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kim-taehung · 3 years

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revelation - first arrival

byun baekhyun x reader (has a vagina)

smut, established relationship, 2k words

almost getting caught is the fun part. part one of a trilogy that chronicles y/n and baekhyun's growing discovery of the pleasures of...public pleasure.

ft. ceo! baekhyun

warnings: public (semi-public?) sex, fingering

a/n: i'm going straight to hell for this one, and it isn't even that dirty

pt. (ii) pt. (iii)

masterlist

it happens for the first time at an auction. one of those fancy black tie events, where the bidding begins high enough to rent a fully furnished two bedroom and the items would look out of place anywhere other than a museum.

rich people.

but you're anything but present, shifting in your seat, waiting for the event to finish so you can get out of your outrageously expensive heels, when you feel baekhyun's hand on your knee.

it's romantic at first, it truly is. he's had at least a finger on you the entire night, offering a hand to help you out of the limo so you don't trip, warm palm settled on the small of your back as he introduces you to his colleagues, fingers brushing smoothly across your shoulders as he helps you out of your coat so he can hand it over at the coat room, thigh pressed against yours as you two wait in line side by side to get his paddle.

but now, as his fingers trace up the fabric of your dress, just stopping short of mid-thigh, where your knee-length dress has ridden up, you know it's different.

you've only been dating a short while. but you've had sex enough times to know when he's getting restless. and when you had seen his expression as you stepped out of the bathroom in the outfit he had gifted you, given him a twirl as his eyes raked down your body and he slowly bit his lower lip, you knew that it'd be a miracle if you got through the night without that restlessness making an appearance.

all traces of boredom leave your body as his fingers move a couple of millimetres higher.

on stage, the auctioneer is calling out a new item and in the ensuing excitement, you dare to turn your head and look at the man next to you.

leaned back against the chair, his crisp suit across broad shoulders and his gelled back hair cut an imposing figure. elegant fingers curl around the stem of his champagne glass, paddle left forgotten with a derisive sort of carelessness on the satin clothed table. he makes no pretense of engagement, looking absently around with a vague sort of interest at the two bidders who are facing off for a 17th century, gold gilded vase.

but under the table, his pinky finger begins to tap, as if itching to go higher, waiting for your go ahead.

you watch his neck move as he swallows, his eyebrow arched perfectly in an arrogant expression that you know is effective in dissuading all the 'boring, entitled, snobbish assholes' from attempting to engage in mindless conversation with him. (his words.)

his finger is still tapping, and you've gotten entirely too comfortable with the sensation of his large palm sat warm on your lap, but you know there's no way you'll be able to keep your composure if he goes any further.

slowly, gently cupping your hand around his, you move it in the opposite direction in which it was steadily going.

he shows no resistance, easily letting you guide him back to your knee. but once you stop moving, he bends his head toward yours.

far enough to convince any onlookers of innocence, but close enough for you to feel the heat of his body and the whisper of his breath against the shell of your ear, he whispers, even as his palm flexes gently right above your knee, squeezing the flesh of your thigh.

"are you scared of getting caught?"

you feel a shiver run down your spine at his low tone, but what really surprises you is how affected you are by what he says.

surrounding crowd and bright lights be damned, you turn toward him with a shaky smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. there's challenge in his eyes, and a smirk waiting right behind his conceited façade, you can tell. loathe as you are to admit it, it seals the deal.

with a deep breath, you slowly unwrap your fingers from around his hand, once again facing the front. you're glad for the position of the table you're sat on, wall directly behind the two of you with the stage diagonally in front.

you steal another glance at him out of the corner of your eye, and catch a flash of his insofar hidden cocky smirk that he hides with another sip of champagne.

around you, the bidding has begun for a basquiat.

under the table, his hand has restarted its journey upward.

this time, he takes the hem of your dress with him, the tips of his appendages grazing your rapidly pimpling skin, leaving a freezing fire in their wake.

you've become completely focused on their path and the growing wetness between your legs, that you nearly don't notice when a steward stops right in front of your table.

baekhyun's hand stills, but remains firmly attached, now just a few inches away from the top of your thighs, exhileratingly close to your core.

you clear your throat and offer a small smile to the new arrival, trying not to resent him and rationalising that he's just here to do his job. he moves next to baekhyun and ducks low to whisper, "sir, the item you had requested to be notified about is next. lot 48."

baekhyun nods in thanks, waits until the man walks away, and covers the last stretch of your thigh in the next ten seconds.

you try not to seem hassled as you watch him turn back around, nonchalant as ever even as he fiddles with the bottom of your underwear, just to the side of where you've been steadily needing him more and more.

"baek," you hiss, holding in a gasp as he pulls the bottom elastic band of your underwear before letting it snap back against your skin at the top of your thighs. "you have to bid."

both of you look at the auctioneer finishing up with lot 47, watch as the next item, an 18th century stradivarius violin, is brought in and placed on the stand, wait as he describes the instrument. and the entire time, baekhyun is moving closer and closer to the heat in between your legs.

and right when bidding opens, he ducks towards you once again, drops a chaste kiss against your cheek that could be interpreted as romantic by anybody watching, and whispers, "i only need one hand to make you come."

the next second, his paddle is in the air, and his palm is cupping your pussy through the wet fabric of your underwear.

“mr. byun, opening the bidding,” the auctioneer calls, gavel held in his hand as his eyes rove around the room, proceeding to call out the four others interested in the item in quick succession.

mr. byun, you wrily think, taking a sip of champagne to compose yourself, opening my legs.

his hand is warm against you, but stilled in their position, tip of his middle finger directly atop your clit. you hope nobody is looking at you too closely, because you're sure that with even just a little scrutiny, people will be able to make out the fakeness of your smile and the calculatedly slow measure of your inhales.

with bated breath, you await his next move.

"seven million, ms. hyejin placing her bid at seven million. do i see a seven point five?"

baekhyun's lazy tone as he drawls, "seven point five," diametrically contrasts with the sudden pressure of his middle finger against your clit. he doesn't even move it. just presses, and lets you squirm.

so that's how it's going to be.

you know when to expect the next move now. but it doesn't make it any less frustratingly exciting.

this time, right before he puts his paddle up for nine million, his index finger joins in on the fun. as he speaks, awe-inspiring disinterest in his voice even when he bids enough money to cover the life insurance of ten people, your now swollen clit is pinched.

you can't hold in the squeak slash moan you let out, your legs instinctively clamping on his wrist, not letting it move. at this point, you're so wet that you could probably pour the champagne that you're periodically sipping into your underwear and there'd be no difference.

he doesn't wait for the next bid to execute his subsequent move.

with a soft, barely-there chuckle, as the attention of the room moves to the only other person who hasn't dropped out of the bidding, he begins to stroke your clit.

not the quick, hard and rough rubbing that you need to get off, and you so very badly want to get off now; but little, feather-like strokes up and down that make you shiver in need, even though you can feel a trail of sweat now running down the side of your neck.

through your now glassy eyes, you can faintly make out the skepticism on ms. hyejin's face as she bids nine point five million, knowing that baekhyun's next quote is going to be the last.

just as you debate moving your hips so you can get some more friction from his stroking finger, with the sole purpose of getting off before this ends, he ducks his head toward you, ceasing all coherent thought.

this time, he's closer than he's ever come the entire night, lips brushing against your ear. your soft whine as he suddenly stills his hand is stopped in its tracks as he whispers, "try not to be too obvious when you come. unless you want to get caught."

and just like that, like the sound of the auctioneer banging the gavel on wood is a pistol shooting before the start of a race, he begins to rub.

your eyes very nearly roll into your head; but you're forced to keep on a proud smile as baekhyun nods at the people congratulating him for acquiring the most expensive thing in the catalogue, all the while his finger bringing you closer and closer.

distantly, you're so very glad for the auctioneer and his too loud voice as he calls out the next item, diverting any attention that might have otherwise been on you.

you bury your head in the crook of his neck when your orgasm hits, your thighs clamping shut as you try not to shake too much, tiny whimpers muffled by the material of his suit.

for his part, he does admirably well pretending that he didn't just make his girlfriend come by fingering her under the table at a high-profile auction, while also bidding and acquiring a ten million dollar violin.

all in a day's work.

he works you through the tiny tremors, slowing down his finger before gently pulling his arm out, other hand stroking your hair as you sigh softly and slump against his shoulder.

you can feel the smile on his lips as he kisses you on the forehead, letting you catch your breath, but the moment you make to move, he's speaking in a low growl.

"let's get out of here."

the look in his eyes leaves no doubt as to why he wants to get out of here, and you'd be a fool to say no. the fire he had taken so long to stoke and fan has only dimmed slightly, and a surreptitious look down at his lap confirms that he's just as affected.

adjusting your underwear and pulling your dress down, you take his held out hand.

it's sticky.

he gives you a wicked grin, flashing into startling presence as you feel yourself getting turned on again at the realisation, before he stands up, and helps you out of the chair.

you only stumble slightly, but gather your wits about you as baekhyun leads the way out of the room, skirting the wall and nodding at the steward who opens the door.

his hand flexes around yours, the only indication of his impatience; although, you're pleased to note a slight furrow of his eyebrows that wasn't there previously.

the corridor is deserted, and you half-expect the fucking to happen then and there, but baekhyun is famous man. and famously private. even for your newly adventurous libido, an area this exposed and open is too much too fast.

which is why the two of you end up in the men's room that's tucked away at the end of the corridor.

the look of victory on his face when he looks at you after locking the door sends a thrill down your spine and leaves you, somehow, wetter than earlier.

"there could still be cameras," you warn softly, even as your traitorous arms reach forward, grabbing at the lapels of his suit and helping him shuck it off.

the last thing you hear before his lips crash into yours, your fingers tangling in his hair as he undoes his belt, fire blazing in his eyes, is, "i don't care."

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reincarnated70sbaby · 3 years

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maritime madness

led zeppelin x reader

warnings: swearing, drug use

an: so I was sailing yesterday and I was thinking about this the entire time I might have nearly capsized the boat

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

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this” I spoke, staring out at the large blue yacht that rested on the waters of Normandy. It all started the day before, when we were all throwing around tripped out ideas in our hotel room.

“What are we gonna do tomorrow?” Jimmy asked. I sat by his side, my head resting on his bony shoulder. My dose of LSD had just kicked it, and as it was my first time it probably hit me quicker than the others. I tried to speak, but it felt like every time I moved my mouth, it felt like I would stretch my mouth out of shape, like putty.

“Let’s go explore that cathedral, the big massive one, y’know? The one with the hunchback. Maybe we could bump into him or something”

As soon as the words left Robert’s lips, our entire entourage burst out in giggles. I myself, was having hard time controlling my breathing. I had to rest my head in Jimmy’s lap, Jimmy being doubled down over me clutching his stomach.

“Percy, you dumb fucker, y-you know that’s not a real story” Jonesy informed, all his words all broken up by loud chuckles.

Roberts jaw immediately dropped open in shock, along with his eyes widening and brown trashing in confusion.

“Nah, yeah it was, the uh, the hunchman did the um, bells. Yeah, the bells”

“No he didn’t, because he never existed you nonce. It’s a fairytale from the 19th century” Jimmy piped in, adding his extensive knowledge of mythology and folklore into the conversation.

“But me ma said he existed, you’re gonna say my mum lied to me all those years?”

“Well obviously Perce, it’s just a bedtime story” Jonesy added, still chuckling to himself at Robert’s gullible nature.

“Fine then, someone else give an idea since all of mine always get ridiculed” Robert stated, crossing his arms and craning his head back against the footboard of the bed and staring at the ceiling in a huff.

“How about Père Lachaise?”

“What the actual fuck is pear la chair Pagey?” Bonzo asked, pronouncing the words all wrong in his thick Englishman accent.

“It’s Père Lachaise” Jimmy corrected in a perfect French accent, “and it’s a graveyard in Paris, loads of famous people are buried there - Oscar Wilde, Frederic Chopin, Jim Morrison, Edith Piaf”

“Jimmy you must be as mad as Morrison to think we would waste our day off in a fucking dead person museum. Jesus Christ how did we pick you up” Bonzo sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, what about Mont Saint-Michel? It’s this cool island off of the coast. There’s a bridge but once the tide comes in you can’t get in or out. Wouldn’t that be good craic eh?” Jonesy suggested

“No” Bonzo, Jimmy and Robert all said at the same time.

“Ah! You’ve been outnumbered Mr Jones haha. Maybe you and I could go out another time Jonny boy, we could go exploring and see the spirits trapped on the island” I said with a chuckle, the psychedelic in my system making this whole situation very funny.

“Jesus Christ what the fuck did she even say. That her first time on acid?” Robert asked to Jimmy.

“Must’ve been, it hit her pretty quickly” Jimmy replied, staring into my largely dilated pupils. He swore he could’ve seen something dancing in my pupils, but maybe that was just the drug in him.

We all sat in silence for a couple minutes, all of us enjoying our high.

“Innnnnnnnnnnnnnn fourteen hundred ninety two, Columbus sailed the ocean blueeee” I sang, the lyrics being the only words of a song I could think of to fill the silence. A beat of silence passed and I wondered if everybody suddenly passed out, either into sleep or another dimension.

As I started the next line, everyone else joined in with me. We eventually finished the entire song, even an encore requested by the boys. I sung the encore in a horrendous, deep operatic voice while prancing round the hotel room. A round of applause sounded, and I took my theatrical bows in front of my supportive crowd.

“That’s It! I know what we can do tomorrow. God that is a good idea!” Bonzo declared, jumping up to his feet, not before nearly tumbling backwards.

“Go on then Bonz, don’t leave us guessing mate” Jonesy suggested, breaking the dramatic silence that had ensued.

“Rent a yacht! We can go out early in the morning and stay overnight since our flight back home is in the evening anyway! All we need to do is hire a skipper or something”

We all were stoked at idea of having a private boat to ourselves. Sure, none of the boys were experienced sailors, but that’s what a professional skipper was for, driving rich people around in yachts right?

“Do we really have to do this” I said, making our way through the marina to our yacht.

“The skipper will probably dive off the boat when we get started tonight” Jonesy commented, sharing my lack of enthusiasm for the maritime adventure. “We should have ditched them and gone to Mont Saint-Michel”. I only hummed in response, dragging my overnight suitcase over the gaps in the planks of wood on the dock.

“Um yeah, about that skipper. We couldn’t exactly book one on such short notice” Cole confessed.

“What the actual fuck Cole? Are we just supposed to sail ourselves and drown? I can’t tie a knot to save my bloody life” Robert shrieked. We all stopped in our tracks and turned to the tour manager, glaring at him through our sunglasses.

“Of course not Percy, why would we do that to our cash cows hm? And this is a motorboat, no ropes involved. It’s basically like driving a car. In water. In fact, all you need to drive it is a drivers license, which I’m positive you all have judging by your expansive car choices. Forgot to mention that myself and Peter have opted out” With that note, Cole dropped the yacht keys into Bonzo’s hand and scuttled away.

We all stood there, bags in hand, confusion over our faces as we watched Cole’s figure disappear behind the hundred of other boats.

“Well shit” Jonesy said, the sourness in his voice barely hidden.

“Let’s just go check it out, we don’t even have to leave the marina if we can drive it, we’ll just park out all night” Bonzo affirmed, being unusually optimistic.

We all found the boat and as the boys started embarking aboard, I thought out loud.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this”

“Cmon darling, let’s just see what it’s like. If you hate it we’ll do something else” Jimmy compromised, outstretching his hand to me.

The boat bobbed a bit on the water as I stepped on.

“It’s not hating it I’m worried about, I was practically raised on a boat Jim, I’m just not sure 4 rockstars and a boat is a great combination”

“It’s okay we won’t go too hard, at least one of us won’t, I guess. Anyway, you were raised on a boat? Like a houseboat or something?”

“No, my dad was a skipper. Whenever he was home from trips, he would teach my and my siblings to sail. Y’know the whole nine yards, all the different knots, pulling in the ropes, steering, navigating charts. It’s just been a while since I’ve been on one and I hope I can remember everything”

“Gosh you are fabulous, my dear, I learn something new about you everyday” Jimmy said, pulling me in for a kiss. There was a loud bang of the engine, which we both jumped apart at.

“What the fuck are they at now, Christ” Jimmy sighed.

“Here, go set down our stuff in the biggest room, I’ll go see what they’re messing with”

We both parted, Jimmy heading downstairs, myself climbing onto the helm.

“Oi, Bonz, Percy, step away from the wheel until I get us out of this parking lot” I commanded. Both Robert and Bonzo looked at me funny, before slowly raising their arms and stepping away.

“And you know better?” Bonzo asked, still not sure where my bossiness came from.

“I think I do, unless you have your skipper license on hand?”

“Wait, you have a sailing license?” Robert interjected.

“I actually don’t, but I know everything you need to not drown. My father was a sailor and he taught me how to run a boat. Thank god we have a motorboat, as we might’ve been a little trouble if we have a proper sailing yacht. If we were, it wouldn’t have been as relaxing as simply steering a wheel” I answered, switching the engine on.

We warmed up the engine for a couple minutes, then casted off and finally escaped the madness of the marina. Soon were out on the French coastline. We continued sailing perpendicular to the coast, not wanting to stray too far. All the boys took turns steering, with Jonesy being the best skipper in-training out of all of them. Only once had we had anchored the boat again was the real party going to start.

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if only sailing was this easy in reality 😒

anyway I’m gonna do a spicier part 2 riiight now😎

leave any comments/ideas down below!!!!

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tag list : @rebel-without-a-zeppelin @princesspagey @dreamersdrowse

#led zeppelin #led zeppelin x reader #jimmy page #john bonham #john paul jones #robert plant

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doitwritenow · 4 years

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IronStrange Starter Kit - Master Fic Rec List for all Y’all Because You’ve been Asking and I’ve been Avoiding

Hi! All you anons and askers, I made a list!!! Hopefully some of these are what you’ve been after. :D

(Please reblog this, lol, I spent too much time on it...)

General rules: These are complete unless indicated otherwise, and end happily unless indicated otherwise. There’s a variety of ratings, as I have no qualms against smut, but I don’t usually read it outside of a larger plot. So I don’t think there’ll be many explicit stories on here. Word counts vary; I indicate general length but don’t go into specifics. What else, uh... Bold stuff is the headers and general subjects. I link the titles. Block quotes are author summaries. Enjoy!!

Okay so first off, there are a couple of Fandom Staples who just have leagues worth of good short stories, and if you haven’t read them, then definitely treat yourself to the array:

A Thousand Futures of Me and You - VisionaryGalaxy (Vishanti, what a legend, ily so much). This is a series of unconnected one-shots, each their own and covering a variety of tropes and moments and themes and AUs. They’re so fun (and/or painful and/or thought-provoking and/or tense and/or sexy)! In-character and amazing, consistantly.

Prompt Collection - amethyst-noir (Arbonne). (Also a legendary human). This is exactly what it sounds like: a series of prompt fills in all sorts of tones. You’ll almost certainly find something here that feels like it was just made for you!

Alright, onto the individual stories and series!

Long fics/series:

The of overqualified hands and pi figures series - lantia4ever. (This was my first Ironstrange story, and it is no less magical now.)

A series of one-shots, all set in the same alternate verse in which Tony and Stephen first meet following the events of the first Avengers and then continue to meet after that throughout the canon up until Infinity War and eventually beyond it. Becoming friends - and more along the way.

Time After Time - fancylances. (I love love LOVE this one. Highly recommended.)

Tony Stark is unstuck in time. Stephen Strange might just be the only person in the universe qualified enough to help.

Citizen Erased - Imagined. (This author. Just... such a wonderful, talented, stunning person who makes wonderful, talented, stunning works. This story is masterful.)

What do you do when no one in the world ever manages to remember you?

Anyone who sees Tony Stark promptly forgets he ever existed after mere seconds. When everyone he has ever cared about has lost their memories of him, he goes to Stephen Strange, possibly the only one who can help him lift the curse. But a terrifying danger is coming, and saving the world isn’t an easy job to do when no one can remember who you are.

if only the gods had mercy on us and it’s sequel a soul too deep - orphan_account. (Vishanti, this series... It’s so beautiful and emotional and heart-breaking and heart-warming. And it has so few views for so many words! One of my absolute favorites, VERY highly recommended.)

Tony Stark loved Stephen Strange. He loved him more than anyone could ever imagine. But then a terrorist group attacked the convoy. Then there was a car accident. In the middle of it all, there is tired, battered love. (And, maybe, a little bit of genius)

From the Top - lucifersfavoritechild. (Everyone reads this fic. Written by the blogger Monarch Of The Ironstrange Ship, it’s an MCU rewrite around the relationship. Very fun.)

“Stephen, if you’re . . . there somewhere . . . when I drift off, I’ll be with you again. I can’t wait.”

|| Personally, I think the MCU would be much better as a love story between Stephen Strange and Tony Stark. Don't you?

Starting from Iron Man, and going all the way to Endgame, with all the appropriate stops in between. Let's take it from the top.

UNFINISHED: Skin Deep - Mystical_Magician. (Super cool premise, and super interesting to read! The dynamic here is very fun.)

A battle that should have finally killed Stephen instead launches him into a parallel universe. Exhausted from centuries as Sorcerer Supreme, he chooses instead to explore this new world in any animal form except human. Having hoped for peace at last, he can't stand to be looked up to, to be responsible for others, to have the world on his shoulders.

If he'd hoped to avoid excitement, however, he really should have stayed away when he noticed an enormous explosion and a falling metal suit of armor as he passed through Afghanistan.

UNFINISHED: The End of Infinity - FriendlyNeighborhoodFangirls. (Self rec. Very long, very slow-burn. Canon-compliant Endgame fix-it. I’m trying so hard, lol.)

In 2023, the battle for the universe has been won. At a cost no one can forget, the fight is over—for all but one. Stephen Strange has an idea. An impossible idea spanning dimensions and timelines, life and death, and the lines of good and evil. But he's played impossible odds before—perhaps he never stopped.

All that Loki wanted was to fight, one last time, for the fate of his universe. So when he finds himself fighting for another, crashing into the past, he has a few intended words for the wizard that forced him there. But not before he finds a boy. Or, more accurately, before the boy finds him.

Peter Parker had been waiting for the next mission. He just doesn't expect it to come from the future, armed with a ridiculous story demanding a ridiculous quest. And he doesn't expect not to be able to tell Mr. Stark.

Tony Stark is trying to rebuild from the Civil War, knowing that someday, something will come that he needs to be ready for. And he doesn't know it yet, but two universes are trying to rebuild around him, and that something is already here.

Seven Stones. Five dead. Two universes. And one impossible quest to tie it all back together.

UNFINISHED: Sunrise in Exile - Ragdoll (Keshka). (Another fandom favorite! And for good reason. This is really really good!)

Tony does the math and realizes their best chance to save the universe is by... not confronting Thanos on his own turf.

So he steals a wizard and a spider and a space ship. And he runs.

(Three humans and an A.I in space, the alien friendships they make along the way, and discovering how science and magic might coexist in a universe where they can be one and the same.)

Shorter plotty ones:

Out of Suffering - Mystical_Magician. (So this author??? THIS AUTHOR??? Very very good, much yes, very good.)

Stephen Strange does not like people, but 14,000,605 lifetimes of fighting and dying alongside this small group have worn down his walls. He likes them, gods help him. He might even consider them friends. It’s really for the best that they all go their separate ways once Thanos has been defeated. In their eyes, he’s barely even an acquaintance.

Now if only Tony and Peter would stop surprising him.

moros - spookykingdomstarlight. (Almost got a spot in the angst section. Very good).

There were fourteen million universes Stephen had birthed into existence and let die and, in far more than he cared to count, the visitor standing before him had become something… dear.

Shaking is Caring - mariadperiad20. (This is just STUNNING. Highly loved.)

5 times Stephen's hands would shake, +1 time they didn't.

It's Kinda Chalky - DestielsDestiny. (This one’s pretty short, but definitely worth it.)

You can live an entire lifetime by looking into someone’s eyes. His sister used to say that all the time. Stephen never gave it much thought back then. These days, he can think of little else.

Something Magic - Imagined. (Beautiful!)

There is only ever one rule that matters:

do not fall in love with the enemy.

An Idiotic Theory - FriendlyNeighborhoodFangirls. (Self rec! I tried to be funny.)

His wizard has been cursed, again, and Tony's already used up his luck for the day.

(Stephen says it's not a curse. He says Tony's whole daily-allotted karma-based luck theory has minimal merit, citing the fact that Tony had come up with it while he was drunk.)

Tony really should have saved his miracle.

Love Through Time - babywarg (morphaileffect). (I love this one. It sticks with you.)

Tony discovers an old drawing of, and finally remembers, his invisible friend Stephen from when he was a child.

Alternates - doobler. (Super cool!)

After being punked by a lowbrow magician, Stephen finds himself falling through doors to otherwordly dimensions. How will he ever get home?

132 - 28ghosts. (Soulmate AU! Very fun, incorporates Stephen’s time-loop with Dormammu.)

Ninety-nine point eight percent of humans have a soulmate mark that tells them the age their soulmate will be when they meet them. Tony Stark has a mark. It's just that his is...different than most people's.

(Or: six people who aren't Tony Stark's soulmate, and one who is.)

and when the world falls (I will fall with it) - HeavenChild. (Another multichap soulmate AU. Absolutely lovely.)

Tony will give anything to those he loves.

People will take everything he gives before leaving him in shambles.

Rhodhey, Pepper and Vision have had enough.

Or the five times Tony had his heart broken and the one time he didn't.

i saw the end of the world - JumpToConclusions. (Why has no one read this fic??? It’s so good!!! Stephen knows the future since he saw it on Titan, and things grow more complex from there.)

Tony and Strange are trying to make this work, this being remaking The Avengers. ...And maybe they'll stumble into something else along the way.

Tiresome heart, forever living and dying - Mystical_Magician. (R e a d t h i s p l e a s e. The mythology is so cool and the symbolism is so beautiful and the prose is so satisfying. One of my absolute faves.)

As a fledgling crane, Stephen was too curious for his own good, and it was this curiosity that led to Eugene Strange finding and stealing away his feather robe. Trapped in human form, cruelly forged into the perfect son, not even his father's death freed him when his robe was so well hidden. He only managed to break his father's mold after breaking completely in the aftermath of his accident, and slowly gluing those broken pieces back together at Kamar-Taj, but not even magic could find what had been hidden. Enter Tony, after the defeat of Thanos.

Fluffy ones:

From The Outside - Live. (Hilarious.)

Being a sentient life-form surrounded by humanity can be hard. Especially when said humans just can't admit their feelings for each other.

Sleeping Iron Man - Golden_Asp. (Another fun one. Perfect balance of ridiculousness with a touch of angst to make it interesting.)

Stephen Strange stared at the Avengers on his doorstep, Tony Stark flung over Steve Rogers' shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "He touched something, didn't he?" "Yuup." or The one where Tony touches Sleeping Beauty's spindle, is put into an enchanted sleep, and everyone, even Rocket Raccoon, take their turn kissing him. But Tony only has one prince charming.

Doctor Ob(li)vious - lantia4ever. (One of my very favorites. So cute.)

Stephen starts getting some weird looks from the Avengers, spanning across disturbed, confused and even scared all the way to curious. He dismisses it at first until weird turns into knowing.

And knowing turns into realizing...even if the scheming teenagers had to all but paint it on the walls for him to do so. Oh wait...

Applied Combinatorics in Two-Player Games - 28ghosts. (Short and fun and full of snark.)

After a battle, Tony Stark and Stephen Strange argue about games.

“Chess is not a solved problem.”

“Has been since ‘97, Kasparov versus Deep Blue. Kasparov, 1; Deep Blue, 2; three draws.”

“Chess is a game, not a problem.”

The Courtship of Peter Parker's Father (Figures) - flyingonfeatherlesswings. (Peter plays matchmaker! Adorable.)

Peter couldn't stand to sit by while Tony and Stephen danced around each other any longer. Something had to be done.

Speaking Eyes - Vrishchika. (Not Steve Friendly. Tony is amazing in this. And Stephen is so fantastically dramatic.)

Tony has always had expressive eyes.

The Signs of Sleep Deprivation - FriendlyNeighborhoodFangirls. (Another self-rec. <3)

"Tony said to put the potato in the dishwasher, so that's what I did."

Sometimes, Avengers just show up to say hi. Sometimes, they all show up at once, and Tony makes an party out of it. Sometimes, he invites the snarky, oblivious, somewhat insecure wizard because, and Peter quotes: "everyone else is coming".

Sometimes, something needs to be done.

Show Me Your Scars (And I'll Show You Mine) - Imagined. (Adorable. Lovely. Imagined does it again.)

The worst part is that Stephen keeps tucking his hands away, just as Tony wants to hold them. He keeps hiding them, surreptitiously, no matter what they’re doing. It’s only when Tony kisses Stephen, or hugs him, that he feels the hands settle on his back, uncertain, ready to pull back within seconds.

It only makes him want to cuddle up to Stephen even more, but he backs away, not sure if it’d be welcome.

Promise? Promise. - sharonscarters. (AU, kidfic, absolutely adorable.)

A four year old Tony Stark runs away from home and finds his Guardian Angel.

What The Doctor Ordered - wakandan_wardog. (Post CW. Kind of not Rogues friendly? So fun, makes me smile. I re-read this one a lot.)

The Rogue Avengers are called back to New York because the heavy hitters are going to be needed against Thanos. Of course, there are some truths that Steve Rogers will need to accept sooner rather than later. Tony Stark has moved on and Stephen Strange will not suffer fools lightly.

Hurt/Comforty ones:

Among The Chaos of The Stars (You're My Safe Harbour) - ShootMeDead. (Oh my vishanti. OH MY VISHANTI. So so so so SO good.)

Stephen has always been able to hear the stars. Tony is the only one who can silence them.

each night like a white noise frequency - Phierie. (I ADORE THIS FIC. OKAY. I LOVE IT. READ IT.)

Stephen is no stranger to making hard choices. He doesn’t regret his actions on Titan, but months later they weigh on his mind heavier than ever; the cracks begin to show.

Just An Accident - CucumbersInGold. (I really like fics with Stephen’s hands and the difficulties thereabout. Idk, just one of my favorite things. This is beautiful).

Stephen's hands act up.

Learning, Unlearning - Caaaaaaas. (More character study than anything else. Really good.)

Whatever Stephen wanted with life, life just didn’t seem to know what to do with him.

In which Stephen learns and unlearns some very important lessons.

your eyes have their silence - doctortwelfth. (Oh look it’s another scars fic. I told you I liked them.)

Tony is gentle with Stephen’s hands even when Stephen forgets to be.

Burning Lines Into The Snow - petroltogo. (Not very Steve friendly. Short and sweet.)

Post CW: It's not just the team that's so broken they are barely able to comprehend how many parts they're missing now, how many have been ripped and twisted and torn. It's Tony as well, right down to the core, the damage so far-reaching even he doesn't know how to fix it.

And then there's Strange, who has his own way of covering the cracks.

Old Bones - CJtheWeeb. (Owch. Dumb geniuses trying to be invulnerable.)

Sometimes Stephen Strange has great days, where he was nearly pain free and his hands still enough to where he could pick up a cup of water and barely spill a drop.

Today was not one of those days.

something taken, something new - meowrails. (So in-character. The premise was a little off to me, but I’m so glad I decided to read this one. I really really like this fic.)

The ChronicConnection implement and app allows a person that lives with chronic or illness-induced pain to transfer their burden temporarily to a willing loved one.

Tony and Stephen sign up as beta testers.

Angsty ones (happy ending unless otherwise mentioned):

day one - days4daisy. (THIS IS SO GOOD OKAY IF YOU READ NOTHING ELSE ON THIS LIST READ THIS).

Three days in Stark Tower. Stephen must be in bad shape if he just agreed to this.

His Merlin - babywarg (morphaileffect). (This author keeps showing up on this list because they are A LEGEND. A LEGEND I TELL YOU.)

As a child, Tony imagined himself a Knight of the Round Table. Little did he know he would grow up to be a king. And that he would have a wizard by his side to lead him to either glory or destruction.

there is no heart for me like yours - turtle_abyss. (Soulmate AU! Wonderful. <3)

Being able to feel your soulmate - a phantom touch, a bone-deep awareness - is a divine torture. To know, but not see. To seek, but not find. To feel someone holding your hand and not be able to hold theirs.

Grace - StrangeMischief. (*cries in beautiful fic* Happy ending!)

“Pain’s an old friend.”

Us...Me - StrangeMischief. (This will hurt you. So melancholy. Pepper and Tony live their life, and Tony remembers. Not a happy ending.)

“I don’t believe in happily ever after.”

One-Thousand Cranes - FriendlyNeighborhoodFangirls. (Self rec, sorry. Hopeful ending.)

After it all, a man with shaking hands makes a wish.

courtesy - deathofglitter. (Dealing with the fourteen-million futures. So good.)

Stark looked at him like he looked at the amulet that rested on his chest like a steady promise - dutiful, a bit burdened, and trying to hold a profound lack of personal emotion whatsoever, still personal enough to protect as anyone would a precious object.

La Douleur Exquise - BananasofThorns, StrangeMischief. (More pain. Pepper and Tony, and Stephen watching and trying not to wish. Very good, no happy ending.)

The before was easy. There were fewer boxes in their minds and no chains around their hearts. There was no hurt. No tears. No dreams.

But those days were long gone.

Stigmata - babywarg (morphaileffect). (AU! Soulmates again. Very interesting, beautifully done.)

Since Stephen was little, mysterious wounds have appeared and disappeared on his body, leaving mysterious scars. His mother says it's because he's one of a Pair, and he's absorbing pain meant for someone else.

*wipes brow* PHEW! That gotta a little more in-depth than I first intended... Have fun, my MysticIron friends. Happy quarantine.

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qqueenofhades · 4 years

Note

If anyone is an enabling mood..HI, I AM ALWAYS IN AN ENABLING MOOD, YOU WANT ENABLING? HERE IT IS. I have soft loving enabling tho cos I don't like being mean it makes me sad.

As we all expected, I am very, very easy to enable. Credit to @voidxces for the beautiful and inspiring edit. Mildly smutty bits, hence the full story is below the cut.

Valletta, Malta

December 15, 1999

The customs line at Malta International Airport is long, maddeningly slow-moving, and the one guard stamping passports looks to be about ninety, as Joe shifts from foot to foot and tries to remind himself that they have nothing but time. (Unless, of course, the Y2K nuts are all correct and they’re two short weeks from the end of life as we know it, but if nothing else, living for almost a thousand years means that he has seen countless doomsday prophecies come and go without so much as a whimper.) It was a crappy flight from Paris – overbooked, understaffed, the inevitable screaming child two rows behind them and now determined to keep up the racket in the passport queue – and Joe’s trying not to look as stressed as he feels. This is their getaway for the holidays and the new year, the turn of the millennium, a huge and significant milestone for any number of reasons, and he’ll feel better once they’re out of here. Nobody’s at their best in the cattle corrals and the fluorescent lights of border control, another reminder of how much things have changed over all the years they’ve been coming to Malta. The first time they were here in 1501, all they had to do was sail up, get off the boat, and pay a bribe to the port official. Joe votes they try that now.

The line shuffles forward another inch, the child behind them screams even louder, and as Joe is silently reciting the Bismillah and reminding himself that the Almighty values patience, Nicky turns around. He sizes up the mother – tired-looking, hungry-eyed, apologetically trying to corral the fussy baby and a toddler of about three or four – and smiles gently. “Hello,” he says in English, then glances at her passport and sees that she’s Italian. “Buona sera, signora,” he goes on, not missing a beat. “Hai bisogna di aiuto con qualcosa?”

The tired mother starts, her eyes welling with tears. Joe’s willing to bet that nobody has offered to help her for this entire trip, and has to smile softly to himself that of course Nicky has swooped out of the Maltese night like, well, a knight, her countryman in a time of crisis, to do exactly that. Joe is already feeling better just to watch Nicky be Nicky, as his lover takes hold of the baby, joggles him on his hip and tells him that he’s a handsome fellow and to stop screaming and to give his mama a break, as the mother tends to her toddler, gets herself sorted out, and thanks Nicky profusely in what sounds like Calabrian. Joe’s mostly able to pick out the specific regional accents, and he guesses that this woman is a migrant, one of the workers who travel around Europe in the growing season to pick fruit and vegetables in hot fields under hard bosses who only pay in cash and owe a cut to the Mafia. He takes out his wallet and quietly offers her all the Maltese lira they changed for back in France, and she shakes her head and tries to refuse. He insists – she looks somewhat surprised that he speaks Italian too, but not unduly – and while she won’t take it all, they manage to give her back her baby, some money, and reach the front of the line without actually noticing the rest of the wait. Joe hands over a French passport that reads Joseph Jones. Nicky hands over Nicholas Smith. The guard looks at them, asks a few questions in his quavering old-man voice, stamps the visa pages, and once more, they’re in.

Outside, Joe and Nicky collect their bags, help the woman to the taxi rank and make sure she’s on her way to wherever she’s staying, then go out to catch the bus. Valletta sparkles in the distance as they draw closer, this magnificent collection of fortresses and gardens and churches, domes and spires, palaces and piazzas, museums and terraces, city walls and citadels, Benjamin Disraeli’s city of palaces for gentlemen. The place was largely built by the Knights Hospitaller after their exile from Rhodes and the Great Siege of Malta in 1565, and Joe and Nicky have watched it transform over the centuries, but it has still managed to retain that unique spark of what they love about it. It is familiar, comforting, lovely. If the world is going to end, no better place to be than here.

The bus stops in downtown, they thank the driver in fluent Maltese, and get off, hauling their bags and suitcases. The December evening is cool and misty, fog floating over the cobblestones like elegant wraiths, the streetlamps casting pools of golden glow that look like doorways to another world. They walk casually hand in hand to a corner store that is about to shut up shop for the evening, buy a quick dinner, and then continue up the street. Somewhat appropriately, they are staying in a rented house near St Sebastian’s Bastion, Is-Sur ta' San Bastjan, on the northeastern tip of the Valletta peninsula near Fort Saint Elmo. They know the elderly owner well, who has left the key in the postbox for them, and they unlock the door, ascend the narrow, creaky stairs to the top-floor garret, and find that a small Christmas tree and a plate of imqaret have been left to welcome them. The windows open out over the city wall and the dark, glittering ocean. It is quiet, at last. Just the two of them.

“Finally,” Joe says. He picks up Nicky’s bags when he puts them down, and carries them into the dark bedroom, switching on the lights. They set down their convenience-store repast and eat, affectionately nudging each other’s knees under the too-small table. They’ll do more shopping tomorrow; they will be here at least until January (assuming, of course, no apocalypse). Joe smiles at Nicky, happy to be here, happy to be with him, happy to be sharing this small and unremarkable meal with a soft rain pattering on the steep slanted roof. When they’ve finished and tidied up, Joe murmurs, “Not too tired, are you?”

Nicky answers with a devilish quirk of his eyebrow, as if to say that of course neither of them were actually planning to go to sleep without celebrating their return appropriately. He wraps his arms around Joe’s waist, and they waltz into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them and drawing the curtains, sinking down on the amply-sized bed and undressing each other with slow and leisurely care. Even after a thousand, a hundred thousand times, it never fails to thrill. Their mouths meet in the dimness, their hands trace the well-loved lines of the other’s body, the faint scars and lines that never go away even through all the regenerations, the secret places, the curve of lips, the plane of shoulders and spines, the tensed tightness low on stomachs, the bend of a knee or the bone of an ankle. Joe pushes Nicky down beneath him, and Nicky arches his back, wrapping his legs around Joe’s waist. In quiet and tender and timeless communion, they find their way back home again, in each other and with each other, in touches and kisses and slow thrusts turning faster, and finally, sated, they sleep.

They wake in the morning with slants of winter sunlight filling the room, the high white ceilings, the gauzy curtains fluttering in the constant draft that they’ve never found, the way they’ve woken up in this room since they first met the owner in 1973, and which makes Joe think poignantly, as he always does for just an instant, of their lost home in Constantinople. They get up and dress, then leave the house in search of breakfast. The stone of the streets is pink and amber and gold and fawn, and the light has that particular early-morning quality where it seems to shine through sheets of bleached linen. The city is already awake and bustling, and Joe and Nicky make their way to their favorite café. They can sit overlooking the water and eat as much pastry and drink as much coffee as they like, and they make a good several hours of it. The sun comes up over the street, the palm trees rustle in the breeze, and a few tourists wander by with fancy Nikons around their necks, looking lost. One asks in English if they know where the Grandmaster’s Palace is, and Nicky is happy to point them in the right direction.

“You know,” he says, when they have finally finished breakfast and are wandering happily through the baroque streets, hands and shoulders brushing, “it’s 1999. This is our nine-hundredth anniversary, strictly speaking.”

Joe raises an eyebrow at him. “More like our eight hundredth,” he says playfully. “If we’re going from when we actually figured anything out.”

Nicky shrugs, grinning sheepishly, even as both of them fall contemplatively silent. 1099 is a long, long time ago by anybody’s measure. Joe thinks of himself, kneeling in prayer in the Tower of David, the dread whispers that the Franks were coming, the way he can remember parts and pieces and that first death bright as flame, but the rest of it has faded into the soft greyness of endlessly passing time. They did go to Jerusalem earlier this year, in July, since it seemed like the thing to do; there were a lot of First Crusade remembrances going on, some of which they wanted to be associated with and some of which they didn’t. There was a tweed-jacketed history professor who was deeply appreciative of the detailed account that Nicky was able to give on the breach of Jerusalem’s walls (he asked if he had published any articles on the subject, Nicky said hastily that he was just an enthusiastic amateur), and then there were some whackjobs who were trying to inflame religious tensions, as usual, and basically acting like it was a good thing that the heretics got what was coming to them. Lots of Americans with placards. Lots of Israeli secret service and bearded guys who were probably covert Hezbollah. Lots of people who all think they know exactly what the crusade’s legacy means, and which Joe and Nicky couldn’t help but regard warily. Everything seems twisted up these days, poised on the brink. That guy named bin Laden whose pals tried to bomb the World Trade Center in 1993, he’s been talking as usual. Death to the Western crusaders. So on and so forth. Thus far, nobody’s really listening outside the Middle East, but when you’ve seen this so many times, it’s harder to ignore.

Joe shakes himself, not wanting to think about this on their long-awaited getaway. They’ve been in Kosovo on and off this year, even if the last thing any of them really wanted was to go back into the Yugoslavian wars, and Andy and Booker are off to enjoy the last few weeks of the twentieth century elsewhere. Someone like Andy, the turn of a millennium is old hat, but even for as long as they’ve lived, this is Joe and Nicky’s first new set of a thousand years. The Year Two Thousand. Sounds appropriately science-fictiony. How, Joe thinks. How on earth did Yusuf al-Kaysani from Cairo end up here.

That, however, is only incidental to his enjoyment of the rest of the day. They walk on the city walls, they go up to the Grand Harbor and take in the sea view, then to the Barrakka Gardens. Nicky gazes pensively on the monument of remembrance and out over the glittering blue water, as Joe sits down on a bench and watches him. He has always simply enjoyed looking at Nicky, watching him breathe, watching him be, watching the way he leans on the railing and shields his eyes against the sun with the casual, unconsciousness elegance that permeates everything he does. Whether the name is Yusuf al-Kaysani or Joseph Jones or anything else, it doesn’t matter. Even among all the change and clutter of the modern world, this adoration, this soul-deep delight, is the one thing that remains constant.

That is how the next several days pass. Joe and Nicky visit their usual old haunts in Valletta, eat well, make love, and catch up with the apartment’s owner, Ġużepp, who is now in his eighties, has known them for over twenty-five years, and never seen them age a day. He has never asked why. His wife died a long time ago and they never had children, and perhaps he sees them as sons, as a strange but poignant blessing for a lonely old man, two people who clearly love this place as much as he does. He asked them once when they first came here, and Joe wondered if they should just tell him that it was the sixteenth century. Somehow it seems as if Ġużepp might not be surprised.

A few days before Christmas, a storm blows in from the Atlantic just as dust blows in from North Africa, and the world turns silver and ocher and rust and wet, the windows sparkling as if stained in silver nitrate and the streets and domes and splendid churches of Valletta painted in watercolor impressionism on the blurry glass, anything or anyone outside the bedroom barely seeming to exist. Joe and Nicky spend the time productively, which is to say they have so much sex that they can barely walk. They twist into each other, explore and challenge and unstring and repair each other, touch and caress, kiss and lick and suck and mark their territory all over again, leaving no inch of flesh unexplored and no sinful act undone. “You know,” Nicky murmurs, eyes closed, smiling, sweat beading on his brow, hand stroking up the line of Joe’s spine as Joe nips at his neck. “We really are a pair of heretics, aren’t we.”

“Speak for yourself, Nicolò.” Joe leans down to steal another kiss from his lover’s bruised, teeth-marked lips. “Heretics according to who?”

Nicky hums, as if to say he is happy to get into a theological argument at a later date, but can’t be arsed to do so right now. Joe slides down next to him, sliding his hand across Nicky’s chest and stomach, curling lower, as Nicky whines and reflexively tries to pull back. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Joe laughs, as he always does, pressing a kiss into Nicky’s shoulder and thinking – as he also always does – Allah and all His angels forbid. He has always secretly, shamefully prayed that if that terrible moment came, if one of them lost their immortality first, that it be him. He knows this condemns Nicky to live on without him, but he cannot face the prospect of doing it himself. Dying for good, even after this long, somehow seems easier. At least he’s done that before, often. Living without the other half of his soul, not so much.

The rain clears on Christmas Day, the light is fragile and golden and perfect as heaven, and they call Andy and Booker (Andy’s somewhere in Argentina, Booker is on a beach in Thailand) and wish each other happy holidays. Nicky mixes up a feast, Joe helps (if by that you mean stirring the occasional pot and taking full advantage of Nicky’s “Kiss the Cook” apron) and they open their door and visit with the neighbors who drop in to bring more pastries and Christmas wishes. Ġużepp turns up, they invite him to stay for supper so he won’t be alone, and after the token protests, he agrees. As he is insisting on doing the washing-up, he asks, “How long have you two known each other?”

Joe and Nicky glance at each other. They’re fairly sure that Ġużepp knows they’re a couple, even if they haven’t said so openly, just in case an old Maltese Roman Catholic would prefer to know it implicitly but not have it confirmed. Finally Nicky says, “A very long time.”

“I thought so, somehow.” The old man reaches for a dish towel. “You seem that way. Have you been happy here? All the times you’ve been to Malta, to my house?”

“We’ve been very happy,” Joe assures him. “This place has been special for – for many years. I am Arabic, Nicky is Italian, it is like it was made just for us.”

Ġużepp smiles. “Your families?” he asks. “They are happy with it?”

Joe thinks of his mother, far off and so very long ago, and how Maryam al-Katibi always wanted him to be a better man. How he forgot about time and its passing, and never saw her again after he left. It remains one of the greatest regrets of his life that she never met Nicolò, as he thinks that they would have liked each other very much. But as far as their family goes now –

“Yes,” he says, thinking of Andy and Booker. “Yes, they are.”

“I am glad,” Ġużepp says stoutly. “It is good for a man not to be alone.”

(It is, and both Joe and Nicky have clung to that, and they don’t know now that this is the last time they will see Ġużepp, as he will die before they return here in 2004 when Malta becomes a member of the EU, but on this sweet, poignant night, as time speeds on its passing, as they both reflect on all those many years, and God said that it was good.)

The last week of 1999 and the twentieth century and the second millennium count down to its inevitable end. There aren’t exactly prophets in sandwich boards shrieking on the streets about the end times, though it’s undeniable that there’s a sharp-edged anxiety as Y2K draws closer. On December 31, Joe and Nicky sit on the beach at the famous Blue Lagoon, watching the sun go down over the island of Comino, holding hands. At last Nicky says – half joking, but only half – “If the world does end tonight, I want you to know that you are still the best thing that ever happened to me. Except for that pastry the other day. That was really very divine.”

Joe laughs, takes his hand to his lips and kisses it. “Always, my heart,” he says. “Always.”

The world gets softer and darker, and lights come on over the bay and the archipelago and the boats bobbing at anchor, and Joe thinks that it must be the year 2000 somewhere else, and everything still seems to be fine. He wasn’t really worried, but he knows that fear that the next year might bring with it something too terrible to be gotten around, and that if you could just cling to this moment now when things are all right, they might stay that way forever. Finally he and Nicky get the water taxi back to Valletta, and it’s getting closer and closer to midnight, and they sit down on a bench and count down with the rest of this sliver of the world, all the way into the next stage of forever.

When it becomes plain that the world has not ended, nor indeed does it seem likely to do so, everywhere seems to let out its breath at once. Huge and glorious fireworks thunder in the dark sky over the city, in riots of color and noise and sound, and Joe and Nicky can hear cheering and toasting from what seems like every house in the city. They kiss and then kiss again for good measure, swept along on a tide of jolly and relieved and mildly (or well, considerably) inebriated strangers, an impromptu street party that both of them feel down to their nine-hundred-and-fifty-year-old sinews, the sort of magic that still catches them dead to rights even after so long in this beautiful, stupid, dangerous, exasperating, maddening, heartbreaking, filthy, glorious, transcendent, irreplaceable world. They throw their arms around each other’s necks and gaze deeply into the other’s eyes, as even all the gaiety and festivity and bacchanal falls into nothing, passing over them like waves. “I love you,” Joe says, as he has said it so many times in all the languages he knows. “Ti amo.”

Nicky smiles that smile that makes the world shine, and spins Joe lightly on the spot, and the next thousand years seem, just then, like the greatest blessing that any man has ever had. “I know.”

#the old guard #the old guard fanfiction #joe x nicky #kaysanova #that time in malta #coffeemakesmeahappybean #ask

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taeyongdoyoung · 3 years

Photo

summary: the forest is your only escape from the everyday troubles with your family until you find danger lurking behind the trees. or rather, danger finds you. your fateful encounter with the vampire ravn leaves you wishing for a different life. you strike an unexpected deal with the stranger that will soon turn into something more…

pairing: vampire! human ravn x reader

side characters: seoho, xion, non-binary oc named robin inspired by the wonderful @byccn 💜

genre: vampire!au, romance, humour, FLUFF

warnings: i don’t think there are any?? just sweet tooth-rotting fluff, some biting, a few shakespeare references, some swear words and a lot of cheesy lines, i mean, they’re eating pizza in italy and it’s valentine’s day soo...

word count: 2.3k

author’s note: the final chapter of twilight has arrived, i just want to thank you all so much for embarking on this journey with me, for reading it and for leaving your comments, it truly feels like the end of an era but i hope everyone enjoyed reading my story as much as i enjoyed writing it, i don’t know what else to say other than “parting is such sweet sorrow” 🥺🥺💞💞

part one 🌙 part two 🌙 part three 🌙 part four 🌙 part five 🌙 part six 🌙 part seven 🌙 part eight 🌙 part nine 🌙 part ten🌙 part eleven 🌙part twelve

You felt like you were dreaming but no matter how many times you pinched yourself, you didn’t wake up, because this was reality. Ravn was safe and sleeping soundly, his arms wrapped around you. And he was so warm you’d have a difficult time getting used to it. But it didn’t matter, because you loved him for him and that was all that mattered. You ran a gentle hand through his dark hair. He was still so beautiful, still so soft, still your Ravn. And despite the fact that he, too, was mortal now, you had the strange feeling you had all the time in the world. And in a way, it was true. You were so far away from any dangers that this newfound sense of freedom seemed eternal.

“Are you watching me sleep?” Ravn murmured curiously.

You attempted to withdraw your hand, but his reflexes were still fast enough to catch you.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he opened his eyes and smiled at you fondly.

“I just can’t believe this. You’re alive,” you pointed out.

Ravn chuckled.

“Me neither. I’ve wished for this for so long that now when it actually happened it seems unreal.”

“Well, no use questioning it, let’s just enjoy ourselves,” you quickly kissed his lips and intended to get out of bed to brush your teeth, but Ravn stopped you by holding onto your hand and pulling you close.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He kissed you once more, this time more deeply and not willing to let go.

“Mmm, Ravn, darling…” you tried to argue.

“Stay a bit longer,” he pleaded sweetly.

“You’re impossible to resist,” you laughed and started kissing his neck, occasionally biting him gently, which amused him immensely.

“Oh, no, I’ve corrupted you entirely,” Ravn wailed.

You rolled your eyes and pressed your hands against his cheeks.

“I love you,” you said seriously.

“I would not wish any companion in the world but you,” Ravn replied and your eyes filled with happy tears.

“My favourite Shakespeare nerd,” you stroked his chin.

“Am I not the only Shakespeare nerd you know?” he challenged.

“Well, he will never admit it, but Seoho is secretly as much of a Shakespeare enthusiast as we are,” you joked.

“But you like me more, right?” he had to make sure.

“Of course, silly, is this even a question?”

“Let’s get up and annoy him about it, then!” Ravn suggested excitedly.

“Unbelievable,” you giggled and sneaked out of his arms. “Bathroom’s mine first!”

Ravn hurriedly chased you but to your complete amazement, you beat him to it. Now that he was human, too, it was all fair and square.

“Come on, sweetheart, let me in!” Ravn complained, knocking on the door.

You smirked triumphantly as you were putting toothpaste on your new brush.

“What will I get out of this?” you bargained, suddenly remembering one of your initial encounters. It felt like a century ago.

“More kisses? My undying affection? Anything you wish, I just really need to…”

You quickly opened the door upon hearing the desperation in his voice. He was only human, after all, the thought making you laugh.

“Thank you!” Ravn rushed inside. He was obviously on a mission.

A couple of minutes later, you were both out of the bathroom and dressing up for the day.

“Being a human is so hard,” he complained. “So many needs.”

“Come on, you’ve been human before,” you reminded him.

“How do you deal with all this?” Ravn asked, overwhelmed by everything new.

“It’s just life, I guess,” you shrugged. “Don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of it soon enough. And I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“Unless when you lock me out of the bathroom,” he teased you.

“A mistake I won’t repeat again,” you chuckled. “We’ll have to share.”

“I can live with that,” he winked. “For the rest of my life.”

These were words you’d never expected to hear and yet, they’d somehow turned into the much needed reality.

🌙🌙🌙

“Now that Ravn’s human, you won’t say stuff like ‘all humans are trash’, will you, Seoho?” you joked over breakfast as you were spreading jam over a slice of bread.

“Unfortunately, I’ve been forced to change my mindset,” Seoho groaned and added under his breath. “Ugh, humans.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Ravn scolded him.

“I thought your super hearing was gone?” Seoho asked awkwardly.

“It is, but I can still hear shit,” he punched his friend playfully.

“Fine, fine, I’ll try not to be a dick.”

“Thank you very much,” you said. “I’m thinking of checking out the local bookshops today. Ravn, do you want to come with?”

“You know it,” he gave you a high five.

“Seoho, do you want to join us?” you offered politely, because after all, if it hadn’t been for Seoho’s magical abilities, you probably wouldn’t be here, in Verona, alive.

“So I can watch you lick each other’s faces between the bookshelves? I’ll pass,” Seoho scoffed.

“Hey, if it makes you uncomfortable, we’ll stop doing it in front of you,” you promised.

“Nah, it’s fine. I have other plans, anyways.”

“You do?” Ravn eyed him suspiciously.

“I’m not telling you anything,” Seoho finished his juice, got up from the table and grabbed his jacket. “Have fun, nerds!”

Before you could register where he was going, Seoho had teleported himself out of the room.

“Okay, that was weird,” you pointed out.

“Definitely. We’ll grill him for more information when he comes back,” Ravn vowed. “But for now, let’s finish our human breakfast and explore the town.”

“It would be my honour,” you smiled.

🌙🌙🌙

Seoho’s POV

Was I being too obvious? I knew that sooner or later I’d have to inform Ravn and Y/N what this was about, but I didn’t want to jinx it. After all, there wasn’t much to tell. Not yet, at least. The truth was that yesterday when I’d gone to buy pizza and pancakes for my friends, I’d seen someone that grabbed my attention rightaway. They had beautiful short hair, a vibrant smile and they were selling ice-cream. At the time, I couldn’t muster up the courage to talk to them, even though I was usually confident and carefree. There was something special about this person. And despite my previous distrust of humans, I realized I could no longer be so prejudiced about them. My best friend was now human and his girlfriend had proved me wrong countless times. Maybe it was because I was in a new town, where no one knew me. Maybe it was because after almost losing Ravn, I had realized that life was too short and precious and I had to make each day count. I don’t know what exactly came over me but when I lied to my friends about having plans, I decided I want to see the person selling ice-cream again. And this time, I would talk to them.

Luckily, I was good at finding my way around. I quickly remembered where the pizza place was and that the ice-cream stand was right around the corner. I felt a bit nervous, but I knew that I had nothing to lose, so I approached it. They were there. The minute I saw their smile I forgot everything that I had planned I would say. How I wanted to play it cool and tell them I really like their style and their hair and…Before I could open my mouth, they’d spotted me and spoke first.

“Hi, would you like to order some ice-cream?” were the cheerful first words they said to me.

“Um, hi, yeah, what would you recommend?” I asked.

“My personal favourite is chocolate,” they replied.

“Alright, then, I’ll have that.”

“Sure thing,” they smiled and started scooping up a ball of chocolate ice-cream as I placed the money on the table. Now was my chance to say something dumb or remain silent and regret it forever. Or I could just come back again tomorrow. I wouldn’t do that, right?

🌙🌙🌙

I was a fool. I did come back again the following day. And the day after. I came back to that ice-cream place every day for two whole weeks, without succeeding to say much to the person I was obviously crushing on, other than the usual small talk surrounding the process of buying ice-cream. I tried all the different flavours until one day the unimaginable happened.

“I’ll see you again tomorrow,” I murmured instead of goodbye.

“Actually, I won’t be here tomorrow,” they responded sadly. “You see, this was just a summer job for me and I’m going back to college so I won’t have time to work.”

“Oh, I see,” I replied dumbly. “Well, in that case…”

“Can I get your number?” they beat me to it. “Or at least your name?”

Internally, I was screaming with joy. Externally, I attempted to maintain a perfectly composed expression.

“Seoho,” I said, already writing down my phone number on a napkin. “And yours?”

“Robin,” they chuckled. “Wow, you’re so old-fashioned, you could have just typed it in.”

I shrugged and handed them the silly napkin.

“Better not lose it,” I warned them.

“No worries, I’ll treasure it forever.”

“Well, technically, the ink will probably wear off with time…”

“Wow, way to kill the mood,” Robin laughed and I could swear, I would never get tired of that beautiful sound.

“Sorry,” I looked down apologetically.

“I can’t help but wonder what took you so long?” they further amazed me with such a straightforward question.

“Um, I’m shy?”

“Me too, but it had to be done,” Robin winked.

In that moment, I had already made up my mind. Maybe humans weren’t so bad after all…

🌙🌙🌙

One year later

You were sitting next to your fiancé, holding hands under the table at a pizza restaurant because you didn’t want your engagement rings to show. You intended to surprise your friends Seoho and Robin and had kept it a secret for a while. A week had passed since Ravn proposed to you. He had booked plane tickets to Paris for a weekend getaway and what you thought was simply a short vacation turned into the best moment of your life. Forever the romantic, Ravn had completely amazed you with the unexpected question. An evening walk alongside the Seine River and under the city lights, French music playing all around…You had been so overwhelmed by positive emotions that you burst into tears before managing to respond. Ravn had gotten worried that he’d upset you and you’d somehow succeeded in letting him know you were happy crying and that of course you’d marry him. It felt like a dream come true.

As you were waiting for your friends to arrive, you and Ravn exchanged a knowing look.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Born ready,” you replied, completely certain of your feelings for him.

He squeezed your hand in support and soon after, your friends showed up.

“Hi, darling,” you hugged Robin tightly. “Seoho.”

“We have news,” Ravn announced directly.

“Can it wait?” Seoho inquired. “We kinda have a surprise that’s waiting outside.”

“Oh? You got us a puppy?” you asked, guessing wrongly.

“Nah, it’s not a puppy,” Seoho chuckled. “Much better, actually.”

“Come on, tell us already!” Ravn insisted.

“Okay, stay here, I’ll get the surprise rightaway. Robin, keep them occupied.”

Robin rolled their eyes.

“So bossy,” they complained affectionately after Seoho was out of earshot. “Anyways, how have you two been?”

“Splendid,” you squealed. “We can’t wait to tell you the big news, but apparently Seoho’s going to steal our thunder.”

“Yeah, so rude of him,” Ravn joked.

“Oh, trust me, it’ll be worth it,” Robin promised, already aware of who was standing outside.

“It better be,” you laughed.

As soon as you’d said that, Seoho returned, holding a young-looking guy you’d never seen before under his arm. The first thing you noticed was his pale skin that looked so out of place next to Seoho’s flushed cheeks. And your limited experience led you to the conclusion that this was probably a vampire.

“X-xion,” Ravn stammered in shock and quickly rushed to get up and hug his friend he hadn’t seen in way too long, completely forgetting about the secret you were supposed to hide under the table.

“It’s been a while,” Xion replied. “Sorry for showing up unannounced…but I wanted to see you.”

“Of course, it’s not a problem,” Ravn reassured him. “This is Y/N, my…fiancée,” he introduced you, dropping the other big surprise for the evening.

“HOLY SHIT,” Robin exclaimed, finally noticing the rings. “Congratulations!”

Seoho didn’t seem shocked at all, the magical bastard had probably read your thoughts a long time ago.

“T-thanks,” you murmured nervously. “And it’s really nice to meet you, Xion. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

He shook your hand awkwardly and smiled.

“So, what brings you here?” Ravn asked his friend.

“Well, Seoho mentioned about…you know…how Y/N and you…and how you’re no longer…you know.”

“It’s okay, Xion,” Robin chuckled. “Seoho told me everything about the supernatural world, you don’t need to speak in riddles.”

The vampire scratched the back of his head bashfully.

“And like, I was wondering if it was possible for this miracle to happen to me, too. So I came to ask for advice.”

“You want to be human, too?” Ravn inquired. “Are you sure you’ve thought this through?”

You gave your fiancé and Xion an encouraging smile.

“There’s nothing I’d like more,” he confessed openly.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, it’s not like I was planning for this to happen.”

“Anything can be helpful,” Xion pleaded. “Just tell me the whole story. How you met Y/N. How you fell in love. Don’t leave anything out.”

“It’s gonna be a long night,” you teased.

“Well, it all started at twilight…”

The end

#oneus #ravn #ravn x reader #ravn moodboard #twilight #oneus fanfic #kim youngjo #seoho #xion #ravn fluff #romance #vampire au #vampires #writing

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vinayrajoriaofficial · 3 years

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A Critical Essay on the Life & Poetry of William Wordsworth

With respect to 'The Prelude' & the 'Lyrical Ballads'

Portrait of the English Romantic poet William Wordsworth by Benjamin Haydon.

"You have given me praise for having reflected faithfully in my poems the feelings of human nature. I would fain hope that I have done so.

But a great poet ought to do more than this; he ought, to a certain degree, to rectify men’s feelings, to give them new compositions of feeling, to render their feelings more sane, pure, and permanent; in short, more consonant to Nature, that is, to eternal Nature, and the great moving spirit of things."

Wordsworth wrote this in a letter, in response, to his friend, John Wilson on the 7th of June 1802, thanking him for his heartiest congratulations on the success of his Lyrical Ballads and in the process reflected on the ideas of his poetical abilities and ambitions. Indeed, Wordsworth was a poet far ahead of his times, creating over the span of eighty years a colossal magnitude of poetic works which have become a part of the very fabric of the English language and literature.

Like many of his contemporaries, Wordsworth was influenced acutely by the historic event of the French Revolution, of which he was not only an observer but an active participant and supporter. But before delving too deep into his works and genius we must understand something about his life and childhood, without which, one cannot think of understanding his poetry let alone Wordsworth himself.

Young Wordsworth in 1798, in Town End, Grasmere.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH was born in the Lake District in April 1770 and died there eighty years later on 23 April 1850. He had three brothers and a sister, Dorothy, to whom throughout his life he was especially close. When she was six and he was nearly eight, their mother died. Dorothy was sent away to be brought up by relatives and a year later William was sent to Hawkshead Grammar School.

Wordsworth was cared for in lodgings and led a life of exceptional freedom, roving over the fells that surrounded the village. The death of his father broke in on this happiness when he was thirteen, but did not halt the education through nature that complemented his Hawkshead studies and became the theme of his poetry.

As an undergraduate at Cambridge, Wordsworth traveled (experiencing the French Revolution at first hand) and wrote poetry. His twenties were spent as a wanderer, in France, Switzerland, Wales, London, the Lakes, Dorset, and Germany. In France, he fathered a child whom he did not meet until she was nine because of the War.

In 1794 he was reunited with Dorothy and met Coleridge, with whom he published Lyrical Ballads in 1798, and to whom he addressed The Prelude, his epic study of human consciousness. In the last days of the century, Wordsworth and Dorothy found a settled home at Dove Cottage, Grasmere. Here Wordsworth wrote much of his best-loved poetry, and Dorothy her famous Journals.

In 1802 Wordsworth married Dorothy’s closest friend, Mary Hutchinson. Gradually he established himself as the great poet of his age, a turning-point coming with the collected edition of 1815. From 1813 Wordsworth and his family lived at Rydal Mount in the neighboring valley to Grasmere. In 1843 he became the poet laureate.

A recent cover page of the 'Lyrical Ballads' by Wordsworth & Coleridge, which heralded the Romantic Age in English Literature.

Now, keeping this dynamic canvas of Wordsworth’s life in consciousness can begin to grasp the magnitude of his poetic genius. To begin with, we can say Wordsworth was a game-changer in the history of English poetry. By publishing, his epoch-making collection of poems, Lyrical Ballads, Wordsworth along with Coleridge heralded the Romantic Age of English poetry. On which Coleridge writes in chapter 14 of his book, Biographia Literaria, about Wordsworth and his romantic ideas thus:

"Mr. Wordsworth, on the other hand, was to propose to himself as his object, to give the charm of novelty to things of every day, and to excite a feeling analogous to the supernatural, by awakening the mind’s attention to the lethargy of custom, and directing it to the loveliness and the wonders of the world before us; an inexhaustible treasure, but for which, in consequence of the film of familiarity and selfish solicitude, we have eyes, yet see not, ears that hear not, and hearts that neither feel nor understand."

-Coleridge on Wordsworth, Biographia Literaria

And so we see that Wordsworth did exhibit all these themes and ideas repeatedly in his entire works. He takes as his subjects the poor, the old, and the outcast, for example in the poems ‘Goody Blake and Harry Gill’, Wordsworth talks about an old woman who has to steal firewood to survive the winter. His poem, ‘Her Eyes Are Wild’, about a vagrant woman suckling her child:

Suck, little babe, oh suck again,

It cools my blood, it cools my brain,

Thy lips I feel them, baby, they

Draw from my heart the pain away.

-from ‘Her Eyes Are Wild’

In ‘The Old Cumberland Beggar’, a beggar sits among ‘wild empty hills’ eating, and his ‘palsied hands’ scatter crumbs while the ‘small mountain birds’ surround him, waiting warily for their ‘destined meal’. In the popular poem, ‘The Idiot Boy’ a poor countrywoman, Betty Foy, is the mother of a disabled son who gets lost and spends a night in the open air. When she finds him he speaks wonderingly of the owls and the moon, without realizing what they are.

This was a major breakthrough in English poetry as Wordsworth brought to the poetic arena, the lives of the common people and this was huge because no one had ever made such people a subject of their poems before. Also new in Lyrical Ballads are poems about children and how adults fail to understand them.

In the poem, ‘Anecdote for Fathers’, a boy resists adult logic, and in ‘We Are Seven’, a small girl, whose brother has died, insists that he still counts as one of the family. Wordsworth’s belief in the superiority of childhood is expressed most challengingly in the ‘Immortality Ode’ written in 1802, where he remembers his early years.

A painting of the French Revolution of 1789, which ousted monarchy from France and had a big impact on Wordsworth and many intellectuals.

Through his selected works, written after the experiences of the French Revolution, one also comes to feel the sympathetic nature of Wordsworth towards the lowly and the poor. Like in The Prelude, he recalls, how a revolutionary friend pointed to an emaciated girl they met on a walk and declared:

'Tis against that

That we are fighting

In the ‘Residence in London’ book of the same poem, he remembers seeing a poor man with a sick child in his arms, and writes:

Bending over it,

As if he were afraid both of the sun,

And of the air which he had come to seek,

Eyed the poor babe with love unutterable

As for expressing the moods and settings of nature, Wordsworth is the unquestioned master, often and aptly called by many to be the poet of nature. One can even argue that no English poet expresses nature in its innate sensual beauty and spiritual entirety as Wordsworth.

What’s more interesting in Wordsworth’s portrayal of nature is that for him Nature is not just Mother Earth that needs to be expressed and captured in words but is much more than that. Like in the poem ‘Lines Written in Early Spring’, included in Lyrical Ballads, Wordsworth expresses the belief that nature is conscious as he writes:

'Tis my faith that every flower

Enjoys the air it breathes.’

Or the core Romantic belief that nature is a moral educator is stated with breath-taking simplicity in another Lyrical Ballads poem, ‘The Tables Turned’ where he writes:

One impulse from a vernal wood,

May teach you more of man,

Of moral evil and of good,

Than all the sages can.

In this regard one remembers a famous passage from The Prelude which gives an instance of Wordsworth expressing, nature acting as a moral guardian. The passage is about one summer evening when young Wordsworth takes a boat without its owner’s permission, and as he rows, he expresses:-

A huge peak, black and huge,

As if with voluntary power instinct,

Up reared its head

It seems to stride after him and, trembling, he returns the boat to where he found it. Even when not guilt-ridden, the boy Wordsworth in The Prelude is aware of nature as a living presence:

I heard among the solitary hills

Low breathings coming after me and sounds

Of indistinguishable motion, steps

Almost as silent as the turf they trod.

On Wordsworth’s poetic oeuvre, Walter Pater, a critic of Wordsworth’s time comments in his essay titled- Appreciations (1889) that Wordsworth to be the poet of ‘impassioned contemplation’ and in stressing both words equally, he got the balance exactly right. In his attempts to characterize the nature of the poetic or creative power, Wordsworth laid similar emphasis on impassioned seeing.

Perhaps, one can say, that the best encapsulation of Wordsworth's entire creative output has been written by none other than Wordsworth himself in the poem, ‘Glad sight wherever new with old’, written in 1842 when he was seventy-two. This poem points to almost everything that has been central to his long imaginative engagement with words and things. Wordsworth in it writes:

Glad sight wherever new with old

is joined through some dear home born tie;

The life of all that we behold

Depends upon that mystery.

Vain is the glory of the sky,

the beauty vain of field and grove

Unless, while with admiring eye

We gaze, we also learn to love.

Image Credits:- Pinterest & Google

References & Research:-

The Concise History of English literature by William Henry Hudson

The Routledge history of English literature

The Routledge Anthology of Poets on Poets

A little history of Poetry by John Carey

JASTOR Essays

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greyhavensking · 4 years

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100 Followers Celebration!

God, I’m late with this, but I finally passed the 100 follower milestone and I wanted to do something for it to show my appreciation. That something turned out to be almost 3000 words of emotional hurt/comfort and dumb boys in love, so I hope someone enjoys it.

I can’t even express how grateful I am to have (over!!!) 100 people think I’m worthy of following when mostly I just reblog other people’s posts and scream in the tags, but this is me trying to get the point across. Thank you, thank you, thank you to the people who continue to tolerate my bullshit and occasionally encourage my sad stucky edits and my angsty fluff fanfics. You’re all amazing and wonderful people!

Also cross-posted on Ao3 here.

you left your mark on me like footprints in the snow

“Buck, you awake?”

It’s sort of a moot point, seeing as Bucky — light sleeper that he is — would have woken up the second Steve stepped across the threshold of the living room, but he feels compelled to ask nonetheless. His ma was a stickler for courtesy, especially when it didn’t cost anyone a dime, and while he can’t quite manage to defer to politeness when it comes to aggravating superiors, it comes easy as breathing with most everyone else.

Bucky isn’t everyone else, and half the time Steve doesn’t bother filtering himself around him, but tonight—

Tonight’s a bad night.

But it’s not Bucky’s night for a change.

As Steve pauses at the back of the couch, arms crossed and head ducked, he sees Bucky smoothly push himself up into a sitting position from where he was stretched across the cushions, rolling his shoulders back as he scrubs his flesh and blood hand over his face. He was awake, judging by the dog-eared book he lets slide to the floor; Steve can’t make out the cover from this angle, but he’d bet anything it’s one of those YA novels Sam recommended to him that he refuses to thank Sam for. Something about Greek gods and terribly unlucky teenagers. Steve doesn’t go for fantasy often, but he knows Bucky’s been plowing through the series for the last few weeks.

“I’m always awake,” Bucky says once he’s gotten a good look at Steve, despite Steve’s best efforts to tuck all the visible hurt away behind an admittedly shaky smile. He’s joking, mostly — when Bucky first came home, he rarely got more than an hour or two of sleep before some imagined threat had him prowling the confines of the apartment, checking and rechecking the locks and the security system. Nowadays his sleepless nights are still disturbingly frequent, but not every night, and he can usually pass them by reading or watching whatever he finds most interesting on TV.

Bucky quirks a brow when Steve remains silent, tilting his head. Assessing. “You, though,” he continues as if he hadn’t paused at all, “you should be dead to the world, Rogers. Sawing logs, or whatever it is they say when you snore louder than a damn foghorn.”

“I don’t — I don’t snore,” Steve bites out, reflexive, which just gets Bucky’s other brow jumping up to join the first.

“So it’s one of those nights, huh.” Bucky nods to himself, twisting around on the couch to lean back against the armrest, legs spread invitingly. He pats the space between his thighs. “Good thing I’m a certified Steve Rogers expert and know exactly what you need.”

Steve considers refuting that claim, but he can’t bring himself to bother with it. A flare of indignation does pulse under his skin (he hates the idea that he needs to be managed), though it peters out just as quickly as it came, taking with it the last shred of warmth Steve’s been clinging to since he slipped out from beneath his bed covers. Bucky’s right, anyway; this is what Steve needs, something they’ve pieced together in the months after Bucky felt safe enough to put himself back into Steve’s orbit.

Rubbing briskly at his upper arms, more for something to do with his hands than any hope of warming himself up, Steve hesitates another moment before he sighs and climbs over the back of the couch to crawl in between Bucky’s legs. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s waist instantly, tugging him until his back is flush with Bucky’s chest. He noses at the nape of Steve’s neck, presses a kiss there that has a delightful shiver rippling down Steve’s spine, then wedges his chin into the space between neck and shoulder.

“What’s the threat level with this one?” Bucky asks quietly. Threat level is their established short-hand for how bad a nightmare was, what kind of toll it took on them. It’s easier getting that out than something like I woke up crying reaching for you can’t get my heart to calm down can’t breathe woke up alone and had to bite back a scream, and Steve can admit that Bucky’s nothing short of a goddamn genius for giving Steve a way to explain without explaining.

“‘Bout a seven,” Steve says, which means it’s closer to a nine than he’d like. He can still feel the phantom chill of wind and snow on his face, the ice-clogged water in his lungs, arms outstretched but grasping at nothing nothing nothing. Bucky’s face, frozen over and glassy-eyed. No air, no breath, no life in either of them — but Steve, undead, trapped below the ice, forced to watch it all play out on repeat—

“Uh-huh. Seven. Sure, I’ll go with that for now.” Bucky’s voice is right against his ear, his breath warm, the solid weight of him so very real that Steve shudders again, leaning into him even though there’s hardly space left between them to close. “You need me to do anything extra special?”

Steve shakes his head, then pauses, reconsiders. “Keep talking?”

His nightmares are — strange. They’re quiet, mostly, unless they involve the train, and then it’s the clack-clack-clack of the tracks, the high-pitched whistling of the wind, his own desperate screams. But when it’s the ice… it’s almost silent. Like an old film, the reels spinning on soundlessly around him. Colors are muted, too, shades of gray and blue and the occasional vibrant streak of red that could be blood, could be his suit, could be the afterimage of staring too long into a bright light.

Bucky huffs a laugh and tightens his arms around Steve, and in return Steve shifts to lay his hands over Bucky’s skin, one sliding along his forearm, the other reaching down to slip under the hem of Bucky’s shorts. He’d grab the metal arm (it doesn’t bother him, and it’s body temperature from being tucked under Bucky on the couch) but he needs skin right now, and he knows Bucky doesn’t begrudge him it.

“Talking,” Bucky murmurs. “You gotta pick the one thing I’m no good at anymore, don’t ya. No, no, don’t start,” he says, reading the tensing of Steve’s body all too well, and Steve slumps back into his hold, caught out. “I’m not sayin’ I won’t do it, and I’m not gettin’ all self-deprecating on you, either. Words are hard, sweetheart, you know that.”

“Sorry, Buck. We can just put the TV on, or—”

“I said it’s fine, Rogers. Relax. I’m not in the habit of doing things I don’t want to these days, even for you, which is a goddamn miracle considering all the shit I put up with for your benefit when we were kids. Christ.”

Steve rolls his eyes, which he knows is the exact reaction Bucky was going for. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’d I talk you into that was so bad?”

“God, Steve, Snow White? How many times d’we see that in theaters?”

“What? You loved that movie!”

“No, you loved that movie, despite being fuckin’ colorblind. I went because I’m a goddamn sap and I couldn’t get enough of the wide-eyed baby deer act you pulled every time you got to see all that animation in action. You sparkled, Steve, it was addicting.”

“What?”

“Whaddya mean, what? Can’t a guy get all sentimental over how cute his best guy looked staring adoringly at a cartoon?”

“No, I mean— you went for me? We weren’t even…”

“First of all, jackass, I don’t gotta be in love with someone to wanna see them happy. Second, I honestly can’t tell you if I realized that I was in love with you back then. It’s all mixed up with how I definitely felt during the war, and then with everything that came with thawing out here.”

Hold on—

“Bucky. Bucky. The war?”

Steve’s half-twisted around in Bucky’s arms now, staring at him, slack-jawed, because they’ve never had this conversation before. Nothing even close to this has ever come up between them. When they got together this century, they only acknowledged that they’d never considered doing so back in the thirties, that their feelings only really surfaced now because they finally had a moment to rest without the fear of discovery hanging over their heads. Bucky has never breathed a word of loving Steve at any point before that.

But Bucky doesn’t seem to understand what’s running through Steve’s head, because his brows furrow as he stares right back at Steve. “Why are you acting so surprised? You think I curled up with you every night just ‘cause I was cold?” He pauses. “I mean, alright, yes, I was freezing and you were a goddamn furnace all of a sudden, but—”

“You have never said shit about this, Barnes, what the fuck?”

And there’s Bucky rising to the challenge in Steve’s voice, lifting his chin and narrowing his eyes. Refusing to let go of Steve, though, for which he’s grateful; he needs the grounding weight of him all the more in this moment.

“I ain’t exactly proud of it, Steve. You and Carter? Fuck, you made my blood boil with her.”

Steve blinks. Blinks again, shakes his head like that’ll make Bucky’s words fall into a neat little line he can actually understand. He feels Bucky’s chest expand as he breathes in deep, feels it deflate as he lets it out in a heavy sigh. His eyes are nearly silver in this light, and so sheepish that Steve just wants to set this aside and kiss on him until he’s smiling again. But — he wants to know, fuck, he doesn’t like secrets between them anymore, and he knows Bucky’s the same way. It’s not the best time to get into this, but really, in the grand scheme of things… it’s as good a time as they’ll get.

“God, alright. I was jealous, okay? Whether or not I knew what you were to me while we were still in Brooklyn, I sure as hell knew it then when I was watching you two dance around each other for months. The way you’d stare after her, the way she tucked herself right into your side whenever you were in the same room… I was sick with it, hatin’ her and hatin’ myself for feeling that way when I didn’t have a fuckin’ claim to you. When you were happy with her and I couldn’t make myself be happy for you. You think I like admitting I couldn’t put my best friend’s happiness above my own bruised ego?”

“Buck…”

“Aw, don’t look like that, sweetheart. Was my own fault for never saying anything. And, well, for all I knew back then you were straight as an arrow. You thought you were pretty straight, as I recall. Maybe it woulda just driven a wedge between us if I’d said something.”

“Fuck that.” The words are whispered, but they get Steve’s point across just fine — it’s Bucky’s turn to blink, leaning away from Steve slightly like he needs a better look at him to process what he’s just heard. Steve just follows him, getting his knees under him so he can cup Bucky’s face in both palms, holding him close. “Fuck that. I always loved you, Bucky Barnes. Platonic, romantic, doesn’t fucking matter. If you think for one second I woulda left you over something like that—”

Bucky laughs again, a quick, sharp little thing that barely interrupts Steve’s vehement protests, but the kiss Bucky plants on his lips does the job of getting his attention.

“What a stubborn asshole you are, sweetheart.”

Scowling, Steve kisses Bucky again, harder this time but still achingly sweet. “You think I’m lyin’?”

“Do I look like an idiot? No, I don’t think you’re lying, but that’s what you’re saying now, with the glorious gift of hindsight. You can’t say for sure that’s how you would have reacted, and I wouldn’t have blamed you for it.”

“One more time, Barnes, ‘cause I do think you’re a little slow on the uptake tonight. Fuck that. You got my ass through every fuckin’ illness that so much as looked at our borough, got me through ma’s death… you think you catchin’ feelings was gonna scare me away? I was afraid of you leaving, god, I woulda clung to you forever if you let me, even if you got married, had kids, whatever. I probably wouldn’t have believed you could like me, but I wouldn’t have been mad at you over it.”

It’s quiet between them once Steve’s gotten it all out of his system, save for his heart thudding in his chest and their quickened breathing, the tick-tick-tick of the ceiling fan above them. Steve refuses to look away from Bucky’s searching gaze, and god, yes, he’s a stubborn asshole, but he’s also right! He’s right and he’s going to prove that to Bucky, one way or another, because this is too important to let go. He doesn’t want Bucky thinking even for a second that there is a scenario where Steve would throw him over for someone else. Anyone Steve loved — anyone who loved Steve — would have had to accept that Bucky came first, always.

In hindsight, Steve maybe should’ve figured out his own damn feelings long before he reached the 21st century, but that wasn’t exactly his point right now.

Steve doesn’t know how long they sit there like that, holding one another without saying a word, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away from Bucky’s for a single moment of it, willing him to understand that he’s always been Steve’s anchor, his touchstone — that absolutely nothing short of death could ever come between them, and fuck, even that didn’t stick. And he thinks Bucky might be getting there, the way a slow, tremulous smile spreads across his face, a flush high on his cheeks that does things to Steve’s heart.

“I love you.”

Steve’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, automatic, ducking his head down to press into Bucky’s neck, the fabric of his worn t-shirt soft against Steve’s cheek. It’s far from the first time either of them have said it, but Steve still gets so giddy over it, knowing he gets to have this, have Bucky, to hold and kiss and adore this man in his arms for as long as they’re both alive… it’s heady, and something Steve doesn’t want to take for granted, not even for a second. The road they took to get here was too brutal for Steve not to be damn grateful for every moment they have together.

Which means he doesn’t mind the teasing they get from the rest of the team, the not-so-sly remarks and gratuitous eye rolls that Sam and Natasha are so fond of, the downright lewd shit that gets thrown right back in Tony’s face when Bucky reminds them all that neither of them are innocent grandpas.

It’s all part of getting to love Bucky the way he deserves, the way he’s always and will always deserve, and if there’s one thing about the future that Steve unequivocally loves, it’s that he can be as open as he wants about just how much he loves Bucky. And, if people do have a problem with it, Steve can kick their asses — mostly over Twitter, but still. He’s a fan.

“Love you too, Buck.”

Bucky hums, content, and readjusts so that Steve is mostly laying flat on top of him, the both of them stretched out across the couch. He snags the blanket from where it’s half-spilled onto the floor, draping it over Steve enough that it covers the majority of their bodies. Steve snuggles in, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s back, giving him a gentle squeeze to show his appreciation.

He’s all but forgotten the phantom cold that drove him out here in the first place.

“Wanna try going back to sleep?” Bucky murmurs, rubbing circles into Steve’s back.

“Nah. You’re still gonna be here, don’t wanna sleep alone.”

“Mm, fair point. You just gonna lay here, then?”

He could, Bucky won’t protest his weight or the company. “Yeah. Right where I wanna be. You could read to me, though?”

“I’m in the middle of the book, Rogers, you won’t have any clue what’s going on.”

“Just like the sound of your voice, Buck. It’s soothing,” Steve argues, and he’s slurring his words a little, he knows, but he doesn’t care and Bucky doesn’t call him out on it. “Read to me?”

He feels the rumble of Bucky’s laughter in his own chest, pressed right up against him, then the shift of the couch as Bucky grabs his book from the floor and braces it against the dip in Steve’s spine so he can read.

And yeah, Bucky’s right — Steve couldn’t tell you a thing about what’s happening in the book right now (there are gods and monsters and quippy teenagers, but none of it settles quite right in his brain, none of it takes any recognizable shape) but he couldn’t be happier regardless.

Turns out it’s not so bad of a night after all.

#stucky #stevebucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky fanfic #fanfic #my fic

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specterchasing-a · 3 years

Text

Brainberry Picking || Morgan & Eddie

TIMING: Current-ish

LOCATION: Jericho Hill Cemetery

PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems & @specterchasing

SUMMARY: A zombie and a medium meet in a graveyard, one of them might have a foot fetish.

CONTENT: Aside from the foot fetish, all is well.

“I just don’t see how you can have a whole existence that relies on human systems and communities--well people systems and communities and not give a crap just because you’ve been doing it for a long time,” Morgan complained, swilling her chopsticks around her brains and rice. “Aren’t we responsible for each other even if we’re three hundred and some baby normie is twenty? How can apathy be a good thing?”

It was her off day from work, and rather than worry her family by spending the day cooped up inside, she opted to spend as much time outside as possible, even if being in hunting range made her nervous. But Jericho Hill was more ghostly than anything else, and the trusted the soldier to signal if he saw anything dangerous looking, even if he did talk a big game about being specater in the game of humanity, and the effects of longevity. He’d saved her and Erin. He had more of a heart than he wanted to admit, even for a centuries-old kid.

The colonial soldier shrugged and said that she should wait and see until she was older.

“Okay, teen grandpa,” Morgan deadpanned.

The colonial soldier changed the subject by way of nodding toward her foot. Did she require assistance or was she really just that bad at noticing grievous injuries?

Morgan looked down at the chunks of broken bottle protruding from her toes. “Fucking--” She hissed and propped up her foot, starting to yank out the pieces one by one and wipe the black blood on her skirt so there wouldn’t be anything for hunters to find when they prowled at night. Her wounds would close up soon enough. As much as she wanted to sport as much extra strength as possible, she hadn’t figured out how to negotiate her fear of being caught off guard by some junior college murderer and the fear of not being herself.

In the distance, stone scattered across the tall grass. Morgan stopped, mid tug, and looked around. “Hello?”

Jericho Hill, one of Eddie’s most beloved places to visit. The other cemeteries in town had their charm, but meandering among the derelict headstones of White Crest’s oldest burial ground came second to none. As per usual, he arrived with a camera—just in case.

Eddie minded the graves as he wandered, making sure not to intrude on anyone’s final resting place. Midway through the graveyard, he spotted two figures with their backs to him in the midst of conversation. Considering Jericho Hill was open to the public, that would’ve been a perfectly ordinary occurrence, except one of the figures happened to be a colonial soldier far beyond his expiration date. Eddie’s heart skipped a beat at the possibility of encountering another medium but, as he grew closer, he noticed the potential medium doing something with her foot.

Raising his camera, Eddie slowed his pace and zoomed in on the woman’s feet for a better look. “Oh, what the fu—” He stumbled over a semi-interred rock, nearly losing his balance and dislodging the rock in one fell swoop.

“Hello?” said the woman.

Eddie froze in place as if staying perfectly still made him invisible. Realizing she likely had very little in common with Spielbergian dinosaurs, he cleared his throat and waved sheepishly. “Beautiful day, huh? Hey—is your foot okay?”

Morgan stiffened at the sound of a voice nearby. She ran a dozen or so scenarios Mina had drilled into her. She was better at defense on account of nine more months of practice, but that didn’t mean she relished the thought of having to throw anyone to the ground or break any bones.

But it was just some kid, looking like a peeping tom who’d been found out.

“Is it a beautiful day?” She challenged. “Because being spied on doesn’t usually fall under my ‘beautiful day’ umbrella.” At the mention of her foot, she put hers back down and yanked as many pieces out under the cover of the grass as she could. “I’m fine. Why are you looking at my feet in the first place?”

“Hold on, don’t do that,” Eddie said with a shake of his head. “Don’t make me sound like some kind of graveyard-foot-pervert. Look at it.” He gestured towards the foot in question. “That’s not natural and neither is talking to ghosts—hey, by the way, nice to see you again, Terry.” The second half of his statement was directed at the colonial soldier and paired with another short wave.

“Hi, Eddie,” the ghost responded.

“Y’know, I was just excited to meet someone else who could see them, but the whole black goo thing kind of threw me off my game.” Eddie’s attention reverted back to the woman currently picking at her foot. “Also, who eats in cemeteries? I’m just saying, let he who is not being super weird in public cast the first stone.”

Morgan didn’t know what to process first, having her injuries spotted by a Gen-Z wunderkind with a camera, the “not natural” thing, him seeing the ghost, or--

“Terry? Really? You tell him your name, but not me?” Morgan reached over and elbowed the soldier through his arm.

“A man has to keep some mystery with a pretty lady,” he replied, smirking through the gash in his face.

“Now you’re just trying to clean it up. Did you see him coming too?” She turned back to the kid, Eddie apparently, and tucked her feet under her skirt. “Whatever you are, you aren’t the only kind of person who can make friends with ghosts,” she said, miffed but starting to deflate. He had said he was excited. Excited people usually didn’t try to lop off your head. “And for your information, cemetery picnics have been a time honored tradition for centuries. The Victorians designed some of their cemeteries to be enjoyed like parks. And there’s a lot less---” Kids. Couples picnicking. Burger wrappers and empty slushie cups. Life. “Crowds, in a cemetery. I like the quiet. And the company. Sometimes.” She side-eyed Terry, who clutched his chest like he was wounded.

The conversation unfolding before Eddie left him feeling like a child seeing their parents get into an argument. He casually averted his gaze in an attempt to give them some semblance of privacy while they worked through their dispute. Before he knew it, the irate woman’s attention was back on him and he found himself wishing their argument would have gone on longer.

“That’s… actually very cool,” Eddie admitted, his brows raising in approval. “But, um, circling back to what you said about seeing ghosts—I’m a medium, I thought we were only ones with that specific privilege.” He couldn’t help feeling inadequate as he confessed his ignorance. Eddie dedicated his life to knowing about the supernatural, but he barely knew anything for certain. “Who else made the cut? Obviously, you don’t have to, like, tell me what you are, or anything. Not unless you want to, which would be stellar, but… I feel like I should know that kind of thing.”

“Medium, huh?” Morgan said, sizing the kid up again. “I’ve met a few of you. Exorcists, mostly, but still. But, since you asked so nicely, all of the undead I’m aware of and some fae can see and hear ghosts. It seems to be a proximity to death sort of thing, but I don’t know how the metaphysics works.” She set her lunch aside and dropped her hand under her foot to finish picking out the glass, away from view. She was mostly sure he didn’t actually have some voyeuristic foot fetish, but that didn’t do much for her self-consciousness. It was one thing to patch herself up at home, or with dead people who didn’t care, but with strangers, she felt the wrongness of her body. It wasn’t neutral, it was batshit. “You must be some kind of death enthusiast too, though. Coming out here by yourself in the middle of the day? It’s not exactly the nicest cemetery in town. I hardly see anyone alive out here on my visits. Shouldn’t you be hustling or studying or having fun somewhere?”

Eddie’s eyes glistened with rabid enthusiasm at the mention of the undead and fae. He’d only recently learned about the existence of zombies, and his fae-knowledge severely lacked depth. And here this woman was, sounding like she knew a great deal about both.

“Hustling?” he repeated the word with bashful incredulity. “I mean, this is fun for me. Not to sound edgy, but I love the dead. The living are cool too, but… they’ve never felt like home, y’know? All my life, I’ve been surrounded by dead people that either needed my help, or who helped me. I like spending as much time with them as I can.” He tried not to watch as she covertly plucked at her foot. Curious as he was, he could do without further insinuation that he harbored some sort of affinity for feet. “Is that how you are?”

With the last of the glass picked out, Morgan went still and regarded Eddie more carefully. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d met a human who spoke so affectionately about the dead, and she wasn’t sure whether to be thrilled or concerned. “You talk about the living like you aren’t one of them,” she said. “I don’t meet too many humans that apathetic about who they are. But your ghosts--they were good to you? You weren’t ever scared?” But one revelation deserved a little something in return, and anyone that fond of the dead probably wouldn’t sell her out. Morgan pursed her lips as she thought her answer over. “I am recently un-humaned, yes,” she said. “A little over a year now. You could say making friends with death saved my un-life, but I had lots of other help too. Living-people-help.”

The stranger had a point—Eddie never felt like he belonged among the living—but never had the dissonance he felt been stated so bluntly. “I guess, yeah. The living are assholes, for the most part.” There were, of course, exceptions to that rule, but they were few and far between. “Most have been good to me, except…” Eddie shook his head gently. “They’re individuals too, can’t expect them to all be winners.” As she admitted to being undead, he looked at her with enraptured awe. “That’s… wow. I mean, first of all, I’m sorry for your loss. You’ve probably got a handle on things by now, but I’m sure that’s a pretty wild transition. And, I’m glad you had people to help you adjust, support systems are so important.” Eddie took a moment to center himself. “What’s the, uh, preferred terminology for your… condition? Also, wow, I should probably ask your name, huh? Like Terry said, I’m Eddie. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He bowed his head slightly to punctuate his sentence.

“The living are individuals too, Eddie,” Morgan said. “And if you didn’t know about undead and fae seeing ghosts, I’m guessing you haven’t met many of the other living species of people out there. It doesn’t seem like a good idea to dismiss all of them out of hand. Or especially kind. Your ghosts were living once too, you know.” But Eddie’s vagueness piqued a troubling sense of familiarity in Morgan. Children didn’t tend to rely on ghosts if they had live people to take good care of them. “Those must have been some pretty shitty assholes to make you give up on everyone alive, human or not. I’m sorry for that, Eddie. Whatever happened to you, whoever was that cruel--I know how it can feel safer to just pull away and not risk yourself again, when you’ve suffered enough in a certain way. And I’m sorry.” She sighed and held out her hand to the kid, smiling sadly for both of them. “I’m Morgan Beck. You can refer to my ‘condition’ as zombie. But that’s classified. I don’t really enjoy having to fight for my existence. Not that a slayer won’t already know what I am on sight, but I’d rather they not get any extra help you know?” Her smile curled bitterly and she turned her eyes to the rest of the cemetery. “Are you really out here because it’s fun, Eddie…?” She asked quietly. “Or is it something else, too?”

When Eddie set out for Jericho Hill earlier in the day, he hadn’t expected a lecture. “Death changes a person,” he said softly after she reminded him that ghosts weren’t always memories. It didn’t take him long to realize the issue with his statement. “Preacher, choir.” He gestured first to himself, then Morgan as he assigned the labels. “You probably have a point.”

Eddie found himself nodding along with her condemnation of ‘shitty assholes’ initially, but he stilled when he heard her apology. His expression fell into unsure neutrality; he didn’t know how to respond. Strangers weren’t usually that kind, and they never read him like a book. It took him a moment to register her outstretched hand before he grasped it with his.

“Pleasure to meet you, Morgan Beck,” Eddie said, mirroring her sad smile. “Your secret’s safe with me. People like you shouldn’t be hunted, anyway.” Her question took some mulling over. Eddie didn’t particularly like being open and honest on that front. “Well, I mean, it is fun, but…” He trailed off with a sigh before shrugging. “Actually, that’s kind of bullshit. I can’t remember the last time I had fun—maybe with Bex or Alfie, but that’s different. Having fun with friends is easy but, when I’m alone…” Eddie shook his head and let out a terse sigh. “Are you, like, a psychiatrist or something? Analyzing brains by day, eating them by night.”

“What? Death changes you? No kidding,” Morgan deadpanned. “You can consider me an expert on both sides of the curtain,” she added more kindly. “Thank you. For your...Human-Plus allyship?” She wasn’t sure what to call it. She confided in so few humans these days. She had enough on her plate with her family as it was.

She kept looking at Eddie, his battered hollowness and his resilient vitality. There was more than one way to be alive and dead, she supposed. “I’m an adjunct professor in the English department at the university,” she said. “But I spent my alive-time on earth literally cursed with suffering, and consequently spent a lot of time desperately wanting to get to know people and being afraid of getting too close, in case they got sucked into my magic bullshit. So I’m good at noticing things and I understand a lot. Like that feeling where you can be mostly okay when you’re with people, especially the ones you care about, but when it’s just you that feeling you’re running from is still there and it settles in. But we don’t have to talk about that, if it makes you uncomfortable. Also, I resent the suggestion that I eat people. I’m actually trying to hurt as few people as possible right now for reasons that have nothing to do with my appetite, which I monitor and manage very carefully. So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do that again. You can tell me about how you know Bex, if you really want a change of subject.” Beaming at Eddie, she brought up her knees and let her head fall to rest on them and settled in. She’d given him a lot, but if he was friends with Bex, it was probably best he got used to the ride.

Eddie deserved her snark, even he could admit that. Despite his theorizing, fantasizing, and romanticizing—he didn’t know what it meant to be dead. Against better judgement, he envied Morgan and the way she straddled the line between life and death. It sounded ideal, at least on paper. “I strive to be a friend of the dead,” he said with a mild shrug. “Clearly, that doesn’t absolve me of insensitivity though, sorry about that.”

As she caught him up to speed on the source of her empathy, he listened with enraptured fascination. Eddie didn’t know the first thing about curses, but he liked to think he understood the loneliness she alluded to. “Sounds like you got saddled with a spectator role, that sucks. Most people aren’t built for that.” He hoped he wasn’t projecting, but he wouldn’t be surprised if that turned out to be the case.

“Shit—thanks for correcting me. I shouldn’t have made an assumption like that,” he admitted timidly when she kindly scolded him for his comment about brain-eating. His face lit up at the mention of Bex. “You know ‘er?” he asked, taking a seat in front of Morgan. Knowing she was familiar with someone like Bex instantly eased whatever lingering uncertainty he still felt. “We met pretty recently, I guess, but she’s the kind of person I feel like I’ve known a lot longer than I actually have, y’know?”

Eddie wondered how much information was safe to bring-up, ultimately deciding to play it safe. “It was after… well, she’d just gone through something pretty awful, and I think I made things a little harder on her. Not on purpose, of course, I didn’t know, but… she was really kind to me, anyway. I think that goes to show how special she is.” He neglected to mention the magical mishap; maybe Morgan didn’t know that side of Bex. “How do you know her? If that’s alright to ask, I mean.”

“You weren’t built to be a spectator in your life either, Eddie,” Morgan said. “No one is. We are here to learn, to connect, to experience. What’s the point of being stuck in a body if not to feel? What’s the point of being surrounded by so much mess and beauty if not to learn as much as you can from it? It’s cruel to take it for granted. And it’s cruel to hurt someone in a way that they cut themself off from anything good they might find in their tiny little existence.”

She fingered the tall, young grass as she spoke. She could never settle on a memory to give its strange, invisible touch more substance. When she was a child in Houston and her mother would send her into the yard to practice her alchemy, the grass was thick and sharp. It prickled her feet so badly she’d check her heels to see if they had cut her. They never did. So maybe the grass was like dull needles, or like tiptoeing around the rules, since she would often do her exercises slowly or skip steps on purpose so she could do them over again and make her time out last longer. Long enough to see the stars appear, but before the mosquitoes ate her up.

“But yes, I was really bad at keeping my distance,” she went on. “Which made for a lot of good experiences and a lot of hurt. Honestly, I wish I’d taken more risks, made more kinds of alive-memories to hold onto.”

She couldn’t help but beam at hearing the boy talk about Bex. Nothing he said was news to her, but it was nice to see her kindness reflected in someone else’s eyes. “Bex is staying with me right now. Has been for a while. Well, me and my girlfriend. We care for her as if she was ours, as best as we know how, anyway. So I know,” she grinned. “You’re not breaking supernatural club rules if you want to talk about her.”

Eddie wanted to agree with Morgan, to say that life was something precious and cherishable, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie. Death looked a lot more appealing to him whether or not he made a triumphant return as something a little less human. “Cruel or not, people do it anyway,” he said with a shrug. “I’m coping with it the only way I know how.” Granted, his coping looked a lot more like sabotaging.

Eddie didn’t think much of the grass, it was just grass; everywhere and unextraordinary. All it had to offer him were stains, the thought of which made him shift uncomfortably. He felt that way about a lot of everyday life’s mundanities. They didn’t exist unless they caused a problem. Morgan had a point when she warned him against taking things for granted, but Eddie didn’t realize it. How could he?

“I bet that’s weird,” he said. “Everything changing, but also not. I don’t know much about zombies, obviously, but I know coming back is rough for a lot of ghosts. I’d tell you that there’s still time to take those risks, but I get the sense you didn’t come to Jericho Hill looking for silver linings. At least, not ones given to you by some random guy with a foot fetish.” He ended on a joke in the hopes that it might lighten the mood, praying she didn’t think he was serious.

A sigh of relief passed Eddie’s lips. “Beamed a heaping helping of trauma right into my head,” he explained. “She didn’t mean to, of course, and I’m not exactly mad about it, anyway. Knowing her is worth a little muss and fuss. That said, I learned my lesson. No more alleyways for Bex.”

“Eddie, and I mean this kindly, with the kind of empathy that comes from experience--” Morgan prefaced her words softly, giving Eddie a look that pitied and understood too well. “Putting all your attention on other people’s problems so you don’t have to look at your own doesn’t make them go away, or get smaller. A lot of the time it just makes them grow heavier and sink their roots deeper into you.”

She reached out and gently flicked some of his long hair out of his eyes. “Worrying about me isn’t coping. What’s so bad about turning all this nice attention on yourself? I know people haven’t been kind, but whatever they said or did, they weren’t right about you. You deserve kindness. And love. Being here is hard enough without being cruel to yourself too. But--” She grinned wryly. “You didn’t come to Jericho Hill for a pep talk from a walking dead lady.”

She picked up her Pyrex and ate the last bit of lunch and dusted herself off. “I’m going to go home and prep some raccoon bones for my next art project, if you want to come. Bex has some really great pieces she’s made too. But we know each other now, so I hope you won’t try and disappear just because I know what song you’re playing.”

Eddie listened as Morgan spoke. Meanwhile, his stomach twisted into anxious knots. He didn’t want to hear that putting others first wasn’t the answer. Tackling his problems head-on hurt too much, especially considering he rarely had help. “Yeah, so I’ve noticed.” His gaze fell to the ground. Eddie couldn’t bring himself to say more, it might inspire her to confront him with even more difficult truths. It was nice feeling like she cared, he didn’t expect that from someone he just met, but it was also heavy.

Eddie let out a soft huff of laughter when she flicked a strand of his hair. Such a simple gesture, but the familiarity of it inspired a gush of affection. “Maybe not, but I’m glad that didn’t stop her from giving it to me anyway.”

“Are you kidding?” Eddie asked in disbelief, rising to his feet. “You’re a bone-art making, pep talk giving zombie with a weirdly comforting southern accent. Good luck getting rid of me, you’ll need it.”

#c: morgan #wickedswriting #brainberry picking #/// HNNGH I LOVE MORGAN #kat really blessed us with her existence #and this is actually very wholesome #it gets a little heavy conversation-wise #but i don't thiiiink anything mentioned will be particularly triggering?

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thelordofdarkreunion · 3 years

Text

Magnificent Scoundrels- Seat of the Citadel

One last faction intro story, in which Shepard finally tells the Council what every Mass Effect player has ever wanted to tell them. Unless someone specifically requests otherwise, or it is needed later, I won’t have any more “faction intros” as I’ve been writing them. Next up is the meeting of the different governments. As usual, I own none of these characters. Enjoy the story.

(A note on timelines: This takes place slightly more than halfway through the events of Mass Effect 2)

Mass Effect Galaxy

The Citadel, Capital of the Citadel Council

The Citadel. The beating heart of galactic power. A glimmering jewel of elegance and culture. An utterly massive 45 kilometer long space station, constructed by the long-extinct and highly advanced Prothean race, it was the capital of the aptly named Citadel Council, the galaxy spanning federation that ruled most of explored space.

Discovered by the Asari in the human year 580 B.C.E., it had since remained the center of galactic power. Open, airy, and utterly magnificent, it was a menagerie of elegant futuristic-style architecture and open water features. Its beauty was unmatched by any other place in the galaxy; not the often conflicting human architecture of Earth, nor the sweeping elegance of Thessia, nor the simplistic, yet sturdy nature of the Turian or Salarian homeworlds. Truly, it was a place unlike any other.

Commander John Shepard sat in an elaborate waiting room at the base of the Citadel Tower, the large structure that housed the chambers of the Council itself. Above was an artificial sky of brilliant blue. Blossoming cherry trees were dotted around the large room in large pots, their blossoms adding to the Beautiful fountains trickled slowly, the sound of running water meant to calm and soothe visitors. Shepard was anything but calm. In fact, he was, to put it rather mildly, pissed off.

The Council had done absolutely nothing in the two years while he had been dead. He warned them of the coming of the genocidal synthetic race known as the Reapers, but, no, they apparently preferred the illusion of safety and calm instead of shoring up defenses and preparing for a war that was almost certainly coming. Goddamn bureaucrats.

Now, it was even worse. There were nine new galaxies out there, and all of them had it together. He shuddered as he remembered reading the briefings and documents provided by his various new colleagues. Council will probably want to ignore that, too. Goddamn bureaucrats, he repeated to himself. And what did the Council do? Invited them all over as if they were all newly discovered species. As if they were peoples who newly discovered space flight, expected to be cowed by the might of the Council, instead of pan-galactic empires.

Goddamn bureaucrats.

“John. God to see you.” Shepard looked up sharply as someone called his name. He visibly relaxed when he saw who it was.

Captain, now Councillor, David Anderson walked towards Shepard, a smile on his face. Dark skin, a flat nose, and short cut hair highlighted an elegant but simple suit; the clothing of a Councillor. Anderson was Shepard’s mentor, old captain, and still older friend. Still more, he was the only of four Councillors that Shepard fully trusted.

“It’s good to see you too, Anderson,” said Shepard, rising from his seat to shake his hand. Anderson made a ‘follow me’ gesture, and the two started to walk through the extensive lobby.

“The information you sent me was quite helpful,” remarked Anderson. Shepard rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous tick he’d picked up from somewhere.

“Ah. Yes. Well, my new colleagues are a bit… bizarre,” Wasn’t that the understatement of the century? Really weird and slightly insane would probably be better. “But, they are quite helpful.” Especially if you want something very, very dead. Anderson nodded in response.

“I’m sure.” He glanced around the room, noting several Salarians hovering near a doorway. “But the walls here have ears. All part of the political game,” he sighed. “Let’s take this conversation to my office.” Shepard couldn’t agree more.

Anderson’s office was, again, simple yet elegant, as a Councillor’s office should be. Smooth walls and a large window, overlooking the Presidium, highlighted a maple desk. Sitting on top of the desk, next to endless reports, was a single picture of Anderson wearing dress blues on his naval graduation day. Anderson slid into the chair (with wheels, of course; humans in this galaxy weren't savages) and gestured for Shepard to take a seat opposite him.

“Some of this data is, to put it bluntly, quite concerning,” opened Anderson without preamble. He touched a button on his desk, and a hologram sprang to life, displaying three symbols: a blue triangle with a minimalized rocket taking off on it, a black and white six-spoked circle, and a double-headed golden eagle. Of course we’d start with those three. “These three in particular. Tell me about them.” He glanced at a data pad. “The, uh, Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation, who sound a lot like if the Alliance was ruled by Cerberus, and the Galactic Empire and Imperium of Man, who,” this was accompanied by a slightly incredulous chuckle, “Sound like some nightmare governments from a bad movie.” Shepard rubbed the back of his neck again.

“...yeah. Sure. I… how should I even start,” he rubbed his neck again, “The IMC is what you think would happen if a super-corporation gained enough power to rule humanity, the Galactic Empire took power after a Galactic Republic kinda lost a horrible war.” He still wasn’t 100% sure about the politics from that particular galaxy. He shrugged, then continued. “But, uh, both of those governments are on the decline. Their opposite, more freedom-loving numbers have recently beat them back. It’s the third one that’s the problem.” Anderson shot him a look that clearly said ‘explain’. “You see… well, how should I put this…” He frowned as he considered what to say. “The Imperium of Man makes Terra Firma look violently pro-alien.” Terra Firma was the System Alliance's resident human supremacist group. Often compared to the Nazis of old, they were uncouth, brutal, and, above all, close minded. Anderson’s eyebrows shot up at this comment. Shepard rubbed his neck once more. “Yeah. No slurs or racial barbs for these guys.” Shepard leaned in closer to Anderson to get his point across. “One of their mottos is, and I quote, ‘Suffer not the alien to live’.” Anderson cradled his head in his arms.

“Oh, God. And we invited them to the upcoming first contact talks.”

“Yep!” replied Shepard with slightly more relish than was actually necessary. It would be a real shame if xenocidal zealots murdered the Council (maybe), but perhaps it would be a good thing if they shook things up a little. Certainly, if Cain was anything to go by, they weren’t all bad.

“How are the other three going to react to all of this?” moaned Anderson, head still in his arms.

“Not quite sure,” replied Shepard, “Although, this time, it’s all politics, so the illustrious Commander Shepard isn’t going to be able to save their collective asses, like I’ve done the last five or six times.” His face took on a pensive look. “Although, maybe this will actually get them to listen about the Reapers…” Anderson and Shepard’s thoughts were broken by a blue-skinned Asari, who politely knocked.

“Excuse me, Councillor Anderson. The Council is ready to see Commander Shepard,” said the Asari. Anderson sighed and slowly shook his head.

“Well, duty calls. This ought to be interesting.”

The Council chambers were much like the rest of the Citadel: utterly beautiful with a simple and refined elegance. Too bad such a wonderful room was squandered on the walking wastes of oxygen that were the Council. At least, that was Shepard’s opinion. He didn’t have much liking for politicians, and most definitely had no liking for these three in particular. He looked up at the podium where the Councillors stood. At least they bothered to meet in person this time.

There were three Councillors, excluding Anderson, each from a different species. The Asari, a graceful, elegant monogendered race of blue-skinned women, the Salarians, a short lived but extremely intelligent race of amphibians, and the Turians, a militaristic race descended from avians. Humanity was the most recent addition to the Council, a move that many seem to resent, but thanks to Commander John Shepard saving the Citadel and the Council it housed, a move that no one could oppose.

“Commander Shepard,” began Sparatus, the Turian Councillor. “While we appreciate being given information about these new galaxies,” this was inflicted by a measure of sarcasm, “Some of this seems quite hard to believe.” ‘Just like the Reapers’ remained unsaid, but everyone was thinking it. Shepard sighed inwardly. It’s going to be one of these meetings.

“Yes. You went off on your own, chasing some message, and just sent this data back. Explain yourself,” said Tevos, the Asari Councillor. Anderson looked like he was about to intervene on Shepard’s behalf, but was interrupted.

“Some of this seems highly unlikely. First you come up with Reapers, a race of immortal sentient machines hell-bent on killing us all, now this!” intoned Valern, the Salarian Councillor. Shepard struggled to keep a straight face.

Calm down! said one part of his mind. Explain to them what’s happening out there! Tell them what you’ve seen. Getting angry will get you nowhere.

Or will it? asked another part. They didn’t listen about the Reapers, despite being attacked by one, they didn’t listen about your involvement with Cerberus, preferring to label you a terrorist. They haven’t listened to you about anything. Maybe anger will help you! Besides, continued to voice, it's not like you couldn’t find similar employment elsewhere. The Scoundrels trust you more than these idiots ever have. I’m sure there are plenty of people who would pay top dollar for someone like you.

“You know what? I’m sick of this bullshit,” said Shepard. “I am goddamn sick and tired of this bullshit. You can believe whatever you want to believe, despite evidence to the contrary. I have never lied to you. I saved your lives. I saved the Citadel. I died for you!” he thundered. The Councillors seemed rather taken aback. “Yes, still, you don’t heed my warnings! You don’t follow my advice, even though I have not once lied to any of you. You sit, on your comfy chairs, trying to keep a peace that will most definitely be shattered. You do nothing because it is simply more convenient to ignore reality,” he hissed, words dripping with venom. Spartacus bristled.

“How dare you-” Shepard whirled around to face him.

“Shut. The fuck up, Sparatus.” The calm in Shepard’s voice was deadly. The Councilors blanched. No one’s ever talked to them like that before, I’d guess. He would have laughed if he wasn’t in mid-rant. “Apparently, what I gave you was good enough to invite all of these governments over for peace talks. All of them. You also apparently trusted myself and my new colleagues enough to give them these invitations, instead of contacting these governments directly.” Which was probably a wise move, in the long run, considering some of the reactions would have been ‘piss off and die’ if the invitations weren’t hand delivered by galaxy wide heroes. Were they invitations? Or… treaties? What was a document inviting someone to a peace talk called? Shepard shook himself out of his tangent and continued.

“Also, it seems you trust eight unknown people more than you trust the Spectre who has never lied, saved your lives, and died for you. Have I missed anything?” he spun around to the room, arms outstretched theatrically.

“Fine then, Shepard,” said Valern. “You are dismissed. Apparently,” he threw the word back in Shperad’s face, “Our top intelligence gatherer isn’t loyal to us anymore. Other Spectres or the STG can take care of finding out what we need to know.” Tevos and Sparatus looked apprehensive at their colleagues's dismissal. While they might have been bureaucrats, they knew Shepard was one of the best Spectres and intelligence agents they had. Shepard gave a laugh; a full throated hearty laugh.

“Oh, yeah. Have fun with that. Have fucking fun with that. Have fucking fun sending the STG or some lone-wolf Spectre against people who have entire armies of super-soldiers at their disposal and who can legally destroy planets*. Have fucking fun.” He sneered. “This is now the intelligence game you’re playing. You aren’t in complete control anymore.” Shepard crossed his arms and looked up at the Council. “So, only one question remains: do you want my help or not? ‘Cause if you don’t, there isn’t much point in me staying, is there?” There it was: the ultimatum was out. Would they back down and realize that Shepard was their best shot, or would they allow their emotions to get in the way? Honestly, it could probably go either way. Spartacus shot a look at Anderson. Anderson replied with a ‘hey, not my problem’ stare. Tevos cleared her throat.

“It seems we have been remiss, Spectre Shepard.” Shepard let out a breath he had been silently holding. While he would have made good on his threat, this was his home galaxy, and he wasn’t particularly sure he wanted to be working for someone like Crossgrow or the Inquisition. “As you are the only one who has had contact with these people, please give us your opinion on how we should handle this situation.” Shepard was sure it had probably physically hurt the Council to say that. He dismissed the thought and returned to his duty.

“First thing first: you have to present a united front. You can’t disagree with each other. Second, all of the species’ representatives should be here.” Before anyone could make an objection, he continued. “All of them. Definitely the client races.” The Council had four races as members, but many more that were under their jurisdiction and not full members. Many of those races were trying (and, for the most part, failing) to get a seat on the Council itself. It wouldn’t do if the more open minded government, such as the Federation or GA, came to the Citadel, then saw the Council treating other races as less than equals. “Even some of the other races who aren’t officially part of the Council, if you think you can control them.” Shepard paced the floor.

“In addition, you should probably beef up the Citadel fleet. Send in more ships. Turian, Asari, Alliance, I don’t care. We need as much security as possible, and some of these governments will be impressed by shows of force.”

“Yes… we shall think about this,” replied Tevos. “Your input will be helpful. Please stay on the station during the talks.” Shepard nodded, then came to a realization. Oh, hell. The first meeting of all of these governments is only slightly more than a week away. This was going to be interesting. Or deadly. One of the two.

*ONI can call on Spartans, ISB has Death troopers, and the Inquisition has the Grey Knights and the Deathwatch. In addition, ISB helped to create the Death Star and has sway over Imperial Navy battlegroups, enough to bombard a planet into uninhabitable-ness, and the Inquisition can enact Exterminatus. Shepard and the rest of the Scoundrels would know about all of this, except for the Grey Knights.

#magnificent scoundrels #stroy #my story #writing #my writing #crossover #fanfic #mass effect #mass effect 2

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trustsalvatorewriting · 4 years

Text

wasteland, baby! | kol mikaelson - chapter ten

Summary: Kol makes a deal with the Hollow to revive the first woman he ever loved. Unfortunately, it doesn’t go as planned.

Trust’s Note: Please like and reblog! I hope you enjoy. I added some Rebekah and Aniya content for y’all <3

Word Count: 2,708

❝ kiss me on the mouth and set me free ❞

TO BE CLEAR, Aniya Grover had never been talented at confrontation. Quite the opposite, really. Growing up, she’d been caught between her mother’s culture and that of the Vikings. Regardless, they’d both valued two traits in a woman: submissive, and quiet. She wasn’t to speak unless spoken to, not to act even when acted against. She was meant to cook and bear children for her husband -- something Rebekah had always rebelled against. Aniya, however, had learned to give into these ideals; and it was now, in the twenty-first century, that she was learning to lose them.

Aniya looked up at Kol, staring daggers at him from across the dining table. It had been several hours since they’d left the diner and returned to the Abattoir. Aniya had left first, refusing to say her goodbyes after nearly murdering the witch that suggested Henry’s sacrifice. It had been Kol that stopped her, claiming that she ‘was only trying to help.’ It was then that she left without another word. Kol followed shortly after.

When they returned, Kol called for his siblings to have a family meeting in the dining area. He excused Hayley and Hope, and gave Freya an open invitation despite not having met Aniya when she was alive. The two sat across from each other in the dining area, the air growing thicker with each second. Finally, they heard the sound of heels clicking against the pavement, and internally let out sighs of relief as Rebekah took her place next to Aniya.

“Now, what might this be about?” Rebekah asked, pushing her chair in. “Have you come to ask for a custody agreement, Kol?”

Kol smiled tightly at her, eyes crinkling at the edges. “I’ll have to say ‘no’ to that offer, sister. I wouldn’t want to run off with your only friend. After all, no one else seems to like you.”

“Yes, well, at the very least, I have a friend,” Rebekah pointed out, a sickly sweet smile on your face. “You haven’t had a friend since the 1800s.”

“1700s, really,” Niklaus cut in, taking his seat at the head of the table. He smiled smugly, and folded his arms in front of him, blue eyes glimmering with delight. “I’m afraid he was daggered for most of that century.”

“That reminds me, I haven’t had the chance to return the favor,” Kol sneered and stood from his chair. Aniya’s brows furrowed at the harshness of his voice -- the way he seemed to growl the veiled threat at his half-brother. Slowly, she began to feel the weight of a thousand years on her chest. Whatever human version of Kol Mikaelson she’d loved had died centuries ago, and she began to wonder if all her suffering had been the result of pining after a person that no longer existed. If perhaps returning her memories would do more harm than good.

Subconsciously, she reached hand up to touch the ring around her neck. Kol noticed and glared.

She watched as Elijah placed a calming hand on his brother’s shoulder, suggesting that he take a seat. Kol clenched his jaw at his elder brother, but obliged, sitting back in his chair. Elijah nodded and took his place between Kol and Niklaus. He took a moment to adjust his appearance before giving a polite smile. Even this Elijah seemed foreign to her. More confrontational and protective, compared to the mere child he’d been before. He was well put-together, calm and a perfect mediator; and, in Aniya’s eyes, a perfect stranger.

“So, what did we need to discuss?” Elijah asked, looking around the table. Rebekah and Niklaus shrugged in unison, and it occurred to Aniya that Henry’s life would mean nothing to the Mikaelsons so long as they had what they wanted. It would be Rebekah who would be most eager to have her memories returned to her, and Niklaus who would want Vihaan resurrected and return to -- somewhat -- mortal life.

“It seems that Kol and a New Orleans witch have found a way to return your memories,” Aniya spoke slowly, watching for negative reactions among the siblings. Elijah and Niklaus had reacted the fastest, their eyebrows furrowing in confusion at her statement. Rebekah’s eyes widened as she turned her attention to the young witch. Aniya continued, “As well as a way to resurrect my brother.”

“Kol, the last thing we need to do is be involved with the witches again,” Rebekah spoke quickly.

“The witches have lost their link to their ancestors, and are being forced to practice Earth magic. They are at their weakest, meaning they will be willing to deceive and manipulate anyone who is foolish enough to play into their games,” Elijah explained. “In case you don’t remember, they were willing to sacrifice four teenage girls not ten years ago.”

“As if we’re any better,” Kol shot back. He paused for a moment, his gaze flickering in Aniya’s direction. “If it hadn't been for you and Freya, Davina might still be alive."

"If it hadn't been for me and Freya, the Mikaelson family line would have been murdered before your very eyes," Elijah corrected. "You may have loved that girl, but she was not your family."

Rebekah placed a hand on Aniya's hand, which had been resting in her lap. "That's quite enough from both of you. I'm sure there's a way Aniya can return our memories without having to confide in the witches."

"On the contrary, I have heard of her brand of witches less than a dozen times in my immortal life," Kol argued. "She refuses to practice magic unless provoked, so we aren't even sure she can do simple spells--"

"You do not speak for me," Aniya cut him off, narrowing her eyes at him. She turned to the Mikaelsons, wringing her hands as she spoke. "I possess an offensive magic. It's a finite source, depending on the state of my health in order to be put to use. As of late, I have combined it with defensive tactics, in which I essentially use nearby resources to protect myself against the attacker."

"And what the bloody hell does that have to do with memory erasure?" Rebekah questioned.

"It seems that when I was sacrificed, all traces of my brother and I's existence was wiped off the face of the Earth," Aniya responded. "According to Kol's little witch, I can return your memories by erasing the memories of others."

Nik spoke up finally, though his face remained blank as he processed the information. "And why would you need the help of New Orleans witches to achieve this? We have a witch, too. One who is not hellbent on returning to power at this very moment."

"Our dear sister practices earth magic, Nik," Kol said with a sickeningly sweet smile. "She's only practiced sacrificial magic once, she's barely familiar with the concept."

Aniya raised an eyebrow at his behavior. "Why are you so willing to hand me away to them? I'm not a New Orleans witch. They have no motive to help me."

"Their motive is that they are indebted to me, and this is their way of paying it off," Kol said with a shrug. "It only cost a few dark objects."

"You're interested in our marriage," Aniya stated. A light scoff left her lips and she crossed her arms over her chest. It had only taken a few short years of friendship to learn when Kol was lying. She'd recognized it in most of the Mikaelsons, outside of Niklaus. Each time, she'd been kind about it. Smiled politely and calmly asked for the truth. She took no interest in doing so now.

If he'd simply asked, she might have shown him the memories herself. It might have hurt his head, the way it had done the night before, but at least then she might have been able to prevent the wall of ice building itself around her chest. Not only as a result of Henry, but of his doubt. She wouldn't need a grimoire to teach her the spells she'd spent eighteen years memorizing. She wouldn't want it.

In her later years, her father began to teach heavier sacrificial magic. Spells to return or take away memories; to ensure the misfortune of an enemy; and spells to take a life. Her father had never taught her to return it, stating it wasn't the job of a witch to interfere with the will of the god's. It had been a pathetic excuse, of course, but she and Vihaan had kept their mouths shut.

"And you're interested in a human," Kol remarked. "How did he know about Tyaag witches? Perhaps he's a New Orleans witch himself."

He hadn't been. Henry Pearl had been perfectly human -- a tall, gentle mortal. He wouldn't have survived living in the village a thousand years ago, and she was afraid he wouldn't survive now. Perhaps she should have said goodbye after all.

Kol watched the pendant that hung from her neck, its velvet ribbon covering the darkened scar she'd refused to heal. She might have gotten hurt if she'd tried to return the memories on her own, and there was no telling whether she would know where to begin. Every time he so much as thought of her within Death's grasp, an aching pain seemed to spread through his body. Some part of him would have rather died than see her get hurt, and he was no longer sure how to fight that side off.

Turning his attention to his brothers, Kol pointed out, "You two are being ridiculous."

"And you are being reckless," Rebekah snapped. "I want my memories of Aniya back as much as you do, but I am not willing to risk the life we've built for Hope. Are you?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he clenched his jaw and turned to walk out of the room. Rebekah let out a sigh and stood behind Aniya's chair, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I'm not sure why, of all people, you chose to marry one of my brothers."

Aniya nodded, a look of defeat crossing her face. "He's the meanest boy I've ever met."

Elijah and Kol made their way out of the dining room after saying their farewells to the two girls. Rebekah accepted a forehead kiss from Elijah before taking her seat next to Aniya, a gentle smile forming on her pink lips as dark waves fell over Aniya's face. "Let me know when you want me to plait these. I'm sure you're quite famished after a night out with my brother."

"Quite," Aniya chuckled. "He was never like this."

Rebekah's smiled dimmed a bit. "No, he wasn't. I suppose it's a difference between who you are and the person you need to be in order to survive; and in the presence of Niklaus, whilst running from Mikael and fighting bloodlust, we all changed a bit. Tell me, have I always been this way?"

"Yes. I did admire you," She admitted. There had been a time during a bon fire, where she had chosen to stay indoors and help the women prepare food, while Rebekah stood outdoors and sat by the cattle. "Your father should have considered you a Viking."

"I am sure I have always been a Viking," Rebekah said with a small laugh. "I can't think of other people that traveled around the world on ships; but then, we were running from our father, so I suppose we were more pirates than anything."

Aniya's lips turned downward, her gaze falling to her hands. "The years not have been kind to you."

"They were not, but what of you? A thousand years of sleep?"

"Of nothing."

She recalled having woken up to nothingness. She was met with a cold, dark silence, as if someone had locked her in an endless room and shut the lights out. She remembered waiting for Vihaan, who'd been killed two minutes earlier, and screaming when she realized he wouldn't come for her. She could recall the pang in her chest, and the sobs that had wracked her body as she bargained with the gods to bring her back.

She'd been given someone who would observe her silently, capture all of her habits and flaws and loved her despite. Someone that had gotten lost in all of her features, and it had been ripped away from her. She'd been given a taste of freedom with each Mikaelson. Even little Henrik had been a chance for her to escape into a life she would never have: one where she might have raised a child.

And she'd been left with nothing.

After a moment, Aniya reached for Rebekah's hand shut her eyes, opening her mind to the Original. Rebekah fell into the void, and a few moments passed before her sight was able to adjust to her environment. She blinked, and notice a frail Aniya sitting a few feet away, her arms holding tightly onto her knees as she stared at the ground. She appeared to be the same way they found her: covered with dirt and dried blood. The blonde pursed her lips at the sight, and pulled her arm away from Aniya.

"There's no need to worry now," Rebekah assured her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're immortal. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

"WHY AM I HERE?" Aniya huffed as she stood at the gates of Lafayette Cemetary. Kol had promised her a milkshake. "Nik and Elijah agreed that we weren't to seek help from New Orleans witches."

"Nik and Elijah are not my fathers," Kol remarked, pushing the doors open. He stood and held it for her, causing her to stare blankly at him. "All of your problems would be solved if you did two simple spells. Both of which you would have aid in, if you only asked."

"They threatened Henry."

"And they shred the soul of my former lover. Everybody makes mistakes."

"Then why trust them?"

"Because we haven't a choice in the matter, and at worst, we double cross each other," Kol said, as if it were obvious. "I am well-versed in the art of massacres."

"Lovely. All the more reason to trust you," Aniya muttered and begrudgingly took a step into the cemetary. She hadn't returned since the night she was resurrected, though the Mikaelsons had dealt with the Hollow shortly after. They's done something with a parallel dimension or Geminis -- truthfully, Aniya never paid much attention to Nik's coffee chats.

"I feel caught," Kol snickered as he walked alongside her. He looked down at the shorter girl, his eyes barely glancing at the path in front of him despite the graveyard's sharp turns.

Aniya scoffed at his response, taking a moment to think before asking, "Do you want to know what I honestly think of you?"

"What?"

"I despise you."

It was his turn to scoff. "You despise me. Why do you despise me?"

"With every chance you have to do the right thing, to be kind and selfless and caring; you are nothing but conceited, selfish, and miserable," She listed, despite the mocking look painted across Kol's face. Aniya rolled her eyes at his response. "I feel sorry for you, I really do. I just wish you'd bear it better."

"Well, you wouldn't understand, now would you? You've never had to watch who you thought was the love of your life, truly die."

Aniya stopped and turned to face him. She analyzed his every feature, his brows twitching in anger and eyes filled with spite as he looked back at her. His lips were somewhat pulled behind his teeth, as if baring them at her in defense. Even his posture looked as though he were ready to pounce, despite the fact that they'd only had a verbal argument.

She smiled tightly at his statement, fingers reaching for the old wedding ring before she remembered the previous night. "No. I'd move on if I couldn't be loved. I suggest you do the same."

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aloisofmissouri · 3 years

Text

A Journal Entry

July 20th, 2021

11:44pm

Trigger Warning:

Sexual Assault, Self Harm,Mental Health, physical health, and occasional swears.

Dear Reader,

I’m only eighteen but I have experienced a lot, and so have many other teens I know. I know at least four of my classmates have been raped at some point in their life. And who knows what others may have been through and I never knew.

But I’m not writing to share their story, unless they decide that they want their story told. As of now, I am writing to share my story.

So, let's start with my earliest memory.

My earliest memory is watching Elmo and Little Bear from my crib in the living room when I was probably a toddler. I don’t remember much, other than enjoying the cartoons. It was happy and innocent. One of the few childhood memories I can look back on and smile.

I was really young when I was first raped. First raped, you caught that part, right? Yeah, I wasn’t raped just once, but multiple times by one man. The man I had grown up calling my father. The man on my birth certificate. I’m not exactly how old I was when it started, but if I had to guess, I was probably in the first or second grade when it went past the occasional groping and lewd comments.

Near the end of third grade, my mother decided to take me and my sibling to live with our grandmother. But that didn’t last long.

We ended up moving back in with our mother and abusive father when I was in fifth grade. I didn’t want to but my father manipulated me into doing so. He threatened to place a restraining order on my grandmother when I wanted to stay with her.

Things were miserable and the abuse continued. But luckily I was able to go back to my grandmother by sixth grade. But I still had to deal with what happened.

I believe my grandmother meant well, but she use to tell me not to let people know what had happened to me. She said that no one would want to be with someone who was raped because a lot of people view them as used or damaged goods basically.

My grandmother was a bit emotionally damaging, though I know she more than likely didn’t know that she was being so. I have reason to believe that she has dementia and possibly a personality disorder.

I remember her saying that I shouldn’t wear plaid or spotted clothing because it would make me look bigger than the broad side of a barn. She also told me to stay away from bright colors because they would have the same effect. I refused to stay away from plaid though, I kept that jacket from middle school until junior year when I could no longer zip it. But it took me a long time to wear bright colors, and it is still hard. I also have a hard time feeling comfortable in my own skin, and not just because of the occasional comment about my weight from my grandmother, but also because of the abuse I had dealt with from my father. I spent the majority of school always wearing jeans, jackets, and dark clothing. I didn’t feel comfortable wearing shorts. And I’m still getting used to wearing them.

I had to go to court in middle school. Someone had apparently turned my father in for what he had done to me (I was living with my grandmother again by then) and we still do not know who reported them. I wish I could thank whoever turned him in.

Sadly, they only gave him three years despite the evidence. And he was only going to have to serve one and a half years because of the amount of time spent in a jail cell waiting for court that kept getting rescheduled. He died of stage four lung cancer though before he was half way through his time.

My freshman year I finally realised I had anxiety and that there was something definitely wrong with me mentally. By my sophomore year, I was self harming and in counselling and diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, PTSD, OCD, and Anxiety. By junior year I was on a lot of medication thanks to a pill happy psychiatrist. And I was miserable. But thankfully, I found a new psychiatrist who quickly helped me get cut down to just one pill. Near the end of junior year, I quit self harming. And I also finally started to get a bit of control over my mania and my depression.

I have a Google Doc somewhere that has over 150 pages of poetry, and the majority of it is about depression, trauma, and anger. And they were all written during middle school and highschool. Writing poetry helped me then. Now, I don’t really write poetry anymore. I have only written a handful of poems within the last year. And they were mostly in Shakespearean English because I thought it would be fun.

I believe I might have religious anxiety. I don’t remember the technical term though. I grew up going to Baptist Churches and had a heavy christian influence. But sadly, Christians aren’t quite as christian as they are supposed to be.

Due to being constantly worried about sinning and about being too filthy and being damned to hell, my depression and anxiety got to me from a different angle. I kept breaking up with everyone I dated if I feared we were getting too close. I would either feel like I wasn’t good enough or I would fear that we would have sex and I would be damned. I also hated myself for my sexuality, though it took me a long time to figure that out. I supported my LGBTA+ friends but when it came to myself, I couldn’t accept myself.

When I self harmed, I would do it because I felt filthy and had this urge to scratch my skin off my body because I never felt clean. I never hurt myself too severely, just scratches and shallow cuts on my wrist and my thigh. But I still found it hard to quit. It became far too easy to always turn to the blade, regardless of if I was feeling filthy or if I was dissociating or if I was having a panic attack.

Despite what had happened to me, I’m finally starting to become me. Even though I am still discovering who I am. I quite self harming, I don’t have quite as many panic attacks or nightmares, I lost my virginity, learned I am demisexual (leaning a bit towards asexuality though) Panromantic and Nonbinary. I also discovered I have some other health issues outside of my mental health. I am apparently allergic to alphagall, peanuts, and wheat. Thankfully I just get slightly sick if I eat those things though, but it is still a bit annoying when those things are basically in everything you like to eat.

I also found out that the reason my menstrual cycle has always been so irregular is because I have cysts. Originally I thought I had PCOS but now after some ultrasounds, it is looking like Endometriosis. I have cysts on my uterus and my ovaries. The doctor told me that my insurance should cover the surgery if I were to get a total hysterectomy.

I never really wanted to give birth so that part of this doesn’t bother me, my fear is that there will be issues from the surgery. And it has also spurred some identity issues. But so far, I am sticking to they/them pronouns. Even though my family still calls me she/her. But I haven’t really come out to them. They know I’m not 100% straight, but who wants to sit down and explain to their grandmother (who dropped out of school in eight grade to care for her grandma, has a flip phone, and just a few years ago decided to accept the lgbt+ part of her family) that I’m nonbinary? I barely manage to explain to my mother (highschool dropout because of pregnancy, has a touch screen phone and understand some things of the current century) that there is more than just straight, gay, and bisexual. I explained to my mother the other day what omnigender and nonbinary is. Had to explain transgender to my mother when I was a junior and introduced her to a friend of mine who was afab but went by he/him pronouns.

I suppose that despite all the shit I’ve been through, at least my mother doesn’t give two flying fucks who I like. When I told her that I thought I was pansexual in middle school, all she did was ask me what that meant. Then she just nodded her head and went with it. Same thing when I decided I was Wiccan in middle school. She even bought me a pentacle necklace and every book (mostly fantasy) that mentioned witches. I no longer identify as Wiccan, I mostly just stick to animist. But my point being, my mother didn’t throw a fit when two of her nine kids came out as gay. Even if she does identify as a Saturday Adventist, she supports us. She even listens to me ramble about mistranslated things in the Bible and my views on theology. And my rants about Supernatural. Though she did laugh when I spent about an hour crying after the Supernatural second to last episode of season 15. She did listen to me rant about Castiel and the plot lines and everything. Though I had to keep explaining some of the characters to her.

Despite the things I’ve been through, I managed to graduate high school, survive my severe depression and anxiety, and now I am thinking about possibly applying for Law school and going to college. And I now also have the confidence to do what I want and wear what I want. Though I still feel all nervous about asking out a girl I’ve been friends with for about three or more years. I’ve now made the excuse to wait and see if she mentions not being completely straight. Oh, and she now has a boyfriend too so yeah, gonna have to wait a bit.

Until next time,

Alois 🐧

#mentalhealth #metoo #abuse #journal #lgbtq #i swear #trauma #my life #moving forward #heath #depression

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writtenbyvenus · 4 years

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What We Do In The Shadows

Werewolves and vampires: two species that are mortal enemies. But in a small town in Upstate New York, they seemed to find a way to co-exist by staying out of each other's way and minding one's business. However, the dynamics of the local pack of werewolves and coven of vampires would change when a certain pair got too close for comfort. Alfred is an over seventy-year old werewolf posing as local law enforcement, while Ivan is a centuries old vampire working at a blood bank. Both try to get through the struggles of being immortal creatures, who find themselves in a cultural and family struggle when they fall for each other. Between an anti-vampire pack leader, suspicious in-laws, and a death that could nearly tear two families apart, the pair questions if a relationship is a reality, or if they are too much baggage they carry.

Chapter 1: How To Get Blood Stains Out

Ivan checked the time, it always moved expediently quick, so fast that a whole hour slipped between his undying fingers. It was inevitable, the changes in wardrobe, the action of scenery. Recently, he and his sisters had moved off and out of the country. With the endless amount of time in their collective hands, moving was simply vacation. They've spent twenty short years bundled up in the upstate part of New York together. As the only living company they own, it was only befitting that they clung to each other but only separated by a few blocks. Close but not too close to disturb or hover over each other. The middle of the three, Ivan, lived in a sizable apartment by himself. It was refreshing for him to try out new and different parts of the world every once and awhile. They were a quiet and reclusive species and he had plenty of words to say about the compact population density that came with the city. It was almost worth it to him to catch others of his kind when he's out on a walk, but the pure odor of his neighbor could give him a headache on the warmer days. Werewolves, he's never been that fond of the creatures, but he's grown accustomed to this certain neighbor's charms. He pondered on the idea that if their landlord implemented a no pets policy, what would come of Alfred and his fur-coated clothes. As for Ivan, he was sure his turtleneck sweaters wouldn't be a cause for alarm; though they may be wildly out of style for the time and a few drenched in the blood may catch someone off guard. Even if it was considered primitive to him, he still went out on the town scouring out fresh blood now and then, but that's only when his job didn't pay off and that was rare. He landed himself a plentiful gig working at a blood bank and for untrained customers, he would sneak out an extra pint just for himself. The blood packs were like caprisuns that he'd suck down to stay as youthful as he was.

There were alternatives that his family would cook up, but it didn't stand a chance to the rich milky serum of type B-negative or the popular O-positive. Getting ready to head out, he plucked up one of the various plastics packs he held in his fridge to quench his salivating mouth. His pointed teeth slipped out from their sleeves and punctured the bag in one fell swoop before guzzling it down. Crumpling up the remains, he wiped his lips and tossed it out. He perked up instantly, scooping up his laundry basket and walking out the door, locking it behind him. On most of his free days, he would invite Alfred to come down to the laundromat with him. The company was always nice, someone to talk to as he waited for his clothes to dry. Knocking on Alfred's door, he adjusted the sweater collar shielding his neck. It isn't much of a secret to other vampires or werewolves about what he is, the DNA imprinted in his scent, his natural code. Yet, when talking to Alfred, he didn't do much to state the fact or pry on the canine's own identity. He's seen too many of his kind staked through the heart to risk talking to someone so casually about being a vampire.

Alfred had started his day late, a habit of the man. Being a night owl, from either running around in the woods with his fellow pack members or being forced to change forms due to the shift in the moons. Working the third shift became needed for him, desperate for a job that would allow him to sleep in on mornings. In the countryside town, there aren't too many cops interested in working nights, so he easily found a job there. Members of his pack always knew how to work the system, being the immortal creatures that they were. Move every few decades, don’t make yourself super popular, don’t keep in touch with friends when you move. Alfred being the youngest member of the pack and was still getting used to not aging. Quite a weird reality, but one he’d have to accept. The constant moving never bothered him, but he did hate always lying about himself and his background. One of the older members of the pack said next time they move, he needs to change his name. He kept Alfred for his move, but his elders found it risky, however, let it slide since it was such a woodsy, small area. There was slight loneliness to being a supernatural creature, but Alfred found comfort in knowing that there are more of him out there. He isn’t truly alone, they were just hiding plain sight.

Ivan was one of those, his neighbor obvious being non-human to him. Alfred could smell Ivan when he was down the street, let alone when he was at home. Vampires had that smell- extremely strong depending on each vampire. It was always weirdly sweet, but not in a good way. More like burnt, overdone sugar. Werewolves never cared for it, and he guessed vampires probably thought the same. On the other hand, living next to Ivan got him used to the smell, and he’d come to not find it horrible. It was just a tad bit too sweet, instead of sickly. His attraction to Ivan probably helped, his scent ability closed up when he saw Ivan. Perhaps it was his body doing him a favor when he saw the beautiful vampire. Members of his pack had warned him about them: Vampires, they are beautiful but dangerous. Don’t be charmed. Nevertheless, Alfred found himself charmed and enjoying his time alone with Ivan. He wouldn’t dare tell any of his packmates that, even if some would question why Alfred sometimes smelled like he had helped a vampire fold laundry. Whatever, it’s his life and his life alone. If he wanted to befriend one vampire, it couldn’t hurt. Their status of immortality and not spreading it is an unspoken rule, even among themselves. They both knew who each other were, but no one would speak on it. Alfred never asked Ivan what was his favorite blood to drink, and Ivan would never ask why he had stuff covered in fur in his house at times. A fair exchange. Ivan’s presence would gift Alfred when he knocked on the man’s door. Picking his head from the pillow, he got up from his sofa that he rested on. Attempting to catch up a season's worth of not watching, Game of Thrones played in the background. Already smelling Ivan coming up the stairs, he knew it was him. Stretching out his arms, he yawned and walked to the door. Opening it, he showed a toothy grin when he saw the tall vampire. “And I was just thinking of you. What’s up?”

The aroma hit his nose like a sack of bricks when the door cracked open. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant smell, but it could be strong and reek of wet dog in the worst cases. If he ever wanted to sniff out Alfred's blood type, there was a mask of different smells that blocked him. It would frustrate him. Ignoring the clear indicator, he adjusted the basket to his hip and patiently admired the smile. Cheerful and lively just like a mutt- he wasn't jealous of how werewolves morphed. He could barely handle his fangs let alone a full bone-cracking experience. He wasn't well versed in the world of the age-old rival species because he didn't grow up near very many of them. Vampires plagued eastern Europe in his old home, they fended off other creatures from their territory so spotting any other supernatural being was unlikely in those parts. Werewolves were a more western-based species, thus, he wasn't surprised to find one living so close to him. Nevertheless, he heard tales of their sharp teeth and their bright eyes that seemed to shine even during the day. He found it precious, the encased youth. "I was about to head down to wash my clothes. Do you want to gather up your own load and go down with me?" Asking felt more as he was inviting Alfred on a walk, the scent was just that hard to press through. Mentally shaking off the speciesism, he suppressed the sense just to have a normal conversation with his friend. "Unless, of course, you're preoccupied." He could only pick up on the faint mumblings of the television, his head wouldn't be able to dip in any further than the doorway.

Nine hundred years and he still hasn't managed to stumble into someone else's home without being invited in. It was especially frustrating when family-owned businesses didn't have a sign to welcome him in. Restaurants were a nightmare for him, but he was happy to see himself in reflections other than a camera or glimpses of the water. Once they took silver out of mirrors, he was ecstatic, but completely terrified the first time he caught himself in one. Come to find out that the curse was still wrapped around his frame like an infected vine. He didn't wish for immortality, but he found himself lucky to have family still with him. Most vampires didn't have the luxury of having someone by their side. It made him curious to find out Alfred's situation. Yet, it would be too rude for him to simply ask. "You probably want to rest up some more, don't you?"

The werewolf could only grin at the invitation. He found it humorous to always be invited by the vampire for outings because he couldn’t go into homes without being invited. Ivan would never cross even his feet past the doorway, as if a magical force was around Alfred’s door, keeping the vampire at bay. His pack had warned him to never have a doormat or sign that said ‘Welcome In!’ As it would give a vampire the clear ability to come inside. Even if being the friendly type, Alfred still followed the advice of his pack. Looking back on his sofa, he knew he had no plans later in the day. It was his day off, as he had work tomorrow. He planned on spending the day bumming around, so why not do some cleaning. “I’ll go with you. I got nothing better to do, honestly.” He teased, stepping back. “Give me a second.” Leaving Ivan’s side and going into his apartment without inviting him in, he forced the vampire at his doorway. It was sort of ‘fun’ to make the man wait at the door for him. Alfred was a playful man, nothing was ever too serious with him. Going to his room, he had a tall basket filled with dirty clothes. Ivan had come during a perfect time.

Picking up the laundry basket, he carried it to his front door. He slipped some sneakers on that were sitting next to the front door, excusing himself past Ivan. He didn’t bother locking the door behind him since he was only going downstairs. “I guess you came during a perfect time, huh. You are always like that you know. Always at the right moment.” He joked, walking to the elevator with him. “I wonder how you always know when I have a pile of dirty clothes. Must have superpowers.” Alfred’s tone was even more sarcastic, acting as if he didn’t already know Ivan was a vampire. Or that Ivan didn’t know that he was a werewolf. He wondered if they ever acknowledge their supernatural status, or if their friendship will always be based on mutual respect for their secret and the privacy of it. There were some lonely nights when he wanted to throw that out of the roof. Perhaps he’d be drunk or smoked too much weed, and inner emotions and wish would overcome logic. He’d wish to invite Ivan over and talk, but, wasn’t their thing to act as if they were just, normal? It was a difficult thing to balance. His fancy for Ivan, but not wanting to risk the interesting friendship the man brought him. He’d spent too many nights heart-broken over losing friends due to his werewolf immoral status, why do it again for lust? The tall, pale vampire would stay a foreign beauty, but a good friend for now.

There was plenty of love that went into making friends, but Ivan never had the knack for it. His longtime friends, and a few still living exes, scattered across the world. He had trouble keeping up with them because he traveled so much, but he couldn't say anything different for them. It didn't help that he never stayed long to talk. With a few of his past mortal companions, he could have taken a slumber and wake to find them dead. It was a while until he learned to not sleep for so long, but that was just his earlier days when he was first adapting to vampire life and society. Since then, he's become an expert in retracting his teeth and calming his cravings. Languages, landmarks, he's been around to study them all. He's been through ten different lifetimes in the same recurring body. It was hard for him to refrain from being downright miserable with the process. Each day was repetitive, every love faded and grew old. It brought him the slightest amount of joy to see someone else like Alfred still living life normally. Something deep inside of him hurt to think about how he could be wrong about the werewolf being a werewolf. It was selfish of him in many ways, he wanted someone else to suffer in the endless immortal cycle with him. He wasn't deeply in love with Alfred, but the man was pleasant enough to keep a smile lifting upon his face. Nothing made him happier than to hear that his offer was accepted by his new curiosity. Yet, he was only left to let the grin drop once Alfred walked off. He'd follow the man in if he only could.

Once the small adventure started, he narrowed his eyes to the observations. Picking up on the satire, he laughed. "Yes, I have a power called sensing Alfred's dirty laundry- never did I think it would come in handy... and it still has yet to help me." He smashed the down button for the elevator, the technology still intriguing him to this day, but somehow just as dangerous as when they were first introduced. The machinery in an elevator has stopped on him at least four times, he's grown to hate them. It was hard to explain why he survived the numerous crashes and why the remaining passengers had mysterious wounds. He couldn't deny free snacks like that; they were already dead or bleeding out, he had to put them out of their pain somehow. There was no pleasure in it, he did what he had to not suffer. If that were to happen with Alfred riding with him, he wasn't entirely sure what he would do. His bat form wouldn't be adequate to support a grown beast. "I suppose it does serve some purpose... I mean, if I don't remind you to take after yourself then who will? I know you certainly won't." The words bounced off the elevator walls as playful as they could be. After stepping off and into the foyer, he repositioned the basket back between his hands. "It's not as if you'll live forever, after all. People need maintenance."

Alfred walked down along with Ivan, enjoying the playful banter they had. Who knew that he’d get along with a vampire out of all people? Let alone have a small crush on the man. It was entertaining at the least, getting to laugh over his friendship with the man. They were both creatures of the night, perhaps it’s why they were able to bond. Even if they were different creatures, they still were ones of powers. Some would say they were works of the devil, that satan had inspired evil into their souls. But Alfred didn’t have a mean bone in his body, even in werewolf form the man would act as more of a puppy. The transformation to another creature didn’t have a huge effect on his personality like most. There were changes, of course, but he wasn’t a new person. He was still Alfred, just a tad bit more aggressive. Ivan had an interesting way of calming the wolf, he’d rather roll on his back and yawn in front of Ivan then growl and show off his toothy grin. “It’s nice being reminded that someone cares about if I have clean clothes or not.” His smirk grew at the word forever. Being an immortal being, it was his reality. Ironic to hear Ivan saying that he wouldn’t live forever- he wondered how old Ivan was. His dressings weren’t modern, far from it. He dressed like an old man, even if he was rather young-looking. And the way he spoke, it was as if he learned English in a different period. There was something uncanny about Ivan, and Alfred wanted to figure it out. Throwing his clothes into the washer, he poured the soap on top, closing the lid afterward. “Yeah, forever. You’re right.” He lied, still grinning as he turned on the water. He hopped on top of the washer, taking a seat on it as he watched Ivan finish his clothes. “Anyway, how’s work been? Does the blood bank have any drama going on? Or is it the same old same old.”

A few machines down, Ivan stowed his garments into a washer with a glimpse of a smile to his face. He always fell peacefully in the environment of laundromats; everyone kept to themselves and the air carried the alluring smell of softeners. There was a time that he helped his sisters tend to their dirty laundry. He didn't miss washboards or clotheslines; they ended up leaving his clothes cold. Nowadays, he couldn't survive without some clean warm fabrics wrapped around him when he finished folding. His body had been naturally frozen to the touch during the winter months as if he had become cold-blooded. It was one of the many things he missed about being human, the ability to keep warm or stay cool. The sun would burn and pierce his skin like knives if he stayed out too long as if chemicals were melting him down to the bone. While the chill stung and sent him shivering easier than before. He was curious to find out what Alfred's limitations were if werewolves had that kind of disadvantage, but the neighbor seemed to be even more distant than himself and that was anything but noteworthy. "I wish you would talk about your job more. You should know by now that nothing interesting happens at blood banks except for donors fainting and twisted veins." The real concerning bits he would leave out were his scandal starting to be investigated by the rest of the staff. None of them were nearing his trail, but it was entertaining nonetheless. Telling that part of his week would require acknowledgment of what he was and he wasn't fully able to trust Alfred like that. For all he knew, his cute little neighbor could be a vampire hunter hiding out as an untouchable breed of the werewolf. The idea was too outlandish for him to believe, but he couldn't be too safe when he had two of his family members hiding out with him. "You work in the middle of the day, don't you?" He moved back over to Alfred, watching how his legs dangle and bounce off the machine.

Transforming from human to werewolf had the opposite effect on Alfred. His body temperature was a few degrees hotter, making himself warmer overall. The cold didn’t have the same impact as it did in his human years. Being shirtless when it was snowing wouldn’t make him shiver. He went from loving tropical, warm climates, to preferring chillier places. He could still handle the sun and heat, his body just needed more time to adjust to it. With modern-day air conditioning, he was fine visiting hot places. It was now just a preference to live in an area with a cooler climate. Like a dog, he did enjoy laying out in the sun when it was warm, soaking up the heat. That habit was something he wouldn’t give up soon. The comment about his job kept the grin, as he knew more than Ivan might give him credit for. “I work the third shift. So, seven PM to seven AM. Three times a week, and I get the rest of the week off. Really, dreams come true. A mix of weird shit and serious stuff happens during those times, but this is such a quiet town, that a lot of calls I get are domestic or random crackheads acting up in public. Buttttt-'' He leaned back, looking up at the ceiling of the laundry room. “I do know all about the weird cases. Some shit we don’t want the public to know... Like this one- A couple of months ago, we found a body. Some middle-aged man, near the forest. We think he was homeless since no one came to claim his body and no one was looking for him. Anyway, his whole body was drained. No blood at all.” He looked at Ivan, still smirking.

His eyes didn’t go wide telling the story, he only just raised a brow as a cocky smirk stayed on his face. His expression read, ’I know you know’. “We didn’t let the media know about it since we don’t want anyone to think some crazy conspiracy up like as if there are vampires in this town or something. Sucks to say, thankfully the man was loved by no one, so no one’s looked into it.“ Alfred raises his hand, pointing his finger up in the air as he brought it to his lips, the classic ’It’s a secret’ sign. “But, don’t tell anyone I said that. Just keep it between you and me, okay?” Alfred adored the teasing, letting Ivan know that he knew. Alfred would bet his life and his pack that Ivan or one of the other vampires associated with him had to do with the murder. Alfred could smell another vampire like a scent on Ivan from time to time, and their scents were even stronger when they came inside the apartment. There were more of them, Alfred knew. His inner cop wanted to snoop and find out who these little vampires were. He knew one of them, but were the others? He guessed two, but there could be three. If he sniffed around more to look. “There’s a lot of weird shit that goes around in this town, for real. Someone once came to our station, a hiker, swearing that they saw a group of humans transform into wolves. They were high off of shrooms, though, so I don’t know how good their... uh references are.”

"What a luxury, I wish I was that free to roam." There was no permanence to Ivan's footsteps, he was a nomad. Any obstacle that stood before him was merely an inconvenience unless it involved a sharpened piece of wood aimed at his chest. The only place he wouldn't dare step foot in again was Italy. He was perfumed in the nastiest garlic and swathed in the constant heat of the sun while mirrors were targets he dodged to avoid suspicion daily. The northern half of the states wasn't as unpleasant, he could feel the cold more often, but the climate gave him the excuse to cover and shield his neck from wandering eyes. Two puncture marks rest on the nape of his neck like scarred up craters. He wasn't entirely sure as to how werewolves get their roots, but he assumed it was something similar. A bite was sure to do it like an infectious disease passed from vessel to victim. His attention peaked with the mention of a corpse being discovered on the outskirts. He nearly cracked a smile remembering tackling the crude drunken man to the ground. Mercy wasn't something he divvied out very often, but it was especially not reserved for those who were asking for trouble. He did his best to not be cruel to strangers who didn't wrong him when he had to decide to starve or kill. The case revealed by Alfred, in particular, was one of revenge and bloodlust. He had to stand his ground when a man like that approached his family with a predatory look. It almost made him giddy to hear that the incident went by nearly unnoticed. He glanced back over to Alfred's face to assess the room. It didn't startle him to find a smug accent to the man's face, he learned early on how to stay inconspicuous in the presence of conjecture. Even seemingly friendly inquiries were something he had to manage with a steady tongue.

Still not entirely proud of his way of life, he simply listened and checked the time left on his wash. Keeping a straight face didn't last long when he heard the idea of vampires lurking around town. He laughed and drummed his fingers across the metal behind him. The warm welcoming feel crept upon him. He found the unlikely relationship to be beneficial to the blindspot he had when unleashing mayhem in the streets at night. It was clear to him now, Alfred was aware of his identity. He gave a nod, winking Alfred's way as if to seal his secrecy on the subject. The talk of supernatural events was taken a lot more seriously back in his day, he's relieved to see that people have faded away from the topic. Not many vampires are being produced anymore, all the originals who could pass on the serum to transform humans into vampires have gone into hiding. Genetically, vampires can still be birthed into the world and he's met plenty of bonded vampires who have children, but he's not sure if the process is even worth it to curse your own children. "People turning into wolves? I can't believe that either... You seem to encounter plenty of drugged out people, but that's just the gift of the night shift." Hearing a beep and the mechanisms in his washer coming to a halt, he stepped back over and swapped his clothes into the drier. "I'm lucky enough to catch you walking around during the day." Rolling his eyes, he fed the machine some leftover damp socks lingering behind. "I guess I should take advantage of the moment and ask you if you believe in vampires and werewolves... like some deranged person, do you believe?" Smiling away, he lightly slapped at Alfred's calf. "Are you scared of vampires? Do they really frighten you?"

There was something bold about Ivan. Here he was, instead of showing fear that Alfred knew about his status as a vampire, was smiling and joking with him. Perhaps it was Ivan’s way to save face, and he was hiding all of his anxiety about the situation. But Alfred’s inner wolf could smell fear. Even if a person was trying to hide it, their scent would be real of it. He couldn’t smell it on Ivan, the man was truly brave. Not many vampires could show a type of nonchalant attitude about people knowing who they are. It’s how they get a stake in the chest and burnt. Alfred kept away from the silver bullet by keeping low and not making trouble, but there was something that pulled Alfred closer to the vampire. His guts and playful nature was alluring, even if he’s been warned about it. Vampires were known for their beauty and charm, about to seduce someone into their death of two fangs in their neck. Alfred had been warned about it, but that warning was kept in the back of his mind, as the rest was pulling towards the vampires who were beautiful and playful. Alfred wouldn’t fall, victim, he wasn’t silly, but a part of him let himself go closer and give trust to a man he should have killed a long time ago.

Once his calf was slapped, he gave a toothy grin. “No, I’m not scared of anything. They should be scared of me.” He licked his teeth, going over his sharp canines. Showing off his white, strong teeth was a bit of a symbol to Ivan that he shouldn’t think he’s a harmless, playful puppy. If Ivan ever stepped out of line and was being a danger to his pack or this town, he knew how to rip a vampire into half, burn the body, and make sure that the creature stays dead. But he didn’t like having to do it, he wasn’t a violent man. The transformation did put some aggression on him though, made it easier to get mad and push someone around. Alfred would not be pushed around when it came to Ivan. The vampire would need to know it’s place. Sure, he was cute and charming, but Alfred would never let him endanger the pack of his town. He’d keep up his flirting and fun times with the man as long as he never crossed that line. But the vampire was undoubtedly sexy, he’d have to admit he did a few things to see him in his bed. So he’d play nice, keep his aggression at a low point. Part of him was trying to charm Ivan too, play his game back. It was a game to him, how sweet and kind and flirtatious did he have to be, to get a vampire into his bed. He just had to wait and see.

Ivan forced back a flinch from twitching through his eyes, still gazes and anxious taps of his fingers sounding off. There have been times where he had to throw everything on the line and rip one of his own to shreds. Beasts, creatures, werewolves, vampires- he's had to claw and bite his way through a few fights even with people he used to call friends. The situation between him and Alfred wasn't to that point, but it still worried him. He didn't trust cops in general; his experiences with guards weren't pleasant, but Alfred was more friend than authority. There was nothing that scared him about the man, he liked him too much. He didn't want to see Alfred hurt, but if it came to it. There was nothing that he couldn't block off in his mind to keep his kin safe. If he had to lose some he wished to be closer to then so be it. He wouldn't show any sign that he was intimidated. The flash of pearly whites only made him roll his eyes. There was a reminder echoing in his head telling him not to do the same for it would be too revealing. "Oh? Is that really so?" He was entertained by the watered-down threat, a smile standing strong into his cheeks. "Well, I'll be sure to ring you up the first time I see a vampire and see how you end up handling it." A lie that he didn't even bother hiding, it was as clear as day while his sight on Alfred faltered.

"Well, I won't lie to you... I would be scared of vampires if I was you. I heard that they like hunting down cute, oblivious, and lively fellows." It wasn't a guarantee or something to put Alfred on his toes, he intended to be just as playfully. He didn't have to be threatening or territorial, he enjoyed the talks with his little neighbor. It still piqued his curiosity to see what kind of blood type the werewolf was even if he wasn't entirely too interested in killing the man off. Alfred, in Ivan's eyes, was a gourmet meal with legs he couldn't touch. Succulent and youthful individuals were a delicacy for him because he found it hardly fair to kill someone so youth. He restrained himself around people who still had time, older folks and jerks were nearly all of his meals. "Speaking of that, maybe you should come by the blood bank some time and donate? I'm sure you have plenty to spare." It was a complete win for him. He'd get to see Alfred and talk to him, figure out his blood type and get a chance to sneak a bag home. If it ended up being O positive, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep his teeth sheathed around Alfred. "I'm sure you're too busy to come to visit your neighbor at his job though. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to show your face in a place like that- I hardly find it worth my time." Pretending that he was heartbroken already, he took his eyes to his nails as his fingers twiddled around each other.

“Call me. I’ll handle it really well,” he said, still smirking but somewhat threatening. He was also giving Ivan the approval to call him if he needed to handle a vampire that was bugging Ivan. He’d do that in a heartbeat, kill off someone who was bugging the cute man. It was a win-win situation, he’d get to hunt down and kill a vampire, and get brownie points with his crush. The transformation gave Alfred a new love for the hunt. When he was younger, he remembered being scared of hunting, and even throwing fish back into the water once he caught them. He was more delicate, rather not seeing the process of killing his meal. But the transformation had killed that part of him. Now, he lived for the kill. When he was in wolf form, his favorite thing to do was tear apart an unaware deer to pieces. An easy, fun meal for him. He was thankful that his urge to hunt and kill was for only animals and not humans. He did not need to tear down a human, there were plenty of animals and wildlife around here. His bloodthirst spared humans, and he was grateful for it. He couldn’t live with himself if he killed humans for fun. It’s why he’s thankful for being a werewolf instead of a vampire. He couldn’t imagine a life that depended on taking someone else’s. That was Ivan’s sin to bear, not Alfred’s, and he thanked God for it.

Alfred rolled his eyes, still smirking. “Huh. Maybe I will one day. When I have free time. I’m busy napping and going to the gym, you know?” Alfred wouldn’t in a million years go to Ivan’s blood bank. Let that vampire taste part of his blood?! He wasn’t sure if Ivan was simply humoring him, or he had plans to see what he tasted like. If his blood was good, would he kill him afterward? He wouldn’t take the chance. ‘I’ll keep my blood, no thanks sucker.’ He thought, unsure if he should trust the vampire. Sure, he was cute, thick in the right places, and had clear skin, but who knew what happened behind closed doors. But his inner animal wanted to see what things he could get anyway with the vampire on a personal level. “Maybe I’ll visit you and bring someone else who wants to donate. I’m not a fan of needles.” Alfred lied, not being terrified at all, just wanting an excuse to hint to Ivan ’not in a million years’. The only time Ivan might get blood from him if they got intimate. Maybe he’d let Ivan take a bite, but no, not for free. Ivan would have to try harder to taste his blood type. Which was a delicious O-positive.

Ivan wasn't the biggest fan of actual threats, especially from someone opposed to his own species. There wasn't much room for judgment when it came to bloodlust, but having it directed at him raised his defensiveness by tenfold. His feet even pointed and aimlessly propped his body away from Alfred. The werewolf was charming, but not precious enough to let him ignore such words. He stopped smiling beyond that point, his once pacing hand tucked away into his elbow. It wasn't in him to keep the lightheartedness going after something like that, but he tried not to let it get him down even though his crush just openly admitted to some form of eagerness in killing him. He was undoubtedly disturbed and discouraged by it. "Oh. Okay. I'll definitely keep that in mind every time I talk to you." He remained calm, his eyebrows lifting with criticism. The negative responses only continued when his advances were waved off. He respected it, his convincing skills weren't ever to be enough to anyone knowledgeable on the truth. His hypocrisy was recognized by himself as his own invitation to donate could have come off as threatening. For a moment, he pouted and studied the floor tiles before standing up straight to look over at Alfred. "It's fine, I'm only asking because I'm encouraged to at work... I don't know what it is, but I can never seem to get anyone to agree." He caved and slipped back into a playful mood, he didn't have the endurance to stop smiling around Alfred. "I guess everyone is just a big baby like you... scared of a little needle." His lids hooded his eyes as he teased the other with a smirk. If guilt didn't reel Alfred in, he would try challenging him. "Which is okay, of course, I hate dealing with squeamish people when I have to line them up anyway."

Alfred could tell that Ivan was somewhat offended by the comment, but he needed it to be. Alfred wasn’t stupid and needed to let the vampire know that. That he wasn’t going to become an easy meal for the man. While Ivan's intentions could be pure, and he truly wanted him to donate, Alfred saw past that. The man wanted his blood, and if just for a snack, or see if he’s worth a whole meal, that was unknown. And he wasn’t going to figure it out. Ivan charm and good looks wouldn’t fool Alfred, he wouldn’t be his next dinner. Even if he was cute. It was sick to say, but he enjoyed seeing his body language change from comfortable to unsettled. Yes, he had a crush on the man, but they were not close enough for Alfred to truly feel safe around him. He still needed to test the waters, if he wanted to make it further. His inner wolf could smell his emotional change, and he did feel slightly guilty for it. He could tell he might have hurt the feelings of the vampire, but he wasn’t eager to kill him. As long as he wasn’t threatening the town or his pack, he had no lust for tearing him into shreds. Violence would only come if Ivan brought issues into his loved ones, then he would be eager to tear him into pieces. But for now, Ivan was a non-threatening vampire who was quite cute, and he rather kept it that way. He enjoyed having a vampire who instead hated him, sought out his company. “Yeah, keep in mind. If any vampires are trying to hurt or bother you, I’ll handle it. No need to fear, cutie.” His tongue rubbed over his sharp canine, still smirking as he watched Ivan smirk himself “Anyway, these clothes are gonna take probably an hour to wash. I’m rewatching Game Of Thrones because of the series finale. Wanna watch it with me?” He offered, smiling as if he waited to see if Ivan would take the bait.

If Alfred was to deny his invitation then he would decline his too. He planned on having lunch with his sisters anyway so he didn't have the time to watch a whole series. "No, thank you... Maybe some other time." As if he was about to walk into a wolf den and sit down amongst the clinging smell of a werewolf. His sisters would be scolding him about it for the rest of his undying days. If he were to be mauled in the own apartment complex he lived in, it would be embarrassing. Even the investigation unit was something he didn't put his faith in. Corruption in American police forces was something he was warned about before he traveled to the new world, but he didn't expect appealing werewolves to be a part of the problem. "I have company coming over soon, I really should be cleaning up my place." He remained general as he didn't want to give any details and out any other vampires that could fall prey. "I hope that you enjoy yourself though." Still a little shaken up, he eyed Alfred down before taking a seat on one of the working machines himself.

Being rejected, Alfred simply smiled. Even though Ivan sat down, he took the chance to get off of the washer. “Oh, I see. You got plans, that’s alright. Well, I don’t want to steal your attention if you’re busy and are gonna have company over. Go worry about that, I’ll just be upstairs..” And with that, he left the basket and started to walk off. “But if your plans cancel, you know where to find me. My sofa is very soft, and I always have snacks~~~” He sang, leaving Ivan alone in the laundry room. Usually, Alfred was the type to chase. Go after someone if he liked them. But he couldn’t be his usual self with Ivan. He couldn’t chase after the vampire so soon, he had to let the man come to him. He had too much on the line to make the vampire think that he had the upper hand. Not in a million years, if the little bloodsucker wanted some cozy up time with Alfred, he’d have to make the first step. Yes, once Ivan made some moves, he’d let himself chase the pretty boy, but Ivan wasn’t just any type of cutie. There was a danger to even being his friend, and with his pack, he couldn’t go after one so eager. Play it cool, let him come to you. It was the opposite of what he usually did. But Ivan was like a challenge to him. Landing a vampire would be an ego booster at that. Let his prey come to him, that was Alfred’s plan.

Ivan nearly gagged at the display, the show of continued insinuation wasn't needed. Being patronized by a werewolf wasn't on his list of things to get done today. Just to bite that ego out of Alfred for the moment would be a load off him. He wanted to keep the banter going and nudge at his neighbor when he made a joke, but he didn't allow himself that. The man had put him on edge and he wasn't ready to risk putting his trust in someone who flashes their teeth at him. If he could just get Alfred alone and defenseless then his problems would go away, but he'd hate to do that. He wants to keep getting along with the werewolf. If the threats became more severe he'd have to do something about it. The man made him uncomfortable at the worst of it. He couldn't help but wonder if his sisters were right- maintaining a relationship like that was more trouble than it was worth, but he enjoyed a good chase, just not one that involved malicious intent even from himself. It was a game he was willing to play, one that he needed to win for his own pride. Tame a feisty little wolf into a domesticated dog. If not in a million years, then he decided that he'd just have to wait a million and one years. He had the time and patience, but not the will to stay hooked on a simple werewolf. The time he had wasn't scary, but knowing that he was safe gave him some peace. He's been through the motion of loving someone a thousand times over and it has worn him out. There wasn't any urge for him to play tug-of-war with some flea-bitten flirt, but he found the slow process to be almost fun. For now, he would just have to wait and hold his ground until he could halfway trust Alfred without worrying if he'd end up like the deadweight he tossed into the woods.

He'd just have to stand by his convictions and watch the near pain of a charmer's head back up the elevator. "Don't wait up." Was the last thing he called out before the steel doors shut. His demeanor instantly changed when he was left to his own devices. He let the nervous lip biting tear off his skin as he watched quietly while his fingers picked at each other. The only thing plaguing his mind was the fresh blood on his hands from a couple of months ago. His tracks weren't covered properly, he was under the influence by the time he finally led his victim out that night. It was troublesome because Alfred most definitely knew and he wasn't sure if that was something he could keep hiding so meticulously under the constant nose of a cop acting as his own K-9 unit. If the man ended up prying even further, he might just have to end him. He didn't want to worry his sisters too much with it, he didn't plan on telling them until he deemed the situation dangerous. Even now, it was nearing that point. He didn't trust Alfred despite how much he enjoyed him and that was a problem. The neighbor was certainly up his alley. A grinning, handsome, little canine. Groaning, he hopped down from his ledge and walked off to the elevator himself. He refused to sit there letting his dick think for him. Once on his floor, he paced off to his door and scrambled in. It wasn't long before he went to cleaning as the frustrating image of Alfred remained in his mind. He liked the werewolf, but he wasn't going to give in to temptation so easily.

[ Link to my Ao3- leaving comments and hits will light up my day.

Thank you for reading, chapter 2 comes out in a few days since I have 416 pages :’) have a nice day.

P.S. This is based off an RP me and my friend have been doing about a year, if anyone has confusion on the formatting that is why. She prefers to stay anonymous but I just would like to make that clear <3 ]

#rusame #amerus #aph russia #aph america #what we do in the shadows au #to anyone who gets the title reference: you have culture #chapter 2 comes in a couple days since i have like over #416 pages written #lmao

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vanaera · 5 years

Text

Of Cliches and Romcom Tropes

Synopsis | You find yourself literally living a classic Romcom trope by being the nerdy introvert in love with her unexpected friend, Kim Taehyung, your university’s golden theater boy and campus heartthrob. It only turns more disgustingly cliché when you learn he part-times as a prince actor in the same carnival where you work as a ticket booth attendant. Trusting on the clichés you’ve watched in numerous Romcom films, you embark on a plan to get your crush to like you back this Halloween. Pairing | prince actor!taehyung x ticket booth attendant!oc Genre | So much fluff, slight angst, humor that’s close to being crack Wordcount | 10,184 AU | Carnival Prompt | “You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.” – “I bet you tell everyone that.” Warnings | None A/N | This is for @foreverpark’s Halloween Writing Challenge! It’s my first time joining a challenge like this so thank you so much Sarah for giving me an opportunity to experience this! For my hons out there, here’s my Halloween fic for you! Please also check out Sarah’s fics and the other fics for this challenge, they’re all great! Happy reading!

At every start of success story speeches, there is a ninety percent probability you will hear “Fake it ‘til you make it.” How Mark managed to chance upon an idea of an app, How Sarah snagged the director position she dreamed of, how introverted Kim developed progressive networks–it is an imperative that saying will pop out in every single one of these stories. Well, except yours, because it’s the other way around in your life. At times “Fake it ‘til you make it’ does makes a cut, but in most of your major life events where you desperately wished for it to work, it doesn’t really work. You know because you’ve long tried to fake you’re so invested in your part-time job, only for you to cry out at night that you didn’t want to do it anymore.

Sitting on an uncomfortable stool with a small fan on your right as reprieve from the heat, you spend most of your day with cramped legs inputting number of tickets sold, handing over ticket stubs, becoming an instant customer service attendant, and smiling through clenched teeth at the people that stop by your booth. Working the most boring job in the carnival is not something you can fake to enjoy until you make enough savings for your college tuition. That is, until Kim Taehyung came.

“Wonder boy” is an extreme understatement to describe that guy. Kim Taehyung is cute and has a model-esque body and his voice sounds so nice when he’s in his prince costume entertaining the kids who enter the Fairytale Land booth. Okay, maybe you’ve been staring at him too long than you’re supposed to when you’re at work. But in your defense, you’ve known Kim Taehyung long before you discovered he also part-times at the Enchanted Carnival–long enough for you to harbor a massive, embarrassing crush on the boy.

Kim Taehyung studies in the same university as you and you first saw him the day you didn’t attend your history class just so you can prepare for your midterms in the said subject–the irony of college students’ philosophy. That day, you just entered a classroom you frequent for study purposes, knowing it will be empty during your history period. Except for that day because the moment you pushed open the door, a stable vibrato echoing within the rooms’ walls halts in an awkward coughing fit.

Your anxiety-driven nerves immediately take over you. “Uhh, I’m sorry I just barged in I didn’t mean to interrupt you–”

“No, it’s o-okay,” the boy coughs, hitting his chest repeatedly. “I was just su-surprised.”

“I’m really sorry for interrupting you,” you take a step back, your hand grasping for the knob. “Continue on, I’ll just find another room–”

“No, it’s okay, you can share the room with me.”

“A-are you sure?” you squint, still rooted at the door. “You don’t have like, a class in here or something? You have a projector set up on the teacher’s desk.”

“Nah, it’s just my prop when I do my final runs.” He walks to the projector and flips down its lens cover. A picture of a wooden fort set in what looks like cobble-stoned streets of 18th century France flashes on the white board. “See?” The boy turns to you, grinning. “I’m cutting just like you. No pressure, mate. Stay.”

“B-but you’re practicing, I may distract you.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind some audience–unless, you get distracted from studying by music, then I’ll go and find–”

“No, it’s okay,” you chuckle. “I don’t get distracted by music. I love music. Actually, I like listening to songs while I study so yeah, go on.” You set your papers on the nearest seat and plop down.

“You do?” The boy asks and you find yourself smiling at his beaming face. You’ve never seen someone who smiles so bright like him on a constant-interaction basis.

“Yeah, I do. By the way, what are you singing for?”

“Oh yeah,” the boy scratches his nape, reds forming on the tips of his ears. “uh, this is for my Drama club. I’m still in the application process and we have this task to play and perform as a theater character tomorrow Friday. I wanted to do Jean Valjean from Les Miserables.”

“Wow, that’s great,” you smile, “actually I’m studying for my History midterms, so yeah, your practice is very timely. You can be my background music,” you chuckle, “to give me the better feel of what I will be crying over later back at my home.”

Taehyung laughs and you chuckle before going back on your own devices. An hour and a half passes with you flipping furiously through your reviewer in time with the instrumentals behind Taehyung’s velvet voice. When the bell rings and the afternoon class scheduled in the room starts to form a mini clique outside, you scramble out the door with a mess of papers pressed to your chest and a new name to mull over during your breaks: Kim Taehyung.

Unlike what you predicted, that encounter was not the last you will have with the theater boy. You had a couple of classes with him in the next semester and he sat next to you in each lectures. You also became partners for a pair project in your Communication Theories class. Kim Taehyung became a regular presence in your college life that at the end of your sophomore year, you knew his dream of becoming a theater actor, all his likes, dislikes and insecurities, and even his secrets he said his friends knew none of like “Y/N, do you know I used to dream of becoming a Disney prince? Not used to, actually I still low-key dream of playing Shang from Mulan just so I can sing ‘Make a Man Out of You.’” You never imagined you would hit up such a friendship with someone who’s the total polar opposite of you. Taehyung’s a social butterfly while you hate going out of your house. He knows almost three-fourth of the total population in the university with him getting to manage nine clubs while still maintaining his academics. In total contrast to you who never got to join any organizations, too afraid of making commitments you neither can fulfill nor prioritize over staying at home and reading your fiction books. Not to say Taehyung’s on the top of the strata with his handsome looks, blessed physique, impressive talent, and wide range of friends. While you’re someone who easily blends with the crowd’s background noise, with nothing too much to offer but a small group of friends and a fascination for critiquing movies–especially those that are really bad.

You guess that people say, “Opposites attract” for a reason because when you and Taehyung move on to sophomore year, you find yourself crushing hard on the boy. However for you, the attraction is definitely going to be one-sided. You’re sure of it because how can Taehyung ever like you back? You’re the epitome of average-ness that you even became the stepping stone for the girls who want to snag a date with Taehyung. Of course you wouldn’t let Taehyung miss out on cute girls he can probably date when he can have any girl he wish to be with. And, you’re too chicken to act out even a hint of your feelings for him. Clammy hands, jumpy heart, and equipped with an instinct to run to the opposite hall when you so much as glance at Taehyung’s approaching figure, you are sure he will be the death of you. Everything turns worse when you learn he part-times this summer break in the same carnival you work pathetically.

“Yo, Y/N, you work here, too?” Taehyung nears you, clad in a white polo dangerously unbuttoned down his chest, navy trousers that cinches his narrow hips, and brown combat boots. He is also wearing an unbuttoned red military jacket, its shoulder pads making his shoulders look broader than they’d ever been. A rich red cape embellished with golden details flows behind him, complementing the gold tassels on his jacket and his golden crown that makes him look impossibly more ethereal. He fucking looks like a brunet Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle.

You consciously glance down at your outfit: sweat-stained purple polo shirt with Enchanted Carnival’s logo embroidered on its breast pocket, tucked in generic black slacks that doesn’t fit you well. When you reach up to tuck the stray strand of hair that escapes your ponytail, you’re reminded you’re still wearing the silly mandatory headband with pink bunny ears. Your face feels oily, your hair’s unwashed, and you just remembered you’re not wearing any makeup on. Great, you fucking look like all college students’ worst job nightmare.

“Hey, you’re still there?”

“Ye-yeah, uh, hi, Tae,” you smile awkwardly, snatching your headband off and hiding it behind your back. You tried to make yourself look less embarrassing but it backfired when all short strands of your hair messily spill down to your cheeks. You smile wider. Okay, this is the worst day ever.

“I didn’t know you’re also working here,” Taehyung says.

“Umm, yeah. I forgot to tell you, I’m sorry–”

“No, no, no, it’s okay!” Taehyung waves his hands, laughing. “In fact this is great!”

“Great?” You want to jump off from a cliff right on.

Taehyung remains oblivious in your self-pity and just grins. “Yeah, it means I get to see you everyday even when we’re outside uni!”

“We do see each other outside uni. I tutored you for six months straight in the library.”

“Yeah, but I mean, it’s nice we get to be co-workers. It’s good to have a familiar face around so work wouldn’t be so boring. Say, Y/N, why don’t we have lunch at the cafeteria later? I have so many to tell you and–”

“Yah, Kim Taehyung! You’re up next, what are you doing outside?” you glance behind your friend and see Jimin, dressed in the same uniform as you minus the silly headband, wildly waving for the boy in front of you. When Jimin notices you, he breaks into a smile, “Oh, hi, Y/N,” and then he returns to his agenda. “Taehyung come here quickly! The batch of kids is nearing the Princess’ Castle, boss is gonna chew us out if you didn’t get back to the booth in three!”

Taehyung sighs and looks at you with shoulders drooped. “I have to go back now. Guess, I’ll see you later?”

“Okay, later, then. Have fun, Tae,” you wave at him with a smile.

When you head back for your booth, you cross your fingers and hope you don’t see him later. How can the universe do you this dirty by placing him so near you right when you are at your worst?

At the end of the day, you learn the universe just does you dirty for the hell of it. Taehyung bounds your way for lunch break in his prince costume, grinning stupidly just when you’re about to sneak off to the comfort rooms. Nevertheless, you accept the lemons life is giving you and decide to relish in your crush’s presence as you joke over lunch. You just didn’t expect that day will start an unannounced routine with Taehyung eating lunch with you and him walking you home after your shifts for the rest of your summer break. The seemingly grey area in your friendship with Taehyung turns more mind-boggling when the man keeps up with the routine even after the summer break has ended, with you two continuing your part-time jobs at the carnival every weekend.

Truth be told, your set-up with Taehyung is a blessing in disguise. He may see you greasy-faced, constantly suffering at work, and daily pissed at your cramped station with poor ventilation but at least you get to see the man you fell in love with everyday. Not just the Taehyung who’s the campus crush and the talented actor every kid in the carnival loves. But the Taehyung who stays up with you until three in the morning talking about what you want for yourselves, who genuinely laughs at your puns and memes everyone else finds corny, and who tells you he’s enjoying himself in his job because finally, he gets to act like a Disney prince.

So when you find yourself only falling for Taehyung deeper, getting over him becomes the last resort in your to-do list. You start to let yourself get ahead of you and assume that maybe, just maybe, there is a chance Taehyung likes you back. Or else he wouldn’t do all those things with you with his stare lingering on your face, and his hand brushing against your own on multiple occasions you swear are not conjured up by your lovesick heart. Right?

With the Halloween season closing in and your part-time contracts at the carnival nearing its end, you are compelled to finally make a move on Taehyung. The carnival is the only place where your social and visual gap matters the least. You’re going to get an answer from him before this perfect chance expires. All you have to do now is have courage for the things you’re about to do and you pray that this time, the universe lets you successfully fake it ‘til you make it.

***

Plan 1: The Makeover Montage

You’ve watched enough Romcom films to know that a good makeover montage creates an obvious statement that a woman is about to claim her man. And so, you started making your wallet cry and your fingers ache by splurging on cosmetic brands and watching YouTube makeup tutorials. You’re proud of yourself when by the time Monday rolls in, you are confident you can pull off the cat wing and coral peach color scheme you learnt in exchange of sleep-deprived nights.

You wait by your locker and glance at your watch. 7:48 A.M. Great, just in time. You look down on your outfit: a white ruffled blouse tucked in a pink and yellow plaid skirt. Spending three hours planning today’s outfit was totally worth it, you mentally pat yourself.

Three minutes pass and then the bell chimes. You stand up straight and crane your neck to look for your target. Amy from History, Dave from Economics, Amanda from the College Secretary’s Office, Jimin from Arts and the Enchanted Carnival–There! Kim Taehyung.

Taehyung catches your eye and waves at you. He whispers something to Jimin before he bounds toward you. “Hi, Y/N. Didn’t know you’re an early bird now. I thought your first class today is later at eleven thirty?”

“U-um, I have so-something to pass to Ms. Terry at the Department of Arts and Communication,” you laugh awkwardly.

“Oh is that so? Wait,” Taehyung looks at you, eyes wide. “Is it a homework I may have forgotten to do at home?”

“N-no! There’s no homework! It’s just uh–a follow-up on a project!”

“A project? Did Ms. Terry announce any project? I’m sorry, I’m just confused because we take her class together and–”

“It’s a personal project!” you interject with a grin. “I…uh, I’ve been working on it since last month. I forgot to tell you about it, but it’s not much, just a collection of…news clippings.”

“News clippings, hmm, that sounds interesting. Tell me about it at lunch, I will go ahead now to my first period,” Taehyung steps back and makes a salute, his alternative of a goodbye wave to you. “Good luck with your project!”

“Wa-wait, Tae!”

Taehyung halts in his steps and looks at you. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“I–uh, did you notice anything new today?”

“New?” Tehyung tilts his head. “Is it a new promo for the diner we frequent?”

“Uhh, no.”

“Umm,” Taehyung bites his lip, “is it a new movie you sent to me in our Discord?”

“Uh, also no. And, I will gush about a movie first to you in person before I send it to our Discord.”

“Oh, right,” Taehyung chuckles. “Is it a new book then?”

“No.”

“New supplies in the bookstore you love?”

“No.”

“A new flavor of coffee in the vending machine?”

“No.

“A new–”

“Goddamn it, Taehyung, you know what, just go to your class,” you purse your lips and Taehyung gawks at you.

“W-why? Did I say something wrong, Y/N?”

“No, it’s just, you’re so obliviou–UGH!”

“‘Obliviou-ugh?’” Taehyung looks more confused than ever he’s been in his life.

You take in deep breath and take it as a signal for you to retreat. “Don’t mind me it’s just my mood swing!” you holler as you turn your back and walk fast to the exit. Following-up with a faint “See you later!” to the bewildered boy by the time you step out the hallway.

After what happened today, you guess Taehyung won’t easily notice your makeover with just one encounter. You decided to keep it consistent for the rest of the week, waking up earlier to curl your hair and apply makeup before going to your classes. And every day you kept trying something new – a change of shade in the lip gloss, a swipe of a bolder eye shadow, a shift from preppy to sophisticated clothing styles–Taehyung still fails to notice anything. Even when you turn up for your shift in the carnival with full-on makeup for the very first time, Taehyung just passes you by with his usual demeanor.

“Hi, Y/N!”

“Hi Tae!” You cringe at how chirpy you sound. “Umm, you look exceptionally good today!”

“Yeah?” Taehyung looks at his clothes, the same Howl costume he always wears in his shift. “Well, I look like this everytime in my shift so thanks?”

“But, have you noticed anything new today?” you bat your mascara-laden lashes for emphasis.

“New?” Taehyung leans closer to you and this time you feel your heart pounding in suspense. Of course he’ll notice it now, you never wear this much makeup at work–

“Oh, your ID lace!” Taehyung snaps his fingers, grinning. “Right, you changed your ID lace, how can I miss out on it? You always complain about the neon orange you used to have and now it’s black just like how you always want.”

You balk at him. “Uhh, it’s still the ones provided by the staff. They just changed the color.”

“Yeah, isn’t that great? You’ve always wanted a black ID lace! Remember when you used to tell me you’re gonna file a petition to change the neon orange lace to black? It’s finally black!” Taehyung claps you on the back and then makes his signature salute. “See ya later at lunch Y/N. And congrats to the ID lace!”

You poke your cheek with your tongue in annoyance. You’ve done such a good job perfecting your makeup and all he notices is just your ID lace?! What the motherfucking–

Okay, maybe Taehyung doesn’t get makeover montages. You cross Plan 1 out and step up to Plan 2.

Plan 2: The Assertive Approach

If Taehyung can’t notice physical changes, maybe this time, he can notice behavioral changes. In the films you have watched, you’ve seen countless protagonists be successful in catching the eye of their love interests by changing their flirting style. You’ve always dreamt of becoming like Julia Roberts in her hit romance films: confident, bold, and unafraid to make the first move. So this time, you get to finally be the woman of your dreams and you hope she can also entice the man inside your heart.

You started your metamorphosis by sitting closer to Taehyung during lectures, leaning closely to him whenever he’s talking with you, closing the space between your faces with a mere inch of breath. You also let your hands do the speaking for you whenever you walk home from work, masking the frequent brushing of your fingers against his, an obvious open invitation for him to hold your hand, seemingly accidental. But whatever you do, Taehyung still can’t get any hint. He’ll just smile at you and proceed to what he’s doing without even a waver in his tone.

Fueled with desperation, you decide to cross the boundary from subtle to blatant assertion in your lunch break with Taehyung.

“Today’s a pretty beat day,” Taehyung remarks, taking off his sweaty cape. “Some teens decided to not go with the usual flow of the booth and visit the stops in reverse. I felt sorry for Jimin. He looked so stressed manhandling each teen out of the booth and giving them a stricter run-over of the booth’s rules.”

“Yeah?” You slide closer next to his seat and cross your legs. “Then what about you, did the teens made fun of you? I heard from Seokjin that Lisa almost broke down when they poked around her unicorn costume.”

“I’m glad I’m the last stop. Jimin already entered the booth when the kids made the ruckus at Lisa’s stop.” Taehyung sighs, running his hand through his damp fringes. “I couldn’t imagine myself dealing with such troublesome people. If I were in Lisa’s place, I would have already been screaming at them for being bastards at such a young age. It’s a relief, it didn’t happen. I would have lost this job.”

“I’m glad, too, you didn’t get hurt.” You lean towards him, resting your head against his shoulder. You felt him stiffen in his seat and you smile. “I would have been so worried, you know. I don’t know what I will do,” you grab his hand, intertwine it with yours, and look up at him, “if I don’t see you around here anymore.”

“Really?” Taehyung turns to you and you nod. He smiles. “Thanks, Y/N, for your concern. I would feel the same if you were to experience that. Oh, we should probably eat now, our food’s getting cold.” Taehyung immediately detaches his fingers from yours, leaving you gaping in your seat.

Your lunch proceeds like usual and the awkward hand-holding you pulled off was never brought up again. Like Plan 1, you kept Plan 2 consistent for the week. However, Taehyung still remains painfully oblivious.

Plan 2 is unsuccessful so you cross it out and decide it’s time to take your game to the full notch.

Plan 3: The Vixen’s Touch

If Taehyung can’t recognize physical and behavioral changes, he cannot miss out on a temptation handed over on a silver platter. Plan 3 is the ultimate overkill. No one can resist the seductive vixen. You already braved through doing a Julia-Roberts-character. Going for the longest mile with Megan Fox shouldn’t be a problem. This is probably just your ego talking but you’re not gonna let the smallest bit of shame creep in to you now. Not now, when you’re putting all your cards on the table for Taehyung’s heart. This is all or nothing.

You see, the Vixen’s Touch is the epitome of all Romcoms’ super power move. Just one scene is enough to turn the tables around and let the heroine achieve whatever outcome she desires. However, such great power comes numerous setbacks. One can only do a vixen move once and never more because if it’s overdone, it will lose it’s mystery, charm, and power–everything that makes it an effective Romcom move. So, you planned your Vixen Touch meticulously.

You can’t do a Megan-Fox-move at school because you’ll attract too much attention, especially with Taehyung who’s already at the spotlight of social interactions. Instead, you will pull it off in the carnival, where you can have your crush all to yourself without worrying about ambitious bitches intruding your scenario. You’ll enter the Fairy Tale booth during your break time and sneak to the backstage from the “Authorized Personnel Only” door on the left of the second stop. From there, you will do Lisa’s advice to take a right turn and then a left. It will lead to a connecting hallway that ends with the red curtains behind the Princess’ Castle. There, you’ll surprise Taehyung, who’s waiting for the princess’ cue, with a tingling touch against his spine and a sexy and breathy, “Hi, Tae.” Taehyung will be shocked and you’ll close the gap between the two of you. With the dark setting and the seemingly scandalous set-up, the thrilling mood will compel you to lean towards him and he will close his eyes and interlock his lips with yours in a passionate kiss. If you make it fast to the connecting hallway, you will have enough alone time with Taehyung before the batch of people even reaches the third stop from the princess’ castle. You grin to yourself. Your plan has never been this perfect.

Weekdays pass with you continuing your Assertive Approach. Taehyung’s still clueless, making the transition to Plan 3 much more thrilling. When Saturday finally rolls in, you set your game-est face on.

It’s a week before Enchanted Carnival’s Halloween Party, which means the management is lenient on the part-timers’ work uniforms. After all, you only have one week left before you end your contracts. And so, you pull out your fanciest casual outfit–a little red dress with off-shoulder sleeves, partnered with fishnet stockings that go well with your black combat boots. You also perfected your makeup: eyebrows on-fleek, cat wings on-point, deep brown smoky eyes, and blood-red lips. To top off your look, you put on a thin, black choker. You smile at yourself. You did a good job making yourself look hot. You know it’s not just your ego talking because when you arrive at the ticket booth, Jimin compliments your look.

“Yo, Y/N, I never knew you could look this pretty,” Jimin grins at you.

"You also look good today,“ you return, taking note of how well his striped buttondown fits his frame. “I didn’t know today is leg day,” you add, admiring how his ripped jeans accentuate his legs you never knew were this muscular.

Jimin smiles, “Say it for yourself, Y/N. You look a solid twelve.” He rocks on the balls of his feet back and forth. “I guess the management did a good job letting us wear our casual clothes. You don’t know how bad I wanted to take off our horrendous uniform whenever we work.”

“That’s…highly inappropriate but I guess you do you,” you point finger guns at him. Jimin chuckles and waves goodbye to you, heading for the Fairy Tale booth. You seat yourself in your work station. Today’s a good start. You hope your luck continues until break time.

Lunch passes by and so far everything’s a breeze. You haven’t seen Taehyung today, probably caught up with the kids who frequent his booth in large batches as Halloween approaches close. Nevertheless, it’s good news. Your surprise will totally knock him off his feet.

The clock chimes two. Seokjin comes over and takes over the ticket booth as you take your break. It’s show time.

Just like your plan, you head for the Fairy Tale booth in quick strides. Lisa manages the entrance to their booth today and she lets you in without any ado, already used to you and Taehyung crossing to and fro your respective booths. Greeting Val, the Elfen soldier of the first stop and Yeji, the mermaid from the second stop, you head for the “Authorized Personnel Only” door and push it open. It leads to a darkly-lit hallway with a heavily carpeted flooring. You follow Lisa’s tips, taking a right turn and a left. True to her word, the connecting hallway ends with the thick red curtains. And there in the corner, is your dream man facing the curtains and waiting for his signal. You don’t hear any clamor of people nearing the Princess’ Castle, even the faintest of chatter inaudible. You thank the universe for this luck. You made it in time.

The seconds seem to slow down into minutes as you stepped closer to Taehyung. Your heart pounds loud and fast against your ears. This is it. You’ll finally make Taehyung realize you have your heart laid out for him. And if you’re lucky, he will also give his to you today.

With a mere foot left between you two, you reach out for him.

“Hey, Taehyung–”

“What the fuck–”

Everything happens too fast. Instead of Taehyung’s surprised face, a hard punch straight to your nose is what greets you. Intense pain spreads over your senses and you reel over, feeling your entire face on fire.

"Oh my fucking, God, I’m sorry! Oh my God, Y/N, I didn’t see you–are you alright?!“ Taehyung catches your arms as you stagger backwards, pulling you to your feet to prevent you from falling.

You nod and waved dismiss-ally to his panicked state.

Just right then, you feel something wet trickle down your lips.

"Oh my God, Y/N, you’re bleeding!” Taehyung screams and he immediately leads you to a chair propped on the corner. He frantically pulls out tissues on the table nearby and dabs the wetness that seeps on your skin. “Shit, what are you even doing here?! I thought you were a ghost, I’m so sorry I punched you!”

You’re too dazed to register everything that has happened and your lack of response causes Taehyung to panic more.

"Fuck, Y/N, I’m so, so, sorry! Oh my God, this is all my fault. Just sit right there, I’ll call for help!“ Taehyung rushes to the end of the hallway and you hear him scream for Jimin. Pounding footsteps follow and then it’s not just Taehyung fussing over you, but also Jimin.

"Do you think it’s broken?” Taehyung asks Jimin, voice trembling.

"I don’t think so. She’s not bleeding that much. Taehyung, relax, I already called for first aid–”

"How can I relax when Y/N’s in pain?! Which I inflicted on her! You know what, let’s call the ambulance!–”

This is not what you planned for. This is not how you imagined you will spend your last shift at the carnival with Taehyung.

Wetness trickles down your cheeks and before Taehyung can rush over and wipe your tears away, the Carnival’s first aid team has already barged in and crowded over you.

You were led to the small clinic of the carnival where you were given a tissue to stick in your nose. The physician told you your nose was luckily not broken and your body has just undergone shock. Once the bleeding has stopped, you’re good to go. Seokjin also called you he already informed your boss about what happened, telling you he’ll take over your shift and you’re now free to go home. The next few minutes pass in silence and you sink further onto the foldable bed. However, the universe decides it’s not yet done fucking up your day when the door opens with a loud bang and there stands Taehyung, huffing and drenched in sweat.

"I’m sorry I only got here now. Boss scolded me for what I did to you,“ Taehyung sighs deeply as he sits on the chair next to you, leaning his elbows on your bed. “I’m really sorry, Y/N. All of this wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t overreact.”

"I-it’s okay, Tae. You didn’t know I was there.“

"What are you even doing at our booth? Much more creeping in the dark?”

You bit your lip and look away. “It’s my break, it’s just,” you sigh, “I thought of surprising you today and well, it didn’t go as well as I planned it.”

"Plan? For what? Is there something we’re supposed to celebrate today?“

You turn back to Taehyung and meet his eyes. His eyes are focused on your face, waiting for your answer.

Well, maybe not all Romcom cliches work just like how they appear to be in movies. Maybe not all romantic gestures need to be grand in order to convey the sincerity of one’s feelings. Maybe it could be as simple like this– two people staring at each other in a clinic, uncaring of the world happening beyond your little bubble.

And as you stare at Taehyung’s face and see the reflection of yourself through his eyes, confused and tired, you decide it’s time for you to finally say it. No more orchestrated pretenses. No more intricate plans.

"Today is our last day in our work and I wanted to surprise you by finally being true to my feelings. I no longer look at you as a friend, Taehyung. I’m in love with you.”

Taehyung doesn’t reply. He just stares at you. You slowly feel the air getting squeezed out of your lungs, and it’s not just because of your stuffed nostril. Another beat of silence passes and then Taehyung’s face falls as he gapes at you, confused, shocked, and for a moment you see disappointment flash across his face. “W-what? Y/N, when did you-I, I don’t know what to say, I-why now?”

You bite your lip, feeling the tears well in your eyes. “Why not now, Taehyung?”

"Because–” Taehyung sighs and he purses his lips, dragging a hand over his face. “Y/N, you’re my friend, but I–”

"You know what, Taehyung, I get it,“ you turn your back on him, tasting blood on your lips from biting too hard to keep the tears at bay. You won’t cry because of him and in front of him at the same time. He doesn’t get to see you this weak. “You can leave me now.”

"But, Y/N, I–”

"Does punching me in the face not enough for you?! Just leave!“

You hear Taehyung sigh. The mattress of the bed puffs up again as the weight leaves. A faint “I’m sorry” resounds in the stifling silence. When the door closes with a soft click, the tears finally fall.

You stifle your broken sobs on your pillow.

***

You’re back in your old cycle: Eat, sleep, study, and lie low at the background. You steered clear from Taehyung in your classes, seating far away from your usual seat. You neither stopped by his locker in the mornings, nor waited for him in front of your own locker for lunch. You even went as far as avoiding your common friends, the thought of people asking about what happened between you and Taehyung makes you reel back to the embarrassment and disappointment of that day.

As much as you wanted to hate Taehyung, you find it hard to admit that every single thing that has gone wrong points back to you. You assuming anything more than what you already have with him, you doing outrageously unnecessary things for him, you bending yourself backwards in your desperation for him – it has always been yourself.

You tried to stay as identical to the background as you can be, away from Taehyung and anything that is associated with him. Because as much as you feel like an empty vessel for every single day, you cannot find it in yourself to erase Taehyung from your mind. Even when his last words with you kept on re-opening the wounds you’ve been trying hard to stitch back together. And, you can’t have that. You can’t run back to him and let him kick you back to the curb. It’s time for you to learn your lesson.

But no matter how successful you were the past days in running from Taehyung, you know you cannot avoid him forever. Especially when Enchanted Carnival has required the part-timers to attend their annual Halloween Party tomorrow, arranged by their permanent staff. After all, it’s the day you’ll terminate your contract and receive your last salary for your job.

You have never sorely regretted your past decisions like this before. You’re love-fool state of mind back then has induced you to buy an expensive costume. A fancy dress that has a carnation pink rayon bodice and full skirt, layered with delicate purple cotton voilewhich looks like soft rose petals that perfectly cinch the waist. It has long, glittered see-through sleeves that ruffle at the end of your arm, and it is adorned with golden intricate curvilinear details that go around the bust area and matches the golden flower belt on the waist. It even came with a faux golden crown with a short pink veil attached to the back. Yes, you fucking bought a princess bride costume just to match with Taehyung’s usual work attire because of course, Taehyung will come looking like a Disney prince. And now that everything you planned has gone downhill, the excitement is over and the only thing you feel is bitterness and a desperate wish to get things done and over with.

You reached the carnival at seven and by that time, the party is in full swing. Enchanted Carnival looks like a cirque-esque other-world. Small Jack o’ Lanterns replaced the usual light bulbs to light the carnival in an alluring tangerine glow. Signboards of “Happy Halloweens” range from small cutouts that hung from the poles, to gigantic illustrations pasted right on the walls of the some stalls. Pumpkin and ghost-shaped candies were sold at almost every corner and the people that pass by, carnival staff or not, embody the fantasy and surrealism of the carnival. You’ve seen pirates, sirens, faeries, and even witty realistic horror such as Jung Hoseok, the roller coaster attendant, wearing casual jeans and shirt with electric bills pasted on his chest and back.

“Hey, Y/N! I thought you weren’t coming.” You look to your left and see Lisa in a No Face costume. Seokjin follows close behind, dressed like Sokka from Avatar: The Last Airbender.

“Uh, yeah–I mean,” you clear your throat “how can I not come when I get to be paid at the end of the night?”

“Yeah, that’s the spirit,” Seokjin chuckles. “The salary is my only motivation when I lost a bet to Yeji and agreed to dress like…this.”

“Hey, Sokka’s not bad!” Lisa frowns. “Avatar: The Last Airbender is the best show ever and Sokka’s like a perfect ten.”

“Yeah, but it would have been better if you know,” Seokjin huffs, “I get to be Toph. So I can finally un-see Hoseok’s stupid’s antics, especially his dumb electric-bill costume tonight. It doesn’t get to be low-cost, witty, and funny all at the same time. It’s unfair.”

You laugh, feeling your jaw hurt a little from smiling so wide. It’s been a while since you smiled, with the past days spent crying and moping around in your room. You’re grateful for Lisa and Seokjin who tried to cheer you up throughout the night, distracting you from thoughts that revolve around Taehyung by pulling you into ride after ride, playing games in stall after stall, and stuffing your mouths with delicious treats.

You were having the best night of your life, until you find your group stopping in front of a booth – The 13th House.

You turn to Lisa. “Hey, you didn’t tell me a horror booth is included in our itinerary.”

“Because I don’t need to,” Lisa grins. “Horror booths are a classic! How can Halloween be Halloween without some spook?”

“Right, and relax Y/N,” Seokjin says, “It’s not like we’re gonna leave you. And trust me, it’s not that scary. I already visited this booth to prank Jungkook. Too bad I was unsuccessful that time with Jungkook already immune to jumpscares from manning the effects and all.”

Except it is scary. The 13th House is the only booth you didn’t dare to visit during your entire work period. Your remember how your legs turned to jelly the first time you saw its front: An old gothic mansion with dilapidated walls and broken windows, its wooden main door covered in bloody handprints, and its gray, dry lawn surrounded by amputated body parts. You know all of it were just manmade but it doesn’t lessen the creeps you get when every detail and props are fashioned too realistically.

Nevertheless, you went along with Lisa and Seokjin and get your ticket-bracelets scanned by the booth marshal. Even if you feel like running away the moment you hear the loud, sinister creak of the main door when you start for the first stop, you stood your ground and wear your big girl game face on. It’s your last night in the carnival, might as well do everything you were never able to do before.

The first half of your trip in the booth were somehow a smooth ride. Although you almost jumped at the scream of the bloody Victorian bride from the first stop, almost backed out on the second stop because of the swinging headless knight, and almost cried on the spot because of the wailing man with its guts ripped apart from the third stop, you’re still far from getting scared out of your wits.

That is, until you reach the middle stop.

The fourth stop required you to do an easy escape-room task with a ghost kid guiding you through a fake Ouija board session. You quickly finished the activity and the wooden walls shifted to reveal a small passageway with thick hanging cobwebs. Lisa leads the way and you find yourself gripping her hand and Seokjin’s tighter as you enter a dark hallway lit only by torches fastened to gray, blood-splattered walls.

And then, out of nowhere, foreign hands cover your eyes. You scream and thrash around but your suffering is only momentary when you find yourself back in the hallway with no looming figures behind your back. Okay, maybe it’s just part of the booth experience–Wait. Where’s Lisa and Seokjin?

“Lisa! Seokjin!” You call for your friends’s names. They were just with you earlier. You were holding their hands for Christ’s sake! “Where are you, guys?! This is NOT funny!” You bite your lip and wring your hands in anxiety. “Guys, I swear to God, this is not fun–”

The lights of the torches flicker. The background music starts to grow louder, and eerier as it now plays with Latin incantations. And then there’s a loud bang.

The lights were blown out. The blood-splattered designs on the walls turn neon. And, the rest of the hallway goes complete dark-out.

“Holy shit!” You run, straight ahead. Heart pounding loud on your ears, you don’t think anymore and just run. Surely, there will be some end to this hallway, right?

Except there’s none, because a forked path greets you just right when you thought the hallway is getting too long. The two paths stare at you, the neon designs on their walls starts to get disturbing with child-like drawings of disfigured people and morbid beasts.

You slump on the ground. This is a complete nightmare. You wish you didn’t go with Lisa and Seokjin. You wish you didn’t let your loneliness get to you and spent the whole week crying about your crush who doesn’t like you. Because now you’re trapped in this hellish booth and you’re gonna die alone and pathetic. You didn’t even get to experience at least the “moving on” happy ending alternative of Romcom films. You didn’t –

Just right then, there’s a flash of light from the end of the left path. A second later, a voice echoes loud. You didn’t understand a word from the echo. Hell, you’re not even sure if it’s from a human. But at least it seems to have a light that is nothing part of 13th House’s props. Before thinking twice, you’re already running toward the direction of the light. You run and run and never dared to stop. The light’s getting near, you’re gonna get help soon! You won’t have to die alone because you’re gonna get out of here and–

Light blinds you.

"Ahh!“

"What the fuck-! I’m sorry!”

You feel the light on your face dim down. And the moment you bring down your raised hands, you can’t seem to speak.

"YN?“

Taehyung stands in front of you, flashlight in hand, and looking handsome as always. But, it’s not his presence that makes your heart still. Enchanted Carnival’s purple polo shirt, generic black slacks, and the silly headband with blue rabbit ears atop his head–Taehyung’s wearing the carnival’s ticket booth uniform.

And Taehyung’s jaw is ajar seemingly for all the same reason. Pink princess gown and glittering princess crown–you were an open book to him now.

"You…you’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

All of a sudden, everything that has happened in the last weeks comes back to you and you feel your eyes stinging with tears as the dam of bitterness floods your chest. “I bet you tell everyone that,” you scoff, “since you’re such a disgusting flirt.”

Taehyung’s mouth hangs in shock, “Di-disgusting flirt? You’re the only one I told you that!”

You stand back to your feet and meet his eyes with a steely glare. “I find it hard to believe that, Kim. Especially your type of guys.”

Your eyes seem to do tricks to you when you see Taehyung wince at your tone, but that wasn’t for long because Taehyung now sounds defensive. "What are my type of guys?“

You scowled. "The type who leads on girls and cruelly rejects them after they’re done playing with them.”

"What rejection are you talking about? I did not reject you! How could you-“

"What else could your reaction mean when I told you I love you?!”

"I was trying to move on from you, okay!“ Taehyung screams. "And that day, you just–dropped the bomb like that. How do you expect me to react huh? Especially, when I fucking spent one year trying to make you realize I see you more than as a friend and you just ignore me as if my feelings don’t matter to you. And then, when I finally decide to move on from you, you act weird for a couple of weeks. And out of nowhere you’re telling me you love me. How can I even react properly? You didn’t even wait for me to process things,” Taehyung’s voice breaks, “You just up and go and shut me out!”

"W-what?“

"I liked you, Y/N. For so long. And you never turned my way–you wave off my advances as if they mean nothing to you, you keep on setting me up with other girls, and you run away from me whenever I so much glance at you. You don’t even let me see you properly when we’re at school. You hide from me and run away as if you’re gonna die just by being with me. And last week, you’re suddenly telling me you love me? So, how can I be a disgusting flirt when you’re the one who’s sending me mixed signals?!”

"Mixed signals?“ you frown. "For the past year I’ve been your friend Tae, I tried to love you in my own way. I stayed up late with you as you told me all your problems. I’ve been there with you in whatever shenanigans you thought of. I spent almost every break I fucking have with you talking about whatever we want. They are blatant signals, Taehyung! So I’m sorry if I have to hide or run away sometimes, because if you didn’t fucking know, we don’t belong in the same world.”

“What do you mean we don’t belong in the same world? Fucking hell, Y/N, you’re not an alien–”

“In your world, I am! In your world, you are the star, the life of the party. People who belong in your world live their fucking fantastic lives as the star of their own stories. They achieve their dreams, they get whatever they want, people look up at them for being so great. But, people like me? We spend our fucking lives looking into your world from the outside. Pathetic side characters of their own pathetic lives. People just pass us by, some even run over us. No one even remembers our fucking name. So, even if these don’t matter when I look at you, I can only love you from afar because people will look at us and all these shits will come back for me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Taehyung huffs, carding a hand through his hair in frustration. “There are no worlds separating you from me because people are just different! And these differences cannot dictate who should belong with who because guess what? We’re the only ones who can let other people in or out of their lives. So can you just stop for a second and see that there’s nothing that actually separates you from me? I thought you would already know this by now since we’ve been friends for so long.”

You feel tears blurring your eyes and you look away from him. “But still, that’s not enough to explain all the shits that’s happened this past week. Okay, we may be different and I tried to express my feelings in my own way. But I tried to change it up, Tae. I worked so hard to pattern my advances to every Romcom clichés and of course they all went wrong when it came to you.”

“W-wrong? Y/N, what Romcom cliches–”

“The cheesiest Romcom clichés!” You snap. “You know, the makeover montage, the Julia Roberts’ Assertive Approach, the Megan Fox Vixen Touch. You were telling me how oblivious I were to your advances but you never fucking noticed how I changed up my advances just for you. You ignored how I dressed up pretty-to-the-tip for you. Even after I came to you and blatantly asked you if you noticed something new. You don’t take the cue when I freaking hand over my feelings for you in a silver platter. Hell, you even punched me in the face when I tried to be sexy!”

“God, can you let it go? I already said I’m sorry!” Taehyung huffs and you look down on your feet. Taehyung sighs, “I was trying to move on from you during those weeks you’ve acted really, really weird. So obviously, I will be very confused. Secondly, Y/N,” Taehyung sighs, “Romcom clichés are called like that because they only happen and work the way they are portrayed to work, in Romcoms. Romcom is a film genre. Sure, they may reflect some aspects of reality, but Y/N, they are planned out, manipulated in a controlled environment. They’re not your life. Life doesn’t work that way.”

“I’m sorry, I just–” you bite your lip but it’s not enough to prevent a tear slip from your eyes. “This is my first time feeling like this and I don’t know what to do. I absolutely have no fucking idea what I should do next and I–I’m just so sorry for dragging these shits up and made our lives messier than it should be. I’m sorry for probably making you feel guilty about yourself for this past week I ignored you like the plague. I’m sorry for being so stupid, I just–I’m so sorry, Tae!” your voice breaks at the end and before you know it, your tears have already consumed you to the ground.

"Oh shit Y/N, don’t cry.” Taehyung panics as he kneels next to you. You shield your face from him with your hands, but Taehyung pries them away and cups your face in his large, warm hands. You feel the pads of his fingers wipe away your tears and when you look up at him, Taehyung’s face is too close to yours. Too close that you can practically see the deep, dark circles under his eyes despite the darkness. The thought that you caused him this made you tear up more.

Taehyung goes frantic. “Y/N, do-don’t cry. Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry. Y/N, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry–”

“C-can you just h-hug me?”

“O-okay,” Taehyung hesitantly loops his arms around your shaking frame. “Thi-this is fine with me.”

You close your eyes and lean on your friend’s chest. You don’t care if Taehyung’s shirt get wet with your tears. He’s partly at fault for making you cry. But still, you squeak out a muffled. “Thank you, Tae.”

Taehyung hums. “It’s okay.”

Amid this night’s horror and breakdown, silence, for the first time in a while, envelops you in comfort. Even with no words, Taehyung easily dries away the tears. He just pats your back and rubs soothing circles on your tensed muscles, leaning closer to you when you hug him tighter.

“I hate fighting with you, Tae.”

Taehyung turns his head closer to yours. “Are we already fighting?”

“W-well yeah,” you hiccup. “Somehow.”

“Okay…Next time we’ll understand each other better so we don’t need to have unnecessary fights like this, okay?”

“Okay,” you mutter. You sink deeper into Taehyung’s arms and he holds you tighter in his embrace.

Even if you can’t see his face, you know Taehyung’s smiling.

It doesn’t take long for your sobs to die down that you’re now slowly disentangling yourself from him.

“Are you okay now?”

“Y-yeah. Thank you.” You lean your back against the wall and Taehyung sits next to you. You look at him and he smiles at you. For a moment you stay like that, staring into his eyes, falling deep in the little world you’re sharing with him. And then, it hits you. Taehyung’s still here. Even after you blurt out every insecurity and self-doubt you have that others may find petty and invaluable, Taehyung’s still here. Even after he voiced out his disappointment of you and things you’ve done him wrong, Taehyung hasn’t walked out. He didn’t run away, he didn’t leave you. Taehyung stayed.

And so, you take the cue the universe is giving you and put all your cards on the table again. You cross your fingers as you ask the question that has plagued your mind ever since Taehyung confessed he has long liked you. "Tae, Ha-have you already moved on from me?”

Taehyung sighs and for a second, you don’t breathe. But, you don’t have to hold it for long because when Taehyung looks at you again, a soft smile is on his face. “Unfortunately, no. Because even after all the shits you put me through, you still occupy my heart–and mind.”

“S-so, can I kiss you?”

“I’m the one who’s supposed to say that, but, ye-yeah you can kiss me. Anything for you, Y/N.”

You close your eyes and lean forward. Your lips meet his in a soft peck and everything suddenly stops. You don’t feel the perspiration on your back from all the running in the booth. You don’t think about the dust and dirt soiling your dress. All you could feel was Taehyung’s soft lips. All you could taste is the sweetness from the crumbs of cherry tart left on his lips. All that fills you nose is Taehyung’s smell that’s so naturally his and his ocean mist spray you gifted him on his birthday. All you could hear is the loud pounding of your heart, and even with your eyes closed, Taehyung’s face is all you could see. And, you can’t think of anything but Taehyung–him and him alone.

The world suddenly moves again when Taehyung leans deeper and interlocks his lips with yours. You immediately let your heart take over. You mold yourself closer to him, kissing him with every ardor you’ve kept locked in yourself for so long. You fist his shirt and Taehyung caresses your cheeks and puts his hand on the back of your neck as he kisses you deeper. You loop your arms around his neck and return the vigor of his kiss. Teeth bumping, fingers reaching and clutching onto anything, sloppy interlocking of lips–you don’t care. Even if you have your first kiss in a gloomy, creepy horror booth, nothing else mattered but the boy in front of you. Taehyung’s here and he’s finally in your arms. You don’t have to long for him from afar anymore because now he’s here with you and he’s not leaving you. He’s finally yours.

The same thought probably runs into Taehyung as you feel him grin into your lips before kissing you again. And even when the creepy background music of the booth starts again, you can only focus on the gentle way Taehyung’s thumbs coursed over your cheeks while tenderly pecks your lips as your kiss comes into a close.

As you draw back a little to look at your friend, your crush, and now your lover, Kim Taehyung, in the hideous purple uniform you used to wear in the ticket booth with silly rabbit ears perched atop his hazel locks, you can’t help but smile. Taehyung may be the center of the world while you watch him from the side, but at the end of the day, he’s right. You’re just two people who are happy being with each other. There’s no boundaries, no walls separating him from you and you from him. You just have to see him for what he is and take the leap. You don’t need to re-enact Romcom clichés just to bring him towards you because he’s never been away from you from the start.

Taehyung leans his forehead on yours and smiles. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve waited for so long for this.”

“Me too,” you grin, “And, I love you too, Tae.”

Taehyung chuckles and presses another peck on your lips.

Just right then, you can feel a vibrant white light on your face.

“Yo, lovebirds, are you finally together?”

You turn to the direction of the voice and it’s Jimin. Behind him are Lisa and Seokjin, walking from the right pathway while making kissy faces at you.

It all clicks in: Lisa and Seokjin hanging out with you, leading you to the 13th House, and disappearing like smoke the moment you reached the longest hallway of the booth. It’s to get you alone with Taehyung and finally talk everything out before you leave your part-time jobs.

You frown at your friends. But, before you can voice out how can they just up and leave you like that, Taehyung beats you to it.

“Jimin, you bastard! You pushed me towards the backstage passageway, shoved a flashlight into my hand, and just left me in the middle of this fucking scary booth. Is this how you treat your best bud?!”

Jimin laughs. “But at least you got the girl!”

“Yeah,” Lisa says. “Watching you two stupidly tiptoe around each other for so long started to make me sick.”

“And we know you two can’t sort out your stupidity alone, so we decided to give you a little push.” Seokjin looks at Taehyung. “Quite literally in your case.”

Taehyung scowls and opens his mouth but Jimin cuts him to it.

“Thank me later, lover boy. It’s time we get out of this booth. Jungkook’s gonna piss me out for practically renting the 4th stop without paying.” Jimin heads to the right path where he came from. “So let’s take our exit now so you two can finally ride together into the sunset.” He turns to you and Taehyung and smirks, “Well, literally and figuratively.”

Taehung attempts to hit him but Jimin scampers away and hollers, “You’re welcome, bro. And you too, Y/N!” Lisa and Seokjin laugh as they follow Jimin, leaving you and Taehyung walking at the back.

Taehyung turns to you. “So…are you free tomorrow? I realized I haven’t taken you to a date yet. Like, a date date”

“Yeah, I’m free. But, where will we go?”

Taehyung rubs his nape. “Well, I don’t know yet…I’m sorry I asked you when I don’t have any plans yet, I just want to be with you tomorrow–”

“It’s okay,” you smile. “We can meet at the carnival, then.”

“The carnival?”

“Yeah. Not as the prince and the ticketbooth attendant or vice versa. Just Taehyung and Y/N.”

Taehyung smiles. “I would like that. Pick you up at your house on five?”

“That’s alright with me,” you lean into his arm and look up at him, “boyfriend.”

Taehyung blushes and you giggle. You let him hold your hand as you make your way out of the horror booth to spend the rest of Enchanted Carnival’s Halloween Party with a salary waiting for you, happy and giddy, and most importantly, in love.

In every success story, there is a ninety percent probability you will hear “Fake it ‘til you make it.” Sometimes, it worked out for you, but most of the time, it didn’t. Like how you tried to use this tactic to get your crush to like you, your plans don’t usually go the way you expect them. But it’s okay, because life doesn’t work that way. It took you stressful planning days, frustrating reactions, and tearful nights for you to realize that life is not always a stage where people can just “fake” everything ‘til the script is fulfilled. Roles can be changed and mistakes can happen. What’s important is: You may have not “fake it ‘til you make it,” but at least you worked for it ‘til you made it.

A/N pt. 2 | I wrote this fic after having a massive eureka moment and I haven’t edited this out yet because it’s 2 A.M. and we die like brave men here. Anyway, planning this story was really a challenge! This is the first time I tried this AU so I researched stuff and had to like, fix and re-fix some of my plot points as I write through. Second, I wanted to incorporate the adorable prompt in a completely unexpected way so I hope it did what I intended for it to do. Also, I enjoyed making up the names of the Romcom clichés OC used. They are literal Romcom clichés but I can’t find what they’re officially called (aside from Makeover Montage) so I just made the rest up AHHAHAH. I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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