhere residential, or at least somewhere that doesn’t keep a digital record,” Natasha adds. “And only paying in cash, except for the coffeehouse.”

“Except the coffeehouse,” Maria echoes, arching an eyebrow. “I find it hard to believe she can get away with almost an entire month of never using her credit card and yet, she charges eight dollars for a latte and a croissant? She didn’t even pull it out to pay for her rental car.”

“She’s using a rental car?”

Maria nods. “I saw her getting into a car from a security camera and the license plate is registered with a car service, but her paperwork didn’t disclose any payment.”

Natasha feels something odd tug at her chest as she stares back at Maria. “A black compact car?” Natasha asks after a moment.

Maria pulls back a little, blinking. “How did you know that?”

Natasha exhales a sigh, taking a gulp of her martini before answering with, “Because there’s been a black compact parking across the street for the last three weeks that keeps catching my attention. Any chance you happened to see one on your way in?”

“Most likely, but I’ll have a look at the security feeds later to compare plates.” Maria tilts her head. “Why haven’t you said anything?”

“It seemed a little paranoid, even for me,” Natasha admits with a shake of her head. “Plus, my family has been on edge even before what happened at the club that I didn’t want to give them another reason to act weird.” She furrows her eyebrows, thinking back to when she’d had dinner with Peter, and when she’d had dinner with Tony. She thinks about how her parents seemed to be bothered by something more often than not recently, and somehow, all of it feels less and less like some kind of a coincidence.

Maria nods, and Natasha can practically see it in her eyes as her best friend tries to find any kind of immediate connection.

Before either of them can say anything more, however, Natasha’s phone chimes with a text and she flips it over on the counter, her body pausing as she sees that the message is from an unknown number. Maria leans forward to look at the screen, too, and Natasha sets her martini down as she swipes to open the text.

... ...

Steve can hear her laughter above all of the excitement and chatter already filling the restaurant where Clint and Laura are hosting Baby Nathaniel’s first birthday—and, not for the first time since arriving, his gaze drifts across the room to seek her out. They’ve only had a chance to talk a few minutes here and there, but considering it’s usually one of the kids that ends up pulling her away from him, he can’t complain. It’s easy to see that she’s the favorite, although Peter and Pietro seem to be fairly close in second place.

“Auntie Nat has always been the one the kids adore the most,” Wanda chimes as she floats up to his side, offering him a limoncello and rum cocktail. “Although I admit, it’s still a little strange to see each time,” she adds, laughing as Morgan Stark suddenly pops up from under one of the tables in an attempt to surprise Natasha.

Steve laughs, too. He gets what she means. It’s a little odd to see Natasha being playful, almost silly, when she’s almost always elegant and composed, or coy and tempting.

But he also knows that she likes to tease and she certainly loves her jokes—the cheesier and nerdier, the better—so maybe this side of her isn’t actually odd at all.

“While we’re on the subject of strange sights,” Wanda adds, her voice lilting in amusement, and Steve finds her eyes twinkling brightly when he turns to look at her with one eyebrow arched. “I noticed Nat was wearing the same clothes at breakfast as she wore the day before, when we bumped into each other.”

He chuckles. He’s been wondering when this would come up.

His sister has probably wanted to ask him right after they dropped Natasha off at her apartment after breakfast, but then he’d taken Wanda and Pietro back to his place to take a look through the box themselves, so they ended up having other things to discuss. As he’d guessed, neither of them knew the man and the woman in that photograph with their father and Melina, and they also hadn’t had any idea that their father knew Melina from before he met Howard, let alone before Edward and Melina were married.

The silver lining had been that neither of his siblings seemed pissed off by this new revelation. They may have been a little upset, but he’d anticipated that.

It might have made sense that their father wouldn’t have had the chance to tell Steve about this, but Wanda and Pietro lived with Joseph their whole lives. Hell, they’d practically grown up with the Starks. Melina could’ve told them herself, or any of the Starks, for that matter.

Which makes it more likely than not that the Starks don’t know of it, either. Or, if they do, there’s a reason why everyone’s keeping quiet.

“I didn’t want her driving home after we’d been drinking,” Steve tells his sister, trying in vain to keep a straight face with Wanda practically beaming at him, “and I didn’t want her getting a cab, either. She borrowed your pajamas, by the way,” he adds. Wanda arches an eyebrow, giving him an expectant look. “She also slept in your bed.”

She pouts playfully, nudging his shoulder. “That’s not what I wanted to hear.”

“Wanda,” he laughs.

“You two are really good together,” she insists. “You’ve been spending so much time together, too. I thought you might’ve already…”

Steve rubs his lips together, glancing away with a shake of his head. Yeah, he doesn’t really need his sister finishing that sentence. He gets that she’s not a little girl, but he still doesn’t really want to hear that his sister assumed he and Natasha have hooked up already.

“We both work long days, almost every day,” he points out. “We only really meet for dinner, and honestly, we’re both tired as hell most of the time.”

It’s the truth, but only really half of it. Yes, he and Natasha see each other almost every day, and it hadn’t taken long for them dining out to transition into them ordering in (mostly at her place, because he’d rather be the one to drive home afterward than her). They tend to meet up late, and Steve is typically tired by the time they get around to eating, but that wouldn’t have been enough for him to say no if she asked him to stay the night. In fact, he tends to feel wide awake after they’ve spent the night talking.

He would be lying if he said he’s never thought of them being more. Honestly, he thinks he’s entertained the thought from the moment they met.

But he knew the reason she’d gone out of her way to see him at first had been because Howard asked her to, and after they’d developed a genuine friendship, he still hesitated because he knew she still felt apprehensive toward his friendship with Sam and Bucky.

But now, he can’t explain exactly why, but things feel different. Now it feels like they’re ready for more.

“But you do like her, don’t you?” Wanda asks, and he can tell that it isn’t really a question. She just wants him to admit it.

Steve feels his lips tugging into a smile as he takes a sip of his cocktail. Across the room, Natasha has managed to steal Baby Nathaniel away once more, holding him with their faces close together as her gaze drifts across the room. Her eyes catch Steve’s, her smile widening as it’s half-hidden behind Nathaniel, and she waves.

“Yeah,” Steve answers, feeling his own smile widen. “Yeah, I do.”

Wanda lets out a giggle, wrapping an arm around his waist to squeeze him into a hug, and Steve chuckles as he leans down to brush a kiss atop her head. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks about how, just a few months ago, he wouldn’t have had a conversation like this with his sister. Not because she wouldn’t have cared, but because, as often as they tried to visit each other, their lives wouldn’t have been intertwined enough to for them to talk like this. Not specifically, anyway, and certainly not enough for her to have a preference on who he might be interested in. Hell, she probably wouldn’t have known who else was in his life, other than Sam and Bucky, and he wouldn’t have known the same for her or Pietro, either. He’d always felt he was close with Pietro and Wanda before, as much as the three of the could be, considering their circumstances.

But he hadn’t realized just how much closer they could be if he could see them every day like he does now. If their lives were more involved on every facet.

And honestly, other than Sam and Bucky, Steve hadn’t had any particularly meaningful connections in his old life. He’d had friends, but none he allowed himself to get genuinely attached to. Who his father was had always lingered, and if push came to shove, Steve didn’t want to risk anyone getting tangled up in something they had no idea about if someone found out who he was and who his father was—and someone would’ve found out, even if his hand hadn’t been forced the day that his father went missing.

He’d gotten lucky that his two best friends had both ended up cops and put the dots together on their own, because Steve really wouldn’t have known how to tell them. He hates that he put them in a tough spot by choosing to stay friends, but, at the very least, he knows that they’re more equipped to handle themselves.

And now, he has the luxury of becoming attached. After a lifetime of only having his parents and Wanda and Pietro, and Bucky and Sam, now he has the whole Family.

And he has Natasha.

... ...

With the club only barely starting repairs, Natasha brought everything she needed from the office back to her apartment, though truthfully, there’s not much for her to work on. Her father is the one directly speaking to the contractors to get the front of the club fixed, and since they won’t be open until that’s done, she only really needs to check in with management. She supposes this means she could drop in on either of her parents to give them a hand, maybe spend a few hours at Stark Industries with her uncle or help May at the diner. Natasha plans to soon, because she doesn’t really get to see May all that much, and because Peter always helps out, too, so they can hang out more.

But between looking into “Sarah Rogers” and trying to figure out why the hell her mother and Joseph Rogers were in that photograph together, she’s still got quite enough to keep busy. She’ll likely need to start making the rounds soon, though, before her family starts asking what she’s up to.

Unless you happen to be Tony, who decides to invite himself over unannounced to find out.

She gets a text from her cousin as she’s stepping out of the shower, asking what she wants for breakfast, which she knows is really just him giving her a head’s up that he’s on his way over. The last few days of digging haven’t turned up anything, so she figures she can take a break to tag along with whatever Tony has planned.

But when she sees Peter walk in through her door after Tony, she realizes that this is more than just her cousin being nosy and wanting to poke into her business.

Peter has a terrible poker face, and right away, she knows something’s wrong. “What happened?” she asks, reaching over to push aside some of the longer chunks of his hair flopping into his eyes. “Why aren’t you in school?”

He hesitates, eyes flitting over Natasha as if worrying if something happened to her, before reaching into his pocket as he says, “I got something this morning.” He pulls out his phone, swiping at the screen a few times, and then flips it around to show her the screen to show her a photo of herself leaving her apartment. It’s obvious it’s taken at a distance, just across the street, though considering that cameras on phones can get a decent zoom quality, she can’t say for sure how far away the person had truly been.

Peter swipes for her before she can respond, pulling up another photo of her, taken through the front window of the club before someone had put a car through it.

Natasha blinks down at the photo for a moment before glancing up, eyes flitting from Peter and Tony, and she watches the realization flash across both of their faces almost in the exact same second as they stare back at her.

“You’ve gotten one, too, haven’t you?” Tony asks, holding up another photo of her on his own phone.

Peter’s expression pinches even tighter with worry, if possible. “Nat.”

“I did, just the other day,” she admits, turning to walk into the kitchen, knowing that they’ll follow. “Maria was here when I got it, so she knows, too.”

“The other day? What the hell, Nat?” Tony asks, setting the bakery box and tray with their coffees down on the island counter as Natasha drops onto one of the barstools. Peter immediately hops onto the one beside hers, spinning to face her. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Tony half-demands. Natasha doesn��t quite flinch at his tone, but she feels her surprise flit across her face before she can catch herself, and at this, Tony’s frustration seems to ebb almost entirely as he drops onto the other stool beside her. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she replies, and he nods once because he knows she’s being sincere. She knows he’s just worried and it makes him come off impatient.

On her other side, Peter judges his knee against hers. “When did you get your text?”

Natasha exhales, tugging the bakery box closer and popping the lid open as she replies, “The same day as Nathaniel’s party.”

“Is that why you haven’t told anyone yet?” Peter asks, although his voice sounds a little off, like he knows that isn’t quite right.

Natasha shakes her head, glancing from him to Tony. It’s not that she doesn’t trust them to keep quiet if she asks, but also, she doesn’t want them to have to keep a secret from everyone else. Still, now that they’re obviously involved to some extent, she doesn’t really have a choice. She also thinks that they’re likely the only two out of the family to get these photos so far, because everyone else would’ve come to her the moment they a text themselves, just as Tony and Peter did; clearly, since Peter is skipping school.

“You can’t tell the family,” she insists. “You can’t tell anyone, other than Steve and Maria. At this point, I suspect Wanda and Pietro might know, too.”

Confusion tugs at Tony’s expression. “They all got photos?”

“No. Or, if they did, they haven’t had the chance to tell me. But I’ve got more than just this going on,” Natasha admits, waving a hand at where Peter’s phone is on the counter, his screen still pulled up to the photo of her, “and I’ll admit that, at this point, I don’t know what the hell to feel about all of it.”

“Wow,” Peter says quietly, studying her face. “This is really bothering you, isn’t it?” His forehead creases. “And you’re sure you want to keep it from everyone else?”

“For now, it’s probably for the best,” she admits, her lips twitching in a wry smile. “Our family is pretty good at keeping secrets, anyway.”

... ...

Steve isn’t sure whether it’s reckless or just stupid for him to have Sam and Bucky here, but they were already near the brewery when they called to say they had news to share, and Steve figured that they’d at least have some semblance of privacy here in his office. People would talk—and have been talking—every time Steve meets up with either of them no matter what, and honestly, it doesn’t feel so much like a threat anymore. He’s knows that both Howard and Nick would back him up with little hesitation, and even if Odin hasn’t entirely warmed up to Steve yet, he also wouldn’t jeopardize his standings with the other two Families simply because his daughter wants to cause chaos.

Clint didn’t even bat an eye when Steve told him that Sam and Bucky were coming, and if Steve had been looking for approval, that would’ve been all he needed.

“Anonymous tips?”

Steve glances at where Clint is sitting on the corner of the desk, arching an eyebrow, before turning back to Bucky and Sam sitting in the chairs placed across his desk. “There’s no way they were all called in,” Clint argues, though his tone gives away the fact that at least part of him is genuinely considering this.

“I didn’t think so, either, but we’ve got all the call records to back it up,” Sam insists with a shake of his head. “Every damn one of those busts were tipped off, and most calls came in an hour beforehand, sometimes half an hour, but it still would’ve given the precincts a pretty generous chance to prep and then haul ass to each of the sites.”

“Well, shit,” Clint says on an exhale, swiping a hand over his face. “Now we know why they felt too damn consistent to be a coincidence.”

“Someone clearly had it out for you,” Bucky tells Steve.

Steve feels his lips twitch into a wry smile, but only for a moment, because then he’s glancing at Clint again. “It hasn’t just been our shipments, though,” he points out as he taps his pen to the desk for the sake of something to do. “Everyone’s been taking hits. Sabotaging me would make sense, maybe even cutting a few losses themselves to hide their own tracks. But all those shipments lost, all across the board?” Steve shakes his head. “It’d be a pretty damn risky plan, because now everyone in the Family is pissed.”

Clint nods, even as he adds, “Doesn’t mean it’s unfathomable. Someone just might be that reckless.”

“Or hold that big of a grudge,” Bucky chimes in.

Clint nods again, turning to Steve. “Could be Ivan. He sure as shit doesn’t think things through before acting. But then again, it’d be too damn obvious of an answer.”

“Yeah, but it’s still something worth looking into,” Steve points out. “And if anyone would be willing to piss off the whole Family for their own agenda, it’d be him. He’s barely loyal to his own father, let alone to Howard or anyone else. I doubt he’s pulling this off alone, though,” he adds, and all three men nod at this. Steve exhales sharply, shaking his head again. “What about the drive-by?” he asks, catching the way something dark flickers in Bucky’s eyes as he sits up a little straighter. “Anything new come up there?”

He knows they would’ve mentioned it themselves if anything substantial had turned up, but they don’t seem surprised that he’s asked.

“They got a match on the plate, which pretty much confirms what we knew about it being an Asgard car,” Sam answers. “No one we’ve interviewed from the scene so far has had any leads worth following, or any reason someone would be after them, specifically.”

“Other than Wanda,” Clint guesses.

Bucky nods, glancing from him to Steve. “Did Wanda have a reason for being there at that time, something that could’ve been planned? I know we asked already—”

“No, I know.” Steve offers a wry smile. “She won’t mind if you need to question her again, though.”

But Bucky shakes his head with an exhale. “She and I have already combed over the details of everything she could remember. She was there getting dinner, but it was something she’d done on an impulse because she’d been shopping nearby.” Something flickers in his eyes before he adds, “I asked if she could’ve been followed. If she had even a damn second of paranoia at all that day, or any day before, that maybe someone had been watching her. She said she didn’t, but as soon as I thought about it—”

Steve feels his chest tighten. Shit. As soon as Bucky had said the words, they felt pretty fucking real, and it felt like a damn good hunch.

“Fuck,” Clint mutters. “Why the hell hadn’t we thought of that?”

Sam winces, looking annoyed with himself. It’s true that they’d assumed Wanda had been the target, but they’d also just assumed someone knew she’d be there. She goes shopping in that area often enough that it would’ve made sense, but it was never anything she planned ahead of time, so how the hell could someone had anticipated it?

If someone had been following her, though, they wouldn’t have needed to know her schedule.

They would’ve just needed an opportunity.

[davidlynchschreibner]

It seems I come bearing another topical bouquet of fluff rather than the fic I am actually trying to finish. This one is Actual Rubbish and ran away from me a bit. But I’ve always wanted to see closeness and health in Matteo’s repairing relationship with his mother. I do not excuse what we know of the parenting problems that led Matteo to distance himself, however, this is meant to be a positive--- perhaps even sappy--- take. (Should I write one about David’s godmother too? Let me know because I have some thoughts.)

A note: Parts of this belong to a list of headcanons I started before the pandemic hit and as such imagine a world where we don’t have that reality. Is that out of line with the real-world spirit of Druck? Yes. Am I coping with life by writing about what this year should have been? Also yes.

Most Radiant Suns And Sons

For all that he lacks certainty about if he wants to go out with the boys tonight, what mood he will be in the following week, where he will live the month after, and what career he will pursue in the coming year, there are a few things that Matteo is sure of. One of these is that he loves his mother. Even in the stifling mineshaft of his depression he had never fully divorced himself from wanting to be near her. Indeed, if he did not love her with the strength he does he would never have grappled with their relationship and stressed over her reaction to certain elements of his person. Instead would have simply excised her in all but name from his life as he had his shitty father. Not every person is given to this kind of bond to their mother and there was nothing whatsoever requiring him to welcome her back into his life. But no matter what bitter edge his references to her had acquired in past painful periods, it was only the gritted teeth tone of an injured person and never real resentment.

That was the hardest part of it all, really, that he was so overwhelmed and exhausted he had to withdraw for his own sake. He had needed to be free of the sucking drain of his mother’s downward spiral. It was impossible to be there when his own developing depression rendered him inert by spreading numbness from the center of his chest to the tips of his fingers. He couldn’t care for another person, should never have had to, as he slowly surrendered to the weight of shovelfuls of damp earth burying him alive. Yet in the same breath that dismissed her he sighed with missing the lightness of Mama’s laugh and the slow flow of her hands carding through his hair. He pushed her away, cast his eyes to the ground, but could not tell her to stop calling him. However many congested streets and neglected texts he positioned between them there remained (in dim corners he avoided examining) a craving for tenderness and acceptance.

Their reconciliation was a soft-spoken and understated process. It came as the slow creep of dawn, a gentle spilling of light into the dark expanse of a troubled time. There was no reproach nor tense conversations. They spoke little of the past estrangement, save for the day Mama drew her son into the safe harbor of her arms and whispered her apology into his open ear. Matteo blotted the tears that came to his eyes on her shoulder and murmured back in kind. There was no need to unpack and pick through each mistake and no blame to assign. Proceeding amends were made with time spent in building a more stable place for their bond to live. Bricks of mellow afternoon visits, insulation of long hugs and kisses pressed to Matteo’s brow, wires of smiling conversations, carpet of revisited memories from happier periods of childhood. They came to each other as new and bettered people with a long future ahead.

On the opposite side, David didn't anticipate ever having a relationship with his boyfriend's mum beyond polite interest. He had no intimacy and little contact with the woman whose body had sculpted him and his godmother’s affection was backed by a lifetime of filling that void. The potential for rejection had been in his mind as the dull ache of a yellowed bruise when they went to meet Matteo’s Mama. She greeted him by clasping his hand in her fine-boned fingers and telling him she wished they had met sooner. Her voice was soft like a lullaby and she regarded him with eyes that promised multitudes of care. Perhaps he should have expected she would step over the threshold of his increasingly populated bunker and plop herself onto the bare floor the same way Matteo had. She never treated him like a stranger; instead she still looks at him with the same saltwater-blue wave of fondness that her son does. 

After months of getting to know and trust her David felt it was safe to explain the part of him that provided context to stories of the rocky start to his relationship with Matteo. Though her inexperienced confusion showed in the wrinkled skin around her eyes and a halting request for clarification, she received his explanation without resistance. Her reassurance that this would not change her perception was the kind of compassionate acceptance he wished his own mother had offered. Never once did she make him feel any less than he had been when she thought he was cis. She affirms him by treating him exactly the same as her son, aside from the little opportunistic affirmations she includes to make warmth swell inside him. He can see the protectiveness coiled in her shoulders when he mentions his past, a readiness to defend him from the whole world if she has to. There is a space kept for him in the circle of her sun-freckled arms. He well and truly loves her.

When the pleasant weather of 2019 began to fail everyone unconciously clustered closer together as if to keep warm. Filled by a renewed craving for home and closeness Matteo and David set aside one night each week to have dinner at Mama's new flat. It doesn't matter which day it is, or who is cooking, or how any one person is feeling. If Mama is not well Matteo cooks, or if he isn't able then she does, and on rare occasions it's up to David to rally his skills at reading recipes in Mama’s looping hand. But no matter what the mechanics are they make the family ritual work. Their attentive support of each other will catch whoever is sinking to the ground. What began as an effort to reconnect becomes an irreplaceable cornerstone of their lives. It's an opportunity to look after one another that the three of them need after that cold period of feeling so alone. In the humid, fragrant air of a cozy kitchen their wounds scab over, heal, and fade. 

It was actually his mother that convinced Matteo to seek therapy. David never pressed the issue with expectations or made his boyfriend feel broken for the recurrence of foggy moods and anxiety attacks. Not even when they stumbled and slogged through another major depressive episode. All around him people were prepared to meet Matteo’s needs as best they could determine. But braving the elements without a map or proper gear would find everyone in desperation at the end. He came to his decision not through any coercion or frustration but by observing his Mama. Counseling and medication helped her so much and she spoke candidly with him of her mental health struggles as she had felt unable to when he was younger. They have a better relationship now than over the many years of her dipping condition and inconsistent functioning. Matteo wanted to have those coping skills, too, so with the faithful support of his loved ones he sought the resources to help him. 

As spring began to swell buds and moods Mama rediscovered gardening. Her therapist prescribed something meditative with a tangible positive result, and she at first floundered unmoored until Matteo reminded her of the small plot she once tended so skillfully. To gently encourage her confidence he and David picked out a houseplant to gift the next time they visited and the smile she received it with was incandescent. After a few weeks of devout indoor care she broached the subject of planting a small and uncomplicated bed. Matteo grinned with all his teeth when she asked if they would help her. Being plant-lovers themselves the boys took pleasure in joining Mama there. Matteo found a profound connection to his body and its proximity to the people around him with his hands thrust into the crumbling earth. Sometimes they worked in the companionable silence of three introspective personalities. Others, they spoke about deep things as people only do while working. The garden is a good place. There they are putting down a lot of roots and not all of them belong to plants.

Mama has always been a fan of the outdoors, as Matteo recalls from sticky summer picnics and the rich smell of soil on her hands when they cupped his sunburnt cheeks. Not all his childhood memories are happy but the silhouettes of wild grass and lake shores come through a golden soft-focus lens. When Mama discovered David’s athleticism she joined forces with him to plan hikes, swimming trips, and numerous walks. Matteo was not sedentary by nature but he was then getting more exercise than he had since he was a child.  At first he wheezed and dragged and had to be motivated by David’s cunning tactic of turning everything into a competition. (It worked, mostly, save that time they were overly ambitious enough to try hiking in the Grunewald for an entire day and Matteo was so tired he sat down right in the center of the path.) Yet he didn’t mind the way his limbs were like ungainly cannons as he towed them up the stairs following a day of walking. At odds, his chest felt light and well aired out. 

When the summer set in fully Matteo found himself more often outside, be it jogging slowly after David while he ran in the morning, tending the garden with Mama (he discovered he finds pulling weeds cathartic), or engaged in some activity with his friends that required him to move more than his heat-softened limbs would like. He would once have complained of the insidious sunburn that always seemed to find cracks in his suncream application and pools of sweat that made his clothes clammy. But that was another time and another Matteo, one younger and less conscious of how special his relationships are. He loves all his people with the deceptively muted fire of a star, no matter what it is they ask of him. When they set themselves up for a day in the park the world seemed to roll wide before him. There was nothing on it he loved more than seeing the happy flushed faces of his favourite people glowing in the sun.

It was a surprising revelation that Matteo gets his sense of mischief from his mother. She has the peaceful face of a fresco saint and speaks quiet like they're in church but her son has her heart. David was thrown at first by her playful, teasing, impish side. It flickered up like bright sparks and the first few times Matteo seemed to cringe away as if he too was surprised. But over time he rediscovered a long discarded rapport and began to play back. David watched with laughing eyes and raised brows when she and Matteo got going at each other. And it wasn’t long before Mama started teasing David too. For such a kind person she could be a bit of a menace. It was completely endearing and welcome. She stuck soapy hands in her son’s hair to make horns and Matteo squawked then retaliated by swiping bubbles under her nose like a mustache. It was the kind of absurdity David had never imagined such a quiet woman could perform. He thought it fantastic.

She had met them briefly when Matteo moved in but it took time and meditation on the prospect to invite Mama into life at the WG. It was not a matter of shame regarding either party. He wasn’t certain of a friendship between a relatively conservative older woman and the youthful wildness of his flatmates. But he knew that to bring his mother fully back into his life this important part of it needed to be shared. He needn’t have worried. Mama loved Hans, who learned quickly that he need not don a costume to earn her respect. They spoke to one another with the soft intimate tone of kindred spirits united by their common depth of caring and love of one particular boy. Victoria flitted around like a bright bird that made Mama smile warmly and rest her hand upon its head. Though she was not over often due to being easily tired the WG was happy to tuck her into its embrace. With his Mama, David, and his flatmates arranged on furniture around him Matteo felt completely and contentedly at home.

Matteo had never experienced the sort of profound faith his mother enjoyed. Church was more a cultural experience than a religious one. Whenever she felt up to it Mama read stories from the bible to him before bed but he never did internalize them as divine truth. He enjoyed the reverent music and beautiful architecture as a child but felt always a little drained after service. The one thing he had an affinity for was choir, though he abandoned that activity when he was old enough to be concious of how uncool it was. Church was not something which he would attend alone but did so on occasion to spend time with his mother. She took immense comfort and pride in sharing her sacred experience with him and he in turn felt a modicum of satisfaction when she beamed at him over the pages of her choir book. Sometimes David joined them. Those services were the best, when Mama radiated joy on the right side of Matteo and he had David’s warm hand curled in his left.

Mama once him that he is the light in her world. She tips her head back to look at him like a person enjoying the sun after weeks of overcast weather. So he tries to show her his brightest face. He knows she is proud of him regardless of what he does in life. When he is slow to make decisions or arrange important sentences she tells him that he cannot disappoint her. Whatever gives him nourishment is what she dreams for him. It’s a comfort to know he doesn’t have to strive to make sweeping changes to the world and lofty successes to be valuable. It is possible to be wholly a sum of his many individual parts, imperfect as some are. Mama admires the gentle halo of his warmth, the wicked tilt of his smile as he sweeps mischief onto unsuspecting moments, the clever snap of his tongue and his restless fingers, the immeasurably gentle way he clasps close those who are struggling. He is her beautiful boy and she would want no other.

He is proud of his Mama, too, for taking the difficult steps that had moved her from the bottom of the hill to climbing its side. Sometimes she stumbles, slides back, even has to stop and sit for a bit to give her lungs rest. But she always digs her walking stick into the ground and begins the ascent again. Her legs burn with the strain but she does not let it stop her. Once Matteo had experienced deep dread that he was just like his mother. It had seemed to be so when he lost all interest in participating in the world. He sees now that it was true in its way: he is like his mother. But she passed on to him more than her sadness. Like an ocean of kindness she washes into him, their borders delineated by landmasses and temperature but ultimately comprised of one great expanse of water. They are not the same, he would not have it so, but he is no longer afraid of how they are alike. He has joys and and struggles and fears and victories the same as she. And Matteo loves his Mama.

[marvelandimagine]

Framework (Part Two)

Summary: Request - Bucky x reader songfic where he pushes her away and they break up but he’s miserable without her and it all ends in fluff and apologies

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word Count: 2,200

Author’s Note: This was literally the hardest chapter I’ve ever written idk why but I should probably start outlining instead of winging it 25/7 lol anywho sorry this took forever and hopefully p3 will come to my brain faster! / based on Framework by The Story So Far

Taglist: @firefly-in-darkness @emptynote @buckysgoddess

How’d this happen?

Found your way in

So distracting

Splitting me in half again

Can’t ever sever the ties I made

The knots are strong

The framework’s laid

No matter how many things I say

The tangible will always be what I crave

Six agonizing days pass, with Bucky coming to the conclusion that he actually can’t live with his decision. He feels like he’s drowning in regret, his anxiety is off the charts, and, plainly, he’s just fucking miserable.

Despite everything he said to you, to himself, to Sam, it’s become crystal clear that not having you in his life is hurting him way more than confronting his trust issues and fear of impermanence.

He misses you like hell. The scent of your clothes, the way you laugh, the warmth in your eyes and on your fingertips. How perfectly your bodies fit together, the way you gasp and growl his name. How you would hold him to your chest, tracing soothing patterns across his skin when he couldn’t stop shaking from the nightmares and the flashbacks. How funny and beautiful and kind you are. Even things that had irritated him, your reiterated suggestions of different therapies and mindfulness techniques (some that had helped you personally), how you never tried to hide rolling your eyes, you constantly misplacing your keys/phone/wallet and him finding it within seconds -- he missed it all. All of you, the good and bad, had somehow become woven into his being. He could sooner get rid of how he felt about you than get rid of himself.

He told himself he wouldn’t do it, but he’s been repeatedly checking your Instagram page, heart thudding each time as he anticipates seeing the pictures of the two of you together deleted -- or worse, seeing you with another guy’s arm wrapped around you. So far, though, there’s been nothing except a video post of your dog, Balto, howling and grinning at your TV screen when Ghost appears on the latest Game of Thrones. It just makes his heart ache more, that he chose to remove himself from these small, wonderful little moments in your life, and for what? 

He keeps staring at your number, his thumb hovering above the screen before he chucks the phone to the side, rubbing his eyes as he once again chickens out of contacting you. 

He reaches the breaking point when he starts reading back through old texts from around the time when you two first started dating. 

“I know we just said bye five minutes ago but I just wanted to say how happy I am that I met you. And you are definitely cuter than I am. That is all! Night, Buck.” And now the same blushing smile emoji that had him grinning from ear to ear makes his heart twinge.

“What the fuck did you do, Barnes?” he asks himself, letting the phone drop to his forehead with a dull thunk. 

He knows he wants—needs—you back, but he doesn’t know where to even begin. 

He sighs, grimacing as he rolls himself out of bed and trudges out toward the living room. There’s only one thing to do.

Bucky can already hear Sam’s voice emanating down the hall as he approaches:

“You call THAT avant garde?! That silhouette is as bland as toast. TOAST, Nina!”

Bucky sits himself down in the ottoman in the corner, careful not to walk in front of Sam — he thought he’d never hear the end of it when he accidentally blocked the screen during the last Grey’s Anatomy season finale.

“Project Runway again?” he asks, shaking his head.

“Hey, don’t you be getting all judgey now.” Sam smirks at Bucky, taking in his disheveled state. “You need to be jotting down notes, Kurt Cobain, wearing the same grungey-ass flannel three days in a row.”

Bucky shrugs.

“Not like I have anyone to impress.”

“You had someone to impress, but remember, you broke up with her, you cowardly fucking jackass.”

Bucky clenches his teeth as his scathing tone rattles in his head. He tries his best to ignore it and sound nonchalant as he swallows his pride to do something that normally sets his skin on edge: reach out to another person.

“Anyways, you busy?”

“Nah, I’ve had enough disappointment for today.” Sam grabs the remote, shutting off the screen and shifting to look at Bucky. “What’s up?”

Bucky exhales deeply, and he can practically feel the apprehension settling on his face, his habitual reluctance to open up kicking in.

“Um …” 

He bites the corner of his lip, trying to think over his words when his gut just wants him to yell, “I FUCKED UP please tell me how to get Y/N back.”

He’s spared having to, though, as Sam cuts through the silence:

“You want to get back together with Y/N, don’t you?”

Bucky stares at him.

“Is my misery that obvious?”

“Painfully.”

Despite his deadpan tone, the corner of Sam’s mouth twitches, and the two find themselves chuckling together. While he’ll never admit it to him, this is why Bucky views him as his best friend, why he trusts him -- he always knows how to make him laugh when he needs it. He knows Sam has his back.

Bucky shakes his head, running a hand through his hair.

“So, what do I do?”

“Before I can try to answer that, you need to tell me why you broke up with her in the first place.”

Thought I’d burn the seams if they frayed

Thought I’d prove the point that I made

“I thought if I ended things, I’d be able to stop caring and feeling so vulnerable, I guess. That it’d be better for her, because she deserved better anyways, and maybe it’d be better for me … I don’t think I really believed that, deep down, but … I was scared. Scared of getting hurt, not being enough.” 

Bucky pauses and sighs, staring at the ground as he wrings his hands, running his flesh thumb back and forth over the smooth metal.

His voice is quiet, apprehensive.

“I was scared of how I felt about her.” 

Bucky glances up after a few moments of silence and is met with Sam looking at him more seriously than he can ever remember.

“Do you love her?”

Normally Bucky would flinch at such a direct question, but now, finally facing the consequences of keeping himself so guarded, he hesitates only for a fraction of a second before he nods, and it feels like a weight has left his chest in acknowledging how he feels.

He loves you. And he doesn’t have to run from that.

Sam nods back in response, running his hand along the dark stubble on his face as he begins in earnest.

“Look … you have a lot of regret in your life, right? I know it’s over things you didn’t choose, but now, you can choose. So what’s your choice gonna be? The way I see it, A) You can keep doing what you’re doing and let fear run you into the ground, or, B) you can tell that fear to go to hell, reach out to Y/N, buy her the nicest apology flowers you can, and tell her everything you just told me.”

“And if she tells me to go to hell?”

Sam sighs.

“I mean, she’s probably going to be pretty pissed at you —and rightfully so— but,” he pauses, his tone lightening, “God knows why, she seemed to really be into you. And nobody gets over a breakup that fast unless the relationship was already dead for awhile. You guys looked like you were solid until -”

“I blew everything to pieces, yeah.” 

Bucky sits quietly for a few seconds, pausing to sit and feel the knowing. The alignment in both his heart and mind, what he wants moving forward.

“I think choice B is the clear winner, here.” 

Sam waves his fist back and forth.

“Ding ding ding!”

Bucky nods.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice earnest as his eyes lock on Sam’s.

Sam’s returning smile is full of encouragement.

“Hey man, I got you. And I know this ain’t easy for you, opening up about stuff. Just know there’s always a seat at the VA group just waiting for your supersoldier ass to sit down, if you ever want to talk more.” 

 “Nah I’m-” Bucky physically stops himself from finishing his default “nah, I’m good for now, but thanks” response, because if he’s realized anything throughout this entire ordeal, it’s that he is most definitely not “good,” or at least not doing as good as he’d like to be.

“Yeah, ok, I’ll do it.”

“For real?”

Bucky exhales deeply, his sadness hanging on every syllable.

“With all this … I don’t know, maybe I wouldn’t have acted the way I did with Y/N if I had started dealing with this sooner, getting more okay with talking and being honest with people,” he muses. “Like you said, if I really do want a normal life, I kinda need to find a better way to handle what’s going on in here,” he taps his temple and then his chest, “than just shutting people out.”

Incredulity is all over Sam’s face, coupled that something Bucky could swear looks like a glimmer of pride. 

“Wow, yeah, that’s great, that’s the kind of perspective that’ll help you move forward.” He grins. “You sure you’re feeling ok? This isn’t some fever-induced thing, right?” 

Bucky flips him off while Sam chuckles.

“Hilarious.”

“You know I’m playin.’” Sam nods vigorously. “Seriously, it’ll be good for you. Anyways, though, back to choice B.”

Bucky feels the rise and fall of his chest pick up in nervous anticipation, but he slides the phone out from the pocket of his jeans anyways, thumbs tapping away on its surface. 

“Hey. Can we meet up?” 

Before he can second guess himself, he hits send, promptly hurling the phone onto the opposite corner of the couch where Sam is perched.

“Watch it!”

“You tell me what she says back. I don’t wanna see it first.”

However long you’re gone, I will wait, I will wait.

And then an agonizing, crawling two hours pass, with Bucky finding himself unable to focus on the National Geographic moon landing documentary that would normally absorb him entirely, his eyes constantly straying from the screen to the phone sitting silently in the corner. You never took this long to answer a text when you were dating, so he knows you’re ignoring him.

“Maybe she blocked you and didn’t even see it.”

He’s just about to ask Sam for the phone back to message you on Instagram, past the point of caring how desperate he looks because it’s the truth, when it pings.

Sam snaps out from his half-napping state at the sound, stretching across the couch and grabbing the phone. He pulls a face and Bucky’s heart sinks -- Sam might as well have said “yikes” out loud.

“What’d she say?”

Sam looks at him with the tiniest bit of pity, tossing the phone back.

“Why.”

“Why? That’s it?” Bucky looks down at the screen in disbelief, and there it is, the one-word response.

“Yup.”

Bucky buries his head in the throw pillow closest to him, muffling his yell. 

“What do I even say to that?! She’s pissed off, and I don’t wanna do this over text.”

“You don’t have to do it all over text, but you gotta give her something. The last thing you said to her was that you wanted to break up, and now you want to see her. I’m guessing she doesn’t want to assume you want to get back together, but if you do, she wants you to know she’s still upset.” Sam shrugs. “You messed up, now you gotta work for it.”

Bucky takes the pillow off his face, grimacing.

“Goddammit.”

He takes a minute to craft his reply, staring down at the screen.

“Because you were right about everything. I never should have ended us, I’m an idiot and miss you like hell. I just want to talk.” He hits send and turns the phone over, heart thumping inside his chest.

Ten minutes pass before you answer:

“I’ll be home until 7, I have plans after.”

Bucky’s stomach drops as his brain conjures images of you dressed up but not for him, for some other guy, his metal hand clenching involuntarily.

“You don’t know that you don’t know that, c’mon. It’s only been six days.”

He replies immediately:

“Can I come see you at 5?”

“Ok.”

Even with the realization that it’s already 4:10 and he’s gonna have to haul ass to Adams Morgan while still finding the time to get you the nicest flowers he can, Bucky already feels lighter with hope. You agreed to see him. You’re giving him at least a fraction of a chance to put things back together. 

He flies up off the couch and takes off down the hall.

“I’m meeting her at her place at 5!”

Sam calls out to his retreating back, and Bucky allows himself a small smile.

“Hey, go get her. But you go shower first!”

[em1keu]

Misbehaved

Part 2 - The Coffee Shop On 40th Ave

Chanyeol X Baekhyun X Female Reader

(Art by unknown)

-

Your hand softly wrapped around what felt like a body, nuzzling your head into his warm shoulder, feeling his hands trace up your leg. He gently drew circles against your hips, while his other hand softly tangled in your hair. You winced at the feeling of his cold hand against your skin, giving you a delightful squeeze.

Your eyes fluttered open, noticing the sweet scent of the man you were with. Confusion flouded your mind, knowing damn well there wasn’t supposed to be someone else on that bed with you. Quickly, you pushed yourself upwards, straddling his waist.

Chanyeol started back at you, with a slight smirk on his face, interlocking his fingers at his chest. Your eyes moved from his, noticing you were in only a bra and the thong you had been wearing all day. Your body covered in slight bruises from Baekhyun’s aggressive hands and curious lips.

“Fuck” you yelled, quickly pulling the covers over your body, just to receive more giggles from him.

“Don’t worry... I’ve already seen everything” Chanyeol smiled, moving his hands up your thighs, “and I’m very curious about all those little marks.”

-

Park Chanyeol.

You couldn’t get his name out of your head, or the way his eyes looked so soft and warm.

How could he be an asshole?

Was Baekhyun just trying to keep you away from him?

You hit your head on the window when the bus hit a bump, causing you to wake up instantly. It’s been the longest day of your life, and you accidentally dozed off on your bus ride home. You didn’t have a car, because you didn’t have money, and you lived in the part of the city that wasn’t necessarily the nicest, in a small apartment. This job was important to you, getting it would mean you get to upgrade your life. You moved to Korea for a fresh start, to get away from ex boyfriends, and the rush of where you previously lived, but most of all, your parents. Sure you loved them, but they were never the most supportive, nor did they approve of your choices. At nineteen, two weeks in, you dropped out of college, you never partied, and had the same boyfriend for five years before you found out he was cheating on you for two of those years. By the time you were twenty three, you were ready to leave. Get away from the pain that your previous town brought you. You just wanted to feel happy, and free.

You tried your hardest to remember the night you met Baekhyun, but everything was coming to a blank. The club wasn’t a place you’d normally be, but you remember going, just not him.

Were you really that drunk?

And were you really trying to fuck him?

Your thoughts distracted you, resulting in missing your stop. Frustrated, you got off at the next one, walking a mile to your apartment, in heels and ripped tights. It was cold, and of course you had no jacket. The time ranged around 7:30pm, and you passed a local coffee shop, stopping in to warm up a bit.

It was pretty empty, except you and two other men. There was something so familiar about them, but you couldn’t quite figure in out. You walked up to the counter, waiting patiently for the barista to ask for your order.

You looked over to see Chanyeol talking to another guy, who also worked at sm, who you assumed was his band mate.

“Y/n, right?” He asked walking over to you with a coffee in hand.

“Yup, and you’re Chanyeol?” You asked, knowing damn well that was his name. The same name that’s been on your mind since the morning. He nodded in approval, taking a drink of your coffee.

“Can I take your order?” The tired barista asked, taping her small screen.

“Uhm, I’ll just have a white hot chocolate” you smiled, grabbing your backpack, and pulling out your wallet.

“I’ll pay for it” Chanyeol interrupted handing her a 5 dollar bill, “my treat!”

You smiled kindly, the moment being interrupted by Chanyeol’s friend, telling him that he’ll see him back at the dorm. Chanyeol responded with something along the lines of “yup, see ya later Sehun!”.

He gestured you to a seat, which you sat in, softly sipping on your hot chocolate. You could feel his burning gaze on you skin, as awkwardness hung in the air. His arms were folded as he leaned forwards on the table, only taking a drink every few minutes. The way he was dressed was a lot more casual and laid back then earlier, being a hoodie and sweatpants.

You’re conversations

“So, what brings you to this side of town?” He finally spoke, once again taking a sip of his coffee.

“Well, I was distracted and missed my stop, and the next one was about a block away from here.” You explained,

“How far do you live from here?”

“About a mile” this made his expression change, almost choking on his coffee.

“You’re walking a mile... in that? Aren’t you cold?” You refused, keeping a smile on your face, “I’m fine!”

“Here... have my sweater”,

“What? No, Chanyeol I’m not taking your sweater.” But he was naive and persistent, not taking no for an answer. Eventually, you gave in, taking the black oversized hoodie from him. You continued talking, and this man was in no way an asshole. He made you laugh and smile, and continuous told you jokes. You were in the cafe till about 8:30, when you finally got kicked out by the employee.

“I should probably get going... my apartment building’s like another fourty five minute walk from here” you started, only to receive a quick no from Chanyeol.

“It’s late... and I don’t want you to be out too late... there a hotel just down the street, let me buy you a room, it’s safer than walking the backstreets of Seoul.” He insisted, basically forcing you to go along with him.

“Seriously cha-“

“No... I’m buying you a hotel room, end of question. I don’t want you to get hurt.” His eyes stared deep into your, making you finally give into his kind heart.

A few minutes passed of walking, before entering the lobby of the fancy hotel. You were shy and quiet while he threw away his money on you, feeling bad that he was treating you like royalty. In this moment, you were his queen, and he was your king.

“Okay room A-40, have a good rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow” he smiled handing you the key card.

“No... you’re staying with me. It’s late and could be dangerous... don’t want you getting hurt” you mocked, grabbing his wrist. He stared at you with the same eyes he had wooed you with so many times that night, which made you puff out your bottom lip. Your pulled on his arm in a childish way, tugging on his long sleeve shirt.

“Please Chanyeolie” you begged, but your childish act soon came to an end when he pushed his lips against yours.

His lips were kissing those that have already kissed another man today, and those words “dirty little slut” rang through your head, making you pull away quickly.

“Let’s go to our room” you smiled, pulling his with you. Through the empty hallway, silence circulated, as you an Chanyeol walked through the hall. You were a few feet ahead of him, scanning for your room number. It felt awkward and seemed like there was uncomfortable tension between you both.

“Listen y/n” Chanyeol said behind you, “I’m sorry... it felt right in the moment, but now I realize, it wasn’t a good idea.” You slowed down, stopping outside your door. For a few seconds, you contemplated saying something, but your decided not to, and entered your room.

He followed, immediately walking into the bathroom, “I’m gonna shower, see you in a bit” he whispered.

It almost felt like he intentionally left the door open, allowing your imagination to run wild, and trust me when I say your imagination was out of this world. You watched as the steam slowly crept through the slightly ajar door, slowly crawling towards you.

“Fuck it” you said quickly pulling off your outer layer, leaving a trail of clothes behind you. You engulfed yourself into the steam, seeing a silhouette of the man that has made you so curious all day. When you drew back the curtain, you saw water dripping down Chanyeol beautiful black hair, and down his structured body.

“Mind if I join you?” You asked, stepping in with him catching his attention, letting him nod, staring at you with his soft eyes.

-

A/n: I’m sorry this took so long to come out. I’ve been in a really bad writers block for the last few weeks and I haven’t really been in the mood to write all that much. I hope you guys like this though!

[71tenseventeen]

For A Smile They Can Share The Night

Rated G

Content Warning: Some past homophobia and emotional abuse. 

@sidgenophotochallenge

Sid wakes at dawn.

He doesn’t particularly want to be awake but his brain isn’t getting the memo. He tosses and turns for a few minutes before admitting defeat. He tries to rouse Sam but even she just lifts her head and wuffles at him before burrowing back under the covers until all he can see of her is her tail. With a sigh, he shuffles off to start coffee.

He glances at his phone; It’s almost eight in Cole Harbor, he could probably call Mom back. She left a message yesterday which means she’ll call again today if he doesn’t call her back but he pushes his phone away and opts to fill the dishwasher first. After that he busies himself doing laundry and sweeping the porch.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to her. Of course he does, of course he misses his family. But lately any time they talk, she has so many questions. She asks about his plans, asks why he moved to Florida when Pittsburgh didn’t work out and why an island so far south? Isn’t he ready to come home yet?

He doesn’t know how to tell her that Cole Harbor was suffocating him, that even though Montreal and Minneapolis and Pittsburgh didn’t work out for him, that doesn’t mean he’s coming back. He doesn’t know what to say when she asks what he’s doing, what he’s looking for because he doesn’t know the answer to that himself. He doesn’t know how to tell her that even if this place doesn’t work out, Cole Harbor won’t be his next stop, that he might visit but he doesn’t want to live there.

He just doesn’t know how to say any of that to her so he ignores his phone and does the housework and waits for Sam to wake up.

It takes her another hour to be interested in getting up but once she does it doesn’t take any convincing to get her to come along with Sid on a morning run.  They’ve only been here a few months but the route is familiar to them both. Sid was lucky enough to find a tiny bungalow on a private beach with the next house being a quarter mile away but with all the trees, it’s not visible until he’s right up on it. Not that it matters—it’s not in great condition and has sat empty the entire time Sid has been here. He likes it, likes the privacy even if sometimes he thinks it’d be nice to have a friendly neighbor.

They’ve run this route enough times that they could probably both run it in their sleep. Sam frolics around the edge of the water and catches up to Sid every couple of minutes. Occasionally he throws her favorite tennis ball as far out ahead of him as he can manage and she chases after it happily, resurfacing after just a minute or two. It’s a comfortable routine.

He winds up to throw the black and yellow ball and watches her bound off into the trees before it even has a chance to hit the ground. And that’s when he hears someone curse. “Ow! Что за черт?!”

“Shit.” Sid takes off in the direction of the voice. It only takes him a moment to find the source directly in front of the run down house, a man with dark hair and dark, amused eyes crouching next to Sam as she nudges the ball out of his hand. Sid skids to a stop and puts his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was here.”

The man stands and brushes sand off of his basketball shorts before extending his hand. “Evgeni. I just move in.” His expression is cautious but his words are polite enough.

“Sidney. I live a quarter mile that way,” he says, throwing his thumb over his shoulder. “That’s Sam. Sorry about the ball. I hope it didn’t hurt you.”

Evgeni snorts. “Not too much. Just surprise to have ball come out of nowhere and then big dog run at me. But she good dog, very polite, not trample.”

“God no, she’s a good girl.”

Sam trots past Sid and back towards the water’s edge. “I guess that’s my cue. Listen, I’ve only been here a few months but if you need to know anything about town, let me know. I’ll try to help.”

“Thank. I think I’m good to go but will keep in mind. Nice to meet you, Sidney.”  

Sid recognizes it for the dismissal that it is and gives a wave before heading back off towards Sam.

After dinner Sid cleans up and then walks with Sam to the water’s edge to throw the ball around for awhile. He smiles as he watches her jump around in the surf and chase whatever tiny fish she sees below the surface. When she tires herself out they walk out on the boat slip and sit at the end of the long dock, watching the sunset together.

Sid tries to gather his thoughts and wonders not for the first or last time what it is he’s looking for, what it is he wants. He’s no closer to figuring it out when he looks over and spots what has to be Evgeni’s silhouette walking along the water’s edge in the distance. Sid can’t make out much, can really only tell that it seems like he’s walking in the opposite direction of Sid and that his shoulders are hunched. Sid hopes having a neighbor doesn’t cramp his style but he supposes if it does it won’t matter much. He’ll move on eventually anyhow.

Contrary to cramping his style, Sid barely even sees his new neighbor and other than a quick wave here and there, usually when he’s on his morning run. He wonders if he should just bring over a housewarming gift or something but Evgeni hasn’t exactly given any indication that he’s up for visitors. Sid’s not really sure what he’d bring anyhow. By the time a few weeks have passed, he doesn’t know any more about his new neighbor than he had the day they met.

He doesn’t actually speak to Evgeni again until a month has passed. He’s out on his normal morning run and Sam is bounding around, just like she usually does. Sid can see Evgeni is out working on his back deck and he throws up a quick wave. Evgeni gives a nod in Sid’s direction and goes back to his work. Normally, Sid doesn’t even pause his run, just keeps going.

Except today there are loons.

It’s not unusual to see the birds but it is unusual to see a whole flock of them several yard ahead. So unusual that Sam loses her composure entirely and before Sid can even react she’s bounding out of the shallows.

Sid doesn’t change his course, trusting her to watch where she’s going. It’s a mistake. “Sam, no! Sam—Whoa! WhOAA!!”  She hits his leg so hard it knocks him sideways and the next thing he’s aware of is the fact that he’s laying on the beach with a face full of sand.

“Ughhh,” he groans and slowly pushes himself up, trying to shake the sand out of his face and quickly discovers that there is sand everywhere. It’s all over his hands and in his hair. His whole front side must be covered but it’s hard to tell because he can’t wipe it out of his eyes. “Sam,” he starts, wanting to scold her but he has to stop and spit sand off of his lips. He swears he’s never buying her a new toy again.

Before he can figure out what to do, there’s a voice. Deep and with an unforgettable accent. “Sidney! You okay?”

“Evgeni?” Sid blinks in the direction of the voice and winces. “Ugh, I have sand in my eyes.”

A big body is next to him then. “Keep eyes closed, need to rinse out. You okay? Hurt anywhere?”

Sid takes stock. His palms and knees both feel scraped but other than that he’s pretty sure it’s just his dignity that took the biggest hit. “I don’t think so. Some scrapes maybe? Nothing major.”

“All right. I’m help you up now, want you to keep eyes closed.”

Sid does as he’s told and hopes his neighbor is trustworthy as he’s led in the direction of Evgeni’s house. “I can’t leave Sam out here.”

“She right here.” As if on cue, Sid feels her brush against his leg.

“She’s never done that before. I can’t believe she knocked me over.”

“I see whole thing. Big flock of loons. You had no hope,” he says and Sid thinks he hears a hint of laughter in his voice.  

Sid does his best not to be a baby as Evgeni doctors him up. The hardest part is rinsing out his eyes at what he assumes is Evgeni’s kitchen sink. Over and over until he can finally see again and then he heads back out to the deck to finish de-sanding himself. Once all the sand is dusted off and washed away, Evgeni brings out a first aid kid and sits down across from Sid. “Give me hand?”

Sid stares for a moment at the very large hand that’s been extended to him before he offers up his own. Evgeni is gentle but efficient making sure Sid’s knees and palms are cleaned and applying ointment and band-aids to a couple of scrapes that actually drew blood. Sid watches his careful hands. “You’re good at this.”

Evgeni shrugs and turns Sid’s hand over in his to check the fingers. “Used to coach little kids hockey. Lots of little injury.”

“No way, you coached hockey?” Sid lights up. “I love hockey.”

“Yes?” Evgeni glances up at him. “You play?”

“Sure. Off and on the whole time I was growing up, when we could afford it.”

“I do same at home in Russia. Who you root for now?” Evgeni raises his eyebrow and this feels like a watershed moment.

“Pens.”

A slow smile spreads across Evgeni’s face. “Was worry for a second that I help dirty Flyers fan.”

Sid throws his head back and laughs, delighted. “That would be terrible.”

“Would have to take back band-aids. Maybe throw sand at you.” He’s grinning, tongue poking through his teeth.

“No one could blame you,” Sid says on another laugh as he holds up his hand to look at it. “So what do you think? Am I going to make it?”

Evgeni wobbles his hand back and forth but there’s a sparkle in his eye. “Was touch and go for moment but I think you recover.”

“Thank you for helping me. I’m sure I looked ridiculous.”

Evgeni grins at him. “Well, definitely was sight to see but I’m glad you okay.”

Sid feels his cheeks heating up and he should get back to his run but he kind of wants to just stay here. “So, you’ve been fixing this place up, eh? The deck is looking great.”

“Thanks. Is a lot of work but I think, is good project, keep me busy, I make it my own.”

“Definitely. Hey if you ever need help with something, I’m happy to try to help. I used to help my Dad with stuff like this when I was growing up.”

“Careful, might take you up on that.”

After that, Sid loses track of how long they sit there talking. It’s not until his stomach is growling and Sam is whining for her breakfast that he stands to go .”Thanks again, you know, for helping me out.”

“Of course. Is what good neighbor would do,” he says.

Sid says his goodbyes but as he makes his way down the beach back towards home he hears Evgeni call after him, “Watch out for loon!”  

Sid laughs the rest of the way home.

After that it feels a little easier to approach Evgeni and somehow, over time they develop something of a routine. Evgeni is almost always outside when Sid runs so Sid usually waves when he runs past the first time and stops to chat on his way back. Evgeni is guarded—they talk about things like his house renovation and hockey but anytime they approach anything that seems too personal, Evgeni backs off so Sid doesn’t push.

The thing is, Sid is really starting to look forward to their daily chats. Maybe they don’t talk about anything too deep or personal but it’s nice just having someone to talk to again. And Evgeni is interesting. He’s funnier than Sid ever would have imagined and so smart. It’s nothing for him to rattle off some interesting fact about a bird flying by or one of the many plants he’s potted around his back deck.

It’s only accidentally that Sid learns he used to teach in Moscow. It slips out while he’s telling Sid all about the cordyline he planted. Sid is amazed at his knowledge and can’t help asking, “How do you remember all of this? It’s amazing.”

Evgeni grins and moves on to the next plant. “Used to be botanist, taught at University in Moscow. Plants very interesting to me, you know? Make it easier to learn about them and remember.”

“I had no idea,” Sid says, smiling. “Moscow, huh? What’s that like?”

Evgeni’s smile fades as he turns his back to Sid. “Is… difficult. Where you grow up?” And Sid knows they won’t be talking about Moscow any more today.

“Oh, um, a little town called Cole Harbor in Nova Scotia.”

Evgeni looks interested when he glances up. “Canada? I thought maybe i hear little bit accent.”

“Yeah, Canada.”

“What you do there?”

“I owned a gym, did personal training. You know—fitness, nutrition, all that.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“It is. I mean it was. I just… Back there, the types of clients I was getting were just hard to deal with after awhile.”

“So you quit?”

“Yup. Sold the business, left all that behind.”

“Is how you end up here?”

Sid doesn’t begin to know how to explain everything that happened between Cole Harbor and here so he just shrugs. “Something like that. It’s complicated.”

Evgeni nods. “Yeah. I’m understand that.” And he sounds like he really does.

A few weeks after the loon incident, Sid helps Evgeni demo some old walls and install a new support beam before resheeting the remaining walls. It takes the better part of a week and Evgeni is frustrated when Sid won’t accept any kind of payment for helping.

“Sid, come on. Was almost a whole week of work.”

Sid shrugs. “I didn’t do it for money. I did it to help you out. Besides, you bought dinner every night.”  It’s true. Evgeni had ordered takeout that they ate out on the deck every night when they finished up work for the day.

“And you buy lunch every day so dinner not count.”

“You’re not paying me.”

“You stubborn,” Evgeni says, with a glare and Sid figures that’s the end of it.

It’s not.

Sid probably shouldn’t be surprised when Evgeni shows up at his door the next evening, arms weighed down with bags.

“Evgeni?”

“I make dinner and bring for thank you.” He tips his chin up defiantly and Sid laughs.

“Now who’s stubborn, hm?”

“You make me stand here all night?”

Sid sighs but he can’t hold back his smile. “Come in.”

In the kitchen Sid watches wide-eyed as Evgeni unpacks what must be at least ten tupperware dishes. “Oh my god! How much did you make?”

Evgeni shrugs. “Make you Russian feast and…” He trails off and pulls one last container, a cardboard box that has the name of a bakery in town printed on the side. Evgeni opens it with something of a flourish and a smug grin. “You say cheesecake your favorite so I get one with many flavor. In case you hate all the rest of the food,” and he looks cheeky as he says it.

“Okay first of all, I won’t hate the rest of the food. And second…” Sid pulls the cheesecake closer to himself. “You’ll be lucky to get any of this.”

Evgeni laughs. “We see. Where you keep plates?”

They eat on Sid’s back deck this time, at the little table with an umbrella that he keeps out there. There’s still enough natural light to see well but the heat of the day has passed and it’s nice, sitting in the breeze.

“This food is amazing,” Sid says, halfway through his second serving of khinkali. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

He shrugs. “Mama teach me. Grow up learning, you know?”

“Remind me to thank her if I ever meet her.”

Something dark passes over Evgeni’s face and Sid changes the subject. “So did you live anywhere else in the states before here?” And they settle back into more comfortable conversation.

It’s long past the time the sun has set when they finally make their way back into the kitchen and start packing up the leftovers. Evgeni pauses as they work side by side and says quietly, “Should call me Zhenya.”

“Oh. That’s like a nickname, right?”

Evgeni—Zhenya looks a little surprised but pleased. “Yes. In Russia, friends call by this name. I think we friends now, yes?”

Sid catches his gaze and there’s a lot going through his mind right now but he just says softly, “I hope so.”

Zhenya holds his gaze a little longer. His smile is a little subdued but it makes Sid feel warm inside.

After a moment or two Zhenya ducks his head and goes back to packing up the leftovers. He takes it upon himself to put half of them in Sid’s fridge and he lingers there for a moment.

Sid’s not sure what changed but Zhenya gets quiet after that. Sid offers him a drink, asks if he wants to watch some hockey highlights and for a second he thinks Zhenya is considering it as he looks around Sid’s living room.

But then he takes a deep breath and his expression is guarded again, in a way it hasn’t been for weeks. “Is getting late. Need to get home.”

“Oh. Right, sure. Well, thank you, Zhenya, for dinner. It was great.”

“You’re welcome, Sidney.”

The next morning Zhenya’s outside when Sid runs past the first time and even returns his wave but when Sid comes back around, he’s gone. After that, it’s hit and miss. Sometimes Zhenya’s outside and they chat but it’s more like when they first met again, careful and cautious.

Sid’s not sure what to make of it. That night at his house had felt like a turning point, like maybe there could be something more between them and if he’s being honest with himself, that’s exactly what he was hoping for. But that’s not something he can force and if Zhenya needs to keep him at arm’s length to be comfortable, then Sid can deal with that.

Still, the whole experience has made him realize that maybe he misses hopeful thrill of being with someone who could be more than a friend.

That’s probably why he finds himself at the Blue Flamingo on a Friday night a few weeks later. He’s been here before and it’s more comfortable for him than the other gay bars in the area, a more relaxed atmosphere and less frenetic pace. Plus the drinks are good and they make a killer coconut shrimp so even if he doesn’t meet anyone, he’s got that to look forward to.

Once he’s seated and placed his drink order, he scans the crowd. It’s not too busy yet but it’s not deserted, either. It’s one of the things he likes about the place—you can breathe but there are still people around. Despite living here for months now, he hasn’t really gotten to know many people so he doesn’t expect to see anyone he knows. That’s probably why it’s so surprising when his gaze lands on a pair of dark, familiar eyes.

Zhenya.

He wonders for a moment if Zhenya will shy away like he has been but he smiles when he sees Sid, raises his glass in a hello. Sid gives a little wave and tips his head back, inviting Zhenya over. For a second he thinks Zhenya will say no but then he’s making his way to Sid’s booth with a soft smile.

“Hey Sid, not expect I see you here.”

Sid grins and motions to the seat across from him. “They have the best coconut shrimp, you know? Want to join me?”

Zhenya looks thoughtful for a moment but then he slides into the seat across from Sid. “Coconut shrimp?”

Sid grins. “It’s my favorite thing on the menu.”

“Maybe I try. Usually get lobster puff. You try it before?”

Sid shakes his head. “I don’t get out very often, I guess. Maybe I’ll try them tonight.”

“Good plan. We order lobster puff and coconut shrimp and share, yes?”

And just like that Sid finds himself having dinner with Zhenya again.

It’s nice and the conversation flows in a way it hasn’t in a few weeks. Zhenya is so funny, Sid can’t remember the last time he laughed so much. Or the last time he liked someone so much. Everything is going so well and maybe it’s that or the relaxed buzz his drink has left him with but when Zhenya smiles at him over their empty plates and says, “This fun, Sid. Glad I run into you tonight,” Sid decides to take a chance.

Smiling shyly he reaches over and rests his hand gently on Zhenya’s. “Me too. Zhenya, I— I like you.”

In an instant, Zhenya’s expression shuts down and he pulls his hand away. “Not okay with this Sid.”

Sid pulls his hand back as quickly as if he’d been burned and drops his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to— I’m really sorry.”

Zhenya sighs. “I like you too and think about you a lot but can’t do this,” he says, motioning between them and Sid feels his cheeks grow hot with the shame of rejection. “Can’t be side thing, Sid.”

Sid looks up, confused. “What?”

“Not judging you, okay? Just, for me, need to be only one.”  

“I… I don’t understand.” Sid shakes his head. “Only one? You think… You think I’m with someone?” Sid is so confused.

“Very obvious you are, I see pictures of pretty girl all over your living room, on your fridge. Hard to deny, Sid.”

“Pictures… Wait. You mean Taylor?”

Zhenya shrugs. “I not want to ask her name when I realize. She know you do this, Sid?”

“Zhenya, I’m gay. I don’t have a girlfriend. Taylor is my sister.”

Zhenya opens his mouth to reply and then snaps it shut. Sid watches pink heat slowly creep up his cheeks as he drops his mouth open again to speak and nothing comes out. “Sister?” He finally croaks out.

“Yeah. My kid sister.”  Sid turns on his phone and shows Zhenya the home screen. Sid and Taylor together as kids.

Zhenya stares at it, speechless for a moment before clearing his throat. “Feeling most stupid right now, Sid,” he says, avoiding Sid’s eyes and maybe Sid should be annoyed but all he feels is relief as a grin lights up his face.

“Oh my god, you thought I was dating my sister?” He giggles, then, covering his mouth with his hand.

“How I supposed to know?” Zhenya retorts, a little defensive but holding back his own smile just before they both dissolve into laughter.

Eventually their snickers die down and Zhenya smiles over at Sid. “I’m so sorry, Sid. Make big assumption.”

Sid’s smile falls away and he sits up straighter as understanding hits him. “That’s why you left that night after dinner. I didn’t know what you were looking at. You thought...Oh my god, you must have thought I was such a jerk!”

Zhenya shrugs. “Not jerk but… Also not a situation I’m interested in. Sorry now I didn’t ask.”

Sid sighs. “It’s okay. I could have probably told you but you usually seem uncomfortable when the subject of family comes up so I just kind of avoided the topic. I probably could have mentioned I had a sister.”

Zhenya gives Sid a somber smile before reaching over to gently touch his hand. “Sid, you think maybe we get out of here? Go somewhere and talk?”

Sid doesn’t even have to think about it. “Yeah,” he nods. “Let’s go.”

Forty minutes later they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder on Zhenya’s back steps, staring out at the dark ocean.

They’re both quiet at first but Sid doesn’t try to fill the silence. He has a feeling Zhenya has something to say so he waits. Sure enough, after a couple of minutes, Zhenya sighs. “I tell you before, I teach in Moscow?”

“At a university, yeah. Botany right?”

“Yes and some biology. Was in good position to get tenure.”

“So why did you leave?” Sid immediately wants to take back the question. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

Zhenya shakes his head. “Want to answer. I leave because administrator find out I’m have relationship with man and they fire me on the spot.”

“Oh my god. Zhenya, no. I’m so sorry.”

Zhenya won’t look at him. “Man I was with was assistant. I work with him many years and trust him but when they question us, he lies and say I harass him.”

Sid swallows hard and reaches out to take Zhenya’s hand, squeezing gently. “That’s...that’s horrible.”

Zhenya huffs out a humorless laugh. “Feel so stupid, you know, think maybe could love this man but he’s willing to lie. If he tell truth, we would be lucky, they just fire us both. But if he say I harass him? They tell police and I’m in big trouble. In Russia, this kind of thing mean bad punishment.  I hide in my parents house for couple of days but my brother, he doesn’t like me being there. Think I’m disgusting person and threaten to call police on me if I’m not leave. What choice I’m have? I pack up and leave country.”

“Zhenya…” Sid is speechless. He’d always assumed there was something in Zhenya’s past that made him look the way he did anytime they mentioned family but this is worse than he ever suspected.

Zhenya squeezes his hand, though, and looks over at Sid with a hint of a smile. “I guess is why I kind of have hard time trust people now.”

“Of course it is.”

“I leave Moscow, come to New York, meet guys but everything there so fast, so hard to find kind of relationship I’m looking for. I start to think maybe is not meant to happen for me but then I read about the Keys. Tropical paradise where everyone accept you, not have to hide who you are. So I come here and first day I meet you. Feels like a dream, you know?”

Sid ducks his head, suddenly feeling more shy than ever but Zhenya reaches over and uses his fingers to gently tip Sid’s chin up. “Hey. Want to tell you how sorry I am for way I act, for making assumption and not giving you chance you deserve.”

“It’s okay. Anyone in your shoes would have done the same thing.”

“Like you a lot, Sid. But need you to know, I’m not kind of guy who can do one night stand or friend with benefits. I’m want more and don’t want to start something with you if that not what you want, too.”

“Zhenya, that’s all I want.”

Zhenya smiles and his expression is full of hope. “Sure?”

“Completely sure.”

Zhenya leans in close as he says softly. “Then maybe we try. Sid, would like to go out with me sometime?”

“I’d really like that,” he says with a smile and closes the gap.

[badacts]

whither shall i follow

this is the complete piece i wrote for @thezinezone ‘s STRANGE CONSTELLATIONS, a trc zine all about the gangsey. i loved writing for it - keeping under the max word count was the hardest part! the final zine is beautiful so consider getting a copy and supporting a great cause

It’s Gansey’s yearning for ostensibly normal post-graduation rites of passage that’s to blame. Well, that, and Henry’s need to encourage every bad idea any of them have ever had.

“You’re already going on a road trip,” Ronan bitches, slinging an oddly malformed duffle bag into the trunk of his car. “This is a waste of time.”

“Your oh-so-valuable time,” Blue says, with slightly less bite than she might have used a year previous. So, no actual hate, but a decent seeming of it. She is wearing knee-length khaki shorts, like a spectacularly unsexy version of Indiana Jones, and an oversized ACDC t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off.

Gansey is currently unloading a bargain box of twelve white candles into the Pig. Watching this, Adam says, “Isn’t the point of camping having a campfire?”

“The point of camping is pissing in the woods,” Henry chirps from the front seat of the BMW. He claimed it upon arrival, with a grand cry of ‘shotgun!’ despite that none of them cared to compete with him for it, and has been doing something with his phone ever since. Selfies, Adam suspects.

“These aren’t intended to replace a campfire,” Gansey explains. “They’re for the seance.”

There’s a brief moment of silence. Even Henry looks up, expression shifting from ‘smize’.

“You lived with a dead guy once,” Ronan says eventually. He doesn’t continue, but he doesn’t really need to.

Gansey looks perturbed by their reactions, almost affronted. “It’s a thing.”

“Ineloquent,” Henry comments. Whether it’s a criticism is debatable, considering the growing delight on his face.

“Camping in the woods, marshmallows, figuring out which tent Henry is going to sleep in, amateurish communication with spirits - they’re all part of the experience.”

“Obviously, I’ll be sleeping in your tent,” Henry says. He’s not wrong - it is obvious. “Blue requires my body heat, and Ronan might dream a murderer or attempt to hold my hand in his sleep.”

“In your dreams,” Ronan replies from where he’s retreated to the driver’s seat of the BMW. There’s the distinct sound of someone being hit, and a squawk.

“Yes, it is a thing. From Cabin in the Woods,” Blue tells Gansey.

“Wrong Turn,” Ronan contributes.

“Blair Witch Project.”

“Cabin Fever.”

“Do all those movies contain seances?” Adam interjects.

“Don’t ask me,” Ronan replies. Adam can’t hear the shrug, but he knows it happens anyway. “I haven’t seen any of them.”

“My point is that you should not base your ideas of typical teenage experiences on films where most of the teenagers involved end up brutally murdered,” Blue continues. “Plus, you know. Our lives thus far.”

“This is not like that,” Gansey says. “That was magic. This is teenage incompetence, and the worst that will come of it is irresponsible fire management involving the candles.”

Even Adam makes a disgusted sound at that. There’s rustling from the front of the BMW, and then Gansey is at once attacked with a still-laced sneaker and a hat last seen perched on Henry’s hair. The hat falls short, but the shoe bounces off Gansey’s left thigh when he moves into its path trying to evade it.

“When we get murdered in the woods, it’s your fault,” Blue intones, for a moment sounding just like Maura.

The fact of the matter is that most of the area within a few hours drive of Henrietta has felt the imprint of, at the very least, Gansey’s feet in his previous explorations. Instead of putting him off of his idea of camping, this has just imbued him with the impression that he knows of all the best camping areas, even if he has never personally stayed at one.

Adam sleeps most of the drive once he’s tuned out the sound of Henry and Ronan’s bickering, stretched awkwardly across the back seat of the BMW, and only wakes when the engine turns off.

“C’mon Parrish,” Ronan chides, twisted around so that he can shake Adam’s ankle. Like most things about him, it’s a study in contrasts - brisk voice, soft expression. “Wakey wakey.”

“I am awake,” Adam replies, which is at least seventy percent true. “We here?”

“No, we’re on the side of the road, I just had to make a quick stop to bury Cheng’s body. Yeah, we’re here.”

“You can’t kill him. Can you imagine how much Blue and Gansey would bitch about it?” Adam peels his face off of the interior of the car. He might have drooled on it, but if so it’s not the first time.

“It truly hurts me that that is your only concern,” Henry says from somewhere outside the car.

“Yeah, I bet your heart is breaking, you annoying fucker,” Ronan replies, which means that his irritation has crossed over from his normal levels to whichever Henry seems capable of inciting. Adam deals with this by pushing himself out of the car and into the great outdoors, ignoring it entirely.

Blue is allowing Gansey to help her into her backpack over by the Pig. The gracious nature of it is new, but when he watches it Adam can just about imagine Blue in her thirties acting just the same way. Occasionally, anyway. He doubts she’ll ever change that much.

“Cute,” Ronan commentates, seemingly oblivious to the fact he is putting Adam’s pack over one of his shoulders even as he says it. “We walking, or what?”

“It’s an hour hike,” Gansey says, shouldering his own pack, as though he hasn’t already told them it’s an hour hike multiple times. They’ve walked far further without half as much organisation, which Adam assumes is ‘part of the experience’ also. Gansey is, as ever, a gleaming example to hikers everywhere, down to his well-broken-in boots and his precise understanding of hike planning. “Is everyone ready?”

“Yes mother,” Blue replies, elbowing him in the ribs and ignoring that Henry is still fighting with his own pack over by the BMW. “Lead the way.”

The area Gansey has selected for them to camp in is, admittedly, quite lovely. It’s not Cabeswater - nothing else is - but the grass is long and rich-smelling, and there’s a tiny stream curving around the edge of the clearing on three sides, murmuring sweetly to itself.

The tents are quickly raised side-by-side and then abandoned in favour of establishing a fire pit. By the time they’ve collectively gathered stones, wood and Ronan’s obviously-dreamed lighter, the shadows are stretching long. Blue is allowed the honour of lighting the fire, though Adam is the one who nurses it into something other than a pathetic smoke trail.

“Dinner,” Gansey announces with obvious relish once they’re seated, and produces five packages of freeze-dried meals. “Would you like beef stroganoff or beef stroganoff?”

“Were they having a sale?” Henry asks, accepting his gingerly.

“I thought it would be the one least likely to look edible,” Gansey replies. “I was curious.”

“Not curious enough to investigate the multitude of other options, I suppose.”

“Mostly I thought it would be easier to prepare them together,” Gansey admits. “Blue?”

Blue was apparently in charge of carrying the cooker, and Henry the metal pot. True to Gansey’s prediction, the resultant brown sludge they cook looks utterly disgusting, though the smell is surprisingly inviting. It’s only when they go to serve it that they find that, while Adam brought the tin bowls, Ronan didn’t bring the cutlery. They eat with their fingers instead, Adam’s turning pink with the heat of it and his mouth.

Gansey also has all the necessary ingredients for s’mores, which they blacken in the fire a few times before Adam gives up and uses the cooker instead. Gansey eschews that in favour of sugar-charcoal, even when Henry Googles and recites statistics of charcoal as a carcinogen. Blue puts him in a chocolate-smeared headlock to stop him, and his phone nearly falls into the fire.

It’s full dark when Gansey, his contacts exchanged for glasses glinting in the light, starts to drift a bit. There’s a quietude in him now that isn’t emptiness, but instead something bigger. Like Cabeswater is living inside of him, a complicated and immense kind of peace, and even as that calls to the like in each of them, the rest of them have to act as the anchors to hold Gansey here.

It’s not so bad, really. All it takes is Henry elbowing him and passing him a candle to bring him back.

“It’s time,” he says, all delight, as Henry gives the rest of them candles too. “Should I refer to the WikiHow page for seances, do you think?”

“Please do,” Henry replies, passing Adam his candle. It’s a chunky, inelegant thing with a crooked wick, and it smells like a caricature of vanilla.

Blue squints at Adam for a moment, and then snatches the candle from his hands. “Not you.”

“Excuse me?”

“She’s right,” Gansey mutters after a moment, brow furrowing. “We don’t any of your actual magic involved in our pseudo-magical ritual. Scram.”

“By that logic, Ronan shouldn’t be involved either,” Adam points out, though he does scram.

“He’s awake, it’s fine,” Henry replies. “Lynch, no magic for the next ten minutes.”

“No problem,” Ronan says lazily, still lying beside the fire. “I’m not holding any candles.”

“They go at the cardinal points,” Gansey says, and then produces a compass so he can place them correctly. Then he extracts a large bag of salt from his bag, holding it aloft. “Henry, pour this in a circle around us, if you will. Be careful not to leave any gaps.”

“This is beginning to sound suspiciously like one of movies you mentioned earlier,” Henry says to Ronan, though he does as bid anyway.

Once the salt is poured in a vague oval shape, the candles are placed and lit, and the others sit in their Gansey-assigned places, the ceremony can apparently begin. Adam settles in the mouth of one of the tents, watching them thrown into relief by the campfire in the centre of the circle, Blue’s face painted gold and the line of Ronan’s spine a silhouette.

“Oh! We need an offering,” Gansey says. “I hope you all brought something suitable?”

Thus begins a ten minute debate on what can be classified as suitable. In the end, they have a handful of wildflowers (Gansey), a collection of pennies (Henry), a tin cup of water from the stream (Blue), and a stick of gum as well as an empty wrapper (Ronan, obviously). His assertion that Noah would have loved it is the only thing that stops Gansey from sending him out of the circle to hunt for something ghosts would like better.

They deposits the offerings in the stream-washed pot, and then resettle, reaching out to join hands. Gansey prompts, “Henry?”

Henry takes over without pause, all ringmaster-grandeur. “Welcome, kind spirits, inside our circle. We’ve gathered here to commune with you in the hope that you’ll show us a sign of your presence. Please, speak with us.”

In the following silence, there’s an unmistakable sense of actual expectancy from the four of them in their flesh-and-salt circle. Even when you’re performing a WikiHow seance, it’s hard to remove the idea that it really might work when you’ve seen real magic.

There’s nothing. Adam listens, hears nothing, and then looks into the fire to the things he can always see if he looks long enough.

“Is anyone with us?” Blue asks. The shapes in the flames brighten in response to her voice, but Adam blinks them away.

“That was boring,” Ronan says after approximately two minutes of absolutely nothing happening.

“That was perfect,” Gansey crows.

“We really should have brought an Ouija board,” Henry muses. “For maximum effect.”

“The maximum effect of nothing fucking happening?”

“Let’s end the ritual,” Blue says sternly. “In case.”

“Thank you for your presence,” Gansey says. “Go in peace.”

It’s probably Adam’s imagination that the fire ripples just a little bit with Gansey’s words, like someone has just moved past it. No one else notices it, anyway.

Adam jerks awake because Ronan does, because it’s impossible not to pressed this close and because by now it’s habit.

“It’s okay,” Adam is already mumbling, and then jerks again when Ronan, sounding much more alert than he does, demands, “Did you hear that?”

Adam listens. There’s a rustling outside of the suddenly-very-flimsy tent walls, and for a moment he enters the pleasant fantasy that it might just be the wind before he realises that there is no wind. Instead, it’s the sound of something moving nearby - something large.

“It’s probably just a bear,” he says, though quietly.

There’s not much light in the tent, but he can see that Ronan’s eyes are wide as he hisses, “I can’t believe you can say ‘just a bear’.”

Instead of continuing that...potential argument, Adam pushes himself up, rustling free of the sleeping back and groping for the flashlight by the tent door.

“Adam.”

It’s said in his ear, breathless and half-whispered. Literally breathless - there’s no warmth of exhaled air.

Also, it’s his deaf ear.

The strangeness of it is compounded when Gansey says from outside the tent, the kind of calm that just barely covers for alarm, “Ronan, Adam. Get up. Slowly.”

Adam unzips the tent door and slides free, feeling the intensity of Ronan’s movement behind him as he follows. It’s black outside besides the very faint glow of a few embers and the stars overhead, and Adam can only tell where Gansey is because of the sound of his quickened breath.

“Look,” Gansey whispers, and Adam nearly says at what when he sees what Gansey means.

It’s dark. There’s no explanation behind the two matching pinpricks of red-orange light at a edge of the clearing just beyond the edge of the trees. Eyes, set higher that they would be on any normal-height human.

Ronan mutters a curse, clearly seeing it too. Henry, despite having seen Cabeswater bleed to death, says, “Mothman?” in a voice that trembles but still has a tracery of humour in it, because that’s just who he is.

“What do we do?” Blue asks. Adam can’t tell where she is in the dark.

“Running water,” the voice in his ear whispers again. There’s a echo of command there, and also sudden and welcome familiarity.

“Across the stream,” Adam tells the others. “Backwards. No sudden movements.”

It’s only the star-shine that means they can find the stream at all, nevermind backwards and too frightened to look away from the eyes. There’s no doubting that’s what they are, despite the fact they don’t blink - behind them, there’s intent, alien and only barely readable as that at all. Adam’s bare feet slip in carefully, the water surprisingly deep but the bottom firm enough to hold his weight. The other four do the same, hissing at the cold of it.

“Now what?” Ronan asks, his hand finding Adam’s.

“Cross it. Get to the other side,” Adam says, with sudden surety. “I don’t think it can follow-”

It happens very quickly. Blue, off to Adam’s left, draws in a quick breath and stumbles over something on the streambed, falling backwards in the stream with a splash and a sharp, “Fuck!” There’s a soundless moment where nothing happens, and then there’s a long lowing noise like a big animal dying.

“Fuck,” Ronan echoes, and jerks in Blue’s direction to pull her free of the water even as he shoves Gansey up onto the bank.

Adam, torch in hand, flips the switch. The beam of it falls directly on the - thing as it bounds across the clearing, strides too long and shambling, like the body can’t quite keep up with the intent of whatever is inside of it. It’s all fur and stench, the awful smell of death. Henry makes a low, sick sound, dragging Adam back over the stones along with him. They fall back onto the bank together, scrabbling up onto the grass.

For a moment, Adam doubts. The thing is so tall it looks like it could simply step across the water. There’s no explanation for the way it halts at the far edge of the stream and looks down at the water, close enough they can see every falling-apart inch of its hide. It looks like it crawled from a grave. Maybe it did.

It makes that noise again, a gentle and carrying threat. Adam’s heart is beating so hard he thinks he could drop dead, half-tangled in Henry and aware there’s no outrunning the thing if the voice is wrong.

His flashlight goes out. Blue shrieks, and there’s a flash of bright white like lightning from their side of the stream to the other, illuminating the thing for a split second before it makes impact. There’s a rush of noise and movement, retreating, and then the flashlight comes back to life. There’s nothing there.

“...is it gone?” Henry hisses, pushing himself up from his elbows. “What did you do, Parrish?”

“Nothing,” Adam replies, distracted by covering each inch of darkness with the beam of his flashlight looking for movement. There’s nothing, besides what looks like a few gobbets of meat on the ground and impressions of distorted footprints. “It wasn’t me.”

“Christ fucking alive,” Ronan says. “Was that…?”

“Noah?” Blue whispers.

There’s no wind, no voice murmuring in either of Adam’s ears. But on the other side of the stream, the fire, just embers, flickers back to life.