#we’re in an age where man made things are so impressive we forget that the foundation upon which weve built everything is just as impressive

[softbean]

If I were a tiny prehistoric human gaining human sentience in this vast big world where everything I need to sustain me is miraculously in the environment and there are so many wondrous animals and plants around but the land gives and takes and the sky sometimes is cerulean but sometimes cries like I do and sometimes strikes at me with a bolt, feeling so much mystery and divinity and gratitude I would look up and worship the gods too

[thesiriusmoon]

Family Secrets

Summary: Agent Gideon has vanished from the BAU, and the team are asked to investigate a family annihilator.

Characters: Bonnie McBride (OC), Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer Jareau, Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss, Penelope Garcia

AU: Criminal Minds

Episode: My Own

Word count: 5k

TW: probable mentions of gore, blood, and death

Reblogs and likes help me a lot!! Help a little account out <3

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“Sir?” Bonnie knocked on Agent Gideons office again, becoming a little impatient at the lack of response, but was too polite to barge in. But what if he was hurt? He was old right enough, and stressed… could have had a heart attack or something.

So she decided against being nice and pushed the door open and stopped at the entrance.

Everything was gone.

Bookshelves cleared, desk tag no longer, the walls bare.

“Agent Gideon?” She called out to the empty room and entered fully.

Where was he?

Closing the door behind her, Bonnie went straight to Agent Hotchners office, and forgetting to knock this time went straight in to find Chief Strauss standing in front of her boss’s desk.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t knock… Agent Gideons gone sir.” Agent Hotchners brows furrowed and questioned.

“What do you mean gone?”

While Chief Strauss’s face remained straight.

“All his things are gone. His office is empty.”

“Agent Gideon has left the BAU effective immediate.” The chief finally spoke and Bonnie felt her face flush.

Left… he couldn’t leave…

“When we’re you going to tell me this?” Agent Hotchner began to rise from his chair and Bonnie took a step back.

“Right now Agent if you’d let me have some time, and if we weren’t so rudely interrupted.” The chief turned to stare at Bonnie who averted her eyes.

“Bonnie was just worried. You can continue with your work now.” With that, Bonnie nodded to Agent Hotchner and left, ensuring to close the door and curse herself for making such a bad impression with the chief, who she had never met before.

She had to walk past Agent Gideon’s empty office and felt similar to his walls.

Carrying files in her hands, she walked with her head down out towards the storage unit which she had memorised down to a tee, she could walk around with her eyes closed.

These were closed cases. Ones that could rest but were always available if needed. Copycats probably, or reoffending. She sometimes read them. Sitting down on a discarded chair- she knicked it from another room- and began having a browse.

Michael Earlson.

Reading aloud, Bonnie learned that this man had kidnapped a little boy and was planning to sell him off. One of the auctioneers was a high school principle…

John Jamelske

Kidnapped and held three teenagers near her age and forced them to chose one to die. Two made it out. He was taken peacefully. Sick.

Carl Buford

A man who preyed on young boys looking to escape a dangerous area, using American football and ran a youth centre in South Side, Chicago.

“That’s where Derek’s from.”

And as she kept reading, she saw his name.

On a suspect list. No more information.

Of course he didn’t do it though. Derek didn’t hurt the innocent. That much was evident when he shot Sandy Parker.

She flipped to the next file.

Tobias Hankel

A man suffering with an identity disorder. Watching then killing victims in their homes! Then she stopped dead when another familiar name caught her eye.

Spencer Reid.

In the list of victims. Obviously survived.

But no detail like Derek’s.

Of course she knew being an FBI could be dangerous. But to see it in writing let it sink in. She always likes to read. Things really stuck.

She wondered if she’d be in Sandy’s file…

Footsteps made her jump and she grabbed the files on the floor and began searching for the box for 2006. Sorting it in date order.

“Bonnie?” Agent Hotchner knocked on the storage door as if it were her own office.

“Yes sir?” She closed the lid to the box.

“I know Gideon’s leaving will be hard. It will be for all of us. But it’s not the end remember?” She hated profilers sometimes. Gideon had hinted on going directly to him if she wished to pursue her interest in criminal justice. What if her only chance was now missing.

“There was something he said on my first day, he knew you needed an assistant. And I was the only one for an interview… why?” The question lingered in her mind for the few months she’d been here.

“Well… I’m sure you understand now that Jason Gideon’s profiling skills are almost unreal. He looked at your application and others, and only chose one. I don’t really have the time to interview like ten people. He also did it without my knowledge.” He laughed absently.

“But I’m glad he did. You’ll make a good whatever it is you want when you’re done with education.”

“Profiler.” She smiled.

“If you have the time, you could start training now. Whenever it suits you.”

“I’m not qualified.”

“You are to me.”

The kindness and praise she got from her job was overwhelming at times. Even a simple well done would almost melt her. Must be something to do with childhood, as most things are.

“I’d love to! Does that mean I learn how to shoot?” She asked eagerly. Wanting to copy the rest of the team.

“Not so fast. Seminars, fitness, and mental health checks first, to ensure that you should be allowed to handle a gun.”

“I could just go out and buy one too. Just like every other American.” She joked, though it was true.

Then Jennifer’s heels clicked, quickly walking down the hall were the cupboard was kept.

“Sir, we have a case.”

Agent Hotchner nodded his head. “C’mon.” And Bonnie followed.

“Two families annihilated in their homes in Los Angeles. All shot. The father tied up in both cases.” Jennifer announced to the group.

“Eliminate the biggest threat first.” Derek said.

“Then pick them off one by one.” Emily sighed.

“That’s right. The mother of the first house, the Jenkins, was found face down on the stairs, and the kids were both found under their beds. The second house, Laurens, mother was in the upstairs hallway, the youngest son downstairs by the back door, and the daughter in her room.”

“Both families got one of each?” Derek asked and Jennifer nodded.

“Older daughter, younger brother.”

“Seems like a pattern to me.” He replied and beside him Emily nodded.

“That’s not all! The first houses electrics were all out and the fuse box outside destroyed with water. No wifi, no connection to telephones, they couldn’t call for help. The other actually untouched.” Penelope spoke up from waiting at the computer board.

“The first house is big. The family might have had security cameras but with the electrics down they might not have worked. The unsub didn’t have to do that with the other house. It was just regular.” Agent Hotchner finally spoke.

“Calculated. Watches the family and knows how and where to enter. Waits for the right moment then strikes.” Derek said ominously.

“And shot? How did no one hear?” Emily asked and Spencer spoke up.

“First house is really large and had a lot of room between neighbours, it might actually be difficult to hear anything going on in the house at all. Even a gun shot. The other… maybe a silencer?”

“The Jenkins were found the next morning when their gardener appeared for his shift, the Lauren’s paper boy.” Jennifer finished.

Bonnie stared at the pictures of the families. The kids so young and the parents so happy in their photos.

“Wheels up in thirty.”

The team finished and Bonnie left to collect her go bag from her locker.

Her left arm still a little stiff from her attack last month. But healed and scarred nonetheless.

On the night she returned, her mother wasn’t home. She’d be working on the streets just like any other night. Bonnie would have liked to have her familiarity around however, but recently her mother was hardly ever near.

The jet would be about three hours, she had time to relax on the cushioned seats. All while she scribbled in her notepad.

Rich houses… happy familys looking families… shot but no one heard… matching families… dad possibly killed first.

The police department was very large and high up. A huge building that sky rocketed to the clouds.

“Thank you for coming so soon Agents. I’m detective Davis, head of homicide department.” A tall man with circular glasses and a long suit shook Agent Hotchners hand.

“Our pleasure. I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner, SSA Derek Morgan, SSA Emily Prentiss, Doctor Spencer Reid, Agent Jennifer Jareau, and our assistant Bonnie.”

“Again, thank you all for coming. We need all the help we can get. So far there’s no footage on any cameras around the house. The security systems of both houses were down.” Detective Davis began running though the case.

“Hank Jenkins, the father of the first house was bound to a chair in the master bedroom. We think he was killed last, and quickly. One shot between the eyes. Same for Jason Lauren. Same tying, same shot.”

“Do we know what kind of gun he used?”

“Yes sir. 9mm Winchester Magnum, common handgun. Bullets were found in and around the victims.” Bonnie grimaced.

“Doesn’t care about the mess now does he? You think he’s making some sort of point? I mean- why tie the father up? To make him watch?” Derek asked the obvious question.

“We think so. We think he tied to father up first then took out the family. Then killed him last. He made sure he suffered the most, having to listen and watch his family die. Fathers are meant to protect…”

“Maybe this father didn’t.” Detective Davis raised a brow at Spencer.

“Excuse me?”

“M-maybe this unsub thinks the fathers aren’t doing a good enough job as a father. We’ve seen this before with Karl Arnold, a-a family psychologist who believed that the f-families were dysfunctional. That the fathers had failed to-to fulfil their duties as the primal caretakers.” Agent Hotchner thought along with every word from Spencer, then agreed.

“It would make sense. The wives and children were shot all over their body and the father was one through the head. This unsub may have wanted the father to see what will happen to his family if he didn’t protect them.” Then flipped out his phone.

“Garcia, get me everything you can on a Hank Jenkins and Jason Lauren, anything to do with domestics or child services. Thanks.”

“Are you serious?” Detective Davis had his hands on his hips defensively. “I’ve known Hank for a very long time. He loved his kids. He’d never hurt them.”

“You asked us to come and do our job, and that’s what we’re doing. If you feel you have too much of a deep connection to the victim I suggest you step down.” Then Agent Hotchner strode past the man and into the bullpen room, leaving Detective Davis red in the face.

Normally he was collected, but she too thought something was off about the detective.

Within the room isolated from the other detectives, the team began to discuss their findings already.

“And how did he get in the house?” Emily asked.

“Reports say no sign of forced entry…” Derek read from his file.

“Maybe he was invited in.” Agent Hotchner said finally before effectively splitting the team up. “Reid and Prentiss the Jenkins house, Morgan and JJ you’re on the Lauren’s. Bonnie you’re with me here.”

“Yes sir.” The four other agents other than agent Hotchner agreed and left the building, and Bonnie began setting up at the end of the table.

“We’ll try and find out more about the two fathers.”

“You think it could be a psychologist like that Karl?”

“Maybe…” he picked up his phone and put Penelope on speaker.

“Wassup sugar cakes.” Agent Hotchner groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “So I’ve found out no reports of domestic violence have been reported from either houses or neighbours.”

“Big house for the first, hard to hear.” Bonnie mumbled.

“But I took a step further and looked into the mothers as well. Linda Jenkins was treated in the ER last month for a broken wrist. Nothing on Heather Laurens.”

“Unreported?” Bonnie thought aloud and agent Hotchner nodded.

“Possibly… Garcia, do the mothers have anything in common at all?”

“No sir. Nothing I can find but no case is too tight for me to squeeze in! Garcia out!” And the call ended.

“A neighbour or a friend might know something connecting the two even if they don’t know the other victim… let’s focus on Linda Jenkins first.”

Agent Hotchner stood up and Bonnie followed closely as he approached Detective Davis who wasn’t looking as happy as he was when the team had arrived.

“Detective, I’d like a list of close friends or relatives for Linda Jenkins and Heather Laurens.”

“Linda’s sister just arrived.” He pointed towards a small room in a corner where a middle aged woman resembling Lauren very well sat with a tissue in hand, dabbing her eyes.

“Great thanks.”

The two entered the room cautiously, and Agent Hotchner sat across from the women who’s red rimmed eyes looked dry and swollen.

“Hi, my names Aaron Hotchner and I’m with the FBI.” The woman looked up, shaking ever so slightly and refused to meet the man’s eyes. But looked to Bonnie.

“The FBI?”

“Yes ma’am. I’m not the FBI though. They’re here to help bring justice to your sister. May we know your name?” Bonnie spoke softly, and sat down on the arm chair beside the woman.

“Abby… Linda’s my little sister.” Bonnie felt pain from the woman. The innocence of still calling your grown sister little… it was like she were a kid again.

“Okay Abby… we’d just like to ask you some questions about Linda… is that alright with you?”

Abby glanced to agent Hotchner but still refuses to meet his face, instead she looked at his legs.

“Just us? Please?” She turned back to Bonnie.

Bonnie looked to her boss for advice, and was surprised when he nodded his head. “I’ll be outside.” And stood up to walk out.

“Why just us may I ask?”

Abby shifted in her seat, knees pressed tightly together. “Linda’s business isn’t for a man’s ears to hear…”

“What do you mean?”

“Our father was terrible. After that she- we- couldn’t trust them anymore. But she eventually fell in love with Hank…” Abby began sobbing and Bonnie froze unsure on what to do, her hand moving on it’s own to find Abby’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry to hear that Abby…”

“I thought he was good! Maybe we could trust again! But he ruined her even more!” Abby was wailing now, fuelled by anger and Bonnie was panicking on what to do next. So she just kept talking.

“What did Hank do to Linda… if you let us know it may help us find who did this to her.”

Abby calmed, scarily quick and looked into Bonnies wide soft eyes with narrow hatred.

“He beat her. Every day. The kids too… but I was so scared he’d kill them if CPS ever got involved. He was fucking crazy.”

“I’m sorry…” then an idea popped into her head.

“Was there any support groups Linda went to? For guidance of friendship?” If CPS or the police couldn’t beg involved, perhaps Linda had looked for a different help.

Abby nodded. “I told her about one I used to go to. It’s this little one held in the towns church with the priest. He helped me a lot. Not enough to date but enough to leave my house again.”

How long had Abby been afraid…

“May I have the priests name? I’d just like to talk to him about Linda.”

“David Walker.”

“Thank you Abby, you’ve really helped me today.” Stroking the woman’s shoulder, Bonnie got up and left before she could start crying too.

“Linda used to go to a support group for abused people. Community centre held by the priest David Walker.” She coughed recomposing herself.

“Alright let’s get down there.” Agent Hotchner lead and like most times, Bonnie followed.

“So… why did Abby not want me in there?” He asked while he drove down the street.

“Afraid of men.” She sighed staring out of the window watching pedestrians pass.

“And Hank?”

“Scumbag.”

He tutted. “What are the odds Heather had the same going on?”

“Big i’d say… but we still need to figure out how this persons getting into the houses and stuff.”

“We’ll leave that for now, let’s focus on this group.”

The two of them arrived at the church, tall and stone. A light and pleasant feeling when entering, like all your sins had been brushed away with a gentle hand.

Inside the building, the cathedral windows casted rainbow glows over the benches and stand at the front where the priest was flipping through a book.

He didn’t look much like a priest. His large build and tight shirt made him look a bit like agent Hotchner. Probably forty something.

“Good afternoon sir.” Agent Hotchner started and the man lifted his head. Quite good looking.

“Hello. What can I do for you two?”

“I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner of the FBI and this is Bonnie. We’re investigating a homicide near by, and we heard that one of our victims, Linda Jenkins came to a group meeting here sometimes.” Bonnie couldn’t lie and say that she didn’t feel honoured when he said ‘we’.

The man frowned deeply, and rubbed the forming wrinkles on his forehead before coming down from his stand to greet the two.

“I remember Linda. Very kind woman, very gentle.”

“What can you tell us about her?”

The priest sighed. “She always had a bruise or something on her when she came… I prayed everyday for her to find peace… I just never thought they would be answered like this.” The priest bow his head, sniffling slightly.

“Do you keep a record of people who come to this group?”

But the man shook his head. “Confidentiality is very important in here. In fact we don’t even use our real names. I only know Linda’s from the news… she called herself Casey.”

“Is there anyone in this group that you think had been… off recently? Specifically a man.”

The priest hummed for a second. “What do you mean by off? A lot of the people who come in are off in some way. Ridden with anxiety. Drugs addicts. All kinds.”

“Not like that. Someone who’s seemed really calm. Someone who used to be a nervous wreck and is now seeming better just out of the blue.”

Bonnies watched the priests face twist.

“No I’m sorry… no one like that comes here.“

“No one at all?”

“No I’m sorry agent.” The man closed off quickly, and had began walking back to his podium as if the two had rudely interrupted.

Before Agent Hotchner began to leave, he turned to ask. “When’s the next meeting?”

“Our next meeting is tomorrow night.” Agent Hotchner looked down at Bonnie and the two raised their brows.

“Thank you for your time sir.”

“God bless.” Bonnie nodded to the man and followed her boss out of the centre.

They walked until they were in the car and he spoke first. “He never mentioned Heather…”

“Maybe she didn’t go to this. Maybe another one? Or… I don’t know.”

“We need to speak to the rest of the team and discuss the findings… then maybe we’ll learn something about Heather.” The two of them could only hope.

Back at the police station, the team had gathered alone.

“A cupboard door leading to a basement was open at the scene in the Jenkins house, I’m assuming he hid there. No bodies were found around that area.” Emily began and Spencer followed on.

“No forced entry. Windows all closed, doors all intact.”

Then JJ started to share her and Derek’s finding on the Laurens. “Heather had no friends or family. Only child. Parents died ten to twenty years ago.” Jennifer started and Bonnie began to write.

Derek added, “We talked to the neighbours who are really torn up about it. They said they heard thumps, but assumed Jason was drunk again and didn’t want to get involved.”

“We found out that Linda Jenkins and her children were being abused, do you think Heather was the same?” Agent Hotchner asked to whoever would answer.

“If she was she had no one to turn to. No hope of getting out.” Said Spencer, writing upon the board.

“Online? There are other ways to communicate now. If she didn’t feel comfortable talking in person than maybe she would on a computer.” Emily asked and Derek nodded.

“Exactly. We found a chat on heathers work laptop. A site where women could share their stories and have comfort from others either going through the same thing or having been in the same position before.”

“And?” Agent Hotchner pressed.

“And there’s dozens of accounts offering advice or condolence… the accounts are also anonymous…”

“Shit…” he cursed and buried his head in his hand. “Two anonymous groups…”

“One sexy technical analysist.” Derek flipped his phone up.

“Speak to me.”

“Hey baby girl, we’ve got a site here, I need you to look at an account called ‘catlover500’”

“Oh you found my secret account?” Penelope giggled from the phone and Derek shook his head. “Anyways… ok so… this is Heather Lauren’s?”

“Yep.”

“And what am I looking for?”

Derek turned to Agent Hotchner. “Hotch?”

“Someone who… relates. Abusive father. Older sister. Submissive mother.”

“Okay… three comments under a detailed post about Heathers life… she talks about how she lived in fear for her and her children’s lives… and these comments are relating. One says ‘I know what you’re going through, my father did the same to me and my siblings until he eventually died of a stroke. You’re brave and will get through this.’ Another said ‘no father or husband should ever raise their hands to their loved ones. I’m so sorry this is happening to you.’ And the other, ‘my husband is the very same. Our two young children, I have a boy and a girl just like you, are scared. I’ve resorted to a support group but that’s all I’ve managed. My wrist broke last week, I’m still recovering But if you have hope, then so do I.”

“Oh my god…” Derek straightened and Emily’s jaw dropped.

“Could that be…”

“Linda Jenkins.” Agent Hotchner dead panned. “Garcia, can you check if these two accounts have private messaged one another?”

The clicking of Penelope’s keyboard filled the room.

“There’s some sort of firewall sir… this site of built for privacy.”

“Ok… just do your best then.”

“Yes sir.”

And the phone call ended.

“Now… wait I guess.” Agent Hotchner sighed.

“The priest said there’s a meeting tomorrow night. One of us could go?” Bonnie suggested and the team murmured in agreement.

“We can’t just sit around until tomorrow night, there must be something!” Jennifer argued.

It was late already, there wasn’t much else to do but sleep and try to rest before the next day hits.

“We’ve visited the houses, talked to family and outsiders, now Garcia is hacking a website to help us. There isn’t much else we can do.”

The entire team felt helpless. But more tired than anything.

“Tomorrow morning JJ, Morgan and Reid, go to the Jenkins house and try to find anything related to Heather Laurens.” Agent Hotchner planned and that was the night finished.

The next morning everyone was up early in their hotel rooms. Agent Hotchner alone, Derek and Spencer, Emily and Jennifer, and Bonnie alone.

None of them thought that they could have been waking up to the news of another family dead.

“Exactly the same thing. Father tied up. Family all shot. Mother, one daughter, one son.” Agent Hotchner read from a notepad.

“He’s escalating… why?” Emily asked.

“Maybe he knows we’re onto him? Maybe the priest let it slip.” Derek suggested and Bonnie hoped he was wrong.

“Yeah m-maybe, or he’s just struck another person he’s stalked.”

“We need to find out if there’s a connection with Linda and Heather… me, Prentiss, and Bonnie will visit the scene and you three stick with the Jenkins.” Then the team split up to go their separate ways.

The car ride was quiet. The three of them worrying whether or not they would gain some sort of lead to who did this, rather than connections that may not mean much in the end.

“Prentiss find a laptop. Bonnie look around the house for the entry. I’ll speak to the detectives.” The two girls glanced at each other before splitting up.

Bonnie began to feel nervous. The last time she went on her own at a crime scene she almost died. But if Agent Hotchner thought she’d be alright, then she would be right?

A back window was wide open, and while she tiptoed for a peek in, she saw that it was perfect for using to sneak in. A big open space you could climb in without knocking anything over. But how would they get it unlocked… the handle was on the inside and needed a key.

Which is exactly why she thought he must have already been inside. This was his escape route.

“Bonnie!” She heard Agent Hotchner call and she went running back to the front of the house.

“Sir?”

The man was holding his phone out, Penelope on the other end. “I finally got in and found that Linda had shared with Heather a phone number. And I called it and…”

“And what?!”

“It was a Father Walker.”

“What?” Agent Hotchner breathed out weakly. “And you’re sure about that Garcia?”

“Positive sir, I’ve already sent the phone number to your cell.”

“Maybe he did pray for that kind of peace…” Bonnie said quietly and Agent Hotchner placed a hand on her shoulder as Emily exited the house with a piece of paper in hand.

“Phone number hidden in the laptop bag of Lisa Downs, the mother.”

It was a match to the one sent by Penelope.

“We need to pay the church a visit again. Right now.”

“What’s going on?” Emily asked as they quickly ran to the SUV.

“It’s the same number Linda sent Heather.” Bonnie replied jumping in the backseat.

“Call the others and ask them to meet us at the church.” Emily did so, and when the car stopped outside the house of god, it didn’t take long for the others to show.

“What up?” Jennifer asked.

“The priest. I think he’s our unsub. All three women had contact with him, possibly talking about their husbands.” And Agent Hotchner took the lead into the church.

Like yesterday, Father Walker was standing on his podium reading, and waiting for his gathering of anonymities.

“Mr Walker, I need you to come with me.” The man looked up surprised and confused, looking rather offended at the sight of cuffs dangling from Agent Hotchners hand.

“What?” He asked, and the chief strut towards him with his shoulders tense.

“You’re under arrest for the suspicion of the murders of three families.”

The priest was bewildered. Stammering on his spot as Agent Hotchner pulled his arms around his back and connected his wrists.

“I don’t understand!”

“You can talk when we’re at the station.”

Bonnie bit her nails, watching the man be handled out of the church with Agent Hotchner holding him captive.

Back at the station, the man was in custody, all of the agents and Bonnie waiting behind the glass of the interrogation room. They could hear everything.

“You lied to me.” Agent Hotchner sat down alone in front of David Walker.

“I didn’t. I swear I didn’t know the woman’s name until the tv, but I… I did know Heather… and Lisa. I visited them from time to time when their husbands were at work. Trying to give them the support they needed to leave. But it didn’t seem to be working.”

“So you resorted to killing everyone?” The agent pressed firmly and Bonnie shuddered.

“What?! No! I wanted to help. Offer the guidance of god. But it didn’t work!” The man began to cry and buried his head deep into his arms.

Agent Hotchner stormed off and burst through the interrogation room. “Who else would know about these calls?”

“Sir?” Penelope was on the phone.

“This better be something good Garcia.” Agent Hotchner took the phone from Derek’s hand.

“So your darling boy in there isn’t actually the good man everyone thinks he is. There was a sealed file… a court case where his daughter Sarah tried to put him in jail for abuse. The mother never testified and the son was too young to understand. He was ten. His names Michael.”

“The mother too scared, the son too confused and-and brought up to believe the abuse he suffered was normal… now he’s grown. He gets it now.” Spencer mumbled.

“Where are they all now?” Derek asked, having a theory of his own forming.

“Mothers at home works in retail, and… oh… Sarah the older sister… she took her own life a couple weeks ago.”

Which was exactly what Derek had been thinking. There was the stressor.

Agent Hotchner turned back around barged into the room once again.

“Mr Walker. I know what you did to your family.” The older man slowly raised his head with bleary eyes.

“What?” He sounded broken. All his secrets coming out so suddenly. Slipping through the cracks of the dam he built carefully.

“I know you beat them. You beat them hard and you got away with it. Maybe now you feel guilty and you’re trying to be better by giving guidance to others, or maybe it just boosts your ego and you still go home every night to kick the shit out of your wife? Which one is it? Because I know you did it so pick one.”

“I… I was a bad father and I know I was. I drank a lot, lost my temper… I loved my children!”

“Enough to hurt them? Sir you don’t do that to your children.”

“Oh please! Sometimes they need a smacking!”

Bonnie craned her neck at the change of tone in the man’s voice. Guilty and sorrow to defensive and reasoning.

“No one in this world deserves to be harmed like that. You’re own daughter killed herself because of you. Where is your son now?” The agent asked and the man answered quickly, recoiling at the mention of Sarah.

“He still lives with me. He’s probably home. I… i had the theory it might have been him…”

“Why?” Agent Hotchner paused before he spotted bruising around the priests ear. “Because he finally started to hit back.”

Agent Hotchner said nothing more and walked out of the room for the last time. “Call Garcia again and get the address. We’ve found him.”

After all the hair tearing stress and worry about families close by, Michael Walker was caught. The murder weapon hidden under his bed in a pillow case.

The story was simple while Bonnie wrote it up.

Michael was abused since he was a young boy. His mother, older sister, and him. Just the same as the other families. He couldn’t save himself, or his sister, but maybe he could put others out of their misery and send them to heaven where nothing could ever harm them again. Because he too would rather die than live with the trauma of abuse lasting years. He ended his life quick and smoothly. The second he heard the door kick open and the FBI pour in he was gone. No explanation was really needed.

He was an Angel of death. Seemingly putting families out of their misery, and at the same time torturing the father who made it all possible in the first place. If you don’t look after your family you will lose them. David Walker’s two children decided life would be better without living in his world.

Michael knew about his fathers calls as he listened to him every day and every night. Looking for a victim to save by ending their life.

“Spencer?” Bonnie spoke quietly on the jet ride back to DC.

“Hm?” He hummed from reading an encyclopaedia for birds.

“Are you ok?” She asked. Of course she could see how much Agent Gideon meant to him. He was more than a mentor to Spencer, even if he would never admit it.

“I-I’m fine… why?” That awkward face he does when his lips form a thin line and his cheeks look squishy formed.

“Agent Gideon leaving must be hard on you… and it’s ok to admit it.” Spencer laughed and shook his head. “I mean it.”

Then his expression dropped, softened. His wide sad eyes told her what she needed to know. He missed him, and maybe wouldn’t stop.

“Thank you.” In almost a whisper Bonnie caught it.

[kevin--of-desert-bluffs]

WTNV quick rundown - 150 - The Birthday of Lee Marvin (III)

Featuring the voices of TL Thompson as Lee Marvin, Meg Bashwiner as Deb, Jasika Nicole as Dana Cardinal, Hal Lublin as Steve Carlsberg, Maureen Johnson as Ex-intern Maureen, Mara Wilson as the Faceless Old Woman, Aliee Chan as Basimah Bishara and Molly Quinn as Michelle Nguyen!

Read the rest here~

Deb: Hello Squishy Humans. Deb at it again, as usual, talking until your mortal forms pass away. Welcome-

Dana: Once again the sun has risen. Good one, sun. We’re all very impressed by the same trick for the millionth day in a row. I’m Dana Cardinal. Welcome to 

Computer: Computer loves Night Vale. Night Vale provides home for computer. Welcome

Deb: Welcome

Dana: Welcome

Steve: Hey everyone. Oh uh. Oh man, I’m supposed to prepare some sort of start to this thing, huh? Dang it. I forget every time. Every time! Come on Steve. You have a responsibility here Steve. You’re better than this, Steve. Sorry. God. Sorry uh, Welcome to Night Vale. 

Lee Marvin has finally decided to set time right and start to age again. He repeats to us the story of Huntokar and of Eunomia and how their twin meddling of timeslines has made time/space in NV incredibly fragile. So fragile in fact that he is able to reach out and completely stop time - just for a moment and then let it finally restart back on it's correct track. He finally gets to turn 31 and time finally gets to start working properly in NV (at least, in this version).

Throughout this episode small snippets are presented by other citizens of NV who are each the voice of NV in their own timelines.

Weather: “Things Still Left To Say” by Mal Blum

It is Carlos and Cecil's 6th anniversary as they count their first date in the anniversary counting.

Here are some of the NV's that Lee Marvin describes; A NV where the streets are rivers and rain falls constantly from sunless skies, a NV where the mayor is a smiling man, a NV where the mayor is a brave woman, a NV that has no mayor and never will have one again, a NV without day and one without night, as NV where the dogs sing and the birds bark, a NV with no people only the angels moaning and tapping their fingers, a NV where Lee Marvin was never was born and one where he never will die, a NV where time runs backwards, a NV where time skips about, a NV where time doesn’t work at all, a NV where Dana or Deb etc and even You are the voice of the town.

There's a Faceless Old Woman in all versions of Night Vale.

Carlos' mother gave him an antique clock when he got his PHD, now that time works properly in NV it is a normal functional clock again.

Marcus Vanston's estate now has 15% of all money in the USA and yet no beneficiary.

It is night, Night Vale. Soon the sun will rise, and we know exactly what time that will happen. Our lives have all lurched forward. Is that…good? Stay tuned next for exactly what was scheduled to run next, at the exact time it was scheduled to do so. And from my mouth to your ears, even after all of these years, Good Night, Night Vale. Good Night.

Proverb: Technically, the first human being and the first human being in space were the same person.

[msimmons-writing]

Women's Bodily Autonomy < Men’s Comfort

Us women are done being exploited by dress codes. All women have experienced the unfair treatment of being told what they’re wearing is not appropriate. That it’s too distracting to other people, or that they’re not wearing proper attire for their body shape. Dress codes are sexist, they promote body shaming, and they sexualize women. I encourage you to fight with me to make dress codes fair to all genders.

I have been dress-coded more times than I can count. My body developed at a very early age, and I’ve been chastised for it ever since. I was berated for distracting the male students and teachers. Apparently, I didn’t dress properly for my body type. Some of my teachers went as far as telling me that I looked like a slut. Shirts made for girls my age didn’t typically accommodate breasts of my size. Shorts, skirts, and dresses weren’t made for a girl like me with six inches of extra leg. Despite the eating disorder that my teacher’s criticism caused, I couldn’t change my body type to their liking. I also couldn’t fix the fact that clothing didn’t fit me like it did the other girls. Regardless, I was still punished for looking the way I did. I can say with certainty that my story isn’t just my own, and many other women share it.

                Women are constantly getting into trouble for dress code violations that men would never have to face. Growing up in sunny California I frequently saw my male classmates wearing bro tanks which sometimes showed off their nipples. Us women gravitated towards spaghetti straps and other thin-strapped tank tops. I can’t remember a single instance in which a male student was dress-coded for this, but you bet us women were dress-coded every time. If our straps weren’t two fingers wide, we were forced to wear an ugly and stinky P.E. shirt. To reiterate: all to keep the men distraction-free! Women are being told that their bodies are a distraction for men. Essentially, we’re being told that men’s comfort is more important than our own. Dress codes enforce that a woman’s education and career are less important than those of a man. We are being taught that we need to change our comfort because some men can’t control their impulses. If that isn’t sexism, then I don’t know what is.

                In middle school, I was dubbed the dress code queen, which is a fancy way of saying I had the most dress code violations. There were days I would wear the exact same thing as another student, but I was the only one dress-coded. I had a teacher tell me, “This is my first dress code in my 20 years of teaching.” Wow, glad to know my body is so outrageously offensive to you that you would break such an impressive streak. I still wonder what she was trying to accomplish with that statement because if it was to make me feel ashamed of myself, you go girl, you did it! The dress code violations have followed me into adult life as well. A year ago, I wore a pair of shorts to work that went well past my butt, and I was told I was too inappropriate for work. My ex-employers dress code said that shorts have to cover three-fourths of the thigh; on the average woman that’s where those shorts sit. I was not allowed to wear the same shorts as the average woman, because my legs are longer. I was being told my legs were different, and therefore too inappropriate to show.

                In my school days, I was often told I looked too sexual to continue to wear my own clothes. Teachers were saying this to me, adult teachers saying this to a 12-year-old! The repulsive act of a teacher trying to determine if a child looks too sexual for school turns that learner into a sexual object. Let’s not forget the obligatory, “you’re distracting the male students, and male teachers” which teaches girls it’s their fault they’re being sexualized. I can’t begin to tell you how many times I’ve been told that I was asking for something because of the way I dress; even by other women. A female friend of mine told me that my choice in clothing reflected how little self-respect I had and if I didn’t respect myself, then no man ever would. I was taught to believe that it was my fault that men made unwanted advances. It was my fault that adult men would be attracted to me, as a teenager, and I was to blame for them disobeying their moral code of not hooking up with minors.

                School districts and human resource departments can help us make a lasting change in dress codes. Schools and workplaces need to institute a dress code that will prevent sexism, the promotion of body shaming, and the sexualization of women. I believe the right dress code to adopt is the one that the Oregon National Organization for Women (NOW) created. Oregon NOW Model Student Dress Code (2016) holds the basic principle that “Clothes must be worn in a way such that genitals, buttocks, nipples are covered with opaque material. Cleavage should not have coverage.”

                Some people won’t want to change the dress code rules, because they don’t like to see a certain body type. A year ago, I was talking to a faculty member of my old high school about this issue, and they corroborated that many teachers in our district felt this way. Through their daily supervision of the student body, they observed that only girls who were overweight or deemed unattractive were given dress code violations.

                Together we can fight to change what dress codes say about us. The first step to change is understanding that sexist dress codes body shame and sexualize women. I urge you to lobby your school and work to adopt Oregon NOW’s dress code model. Protesting is a great tool for us, as it shows that we’re serious and won’t back down until we get what we want. The most important thing we can do is stand up for the women who are unjustly dress coded. The only way we win is if we fight together. With the ratification of a new dress code standard, we will be empowering women for years to come.

Oregon National Organization for Women. Model Student Dress Code. Oregon, Feb. 2016 http://noworegon.org/issues/model-student-dress-code/ PDF of dress code is at the bottom of the page and is the first link under “Additional Readings”

[tinyyoungblood]

hi!! do you know that tiktok trend where the girl asks her bf if he can temporarily break up with her so she can be heartbroken when she listens to olivia rodrigo’s new album and the bf always says no? could you do that but with peter and avenger!reader? i don’t really know how the avengers play into that but i trust you to think of something great. love your work babes <3

pairing: peter parker x avenger!reader

word count: 2.7k

a/n: hey fren, tysm <3 i do know that trend, and it always warms my darn heart. you probably meant for this to be a headcanon but halfway through i realised that i was writing full sentences, so i just rolled with it bc i have no self-control lol enjoy x

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Peter, I need you to break up with me.”

Not a moment later, you heard a series of loud crashes and Peter stumbled out of the bathroom, hopping on one leg while fiddling with his zipper. “What did you just say?” His eyes were wild as they scanned your face.

“I need you to break up with me,” you repeated calmly, not taking your eyes off your laptop.

“Break up with you?” Peter echoed, hand raking through his hair in bewilderment. “Why would I do that? Do you want to break up?”

This made you look up. Peter was staring at you like you had just insulted his face, making it quite an effort to stay serious. “It’s just for 34 minutes and 46 seconds,” you assured. “So I can listen to Olivia Rodrigo’s new album.”

He blinked at you.

“What?”

“Please?” You set your laptop aside, shuffling to the end of the bed so you were sitting right in front of him. “I want to listen to it in full effect with a broken heart and everything.”

“I…” Peter slowly shook his head. A helpless laugh escaped him. “Um, no. Thank you.” He turned and made to return to the bathroom.

“Peter,” you whined and grabbed for his hand, pulling him to a halt.

“Sorry, angel.” He shrugged, supressing the faint tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Pleeeeaase.”

“Nope.”

You pouted. “We can break up when you train with Bucky! In that way you won’t even notice because you’ll be busy and distracted. I won’t even be on your mind.” You weren’t sure what you had said that made Peter stare at you like you were insane, but it took him a second to snap out of it.

He cupped your face with his hands and made sure to meet your eyes. “Babe, I think about you all the time.” He said it like it was a wish he wanted to word correctly. Slow and precise. Then he switched to a lighter tone that implied that he was done with the conversation. “I’m not breaking up with you.” With that he turned and left for the bathroom.

“Fine,” you called back although the water was already running and you doubted that Peter could hear you. And if he did, he probably didn’t care. You took that as your cue to leave. Defeated, you plucked your headphones into your phone and picked out a song of Olivia’s album at random.

Steve was lounging on the couch of the common room when you entered. He looked up from his magazine and gave you a small smile by way of greeting. You returned it by tapping two fingers at your temple in salute, ignoring the way how his stare lingered a little longer. You sat down next to him. When you locked eyes again, you saw the silent question on his face and let out a laugh. It ended up sounding more like a delightful scoff.

“I know Tony takes pride in being the philanthropist amongst us, but for someone who grew up in the ice age, you’re really good at reading people’s faces.” You wanted to annoy Steve, maybe even coax out a laugh, but he just kept looking at you, and you held his gaze. You were good at it—an aftereffect of living with Bucky who happened to love the same yoghurt as you did. Sometimes you put all western movies to shame with the way you narrowed your eyes at each other early in the morning in front of the fridge.

To your luck, Steve was just as stubborn, which meant that you two could’ve kept it going until death if it weren’t for the door banging open.

“I can’t believe you did this to me!” A voice boomed. You took a wild guess and assumed it was Clint.

“Tell me about it!” Another voice bellowed right back.

A second later, Sam and Clint marched into the room, furious, whereas Bucky strolled in behind them with no care in the world.

The former two were holding bags of food. Both were animated and waving their arms through the air while arguing. You turned down the volume of your phone in time to hear Steve demand, “What’s going on?”

Clint and Sam stared daggers at Bucky until Steve amended, “Buck, what did you do?”

The man in question turned around, facing his best friend in exasperation. “I asked these two to get food for me.” This earned him a snarl. Bucky waved them off and examined his metal arm, unconcerned. “Honestly, I have no idea why they’re getting so worked up about it.”

“We—” Sam gestured wildly between Clint and himself. “—were asked to pick up food for him from two different places. And neither of us knew about it!”

“Yes, neither of us knew,” Clint chimed in, eyes narrowing at Bucky who was busy flicking dust off his arm. “And I don’t know about you, Sam, but I was touched. I was moved, okay? Because Bucky never asks for anything and here I was, thinking we’re starting to bond or whatever but now I just feel USED.”

Sam gave a harsh sound in agreement.

“Bucky,” said Steve after no one had anything to add. “What do you have to say to that?”

Your gaze flitted between them, not sure what to expect. Bucky didn’t give any sign of wanting to respond, making you wonder if he had heard Cap at all. But then a slow smile swept over his lips and you noted that it was probably the most feline smile you’d ever seen. It was a smile storybook villains wore after burning down the world.

“The only thing I have to say is that I regret not having the moment they ran into each other in the elevator on video tape, because that—” He turned and looked Sam and Clint straight in the eye. “—was amazing.”

No one spoke.

“Ruthless,” you said under your breath and just like marionettes, the four men glanced you before another argument broke.

You took the chance to turn the volume back up. “happier” was playing and you settled further into the couch to watch the scene unfold. Sam was arguing so passionately that the vein on his neck was making an impressive appearance. Clint, on the other hand, had a palm pressed flat to his chest; his face showing pure betrayal. Bucky didn’t seem to care for the chaos. He tried multiple times to grab for the bags only for one of them to move out of his reach. When you glanced at Steve, you nearly lost it.

He was staring at them like his lifespan had just been reduced to ten years. He looked like he wanted to throw pebbles after them.

Nudging him with your arm, you silently handed him one of your earphones. He glanced at you and hesitated, probably thinking of the many times you had offered him a taste of blaring electronic music. You rolled your eyes and insisted again. This time, Steve took it and you watched in amusement as his brows rose in surprise.

“I like the piano,” he mouthed and glimpsed at the name of the song. You grinned.

In the meantime, Clint and Sam had decided to form an alliance. They had planted themselves in the opposite couch, digging into the contents of the brown bags while Bucky gawked at them from the other side of the room with his mouth ajar and heart ripped out of his chest. Shaking his head in disbelief, he let himself fall into the armchair facing them. He looked devastated. You weren’t sure if you had to stifle a laugh or tears.

Next to you, Steve chocked back a laugh. You quirked an eyebrow and considered him only to realise the reason behind his glee. Bucky was brooding in his seat while Sam and Clint did an excellence job on commenting every bite. Nothing has ever received as much praise as that pasta, and you were certain that if this were a cartoon, there would be rain clouds hovering above Bucky’s head. As if the angels had set it up themselves, you took notice of the lyrics.

I hope you're happy, but not like how you were with me

I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go

So find someone great but don't find no one better

Bucky was pouting, poking the leather of his armchair with his finger while stealing glances at Sam and Clint. It was perfect. Steve slapped a hand on his chest and he tipped his head back, laughing.

I hope you're happy, I wish you all the best, really

Say you love her, baby, just not like you loved me

And think of me fondly when your hands are on her

I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

You were both laughing hysterically. The others had stopped their on-going war to stare at the two of you; their expressions baffled. The song came to an end and Steve gave back your earphone, rubbing his eye as if wiping away a tear. He rose and walked over to Bucky, hurling him to his feet and putting an arm around his shoulders.

“Oh, Buck,” Steve said with a note of laughter in his voice. “There’s a song I need to show you.” You smiled as you watched them leave.

“Well, this was fun.” You pushed yourself off the couch and shook your head as Sam offered you some of his sushi. “Thanks, but I’m on a mission to get heartbroken.”

Leaving the men to their food, you wandered the halls and listened to “traitor” as you walked past Wanda’s room. Her door was open and you could see that Vision was in the middle of a chess game with Bruce and Wanda. By the looks of it, Vision was as good as winning and you reined the urge to cheer for him. You peaked around the door frame and saw that Vision had their king in check. Deep betrayal crossed Wanda’s face.

You chuckled quietly and whispered, “FRIDAY, play what I’m listening to right now through the speakers in Wanda’s room.” FRIDAY didn’t bother to respond but not a second later, the lyrics were blasting through her room and their heads snapped up in confusion.

Don't you dare forget about the way

You betrayed me

'Cause I know that you'll never feel sorry

For the way I hurt, yeah

“Wanda?“ You heard Vision’s careful voice. “What is going on?”

Guess you didn't cheat

But you're still

You're still a traitor

“I’m not sure, but these lyrics aren’t wrong…You are a traitor.” Wanda narrowed her eyes at him, slowly bobbing her head to the music. Treason danced in her eyes. It was the beginning of a villain origin story.

“Maybe it’s a sign of God,” Bruce said and you almost burst out laughing.

God, I wish that you had thought this through

Before I went and fell in love with you

“Hell yeah!” Wanda yelled and this time you bolted down the hallway, wheezing. You dashed right into Tony’s lab and slammed the door.

“What are you on?” He looked up in amusement. You simply shook your head, laughter still bubbling over your lips.

“Just spreading love in this facility.” You waved your hand at nothing in particular and Tony nodded.

“Right, I heard you asked Peter to break up with you to listen to that one album? Very dramatic. I like it.”

“See.” You gestured at him, indicating that he was the only one who got it. “It’s a good album. Maybe you should ask Pepper to divorce you.”

Tony gave a humourless laugh. “Yeah, I don’t think she would come back if I asked her.”

“Yikes,” you mumbled and this time Tony’s laughed for real.

“So what? You’ve just been walking around waiting for heartbreak?” He turned back to whatever he was working on. You stepped closer to get a peek.

“Precisely.”

“Sounds tiring.”

“I’m powered by exhaustion” You handed him the wrench he needed. “Want a listen? I think there’s a song you might like.”

He contemplated the offer and lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug. “Sure, why not.” You couldn’t help but squeal. You knew that Tony probably didn’t care but sharing your music was always exciting.

Beaming, you removed your headphones and connected your phone to the speakers of Tony’s lab. The first tunes of “good 4 u” started playing and Tony tapped his foot to the beat, head bobbing just slightly. When the chorus hit, he stood up and you stepped back, thinking he wanted to headbang. Instead, he reached for a tool that was further away. You didn’t miss the way he moved his shoulders in a little dance move though.

“I like this one,” he said, and you flashed him a smile. You continued working on the suit, handing Tony things you knew he needed until you passed him a plier and he froze. You furrowed your brows, glanced at the tool you knew was the right one, and cocked your head in silent question.

Maybe I'm too emotional

Or maybe you never cared at all

Looking you straight in the eyes, he flung the plier over his shoulder, opened a drawer, and took out another plier to use on his suit. You gasped.

“How dare you,” you whispered in shock. Tony had the nerve to shrug.

“Enjoy your little heartbreak moment, Y/N.” He shooed you away like a cat. “FRIDAY, yank up the volume, would you.”

Well, good for you, you look happy and healthy

Not me, if you ever cared to ask

Good for you, you're doin' great out there without me

“Guys?” Peter’s voice was drowned out by the booming music. He was leaning against the doorframe, watching in amusement as you and Tony towered on the lab tables, using screwdrivers as provisional microphones. While Tony played a terrific air guitar, you sank dramatically to your knees and impressed the crowd with your air drumming skills.

“Guys?” Peter tried again, chuckling. This time you and Tony whipped around at the same time and pointed straight at Peter.

Like a damn sociopath

You threw your arms up in the air and spun in circles while Tony jumped into quite an impressive split leap.

I've lost my mind

I've spent the night cryin' on the floor in my bathroom

Just over the fact that I really don't get it

But I guess good for you

The song came to an end, and you leapt on Tony’s table to share a screwdriver with him as you sang the last lyrics together.

Well, good for you, I guess you moved on really easily

The song ended and all you could hear was heavy breathing. Peter began to clap. “This was great, you guys. Wow.”

You exchanged glances with Tony before making a show of bowing at the waist.

“So this is what happens when I refuse to break up with you?” Peter strolled over to where you sat on the lab table, positioning himself between your legs. Tony chuckled and jumped off to grab a water bottle from across the room.

“I’m gonna need you to elaborate on that,” you said, just for the devil of it.

Peter smiled. “Cap and Bucky are crying over a song, Vision is sending Wanda flowers in ten-minute intervals, and you are down here having a rock concert with Tony.”

You gave him a toothy grin. “I was just feeling sour.”

* * *

stay hydrated pals

[bananonbinary]

Time for a Salty Meta Post about Martin!

people who’ve followed this blog for a bit know that spending six hours combing through text for some goddamn sources is my specialty, so i compiled every time jon ever talked about martin’s work in season 1. which for the record, he stopped complaining about all the way back in episode 26, where he was angry that martin of all people got hurt.

things jon gets mad at martin for:

not being able to find records that don’t exist

not being able to find someone based only on a first name

the Dog

not wearing trousers in his off-hours

being the one that got caught up in the jane prentiss thing

mag 004 and mag 012 both have jon taking potshots at martin over research that was proven accurate by outside sources

things jon has never once complained about:

martin not understanding the filing system and just putting stuff away at random

martin being clumsy, constantly ruining things, spilling tea everywhere everyday, etc

martin turning in incompetent, poorly-edited, or badly formatted reports

martin not understanding the terminology used, skills expected, etc., and generally being extremely new to the field

please for the love of god stop making martin the silly bumbling idiot who can’t do anything right just because he doesn’t have a formal education. there’s zero evidence for it in the text, and it’s really weird to act like a 4 year degree would outweigh the *10 years* of job experience he has, not just in academia, but in the institute itself by season one. my boy has worked there longer than ANY of the rest of the main cast. screw you guys.

tl;dr: martin is never once shown to be bad at his job, jon pretty much only ever gets mad at him for the really stupid first impression and also not finding stuff that no one else was able to find either. after martin got hurt, jon talks about his research basically the same way he talks about tim’s or sasha’s work.

fucking proof under the cut:

(i didnt include the s1 finale or martin’s statement bc that’s just...two entire episodes of them talking to each other, but there isn’t really any notable Martin Complaints in either of them imo)

I swear, if he’s brought another dog in here, I’m going to peel him.

[pre-launch trailer]

.

Well, technically three, but I don’t count Martin as he’s unlikely to contribute anything but delays.

[...] Alongside this Tim, Sasha and, yes, I suppose, Martin will be doing some supplementary investigation to see what details may be missing from what we have.

[MAG001 Anglerfish]

.

Martin couldn’t find any records of Ex Altiora as a title in existent catalogues of esoteric or similar literature, so I assigned Sasha to double-check. Still nothing.

[MAG004 Pageturner]

.

I had Martin conduct a follow-up interview with Mr. Woodward last week, but it was unenlightening. Apparently there have been no further bags at number 93 and in the intervening years he has largely discounted many of the stranger aspects of his experience. I wasn’t expecting much, as time generally makes people inclined to forget what they would rather not believe, but at least it got Martin out of the Institute for an afternoon, which is always a welcome relief.

[MAG005 Thrown Away]

.

Martin was unable to find the exact date the original house was built but the earliest records he could find list it as being bought by Walter Fielding in 1891.

[...]

We cannot prove any connection, but Martin unearthed a report on an Agnes Montague, who was found dead in her Sheffield flat on the evening of November 23rd 2006, the same day Mr. Lensik claims to have uprooted the tree.

[MAG008 Burned Out]

.

According to Martin, who was here when they took this statement, it was at this point in writing that Mr. Herbert announced he needed some sleep before continuing. He was shown to the break room where he went to sleep on the couch. He did not awaken; unfortunately succumbing to the lung cancer right there. Martin says the staff had been aware of how serious Mr. Herbert’s condition was, and had advised him to seek medical aid prior to giving his statement, but were told rather bluntly by the old man that he would not wait another second to state his case. I can’t decide whether this lends more or less credibility to his tale.

[MAG010 Vampire Killer]

.

“Veepalach” might also be a mishearing of the Polish word “wypalać”, according to Martin, which means to cauterize or brand. Admittedly, if Martin speaks Polish in the same way he “speaks Latin,” then he might be talking nonsense again, but I’ve looked it up and it appears to check out.

[MAG012 First Aid]

.

I sent Martin to look into this ‘Angela’ character - not that I want him to get chopped up, of course, but someone had to. Apparently, he spent three days looking into every woman named Angela in Bexley over the age of 50. He could not find anyone that matches the admittedly vague description given here, though he informs me that he had some very pleasant chats about jigsaws. Useless ass.

[MAG014 Piecemeal]

.

Martin declined to help with this investigation as he’s “a bit claustrophobic”

[MAG015 Lost John’s Cave]

.

There simply aren’t enough details given in this statement to actually investigate, short of Martin confirming that Mr. Vittery did indeed live at the addresses he provided.

[MAG016 Arachnophobia]

.

Oh, he’s off sick this week. Stomach problems, I think.

Blessed relief if you ask me.

[...]

I asked Martin to try and hunt down Mr. Adekoya himself for a follow-up, but have been informed that he passed away in 2006. 

[MAG017 The Boneturner’s Tale]

.

MARTIN

Well, I need to tell someone what happened, and you can vouch for the soundness of my mind, can’t you?

ARCHIVIST

…

That is beside the point.

[MAG022 Colony]

.

Martin! Good lord man, if you’re going to be staying in the Archives, at least have the decency to put some trousers on!

[MAG023 Schwartzwald]

.

Martin found one other thing while combing through police reports for the Hither Green area. About a month after this statement was given, on May 15th, 2015, police were called out to once again investigate the chapel.

[MAG025 Growing Dark]

.

I know, but it would have to have been Martin, wouldn’t it? I mean, anything goes wrong around here, it always seems to happen to him. Anyway, we’re getting off topic. Why didn’t you report this?

[MAG026 A Distortion]

.

Martin made contact with the son, Marcus McKenzie, but he declined to talk to us, saying that he’d “already made his statement.”

[MAG027 A Sturdy Lock]

.

Tim and Martin had a bit more luck investigating Tom Haan, though only really enough to confirm that he seems to have completely vanished following his departure from Aver Meats on the 12th of July.

[MAG030 Killing Floor]

.

Martin’s research would seem to indicate the place employed a reasonable number of international staff they preferred to keep off the books

[...]

TIM

Ah well, that’s actually what he was asking, huh! Um, apparently Martin, uh, took delivery of a couple of items last week addressed to you. Did he not mention it?

ARCHIVIST

No, he… Oh, yes, actually. I completely forgot. He said he put it in my desk drawer, hold on.

[MAG036 Taken Ill]

[therealvinelle]

I've always wondered this, but what do you think the Cullen's political viewpoints would be, given their individual backgrounds? if vampires don't change after they turn, then surely they would all be extremely racist (especially Jasper). would this not come up at some point? they aren't like the Volturi because the Volturi are too old to care, but the Cullens are young enough that they have been brought up with opinions on stuff like sexism, racism, homophobia and the like.

Oh fuck.

You get an early answer because otherwise I'll just chicken out and delete this one, pretend I never saw it.

UMMM.

Since I'm guessing you meant American political viewpoints, we need a disclaimer. I am not American, and not too knowledgeable about your politics. Not just in the sense that I don't follow the day-to-day drama, but as I am not an American citizen there are several things I don't know, can't know because I've never lived in your country and therefore can't know what the effects of living in a country ruled by American policies is like. What I do know is based off of the news in the foreign section, social media (by which I mean tumblr posts), and Trevor Noah's Daily Show.

I am an outsider looking in.

Which is really rather appropriate, since the Cullens are too.

The Cullens go to high school and college, Carlisle works, they pay taxes, they own real estate, and submerge themselves in American culture. Esme, Edward, Rosalie, Emmett, and Bella are young enough that this is in many ways their world, and apart from timeouts they've more or less spent their entire lives, human and vampire, integrated into American society.

Not fully integrated, mind you, they do what they need to to fit in and get to school or, in Carlisle’s case, to work. They go no further. No extra-curriculars for the kids, no book clubs for Esme, no game nights for Carlisle. They walk parallel to humans, not among us.

In addition to this they're obscenely rich, which puts them another thousand miles from the experiences of your average American. They won't deal with the health system, which means healthcare is a non-issue, they're not going to need welfare or other social programs, unemployment is another non-issue. Name your issue, and the Cullens don't have personal stake in it. Even the climate crisis won't be a problem for them the way it will for us.

What I'm trying to say is, American political issues are a concept to them, not a lived reality. Just like they are for me. So hey, you made a great choice of blog to ask.

I'll also add here that you say the Volturi are too old to care, and I agree- from an ancient's point of view, racism is a matter of "which ethnicity are we hating today?", and it all looks rather arbitrary after a while. Same with every other issue - after a while it all just blends together into "what are the humans fighting over today? Which Christian denomination is the correct one? Huh. Good for them, I guess."

I can't put it any better than this post did, really. The Volturi are real people, humans are nerds and tumblr having Loki discourse. Aro thinks it's delightful and knows entirely too much about Watergate (and let's be real, Loki discourse as well), but the point I wanted to get at is that politics really don't matter to vampires.

And I don't think they matter to the Cullens either.

So, moving on to the next point while regretting I didn't put headlines in this post, I'll just state that I don't think vampires' minds are frozen. Their brains are unable to develop further, and they can never forget anything, but... well, this isn't the post for that, but in order for this to be true of vampires they would barely be sentient. They would not be able to process new impressions, to learn new things, nor to have an independent thought process. Yes, we see vampires in-universe (namely, Edward, who romanticizes himself and vampires) believe they're frozen and can never change, but there is no indication that this is a widespread belief, or even true. Quite the contrary - Carlisle went from a preacher's son who wanted to burn all the demons to living in Demon Capital for decades and then becoming a doctor and making a whole family of demons. Clearly, the guy has had a change in attitude over the years. Jasper, in his years as a newborn army general, slowly grew disenchanted with his life and developed depression. James initially meant to kill Victoria and hunted her across the earth, then became fascinated and changed his mind about it.

Had these people been incapable of change, Carlisle would still be hating demons, Jasper would be in Maria's army, and James would still be hunting Victoria.

It goes to follow, then, that they are able to adapt to new things.

The question is, would they?

Here I finally answer your question.

So, we have these people who don't really have any kind of stake in politics, who keep up to date all the same (or are forcibly kept up to date because high school) and are generally opinionated people.

Where do they then fall, politically?

(And this is where you might want to stop reading, anon, because I'm about to eviscerate these people.)

Alice votes for whoever's gonna win. She also makes a fortune off of betting each election. Trump's 1 to 10 victory in 2016 was a great day to be Alice. MAGA!

The actual policies involved are completely irrelevant, she does this because it's fun. Election means she gets to throw parties. Color coded parties for the Republican and Democratic primaries, and US-themed parties for Election Night! (Foreigner moment right here: I at first wrote "Election wake" before realizing that's not what y'all murricans call it.)

Alice loves politics. Doesn't know the issues, but she sure loves politics.

Bella votes Democrat. She actually knows about the issues, and cares about them. This girl is a Democrat through and through.

Carlisle doesn't vote. I can't imagine it feels right. Outside of faked papers he's not a US citizen, this is meddling in human affairs that he knows don't concern him.

More, this guy has never lived in a democracy.

In life, Carlisle lived under an absolute monarchy that, upon civil war, became an absolute theocracy. From there he learned that vampires live under a total dictatorship.

For the first 150 years of his life, democracy was that funky thing the Athenians did in history books thousands of years ago, no more relevant to him than the Ancient Egyptian monarchy is to me. Then the Americans, and later other European countries started doing this.

Good for them.

There's this mistake often made by those who view history from a... for lack of a better term, a solipsistic standpoint. A belief that the present day is the culmination of all of history. “My society is the best society, the most reasonable society; all the others had it backwards. Thank god we’re living in this enlightened age!”

The faith in our current system of government is one such belief. We (pardon me if this doesn’t apply to everybody reading this post) have grown up in democracies, being told this is the ultimate form of rule, and perhaps that is true - but remember the kings who have told their subjects they had were divine and the best possible ruler based on that. Remember also that most modern democracies haven’t actually been democracies for very long at all, America is the longest standing at some 230 years (not long at all in the grand scope of things) and they have a fracturing two-party system to show for it.

Every society, ever, has been told they’re the greatest, and their system of government the most just. Democracy is only the latest hit.

This is relevant to Carlisle because he’s immortal and decidedly not modern. Democracy has not been installed in him the way it was the rest of the Cullens, Jasper included. To him- well, it’s just not his world. He has no stakes in our human politics, and as he is older than every current democracy and has seen quite a few of them fall, he’s not going to internalize the democratic form of rule the way a modern human has.

I think the concept of voting is foreign to him.

It requires a level of participation in human society that he’s simply not at. He does the bare minimum to appear human so he do the work he loves, but nothing more, and I find that telling.

As it is I think he'd be iffy about his family doing it. He won’t stop them, but in voting they’re... well it’s kind of cheating. They’re not really citizens, none of this will affect them, and by voting they’re drowning out the votes of real human voters. He does not approve.

Edward votes Democrat. He's... well he’s the kind of guy who will oil a girl’s bedroom window so he can more easily watch her sleep without being discovered, justifying it to himself as being okay because if she were to tell him to get lost he’d stop immediately. Same guy is so sure that he’d leave and never return again if she wanted him to, except this is the man who returned to Forks to hang around his singer, knowing there was a significant chance he might kill her. To say nothing of his Madonna/Whore complex, or of the fact that he tried to pimp out his wife twice, and was willing to forcibly abort her child.

This guy is very much in love with chivalry, with being an enlightened and feminist man who supports and respects women, while not understanding the entire point of feminism, which is female liberation.

He votes Democrat because he’s such an enlightened feminist who cares about women’s rights.

Emmett doesn’t care to vote, but if he has to he votes Republican. The guy is from the 1930′s, and has major would-be-the-uncle-who-cracks-racist-jokes-if-he-was-older vibes.

Esme doesn’t vote, that would require getting out of the house.

More, I just... can’t see it. I can’t see her being one to read up on politics and The Issues, period, but if she has to then I doubt she’d be able to decide.

Jasper doesn’t vote. Alice can have her fun, he does not care.

There’s also the whole can of worms regarding the last time he went to bat for American politics.

I imagine he stays out of this.

Renesmée doesn't vote. She has no stock in the human affairs. Who would she vote for, on what grounds? When Bella tries to pull her to the urns, she points out that she's three years old.

Rosalie, guys, I’m sorry, but that girl is definitely gonna vote Republican. Perhaps not right now as it’s become the Trump party of insanity, but the Mitt Romney type of Republicans? Oh yes.

And for the record, yes I imagine she does vote. To step back from politics would be another way she was relinquishing her humanity, and that’s not allowed to happen. So, yes, she goes to the urns, less for the sake of the politics involved and more because like this, she’s still a part of society in some way.

Now, onto why I think she’s Republican, I think it’s both fiscal and social.

This girl was the daughter of a banker who somehow profited off of the Depression, and who then became part of a family with no material needs that would soon become billionaires thanks to Alice. Poverty to Rosalie is a non-issue, as it is I imagine she views it as a much lesser issue than what she’s had to deal with. The humans can pull themselves up by their bootstraps, Rosalie’s infertility is forever.

Rosalie’s empathy is strongest when she’s able to project onto others, and she won’t be able to project onto the less fortunate at all.

Then there’s the fact that the Republican party is all about traditional family values, and pro-life.

Rosalie, a woman from the 1930′s who idolizes her human life and who‘d love nothing more than to get to live out this fantasy, is down for that. And as of Breaking Dawn she’s vocally pro-life, so there’s that.

This all being said I don’t think Rosalie cares to sit down and fully understand these politics she’s voting for, the possible impact they’ll have- that’s not important. What’s important is what voting does for her.

TL;DR: I bet anon regrets asking.

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Magic is legal, Arthur knows The Truth and Merlin is... shit at explaining things:

Arthur demands a trip to visit the Druids, who are far more qualified than Merlin, so they can explain this whole... destiny thing.

I’ve written a lot of angst and Hurt!Merlin recently, so I just wanted to write something short and sweet and fluffy :)

SO.

Magic has been legalised, Merlin is Court Sorcerer, all the knights are alive and happy, Morgana is good, and the only thing Arthur has to worry about right now is what the hell to do about the rapidly growing crush he has on his BestFriend™.

After the dust had settled, Merlin had tried to sit Arthur down and tell him the whole story; all about Emrys, and the prophecies, and destiny. The King already knew about Merlin’s magic, and roughly how powerful he is, but that’s it.

But Merlin went so long barely mentioning it at all, not even to Gaius or Morgana or Lancelot, that he’s still not entirely sure what to say. Years of hiding and lying and trying desperately not to think about it, mean his brain now blanks when he tries to explain it.

After far too long of Arthur looking on confusedly whilst Merlin rambled on about dragons and coins and mental links and names, The Court Sorcerer gave up, and decided to just not bother.

Arthur, of course, decided that giving up was stupid, and made the executive decision that they would just go to the Druids, and someone who actual knew what they were talking about could explain it thoroughly. Maybe even allow Arthur to read the original prophecies.

Plus, it turned out that Initiating a Golden Age took quite a lot of work, so neither of them had had a chance to leave the city for weeks. They could do with the fresh air. And if Arthur saw it as a good chance to be properly alone with Merlin for more than half a candle mark? No one else needed to know, least of all Merlin.

~

It was a pleasant journey through the woods. The silences comfortable, and the conversations easy and filled with smiles.

Magic had only been legalised for about a fortnight, and after over twenty years of fear, magic users were still understandably cautious, meaning the closest Druid camp was still a two days ride away.

But that wasn’t a problem. With Merlin now able to use his magic openly, and therefor more able to defend his King, he found he was far less anxious about the trip outside the city than he would’ve been before. And if his good mood bled into the environment around them? Well... it was spring... surely no one would notice the extra flowers and abundance of butterflies?

(Arthur definitely noticed. But Merlin was still... wary, of performing sorcery openly, in fear of scaring the people who had been sucked in by two decades of propaganda and fear-mongering. Meaning Arthur sure as shit wasn’t going to point it out, in case Merlin stopped.)

It was around noon, and the sun was shining down on them when Merlin pulled his horse to a stop. He dismounts effortlessly, and hands a confused Arthur his reins. At Arthur’s raised eyebrow, Merlin sighs and speaks quietly:

“The camp is about two minutes further on but... the change in the law was only recent, and...-”

He bites his lip and looks away, worrying Arthur slightly, before continuing:

“-well, chainmail and red capes still make them a little nervous. I’ve already warned their leader that we’re coming-”

He taps his temple briefly:

“-but I should go ahead and explain properly.”

Arthur nods in understanding, and gives Merlin a comforting smile:

“I completely understand, Merlin. How long do you want me to wait, or will you come back to get me?”

Merlin returns his smile, before saying:

“Just wait ten minutes then follow me, straight down the path. Bring the horses, there’ll be somewhere to tie them there. You shouldn’t run into any trouble this close to a camp, but you do have a track-record so-”

Merlin laughs at Arthur’s indignant expression, but continues before he can interrupt him:

“-if you do, just yell. We won’t be too far away, we’ll hear you.”

Arthur rolls his eyes fondly and shoos Merlin away. The Warlock laughs as he turns and continues down the path on foot. Just before he disappears behind a large bush, he turns around again, a slightly concerned expression on his face:

“I might look a bit... different? But don’t mention it, they’re quite fond of me... uh... dressing the part.”

Arthur huffs out a laugh before saying:

“I’m sure I won’t forget what you look like in ten minutes, Merlin. Go.”

Merlin hums thoughtfully, and turns back around, disappearing into the trees and leaving Arthur to his thoughts.

After a few moments, he removes his cloak, tucking it into a saddlebag. He also, after only a little hesitation, removes his sword, strapping it to his saddle. It was still visible and easily within reach, but not so threateningly on display at his hip.

He was entering these people’s home, after personally wielding the sharp edge of their persecution for almost a decade; the least he could do was make them as comfortable as possible.

He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, not even Merlin, but he had a feeling that this meet was going to end up being about more than the prophecies. Peace had been harboured, magic had been legalised, but like Merlin had pointed out, things were still a little tense. This meeting was a way to show the Druids that Arthur meant it, that his whole heart was behind this change. The he was not his father.

Arthur was a little nervous (not that he’d ever admit that), this was important. Not just to him and the kingdom, but to Merlin personally. He had to get this right. One of the only things that Arthur had managed to get out of Merlin, to do with the whole destiny thing, was that it was finished. It was done.

If Arthur messes this up, not only will it ruin the peace they had been working so hard for... then Merlin might leave. He has no reason to stay after-all, he’s done his job. So Arthur has to get this right, has to impress everyone, now more than ever, because if he fails and the Druids all leave Camelot, then Merlin would leave with them.

And that thought was... unbearable.

He counts down the minutes, getting more and more tense. He tried to distract himself by thinking about what Merlin had said, “dressing the part” what does that even mean?

But it doesn’t work. Soon enough his brain is throwing thought after paranoid thought at him, about all the possible ways Merlin could tell Arthur he hated him, and leave forever and ever.

Arthur rubbed his eyes harshly, muttering to himself about how he really should’ve accepted the “relaxing tea” Gaius had offered him before they left. Other than Merlin, the old physician is the only one who ever seems to know what he needs in the moment, Arthur should definitely learn to listen to him more.

He finally reaches zero in his mental countdown, and sighs before standing from where he’d sat on a fallen log. He’d allowed the horses to wander a bit but they were trained to stay close by, so he has no problem gathering their reins again and leading them slowly down the path Merlin had followed.

All Druid camps were different. Some moved around constantly, some stayed fairly still. Some were huge, acres large with hundreds of people, others were small, only ten people or so. Some were occupied by mostly the sick and elderly, others were full of the young and adventurous, and others were family orientated.

And of course it was rare, according to Gaius, that someone would stay in the same camp their whole life. The Druids were a nomadic people, always shifting, drifting, wandering. Following a constantly tugging thread in their hearts, going where nature beckoned them.

According to Merlin, this specific camp was pretty small (around twenty adults) but it was also a fairly familial group, meaning lots of children. And if that didn’t make Arthur nervous (it definitely did) then nothing would.

Arthur didn’t have much experience with children, and definitely had no concept of how to act around them, especially Druid children.

After about a minute of walking, Arthur could hear loud laughter and quiet conversations floating through the trees. He slowed his pace; trying to appear unthreatening and friendly, or to delay the inevitable, he’s not quite sure.

He finally breaks through the treeline to see that... no one is even looking in his direction.

It was the middle of the day, so the camp was busy, people milling about everywhere, most of the tents open, various jobs getting done throughout the clearing.

But what immediately drew Arthur’s eye, was the source of the laughter.

The King looked across the clearing to see Merlin, in a whole new wardrobe, and a whole new light.

The man had changed from his simple travellers clothes (basically the clothes he’d worn as a manservant, just a bit newer and cleaner.) into a loose, white, lace up shirt (sleeves rolled up, which Arthur absolutely did NOT find himself staring at, thank you very much.) paired with slim black trousers.

But what was most striking, was the deep blue cloak billowing behind him, and the silver crown on his head. It was delicate, as if forged with vines and leaves and feathers, but it was oh so Merlin.

Arthur stayed at the edge of the clearing, glad that no one had noticed him; allowing him to stare in reverence at his best friend.

He was surrounded by young children, all laughing joyously as his eyes glowed golden and he waved his hands around. He needn’t mutter spells as he smiled widely, willing butterflies and bees to manifest in the air around him.

One of the younger children held his arms in the air and made grabbing motions with his hands. Merlin bent over and pulled him up into the air without a moment of hesitation, spinning him around on the spot (much to the kid’s enjoyment, who giggled outrageously), before settling him on his hip.

He used one hand to support the kid’s weight (when did Merlin get so strong??), and used the other to summon flowers around the feet of the rest of the children.

A fond smile spread across Arthur’s face as he saw them run around exuberantly, gathering the flowers in chubby hands to present to parents and siblings and friends.

Arthur laughed softly as he saw Merlin reply enthusiastically to something that the boy on his hip had said, and a second later, the child had a butterfly perched on the end of his nose. 

Arthur is broken from his concentration, jumping a foot in the air when a soft hand lands on his shoulder from behind.

He whips his head around, just about managing to stop himself from yelping and reaching for where his sword usually is at his hip.

He calms his breathing as his eyes find the friendly face of a Druid, an amused smile on his face. Arthur returns his smile, a tad shakily, suddenly feeling the nerves again, and nods his head respectfully.

The man keeps his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, but looks towards Merlin in the clearing, before softly saying:

“He’s quite something, your Emrys, isn’t he?”

Arthur gulps, also looking back at Merlin as he replies with a chuckle that was only slightly forced:

“He’s more yours than mine, especially like this, but yes, he is something special.”

The Druid laughs disbelievingly, and Arthur turns to look, a confused expression on his face as he listens to his reply:

“Definitely not. He’s always belonged to you more than he’s belonged to us-”

He stops laughing to look at Arthur, eyes sparkling with friendly mirth as he continues:

“-prophecy or no, he had a... well... a pre-carved place among the Druids, but he still chose to carve his own space by your side. I think that speaks volumes about where he truly belongs, or at least where he wants to belong, don’t you?”

Arthur doesn’t really have a response to that as he stares at the man with barely concealed bafflement, but luckily, before the silence stretches too long, the Druid gestures to the clearing:

“Come. Everyone is excited to meet you, though I warn you, the children in this camp can be rather energetic, as you’ve already seen.”

Arthur gulps and nods, following him into the centre of the camp.

Everyone’s attention is quickly caught by The King’s presence, and someone comes over to wordlessly take the horse’s reins from him.

The adults bow their heads slightly in respect, giving him soft smiles, and the children fidget on the spot, wide grins on their faces as they whisper conspiratorially to each other.

The boy in Merlin’s arms wiggles, and he gets put down. He rushes over to Arthur, grabbing his hand with a toothy grin and dragging him over to Merlin and the other children.

Merlin hides a laugh behind his hand as Arthur’s eyes widen, and his face goes pale. He thought this was going to be meetings and serious discussions and apologies, not playing with children!! What do children even like?! Swords?? Can he talk to them about swords??! Druids are pacifists right? So probably not??

He gets pulled down to crouch, and the children crowd him, all babbling at once, wildly showing him flowers and butterflies.

Merlin laughs at his bewildered fear for a few moments, before he crouches next to Arthur and holds his hands up, saying loudly:

“Alright, alright, you lot. Remember what I said?”

The children still, and a chorus of “Yes Lord Emrys” resounds from the group. With that, they stay silent, but still grin widely and bounce on the spot in excitement.

Arthur gives Merlin a stressed, but grateful smile, before looking back to the children. He takes a deep breath, before smiling at them, and saying:

“My name’s Arthur. Thank you for having me, I appreciate your hospitality.”

Merlin snorts at his overly formal tone, and has to stop himself laughing at the shock and fear on Arthur’s face when one of the younger ones loudly asks:

“What’s hosp-ee-tal-it-ee?”

Arthur furrows his brows, but luckily one of the teenagers steps in, quietly saying:

“It’s when someone comes into your home, and you’re nice to them.”

Arthur smiles and nods, and Merlin chuckles in amusement.

Thankfully (for Arthur) Merlin then stands and announces to the children that it’s lunch time, and to get washed up. They all rush off, and Arthur lets out a breath as he stands.

Merlin holds in yet another laugh, but tilts his head in confusion as Arthur’s gaze is once again drawn to the crown that rests on Merlin’s unruly hair.

Merlin flushes slightly when he realises what Arthur is looking at, looking to the floor and mumbling:

“You have no idea how long I’ve been trying to get them to just call me Merlin, but then they presented me with this a few months ago and I could hardly say no, could I?”

Arthur nods as Merlin looks up again, meeting his gaze. There’s a soft smile on his face, one that Merlin isn’t quite sure what to make of as he quietly replies:

“Hmm. Looks good on you.”

Merlin makes a surprised noise and his eyes go wide, the flush on his cheeks deepening as Arthur laughs gently at him.

Arthur puts his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, his thumb brushing against the skin of his neck in a way that was slightly more than friendly, but Merlin doesn’t pull away, so Arthur leaves his hand there as he looks around the bustling camp.

His smile falls into something more sad, and Merlin frowns at him curiously:

“Arthur? What is it?”

Arthur shakes his head slightly, not looking back at Merlin as he replies, almost whispering:

“Nothing. It’s just, last time I was this far into a Druid camp... I did terrible things. Look at this place, how could I ever have believed that magic was evil? It’s beautiful here.”

Merlin’s frown deepens, but before he can reply, a small hand tugs at Arthur’s sleeve, and the two of them look down suddenly to see one of the boys from before. He wore a confused expression, and whispered, as if he knew this was meant to be a secret conversation:

“What terrible things did you do, Mr King Sir?”

Merlin takes in a quiet gasp and widens his eyes, but before he can tell him off or lie, Arthur squeezes his shoulder, and crouches down in front of the child.

Arthur gives the boy a smile, and takes his hands, quietly saying:

“Well. When I was young, I was taught some things that are wrong, I didn’t question them, and because of that I did some really bad things. I thought I was being a good person, but actually I was being a bad person because I didn’t do my own research, and I didn’t know any better. But then I started learning how to be better, and now I do everything in my power to be an actual good person.-”

Arthur looks up at Merlin with a small smile on his face, before looking back down to the boy, who is hanging on to his every word:

“-Your Emrys is helping me with that. You see, he’s the best person I’ve ever met, and he’s helping me be more like him.”

Arthur resists the urge to look back at Merlin as he feels a firm, but shaky hand on his back, and instead looks at the child as he thinks over Arthur’s words. His face breaks into a grin, and Arthur returns the smile as the boy says:

“He’s the best isn’t he? I wanna be like him when I grow up!”

Arthur ruffles his hair, and replies quietly:

“Yeah kid, me too.”

The boy gives him a toothy grin, before running off once again, and Arthur lets out yet another breath he had been holding before standing up.

Merlin’s hand remains on his shoulder, and Arthur regrets meeting his gaze the moment he turns his head. But he also can’t rip his eyes away from the teary expression of awe and bewildered happiness on his face.

Merlin lets out a gentle laugh at Arthur’s apprehensive face before shaking his head, and looking back at him once again, this time amusement on his face:

“The best person you’ve ever met, huh?”

Arthur rolls his eyes and blushes deeply, pushing Merlin’s hand off his shoulder as he mumbles a flustered:

“Shut up, Merlin. I could hardly tell him the truth, could I?”

Merlin hums thoughtfully and replies with laughter in his voice:

“Hmm. That makes more sense, of course.”

Without waiting for Arthur’s reply, he grabs the King’s wrist and drags him towards a large tent in the corner of the clearing. Inside were two tables, one large, and one smaller and lower, both surrounded by benches.

Merlin directed them to bowls in the corner so they could wash their hands, before they sit at the larger of the two tables. Everyone over the ages of about fourteen joins them, the younger ones going to the smaller table.

Food appears, covering the surface, summoned from the cooking pots outside and the various food stores around the camp. Arthur tries to keep the wonderment off his face, but knows he failed miserably when he hears Merlin chuckle beside him. He punches Merlin’s leg under the table playfully, but that only makes him laugh harder.

He quietens when the man sat opposite Arthur stands:

“Today we have two honoured guests, our Lord Emrys, and the Once and Future King Arthur. We share our home, our food, and our welcome, for as long as they wish to stay. We raise our goblets to you, My Lords.”

At that, he raises his cup in the air, everyone else in the tent following him. Merlin smiles and nods at him, raising his own cup, and Arthur nervously copies his movements, comforted by Merlin’s reassuring hand on his knee.

With that, the Druid sits down, and conversation breaks out around the tent as everyone begins to eat.

Merlin handles most of the discussions, talking to everyone as if they were life long friends. Arthur is grateful for that, he answers any questions sent his way, asking a few polite ones in return, but Druid culture is so different to life in the city and Arthur doesn’t really know what he should be talking about.

Thankfully, the meal passes quickly, and after another announcement from the man Arthur now presumed was the leader here, the crowd dispersed, everything being cleared away with magic.

Not every Druid practiced sorcery, but they were clearly in a magic-heavy camp; Arthur could see it plain as day, everywhere he looked.

Merlin once again took Arthur’s wrist, leading him out into the sun. Usually, Arthur hated being led places, especially by the hand, but he found he didn’t quite mind it today. Whether it was because they were in Merlin’s domain, and Merlin was King here, or because of how nervous he was, or because of some other reason entirely, Arthur wasn’t sure, and frankly, he didn’t want to think too deeply about it.

This time, Merlin led them to another, smaller tent.

It had several comfortable looking chairs around a smallish circular table, which was covered in scrolls and parchments and old-looking books.

A few seconds later, they were joined by the Druid leader; he smiled softly at them and gestured for them to sit at the table. Merlin and Arthur sat next to each other, and the Druid kindly pretended not to notice them shuffling the chairs closer together.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur, Arthur having lost his nerves fairly early in the conversation. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that official meetings were his specialty, or maybe it was because Merlin’s hand once again found his knee, but stayed there this time. Who knows.

The Druid had introduced himself, and once more welcomed Arthur to the camp, before launching into explanations of the prophecies and destinies, and everyone’s roles in them.

Merlin knew most if it, and looked especially proud of himself when the Druid described in wonder how Merlin had changed the very fates of the Lady Morgana, Sir Mordred, and Arthur himself.

Arthur was definitely taken aback at that. Whilst Merlin had prattled on, making no sense, about his and Arthur’s destinies, he had never mentioned anyone else, and Arthur becomes increasingly glad he came here to sort it all out.

There were some bits that not even Merlin knew though. He wasn’t aware that the other knights, Guinevere, and Gaius featured in a few of the newer prophecies, and the Druid had an amused smile on his face when he admitted that he’d thought Merlin would have figured that out.

Arthur did laugh at him at that, and Merlin flushed before telling him:

“Shut up, or I’ll tell the others you said I was the best person you’ve ever met, and they’ll never let you live it down.”

Arthur narrows his eyes, and the Druid continues look at them in amusement as they bicker.

The meeting comes to an end just before dark, and Arthur thanks the Druid profusely, for welcoming him, and taking the time to go through everything thoroughly.

Another meal is had in the large tent, but when they leave this time, the clearing has been completely emptied. A large bonfire roars in the middle, and logs surround it, providing seating for everyone.

The evening is full of stories and music and magic, and Arthur once again finds himself wondering just how he thought any of this could be evil.

Even Merlin stands to lead a song. He moves around the clearing with yet another child sat sat on his hip, giggling as Merlin spins her around.

Arthur is surprised to learn that Merlin has a good voice, and stares in wonderment as he leads the melody as if it was what he was born to do. The rest of the Druids clap along, joining in loudly and harmonising and playing instruments in time with the tune.

When the song comes to a close, the crowd burst into cheers as Merlin looks back to Arthur, breathing deeply and cheeks flushed. The Warlock smiles widely as he settles the child back in her mother’s lap before walking back over to his seat, next to Arthur.

Arthur returns his wide grin with a soft smile of his own, and as the music continues around them, Merlin tilts his face in happy confusion:

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Arthur just shakes his head slightly, smiling slightly wider as he responds without missing a beat:

“You’re beautiful like this. And you have an exceptional voice.”

Merlin flushes in surprise and looks to his lap, quietly muttering:

“I wouldn’t know about that...”

Arthur doesn’t look away, huffing out a laugh before replying:

“I mean it, Merlin. You just look... happy. Like you belong here.-”

He does look away here, staring into the fire with a thoughtful, but slightly mournful look on his face as Merlin peers up at him, curious. Arthur continues, even quieter, before Merlin can question him:

“-You know, I wouldn’t be angry if you wanted to stay. Here, I mean. I know magic is legal in Camelot now, but you belong somewhere like this. I would never begrudge you a home like this Merlin.”

Merlin laughs quietly, and takes Arthur’s hand, holding it in his lap like it’s something precious (it is, at least it is to Merlin). Arthur looks back at him in surprise, but doesn’t pull away as Merlin replies, still smiling:

“Home isn’t a place, Arthur, and the Druids know that better than anyone. Home is... home is wherever the people you love are. You are my people, Arthur, you and the knights and Gwen and Morgana and Gaius. My home is wherever you are. No matter my magic or title or destiny; my home will always be where you are.”

Arthur doesn’t let the tears in his eyes fall, but he does squeeze Merlin’s hand, giving him a tender smile that's returned without hesitation.

With the exchanging of smiles that any onlooker would describe as loving, the conversation comes to an easy close, and they spend the rest of the evening hand in hand, smiling fondly at the antics around them.

It’s late when the festivities come to an end, and Arthur and Merlin are exhausted, struggling to hold back yawns as they’re shown to a tent that had been set up for them.

Their bags had been removed from the horses and left in there, and the floor was covered in various blankets and pillows. There was a small trunk, for them to store anything they wished to unpack, and a few candles were lit, filling the room with a soft golden light and pleasant smells.

Merlin charms the tent to be soundproof so they don’t have to worry about noise (he may be openly able to use magic, but the idiot was still rather clumsy, and prone to accidental bangs and crashes), before removing his crown carefully. His cloak and boots follow shortly, and they all go neatly into the trunk, before he starts organising a spot to sleep.

After a few minutes, he realises that Arthur hasn’t moved from his space by the entrance, and Merlin turns around to look at him questioningly. Arthur’s eyebrows are furrowed, and he looks deep in thought as he stares at the floor, fiddling with the hem of his tunic.

Merlin walks over, concerned, and takes one of Arthur’s hands into his own. Arthur looks up at him suddenly, broken free of his thoughts, and Merlin raises an eyebrow at him as he strokes his thumb across The King’s knuckles:

“What’s wrong, Arthur?”

Arthur looks into Merlin’s eyes searchingly, but seems to find what he’s looking for after only a moment, and smiles. Merlin tilts his head to prompt him, and Arthur takes his other hand, before softly speaking:

“You know, I used to find the idea of falling in love frightening.-”

Merlin takes in a subtle deep breath, but Arthur doesn’t notice as he shakes his head, huffing out a gentle laugh before continuing, looking somewhere over Merlin’s shoulder:

“-The possibility that someone could have that much control over me; that I would willingly give another person dominion over my heart, my soul, my... everything, was terrifying to me. But I find I’m not scared anymore.-”

He looks back at Merlin’s shocked face. Arthur looks an odd mix of disbelieving, and happy beyond words as he continues, confident that what he’s saying is right, for the first time in a long time:

“-Because it’s you, Merlin. It’s always been you. And how could I possibly find falling in love with you anything other than beautiful?”

Merlin gulps, seemingly searching Arthur’s face for any hint of a lie. When he finds nothing but sincerity, he launches himself forward, almost knocking Arthur to the floor.

He wraps his arms around the blonde’s shoulders tightly, burying a hand in his hair, and his face in the crook of his neck. Arthur huffs out a laugh as he wraps his arms around Merlin’s waist, running a soft hand up and down his back.

At Merlin’s muttered:

“I love you, Arthur, more than anything is this world. My magic, my everything, belongs to you.”

Arthur pulls back, smiling. He leans forward pressing his forehead against Merlin’s, and cups his cheek softly with his hand. They stare into the blue of each other’s eyes for a moment, not in any hurry to move the moment along, Arthur running his thumb over Merlin’s cheekbone, and Merlin carding his fingers through Arthur’s hair.

Arthur takes a deep breath, before whispering, so quietly it’s a miracle Merlin hears him:

“Can I kiss you?”

Merlin nods infinitesimally, and the two of them lean forward, meeting in the middle in a soft kiss that could only be described as tender, and full of love.

If the stars shine brighter, and the wind blows warmer, and the animals of the dark seem happier that night... well... it was spring... surely no one would notice (Arthur definitely noticed, but he sure as shit wasn’t going to point it out, in case Merlin stopped).

~

THE END!!

This is the first one I’ve written in aaaaages that didn’t involve a dizzy/exhausted/sick Merlin so... yay me?

I just really wanted to write something fluffy, where there were no high stakes. No huge battles, or angsty confessions or anything like that, just a soft love story.

I genuinely got no clue what I’ll write next. I do have a few drafts and ideas floating around, but let me know if you’re after anything specific, I live to please :)

Like always, you wanna write this up properly with paragraphs and fleshed out stuff, go for it, credit and tag me :)

[chrisevansjellybeans]

Undercover- Mob! Steve Rogers Part 2

Okay here is the highly requested part two to my Mob! Steve post! I had some technical difficulties posting it but hopefully you guys see it in the tags now :)

Warnings: swearing and smut

Word count: 2.8k

“When I said go undercover, I didn’t mean under his covers, Agent.” Director Fury slammed his hand down on his desk. It had now officially been twenty-four hours since your encounter with the mob boss and you had been waiting anxiously all day to talk with Nick Fury. The rumor around the office all day was that he wasn’t too pleased with how things went down.

“I did what I had to do, sir.” You stated boldly.

Fury scoffed but didn’t respond.

He was quiet for a moment, his eye scanning over the piece of paper in his hand. You fidgeted uncomfortably as your legs were still sore from your romp last night and you tried to hold it together as Fury gave you a weird look.

“Just sit down, Y/N.”

You muttered a thank you as you took a seat.

“Listen, this is all good and fine but I want more. This,” He waved the note in his hand. “Is just a drug felony. I want this bastard put away for life.”

“But what about Stark?”

“A slippery politician, nothing more. I want insight on just more than this. I want it all.”

You sat back in the chair. You understood where he was coming from, but he was also acting like you hadn’t just uncovered a huge piece of information.

“Sir-”

“Which is why you’re going to continue...seeing Rogers. Your undercover assignment has just been extended until further notice.”

“But, sir!” You stood up in protest.

“But nothing, Agent. You’ve made your bed and you’ve already lied in it. Now do it again.” He snapped.

“Are you pimping me out, sir?”

“You did that yourself, Y/N.” Fury snarked. “Anyway, as we speak I have other agents creating an entire new identity for you on the internet so when Roger’s does eventually look you up he’ll find everything we want him to find.”

You felt yourself sinking back down into the chair. He was being completely serious. You suddenly felt very hot as you processed all the information coming at you.

“And what exactly is it going to say?”

“That you are Y/N Monroe. You are the same age as you are now and a barista at the coffee shop just below your apartment. You went to the University of Minnesota and graduated with a business degree, but currently can’t find any jobs. Pity. Your parents died when you were young and you have no siblings-no need to wrap anyone else up in this. We’ve made an Instagram account since that seems to be the most popular app among adults your age. I pushed for no socials but apparently it’s weirder if you don’t have one.”

“Okay...but I don’t have a coffee shop below my apartment.”

“You do now. Your stuff is being moved into a safe house apartment on the other side of town. That’s where you’ll be staying for now. Don’t worry, I have Parker holed up in the apartment two doors down.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to try to calm down. There was nothing else you could do. Fury was right, you had made your bed. You reached over and grabbed the file that Fury had pushed towards the front of the desk. Your new life all put together in a Manila folder.

Damn you, Ma and your slutty advice.

“You can go now.” Fury waved you away, now totally focused on whatever file he had in front of him. You hesitated, wanting to say something but nothing came so you left.

“Y/N!” Peter ran up beside you as you stormed down the hallway. “Heard we’re gonna be neighbors.”

You smiled at how excited he was. “It’s only temporary, Parker. Don’t wet your pants.”

Peter blushed and gently shoved you to the side as you both continued walking. “I know that. But doesn’t mean it won’t be fun. We could have movie nights or something.”

“I suppose we could find some time.” You nudged him back.

“Oh here, before I forget.” Peter shoved a brand new iPhone into your hand. “Fury had me add some tweaks to the geo location so it’s more precise than what Apple has. My burner number is already programmed in there too.”

You studied the burner phone, impressed that they didn’t just give you another shitty tracfone like you were used to.

“Thanks, kid.”

“I’m not that much younger than you.” Peter grumbled as the two of you finally made it to the parking structure.

You smirked over your shoulder as you walked up to your Jeep Wrangler. “Young enough. ‘Night, kid!”

Peter flipped you off but was smiling the whole time as you drove off.

You punched in your new address in the GPS and followed along as it brought you to the older part of town. You had always loved this part of the city but never thought to move out here. Even though it wasn’t the new upcoming neighborhood, the rent prices had been driven up by the young kids moving in who just “adored the old time aesthetic” and the lofted buildings.

Your building was one of those you noted as you parked your car outside of your new address. The old brick building was tall, maybe six stories and had fire escapes littered across the front of it. The front door was a rusted green that you had to yank to budge to get open.

Extra security, I suppose. You laughed to yourself.

Your apartment was on the third floor and right off the freight elevator. You weren’t expecting much when you opened the door but you made a noise of pleasant surprise when you did.

The inside was warm and inviting. A plush gray sofa that resembled a cloud was center in your living room that you saw right away from the small entry hallway. As you stepped in further you saw a decent size tv mounted against the wall and two bookshelves on either side of it, filled with books and records that went along with the record player that was right underneath the television. To the left the living room was the kitchen. Nothing big, which you didn’t mind-you weren’t the best cook in the world. There was a small bar-like counter that had two barstools perched underneath. Down the small hallway you found your bedroom. A king sized bed covered in an off white comforter set with matching sheets. Small potted plants hung from the corner near the window and an array of makeup and perfumes littered the top of the wooden dresser.

Tentatively you opened the dressers to find a whole new wardrobe waiting for you. There were basics: such as t-shirts, jeans, bras and panties but there was also a whole drawer dedicated to skimpy lingerie that you knew was expensive. The walk-in closet was filled with dresses, some formal and some you wouldn’t let your grandmother even see hanging off the rack.

“Well done, Fury.” You mumbled to yourself as your fingers ran down the silk fabric of a long evening gown.

You were settling on to your couch, sweats on and a glass of wine in your hand when you heard a knock on the door. Slowly you got up, grabbing your gun from the plant next to the door. You looked through the peephole and let out a curse when you saw none other than Steve Rogers standing outside your apartment.

You shoved the gun back into the plant and ran your fingers through your hair before opening the door, but leaving the chain attached.

“Mr. Rogers, how can I help you?” Your eyes twinkled as the man in front of you rested his arm on the top of the door frame and leaned close to the opening you had created.

“You said I would see you soon, princess. Looks like soon is now.” The nickname again caused your stomach to flutter.

“I was just getting ready for bed. You’ll have to come by another time.” You feigned a yawn. Steve’s eyes blared as he stood up straight.

“It’s rude to keep your guests waiting, Miss Monroe.” Your heart jumped at the use of your alias. Thank god your team worked fast.

“And it’s rude to show up to people’s apartments unannounced, Mr. Rogers.”

“Open the door, sweetheart.” He hissed, but his eyes held anything but anger. He was intrigued. He never found a woman before who wasn’t afraid to dish back his sass. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

“Say please.” You teased through the opening.

“Please.” He said through gritted teeth.

Chuckling you closed the door gently and undid the chain. Before you could reopen it though, Steve pushed his way through scooping you up in his arms as he did. You naturally wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms held tight around him as you squealed against his neck.

He walked you back into the living room and plopped down on the couch, holding you so you were still straddling him.

You pulled away but kept your arms hanging loosely around him. He smirked up at you as his fingers toyed with the hem of the tank top you had on. His eyes fell to the wine that was only half drank on your coffee table.

“Heading off to bed soon, huh?”

“My bedtime snack.”

There was a part of your brain that recognized him for who he was: evil. But another part of your brain saw him as the man who made your body feel things that it had never felt before and that had your heart racing like a schoolgirl with a crush. The part that recognized that he was so easy to talk and joke with. The great sex wasn’t a bummer either.

His smirk was replaced by a genuine smile as he pulled you down and gave you a kiss that had your toes curling. He moaned into your mouth as you slowly ground your hips against his, your fingers tugging at the hair by his neck. His tongue massaged yours, letting you know exactly who was in charge at this moment. His hands ran underneath your tank top, fingers tracing up your spine before reaching the front and giving your nipples a slight twist.

He moved his mouth from yours and peppered kisses along the side of your neck as he lifted the tank top over your head. He threw it to the side as his mouth attached to your protruding bud while his fingers pinched and toyed with the other one. Skillfully, and with his mouth still attached to you, Steve flipped you over so your back was on the couch and he was on top of you. He lifted his head, his blue eyes clouded with lust as he started kissing down from the center of your chest, down your stomach and down your legs as he pulled your sweats along with him.

He hummed as he spread your bottom lips apart with his fingers, licking a stripe from your hole to your clit. You wiggled your hips against his face but he responded with a smack against your core.

“Honey, you gotta learn who’s in charge here and who’s-“ he kissed your clit ever so slightly, teasing you. “Just a little cock slut.”

His tongue circled over your bundle of nerves while fingers toyed with your slick. Gently he pushed two fingers into your pussy. Your eyes fluttered closed as his steady rhythm and flick of his tongue brought your orgasm to the forefront.

“Shit, Steve…” you whimpered, gripping his hair and pulling him close. “Oh fuck, I’m close!”

“Let me taste you, princess.” Steve growled. You nearly lost it at the sigh of your juices dripping from his chin. “Give it to me like the good girl you are.”

“Oh god!” You called out as he hit that spongy spot that caused your thighs to tighten around his head. Your body spasmed as it rode out your orgasm. Your chest heaving and your legs shaking as he slowly pulled his fingers from you. A moan was caught in your throat as you watched him put his soaked fingers between his lips, a look of pure satisfaction covering his perfect face.

Steve leaned his body over yours but careful not to let his full weight fall on you. He ran his nose up the side of your neck, along your cheek before letting it rub against your own. You grabbed his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. There was something so erotic about tasting yourself when your tongues met.

“Show me your bedroom?” Steve pulled away. You gave a weak nod. Steve stood up and hoisted you up, your legs weak beneath you.

“Poor baby.” He cooed in your ear. “Only one orgasm down and already can’t walk. I can’t imagine how you’ll be when I’m done with you.”

With that he lifted you and walked down your short hallway to the bedroom. In your hazy, post orgasm mind you hoped the mattress was comfy. You hadn’t even tested out beforehand.

Steve threw you on the bed and you sighed as you fell into the cloud. You leaned back on your elbows and watched as Steve unbuttoned the new shirt and trousers he had on. You stifled your laughter thinking about the wine stained ones back at his house.

“Something amusing to you, sweetheart?” He grabbed your ankle and pulled you towards the end of the bed. He lifted your foot up, setting it over his shoulder as he kissed the inside of your calf.

“No, sir.” You teased.

“You’re a bad liar.” He nipped at your knee.

Not as bad as you might think.

Steve made you come at least four more times that night. Your body completely spent when he finally rolled over and laid next to you, yours and his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

You rolled over and threw your leg and arm over his body, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck. Steve’s fingers toyed with yours as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Spend the night?” You asked into the darkness. It was nearly three in the morning and your eyes were slowly closing no matter how much you willed them to stay open.

“I have some business things that I have to take care of early in the morning.” He answered, his fingers running up and down your arm.

“Oh, okay.” You said sadly. Steve’s chest rumbled with light laughter as he brought your hand that was in his up to his lips and gave it a kiss. You were soon realizing that he was actually a very affectionate person.

“But I want you to come back to the house tomorrow. I’ll send one of my guys for you in the afternoon.”

“Really?” You sat up. Steve blindly reached for your nightstand and turned on the lamp that was on it. His hair was tousled from the numerous times you had run your fingers through it and his lips were red and swollen. He looked like the epitome of sex and it was fucking hot.

“Yes, really.” He chuckled. He grabbed your phone that was on the nightstand and held it out for you to unlock. You did quickly and he took it back and started typing. “I don’t give out my personal number to a lot of people.”

“So I’m special.” You wiggled in your spot, a grin covering your face.

“Yes. You are.” Steve looked back at you and you were taken aback by the sincerity in his tone. He handed your phone back to you and you laughed at the name he had for his contact: Steve Rogers and an eggplant emoji.

“You’re a child.” You giggled.

Steve rolled his eyes and got out of bed and you took the time to appreciate his bum as he walked over to get his pants.

You gathered the soft sheets in your hand and brought them up to your chest. Although you weren’t sure what you were trying to hide, he had seen it all.

Once he was dressed and you slipped on a robe that you found hanging behind the door, you walked him out. He stood in your doorframe, his large figure making the space seem very small. He smiled as he tucked a loose piece of hair behind your head and leaned down and gave you a kiss.

“Make sure to lock all the doors behind me. And text me when you wake up tomorrow.” He demanded softly.

“Mmmkay, I will.” You said hazily.

“Go get some sleep, princess.” He laughed as he pushed away from the door and walked to the elevator. You watched as he got in and gave you a quick wave before whipping out his phone to make a call.

Once he was out of sight you closed the door softly, making sure to bolt everything before heading back to your bed. You were too tired to even clean up before you passed out.

[tootiredmotel]

Give him the real thing

For @floral-cas 's event!!! First time writing from an outsider/oc's pov so bear with me. Huge huge congrats on your milestone K!!! You are a PILAR of this lil community and we all love you 💚🌺💚🌺💚🌺

Read on ao3. 1.7k words

"Alright, uh… confession. I got no idea what I'm doin' here."

He looked around the shop like a monster was about to pop out of any corner. Like the carnations were going to bite him and the pots lined up on the windowsill next to them would come to life and crush his feet. The poor guy looked terrified, but it's nothing Maya hadn't handled before.

"That's what I'm here for. What's your name?" She asked, sensing they'd be there a while.

"Dean."

On any other day, Maya would've been resenting a burly, middle-aged guy with no idea what he wanted coming into the shop twenty minutes before closing, especially on a Thursday. Jade had their A.A. meetings on Thursdays so Maya was alone for the evening. But this Dean guy? He looked so lost, so nervous, so utterly out of place. There was something else about him that made her want to help, too. Maya wasn't sure what, but she'd figure it out.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Maya. Let's start with this: why are you here today, Dean?"

"Anniversary tomorrow."

Concise and to the point. Maya made a mental note. She also noted how he wiped his palms on his jeans and clenched his jaw. Nerves.

"How many years have you been together?"

That got a smile out of him. "A lot. A whole lot. But this is, uh. First wedding anniversary."

She donned a wide smile. "Congratulations. That's wonderful."

"Yeah. Thanks, thank you." He stuffed his hands in his pockets, still not meeting her eyes.

"Doing anything special?"

"Nothin' fancy. My brother and his wife are taking the kiddo for the night so, picnic in the backyard, lookin' at the stars, all that cheesy romantic crap."

His words didn't match his tone. It was evident Dean was absolutely smitten, Maya recognized the look, and he was making an effort. He was filled to the brim with giddiness and adoration for this person, and it shone through from him just thinking about them. Jade still looked at Maya like that every morning and night, and so did Maya at them. Every day since freshman year of college. Maya's chest swelled.

"Thing is," Dean continued, a bit more relaxed now. "Cas knows all about this stuff. We got this huge garden behind the house that I'm not allowed to even touch. There's a million books about nature and trees and flower meanings on the shelf, and Cas has read all of 'em. I didn't even know flowers had meanings, I don't know jack shit about any of it, but…"

"You want to impress Cas."

"I wanna impress Cas. It's gotta be good." 

"You've come to the right place then." Maya kept an eye on Dean as she circled the counter. He was studying the pride flags hanging in the window with a clenched jaw, and Maya went on alert. She pulled out the binder they kept in the drawer and plopped it down in front of him a little harder than she needed to, calling his attention. "My partner Jade is more of a nerd about this stuff than I am, but they made this for situations like these."

Dean read the cover, Jade and Maya's Quick Guide to Flower Meanings, and smiled. "Nice."

They spent forty-five minutes walking around the store, binder in hand, slowly constructing the message Dean wanted to convey with his bouquet. He was adamant on it containing blue, so Maya went for the Forget-me-nots first. “Love and hope,” said the binder, which she deemed fitting enough for a first wedding anniversary. 

Dean looked like someone content with his life, and he agreed when Maya suggested they look under the happiness category. “Well, Cas makes me happy,” he said, and they settled on Felicias, also blue. 

Dean eventually got comfortable enough and leaned over to look at the binder in Maya’s hands. “Think there’s anything in there for grace?”

Highly specific, but possible, Maya thought. “Let’s find out.”

And they did. Plumerias, white.

“Anything else?” She asked him. Dean donned a thousand-yard stare as he thought about it, and Maya figured this man had been through a lot. More than she could ever imagine. She was glad he’d found some peace.

“Freedom,” Dean said finally. Freesias, white as well.

It was an odd bouquet, Maya admitted, but Dean was an odd man, and he looked happy with it. He was still nervous, still out of his element, but there was more excitement in the twinkle of his eyes than anything else.

“Cas will love it,” Maya assured him, and he beamed. She still knew very little about this Cas person— Dean could speak a lot without really saying anything, careful and reserved, even dancing around using gendered pronouns for Cas, which Maya found interesting—, but she could see Dean was living a happy life as their husband. That was good enough for her.

“Here’s hoping,” he said as he handed over his credit card, but he seemed a lot more sure than hopeful. He knew Cas would like it, and Maya couldn’t help a sense of pride grow inside her. Dean also put some cash in the tip jar and left with a smile. A good day’s work, and maybe a new friend in town.

---

“Maya?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

Jade poked their head in the door, beaming at Maya as she ran the books in the back room.

"There's a gentleman asking for you."

"By name?"

Jade nodded. Maya sent them a questioning look, to which they just shrugged. If Jade wasn't all that worried about it, Maya supposed there was no reason for her to be either. She made her way out, squeezing Jade's hip as she passed them, and stepped up to the counter. The trenchcoat-clad man smiled at her.

"Maya?"

The depth of his voice caught her by surprise, but she recovered in time to reply "That's me."

The man smiled wider. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my name is Cas. You might not remember, but last week you-"

"Did you say Cas?" Maya couldn't contain her interruption, or the eagerness as she asked: "Dean's Cas?"

Cas's smile widened even more, which she didn't think was possible. It was blinding, and Maya, even in all her queerness, could definitely understand what Dean saw in him. "That's right."

Dean’s fixation on blue flowers suddenly made sense too, as she noticed his eyes. "He adores you, you know. You're his heaven and earth."

Cas's smile faltered at her words, and Maya feared she'd said something wrong.

"I'm sorry if I'm overstepping."

“No, no, it’s alright.” He looked down at his wedding band, and his smile returned. “He’s all that and more to me.”

Cas stared at his ring for a second longer. It was silver and had a small blue gem embedded into it. Maya could swear it appeared to swirl with light.

“Dean spoke wonders of you,” she said.

He looked back up at her. “You, too.”

She blinked in surprise at that.

“I loved the bouquet. I thanked him for it, over and over, and every time he said you were the miracle worker. That he was clueless the whole time and couldn’t have done it without you.”

“That’s not true,” Maya deflected, a steady heat rising to her cheeks. “He had a pretty good idea of what he wanted. And, if anything, he and I couldn’t have done it without Jade’s expertise.” She gestured toward her partner, helping a customer at the other end of the shop, and also tapped the binder, which was out on the countertop today.

“Then I suppose I’m here to thank both of you.”

He reached into a tote bag that Maya hadn’t noticed he was carrying and pulled out a plastic container. “We run a small baking business out of our home. These are on me. Apple and honey tarts.” He placed the container in front of her. On top of it was a label that read D&C’s Pastries. “They are also gluten-free, just in case.“

“What’s going on?” Jade asked, approaching Maya’s side with an expectant smile.

“Jade, love, do you remember Dean? From last week?”

“You told me about him, yeah, wedding anniversary.”

“Well this is Cas,” she gestured to him.

“Dean's husband,” Cas interjected. Jade and Maya shared a knowing smile. “I just wanted to drop these off as a thank you for helping Dean. Apple and honey tarts, gluten-free.”

“That is so sweet of you,” Jade exclaimed, eagerly taking the pastries. Maya rolled her eyes fondly at the pun, which Cas didn’t seem to catch.

“I was just doing my job,” Maya said. “But thank you.”

“Papa!”

They all turned to the child, blond and adorable, running excitedly toward Cas. At the door, where the child came from, stood an exasperated Dean.

“Jack,” Cas started, scooping the child in his arms. Jack wrapped his arms around Cas’s neck. “I thought I told you and Daddy to wait for me at the café, I wasn’t going to be long.”

“He missed you. We both did,” Dean gazed at him as he approached. “Dude, what are you-”

Dean scanned over the scene he’d just walked into and seemed to realize what was happening.

“So that’s what the tarts were for. Hey, Maya.”

“Hi, Dean.”

“And you must be Jade,” Dean said, extending a hand toward them.

“Yes! Heard about you, nice to finally meet you, Dean.”

“You too. You and that book of yours are life-savers. If I’d known the tarts were for you guys, I would’a made more.”

“These are more than enough, thank you. In fact, here...” Maya turned to a vase of daisies they had on a shelf and pulled out three. “Now I feel like we’re even.”

“Not by a long shot,” Dean said as he took his flower and Cas’s. He put his behind his ear, and Cas’s in his trenchcoat’s lapel, as Maya handed Jack his own flower.

They all promised to not be strangers, and kept their promise. Dean and Cas would bring over baked goods, and in exchange, Jade and Maya would let them take home a potted plant for their garden. Jack would always leave with a small flower in his hand, a different one every time, wrapped in Cas’s arms as he explained the flower’s origins or symbolism to his son. Dean would be the last one out the door, always turning back and mouthing a “thank you” to Maya. Every time, without fail.

And every time, Maya would think that she wanted what they had. Happiness, peace, a family, unconditional and true love. And every time, she would look over at Jade, and know she was well on her way.

[waitimcomingtoo]

In Case You Don’t Live Forever

~chapter two rewritten~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!Reader

Synopsis: you are Peters greatest love and Spider-Man’s greatest enemy

Masterlist and Series Masterlist

Moving and finding an apartment can be an incredibly long and stressful process. Unless you’re you, and life likes to throw a lot of curve balls at you for the utter hell of it.

Your dad dropped dead three weeks after you told Andy you were moving to New York. Coincidentally, right in the middle of you trying to find a place to live. He drank himself to death. Figures. You doubted you’d ever had a conversation with him that he was sober enough to remember. His untimely demise was unfortunate for him, because he died or whatever, but very fortunate for you. As his only child, you got his apartment in Queens and all his smelly hoodies.

You said your goodbyes to Andy and Dani after a night out in the streets of San Francisco. You had originally moved there after high school to start your show, The L/n Report. San Francisco was known for its crimes against the homeless population and you wanted to start with a story on that. You ended up interviewing Andy at the police station while investigating a missing person, and dated him for two years. Now, you were spending your last few hours in San Francisco with the very boy you once loved and the very girl he now did.

“Are you all packed?” Dani asked you, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Pretty much. I gotta put my toothbrush and hairbrush in my suitcase in the morning. Other than that, I’m good to go.” You answered her. She smiled fondly at you as she linked her arm through yours.

“Hey, I’m really gonna miss you. More than that guy over there.” You whispered, nodding towards Andy, who had his head buried in his phone. Dani laughed and nodded in agreement as you continued to walk.

“I’m going to miss you too. You’re my best friend here.” She sighed sadly.

“I’m glad we’re friends. Most women in our position would hate each other.” You thought out loud.

“Uh uh. You’re thinking of women in films. It’s 2021, baby. Women support women. You and I are two talented, smart, beautiful women who would never be caught fighting over some boy. Especially not one who can’t take his eyes off his phone for two seconds.” Dani said loudly and smacked Andy’s arm. You laughed at the domestic moment but couldn’t help feeling a pain in your heart knowing he used to be that way with you.

“What, sorry?” Andy looked up. You and Dani looked at him before looking at each other and laughing.

“What’s funny?” He asked, growing annoyed.

“We’re laughing at you babe. Put your phone away. It’s Y/N’s last night here.” Dani scolded playfully. Andy sighed and reluctantly put his phone in his pocket.

“Right, sorry. And it’s not her last night here. She’s coming back. You are coming back, right?” He asked you. You nodded, though you weren’t entirely sure.

“Of course I’ll be back.” You shrugged. “I just want to experience something new for a while. I’ve done a million pieces on homelessness and poverty. I want to see what fresh stories New York has to offer.”

“You’re quoting the Daily Bugle, aren’t you?” Dani teased you.

“That is verbatim what they said to me.” You admitted with a laugh. “But hey, it worked. As of tomorrow, I’m the Daily Bugle’s newest investigative reporter.”

“Who are you reporting on anyway?” Andy showed a rare interest in your work.

“Some guy named Cletus Kasady.” You answered. “He’s some hot shot serial killer down in Queens. No one knows how he’s hiding his victims bodies. Apparently none have ever been close to being found.”

“And they want you to write the story on him?” Andy raised an eyebrow, always with the condescending tone.

“Well they heard about the whole Carlton Drake situation and decided I hadn’t been through enough trauma in my career.” You replied, earning a laugh from Dani but not Andy. You and Andy had already broken up by the time Carlton Drake contracted a symbiote and tried to kill you and Venom. You stopped him before he could hurt anyone and wrote a career defining article on his lethal human experiments. You managed to leave out all information regarding symbiotes from the article, so your secret was still safe. You were a fairly well known reporter since the incident and your next job was waiting for you in New York.

In the morning, You and Venom got on a plane and made your way to New York. Being on a plane with Venom turned out to be the equivalent to traveling with a toddler. You tried to sleep, but every two seconds you had to stop Venom from getting into trouble. She kept trying to open the window, even after you explained to her that everyone on the plane would die horrible death if the window were to open.

“Stop that.” You whispered when you noticed a black tendril creeping towards the window. The lady in the seat next to you shot me a look of confusion. You gave her a fake smile and turned back to the window, doing your best to conceal the small black tendril that was coming out of your body and fidgeting with the airplane window.

“We want it open.” Venom replied telepathically.

“Do you also want us to blow out of the plane and into space?” You said through my teeth.

“We didn’t anticipate that but it’d be appreciated.” Venom answered, making you groan. The rest of the plane ride followed in similar fashion.

Seven hours later, you arrived at the apartment building. You had never been to your dads apartment, you didn’t even know he had one. You wondered what happened to your childhood home as you looked around the place. The apartment wasn’t too small but not too big either. The rent was practically nothing compared to how expensive San Francisco was, and The Daily Bugle offered to cover your expenses until the story was done. You figured after some redecorating and moving in, it would make a fine new home.

The first seven days in the apartment went by smoothly. You unpacked, with little to no help from Venom, and set up the furniture. On the eight day, you sat on the couch, aimlessly flipping through channels in the TV when you had a thought.

“Oh shit.” You said out loud.

“What?” Venom, who was curly nestled around your neck like a neck pillow, asked.

“I forgot mail exists.” You frowned. “We better go check the mailbox before it overflows.”

You and Venom grudgingly walked to the mailboxes and back again. No one was around, so she manifested herself and rested on your shoulder as I looked through the mail.

“Oops. I grabbed someone else’s mail too.” You clicked your tongue when you read a strangers name off the envelope. “I gotta find them.”

“Let’s go.” Venom said and pulled you towards the front door.

“Sorry, babe. This is a me thing, not a we thing. You know I love you but I don’t want to scare our neighbors. Not yet anyway.” You reasoned. Venom grumbled and went back inside your body.

You checked the address of the envelope and discovered that it belonged to the apartment directly across from you.

You knocked on the door and patiently waited for someone to open it as you mindlessly cracked your knuckles. Just as you were about to walk away, the door opened.

“Hi, are you May Parker?” You asked right away. You looked up from the envelope and your face instantly flushed. The person staring back at you definitely wasn’t May Parker. It was a boy around your age, maybe a little younger. He had soft brown eyes and wavy brown hair. It was gelled back loosely and you could see the outline of soft curls. To your surprise, he was just as flushed as you were. You stared at each other for a moment, no one wanting to be the first to blink.

“Yea. I’m May Parker.” The boy said finally. He shut his eyes in embarrassment and shook his head.

“I mean, no I’m not. But that’s my Aunt. May is my Aunt but I’m not May. That’s my Aunt May. I’m her nephew…obviously. Aunt May is my Aunt May. I…what?” He stumbled over his words and somehow turned even redder. His blush reached all the way down his neck, to his blue jumper that read “Midtown Tech” in yellow letters. You recognized the name of one of the most prestigious high schools in New York, already impressed with your new neighbor.

“Well hello, not May Parker. I’m also not May Parker. But I seemed to forget that when I grabbed your mail this morning. Sorry about that.” You said sheepishly as you handed his mail to him. The boy rubbed the back of his neck as he looked at it and attempted to redeem himself.

“It’s not problem. She and I always forget to check the mail so you actually helped us, um, whoever you are.” He smiled weakly. His voice was cute. He had that Queens accent that the people of San Francisco lacked, for obvious reasons.

“Oh, right.” You laughed in embarrassment. “I’m Y/N L/N. I just moved here from San Francisco. I live across the hall.”

You pointed to the door behind you as if he didn’t know what “across the hall” meant. You didn’t know what was wrong with you. You were never this awkward.

His eyes lit up a bit once you told him where you lived.

“Really? I thought that smelly guy lived there.” The boy said and you stifled a laugh.

“That smelly guy was my father. He died a little while ago so I live there now.” You told him, malign the boys eyes widen. They were so brown. Like little pools of honey. Or little pools of the Hudson River. You had seen a million pairs of brown eyes before, but none like his. They were quite distracting to be honest.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I had. I had no idea-“ he began to frantically apologize but you cut him off.

“Don’t worry about it. We never got along. And you’re right, that man stank.” You chuckled. It was the first thing you said that felt like your old self. You hadn’t really talked to anyone since moving to New York, with the exception of Venom and the occasional phone call from Andy or Dani. You liked talking to this boy, though you still had no idea who he was.

“Oh thank God. I thought I screwed this up before it even went anywhere.” He immediately turned red when he heard his own words. You saw the regret in his eyes and decided to throw him a bone.

“Well it certainly can’t go anywhere until you tell me your name.” You flirted. Again, he relaxed. You felt a surge of confidence knowing he wanted this to go well.

“Parker. I’m Parker Peter. I mean, Peter Parker.” He fumbled over his words again, making you smile fondly.

“We like him. He’s cute.” Venom said telepathically. You looked down at my shoes and blushed, knowing you liked him too.

“And he looks delicious.” She added, ruining the moment.

“It’s nice to meet you Peter Parker.” You gave him your best smile. “I’m glad there’s someone my age around here. Everyone I’ve met so far is either an old bitty or a creepy uncle type.” You regretted it as soon as it left your mouth. You didn’t know what his sense of humor was like and he might not find you the slightest but funny. Andy always told you you were bad at telling jokes, and you feared he might be right.

Lucky for you, Peter burst out laughing.

“Ah. I’ve seen you’ve met Henry.” Peter pointed a finger down the hall. “Yeah, I’d stay away from him. He asked me if he could have pictures of my feet once. He said he’d “pay me handsomely” for it too.”

“Damn. So he beat me to asking you.” You pretended to be upset, which made Peter laugh again. The sound of his laugh made your heart pick up speed. You weren’t used to feeling like this. Boys rarely impressed you, Andy was just lucky you liked a man in uniform.

“Yeah. You better stay away from him.” Peter advised.

“It might be hard.” You clicked your tongue. “Our mailboxes are pretty close. I’ll make a mental note to never check my mail while wearing flip flops, though.”

Peter smiled at your joke. He had the kind of smile that you would make the person laugh just to see it again. It was brilliant.

“Well my mailbox should be directly above yours. So don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” He grinned, and you grinned back.

“My hero.” You gushed as you put your hands over your heart. The tips of his ears went pink, like he was shocked that you said that.

“I’m no hero.” He sounded almost panicked, like you touched a nerve or something.

“We’re hungry. We need to eat.” Venom interrupted abruptly, causing you to jump. Since Peter couldn’t hear her, he looked at you strangely, not knowing the cause of your sudden jolt.

“Sorry, I uh, I thought I saw a spider.” You lied.

“If there was a spider, we’d eat it. We need food. Now.” Venom demanded.

Peter looked up at his doorframe for the imaginary spider.

“Yeah, New York is full of them.” Peter said skeptically. “Not that full, though. And some spiders are nice. One might even call them friendly.”

“Right.” You laughed at his strange wording, unaware that you were both keeping a secret.

“Would…” Peter began but trailed off, seemingly mulling something over in his head. “Would you like to eat dinner with my Aunt and I? I remember when we first moved in, it took us a while to get into the swing of things and make dinner every night. If you like, you could join us. And, you know, we could get to know each other.” He offered. It all came out in one breath. You could tell he was nervous and that only drew you in more.

“I’d love to Peter.” You said, and he smiled in relief.

“Great.” He gave an awkward thumbs up. “We usually eat around six so maybe come around then? She’ll be so happy to meet you. She loves cooking and she always tries to get me to learn but I once burnt cereal and I still don’t know how.” Peter began to ramble. He cut himself off and shook his head again. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”

Then, you did something stupid. You put your hand on his arm like the dumb bitch you were. You barely knew this guy. Who the hell were you to touch him? He must’ve been thinking the same thing, since he instantly froze under your touch and stared at your hand on his arm.

“Don’t apologize. I can’t cook either. Unless you count making tater tots as cooking. Then I’m Gordon Ramsey.” You assured him, feeling him relax under your touch.

“You’re just gonna mention tater tots without warning us first? Our mouth is watering. Can we eat Peter?” Venom asked, making your eyes widen.

If it was socially acceptable to scream at your symbiote in public, you would’ve yelled “NO, WE CANNOT EAT PETER” from the top of your lungs. But since you didn’t want to scare Peter and the rest of the neighbors away, you merely smiled and made another mental note to smack the shit out of Venom later.

“I love that man. “Where is the lamb sauce?” Peter mimicked in a bad British accent. He had no right being as charming as he was.

“No no no.” You shook your head. “His best line is “I’ll get you more pumpkin and I’ll ram it right up your ass. Would you like it whole or diced?”. He’s said some pretty wild things but that one makes me cry.”

Peters laugh rang through the halls. To be the cause of that laugh was a feeling like no other. You stood there for a while, just looking at each other. His eyes grazed down your body, but not in a crude way. You berated yourself for not dressing better when going to meet the neighbors, clad in nothing but a grey hoodie and some leggings. Peter looked cute, but you had a feeling he always did. His jumper was pretty baggy and you could see a collared shirt poking out the top. He was dressed almost professionally and you found it incredibly endearing.

You wanted to know more about him. You wanted to know his secrets and his hobbies and what makes him itch. You wanted to see if he dresses this way on weekends too or what his summer clothes looked like. Your gawking was interrupted by Peters phone ringing. He broke out of his trance and answered it quickly.

“Hi, Mr. S. No I’m not busy. I mean, I’m super busy but I can totally make time for you. Yea, Happy talked to me. Okay. Okay. Where? Okay. See you in a bit.” Peter hung up and looked at you apologetically.

“That was my job. I have to run but I’ll be back in time for our dinner. I live at…you know where I live. I’ll see you then. Don’t be late.” Peter called as he ran down the hallway, towards the elevator.

“I won’t. See you later.” You called back.

You went back to your apartment and like a kid, broke out into a happy dance.

“Venom!! Did you see how cute he was?” You gushed. “And how funny he is? I have to get ready for tonight.”

Venom manifested and swirled around my arm.

“Someone has a crush.” Venom smirked. Well, as much of a smirk as she could muster with that huge mouth of hers.

“I don’t have a crush. I just think he’s cute okay?” You replied coyly. “Cute. And funny and sweet and charming and amazing. But that’s it.”

“We can feel your heart beat.” Venom reminded you. “It was going ten miles an hour. What would Andy say?”

You had been rummaging through your closet and stopped in your tracks. With Peters new inhabitance in your mind, you had forgotten all about Andy. You moved to New York to avoid his wedding and his moving on, and you might’ve succeeded.

“I don’t care what he’d say.” You decided. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“But we want him to be.” Venom insisted. “We want him back, remember?”

“I don’t know what I want.” You answered honestly. “I just want to get ready for tonight.”

“Why are you getting ready now? You have 5 hours until you have to be there and it’s right across the hall.” Venom teased.

“Only 5 hours?” You sighed. “We better get moving.”

[iam93percentstardust]

Winteriron, both Tony and Bucky are insanely jealous of each other bc they think the other is super into Steve. But like, in reality, Steve's a troll and Tony and Bucky are the stupidest at seeing what's right in front of them.

I hope this is okay, this prompt really got away from me

~

“They’re idiots, Your Honor,” Steve moaned, collapsing face-down into Natasha’s couch.

“And just where did you learn that phrase?” Natasha asked from her armchair. She sounded amused, damn her, as though his real and totally valid problems were of no concern to her. And maybe they weren’t; she did, after all, have other issues on her mind, like what she was going to wear to Capitol Hill the next time she needed to tell Congress to fuck off when they tried to put restrictions on the team. Still, it was rude to make light of his problems.

“I can learn new things,” he grumbled into the expensive leather. “I have the Twitter.”

Natasha made a strangled sound that sounded suspiciously like she was laughing but when he raised his head to glare at her, her face was perfectly composed. He glared at her anyway. She probably deserved it and he was still in a bad mood.

“What did they do this time?” she asked eventually. She sounded sympathetic but he was on to her now. He squinted at her, just to make sure that she knew that he was watching her. She just raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Damn spies, never being impressed by anything that he did… not that that was really a surprise. Tony was never impressed by anything he did either and Thor was unimpressed by Midgardians in general.

“Tony has convinced himself Bucky and I were dating back before the war,” he informed her.

She groaned. “He didn’t.”

“He did. And Bucky thinks that the only reason Tony and I aren’t dating is because I haven’t figured out that Tony has feelings for me yet so he keeps trying to tell me about all of Tony’s good points.”

“But Tony doesn’t have feelings for you.”

“I know that, and you know that, but Bucky is an idiot who doesn’t know that.”

Natasha groaned again. “And Tony is even worse,” she muttered. “So what did you do?”

He looked at her.

She sighed. “Tell me you didn’t tease them.”

“In my defense!” Steve began. “I didn’t think Tony would take it seriously when I told him that of course Bucky and I were fucking like rabbits during the war. I thought he’d do what he always does and make a dumb quip and tell me that he’s going to tell the whole internet that I’m a troll.”

“I told you to stop doing that.”

“Won’t.”

“They’re never going to get together if you keep causing problems like this.”

“They’re idiots who won’t communicate with each other,” Steve said stubbornly. “It’s not my problem if they can’t figure out I’m not serious.”

“Forget Tony telling the internet you’re a troll; I’m going to tell them and they’ll believe me.”

This was not a terribly effective threat, as Steve didn’t really care if the entire world knew he was a troll or not. Unfortunately, Natasha apparently figured that out because she narrowed her eyes thoughtfully and then added, “Or I could always just say that your birthday isn’t actually the fourth of July.”

He knew she was still mad about that. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?” she said innocently. “Oh and Steve? Figure it out before next week, please. If they get together next week, Clint wins the pool and I refuse to give him any more money.”

Steve stared at her. “You two have a very odd relationship.”

Her smile was downright filthy as she purred, “But a very fulfilling one too.”

~

Steve had a plan. It wasn’t necessarily a good plan—the Man with a Plan really only had a plan when it came to battle strategy—but he did have one. He just wasn’t sure if this plan was going to backfire horribly on him.

“Well,” he muttered in the elevator, “at least it’ll be funny.”

And it was. It was really incredibly funny to see the looks on everyone’s faces as he tromped into the kitchen for breakfast, declared, “Natasha! Wonderful morning!” and kissed her square on the mouth.

He turned to Clint. “Clint! Great to see you too!” Clint tried to dodge, but Steve caught him and planted a big ol’ wet one on his mouth.

“Bruce!” he began only to see Bruce’s skin tinged the slightest shade of green. “Nope! Thor!”

That was all he had to say before Thor exclaimed, “An excellent new bonding idea, Captain,” and kissed Steve before Steve could kiss him first. It was a little more thorough than Steve would have liked, but hey, it was all in the name of romance so he decided not to complain about it.

“Rhodey!”

“Take one step closer, Flag Boy, and I will personally repulsor you in the ass.”

“Got it!” And he swung back around to Sam instead. “Sam!” At least Sam was laughing while Steve kissed him. It was a nice change to being greeted as though he was contagious.

And then it was time for the big two. The two that really mattered. The two that Steve was going to personally throw off the tower if they still couldn’t get their shit together after this.

“Bucky!” Barely the briefest kiss before he was pulling away and cheerfully saying, “Yuck! Let’s never do that again, okay?”

And lastly—“Tony!” Another brief kiss before he pulled away and said, “Tony, for a billionaire playboy, you sure do kiss like a limp fish.”

“Hey!” Tony protested.

In the background, he heard Clint whisper to Natasha, “Are we sure he hasn’t been replaced by a shapeshifting alien or something?”

“That would be the Skrulls,” Thor said, sounding very amused, “and I do not believe they would be so foolish as to give away their game this early.”

“Well, it sure can’t be Stevie,” Bucky muttered bitterly. “He would never compare kissing Tony to kissing a fish.”

“Really, Bucky?” Steve said. “And why wouldn’t I do that, exactly?”

Bucky looked a little like a deer caught in the headlights. Steve probably would have felt bad for putting his closest friend on the spot like that but he really was getting very tired of the pining. And the stupidity. And the waxing poetic about the perfect shape of Tony’s ass. Like, sure, it was fine, but it wasn’t fine enough to write literal sonnets to.

“Uh,” Bucky said intelligently and gestured at Tony.

“Sorry, I don’t speak pine tree,” Steve said. “You’ll have to explain.”

“You know,” Bucky mumbled, “cause you’re dating Tony and anyone lucky enough to be dating Tony shouldn’t be calling him a fish.”

Steve opened his mouth but Tony beat him to the push. “I’m not dating Steve,” he said bewilderedly. “Where did—you’re the one dating Steve.”

“Ew, no,” Bucky said immediately.

Steve scowled at him. “Wow, you didn’t have to be so quick about it, punk.”

“Jerk.”

“See?” Tony exclaimed, gesturing between the two of them.

Bucky blinked at him. “What, like you never call Rhodey pet names?”

“That’s different, we’re friends.”

“Yeah, so are Stevie and I.”

“No—no—love story for the ages,” Tony spluttered.

“I’m not dating Steve, Tony!” Bucky exclaimed. “Why would I date him when I wanna be dating you?”

Silence rang in the kitchen.

“What?” Tony eventually whispered.

“I—uh—” That deer in the headlights look was back. But, fortunately, it was only there for a split second before Tony scrambled up out of his chair and into Bucky’s lap, seizing his face between his hands as he kissed him. A beat passed and then Bucky groaned, hands clutching greedily at Tony’s waist.

“Time to go,” Natasha declared.

Bucky stood, just enough to lay Tony out on the table.

“Yep,” Steve agreed, sprinting for the door, the rest of the team right behind him. “JARVIS, schedule the kitchen for a deep clean this afternoon. And once they’re done, tell Bucky I said, ‘You’re welcome.’”

Four hours later, Bucky’s texted response was a very smug, Tony doesn’t kiss like a limp fish at all, asshole.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Meant To Be - Loki x Fem! Reader

Summary: Much to your displeasure, your parents have promised you away to the God of Mischief of all people.

Tags: Arranged Marriage AU, Light Elf! Reader

Warnings: Aside from Loki hating himself, nothing.

Words: 2878

I Masterlist I

A/N: Some good old-fashioned, ‘redeemed after The Avengers and the other movies didn’t happen’ Loki. Like, really cheesy, self-indulgent 2012 stuff. I just want to ignore all misery that happens in the series okay?

“Ew! Stop it!”

You were eight at the time when you and Loki first met, by means of negotiation between both your parents.

If only you knew that this encounter should be the first impression of what should be your husband in the near future...

Frigga and Odin could only plead for their son to be on his best behavior - but well, it’s the God of Mischief we’re talking about. Must be hard to inherit such a title from your very birth.

Just when you put the little bonquet of flowers he had picked up for you towards your face to admire it, several little spiders emerged from the blossoms.

“You’re no fun.” The raven-haired boy stood a safe distance away from you, arms crossed as his gleeful laughter turned into a broad sulk. "And your ears are weird.”

“I hate you!” you screeched in your childish rage, throwing the flowers to the ground and trampling onto them. “Where’s your brother? Thor is way nicer than you!”

“Well, why don’t you marry him then?!” he mocked to cover up his hurt pride, picking up a handful of dirt and throwing it in your direction. 

“I don’t need any friends anyway...” the little boy whispered to himself, running away from the scene with tears filling the corner of his eyes. 

“I don’t need anyone. I’m way better than all of them!”

Not even Frigga was fast enough to catch up with him, while Odin uttered some fake apologies to your parents, promising them that everything will go as planned.

You on the other hand were running towards your mother, tightly grabbing onto her dress. “He’s mean! I wanna go home!”

As Queen of the Light Elves, your mother was a being full of grace and composure - and you were hoping to one day become such a formidable person as well.

She bowed down to your height, petting your hair as you rubbed the mixture of tears and dirt from your cheeks. Just her bright smile alone would sometimes be enough to make you forget about your worries - but not today.

“My sweet child” she cooed, cradling you in her arms. “One day you’ll understand.”

However, this would be the last time you paid Asgard a visit - at least until now. Because no matter how deeply you wished to never meet him again, the words your mother spoke on that day haunted you all those years:

“For this is your duty as a princess.”

[Present Day - Asgard]

It felt so unreal when you stuck your head outside of the wooden carriage, the wind playing with your hair as your glare wandered over the rainbow bridge you were crossing.

Silence strained the air, your parents unable to do even so much as look into your eyes. Hel, how you wished this was only a dream.

Behind you was a whole company of Light Elves, transporting all of your belongings to what should be your homecountry from now on.

Now there was no way back, that much was sure.

You were supposed to meet your soon-to-be husband on that very same day, one day before your wedding to be precize.

One could only guess why you weren’t allowed to visit Asgard again for all those years, even though you were practically born just for this reason - for this person.

To become Loki’s bride was your involuntary purpose, and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be truly free.

Maybe your parents thought the God of Mischief to have a bad influence on their growing daughter, pulling you into his harmless yet dishonorable schemes. Or they simply feared you to refuse marrying said man if you got to know him better, finding out just what kind of person you were promised to.

Not that your parents were pleased either...everyone in the Nine Realms knew the stories.

To Odin, there was no point in hiding the disgrace his adoptive son had brought over Asgard. Not only was he responsible for an attack on Midgard, sacrificing thousands of lives for his own sake, drunken by greed for power.

But all of you were shocked to hear that Loki Odinson - or rather Laufeyson - was never Asgardian to begin with.

A Frost Giant.

Among your kind, they were known to be one of the most terrible abominations in the nine realms, and murderer of countless of your kind - and this should be the father to your future children?

Only thinking about this cruel twist of fate made you want to vomit...

So why did you agree to proceed with the preparations as if nothing had happened? How in Alfheim’s name could you reject their offer to wed you to Thor instead of that lunatic?

Was it that through your upbringing and royal duties, you had lost your own free will? Or simply fear of stepping aside the path that everyone had prepared for you?

It was probably the fact that you didn’t want to get into true love’s way...you and Thor stayed in brief contact through Heimdall, and you just knew how much that human girl meant to him.

You were kinda jealous, though...the concept of being in love was foreign to you, having a vague idea of it from novels only. But real life just wasn’t meant to be that was, was it?

You couldn’t escape your fate, that was what it was - for this treaty would unite both kingdoms, bringing peace and wealth for all of their inhabitants.

No way you could be so selfish as to decline...even if it meant you had to suffer for the rest of your life.

“My Ladyship, we have arrived!” a guard spoke as he knocked on the carriage door, with your parents hinting that you needed to step out first.

The very same guard now yelled from the pit of his lungs, making you feel the whole Kingdom of Asgard could hear. “Now arriving: Lady Y/N Y/L/N, eldest Princess of Alfheim and heir to the throne.”

You heared the people whispering as you took your first, insecure steps, blinded by the bright daylight.

“She’s so pale, like ice” or “Why are her ears like that?” were rather nice comments compared to others plainly calling you ugly, scary or a ‘disgrace’.

Of course your Kingdoms had been in a war for several decades, but this was long in the past - before your very birth, even. So what’s the reason you should bear with such hostility in the place everyone expected you to call ‘home’ from now on?

One thing was clear from the very beginning: You would never belong here.

“May I?” a dark, husky voice interrupted your self-pitying. You blinked heavily, still trying to adjust to all those golden surroundings, until your blurry vision finally cleared up.

“C’mon.” The voice belonged to the man in front of you, looking gravely nervous with sweat dripping from his forehead. He was reaching out a hand for you to take, and you gladly accepted since you didn’t want to embarass yourself further by falling out of the carriage.

And still, you managed to somehow miss a step and fall right into his arms. “Oh my, so clumsy” the man snickered as he catched you, clearing his throat as you grabbed onto his chest to regain balance. "Not very graceful for someone of your status.”

“And you are-” The words got stuck in your throat when you stared back into those eyes, their emerald green awaking memories you’d rather forgotten entirely. “L-Loki!”

“Exactly, my dear. The one and only.” Smooth and calm, he  pecked a kiss on the back of your hand, andyou couldn’t help but admire just how well he had aged: His wild locks were combed back, sharp features complimenting his face as he tried his best to give you his most innocent smile.

Yet you kept your guard up, always expecting him to somehow embarass you just for the fun of it. “When it comes to him, always expect the unexpected” Thor once warned you, and you won’t forget about it that easily.

“It’s a pleasure finally meeting you” was your firm declaration, only to be rewarded with a scoff. “You are speaking to the God of Lies, Lady Y/N - there is no use in trying to deceive me” he whispered into your ear, making you shiver in unpleasant anticipation.

“Carry her belongings to my rooms” he dismissed the servants with a simple gesture of his hand, offering his other arm for you to cling on as he escorted you through the palace.

The giant halls were almost empty, nothing like back on Alfheim where you and your brethren would enjoy each other’s company in midst of nature. A sole tear escaped your eye when you thought back to those carefree days, which are now over.

“Are you alright, m’lady?” Much to your surprise, your fiancé sounded honestly concerned about your well-being. “If you are tired, we can postpone our tour of the palace until you’ve rested.”

 “May I speak from the heart?” You gulped after finishing that sentence, scaring yourself with all the stories you’ve heared about this mad troublemaker.

Somehow you had the feeling that if you were to overstep your boundaries with that brute, it would have consequences beyond your imagination. He might seem generous and polite right this moment, but what would someone like him do if you enrage him? Countless images were circling in your head, one worse than the other.

Loki furrowed his brows, exhalinge deeply. For him, your expression was an open book to what you were thinking right now.

“Y/N, my dear Lady, if you want it or not: Starting tomorrow, we share a bond. I am deeply sorry that a veritable flower as you are had to end up with someone like me, but I promise to treat you as well as possible.”

Turning around so you’d not detect how it hurt him to speak from the heart, he added with a shaky voice “Yet there is no reason for you to hold back your hatred for me. No harm will come your way, I swear upon the little honor I have left.”

Even though his words made you feel a deep sympathy with the god, you weren’t quite sure if you could decipher truth or deceit in them. Maybe he just wanted to lure you into saying what you truly thought of him?

He’s right - you will have to spend the rest of your life with him, so don’t mess this up from the very start!

“I-I don’t hate you!” was the first thing you blurted out, grabbing onto his cloak. Loki turned around, rising his eyebrow as he scanned your face for any hint of a lie.

Althrough it was the truth, at least to a certain extend. You’ve seen each other only once, when you were still little. The rest is all tales and rumours, but you personally don’t have a reason to despise him.

There was no way you could promise to accept his past or heritage, let alone forgive him - yet as long as he’d treat you with respect, you’d return the favour.

“T-There’s just a question on my mind this whole time...aren’t you mad? I-I mean someone like- well...like you...” you gestured around awkardly, almost making him crack a smile. “I mean...I thought you wouldn’t let your parents dictate your life.”

Another deep sigh escaping his mouth, this times with his eyes closed. “This isn’t about Asgard or my adoptive parents. I choose my own path.”

Suddenly, Loki wrapped one arm around you, flicking his fingers with the free one.

“Hold onto me” he ordered indifferent as he casted his spell, teleporting both of you away before you could even comprehend, let alone ask him what he was doing.

It happened in the fraction of a second, yet felt like hovering through an empty space for an eternity.

“Now open your eyes.” You hadn’t even realized that you squeezed them shut during the shift, slowly opening them while Loki lifted your chin with his index finger.

The environment was magnificent. Had you ever seen something this beautiful in your whole life?

Obviously you had no clue where you were, but this was the first time seeing so much untouched nature on Asgard. There were flowers blooming in all colours imagineable, clear rivers crossing the lands in between grassy hills, and animals nearby a small forrest.

“It’s not like I didn’t educate myself about the Light Elves and their way of living” Loki stammered, unconsciously intertwining your fingers with yours as he watched you admiring the view. “So I could make you comfortable here, I mean.”

He plummeted down on the grass, still a little wet from the morning dew, and gestured for you to do the same. It was weird, actually, but also somehow adorable - how the infamous ‘Silver Tongue’ had lost his ability with words. “I’ve done very little right in my life full of wrongs. Hurt a lot of people.”

“Mmmhh” you hummed approvingly, not knowing what else to say - yet for some reason, you didn’t let go off of his hand, squeezing it ever so slightly.

“And even though I can’t possibly redeem myself, I wish to change for the better.” he muttered, rubbing the back of his head. “I just never knew how to start.”

Loki Odinson really was full of surprises. He was nothing like the child you’ve met long ago, and the complete opposite of what you imagined the ‘God of Mischief’ to be.

You had expected a power-hungry, selfish and cruel man to wed you - and yet there he was: Insecure and broken, only a shell of the person he once was.

Just what had you missed all those years? What things happened to break someone’s will like this?

And was he truly beyond repair?

“Those past weeks, I have visited Alfheim more times than you could comprehend” he giggled nervously, avoiding your eyes. “Concealed, of course.”

Well, that sounded kind of weird, but you knew better than to talk someone down who was just opening up to you. So your sole answer was “What for?”

“There was no way a criminal like me would still be seemed fit for this ceremony - and yet I was given this chance anyway. My mother told me that it was you who insisted on carrying on the arrangement, so...I just wanted to know what person would be willingly ruin their life.”

Something different was shining through the god’s orbs, and you couldn’t quite decipher it. Was it hope? Hope, that if you had given him a chance, his life could lead into a different direction? To change himself from the burden that was his birth title?

“I-I guess I don’t want to mess this up like I always do” he whimpered barely audible, before staring at you in shock and embarassment. Until now, he hadn’t realized just how vulnerable he made himself.

Just what the hell would you think about him now? You probably had lost any respect, or thought himself to be crazy. How weak...

So he was quick to put on the confident facade again, wearing his smug grin as if that all was just part of a big joke only he’d understand. But even though you barely knew him, he couldn’t fool you.

“Sometimes it’s enough just to try.” Your head turned from the sight of nature to your fiancé and back several times, before you brought up the courage and put a hand on his shoulder, whispering “So you can’t really mess this up.”

“Gladly you don’t seem to know yet just how much misery I cause.” He kept that thought to himself, to not scare you away.

“I am aware that you could never love someone like me, Y/N. But I can provide for you, dedicate myself to making you content with being my wife. My newfound purpose.”

The purpose of a war criminal - that sure put yourself under a lot of pressure. And still, it made you somewhat proud, and grateful as well. Because it was the first time someone valued you as a person, and not the princess of Alfheim.

Unaware of how much time had passed, both of you would get used to each other’s presence in silence, enjoying the nature while you processed this eventful day.

Exhausted from the long travel and all that rollercoaster of emotion, you soon found yourself dazzling into sleep onto Loki’s shoulder. If only you could see him adore you, staring in awe that someone could actually feel so safe in his presence.

Carefully, the god picked you up, gently lifting you on his arms to make your way back to the palace, where everyone was frantically searching for both of you. Well, Loki was used to trouble -  but right now, it was worth it.

May it be right or wrong, and even though you couldn’t explain this sentiment, you had a good feeling when it came to the things that were just about to come.

“You won’t regret your decision, Y/N Y/L/N. On my side, I assure you a bright future.”

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 28: Shopping

"Hey, Draco?" Harry called as he came barging through the door into the flat, a bundle of energy and light that Draco orbited around.

"Kitchen," Draco called back, rolling his eyes as he watched the idiot trip over the umbrella stand for what must be the thousandth time by this point. He was so hopelessly in love with the other man that he found it endearing rather than irritating, he was clearly losing his damn mind.

"Hey," Harry said, leaning on the island across from Draco with a breathless smile that exposed his dimples, and Draco fell and fell and fell. And he let himself (as if he had a choice) even though the landing was always brutal and would probably kill him one of these days.

He smiled back because he couldn't help it, "Hi yourself."

"Could you help me with something?"

"Depends," Draco replied, even though that wasn't true, Harry could ask for his left arm and he'd just chop it off and hand it over, "What do you need help with?"

"There's this guy I really like," Harry started.

Ah. There it was, the perpetually brutal landing when Draco was reminded that this was entirely one sided.

Harry continued, oblivious as ever to Draco slowly dying inside, "And I really want to impress him."

"Well it's good job you're the savior of the world then, isn't it?"

(Read more below the cut)

Harry shrugged one shoulder, "He doesn't really care about that," he said. "It's one of the things I like about him, he treats me like I'm just another person."

I treat you like you're just another person Draco wanted to insist.

"So, could you help me plan the perfect date for him?"

Draco sighed but he nodded, he could never deny the other man anything, even if it meant denying himself.

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

The next day, Draco helped Harry pick a perfect restaurant; pick out a small, tasteful bouquet; style his hair; and now he was taking him out shopping.

"Potter," he groaned outside of the curtain, "Hurry up. You do know how to put on trousers don't you?"

"Normal trousers, yes," the other man called back. "These trousers are just..." he trailed off and Draco couldn't help smirking. "They're so tight!"

"Your arse is arguably one of your best features," he teased but in all honesty Harry did have a fantastic arse. "Witch Weekly points it out regularly."

There was a long pause, then "Don't laugh, okay?" Harry called through the curtain and Draco realized he was actually nervous that Draco would tease him.

"Why would I laugh?" he asked. "I picked everything and I know your body better than you do. Come on," he encouraged.

A moment later Harry emerged wearing a pair of coal grey trousers and a matching waist coat over a purple button-up. His throat went dry at the back and Draco couldn't quite get his mouth working.

"What do you think?" Harry asked, scratching the back of his neck uncertainly.

"The shirt's too dark," he managed, "But the rest..." he trailed off. "The rest is very nice."

Harry looked up and smiled at him, "You think so?"

He nodded, "I do." He tore his eyes away, "I'm going to find you a different shirt, don't move." Draco left the other man standing by the dressing rooms and made his way around the store until he found a very pale pink shirt. It was perfect, a nice contrast to the dark grey and it would compliment his dark skin and bring out the warm, bronze tones.

Harry accepted it with nary a word and went in to put it on. Draco was speechless when he came out, he was a vision, the top two buttons on his shirt undone. And oh, what Draco wouldn't have given to be allowed to press Harry back against the wall, to lean in and lick at his suprasternal notch, to nibble the bit of expose collarbone.

He forced his eyes to move, to take in more of the other man's appearance. Harry had rolled up the sleeves on this shirt and left his forearms exposed, Draco's fingers itched to rub over that corded muscle. He was in so much trouble.

"Do you like it?" the other man asked uncertainly. "Do you think it's too much?"

"No," he managed, "It's perfect. You look perfect, he'll want to eat you with a spoon." Where had that come from? he shook his head, trying desperately to clear it.

Harry gave him a little smile, "Right, so that's the restaurant, the flowers, and my hair and outfit. That just leaves convincing him to give me a shot."

"Yeah," Draco said, smiling at the other man and trying to make it reach his eyes.

"So," Harry said, scratching the back of his neck, "What do you say?"

"Oh," Draco said, "Well, I'm sure that anything you have to say to him will be the right thing. Just, be sincere," he said with a shrug.

"No," Harry said, shaking his head and taking a step forward, "You're misunderstanding me. What do you say to dinner?" he asked as he reached out of take Draco's hand, "With me tonight?"

Draco stared at him, "Sorry, what?"

"Right," Harry said, dropping Draco's hand like it burned him, "Sorry, this was stupid. Forget I said anything," he added, trying to flee to the dressing room.

"Potter," he said, yanking back the curtain, "You can't just ask a person something like that and run away."

Harry was sitting on the little bench in the corner, body hunched in on itself.

"Were you serious?" Draco asked, taking a hesitant step closer.

Harry nodded without looking up.

"But why?" he asked, completely befuddled, "Why me?"

The other man looked up at him then, "Draco you are my best friend. You make me laugh all the time, you're always there to make me feel better when I'm upset, and you don't see me as 'Harry Potter'. You're smart, and handsome, and kind. And there's nothing I like better than spending time with you, even when we're doing boring housework together; time spent with you is always time well spent."

"I'm," Draco started, unsure how to finish, he'd never let himself actually imagine that Harry might feel this way.

"Just," Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his hair before standing up, "Forget it, okay?" he edged past Draco. "You don't feel the same and I-"

In a fit of bravery that was quite unbefitting of a Slytherin, Draco closed the gap between the two of them, fisting his hands in the waist coat and pressing Harry against the wall, as his lips descended.

Harry let out a surprised hum but immediately wrapped his hands around Draco's waist pulling him closer and kissing him back for a long moment.

It would never have been long enough, but when Harry pulled back from the kiss, Draco whimpered and chased his mouth with his own.

"Draco," Harry gasped, "Mmm," he melted against him for a moment and Draco's blood sang with victory. "Merlin," Harry managed, "Draco, we can't just keep making out in the store."

"I've wanted to kiss you for ages," Draco said, nipping lightly at his jaw and reveling in Harry's gasps.

"Me, too," Harry breathed, drawing back so he could look at Draco properly. "So, is that a yes to dinner?"

"That's a yes to dinner," Draco confirmed with a laugh. "And dessert, and even going back to your's for coffee after if you'd like," he added wiggling his eyebrows.

Harry laughed and cupped Draco's cheek in his palm, stroking his thumb over his cheekbone, "I really like you," he murmured, like a confession.

"I really like you, too," Draco replied, giddy with a joy that he hadn't ever expected to feel. "I can't believe that I planned my own date with you without even knowing."

Harry laughed, "I was rather hoping that I was being obvious but," he shrugged.

"I'm a little in shock," he confessed.

The other man brushed his nose against Draco's, "What do you say we go pay for these clothes and then maybe you could come back to mine for coffee before dinner?"

"That sounds like a good idea to me," he replied with a smile that mirrored Harry's.

It turned out that Harry's outfit looked just as good on the floor as it did on him and they ended up missing their dinner reservation entirely. But the Chinese take away they'd ordered and eaten together in bed was the best meal Draco had ever had.

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

Day 27: Home | Day 29: Punch

[dinpascal]

Little, Green Stinker — Din Djarin

Summary: Grogu, at the wise, young age of fifty years, was actually quite the matchmaker. 

The more time you spent with the Mandalorian’s tiny, green foundling, the more you began to understand how genuinely intelligent he was. Though he still had difficulty in the language department, it was as if he excelled in every other category. 

It began with simple things, such as a particular object being discussed and he would gesture or look in the direction of the said object. As you and the Mandalorian discussed where to head to next, still on the run from the baby’s captors, you made a passing comment about the sun and how blistering it’s rays were on this particular planet. The majority of it was filled with sand, though was less barren than Tattooine. The Child chittered at your feet, previously occupied with drawing various shapes in the sand but now very clearly requesting your attention. 

As you looked down at him, expecting he was wanting validation for his newest drawing, you were surprised to find his arm lifted and clearly gesturing towards the sky — exactly where one of the planet’s two suns sat. In clear surprise, a few unintelligible words spilled from you as you attempted praise, causing the Mandalorian’s attention to lift from the map between you. 

It took him no time at all to catch himself up to speed.

“Yes!” You exclaimed, briefly turning to meet his gaze before back to the baby. “That’s the sun!”

With clear affection, the Mandalorian also praised him with, “Good job, kid” before returning his attention back to the map. 

However, as time progressed, it became more than just associating objects with words. He soon began contributing to conversation. When he’d make grabby hands towards the compartment he knew held the food, you’d off-handedly ask if he was hungry, never truly expecting a response. 

When you stood to unlock the compartment (now locked so the little rascal could no longer get in it himself), you caught movement out of the corner of your eye.

“Did... Did you just nod at me?”

Grogu nodded once more, watching you with an expectant look that very clearly said, ‘can I get my food now?’. Nearly tripping over something in your excitement, you immediately turned towards the ladder to the cockpit and struggled to simultaneously keep yourself on your feet. “Mando! Mando, he just nodded at me!”

As you and the Mandalorian celebrated his newest achievements, Grogu gave you both the uncanny impression he was not as impressed with you both as you were with him. 

With each year, however, you began to notice just how bright he was. When the Mandalorian would climb into the cockpit after bathing, both you and the Child idling in the pilot’s chair, you quickly stood and offered the man a smile. Grogu, secured in your arms, babbled happy nonsense and offered a semblance of a wave towards his adopted father.

“We don’t have much longer until we’ll arrive.” He told you, settling himself in his seat and pressing a few buttons. Grogu then wiggled in your hold and you quickly relinquished and set him gently onto his feet. 

As if saying goodbye, he offered a quick coo before disappearing down the ladder, promptly leaving you and the Mandalorian alone. The latter hadn’t seemed to notice, still busying himself with the ship and keeping his hands busy. 

“I’m thinking he may speak soon.” You told him, gently smiling as you recalled your newest activity — drawing clouds, oceans, anything around you that he could indicate towards and show his understanding. 

The Mandalorian gave no indication he’d heard you, leaning slightly forward to secure the little, silver ball his foundling seemingly held a keen obsession for. After a moment, he drew you from your own thoughts. “You have quite a relationship with him.” He paused, leaning back into his seat and seemingly admiring the stars laid out in front of you both. You missed the slight tilt of his helmet, just enough so he could watch you from the corner of his eye. “He’s seemed happier. Since you’ve joined.”

You twisted your hands together, mostly to give yourself something to do. Just being in his simple presence, seemingly with his full attention, frayed at your very nerves. “He’s very, very special.” You softly exclaimed, smiling fondly at just the thought of the little thing. 

Perhaps, without the helmet, you would have noticed the way his eyes softened as he admired you. Or the way that once he looked at you, it was almost impossible to look away. 

The little swamp rat’s true intentions weren’t discovered for sometime, however. 

As time went on, Grogu would make himself more and more scarce each time you and the Mandalorian were in near proximity. When the Mandalorian would return with a quarry, clearly in need of some aid with a few injuries, his adopted son would abruptly fall sleepy and whine until you bundled him up and deposited him safely into his hammock. When you’d request an extra day on a particular planet, where the sunsets were splashes of purple twisted with a cool blue, Grogu would hobble off to the side to begin collecting new rocks for his collection and leave the two of you to admire the view alone. 

Unsurprisingly, it was the Mandalorian who noticed first.

“I don’t think we’re giving him enough credit.”

His voice drew your eyes, busy trying to scrub the stains out of the baby’s little gown. Occasionally, he would run by squealing and cooing as he chased a butterfly, as naked as the day (you assumed) he was born. “What do you mean?”

His gaze followed Grogu, perched on a box and idly rubbing a cloth over one of his blasters. It was incredibly domesticated, the two of you doing two various “household” activities while your son kept himself gleefully occupied. “Perhaps he’s growing more independent.” He began, helmet momentarily flicking in your direction before back to the green baby. “He was once much more needy. Didn’t particularly like being in a room on his own.”

You hummed your agreement, recalling some of the earliest memories you had with the two of them. Grogu almost always was no more than five feet from one of you. 

“I think he’s purposely leaving us alone.”

You nearly dropped the board you’d been scrubbing against. Grogu purposely leaving you and Mando alone? Why on earth would he—, “He wants his parents to be together.” You reasoned, seemingly everything immediately slipping into place at that moment. Of course he’d want his momma and papa to be together. “Do you really think he understands that much?” 

A soft noise filtered through his modulator and you’d spent enough time with him to know it was either a sigh or a hum. “It wouldn’t surprise me.” 

You sighed and rose to set out the tiny robes to dry, sleeves dripping from where they’d accidentally slipped into the water. “Well, what are we going to do about it?” A warm, secure touch circled your wrist, drawing you close enough to where he could comfortably reach you with both hands. You silently sucked in a breath, cheeks instantly flaming and suddenly forgetting how to think properly. 

He drew your sleeves into both hands, seemingly unaffected by the water beginning to soak through the worn leather he wore on both. He twisted the cloth until the remaining water fell onto the sand at your feet, repeating the process at your other sleeve. “What will we do about it?” He parroted softly, fingers now brushing the exposed skin at your wrist. 

You swallowed, doing your upmost to ignore the flutters building in your stomach and the shocks of electricity shooting up your spine and into your fingertips. “Well, I... We...?”

He hummed a gentle sound of amusement, taking pity on your attempts at speaking and rising to his feet. He brushed a finger against your cheek, hardly a touch but feeling like so much more.

“We’ll take it one day at a time... for the Child’s sake.” 

For some reason, you knew the last part of his sentence wasn’t true. Perhaps it was the way he seemed to linger close to you for a breath, before tapping the underside of your chin and disappearing into the Razor Crest.

That little, green stinker.

[inkmemes]

this  country  (  2017  -  2020  )  sentence  starters ↪  taken  from  the  bbc  mockumentary.  trigger  warning  for  mentions  of  religion,  death,  sex.  alter  as  you  see  fit  ♡

“i like the underdog.”

“don't be a fucking dick.”

“everyone comes together on days like today and just forgets their utter hatred of each other.”

“everyone who's anyone's going to be there and there are people from my past that would love to see me slain.”

“there's a tea rooms there and under the counter they've got a panic button and if i take one step inside, they can press that. the police will be there in three minutes.”

"he whatsapped me the other day asking us to go laser quest with him and i ... well, i clicked on it by accident, didn't i? so he knows i've seen it."

"i mean, i get it, but it's not making me feel nothing."

“it's baffling. i'm baffled by the entire situation, if i'm honest.”

“what the actual fuck? what the actual fuck? you have fucking lost your head, mate. you have lost your fucking head.”

“when i get hold of you, i swear to god i will fucking deck you.”

"someone's just been throwing plums at my house. i'm going to kill them. i can't believe it. i can't believe it. all over this. plumming on here, plumming on that. plum on the sofa, look! there's nothing left that hasn't been plummed."

“i've had a target on my back since the day i was born.”

“thank you very much, enjoy your free potatoes.”

“do you know how small your brain is?”

“hogwarts is that way, dumbledore.”

“he used to say i looked like the puppet off the dolmio advert.”

“there's a kid crying over there. do you want me to...? i can tell him to shut the fuck up if you want?”

“he genuinely looked like a moomin.”

“on my first day of karate club, karate master goes to me, [name], i don't know why you're here because i can't teach you anything. if anything, you should be teaching me." and just gave me his black belt.”

“you know that little old blind man? yeah, when i was punching him in his face, the lens from his glasses broke and cut my knuckle.”

“some things are just best left in the past, where they belong.”

“what's the point in knocking if you're just going to walk in anyway?”

“it was a miscarriage of justice though, cos what people forget is 12 out of them 20 hostages actually found it funny.”

“i lied so much i still don't know what's real life and what's plain lies.”

“i'm so glad you're out of that lying phase.”

“he likes to be the only person on the road, so whenever he sees a car coming the other way he just pulls over.”

“nasa went through hundreds of them in the '60s. and now every time i see a really bright star in the sky i can't wish on it, cos in my head i'm thinking, ‘that's probably just a spacecraft with some monkey bones in it.’”

“you absolute traitor. that's my cheese - it's my fucking house!”

“don't you dare eat that cheese. you eat that and i will smash this. i promise you, i will smash you with this.”

“fuck! you switched them!”

“yeah, i can see it's fucking burnt, sherlock.”

“i honestly am ashamed to know him, sometimes.”

“if you knock on someone's door, don't take no for an answer. get into their house. if they say, ‘leave my house’, stay. and if they say, ‘i'm going to call the police’, you walk upstairs and see if there's anybody else upstairs to sell to.”

“she looks like uncle fester.”

“right. i'm going to piss in their flowers, then.”

“you really need to go home. your mum's called the police and everything.”

“you're also fired from being my best mate, by the way.”

“in business, there will always be setbacks. i don't drink my own juice, fray bentos doesn't eat his own pies. but that's business.”

“do you know what, i don't actually want to play this any more, because it is actually very, very boring.”

“i'm ashamed of myself, that's not usually me, so don't get the wrong impression.”

“i genuinely think one of them fancies me as well.”

“it's fate her moving across the street.”

“the problem with finding a girlfriend in the village is that most of the girls you meet round here are old-age pensioners.”

“yeah, i am looking for a relationship, but thing is i've just got so many trust issues, yeah, with being fucked over massive in the past, so no matter how much i get close to someone now i'm thinking in the back of my head, ‘shit, am i going to get fucked over?’ because i've been fucked over in the past massively. my last relationship proper fucked me up.”

“i went through a really dark phase. listening to papa roach and just blowing everything up with them little french bangers.”

“shut up, you don't know what you're talking about!”

“i don't like the man. i know he's my uncle, but i don't like him.”

“it's just malicious lies, that's all it is.”

“i'm not saying i've got a cruel heart, but if she ain't willing to take me as i am rather than the monster i've become, then she can literally just jog on back to sea with all the other fish cos i don't care.”

“what do you look for in a boyfriend?”

“the key to dating, yeah, is the two rs and the three ts. 'respect, rapport, and talking, talking, talking.' don't ever let that ball hit the ground. good relationships are built on great conversation.”

“on a date, you've got to tell them all the interesting stuff about you, because that's what they'll be interested in.”

“he said to me, he goes, ‘you can't smoke on here.’ i said, ‘i'm not smoking, i'm vaping.’ the look on his face when i said that. i don't think he knew what vaping… what a vape is.”

“you would make me the happiest mouse if you say yes and become my spouse.”

“here's a tip, [name], next time you take a chick out on a date, don't bore her to tears.”

“roses are red, violets are blue, i've got five fingers, the third one's for you.”

“get out of my way, pipe cleaner.”

“[name] phoned me the other day at three in the morning saying, ‘come quick,

there's a hedgehog in the garden that looks exactly like grandad.’ so i got up, i got dressed and i ran over to [name]'s as fast as i could and then i just stopped in the middle of the street at three in the morning and thought, ‘what the fuck am i doing with my life?’

“you're joking me? because if you are joking me, that is massively harsh.”

“oh, let me get a song up on youtube. you're going to absolutely love this, [name]. here we go… listen to this. oh, for fuck's sake, advert.”

“let's go down the pub and get shitfaced.”

“where do i see myself in five years? well, me and [name] will have a flat in the middle of the village and all of our furniture will be inflatable and we'll have cable and it will pay for itself, because we're going to use the spare room to breed quails, because their eggs are worth fucking shitloads.”

“is this about the calippo, still? because you offered to buy me that.”

“if he wants to go, good luck to him, i say. i reckon he thinks that i can't live without him, which is a laugh, because he went a whole weekend away once and i got on all right. i just ended up following this cat around the village.”

“i've got to do what's right for me, at the end of the day, instead of worrying about other people.”

“how about you say sorry? sorry for the massive knife that's hanging out the back of my back because of you.”

“oh, and while you're stabbing me in the back, feel free to bend down and kiss my arse.”

“can i just ask you an honest question? why would you want to leave the village when we've got a pub and a shop?”

“i think you don't know how lucky we have it to be doing nothing with our lives, like. we're all going to die, anyway, so what's the point in doing anything?”

“i want ownership of the words fucknut and dickmilk.”

“i had this come through the post. and i've got a few concerns about it. firstly, this guy on the front looks really arrogant. not the sort of guy i was expecting, if i'm honest.”

“this is starting to stress me out a little bit.”

“why are you trying to stress me out? you know i'm already stressed out as it is.”

“the bloke that used to live in there, right, kept hearing strange noises coming out of his attic at night. and he'd go to the fridge and find that food was missing from the fridge. so he thought, ‘i'm just going to go up to the attic and check this out.’ and he found an entire family of peruvian panpipe buskers just living up there. and he thought ‘i'm just going to leave them to it, ‘cos they're not really doing me any harm.’ and then, a few years later, he thought, "well, i'll just go up to the attic to check on them. ‘see if they're all right.’ and it turned out they'd all died of asbestos poisoning. yeah, he doesn't live here any more.”

“some people will always be scared of me, and i can't change that, no matter how nice i am. but there's a balance to be had between being nice and being feared.”

“don't really like catching up. it's not my thing.”

“i just watched this video of this girl doing a random act of kindness on youtube. she basically paid for this old man's shopping at the till. and this old man was, like, about 90 years old. and he's so fucking old, like, you could see through his skin. and he just starts bawling his eyes out. he's like, ‘you're fucking joking me, this ain't fucking real life.’ i just thought... i want to make someone feel like that. ‘cos that's... i really… that's what i want to do.”

“i'm not dead. just can't be arsed to text her sometimes.”

“you know, correct me if i'm wrong, but four texts a day is complete madness. no-one can keep up with that.”

“i am doing kind things selfishly.”

“i was at midnight mass one year, right, someone got tipped off i was there. as i was coming out the church, someone tries to shoot me with a crossbow.”

“well, i haven't seen the film, have i? that's why i came here - to watch the fucking film - like a normal human being.”

“i've made an effort by coming here tonight. i didn't want to come.”

“i had to wheel him here from his house in an asda trolley, cos he was just too heartbroken to move.”

“sometimes you don't know what you got until you ain't got it any more. like blockbuster's. i just took 'em for granted - and then, one day, gone, and you spend ages trying to figure out what went wrong, and then you realise it was your fault all along.”

“i thought you said you wanted to fix things.”

“she wanted it to go that way, and it just wasn't gonna go that way. she even got me thinking that they'd get back together… ..but that's manipula.... manipulative people... do that. and he's better off without her.”

“that wasn't much to write home about.”

“it's fucking dead, isn't it?”

“basically, somebody's been sending me threatening letters, and i don't know who's doing it - and i am concerned, because my peripheral vision is poor, so, if somebody attacks me from the sides or snipes at me from an upstairs window, i am fucked - but my hearing is excellent, see? so i just need to spend a few days inside honing my sonar, and i'll be fine then.”

“if you don't like the work, the circus is in town and they're always looking for clowns.”

“his soul is just going to crumble to dust.”

“this really is not a good situation for me. a physical threat is something that i can deal with, but a sexual thing is not my area of expertise.”

“just really fucked in the head, mate.”

“what have i done? i haven't done anything wrong.”

“do you know how sad that is? that is so, actually, sad. that makes me sad for you, that you can't take a joke.”

“i think i just got a bit carried away with the whole thing.”

“your finger's going up my arsehole, mate.”

“i'll hold the back of your head, so you don't bash yourself.”

“when i lie in future, i don't want a massive lecture on how bad lying is, cos deep down, you're the worst of us all, mate.”

“i'd quite like a coke.”

“it's going to be like gluing a breadstick back together, because… like, as if a breadstick's been in a blender and it's all… ...the pieces smashed up.”

“like, this one time i started a fight club in the village hall, and i got a black eye from beating myself up. but it made my enemies think, ‘fuck, if she can do that to herself, what the fuck can she do to me?’”

“i'm absolutely 1,000% sure i've broken it in two places.”

“i knew this day would come.”

“i should be in tk maxx, getting the bargains that i deserve.”

“unlike you, [name], i'm not a fashion disaster.”

“i'm still warm in my grave, and she's sucking off the pallbearer.”

“you know, it took me ten years to get over [name], and i only went out with her for half a day.”

“i swear to god, if i see him here again, i swear to god, i will have no hesitation in just going up to him and just planting one on his face.”

“right, then keep your nose out of my business, yeah? nosy old cock-womble.”

“[name]’s attitude to me is puzzling. if i walk past her in the street

and say hi, she'll tell me to fuck off. yet every year, she sends me a really sweet, nice christmas card. you know, there's just no consistency there.”

“he's good-looking up close, isn't he?”

“don't show me any weakness, because i will take advantage.”

“no, put the brick down, you fucking psychopath.”

“when i asked him, he just said, ‘come to my office now,’ which means we're in the fucking shit, cos we're always in fucking shit.”

“i shouldn't be paying you at all.”

“i've always had a son. i talk about him all the time.”

“he's my son. he's not my dog.”

“it reminds me of the wicker man. i don't really know why.”

“i just find it weird how you can be so close to someone and they can be such a big part of your life, and then the next minute, you're just sort of strangers in the night.”

“i don't want the emotional implications.”

“well, about five years ago, i sold my birthday to my mum for about 200 quid, which means my mum's legally entitled now to never celebrate my birthday ever again for the rest of my life. not even, like, a happy birthday cup of tea, or a moonpig card, nothing - which is the worst decision i ever made in my entire life.”

“he deserves that anyway, because he's been sexting my nan, so…”

“what's this surprise? cos i need to know whether it's going to be worth this walk.”

“i always see them banners above the motorway, and i always thought, ‘who the fuck does them?’ well, now i know. people like me.”

“did you know you can't get stung by a stinging nettle if you grab the leaf top and bottom, like that? it's only when you touch it on the sides, it stings. agh, actually, that stung, then.”

“pez dispenser, they're cursed. they are, i'm not even joking. honestly, when i had one of them, i had the worst bout of bad luck i ever had in my life.”

“i swear down, it's a short cut. it might be a pleasant walk, we might enjoy it.”

“i'm not scared of the fox twins. i'd just like to sit them down and ask 'em plainly, ‘look, guys, what is going on? ‘cos this has just gotten completely out of hand now. you know, stop walking on your knuckles, stand up straight, be the best version of you that you can be. get a job, even. there's a trolley boy who works at tesco's, you know, who may as well have been raised by wolves. if he can get a job, you guys can walk it.’”

“yes, there has been talk of strange goings-on in the woods, ghost sightings and the like. but… ...they're never from particularly reliable sources.”

“i live with a ghost. there's a ghost in that house. he's like a civil war cavalier, with all the hair and the hat and all that. and every time i walk into the living room, he doffs his cap. and on his shoulder, he's got this crow that barks at me. it means i spend less time in the house, really. not because of him, because he's-he's quite peaceable. but the crow is malevolent. and i'm not having that. i can't share my house with a malevolent bird.”

“that's haunted as fuck.”

“am i going mad here, or does that, to you, look like that's where just ghost will hang out all the time?”

“look at him, little red riding twat.”

“if he's got an attitude with me, i swear to god, i'll just grab the steering wheel and drive us all into a wall.”

“it's a bit annoying, actually. cos this is not the first or the second time i've had to tell you, really, is it?”

“his sparkle has just gone.”

“you know my dad actually wrote the song wonderwall on the back of a beer mat in the space of ten minutes, don't you?”

“i've just got a tiny, tiny, tiny little favour to ask you.”

“when i think of [name], i think of someone who is very loyal. and very, very stupid. sort of more stupid than loyal. sort of 70% stupid, 30% loyal, probably. because she's very loyal. but extremely stupid.”

“do you know what? i actually don't think he loves you at all and i don't think he's ever loved you.”

“all right, that's harsh and unnecessary, but fine.”

“frankly, she is behaving like the antichrist.”

“i literally just got here.”

“you are such an unemotional slab of ham, [name].”

“i've got so much shit on that man you would not believe.”

“there's something in my eye.”

“i just can't quit him, you know?”

“yeah, we might have a fiery relationship,  but when we're together, it's just… it's just pure chemistry, isn't it?”

“i'm not proud of it, believe me. but at the end of the day, i'm a very vindictive person, you know? it is what makes me me.”

“i basically went out and bought an alpaca off gumtree for £500. of all the mistakes i've made in my life, that was possibly the largest. definitely the physically largest.”

“yeah, i really don't wanna talk about that.”

“her only loyalty is to herself, staffies, and the tv channel dave… ...which, in my opinion, is a tv channel made by knuckle-draggers for knuckle-draggers.”

“i can't move on till i've seeked revenge, unfortunately.”

“if that was in france, that would be fine, but we're not in france.”

“the only thing we had in common, really, was stealing, and that was more my thing that i got him onto. but it just goes to show, you know, some friendships last and some friendships don't, but that's just the way it is.”

“you know it was me that got you sacked, don't you?”

“the thing i learnt about friendship is, you gotta accept each other's flaws, no matter how toxic they may be.”

“shit-stirring from beyond the grave.”