#maybe he would have turned super famous and would have been insufferable | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

suntrastar · 4 years

Text

sink or swim

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

summary: you first meet ransom when meg drags you along to a party. everything somehow spirals from there.

warnings: swearing, smut (but like very vague smut, nothing super explicit), ransom’s general assholery

word count: 9.3k

author’s note: i hate ransom drysdale! he is a shit character! if he existed irl i would whoop his ass with NO hesitation. but i still wrote this fic because ... a bitch gets thirsty okay?? okay. and ik this is very long BUT a lot of it is dialogue so it should flow pretty fast!!! likes and reblogs are always appreciated!!! ily now enjoy!!! you can also read this on ao3 :)

There’s something fun about being somewhere where no one wants you, and then something shameful.

Meg isn’t touching you, but as she drags you around her famous grandfather’s mansion in search of people to bother, it feels like she has you on an invisible leash, fastened tight over your neck. To keep you tethered to her- like a fucking dog.

The leash hurts like it is not made of plastic or metal but instead two hands squeezing tight, wringing you dry, choking you harder and harder and bruising you purple with no remorse.

Now, she’s debating political theory with her douchebag fuck of an uncle, who almost hits you once- almost hits you twice with his cane while waving it around as he quotes Fox News-

Their voices rise. You’re the only one that flinches.

Standing awkwardly on the edge, you wonder why you are the only guest at this terrible party that looks so lost. Meg gives you a covert this-is-total-bullshit glance, and a small, pained, rehearsed smile, both of which you have to return- that’s the real reason you’re here, after all- and her uncle rants on, wholly oblivious.

You look past them both, to where one man stands by himself.

He’s leaning against the far wall, and while Meg retaliates with some of her favorite words, including audacity and bigoted and problematic, you take a sudden, intense interest in the wallpaper pattern, sweeping your eyes over the span of it, looking over the man just once.

He is staring right back at you.

All it takes is his eyes- he’s just staring, but you’re absolutely embarrassed.

He looks rich, with too much product in his hair and a coat that looks like it cost more than your rent, with loafers that expose an uncomfortable amount of ankle and an expression that morphs into something wolfish as he starts towards you-

Before you can think, he’s joined your little circle- Meg prefers standing, so of course, everyone stands- and smiles when she glares at him.

He isn’t looking at you anymore.

“So,” he interrupts, and his voice is so dark, “what riveting political topic are we debating tonight?”

You should call an Uber. Why did you accept Meg’s offer of a ride?

“Ransom,” Meg says sweetly, “could you just, like, fucking not?”

This is supposed to be a Christmas party, but none of these people seem to be in the Christmas spirit. Including her uncle, with his stuffy sweater set and clunky-as-hell shoes. He sputters something about young people and their profanity, and then hastily leaves.

Without thinking, you breathe out a heavy sigh of relief.

The man smiles wider. Unfortunately, it makes him look very handsome.

”Ouch,” he says lightly, to Meg, and turns to you.

A shiver runs down your spine.

You hate him immediately.

“Who are you?” he asks.

For whatever reason, the question makes Meg scoff. She shakes her head at you- a warning. Her hair flounces with the movement.

Because she doesn’t want you to, you give him your name. And then add, because your name alone seems like a title too stripped down, “I’m Meg’s friend.”

It’s hard to convince yourself to be polite, when you don’t like how he’s been looking at you- with his eyes narrowed and brown furrowed and lips parted. He gives an insufferable nod.

“Right,” he says. “The one she’s been showing off all evening.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“Ransom-” Meg starts, and suddenly you are so angry, at this man for confirming what you thought was all in your head, at Meg for suddenly swooping in to save you, like she’s been waiting for it-

“I guess,” you say, and smile a little, and regret everything.

“That’s pathetic,” he says, and looks at you kindly.

Apparently, Meg is the only one allowed to be self-righteous in her annoyance, or anger, or any other mildly passionate emotion. She doesn’t return your covert this-is-total-bullshit glance.

So you fend for yourself.

“Well, so is this fucking party, so-”

He interrupts you with a laugh.

It’s loud and arrogant and mirthless, and you’ll climb out of a window, find a way to walk through the walls, if it means that you’ll escape it.

“I’m just joking,” he says, pursing his lips, and the hands on your neck, ever-present, nearly crush the breath out of you. “Don’t get your panties all in a twist.”

“So funny I forgot to laugh,” you say, and instead of replying, he just looks at you.

He looks at you slowly, like he has nothing better to do, like he has time to waste. You can smell him- some cologne that’s spicy, and expensive, and Meg is staring at you in shock, like you’ve committed a crime.

But she’s quiet.

“I’m Ransom,” he says, and raises his hands to make little air quotes, which is weirdly adorable in a way that you hate, “Meg’s ‘asshole cousin’”

“Weird name,” you say.

You’ve changed your mind- you’re not even going to attempt to be nice.

For a second, he looks furious.

It’s attractive.

“Yeah,” he says. “Anyways, I’m about to ditch. Do you want a ride?”

How does he know you came here with Meg?

He was staring at you from the wall-

From his butterscotch-colored coat with its awful, ostensible lapels, he pulls out his car keys. The BMW logo flashes silver and blue, clashing against the gold of his pinky ring, clinking against the metal as he twirls the key ring around his finger-

For a second, you think that he’s about to toss the keys across the room and command you to fetch.

“Um,” you say, uncertainly, irritated with your own restraint, “Thanks, but Meg will-”

“Meg will what?”

He’s mocking you, and there is no one to come to your rescue.

Hesitantly, like she has to think twice about it, Meg opens her mouth to say something. What is her problem? What is your problem? Why are you treating her like she is your saving grace?

You talk before she gets the chance. “Okay, yeah. A ride would be great.”

***

Ransom offers because he likes your face.

You’re better-looking than the girls that Meg usually brings along to these parties, or maybe his standards have fallen- he isn't sure. Does it really matter? Even though he’s been looking at you all night, even though he’s positively thrilled to have you in his car, he’s not going to try anything.

There’s something desperate in your eyes that compels him against it.

You inhale sharply when he turns left.

“You forgot your turn signal,” you say, and he kind of likes how you chastise him, not angrily or even upset, but just exasperated-

How is someone like you friends with someone like Meg?

“Don’t worry about it,” he says lightly, and the tired glare you give him is enough to make his entire week.

Now that he thinks about it, his mother is always on his case about things like this- compassion and civility and basic human decency, and how he lacks it all, but what about now? He’s taking a miserable girl to her home, simply from the goodness of his own heart, with no strings attached.

This is such a good deed- this is like charity.

His mother is also always telling him that he’s severely, almost clinically narcissistic.

He definitely is, but again, does it matter?

“So, what do you think about my family?” he asks, making a big, dramatic show of using his turn signal before swerving right, feeling too pleased when you smile.

He steals a glance at your knees and somehow feels guilty.

He’ll have to do something about that.

“They’re pretty... lively,” you say hesitantly, and he’s suddenly hating the dark, this stupid fucking night- he’d like to see you better.

“Lively,” he repeats, and barks out a laugh. “They’re fucking crazy.”

You laugh, too, a real one- off-kilter, and too loud- none of that artificial shit he heard at the party. Nothing meant to please.

“I was definitely thinking that,” you say. He catches you looking at his hands, but boldly, you don’t look away. “I just didn’t want to be rude.”

“Now you’re worried about being rude?”

“I’m in a car with a strange guy I’ve never met before, so yeah.”

You’re smiling but look uncomfortable, and then afraid.

All bark and no bite- you’ve been talking all this talk, when really, he realizes, you’re so washed-out, so faint, like the bare sliver of moon out in the sky, the same weak moon he’s been cursing out. The same stars, too- you are just as scattered.

You look pretty.

“Are you scared?”

He keeps his eyes on the road because he thinks you’ll snap at him if he doesn’t. Not like anyone drives out here anyway- not like he can’t pay off a ticket or two or five-

“Should I be?”

There is something so delicious about this moment, with you starting to worry- he can’t look at the road anymore, not when he can watch your throat bob as you swallow instead, and it still feels so violating, but so good.

“Nope,” he says, and you startle when you hear him say it, and he has to bite his cheek to keep himself from smiling. “No need.”

“Great,” you say, and go quiet.

When he pulls up to your apartment complex, not too far from where he lives, he holds his mouth in check. He could say so many things right now, but for you, he restrains himself.

You have your bag in hand, seatbelt off. From the streetlight, the planes of your face look waxy yellow.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say.

Your hand is on the door handle, nails glittering. He can’t make out the color of the polish.

While looking at it, a sudden urge overcomes him.

And he shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but he wants to, so bad. It’s borderline frantic, the desire- it’s necessary and all-important and crucial, for him and his basic peace of mind, and maybe for you, too-

Who is he to deny himself?

“Wait,” he says, even though the door is open and you have half of yourself out the door.

The cold is slowly seeping in, bone-chilling.

You wait.

“Let me just,” he says, and can’t bring himself to say anything else.

He reaches out for your waxen face with one hand and presses it firmly against your cheek.

Under his touch, you shiver. He fans out his fingers to hold you better.

Your eyes are wide. He thinks you look a bit horrified- horrified with yourself for not resisting, maybe.

But he closes his eyes as he leans in, so it doesn’t matter.

He turns your head for you, a bit forcefully. You don’t protest.

He kisses your cheek.

When he pulls back and opens his eyes, you’re staring at him with your mouth in a perfect circle.

“Uh,” you say, and suddenly look away and out into the night, and it makes him angry, even though it should be flattering, “Merry Christmas.”

***

You don’t think about Ransom as much as he probably would have wanted- life picks up too fast.

In the last days of the year, Meg calls you and texts you and even goes so far as to send a few emails, but finally, you seem to have found the self-respect to not respond- consider that ridiculously wealthy bridge burned.

In January, your brother leaves to study for a semester abroad. All the walls in your small apartment are suddenly looming, standing high over you, standing empty. You try to shove off the loneliness by studying harder, by staying distracted.

In February, you have the same dream nearly every night- you’re sitting outside on a porch in the sun and for some reason there’s a bird on your head, and in your lap there’s a clock whose hands don’t work, and you’re wearing a heavy necklace made of gold links that jingle, and you’re so happy.

Does the bird count as company?

In early March, while you’re watering your plants, your phone rings with an unknown number.

You shouldn’t pick up unknown numbers.

You pick up.

“Hello?”

“Remember me?”

His voice nearly gives you whiplash.

It’s dark and harsh, faceless and yet as arrogant as ever.

“Hi, Ransom,” you say, and think of the night in the car for the first time since, think of how he gripped your face so hard that his ring left an imprint. “How the hell do you have my number?”

“Meg gave it to me,” he says smugly. “She says hi.”

You wonder what Meg thinks you did to her. It’s obviously something bad, something terrible, if she so willingly gave your number to this pretty-faced, pretty-voiced, ugly-coat-wearing asshole-

“Awesome,” you say plainly. You don’t want to talk about her. “Do you, like, need something, or-”

“I want to take you out,” he says.

You laugh and your grip on your pitcher slips, sloshing water over the edge.

“You’re joking.”

He is, right?

He takes an impatient breath that, for some reason, sounds inappropriate. “I’m serious.”

“Ransom,” you say, slowly, “I don’t even know you.”

“Then get to know me,” he says testily, and you can perfectly picture him, sitting in some colossal brownstone his parents bought him, while a butler daintily dabs the sweat from his brow with an embroidered handkerchief. “Tonight.”

You’ve overwatered your marigolds.

Has his voice really swept you this far away?

“No,” you say, and shake your head, even though he can’t see it. “No fucking way.”

“Oh, come on,” he says, like you’re the one being unreasonable. “You have anything better to do?”

You don’t, but you take a deep breath and prepare yourself to lie-

“I’ll treat you good,” he suddenly says, and his voice is low and sticky-sweet, dripping with honey. “I promise.”

He says it in a way that makes your knees weak.

You physically have to sit down- he knows how to get what he wants.

Could you actually do this?

Could you go out on a date with a crude, pretentious, trust-fund piece of trash, who probably thinks you’re easy, who’s only calling you because he’s bored, who has already subtly insulted you twice in this conversation alone-

-who got your number from his cousin that you both decidedly dislike, who kissed your cheek like you were pretty in the dark of the night, in his cold car?

“Fine,” you say. “Take me out.”

***

He doesn’t tell you that you look nice- he just stares.

There is something predatory in his eyes.

You’re out on a Wednesday night with a bad man, wasting your time, trying to get something out of nothing, smiling a fake smile when he orders you a drink you don’t like, already irritated with him, and trying too hard to stop looking at his face.

How are you actually interested?

You tell him that you’re in medical school.

“Really,” he says, like he doesn’t believe you. “You don’t strike me as that kind of girl.”

Underneath the table, you clench your hands for some sense of control, but still feel like you’re spinning. “What kind of girl?”

“Smart,” he says, and picks up his drink. The glass sweats beads of condensation, wetting the tips of his fingers. “I didn’t know you were smart.”

You shouldn’t dignify his flimsy insult with a response- he’s just trying to get a rise out of you, trying to make you roll your eyes or scowl or shiver. He wants you unsettled.

But the moral high ground is, unfortunately, too high.

“And I didn’t know that you’re such a terrible date.”

His teeth gleam white when he smiles. He knows.

He knows that he can say whatever the hell he wants, because he has money, and those eyes, and that insufferably nice rich-boy hair, and that sweater with its charmingly frayed hems, and that voice- he has everything, and then some, and he’s about to have you, too, if he keeps on looking at you like he already does.

“You’re so sweet,” he says.

“Fuck off.”

He winks and you could cry, you’re so fucking bothered-

You’re not usually this uptight, but he has you so drastically wound up that every little thing he does, even how he’s sitting- body sprawled, manspreading- is fire licking up on your skin, scorching-hot and ruining you with no remorse, like you have done something to deserve it.

When his eyes trail down, from your eyes to your mouth to your neck to below, you are so acutely aware of wanting him that you feel guilty. Like it’s a crime.

***

You don’t seem like the type of girl to fuck on the first date.

So, of course, Ransom tries to fuck on the first date.

As you stand outside the restaurant, in your dress and strappy sandals, you look so tense that he wants to laugh.

He can’t help it, because this whole thing you have going on- this weariness you approach everything with, this attitude- is so funny. Maybe, in any other situation, it would be irritating, but he’s been so bored lately that it’s stirring.

“Do you want to go back to my place?” he asks, quietly, taking a step closer to you so that at this very moment, under the waning sun, you should be able to just lean up and kiss him-

You blink slowly and keep your silence.

This is fucking tedious.

This should be so easy- all he has to do is settle his hands somewhere soft and let time pass, and then before he knows it you’re there and under and begging. But he can’t bring himself to touch you just yet, not when his head is calling you pathetic, and his heart calls you-

His heart just calls you.

You start to answer, and then hesitate. All five stages of grief flicker over your face at once- denial to acceptance in the same breath.

“Sure,” you say, unevenly, desperately-

When you step inside his house, your eyes go wide. As you take it in- the decor, the windows, the excess, he locks the door behind him and takes you in.

You step further inside, and he thinks of where it would be best, but then your eyes crease as you smile- it’s impossible to wait when your smile looks like that- and so he backs you right into the closest wall, cups your face with both of his hands and kisses you.

He kisses you and you curl your hands over his shoulders and immediately kiss back, and he is taken aback and delighted.

And he knew- the entire time at dinner when you were making eyes at him like you couldn’t believe that you were actually sitting there, present in that moment- he knew that secretly, you’re a freak. He knew it- he knows it.

He hopes it.

“Let me fuck you,” he whispers, right into your mouth, when your heart has been beating right into his for a while, “Let me fuck you right here.”

You bite his lip.

He takes a hand away from your face and reaches under your dress fast, rucking it all the way up your thighs, trailing up to touch you-

“Fuck,” you gasp, and arch your back up against the wall, and he grips you a little tighter-

He presses a finger into you- pushing aside your underwear and, good grief, you’re already wet- harshly, and pulls away from your mouth, so he can watch your face.

The lines creasing your forehead look like poetry.

He thinks he likes you. It’s a shame he had to meet you through Meg- it would be nice if he had met you somewhere else, on his own.

That way, he’d be able to waltz in one day, to another insipid family gathering, with you tucked under his arm. You, with your promise of a medical degree and your strappy sandals, and your iron grip on his shoulders and your drawn out breath of a moan-

The looks on their faces would be priceless.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, and he’s a little irritated at how cracked his voice sounds, but it’s the right thing to say- you swear again and he picks up his pace, pressing hard on your clit. “If you’ll be good to me.”

“I’ll-” you say, and you’re actually stuttering, and breaking out into a lovely sweat, still forced back into the wall with his hand and body. He leans closer, so he can’t tell where you and him and the wall start and end. “I’ll be- fuck, Ransom-”

You still have your arms wrapped around him, like an embrace. He keeps one hand between your thighs, your dress pooling over his arm like water, and uses his other to work at his belt buckle.

This is also funny- you stay exactly how you are, even though at that moment, there is nothing holding you back.

***

The world is begging for you to consider your actions.

But you don’t. You know that when he offers, you’ll meet him again.

It should be too late. You’re exhausted, from a day full of lectures and an evening spent in a lab, working as a professor’s research assistant, and then studying for a few hours in the library- all you really want to do is sleep.

But then he calls.

The night is suddenly brimming with possibility, and you’ve never been more awake.

On a whim, Ransom suggests ice cream, and because you can’t bring yourself to deny him, you end up at a place that you would never go for- where everything is handmade and served in thick paper cups with multicolored plastic spoons, but he pays, because of his stupid ego or fragile masculinity or whatever the hell, so you don’t care.

He stands next to you as you order, and his shoulder keeps on brushing into yours. You can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not. In the glass shield that the tubs of ice cream sit behind, you’re both reflected, your body warped and tall, his body warped and taller. In the glass, his eyes meet yours.

The tension is strong- it’s only a matter of time.

Your heart flutters.

When you sit, he bumps his knees against yours- you’re sure it’s on purpose, now, but you don’t say anything. What even is there to say?

That you like it?

When he digs into his ice cream, the plastic spoon- a green one- snaps in his hand.

And because you’re so caught up in your own ridiculous thoughts, before he can go back up to get another, you pull your own from your mouth- a pink one- and offer it to him.

The proposition makes him smile.

Why does he smile like that? Each movement, each twitch of muscle is so perfectly detached and coordinated- it’s violent.

But he still takes the spoon from you gently, with a soft hand.

He’s too pretty to be mean, you think, but against any type of judgement- not just the better kind- you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You let yourself laugh and he scowls.

“This place sucks,” he says, like he isn’t the one who chose it.

He adjusts the womens’ scarf he’s always wearing, carefully arranging it over himself so it looks like it was carelessly thrown on. The blue in the paisley print brings out his eyes- it makes him look so stupidly hot that you start to get angry.

You just shrug. “Suck it up, buttercup.”

He puts your spoon in his mouth and looks at you.

Again, the night ends at his place- this time on an actual bed, because you ask for it, and you think he likes how you look when you ask for things in the current state state you’re in-

He fucks you in the dark, and swears into your ear, and is not kind or soft in any way, but after he finishes, he takes the time to kiss the spot in between your breasts, and you think that maybe he isn’t entirely horrible. The bedsheets are cool against your skin, and his mouth is always hot.

You leave without a word.

***

He takes you out this time, in a real, urgent show of wealth- he picks you up in his fancy car, takes you to a fancy restaurant where the numbers next to the fancy menu items are all appalling, where he spends the whole time making these awful, unfunny innuendos that still manage to rile you up, because they’re coming from his mouth-

On the way back, while waiting at a stoplight, you take a deep breath and brace yourself before looking at him.

He really is gorgeous- all lazy grace and harsh angles. The light colors his face red, red in his eyes and in the plane of his cheekbone and in the slope of his mouth- like a beautiful warning sign. His hands are carelessly draped over the steering wheel and, despite the warning, you reach out and trace a finger over his knuckles.

His whole body jerks.

You quickly draw your hand back.

“What?” he asks sharply. He’s staring at you like you’re crazy.

You don’t know why this is suddenly so fucking embarrassing, all you did was touch him- but you suddenly feel terrible, and-

“Nothing,” you say, with the same tone, and whip your head away from him to the window, where you smolder in the dark and furiously stare at nothing.

The light turns green. He takes his foot off the break and all but slams it on the gas pedal, driving as atrociously as ever, looking over at you for a split second when you don’t protest. The blood rushing in your ears is too loud for you to think- you can’t form any words.

Once it subsides, marginally, you add, “Sorry.”

His jaw tenses.

You look back over at him, at his ring, and imagine it pressing into your neck.

“What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?” he suddenly asks- suddenly demands, with a blazing authority that makes your stomach do flips.

You don’t know what answer he wants. “Um, one time I snuck out of-“

“Let’s do something crazier.”

On an abandoned road, he pulls over, and then you’re under him in the backseat- doing something crazier.

You might have some type of psychic tendencies, because his ring presses heavy into your neck as he pushes himself inside you, starting at a bruising pace, and then he says your name in the dark, and he looks so beautifully flushed, startling when you grab his hair, laughing when your hand accidentally skims his thigh, smiling when you come-

You wish you had the resolve to put an end to this.

You wish you could stay when it’s over.

***

You don’t like his house.

It’s not the brownstone you imagined, but rather a huge, minimalistic box, with too many windows and spotless paint and modern wood fixtures. Ransom has all of these customary rich-person things, including stately furniture and eclectic art pieces and tall shelves stuffed with books, but owning any actual personality has escaped him.

Standing in his house feels like standing in an empty room- it’s all so apathetic.

Still, you show up when he calls.

You haven’t done anything this bad before.

But there’s a first time for everything, right? First time for enjoying bruises and biting and an unwavering grip on your neck or hips or waist or thighs, first time leaving something so intense so awkwardly.

Each time is worse than the last, with the awkwardness spiraling, accruing beyond reason, and each time you struggle with what to say- even now, you just do your best to stay quiet as you start to get up, reaching for your clothes-

Ransom drapes a heavy arm over you before you have the chance.

“You can stay,” he says flippantly, and then shifts to pull you close to him, so that you are suddenly lying bare-backed against his chest, so that his sweat-slick body and heartbeat imprints itself on your skin.

Is he asking?

You crane your head over your shoulder to get a look at him.

He returns your stare like he’s been waiting for it.

His face is still flushed pink and a lock of hair hangs low over his forehead, and if you were any braver, you would comb a hand through it, gently, with no real intentions. He’s breathtaking. Even the new, foreign purple under his eyes is a sight- pretty like something you would want to kiss.

“You want me to stay?”

He rolls his eyes and tilts his head back. You would lick the sweat from the divots of his neck, if he asked you to.

“Or leave, if you want. I could care less.”

He cares

You know it because his grip is unwavering, because the terseness in his eyes is enough to make you look away.

Eventually, you settle a hand over his arm and try your best not to tremble. Ransom mumbles something under your breath- you can’t make any of it out, but you don’t ask him to repeat it, for the fear that it’ll upset this fragile bedroom balance you’ve so painstakingly built yourself into-

He wants you to stay.

“Are you okay?” you ask, because you don’t think he is.

He inhales. You feel his chest against you; it’s shaky. You wonder, for a second, about who he might actually be, underneath the arrogance and egotism and constant need to be an asshole- is he someone you could like without feeling bad about it?

“Yeah,” he says, and throws his other arm over you, so that he is holding you. “Why?”

There isn’t a genuine bone in this man’s body, but he genuinely sounds confused.

It’s possible that you’re the one who isn’t okay.

“Because,” you say, and take a great leap of faith- holding your bare heart in your hands, you turn to face him.

You’re fully exposed and subjected to his gaze- it’s nearly eviscerating. His eyes dip down to your chest and something like insecurity flares in your chest. It’s awful and terrible and you urgently want to kiss him on the lips.

He always kisses you first. You don’t know if you have it in you to kiss him yet.

You wouldn’t ever try, in case you don’t.

“You look kind of tired,” you say, and his eyes bore into you with a sinking weight, threatening to drown. One of his hands finds a blooming bruise on your skin and lightly presses. He doesn’t react when you wince. The action is still kind- almost tender.

He sighs, and it is such a delicate breath, fanning hot over your skin.

“I’m not tired,” he says, almost childishly.

You might be overstepping. But you don’t even know where the lines have been drawn.

“Okay,” you say, and because you would not dare kiss his lips, you lean close and kiss his jaw instead.

He startles and then gives you a crooked, lazy smile. He is everything good, you think- for this one moment. Pretty and soft-handed and made of glass and honey and all other lovely things.

You tuck your head in the crook of his neck and wrap an arm over his, tight, so he knows you are there, and hope for the best.

***

In your spare moments, you’re always thinking.

Ransom knows this because of how you look when you do it- your brow furrows and your eyes go glassy, and you frown with an intensity that he has never seen on anyone else.

It happens when you finish a sentence, when you have no response for him, when he is still talking but you’ve stopped listening. When you think it’s quiet.

It never happens during sex- is it pathetic to take pride in that?

As he stands in your apartment for the first time ever, you look like you’re in near-despair, like your thoughts are wreaking havoc on your mind, destructive and distressing. You wear basketball shorts and a college sweatshirt and glasses.

He didn’t know you wore glasses, and that you looked like this in them- he’s been missing out.

“Hi,” you say, and stare at him with troubled eyes.

Your apartment is so small. He almost feels claustrophobic, standing in here. When was the last time he willingly stood somewhere so small?

The lengths he’ll go to, for…

For you, he supposes.

“Hi,” he says, and wonders, also for the first time ever, what it is that you’re always thinking. “Why do you have so many plants?”

On the windowsill, with even spacing in between, sits an entire row of glass jars housing plants- all singular flower stems, some budding, some in bloom. The petals of a marigold brush against the window, orange against the grey outside. It’s cute, he absently thinks, in a struggling, shabby type of way.

“It’s just something I do for fun,” you say, sounding irritated. “Like, a hobby.”

Infringing on the living room space is a small table, cluttered with textbooks and pens and an open laptop with its screen dark.

It still baffles him that you’re smart.

“So,” you start, and cross your arms over your chest. He feels kind of offended, because he’s just realized that he really only knows a handful of things about you, and even that handful is sparse, slipping through his fingers. “Why’d you want to see me?”

He called on impulse.

He’s just- he’s in what someone could call a mood, where he hates everything and has the intense desire to ruin something, and while he was thinking of how to fix it- beyond just getting wasted- he thought of you.

And when he called, you were sounding so tired and so he even said he could just meet you here, so you wouldn’t have to drive, so you could squeeze in a few more minutes of studying before he inevitably invades your mind-

Easily, he deflects. Nearby, there’s a hallway with two doors, one of which is tightly closed shut.

“What’s in there?” he asks, and points towards it.

You relax, slightly.

He wants to gather you up in his arms, but he doesn’t know for whose sake- his or yours?

“That’s my brother’s room,” you say, and your shoulders slump, and he resists the urge to pull you upright, and the urge to gawk. Brother? “He lives with me. But he’s studying abroad this semester.”

“Where?”

“Prague.”

He nods. This is a stiff, perfect, shocking distraction. “Nice city.”

You nod distantly and head back to the table to put your things away.

“Yeah,” you say, after too long of a pause, as you start to cap pens and set them aside. You look at him as you do it, and so you miss a few times, accidentally drawing dark lines of ink all over your fingers. “I’m glad he got to go. When we were kids, he was obsessed with wanting to travel- he had this entire map in our room, and he would draw stars over every country he wanted to visit, and there were, like, a hundred of them, and he could list every single one, in the exact order he wanted to visit, and he could even list the capitals- I’m sorry. You probably don’t care about any of this.”

He doesn’t.

Or, he shouldn’t, but your eyes are clearer, and as you neatly stack your textbooks in an order only known to you, he is almost intrigued.

He’s longing for you- when you are right there.

He feels like a person outside of himself, when you look at him and smile tiredly.

“Do you want to watch a movie?”

There’s a cheesy ‘90s horror movie you find after a few minutes of channel surfing, complete with terrible special effects and edited-out profanity. The days are longer, now, and to stop the sun from casting a glare over the screen, you close all the blinds. It adds to the atmosphere, you say lightly, fully phased out of whatever just possessed you, and his hands are so itchy- itching to do something.

He sits. Patience is a virtue, but he is not virtuous, and so when you sit next to him and bring your knees to your chest, making yourself small, he goes to-

Something in his stomach stops him.

It’s butterflies- is he actually nervous?

This is so fucking infuriating.

You’ve got him trapped in some type of pain-and-power-play, some type of unassuming purgatory, and all he can bring himself to do is lightly brush a hand against your shoulder. You smile at his touch and his heart fucking breaks.

As the second boy in the friend group gets murdered onscreen, you close your eyes and duck your head into your knees.

“Tell me when it’s over,” you say, voice muffled.

“Scaredy-cat,” he says, even though this is no time for jokes.

You crack one eye open, looking only at him, and give him the finger.

Come here, he almost demands. The butterflies protest- he holds his tongue.

The dance continues. When the sun sets, everything darkens, settling into a dim blue. You look like something out of a painting. Faintly sad, unusually serene. The skin around your eyes has smoothened- you’ve stopped thinking so hard and he can suddenly breathe easier because of it-

And then there’s a jumpscare, and he shouts, “Jesus!”

The murderer has broken down a door, and all of the remaining characters are screaming, and you burst out laughing.

He’s in the middle of a crisis, and you’re laughing.

You lean into him as you laugh, with your head turned away from the screen and your eyes open, looking at him so fondly that he suddenly feels violated, and you let your shoulder brush against his.

“Scaredy-cat” you tease, and it’s absolutely now or never-

You’re making him weak- it takes too much time and effort for him to draw an arm over you.

You don’t flinch, but he is sure that you can hear his heart beating dangerously fast, without abandon, like it's trying to break free of his ribcage. He almost gasps when you come even closer and lightly kiss his cheek, wrapping your arms around him, and his head is just saying yes yes yes-

Your mouth goes over his ear, lips ghosting over skin. He waits, more scared than he’s ever been in his entire life, for what you have to say.

***

So this is Ransom’s deep, dark, ugly secret.

He likes to be cuddled.

If it were anyone else, you would laugh.

But it’s Ransom, and so you just take it in stride, as part of his extremely fucked-up psyche that is probably a result of a hundred things he’ll never tell you- childhood trauma and neglect and the consequences that come with having more money than you need or deserve.

He’s always talking, always talking shit, always talking over you and over everyone else, and you realize, one day, that he really only is treading water- he’s only focused on staying afloat, speaking whatever he wants, but never actually saying anything.

He’s responsible for his faults, of course. But still, when he smiles in low light or curls his hands over yours so viciously, you don’t know if you should leave, or if you should just stay and pity him quietly.

You’re starting to like him too much to even care.

He starts coming around more. And he actually stays, and starts leaving pieces of himself behind. He has a toothbrush next to yours and a phone charger on his side of the bed and imported, undoubtedly expensive snacks in the kitchen.

He leaves clothes, too- you wash them with yours and keep them, neatly folded, in your closet.

On a warm day in May, he meets you at a cafe.

He does most of the talking, like always. It’s been months, already, but you still find it difficult to start conversations.

You still have trouble telling him certain things without feeling like you have to defend yourself, and he still rarely deviates from being a total dick, even when you hold him or have his head in your lap, when you make him laugh or when you kiss him.

Or when you put your hands in the sleeves of his sweaters and rub your palms against his forearms, because he’s always running warm and your hands are always cold.

He always acts like it annoys him, jumps when your hands meet his skin- but you know he secretly likes it, because whenever you’re done he pulls the hems all the way over his hands and looks at you with something amazed in his eyes.

With the weather warming up, he’s ditched the sweaters and taken to wearing these awful fucking short-sleeved button-downs, all unnecessarily tight and showing way too much collarbone. He’s making you sweat.

“You’re staring,” he says, and smiles, self-satisfied.

You bring your straw to your lips and shake your head. “I’m not.”

He knows that you can’t help it- he is always so gorgeous. He’s infuriatingly pretty.

“Don’t lie to me,” he says, and nudges your foot under the table, voice suddenly low, and it’s like, holy shit-

You bring your drink down and lean over the table, careful to avoid knocking anything over, and kiss him quickly.

He tastes like bitter coffee.

You’re sad, all of a sudden.

When you settle back in your seat, you clear your throat like nothing happened. You want to lean in again and button up the rest of his shirt, and kiss him again. You want to come so close that your noses touch, and then yell at him, just for being him.

He looks appalled

“What was that for?”

It’s the first time you’ve ever done this.

“No reason,” you say. “I just felt like it.”

“You just felt like it,” he repeats, and it’s like the same reaction from the night at the stoplight, and you realize-

He’s dumbstruck.

Then, just as quickly as it came, it disappears. He sets his jaw like he’s about to get up and leave. You try not to scowl, even though you feel like you’re drifting, tide carrying you away, sand clean and smooth on where your body once was-

It gets to you.

“Can I not just kiss you?” you snap harshly, glaring at him with a ferocity you don’t think he’s ever seen.

It’s inevitable- the result of months of frustration. You can only suppress yourself for so long. Why, you want to ask, why are you not entitled to him the way he is to you and everything else? Can you not ask for him so wholly?

He flinches.

Ransom Drysdale, asshole extraordinaire, flinches.

It brings a small sliver of satisfaction with it. There’s some nerve you’ve struck, and the discontent on his face is steadily growing-

You pay it no mind, drinking the rest of your iced coffee in calm silence.

Outside, the day is vaguely summery, where the sun is out and strong, but still too cold in the shade. You stare past his head, towards the door. How quickly can you leave?

“You can,” he says quietly, when you’re rising to throw your cup in the trash. “Whenever you want.”

His eyelashes are so long- they command a moment of attention all on their own when he blinks- soft and slow and gazing at you from underneath them. You wonder if he is doing this for the same reason you are. If he’s lonely, too.

When was the last time you had the dream with the bird?

You smirk. “Whenever?”

He is forlorn.

You like him better in the spring.

“Whenever.”

“Let’s get out of here,” you say, and make your voice low, since two can play at that game.

He considerably perks up.

***

When you wake up, he’s still in your bed.

Lately, he’s been spending more time at your place than his. You think that all those windows are finally starting to get to him.

Ransom always holds you fiercely in his sleep. You break free as gently as you can and take him in for a brief moment- you like how he looks when he’s asleep. Unconcerned, chest rising slow with each breath, hair splayed over the pillow in nearly every direction. He almost looks innocent.

You get up quietly, even though there’s no chance he’ll stir- he sleeps like the dead.

Daylight filters through the blinds in white-yellow streams, dappling him golden.

You almost take a picture, but regretfully leave the room for other tasks- you stretch and water your plants and check your email, and then sit down at the table to Skype your brother.

He picks up fast.

“Hey!” you say, and at once feel so much relief, to see his grainy, smiling face on your laptop screen.

Europe has done him good- he’s grown out his hair, and his skin is glowing, and he looks so happy.

He tells you about what he’s been doing lately, studying architecture. It makes you so proud, this fact alone- that unlike you, he can do whatever he wants and doesn’t have the looming promises of debt and academic burnout and crushing, ever-present stress hovering over his shoulders. It is so good to see him, and you are so grateful that he can be who he wants to be, do what he wants to do-

“Holy shit, who is that?”

He’s looking past you. You turn around and almost jump-

Ransom stands in the kitchen, shirtless and rummaging through the cupboards. He waves at you.

You would think that someone like Ransom would exclusively sleep in, like, silk pajama sets, or something, but at least he’s in sweatpants- however low-rise they might be, however loosely knotted the drawstring is. It’s better than nothing, at least- what if he had walked out in nothing?

When you turn back to the screen, you catch a glimpse of yourself in your camera feed- you look absolutely mortified.

You are absolutely mortified. This is the start of what can only be a nightmare.

“Are you dating that guy?” your brother asks incredulously. He’s still staring at Ransom with his jaw hanging loose. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“No,” you say forcefully, without thinking. “That’s, um... “

Hopelessly, you gesture back towards him, trying to come up with the words. Nothing feels right in your mouth- every title you can come up with is too consequential, too heavy.

“...That’s Ransom.”

“Weird name,” your brother says, and grins.

You take a breath that feels more like a gasp. “I know.”

“Hey,” Ransom says, from the back, and continues to loudly open and close the cupboards- what the fuck is he even looking for? You don’t keep enough shit in there to warrant this much noise- he’s doing this for theatrics.

“I think I’m going to go,” you say loudly. “Love you.”

“Bye,” your brother says, and he’s grinning stupidly, like a madman.

You disconnect and feel like you might faint.

Not your boyfriend, right?

“Was that your brother?” Ransom asks, casually, finally finding what he was looking for- two mugs. There is no way that he didn’t come across them earlier.

“Yeah- yes,” you say shakily. It feels like someone has filled your brain with fizzy water.

There’s a few boys your brother has met over the years, but you’ve always been careful. Because an introduction is like making a statement- it’s like saying that this person you’re with is important enough to you that they’re going to overlap, exist in more than just one part of your life.

But Ransom is a catastrophe of a person- you can barely handle him as he is. How could you ever have him as anything more?

He goes through the cupboards, again, and finds a box of teabags. “The one studying abroad?”

“I only have one brother,” you snap.

“Okay,” he says, totally unbothered, surprising you. He’s not a morning person in the slightest- why is he being so cordial? “Where do you keep your kettle?”

“Second cupboard on the right,” you say, and bury your head in your hands.

He looks at you. He is so many things, but never kind, until now. His hair, in its adorable bedhead, flops over his eyes. Before, it was only almost, but now, you think, he looks completely innocent, like the type of guy you could give kisses without feeling nervous, the type of guy you wouldn’t deny as your boyfriend.

What is wrong with him?

What is wrong with you?

At the end of the day, he’s always there- you’re exclusive, aren’t you? Isn’t that enough to deserve a title?

He finds the kettle, and then sifts through the box. He sorts through different flavors with a gentle precision you’ve never seen before- is this really him? Is he the type of person that is gentle and precise?

The uneven smattering of blue-black bruises on your thighs say no.

You’re so confused that your head hurts.

“None of these flavors are any good,” Ransom says, and shakes his head. His hair shines in the morning light. “Earl Grey- who the hell drinks Earl Grey?”

“Don’t insult my tea like that,” you say, and he looks back at you and gives you a brilliant flash of a smile.

If he’s bothered at all by your denial, he never brings it up.

*** He’s too far gone.

He’s in freefall, feeling weak- he’s fucking succumbed.

To you. To your comebacks and the world-weary gaze you have of everything, to your nonsensical collection of plants and your painfully unattractive basketball shorts, to the way you laugh too loud and too little, to the way you say his name, where he can never tell if you’re happy with him or exasperated-

It’s wrong.

But, he thinks, so are all of these other things, like drugs and alcohol and blowing money on shit he doesn’t need- and you make him feel better than any of those things ever have, so why should anybody have a problem with it? A week goes by after you tell your brother that he isn’t your boyfriend- and it doesn’t bother him, because he’s never wanted that title in the first place, never has- but it obviously bothers you.

You’re disappointed in yourself, because you think you’re supposed to be better than him, because you’re so smart and he is so terrible.

He hopes that that’s not how you actually think. It hurts him to0 much to even consider it, and so he doesn’t, and so he thinks of how to keep his hold on you, and then he thinks of why he even wants to-

The truth is too apparent to deny.

After a week, he calls.

***

He’s very slow.

Not tired- just consumed with the sudden need to savor things. When you let yourself into his arms, Ransom treats you like you’re fragile.

“What’s up with you?” you ask, and as he stares, your voice reduces to something small. You go timid when his eyes are on yours, he realizes, and the thought sends a thrill through his body- he slowly rocks you, to calm himself.

Your shirt is off and you wear a bra with a small lace trim- not racy, but very cute- and he just keeps on staring.

Wow, he thinks. He fucked up good.

“Nothing,” he says, and moves one hand from your waist- he has you in his lap, straddling him- up to the top of your neck. He trails down and over to your collarbone, hooking a finger into your bra strap.

You laugh, breathy and indecent.

He lifts it, subtly, and you whine, and he bites back his own.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, and kisses your neck. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Ransom,” you gasp, with your hands splayed over his back. He slowly skims his hand over, to your back, feeling every little thing, dip and contour and curve, everything- and then unhooks it, and you are bared to him and he is breathless.

He takes you by the shoulders and twists, to bring you down, to pin you against the bed. Your comforter is dark blue, like ocean water.

Your eyes are endless, like ocean water.

“Are you upset about something?”

Your chest rises and falls and he almost reaches for the waistband of your underwear, but stops himself. He presses a wet kiss to one of your breasts, and you arch into his mouth. He feels like you know every single secret of his, when he has told you none.

You know by accident that he’s ticklish. That’s it.

“I’m not,” he says. “I promise.”

He bends low to kiss down the length of your body, repositions his hands to hold your waist. He thinks that this is more intense- it is just his mouth and your skin and the sound of your breath hitching.

He still has it put together, remarkably well- unfathomably well.

“I feel like there’s something you’re- ah- not telling me, honey.”

That does it.

He grips your waist harder, in the way he knows you always like, so that tomorrow he will be able to retrace his steps, follow the blue-

“Say that again,” he says, and presses a soft kiss over you- even through your underwear, with its delicate lace trim, he can feel how wet and wanting and ready you are for him.

“Say- fuck- say what?”

Your hand flails, for a second, before you thread it through his hair, and yank. It hurts, pleasantly.

He hooks his fingers into your waistband and shimmies it down your thighs, and you instinctively spread your legs. He puts his mouth to your slit, slicker than he imagined, and the heady arousal rushing through his mind- and everywhere else- is nearly enough to make him forget what you even said-

He is quite possibly drunk off of you alone, and he wants to slap himself, and, like, press you so close into him that you forget your way out.

With the spare glow of one lamp, you look like you’re made of gold.

He breaks away from you for a terrible moment to strip, and with one hand he teases your clit, and with the other he pumps himself, hard, once, twice, three times in anticipation-

“Don’t make me ask again,” he says, and comes back up to cup your face once more, and slips his hand back down into you at the same time, with his cock hard against your thigh- this is all quite slippery- the game you’re playing at and the risk he’s trying to take-

“Honey,” you say, and you’re smiling deliriously, but shakily. “Honey honey honey.”

“You’re killing me,” he says, and his voice, in a moment of terrible, vulnerable, unspeakable betrayal, cracks.

“Good,” you say, but your voice is all wobbly as he lines himself up and roughly pushes into you, holding you a little tighter to keep you steady. “You deserve it.”

He kisses you openmouthed, with his teeth scraping- it’s rough and jarring, the way you always take it. Against his mouth, you swear incoherently, stringing together a litany of curses with his name thrown in between, and goddamn him- it makes him smile.

He wastes no time- he can’t be patient any longer, not when he has you under him like this, and so he goes fast, snapping into you at a bruising pace and keeping his mouth close, and rubbing at your clit, to overstimulate you and make everything faster, harsher, more immediate-

When you come you always say his name, thickly with gravel in your voice, and gasp like the breath has been stolen from your lungs. This time, when you are so far gone that he thinks you’re beyond the realms of sound, and sight, too, with your eyes tightly screwed shut, he says it, for the sake of himself.

“I think I love you-”

310 notes · View notes

thestuckylibrary · 4 years

Text

A Year in Reading: 2019 - Blue

So real life kind of kicked our asses in 2019 and we weren’t able to keep up with the monthly Mods’ Reads posts. We’ve gotten some questions about them and we still intend to keep them a thing, hopefully, in 2020. But for now, this will have to do. Below the cut is everything I’ve read in the past year:

(It’s a long list and I may have missed some things we try and warn for, so make sure to check tags and warnings on any fics that catch your eye <3)

January

Slainte mhaith by Speranza (oneshot | 1,180 | M)

Under the Bridges of Fame by alby_mangroves, notlucy (complete | 89,678 | E)

For better or for worse (usually worse), Steve Rogers has been the most famous guy in the room for a while. And though newsreels have given way to YouTube, people’s reactions haven’t changed much in seventy-some years. Steve’s become an expert at keeping his head down and getting on with his life.

A head-on collision on a busy street sends books flying and sweeps Steve off his feet. The point of impact has a name: James. A charming mess of long hair, thick glasses, and a crooked, not-quite-smile. If he recognizes Steve, he chooses not to comment, placing him firmly in Steve’s good graces.

As far as Steve can tell, they might be Bogie and Bacall all over again, save for the group of idiots with selfie sticks who surround them. But for once, the request isn’t for Steve.

Which begs the question: if James is James, then who the hell is Bucky?

So, You’ve Adopted a Fruit by Nejinee (complete | 17,769 | E)

Steve knows that Bucky’s trying his best to stay whole in this new modern world. Then Bucky finds a struggling little scraggly creature and decides immediately to wrap it up in his open heart and take it home. It’s a bit bizarre seeing a former assassin taking to something so small and helpless, but to Steve it all makes sense.

Part 1 of 2 lovestruck idiots and a dog

Sandy Cheeks by Nejinee (oneshot | 4,227 | T)

A day at the beach with Steve, Bucky and Blueberry.

Part 2 of 2 lovestruck idiots and a dog

The Job Between Here and There by Pohadka (series, ongoing | 182,404 | M)

He might be free from HYDRA’s command and making his own life now, but James Buchanan Barnes is far more lost than he’d ever been before. Nothing matches the vague memories he’s recovered so far, and the world has progressed far beyond needing soldiers. To find out what he wants, and how to get it, he just needs a little… Leverage.

all systems snot by galwednesday, silentwalrus, skellerbvvt (oneshot | 2,962 | T)

They don’t let you suck dick in quarantine.

A Hatemance For The Ages by BetteNoire (WeAreWolves) (series, ongoing, restricted | 28,750 | E)

This is what happens when you find your soulmate… and instead of birds singing and roses blooming, you discover they’re an insufferable jerk. But an insufferable jerk that you low-key really want to bang, if nothing else because MAYBE THEN THEY WOULD SHUT UP.

Features the worst, most annoying iterations of Cap!Steve and Modern!Bucky. There is nothing these two wouldn’t do for each other… out of spite.

[A series of occasional short fics that I write when I just want snark and hate sex]

The Department of Special Collections by alby_mangroves, Speranza (oneshot | 4,867 | T)

It was a messy thing of leather and papers and rope. It looked like Phillips had carelessly thrown a bunch of documents onto an old piece of black leather and then rolled the whole thing up and tied it … The papers inside were all different sizes, everything out of order and haphazardly stacked, like someone had been in a hurry and just grabbed it all.

love is blind (steve and bucky are just dumb) by talkplaylove, wearing_tearing (oneshot | 4,409 | T)

“You shouldn’t have interrupted their date, then,” Natasha pipes up, finally showing her face as she gives Bucky a wave and a tiny smile. “I like the hair.”

“Thank you.” Bucky preens a little. He ignores the teasing about this being a date; Nat and Sam somehow got it into their heads that Steve and him were dating via Skype calls. They’re not. They’re just friends who video call sometimes. Friends do that.

Part 3 of Happy Steve Bingo

Part 1 of men with no plans

i love him and our goat children by talkplaylove, wearing_tearing (oneshot | 5,526 | T)

“Bucky, why does Sam have a photo of you surrounded by goats and the words “Always be happy with Jesus” on it?” Steve asks, looking at him on the screen.

Or the one where Steve and Bucky move in together, adopt some goat kids, and live happily ever after.

Part 2 of men with no plans

Part 4 of Happy Steve Bingo

February

Treasured by Dira Sudis (dsudis), Sealcat (complete | 24,609 | M)

When everyone in town became convinced that a dragon really had come again to the Old Lair, and that the town would have to offer it tribute, they all looked at Steve.

Honestly, he was relieved.

The Joy of Little Things by obsessivereader, Sealcat (complete | 29,744 | E)

"Do you want me to eat you?"

“No, but—” Steve broke off his instinctive response. All his life, he’d believed in doing what was right… he was not about to stop now. Wincing at the prickling pain in his feet, he straightened up to his full height. “Yes. If it means you’ll leave this place.”

"But you don’t look very filling." The tip of the dragon’s tail twitched. "I don’t suppose you’re a virgin?" he asked hopefully. "I’ve heard they taste better."

Steve gritted his teeth and refused to answer. The dragon could very well find that out for himself. He stared at the dragon. The dragon stared back. Then the dragon got up, turned around, and went back into his cave.

"Well? Come on, tribute."

or, how Steve ends up working for a dragon with a very odd sense of humor

It's A Funny Story... by perfect_plan (oneshot | 6,009 | M)

Bucky just had the most mind-blowing sex of his life with a handsome stranger and nothing can ruin his day. That is until he goes out to breakfast with his room mate to meet Sam's best friend who just moved to town.

total eclipse of the bark by Deisderium (oneshot | 2,627 | T)

Steve's first day at the flower shop, he walks into the break room to find an extremely large and muscular man having a breakdown because his dog is sick. Only an asshole wouldn't try to comfort that large and muscular man.

Karma's A Fake Orgasm by gracie137 (complete | 51,653 | E)

There’s another abandoned mug, festering with mould in the living room — Steve offically has the world's worst roommates. And complains about them. Often. Bucky, tired of his lack of action, decides it’s time to avenge Steve's sleepless nights and unsanitary conditions once and for all. They’ll pretend to be the world’s most annoying couple: excessive PDA, loud fake sex, and general repugnance. The plan sounds easy enough; it will be strictly platonic. Or will it?

Part 1 of Revenge Is Best Served Horny

A minor misunderstanding, solidarity, and reunion by owlet (oneshot | 2,456 | T)

Barnes should know better. Lidia should charge her phone.

Part 8 of Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail

Licence To Thrill by roe87 (oneshot | 4,153 | M)

James is a Russian spy, ordered to take down American agent Steve Rogers.

Steve is an American agent, ordered to take down Russian spy James.

But when they first meet, things take a different turn.

(Or, a spies meet cute)

You Can't Take the Sky from Me by LeisurelyPanda (oneshot | 6,259 | M)

Captain Bucky Barnes and his crew were flagged by an Alliance ship after innocently minding their own business during an illegal salvage operation. It's not Bucky's first scrape with the oppressive, bureaucratic Alliance military, and it won't be the last. However, most Alliance vessels don't send someone so... adorably susceptible to Bucky's charms to interrogate him.

Steve was conscripted into the Alliance at a young age. He's been around long enough to know that it's not what everyone said it was when he was conscripted. A dashing rogue in his interrogation room, however, offers what might be his only chance at escaping this life.

It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year by stevergrsno (noxlunate) (oneshot | 5,186 | E)

“You should come over for a drink.” Christmas Stealing Hot Neighbor says instead of answering Steve’s very valid question.

“I really don’t think I should. Sounds like fraternizing with the enemy.” Steve says, even as he’s abandoning his tree and moving towards the gate.

“Look at is as a know thy enemy thing instead,” Christmas Stealing Hot Neighbor says before flashing Steve a smile and oh, oh no, Steve is screwed.

Aka Steve Rogers is competitive, Bucky Barnes is into his hot new neighbor, and Christmas Feelings ensue.

The New Super by gr8escap (oneshot | 3,001 | T)

Steve Rogers is trying to get comfortable in his almost affordable apartment and the New Superintendent of the building is a cruel distraction.

Part 6 of Happy Steve Rogers - [Bingo]

10-94* by gravesecret, softcorehippos (complete | 38,817 | E) *graphic violence

Late at night, when the city sleeps, they race.

Bucky Barnes owns a garage and race for pinks, Steve Rogers is an FBI Agent with a lot of people to prove wrong.

Destiny Knows Better by Polska_1999 (oneshot | 4,251 | T)

When Steve woke up after the ice with a new soulmark, and one that offended him no less, he made it his personal promise to hate the person that the universe chose to replace Bucky. Shame that the universe didn’t quite get the memo.

Part 9 of Sprint Towards Blackout (Happy Steve Bingo 2018)

Sergeant Hot Pants by cleo4u2 (oneshot | 11,798 | E)

When Sergeant Bucky Barnes is assigned to temporarily take over for Maria Hill, Steve can't quite keep his shit together. Not around Bucky, who is the hottest Alpha Steve's ever seen.

Lessons Are So Cold by herecomesbucktofuckshitup (complete | 57,575 | E)

Steve knows that he's small. He knows that someone has to go undercover at the local high school, and he knows that he was the right person for the job. He just wishes he wasn't. And Steve really really wishes that the cute boy he'd hooked up with the night before his mission hadn't turned out to one of his teachers.

Patience by cleo4u2 (oneshot | 5,073 | M)

You should never Google yourself. Steve knows that, he's been out of the ice for over a year, but he just can't help himself. After finding a gorgeous, sexy brunette thirst tweeting about calling him Daddy, he can't help himself from responding, either.

We Are The Lucky Ones by blithelybonny (oneshot | 28,563 | E)

The Soldiers will be drift compatible -- of that, there is no question. They were bred for perfect synchronicity; two halves of one whole, one mind in two perfect bodies.

But they cannot be allowed to remember. The drift may be catastrophic.

Seashore by Speranza (oneshot | 505 | not rated)

No Kind of Life by Speranza (oneshot | 1,995 | not rated)

"You know I have to do everything the hard way, Buck. It’s the fundamental fact of my nature.”

The Gentleness That Comes* by doctormccoy (oneshot | 8,566 | M) *sex work

Steve Rogers never really views the things he had to do to get by before the War with any sort of shame or embarrassment. People ask him for his opinions on modern issues in interviews, but Steve has gotten good at talking around those types of questions. Fury insists that there's no way to answer them without casting a shadow of controversy across the reputation of the Avengers, and that's the last thing Steve wants.

But then a sex tape is released featuring Tony Stark in bed with another man, and Steve can't stay quiet any longer.

Expressive Force by Avaaricious (oneshot | 3,795 | T)

AKA the "You punched me in the face while gesticulating wildly to a friend" AU

Part 1 of Meet-Ugly

Bite Your Tongue by Avaaricious (complete | 34,193 | T)

AKA the "I work at a department store and if you take out and unfold a shirt and then leave it one more time I'm going to stuff it down your throat" AU

Part 2 of Meet-Ugly

March

Misdemeanor by Avaaricious (complete | 9,140 | G)

Based off this tumblr post by peterssquill:

Some cop, unlucky enough to pull over Captain America of all people: Sir um could I see ur... uh... license?

Steve Rogers someone who never bothered to get one: ....no

Part 6 of Meet-Ugly

P.O.W. by Avaaricious (oneshot | 20,420 | T)

AKA the "You're strapped to a table in a lab and I've come to rescue you, but you think you're hallucinating and kiss me" AU

Part 5 of Meet-Ugly

Part 1 of Fixed Points

The New Super by gr8escap (oneshot | 3,001 | T)

Steve Rogers is trying to get comfortable in his almost affordable apartment and the New Superintendent of the building is a cruel distraction.

Part 6 of Happy Steve Rogers - [Bingo]

Seashore by Speranza (oneshot | 505 | not rated)

Fan the Flame by Avaaricious (WIP | 253,880 | M)

AKA the "I thought you were a dude-bro and meant to swipe left on Tinder but I slipped. We matched and now I'm stuck talking to you" AU

Part 4 of Meet-Ugly

Heckin' Chunker for Love by canistakahari (oneshot | 2,708 | T)

On the inside of the big floor to ceiling window of the office across the street, someone has used Post-it Notes to spell out a message:

W H A T I S Y O U R C A T ’ S N A M E ?

Like Playing With Fire by GoldBlooded, LeisurelyPanda, wilfling (complete | 33,567 | E)

James is heir to his family's business, brought over from Mother Russia by his great-grandfather in 1917. In 1918, an Irish organization also moved to Brooklyn, a little too close for comfort. They've been rivals for over a hundred years, and it can get pretty stressful. Sometimes James needs to blow off some steam, and if a handsome stranger named Grant wants to do the same, James certainly isn’t going to say no.

Steve, heir to the Irish family, has never met James Barnes. But they all know that he's an arrogant, dangerous enemy without honor, as evidenced by the way the Russians are crossing lines again. On the way to a 'meeting' between the two families, Steve doesn't spare his counterpart a single thought... because his head is swimming with a man named Bucky and the earth-shattering night they've just spent together.

How will Steve and James cope when they find out they're sworn blood enemies? What happens when the 'meeting' is sabotaged by an unknown third party? Will the Irish and Russians be able to look past ancient, ingrained hurts for the sake of survival? More importantly, will Steve and James be able to ignore the ever-growing attraction between them?

I’m a Sucker for a Wild Boy by jinlinli (complete | 9,897 | T)

Steve is a vampire who’s never met a werewolf in his life before. Bucky is a werewolf who doesn’t even know vampires exist. Naturally, neck biting means two very different things to them.

In which Steve goes for a midnight snack and accidentally gets himself werewolf married.

The Very Heart of It* by merryofsoul (restricted, oneshot | 17,743 | M) *graphic violence

In which Captain America adopts a dog from Bucky and they become friends — and then more.

A Piece of Silly Affection by Reccea (restricted, oneshot | 11,687 | E)

Steve looked good, He looked hale and hearty and uninjured in his leather jacket, too-tight shirt, and jeans. He got off the motorcycle and his movements were graceful and fluid - no obvious signs of injury. He took off his helmet and --

Oh.

Steve had a beard.

Bucky’s mechanical hand spasmed oddly.

Life of the Party by AggressiveWhenStartled (complete | 21,689 | E)

“You know, kids,” Steve heard from the backyard, “one of the most common threats a superhero has to face is inside an active volcano! We’re going to have to work on your evasion skills, so for the next five minutes, the floor is lava!” This was met by a sudden spike in both volume and pitch from the small children as they scrambled onto every raised surface they could find and immediately launched themselves right back off.

“I’ve never seen actual lava in my entire life,” Steve said, vaguely offended.

“You got a superhero impersonator for The Falcon’s niece’s birthday party,” Sam said, incredulous. “The Falcon, who is an actual superhero.”

#TweetMeDaddy by StarSpangled (Senforza) (oneshot | 4,127 | T)

Coulson, for his part, stares up at Bucky with such a betrayed look of frozen horror that Natasha actually goes the extra step and presses another button, capturing the moment and airdropping the photograph to her phone for posterity. When he speaks, his voice comes out as a hoarse whisper. “Why…?” He swallows and starts again, trying for some semblance of normality. “...Why would you tweet something like that?!”

“If you must know, sir,” and somehow he manages to make ‘sir’ come out with the same inflection most people reserve for ‘motherfucking son of a bitch’, “it’s because I have a difficult time doing my job when my job involves monitoring the man with the best fucking ass in the United States of America.” He slowly lowers himself back into his seat until he’s at eye level, making extreme eye contact with Coulson until Coulson turns away to make mortified eye contact in Natasha’s general direction through the one-way glass. Natasha would take another picture, if she weren’t too busy catching Steve’s red-faced sputtering. “Sometimes, I vent to my Twitter followers. Sometimes, it’s about hot men with washboard abs. Can I go now, or do you need a graphic description of how I pleasure myself at night?”

Bad Moon Rising by spacebuck (complete | 57,533 | E)

Bucky Barnes is a lot of things:

- a nurse - the owner of a dorky dog that's too big for his own good - a lot older than he looks (by a lot more than you’d guess) - one of the last born-werewolves of his generation (namely due to point number one)

He's also one of the most powerful werewolves in New York City, not that he uses that power for more than keeping up with his work and playing with his dog.

But, when the once-in-two-hundred-years lunar event known to wolves as the Triple Moon comes along, Bucky's more than a little peeved to get to Central Park to find cloud cover blocking the majority of the power the moon is supposed to be giving him.

And then he finds an unconscious man in a clearing.

He doesn't connect the two, though in retrospect he should have - witches are sneakier than they appear.

much tattoo about nothing by Deisderium (oneshot | 14,579 | E)

Steve Rogers gets a lot of email requests, but never one like this: James Barnes wants to use his healing factor to practice tattoos.

Turns out tattoos give Steve boners.

April

My Arms Were Made To Hold You by portraitofemmy, rainbow_marbles (oneshot | 55,101 | E)

Tired of being kept awake at night by a screaming baby, Bucky decides to take matters into his own hands. Mostly he wants a good night's sleep, but what he gets is a beautiful baby boy with big blue eyes, a lonely father trying to move on from tragedy, and a chance at a family he never expected to have.

Part 1 of Never Let You Go

Coming Up Aces by greenbergsays (oneshot | 1,771 | E)

Bucky Barnes is a charismatic, flirty asexual man that lives with his awkward pansexual best friend, Steve Rogers.

Part 7 of Tumblr Ficlets

Don't Let the Tide Come and Wash Us Away by alittlewicked, hey_you_with_the_face (oneshot | 10,039 | E)

There was a man standing in the shop. A man with Steve’s leather jacket wrapped tight around him – or at least a jacket that looked like his seal skin.

Anyway.

A really beautiful, young man with a strong build and broad shoulders was standing in the doorway. His wispy brown hair framing an expressive face with beautiful pouty lips, an adorably cleft chin, and steel grey eyes that remembered Steve of the stormy seas of Ireland, of his ancestors’ home.

Steve was unabashedly staring (sue him, it was his shop).

Or: the one where Steve, the selkie with a coffee shop like they wished they had at 2 Broke Girls, gets accidentally selkie-married to Bucky, the dryad who just came back from an extended tree time, and they are both just idiots in love at first sight.

The Roommate by layersofart (layersofsilence), Niitza (complete | 28,632 | T)

In which Steven G. Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America, gets a roommate. Who rapidly turns into his "roommate"—in the euphemistic sense of the word.

It takes SHIELD and the rest of the Avengers an absurd amount of time to notice.

Make My Wish Come True (all i want for christmas is you) by chicklette (complete | 27,516 | M)

Steve's spent his whole life pining for Bucky Barnes. Why should this year be any different?

A Holiday fic that begins on New Year's Eve and wraps up on Christmas Day.

Cause & Effect by Avaaricious (complete | 25,810 | T)

When Bucky falls from the train in the Alps, Steve will do whatever it takes to mount a rescue mission, consequences be damned.

One possible outcome continued from my fic P.O.W.

Part 2 of Fixed Points

And So It Goes by Avaaricious (oneshot | 9,267 | not rated)

Life goes on for Steve and Bucky as they enter a new century, but there are fixed points in the universe; things that are destined to play out a certain way no matter what.

Part 3 of Fixed Points

come as you are by silentwalrus (WIP | 10,897 | E)

Steve comes back to the States. He pursues truth, justice and the American way. Bucky comes back too. He pursues inebriation and intercourse.

Part 3 of Bucky Barnes Gets His Groove Back & Other International Incidents

Just This Once (The Everybody Lives Remix) by Dira Sudis (dsudis) (oneshot | 6,808 | T)

A way it could have happened.

Ain’t Gotta Hide This Heart of Mine by yourekindof_weird (oneshot | 3,882 | G)

“Uh, so listen, Steve,” Rebecca says. She seems nervous now and she’s biting her lip, “I don’t want to, uh, come across as rude or anything, but I don’t think a relationship between us would work out,” Rebecca fiddles with the straw wrapper from her cranberry juice, “Mr. Stark sort of sprung this on me and I agreed because I was sort of startled,” she makes eye contact with him, “but I’m actually pretty gay, so…” Steve can’t stop the sigh of relief that makes its way out of his mouth. ... Steve has been dating Bucky Barnes, an ER nurse, for over a year. None of the Avengers (excluding Sam) know about this. It leads to the Avengers (mainly Tony) trying to set Steve up on dates.

Kiss Me Once Again by ShowMeAHero (oneshot | 1,171 | T)

Steve’s quiet for a moment, then says, “I’m sorry, Buck.”

“Why?” Bucky says. “It’s been half a minute for me.”

Blood Is Thicker Than Carpet Cleaner by Alexicon (oneshot | 5,872 | T)

Just because it had been a joke didn’t mean it was a bad idea. Steve opened the phone book to the business section and searched fruitlessly for the right entries for about six minutes until he finally came across ‘Cl’ by sheer luck when a few pages stuck together as he turned them.

For some reason, his eyes were immediately drawn to a small, bleak ad in the corner, with only a few words, a phone number, and a thin black border.

The ad’s content:

“Winter’s Cleaning Services. Fees paid half up front. Specializes in blood removal.”

Well. That was. Specific.

Steve Rogers is Captain America, a superhero. Bucky Barnes is the Winter Soldier, an assassin. Steve needs someone to clean his apartment. Bucky shows up to a meeting with a potential client. Neither of them got quite what they expected.

Part 7 of marvel works

May

before we can breathe easy by belovedmuerto (oneshot | 22,052 | T)

No one touches Steve.

Bucky sets out to do something about that

Check, Mate? by talkplaylove-art (talkplaylove), wearing_tearing (oneshot | 1,938 | T) (reread)

A notification from Check, Mate? blinks back at him. Steve’s heart speeds up when he opens the app and then his face breaks into a blinding grin when sees what’s waiting for him.

James likes him back.

Part 1 of endgame

Part 5 of Happy Steve Bingo

Check, Mate! by talkplaylove, wearing_tearing (oneshot | 13,097 | E)

Bucky gasps and stares down at his crotch, sex-addled brain making it harder for him to focus on what the fuck is going on. Steve himself takes a second to realize what the fuck just happened, but when he does, well.

“Did you just fuckin’ knot me?” Steve asks, eyes wide and voice loud with shock.

Or the one where Steve and Bucky meet on a dating app, and everything happens way faster than anyone expects.

Part 2 of endgame

You Will Meet a Stranger by spitandvinegar (restricted, oneshot | 3,061 | M) (reread)

When the mask falls off Steve recoils.

He'll never forgive himself.

Idioglossia by hotelmichelle (oneshot | 20,434 | M)

“James and Steve. If I have to tell you one more time to stop talking, you will be separated. Do you understand?”

Bucky stares up at Mrs. Wheatley with the face that gets him out of trouble when his ma is in a good mood. Steve becomes suddenly fascinated with his correction work. It would have been convincing enough, if their papers weren’t blank.

Or: Steve and Bucky make up a secret language

Part 1 of secret language 'verse

My Arms Were Made To Hold You by portraitofemmy, rainbow_marbles (oneshot | 55,101 | E)

Part 1 of Never Let You Go

Don't Let the Tide Come and Wash Us Away by alittlewicked, hey_you_with_the_face (oneshot | 10,039 | E)

There was a man standing in the shop. A man with Steve’s leather jacket wrapped tight around him – or at least a jacket that looked like his seal skin.

Anyway.

Steve was unabashedly staring (sue him, it was his shop).

Super Soak That Ho by silentwalrus (oneshot | 1,434 | T)

It all starts with them going to a movie. “Let’s see this one,” Steve says, pointing to the listing for ARRANGERS: RAGE OF MEGATRON. “It’s supposed to be based on a true story.”

“Fine,” Bucky says. They go to the movies.

This is crack, guys. Expect no redeeming features here.

liquid measure by silentwalrus (oneshot | 2,594 | M)

Just a normal domestic afternoon with two supersoldiers.

sneeze disease by silentwalrus (oneshot | 5,540 | M)

Bucky starts to believe in a vengeful god on May the twelfth, year of our Lord two thousand and fucking eighteen, because that’s the day he makes fun of Clint Barton for carrying around a dainty little packetful of tissues in his pocket and honking into them like a congested donkey every fifteen minutes. “Fucking polleb,” Clint swears, wiping at his watering eyes. “Fucking claritin. Fucking zyrtec. Fucking bastards, all of dem.”

“What’s happened to your pokeymen now?” Bucky asks distractedly, not looking away from where Natasha is very slowly setting the last Joker on her vast, exquisitely balanced house of cards.

“Dat’s not - dey’re not pokémon,” Clint says, aggrieved. “Dey’re drugs. And dey don’t work for me.”

couples therapy by silentwalrus, skellerbvvt (series, ongoing | 19,275 | E)

“You can be rougher,” Bucky says. “If you want.”

They’re about four minutes post orgasm and Steve is still trying to figure out where his legs are. “Muh?”

snackfic by galwednesday, silentwalrus, skellerbvvt (series, ongoing | 12,300 | G-T)

Convenience series for my off the cuff ficlets, largely unrelated to each other or my other works unless stated otherwise

death of an artist by silentwalrus (oneshot | 2,237 | G)

our intrepid heroes take a day trip to sunny, idyllic Giverny.

ain't really quaint by quietnight, silentwalrus (complete | 44,045 | M)

Natasha stops by on a Tuesday, early enough in the morning that it would have been late by Steve’s old standards. Now, though, it takes him nearly three minutes just to limp to the door, yawning, and when he opens it he has to lean heavily on the doorframe.

“Hi,” Natasha says, over the beginnings of birdsong. She’s not alone. “Can we come in?”

Part 1 of farm hell

You Sure Are Looking Good by Defiler_Wyrm, the_genderman (oneshot | 7,002 | E)

When your boyfriend’s a werewolf, some roleplay scenarios just fall into place so naturally. Bucky’s got some fancy lingerie, a danger kink, and a Red Riding Hood roleplay brewing up. Steve’s ready, willing, and eager to play his Big Bad Wolf.

at first chance i'd take the bed warmed by the body by spacebuck (oneshot | 8,238 | E)

This close, Steve can see exactly how beautiful his hands are. He’s never really noticed before, or at least he’s never really had a reason to notice, but the man’s hands are large, tanned like he works outside all day. There’s an endearing callus on the heel of one of his palms, and Steve can’t quite work out when calluses became endearing.

Steve pauses the video. Swallows hard. Casts his eyes around for anything that’ll keep his mind off the hands on his screen, off the words inked into those hands, the delicate shape of a bird’s wing, the curling edge of a vine.

He looks down. The name of the channel is right there, blaring the man’s name right into Steve’s brain until it feels like he’s known it all along.

Bucky Barnes.

OR: the one where Bucky's a youtuber who solves puzzles on camera, and steve's smitten and horny

Chlorophyll by Plumcot (series, ongoing | 19,095 | T)

Steve Rogers doesn't have time for your fancy relaxation. He doesn't have time for your comfy pillows, or your body wash, or your chamomile tea that tastes like plant matter with a side of "why". Steve Rogers only wants one thing in life; to work until the end of days, because at least then he can say he didn't waste his time on Earth doing nothing.

Bucky Barnes has flowers in his hair and chlorophyll in his skin, and he doesn't have time to be stressed. Why would he, when there's rain to dance in, sun to bask in, and philodendrons to talk to? So he is, understandably, very worried about his (sadly) human neighbor who wouldn't stop and smell the roses if he faceplanted in a flower bed. Obviously something must be done.

Steve isn't all that happy when a green-skinned stranger shows up at his door and tries to give him a plant.

June

get it together by silentwalrus (oneshot | 2,089 | T)

“You wanna go out?”

Boeuf Mystère by galwednesday (oneshot | 1,230 | T)

“Quick question,” Bucky said.

Steve looked up, but didn’t stop moving passports and stacks of cash into a nondescript blue duffel, his mind busily ticking through logistics. He’d grab the glock taped behind the hidden drawer in the desk on their way out, and they could buy new clothes once they got across the border into neutral territory, so they didn’t need much else, apart from whatever Bucky wanted to bring. One duffle should be enough. “Yeah, honey?”

“What the fuck.”

Part 12 of Tumblr ficlets 2018

Part 1 of Steakout au Poivre

The Sins of Our Fathers* by inflomora, noirhound (complete | 33,943 | M) *graphic violence

His family called him Bucky.

The arenas in Athens called him the Winter Soldier.

The Spartan Brotherhood calls him Iakov. He defends the light from the dark that once coursed through his veins.

When the location of the Tesseract—a powerful Piece of Eden—is made known to the Brotherhood by a pair of Assassins from Athens, it is up to Iakov and his men to secure it before the Order of Hydra does, and it will take the cooperation of both Bureaus to succeed. His job is not made easier when he finds himself falling for his commanding officer, a certain blond Athenian Assassin who hides a powerful secret.

But they are not the only ones after the Tesseract. With the fate of the world hanging in the balance, a dangerous enemy looming unseen over their shoulders, and nobody left to trust, they must find and bring the Tesseract to Athens before it falls into the wrong hands—that is, if they manage to survive the trip.

Part 1 of Death is A Debt (We All Must Pay)

might never be normal again (but who cares) by napricot (complete | 51,540 | E)

The beginnings of a plan took shape in Steve’s mind, as clear and simple as a tactical frontal assault. He’d prove to Bucky that this was it, he was staying: Steve was retired from the fighting game, Steve wasn’t going to let anything keep pulling them apart. Maybe then when Steve finally told him he loved him, Bucky would believe him.

All things considered, Steve thought he’d handled the whole Thanos killing half the universe thing and the ensuing bitter, desperate quest to defeat him pretty well. Sacrificing his super soldier serum to use one of the Infinity Stones wasn't a problem either, not when it meant getting back the half of the universe they'd lost, and especially not when it meant getting Bucky back. But retirement and finally confessing his feelings for Bucky? Those were proving to be more challenging.

can't hardly weight by stevergrsno (noxlunate) (oneshot | 3,760 | T)

When Steve Rogers woke up in the future he was given a phone and shown how to use social media.

Well, no, in all actuality he was given a two week crash course entitled The Future And You, a six hour sensitivity course, a brand new id, and a credit card.

In which Steve gets a crush on an instagram gym thot and laments over it a lot to the intern stuck with him.

The Art Of Cooking For Two by littleblackfox (complete | 92,761 | M) (reread)

“Any questions?” “Uh. What the fuck am I doing here?” Bucky offers.

I just met you (and this is crazy) by littlesystems (complete | 41,784 | E)

After Steve gets outed by a grainy cell phone picture, it takes the media less than 24 hours to discover Captain America’s secret relationship with James Barnes: classical musician, teen heartthrob, and son of a former president.

The only problem? Steve has never met James Barnes in his life.

Part 1 of I just met you (and extras)

All of Your Love is Sunlight by canistakahari, WarlockInTraining (complete | 22,657 | E)

Sometimes the path to happiness involves bad timing turned good, a butt plant, and a little everyday magic. For Steve and Bucky, it's all that and more.

Dirty Pics by lillupon (oneshot | 3,117 | M)

There’s this one guy Bucky slept with three months ago who still sends pics of his ass whenever Bucky asks. What can he say? Grant’s got an ass that just won’t quit.

Hey, Asshole! A New York City Love story by bunnymaccool (oneshot | 14,818 | T)

Bucky's running late for the bus and he's stuck in line behind some ridiculous shoulder to waist ratio bastard who's too busy flirting with the baristas to get his frickin' order in. After he tells the dude off, completely in his rights he feels, the damn oversized puppy-faced ass keeps following him around and trying to apologize. And okay, dude is hot like burnin', but Bucky just doesn't have the time or patience for soothing the wounded ego of some gymrat wannabe with an obsession for dressing like he's hiding from the mob and .... why are you laughing, Sam?

Part 1 of New York City Assholes

Snapshots by layersofart (layersofsilence), newsbypostcard (oneshot | 18,579 | M)

Steve picks up the picture to be sure of what he saw, but there's been no mistake. "It doesn't even have a Navy stamp," he says, turning the photo toward her. "What is this?"

"Are you asking me?"

"It looks like a pin-up."

"Yes," Natasha agrees. "It does."

---

Post TWS: Steve is trying to find Bucky. Instead, he finds the sexy Navy "propaganda" Bucky somehow never mentioned he modeled for before the war.

I Wished On The Moon For You by stevergrsno (noxlunate) (oneshot | 14,581 | T)

“Holy shit,” Sam says, and then delighted, “Holy shit. You look like my nana’s dog. This is incredible.”

“Yeah, funny that, when they gave him the serum it only really worked on the human bits.” Bucky, whose reaction to Sam thus far has been standoffish at best, and like a wolf whose territory has been invaded at worst, sounds amused, the asshole.

Steve growls a little.

Or rather: A story in which Steve Rogers is the littlest werewolf who could and Bucky Barnes comes in from the cold and makes him his home.

Love in a Time of War by cleo4u2, cobaltmoony (complete | 20,775 | G)

James Barnes is a world renowned opera singer who has dreamed of performing in an opera composed by Steve Rogers. When his dream finally comes true, he quickly regrets what he’s always wished for. But while Steve can’t stand James, Bucky can’t stop wishing they could have some kind of future together. Will Steve realize he’s wrong about Bucky? Or is the damage from their first meeting too much to overcome?

Brooklyn by togina (oneshot | 8,749 | T)

"Captain America, what's your stance on gay marriage?"

Everyone knows that, by now. Everyone but Bucky.

I [Heart] You by writeonclara (oneshot | 1,138 | G)

“Steve’s been hit with a curse,” Natasha said. She said it calmly, so Bucky didn’t immediately go flying out of the apartment to tear apart the Tower in search of Steve. Then again, Natasha would probably be calm if New York City spontaneously burst into flames. He lowered the coffee pot and squinted at her.

“Of course he has,” he said. He felt, abruptly, exhausted. “What is it?”

“The witch kept ranting about sexual repression and archaic moral principles,” she continued blithely.

“It’s not like you to prevaricate, Romanov.”

Natasha pressed her lips together. For a moment, Bucky thought she might start laughing. “It might be easier just to show you.”

OR: Steve’s been hit with a rather telling curse.

Ruff Day by ellebeesknees (umetnica), emptydistractions (complete | 20,570 | M)

Bucky's life is a mess: The US government's been breathing down his neck ever since his trial, the Avengers are a constant pain in his ass, and putting his brain back together hasn't exactly been a walk in the park. This wasn't exactly what he had in mind when he fled Hydra.

He's doing okay, but what he doesn't need is any extra stress. And what he definitely doesn't need is for Steve to tangle with an amateur sorcerer and end up a massive, overly friendly, eighty-pound, shedding, slobbering dog. That Bucky's now responsbile for. For the foreseeable future.

But hey, silver lining. At least now Steve can't talk him to death.

This Side by brideofquiet (restricted, complete | 35,321 | T)

Bucky Barnes restores antiques for a living. Steve Rogers saves the world. Bucky has no reason to believe their paths will ever cross, right up until they do.

Or: the Notting Hill AU.

Behold, a Man by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen) (oneshot | 9,296 | T)

At sunrise tomorrow, Bucky knew he was going to turn into a rooster. He wasn't sure if it was better or worse knowing it was coming. What he did know was that it didn't matter where he slept: his room, Steve's room, Stark's lab—it was going to happen. The curse of the were-cock had struck and there was no escaping. As the elevator carried them back down to their floor, he started chuckling.

Steve gave him a look of concern.

Bucky waved it away. "Just thinking. Curse of the Were-cock'd probably make a lousy movie."

Steve snorted, then said thoughtfully, "I don't know. Maybe it depends on what sort of movie you're making."

Rusted Gate by hafital (oneshot | 19,677 | E)

How many times has he replayed this scene? The young private, the forest path, the rusted gate. Steve and him. This last chance to tell him. He knows what’s about to happen. Why can’t he tell him? How many times has he tried to change how it ends? Maybe this time, he can get it right.

Honestly, Fuck Brooklyn by stfustucky (iwillpaintasongforlou) (oneshot | 8,243 | E)

So, aliens are attacking and have shredded Brooklyn to smithereens, which pretty much makes it a typical Tuesday afternoon in New York. Bucky Barnes, long time Brooklyn resident, has Been There and Done That. What's less typical is the redhead who breaks into his apartment to rescue him, the underground bunker he's stashed in, and the sudden appearance of masked superhero Captain America kissing Bucky breathless and calling him baby. Good thing Bucky knows how to throw a punch.

((Or, the one where it takes yet another apocalypse for the somewhat oblivious Bucky Barnes to figure out that his dorky artist boyfriend Steve is actually Captain Goddamned America. Whoops.))

I saw you there, I saw you then by cleo4u2, xantissa (oneshot | 19,320 | E)

An accidental slide of a thumb brings Steve and Bucky back together.

Art Nouveau by voluptuous_panic (oneshot | 12,246 | E)

Steve's on the worst date of his life. At least the bartender's cute.

No One Wants Your Opinion by thepinupchemist (oneshot | 5,600 | E)

Wherein Bucky loves to cuddle Steve Rogers, Steve comes out on national television for the sole purpose of spiting conservative politicians, Tony sees things he wishes he hadn't, and Pepper doesn't know why she even bothers.

July

Honey Honey* by justanotherStonyfan (series, ongoing | 544,594 | E) */others, past but explicit

The kid is maybe, oh, twenty years younger than him? Clean-shaven, and looking out of the corner of his eye at Steve in the same way Steve feels he must be looking at the kid – i.e., like he wants to do any number of unmentionable things to him.

Because boy does Steve ever want to do unspeakable things to this kid.

AKA, the Accidental Sugardaddy!Steve AU I always wanted.

Through The Woods by alby_mangroves, VenusMonstrosa (complete | 64,082 | E)

There’s a legend in Mansewood, nearly as old as the town itself, about a pack of werewolves that once lived in the forest. They say only one survives; a monstrous and snarling beast with fur like a blizzard and fangs the size of daggers. They say it guards the lands and all creatures in it, and no hunter has faced it and lived to tell the tale.

Steve doesn’t care about any of that. He only wants to know if it prefers T-Bone or ribeye, and would it please stop tracking dirt through his house? He just mopped the floor.

Part 1 of Through The Woods

streamlined by nickel710 (series, ongoing | 56,248 | G-M)

In which Bucky Barnes, Iraq war veteran and bicycle enthusiast, streams Overwatch on the side for fun under the handle President15, and one day his friend-of-a-friend FalconKnight introduces a new player to the crew, THECapRogers. It would be totally absurd for the actual Captain America to hang out in his stream and argue about baseball, right? ...right?

BuckRogers vs. the Internet by galwednesday (series, complete | 5,642 | T-M)

“Remember what I said about internet trolls?”

“Don’t feed the trolls.”

“Exactly. Did I not say the same thing to Barnes?” Tony asked rhetorically. “Were those not my exact words? I could have sworn they were, and yet.”

“Bucky’s feeding the trolls?”

“He’s throwing a goddamn seven-course troll banquet. Every time someone on Twitter asks if your relationship announcement is real, he replies. Colorfully.”

Steve opened his mouth to ask what “colorfully” meant, then caught the gleam in Tony’s eye and put two and two together. He blushed. Colorfully. “Oh.”

(Steve and Bucky announce their relationship in a very dignified press conference. Bucky then replies to every goddamn tweet asking him to confirm it with a different dirty euphemism. Things escalate from there.)

Just About Half-Past Ten by rohkeutta (oneshot | 1,978 | T)

But as he reaches Madison Avenue, Stark Tower a mere block away, the skies open with a whoosh, and he barely manages to duck under the construction scaffolding perched over the sidewalk. Thunder rumbles overhead, and Bucky frantically checks every compartment of his bag for an umbrella he knows is there.

It’s not. He does find some loose glitter, though, and a lipstick he wore for Pride and had thought he’d lost, plus a spare MetroCard he can’t remember buying.

He also gets a crystal clear flashback of leaving the umbrella under his desk to dry yesterday morning, and never picking it up again.

Leave Those Umbrellas At Home by rohkeutta (oneshot | 2,441 | T)

Bucky watches the watery snow come down and thinks about it, his mood deflating steadily. He imagines Steve going home the next morning, sitting down at his desk and opening his Super-Secret Sexcapade Journal and writing Bucky’s name in next to a carefully-thought Preparation & Performance Grade.

B+ for the effort to look nice naked, C- for being embarrassingly vanilla and wanting to do it face-to-face so he could scritch his fingers through Steve’s beard and hair. Not worth a repetition. Kinky Grade: F.

Bucky’s being uncharitable and he knows it, but Hangry Barnes can be a sad sack of shit when he wants to.

Page One Rewrite by thedoubteriswise (oneshot | 3,008 | T)

World War II enthusiasts and film geeks rejoice! Much like the Sentinel of Liberty himself, a few reels of missing Cap footage have been brought back to life.

We're All in the Gutter, but Some of Us Are Looking at the Stars by chipofftheoldblock (complete | 45,045 | M)

I’m sorry, sir,’ he said, and Maria looked a little appeased, though now she was gesturing for him to get off stage. And then he smiled real big and wide and sincere and said, ‘Guess I’m just real fuckin’ tired of everyone treating me like an idiot. To answer your question, ain’t a lot I really miss. Polio was pretty fuckin’ awful, and so was the food, and the racism and homophobia and hatred so many folks had for one another for dumb-as-shit differences was so goddamn stupid -’

Maria was suddenly on stage beside him, pulling his microphone away and grabbing his arm with a steel grip. Steve just leaned over to Nat’s mic with a shit-eating grin on his face and said, ‘Thank you so much for your time.’

Steve's tired of the world treating him like he doesn't know a damn thing about the future. Bucky's tired of not knowing a damn thing about the past.

They meet somewhere in the middle.

when he gets older, he might be the one* by cobaltmoony, CoraRochester (complete | 32,398| E) *underage

In which a freak run-in with the Cosmic Cube ages Steve into his fifties, and Bucky— still trying to figure out who he is after decades of brainwashing— decides it’s time to come home.

Part 1 of when he gets older, he might be the one

crowding the hitter by rooonil_waazlib (complete | 12,917 | E)

But the trash monsters are coming closer, and Bucky’s going to be pissed if he has to get his grate replaced tomorrow.

He turns off the panini press, heads into his bedroom, and pulls his college baseball bat out of the closet, pausing only to pull on the slacks he’d just taken off. He’s going to go defend his shop, and he’s not going to do it in his underpants.

Nobody Likes Unsolicited Dick Pics (Except When They Do)* by Blondie_Bluue (complete | 21,864 | E) *chose not to warn

When Bucky Barnes accidentally sends a dick pic to a wrong number while looking for a little action, he never expected to get a positive response.

Feelings are caught, drama ensues, things work out in the end

i'm a ghost, you're an angel (one and the same) by voxofthevoid (complete | 31,133 | E)

“You fucked him.”

Bucky licks his lips and nods. Fury lets out a deep breath and leans back in his chair in a movement that’s terrifyingly controlled but spills danger out the edges.

“Twenty years,” Fury says slowly, taking special care to imbue each word with his personal brand of bone-chilling judgement. It used to make Bucky quiver in his boots back when he was a baby S.H.I.E.L.D agent with two functional arms. “In that time, I have asked, threatened, coaxed, and damn near begged this man to work for us, or at least with us, and what finally gets it done is your dick?”

“Ass.”

“Excuse me?”

“Listen, I’m not saying any part of my anatomy is what persuaded Commander Rogers to agree to this, but hypothetically, if that’s what did it, let’s just say he would have found my ass far more persuasive than my dick.” Bucky pauses, secretly relishing the sour-lemon look on Fury’s face. “It still hurts, in case you’re wondering.”

- Steve tries to seduce Bucky over to the dark side. But the Avengers are more grey than dark, and it’s still a paler shade of grey than what S.H.I.E.L.D’s got going nine times out of ten. Bucky really should be more concerned about the seduction part.

Part 2 of i'm guilty of treason (i've abandoned control)

turn me up when you feel low by faerietell (oneshot | 13,891 | T) (reread)

Steve Rogers is a man out of time, in a city that used to be his home, a city he no longer recognizes. Through charming radio host, Bucky Barnes, he relearns his city, adopts a dog, and falls in love.

August

A lot of Good Omens reading happened in August.

When the Season Comes Around by theheartischill (oneshot | 34,447 | T)

The other problem is that Steve loves him, and Bucky isn't sure he remembers how to love.

Despicable by TheVagabondBoy (series, ongoing | 8,450 | T)

Bucky Barnes just wants to scavenge spaceship-wrecks and get a nice payday for it. He really wasn't planning on finding a survivor on his latest wreck.

The Joy of Little Things by obsessivereader, Sealcat (complete | 29,744 | E)

"Do you want me to eat you?"

"But you don’t look very filling." The tip of the dragon’s tail twitched. "I don’t suppose you’re a virgin?" he asked hopefully. "I’ve heard they taste better."

"Well? Come on, tribute."

or, how Steve ends up working for a dragon with a very odd sense of humor

Quench by AidaRonan (complete | 9,417 | E)

This guy, he had never met. He definitely wouldn’t have forgotten it if he had. Shaggy dishwater blond hair run through with natural golden highlights, a thick brown beard, and a body like a Mack truck made out of ribeye.

“Fuck me,” Bucky gasped.

“Excuse me?” Or the one where archeology intern Bucky Barnes meets actual archeologist Steve Rogers and reaches levels of thirst scientists once believed to be theoretically impossible.

haha, jk by relenafanel (oneshot | 13,523 | T)

(A tale of Not Unrequited Love)

Steve: I love you. Bucky: oh no. (and other fallacies)

Bucky learns to never say never when it comes to the effect his best friend can have.

Like Real People Do by 2bestfriends (complete | 67,777 | E)

Seven years into an isolated retirement after the Battle of New York, Steve has carved out a place for himself in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains. He has a best friend (his dog, Lady), a frenemy (a local black bear named Rufus), and a cabin in the middle of the woods, an hour's drive from the nearest town. As November comes to a close, he heads into town to pick up supplies and ends up with a stowaway.

Bucky hasn't had much luck over the past seven years. Disaster caused his family to move from New York to Indiana, and his life has steadily fallen apart ever since. After one too many heartbreaks, he decides to hitch his way back to the last place he remembers being happy: Brooklyn. He's in the homestretch when he finds himself stranded in a half-empty tourist town in the Catskills and decides to take a chance crawling into the back of someone's truck.

AKA the "Lumberjack Steve/Twink Bucky" fic of our hearts. Bucky spends so much time thirsty as hell.

Part 1 of All That You Are to Me

Pod Bless America by Deisderium (complete | 6,13 | T)

Bucky can't believe his favorite podficcer recorded his newest fanfic AU of the show Commandos. He's even more surprised when the customer who busts him listening to fic while he's working in the office supply store turns out to be that podficcer.

* The guy—maybe bi_shield?—took his phone, looked down at the screen, and smiled. "Yeah, that one's mine," he said with no evidence of embarrassment. "It was a good one." He handed the phone back to Bucky.

"I wrote it," Bucky croaked.

Thunder and Ice* by Quarra, TrishArgh (complete | 18,027 | E) *tagged rape/noncon for mentions of sex pollen

Bucky is back with Steve in Avengers Tower and recovering well from his time with Hydra and the Avengers are working together better than ever too; but Steve still feels like something is missing in his life. At the urging of his loved ones, Steve takes up creative writing in his free time to help him regain a sense of happiness and purpose.

And his favorite subject to write about? Having sex with Bucky.

It turns out that other people seem to like what he's writing about too. So much so that Steve picks up a pen name and becomes a published romance novelist. But how long can Steve's secret smut writings stay secret, especially given who he's writing about and how public it becomes?

Be Careful What You Post on the Internet by itshysterekal (oneshot | 19,117 | E)

Bucky just wants to get on to the next mission, but the therapist he's forced to see insists he take up a hobby. Cue his writing of highly explicit Avengers RPF to make fun of Stark and his headlong dive into social media. He never expected a hobby to change his life.

September

THE Steve Rogers PROBLEM by relenafanel (series, ongoing | 85,015 | T-M)

Meet SSA Bucky Barnes: Hostage Rescue Team member extraordinaire. He loves his job, his body, and hooking up. He hates civilians and local enforcement officers trying to do his job and fucking everything to shit.

Meet Bucky Barnes: fan of the television show The Howling Commandos extraordinaire. He loves writing fanfic, creating fanart, and staring at Steve Rogers' ass. He hates the long journey of doing the necessary physical therapy on his arm (and also that no one told him he knows Steve Rogers).

Meet Bucky Barnes: Steve Rogers' boyfriend. He loves Steve. He hates the idea of that being his sole identity.

Green (Heart)-Eyed Monster by TheIntelligentHufflepuff (oneshot | 1,822 | T)

He shakes his head, tries to turn away. But his eyes rove back, insatiable. Steve is spinning Sam, goofily. Sam stumbles, and Steve instinctively grabs Sam to his chest to keep him up.

For a wild, petty moment, Bucky wishes he'd just fall.

[Post-Endgame, except an Endgame where nobody died. Bucky gets drunk and jealous at the after-party, but makes up with Sam and gets together with Steve the next day]

Love's Just a Feeling by fadefilter, Mystrana (complete | 26,359 | E)

Not Without You is on tour, and the lucky fans at their sold out shows are always treated to the best show: great music and excellent entertainment, courtesy of Steve and Bucky, who can't seem to keep their hands off of each other—both onstage and off.

The tour's almost over, but Steve's got a bit of a problem. Despite constantly reassuring the rest of the band that neither of them will develop feelings...

...he's pretty sure he's developed some feelings.

No Retreat, Baby, No Surrender by itsnotbleak (complete | 39,792 | T)

"You think your old army buddy is working at Subway?”

“Of course not,” said Steve, trying to sound like he thought the idea was ludicrous. “Bucky died in 1944. I just...” He didn’t know what to say, so he slapped on his best lonely soldier face and lied. “It’s just it’s nice to pretend for a bit, you know?”

“No,” said Natasha. “It sounds deeply unhealthy, but you do you.”

In which Steve finds a man that looks a lot like Bucky making sandwiches in a Brooklyn subway. Except Bucky died seventy years ago, and this guy shows no sign of remembering Steve.

The Boy With The Thorn In His Side by BetteNoire (WeAreWolves) (restricted, complete | 21,980 | E)

“Holy shit,” says Steve. “I’ve been knocked out twice by the same guy.”

Introduction to Fake Dating Your Best Friend 101 by crinklefries (oneshot | 24,627 | T)

Bucky stares at his best friend as though he’s absolutely lost what’s left of his dumbass mind.

“Excuse me?” he asks dumbly.

Steve sighs and sags back onto the couch, covering his face dramatically with one large, well-manicured hand.

“Dean Coulson thinks we’re dating. And gay. But like, for each other. And now I need you to fake date me so I can convince the Chancellor to fund my research.”

or;

Steve and Bucky are a pair of professors who have to fake date for academic purposes and are real dumb along the way. It's not so much a forest of pine as a whole landscape of it. It turns out fine, probably.

Beyond the Yellow Book Road by crinklefries (complete | 30,057 | T)

Before he was Captain America, he was Steve Rogers, knobby kneed and wild-eyed, with scrapes on his knuckles and a book in his hands.

In 1942, he leaves for war and eventually crashes the Valkyrie.

That's only the beginning of his story.

In 2011, Steve's body is dragged from ice off the coast of Greenland.

In 2015, he meets a bookstore clerk.

This is what happens when a superhero loses his way home and the only way back is through the Yellow Book Road.

October

In The Next Life We'll Be Good by Nori (series, ongoing | 83,018 | M) (reread)

Steve is resurrected 500 years into the future. Humanity is on the brink of extinction, hostile aliens are clawing at the door, and the only thing standing in the way are Guardians. Figuring out how, exactly, to be a Guardian doesn't come easily for Steve, no matter how much he wants to protect the innocent. Luckily for him, he has friends who're more than willing to show him the way.

---

Breaking your hand doesn’t actually help in any way,” a voice says from behind him. Steve twists at the waist, less surprised than he probably ought to be.

“Hey,” Steve says, feeling a smile breaking over his face. “You’re all about clandestine meetings, huh?”

“Maybe I wanted to be a spy in my last life,” the scout replies breezily, drifting like a shadow to stand adjacent to Steve.

Far Strayed* by eyres (complete | 18,344 | M) *chose not to warn

They’re not going to stop coming after me,” Bucky tells Steve, somewhere in the air above Siberia.

“Let them come,” Steve replies, furious still.

After Siberia, instead of seeking refuge in Wakanda, Bucky and Steve go on the run.

The Biggest Part of Me* by Anna_Heyward (complete | 69,992 |E) *chose not to warn

Newly divorced single dad Steve Rogers moves his kids from the suburbs to Brooklyn to start their new life together, and becomes captivated by the young man who works at the coffee shop downstairs from Steve’s apartment.

Bucky Barnes is 25 years old, working part-time in a coffee shop and still living with his mom. When a handsome single dad in a pinch offers Bucky a job as his nanny, Bucky takes him up on it.

(AU of the movie The Rebound.)

Part 1 of The Biggest Part of Me 'verse

Knit One, Purl Two, Is How I Say "I Love You"* by Ignisentis (oneshot | 4,636 | T) *chose not to warn

Bucky looks up from the book he’s reading at the sound of the familiar gentle clacking of the wooden needles Steve has always preferred to use when he’s knitting. He used to knit back in the day whenever he wasn’t drawing. He said it helped calm him down, that he liked making things, especially for Bucky, that it made him feel like he was contributing more since it was hard for him to hold down a regular job.

Bucky thought it was all of those things but also that Steve Rogers was never the kind of man who could keep his hands still.

He used to knit Bucky socks and hats and scarves whenever he could get his hands on some yarn. He’d always wanted to make a sweater but never could get the same kind of yarn in sweater quantities.

Now, though. Now Bucky has a handful of sweaters that Steve’s made for him: a cable-knit fisherman’s sweater with a shawl collar; a simple pullover; a replica of Steve’s WWII dancing monkey sweater he wore on stage that Steve gave him with a smirk; a chunky Tweed cardigan with elbow patches; the lightest, most sumptuous cashmere henley-style pullover; even a Fair Isle with the Ghostbusters symbol worked into the yoke. Fuck, but Bucky loves that movie. And the sweater.

i just called to say i love you* by brideofquiet (oneshot | 7,895 | T) */others

Both times Steve makes a fool of himself in front of the soccer coach, it’s mostly an accident.

Grass, Fire, Water? My Only Weakness Is You! by powercrow (complete | 52,725 | E)

Steve first notices Bucky at a Pokémon GO raid at the local Target.

He’s immediately intrigued, but interpersonal relationships have been a real struggle since his mother’s death. Bucky’s not without his own bullshit after the disastrous end of a prior relationship. PoGo somehow brings them together anyways, and they become friends, catch lots of Pokémon, deal with their issues, and eventually fall in love.

November

You can't hurry love by obsessivereader (oneshot | 8,547 | E)

“Jesus!” Steve hurries forward. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Before he’s even halfway into the room, the man’s already on his feet and turning around. He has a face as perfect as his ass. High forehead, square jaw, pink lips with a hint of a natural pout. Short, wavy, dark brown hair. His wide, deep-set eyes are a clear and luminous gray. Those eyes widen as the man takes in the sight of Steve staring at him.

Something about that wide-eyed, slightly nervous look catches at Steve’s memory. “Bucky?”

Steve remembers a shy, sweet teenager, with soft round cheeks, eyes too big for his face, and a wild head of hair. If this really is Bucky, some time in the last few years, he grew into his face and is now so gorgeous that Steve’s having a little trouble breathing. The lean, toned body beautifully displayed by a black shirt and gray pants don’t help the breathing situation either.

“You… have a beard now,” Bucky says faintly.

or, Bucky finally gets to do something about his decades-long crush on his best friend's older brother...

Part 1 of Happy Steve Bingo!

Stay with Me* by em_dibujsb, maikurosaki (complete | 79,903 | E) *graphic violence

When Bucky Barnes accompanies his family to a ceremony dedicated to George Barnes' activity, he expects free food and drinks, the occasional boring speech, and watching his dad blush furiously as he gets to finally meet his childhood hero. What he doesn't expect is saving Captain America's life and getting shot in the process. What follows is a slow road to recovery, eating hospital food (still disgusting), making new friends (Avengers!!! Seriously, the Avengers!) and pining over Captain America (he won't comment on that). It sounds simple, but it really isn’t!

Anything You Ask by thepinupchemist (oneshot | 6,187 | E)

A skinny blond kid appears in Bucky's candy store, and when her frantic father comes looking for her, Bucky doesn't realize he just met his mate. Over the course of several months, he falls in love with Steve Rogers and his daughter. Fortunately, they love him right back.

Poppies of the Field* by kaasknot (complete | 63,417 | M) *chose not to warn, temporary major character death

"Thank you for purchasing a StarkTech Companion 'Bot! Please state your name for licensing."

Wherein Bucky is a severely agoraphobic combat veteran, and Steve is the android he buys out of loneliness.

So Alive by GottaSaveBucky (Cosmic_Entity_1of4) (complete | 108,978 | E)

A man wearing a light denim jacket over a dark blue shirt came into the shop, a box tucked under his right arm. Despite it being late afternoon, he was wearing sunglasses with bright blue lenses, and his long, dark hair was pulled back in a messy little bun. A few strands had escaped, framing his strong, unshaven jawline. The man looked into the café, smiled widely, and waved in Clint’s direction as he kept walking into the bookstore, and Steve’s mouth went completely dry.

Beautiful, was the only word to describe that smile; straight, white teeth framed by full, lush, red lips, bracketed by laugh lines and an adorable dimple in his right cheek, a charming little chin cleft just visible under the light stubble—Steve was struck literally speechless. And that was before he got a glimpse of the man’s backside. Slim hips and a round, firm-looking ass led to long, lean legs that were encased in snug, dark blue jeans.

“Guh,” Steve said, watching the dark-haired man continue on to the back of the store.

__________

A bookstore AU starring our favorite OTP, set to the song “So Alive” by Love and Rockets (from their fourth album “Love and Rockets,” 1989).

** COMPLETED **

Part 1 of Brooklyn Heights Books

backs treat boys by rohkeutta (oneshot | 2,570 | M)

“What? No, you’re not boring,” Steve protests, bless his heart. “It’s just—I have this kink in my back, probably from work or the gym. It’s hard to get comfortable.”

“Where?” Bucky asks, looking back down at his tablet and swiping to the next slide. He took a beginners' massage therapy course at the community college last summer to keep himself from doing something dumb, like fucking his way through the city because he was bored while Steve was on a work thing in Europe. Missing his best buddy was perfectly okay, but even Bucky, a self-proclaimed Cheerful Thot, felt it might be a little excessive to go on a one-night-stand binge just because his pal was out of town for a few weeks.

Part 9 of a pocketful of mumbles

Metallurgy by eyres, TheFriendlyPigeon (complete | 22,129 | M)

he battle quieted for the moment, the great metal giant turns, at last, and sees Steve. Dark, almost human hair frames a sharp, steel face - but, Steve is caught by its eyes. They’re bright silver, sparking in the sunlight, shot through with gray and blue, visible even at this distance. Something about them nags at Steve, calls to him, reminds him of…

Instead of making the Winter Soldier, Hydra transfers Bucky's consciousness to a metal body, locking his mind within a prison of steel and programming. However, Bucky is stronger than they could've ever imagined.

Press Play to Start by layersofsilence, talkplaylove-art (talkplaylove) (complete | 31,502 | M)

Steve still doesn’t understand; and then he does, or he thinks he does, in a burst of clarity that he immediately wishes he hadn’t gotten.

The thing is that it’s not possible. James shifts his position ever so slightly; his shoulders shift smoothly under his tac gear, and it’s not possible that Steve could be programming another human.

CA:TWS AU - in which Steve Rogers, SHIELD agent, finds out that HYDRA is not so old and defeated a foe, and that the Winter Soldier is more than a whispered rumour.

Something that Feels Like Hope by BeaArthurPendragon (oneshot | 7,669 | E)

Captain America, feeling gloomy around the holidays and exhausted from hobnobbing with the rich and famous at yet another charity gala, escapes into an empty room for some peace and quiet.

Army veteran James Barnes is the founder of the Gulmira Project, which provides high-quality prostheses to civilians injured in the Afghanistan and Iraq Wars, and needs to find a place to practice his speech.

You'll never guess what happens next.

Eight Invitations* by alby_mangroves, RevolutionaryJo, Speranza (oneshot | 3,345 | E) *chose not to warn

Part 15 of 4 Minute Window

December

Cute Stitch Witch Discount by stevergrsno (noxlunate) (onesoht | 3,089 | T)

He’s barely finished with his drink when Bucky appears in front of him, a cup in hand. “Our famous cocoa,” He says, setting it onto the little table next to Steve, “On the house.”

Steve plucks the cup up off the table and cradles it close, inhaling the smell of chocolate and cinnamon. “Thank you,” Steve says, and then, “I can pay though, really.”

“Call it the cute stitch witch discount,” Bucky says with a wink before he’s turning away and disappearing behind the counter to take care of another customer.

In which Steve has magic, meets Bucky 70 years later, and as always, falls a little bit in love with him.

Part 24 of Happy Steve Bingo Fills

How to Woo the Winter Soldier* by writeonclara (complete | 21,566 | G) *chose not to warn

“I think I’m ready to date again,” Steve said.

“What,” Natasha said.

“What?” Clint said, lowering his binoculars. He blinked at the dumbstruck look on the Captain’s face, then followed his gaze to where he was staring dopily at—at the Winter fucking Soldier.

“Steve, no,” Clint groaned.

Or: Steve courts the Winter Soldier.

Ever Mine, Ever Ours by hitlikehammers (oneshot | 2,914 | E)

Steve goes back to return the Stones, for the sake of the universe.

The extra Pym Particles he palms when Bruce isn't looking, though? Those are for the heart he has now and the heart he took into the ice; those are for the loves he's known and held and lost and found, those—

Those are for the sake of his soul.

Avengers: Endgame Fix-It.

Gone, Baby, Gone by crinklefries (complete | 38,943 | M)

An entity known only by the name LEVIATHAN finds each of them, sending, initially a solitary text: Our name is LEVIATHAN. We have a job for you. You have three minutes to decide.

Well, what’s a group of bored, reckless thrill-seekers with very specific skills and long criminal histories to do? They needed the money and, well, it sounded fun.

[ or;

Steve is the head of a new criminal crew, Bucky is the getaway driver, Sam wears a LOT of bold outfits and gold jewelry, and the rest of the Avengers help too.

There's heists and fast cars in a neon-noir setting, but most importantly, Bucky wears a crop top that says be gay do crime and he is, in fact, gay and he does, in fact, do crime. ]

Home Is Wherever I'm With You by cydonic (complete | 88,570 | E)

This is what happens when you buy a house to flip having only seen the online images: you get more than you bargained for. Bucky Barnes brings all the tools to handle a dilapidated home, but he's hardly prepared for a smart-mouthed child (with poor aim), a crying baby, and the hottest dad he's ever seen in his life living right next door.

That House-Flipper!AU.

Part 1 of Flowers in our Eyes

Caramel Macchiato by littleblackfox (complete | 15,450 | E)

"You ate my bees," Bucky says. Because his own tongue fucking hates him.

Empires Fall, but Not Us by AidaRonan (oneshot | 21,611 | T)

When Steve was ten, he met a boy with a clockwork heart.

A cyberpunk tale of friendship, love, loss, and reunion; framed by the battle to bring hope and joy back to a City drowning under Hydra's rule.

No More Shame by thepinupchemist (oneshot | 3,287 | T)

“I think the Winter Soldier is going to our synagogue,” Billy said, apropos of absolutely nothing.

Or: Billy Kaplan helps Bucky Barnes find his way.

No, Mr. Bond, I Expect You to Pine by galwednesday (oneshot | 16,466 | T)

"Agent Rogers. We have to stop meeting like this." The Winter Soldier crouched in front of where Steve was slumped against the wall, hands and forearms glued to the stone behind him by some kind of sticky polymer. "Comfortable?"

"No," Steve lied. "My blood circulation has been cut off. I've lost all feeling in my hands."

"Oh, so I should probably cut you loose," the Soldier deadpanned.

"It's a medical emergency. You don't want to be responsible for me losing limbs, do you?"

"Tell you what, if you lose your hands, I'll make you some new ones." He held up his metal hand, smallest finger crooked. “Pinkie promise.”

Secret Agent adversaries-to-lovers AU where the Winter Soldier keeps tying Captain America to walls and sticking around to chat. Shut up, Natasha, it’s not flirting, okay? (It’s definitely flirting.)

Part 2 of The Adventures of Captain America, Not-So-Secret Agent

Proprietary Information by notlucy (complete | 85,141 | E)

Okay, so Bucky Barnes has a crush on Steve Rogers. The guy's gorgeous, talented and, oh yeah, the Chief Design Officer of the biggest tech company in the world. In other words: he's so far out of Bucky's league that he might as well be in a different stratosphere.

Part 1 of Additional Information

you, the moon by dirtybinary (oneshot | 2,339 | T)

Stimulus. The sight of one Bucky Barnes, age seventeen, best friend, roommate, favourite nuisance, coming home after work. Subject’s Response. A swoop of the stomach, like when one pointed one’s bike down that steep hill beside the church and pedalled really fast, but without the inevitable sprained ankles and bloody scrapes.

Steve likes Bucky. Bucky likes food and cats and girls and maybe, just maybe, Steve.

Steve deals with this very well indeed.

Local Raccoon Befriends Angry Chihuahua by charlesdk (oneshot | 15,314 | T)

Rogers was a tiny man. Bucky was sure he easily disappeared in a crowd and became invisible. He was tiny and short and skinny and didn't look like much. But his fists were clenched to his sides in anger, his jaw was jutted out, his boney shoulders were square, and his voice held more power than his body looked like it did.

Screaming and yelling and swearing like a damn sailor and asking for a fight, Bucky found him breathtakingly gorgeous. Like a tiny ball of energy and rage and justice that shined brighter than the fucking sun, punching his way through the evil and disgusting trash of the world.

Bucky never believed in love at first sight and the way his heart warmed and pounded at the mere sound of Rogers didn't really change his mind. But it did make him stop and stare, desperately reaching out for the feeling he felt when he looked at him because it was good and Bucky hadn't had good in his life in years.

OR – in which one armed veteran, suffering insomniac, and grump extraordinaire Bucky Barnes gets turned into a puddle of goo by the tiniest, angriest, most wonderful guy in the entire universe.

Stop Dragon My Heart Around by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen) (oneshot | 15,127 | T)

All Bucky had wanted was gold. A few jewels. Not a king's riches, not a prince's fortune, just enough he'd never have to worry about anything ever again. It was what had sent him racing to the dragon's cave when he'd overheard the news that the Prince had killed her.

But he should have known better. Nothing good ever came from eavesdropping, and nothing good ever came from listening to men in pubs, and now instead of gold, instead of jewels, he had an egg. A dragon egg, and no idea how he was going to keep it alive.

The dragon egg wasn't all he had, even if he didn't know it. He also had a full-grown dragon on his trail, one who'd sworn he'd find the egg--and the human who stole it.

I Know the Drill by castiowl (oneshot | 4,869 | T)

Bucky says some explicit things to his dentist while under the influence of anesthesia following a wisdom tooth removal. The rest is (embarrassing) history.

Our Broken Parts (Smashed on the Floor) by This Girl Is (non_sequential) (oneshot | 11,702 | E)

Steve is sent undercover to catch an elusive Russian assassin. He didn’t want to do it in the first place; he’s damn certain he won’t be asked again.

great whales of the sea by canistakahari (oneshot | 3,002 | T)

“Whales make sounds,” says Bucky, shocked.

“They sing,” Steve says absently.

show me your insides, show me your secrets (show what you wanted, so i can be it)* by voxofthevoid (oneshot | 8,731 | E) *chose not to warn

They took down a lab full of mutated animals today. It was normal enough at first, James with his metal arm and Steve with his shield, the two of them armed to the teeth with guns and knives. But then the creatures kept coming. Steve wrapped himself around a horse-sized something that might have been a wolf in another life and broke every one of its bones with a single, heaving squeeze of his limbs. James punched through the chest of a biped taller than him with his flesh arm and ripped its heart out for good measure.

There was no pretending after that.

James smiles at Steve, a small, heated thing.

“I want you to fuck me until I can’t talk."

“And if I say no?” Steve asks.

James shrugs, and the gesture is nonchalant, but Steve can see the tension underneath.

“Then I will be very disappointed, and I will leave and take my whiskey with me.” James tilts his head to the side, an animal-like motion that’s a strange cross between predatory and adorable. “But somehow, Captain, I don’t think you’ll say no.”

- Captain America and the Winter Soldier are assigned a joint mission by their respective masters. They are strangers until they're not.

Part 1 of lay your heart into my perfect machine

Yours is the Only Ocean by seapigeon (oneshot | 6,256 | T)

"Sirens aren’t monogamous. She’s free to mate with whoever she wants.” Steve turns his head, and for the first time, he looks tentative. “So am I.”

It takes Bucky almost a full minute to understand.

“Oh,” he says, going warm down to his tailfin.

A Puppy Dog's Tale by roe87 (oneshot | 1,630 | T)

Bucky finds a lost puppy running around in the park, but who does the pup belong to?

Part 24 of Steve/Bucky modern au's

a modern feast (from one-hundred-and-two feet) by Spacedog (oneshot | 3,061 | E)

steven grant rogers is a good neighbor. he vacuums at times that aren’t ten-thirty at night. all his parties end at nine on the dot. and when he brings someone home, he’s cool about it. which makes it even more a shame that 106, the guy living across the hall from him, with the big, blue eyes and the adorable chin dimple and the ass steve can bounce quarters off of, is practically a thoughtful, neighborly, ghost.

luckily, when steve needs something from the local bodega, he strikes an agreement that 106 is more than willing to oblige.

(or: alternate universe, neighbors to hookups to lovers.)

some of them want to use you (some of them want to get used by you) by voxofthevoid (oneshot | 14,136 | E)

He’s dragged forward, his thrashing not doing a thing against the hydra’s shocking strength. At its widest, his tentacle is as thick as Bucky’s wrist. It tapers off towards the end. It’s subtly textured, not slimy like expected, but no less terrifying for it. The hydra pauses once Bucky’s under the cave’s opening, halfway between Pierce and the darkness on the other side.

“Johann is dead,” says the hydra. “I killed him.”

The words mean nothing to Bucky. But when he twists around to see, Pierce’s face is bloodless.

It’s the first time he’s seeing true fear on Alexander Pierce’s face.

“The deal you made with him is null and void, Alexander Pierce,” the hydra says. “And your people shall be better off for it.”

Pierce’s face tightens further.

“But you,” the hydra says – no rumbles, his voice making the water tremble. “You, not so much. I don’t appreciate this sacrifice.”

- Bucky is chosen as his shoal's annual sacrifice to the hydra that lurks in their territory. Things take an unexpected turn when the monster that greets him in the dark turns out to be a wholly unfamiliar beast.

Discord and Rhyme by velvetjinx (oneshot | 9,148 | E)

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are werewolves. They have feelings for each other, but are too busy pining to notice that they both feel the same way. Their inner wolves have had enough, but will that be sufficient to bring them together as humans?

Rose-tinted Glasses by Niitza (oneshot | 11,215 | T)

It all started because of Becca.

All I Want for Christmas by Pineau_noir (oneshot | 8,377 | M)

We're gonna live like it's 2012! Everybody lives at the Tower and they're all happy! All the domestic fluff!

Steve is retired from action, living his best life, helping with the Avengers and gently flirting with his favorite art store employee, Bucky Barnes, at Christmastime.

Written for the incredibly kind and talented TrishArgh who won my 2019 FTH auction.

The Last Contract* by xantissa (oneshot | 29,681 | E) *graphic violence

The world was dying, at war for years with alien invaders who were slowly and methodically wiping out humanity. Steve’s hope for the future was nearly gone having fought a losing battle for so long. In what little free time he had, he looked for the dragon sleeping under an old castle that his mother had told him stories about. He knew it was just a fairytale, but at least it was something to do. He never expected to actually find a man locked in a cave filled with magic. Nor did he expect to agree to some strange bargain with him. Steve had expected him even less to actually be a dragon. In a world all but destroyed, can Steve survive the consequences of his own actions?

Once More With Foresight* by galwednesday (complete | 7,317 | T) *polyamory

Bucky left the towel draped over Steve’s head and pulled his phone out of his pocket when it chimed with a new text from Natasha. She’d sent him a picture of Sam asleep, his legs sprawled over the shield on one end of the couch and his head in her lap on the other. Bucky snorted and tilted the screen so Steve could see.

Steve shook his head, mock scandalized. “Captain America for five minutes, and he’s already using the shield as a footrest.”

“I know for a fact you scrambled eggs in that thing.”

“That was to feed my team, Buck. It was my sworn duty as field commander.”

“It was a dare from Jones.”

“So it was two things,” Steve said, and ducked out of Bucky’s half-hearted noogie attempt, pulling the towel back to use as a defensive barrier. Bucky sat on the couch beside him and leaned into Steve’s shoulder. It was sharper than Bucky remembered; Steve had lost weight since last week. Since five years ago.

If Only In My Dreams by odetteandodile (complete | 28,317 | T)

Bucky is a highly successful cooking and lifestyle blogger, the gay New England Pioneer Woman if you will. He writes all about life in his Connecticut home with his D.H. (darling husband). Only problem? It’s all complete fiction. He actually lives in a shitty Brooklyn apartment, is single as hell, and has visited Connecticut exactly one time at the age of eight.

When his agent Sam informs him that he's been offered an exclusive sponsorship deal with Stark Media and a three book contract to go with it, Bucky's forced to fess up to Sam, who's predictably...displeased. But Sam's also convinced the deal is too good to miss—even if they have to put on a little bit of a show in order to get it.

So Tony and Pepper descend on Bucky and Sam's fake home for Christmas with a devastatingly handsome War Hero in tow, and their already complicated plan quickly gets even more complicated as Bucky finds himself falling head over heels for Steve. Can he keep it together just for the holidays? Did he ever have it together in the first place?

Not Without You* by SevereStorms, wreckingthefinite (complete | 94,402 | E) *graphic violence

Six months earlier, Bucky would have said the prospect of dying back home in Brooklyn sounded like a dream. Now, faced with his own imminent demise in a Brooklyn that is almost unrecognizable, it’s decidedly less appealing.

Honestly, it’s just sort of bizarre. Survive Afghanistan and come home to die in the pseudo-zombie apocalypse. Can’t make this stuff up.

Servitum by justanotherStonyfan (complete | 42,745 | E)

Steve appears in the hallway, and James turns his head to look at him, doesn't move otherwise. Steve’s in pale blue jeans and a white button down with the four buttons open and his tag chain visible beneath, which is sexy as fuck, but it’s even sexier when he towers over James like this.

"James?" Steve says, and he's not worried, James can tell. He's on the edge of it, sure - he's bemused, and prepared for something to be amiss - but he's not worried yet, so James closes his eyes for a moment.

"Help," he says, and then looks up at Steve. "I've fallen and I can't get up."

Part 28 of Honey Honey

Wenceslas by dragongirlG, mcl4r3n (complete | 17,915 | M)

Steve is a short, skinny Brooklynite with a very stable, predictable life, which he built after losing his memories in a traumatic accident six months ago. He works from home on a steady stream of art commissions, goes to weekly trivia nights with his superhero friends the Avengers, and tries not to get bothered by the constant feeling that something is not quite right.

When Steve invites a homeless man with one arm to take shelter in his apartment during a December snowstorm, both of them enter a dreamscape that unravels the fabric of their memories and reveals the truth about their identities—and their relationship to each other.

A wintertime fic featuring dream-sharing, identity porn, and Steve in the 21st century, inspired by the movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and the musical composition Wenceslas Suite by Bob Chilcott. Now complete!

Scenes From A Marriage: Captain America At Home by alby_mangroves, lim, Lunate8, RevolutionaryJo, Speranza (complete | 19,239 | E)

Welcome to the 4 Minute Window Advent calendar for 2019! As always, my goal is to tell a little bit of story in this universe each day (knock wood) between the Immaculate Conception and Christmas. Explicit eventually, the rest as it comes. This year there's loads of multimedia, as you might glean from the list of contributors.

Part 16 of 4 Minute Window

#mod picks #mod blue

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crowsheadcaneandleathergloves · 4 years

Text

The School for Supernatural (Grishaverse Big Bang)

@grishaversebigbang

Corporalki: @fleeingtofiction, @pleaseuseacoaster, @wonderland1888

Materialki: @maiyoart (artwork), @plasticbattleaxe (artwork), @satelliteinasupernova (artwork 1 and artwork 2)

Summary: Wylan is whisked off to The School for Supernatural. It is nothing like Hogwarts and it lacks the famous wizarding school’s luster. But there is one thing in common: it’s a school for the unordinary. The supernatural. The magical, one might call it. But as Wylan meets others like him with varying abilities, he soon realizes that The School isn’t all that it seems.

Chapter 1: Wylan

Wylan was a good kid. He was a smart kid. He could play the flute and read music. He could speak fluent French and German. He could create paper cranes out of pretty much any paper that could be turned into a square. He excelled at Chemistry and Math. He was a natural when it came to dealing with children.

So how did he find himself shackled in the back of a van, bumping along a remote dirt road, on his way to a sketchy boarding school? Why had his father had consented to this?

Actually, Wylan knew exactly how he had gotten into this situation, but right now he didn’t want to think about it.

Wylan felt an itch blossoming on his nose and he wanted to scratch it. But he was strapped tightly to the back seat with his hands shackled down. He couldn’t move an inch. “Um, excuse me sir,” he called out to the boy in the passenger seat nervously. He had to be a couple years older than Wylan. “I have an itchy nose—“

The boy glanced up to the rearview mirror with those piercing blue eyes and glared at him. He said absolutely nothing and reached his hand up to pull down a screen so the back of the van was divided from the front.

Wylan was shocked by the rudeness. All he had asked for, or at least tried to ask for, was to scratch his nose.

He wasn’t at all dangerous yet the driver and the boy acted like he was some monster.

The van jolted as they began driving on unpaved road and Wylan yelped as the shackles dug into his wrists.

“Be quiet back there!” The boy hollered, banging on the inside of the van.

Wylan pursed his lips and moved his wrists as much as they could under the tight restraints, trying to get at least a little more comfortable.

He was naturally curious, was used to knowing what was going to happen next. Right now, he was in the dark about literally everything.

Wylan glanced at his watch—11:22 am—before closing his eyes and silencing his thoughts. First to a whisper, then to a buzzing, then to nothing at all.

His body felt like it was falling away and shedding it’s skin like a snake. Wylan was falling...falling...falling…

And then his eyes reopened. Only, they weren’t his physical eyes. His limbs reassembled, and a warm feeling—like he had just drank a hot chocolate after coming in from a chilly winter’s evening—began in his belly that expanded to meet his torso and to where his legs met his hip and his body met his head.

Wylan remembered the first time he had ever astral projected. It had been a complete accident—but one that changed his life forever.

He had been maybe 4 or 5 and, earlier that day, his tutor had expressed his annoyance that Wylan was incredible and beyond his years at everything...except reading. His father had berated him until he was crying. He had retreated into his room and let his imagination run wild. He was close to drifting off when his thoughts drifted to The Great Wall of China and each and every brick when, when he reopened his eyes he was there. On The Great Wall of China. It had been a clear day and he had seen tourists walking on The Wall. Walking through him. As if he were a ghost. He stayed until his whole body was in excruciating pain before he had been forced back into his physical body.

The second time he astral projected took a year of studying what had happened the first time, recreating those circumstances and practicing.

He must have laid in his bed for hours on end, thinking of The Great Wall of China. Looked at paintings until his eyes hurt. Even when his father yelled at him and screamed at him because he couldn’t read, he didn’t cry. All he could think about was whatever he had done that day where he had escaped to somewhere new.

Until, one day, his father had left for a meeting and he had the house to himself, which was a rare occasion. He had leaned back in a plush recliner, exhausted from his newest tutor trying to get him to read the largest book he had ever seen. The book was apparently about Paris and he had been thinking of the Eiffel Tower. And, suddenly, he was there again. At the massive structure with people walking through him.

Now he was 16 and projection came naturally to him.

Wylan flew above the van and glanced at the licence plate—committing it to memory—before taking a look at his surroundings.

They seemed to be in the deep countryside, wheat blowing around vigorously and farms in the distance.

Wylan glanced behind him and just saw wheat. Wheat wheat and more wheat.

He super sped over to the nearest farmhouse, rainbow streaks in the sides of his vision, and saw a wooden sign: The Bonds.

Wylan sped back to the winding dirt road. The wind was still raging, though it didn’t affect Wylan in his astral form

He thought about the driver and the boy back in the van. What if they figured out what he was doing? They wouldn’t kill his body, would they?

Wylan knew he should go back to his physical body before the driver and boy found out.

Soon, he told himself, soon.

But first, he wanted to see this so-called boarding school with his own two eyes.

He sped down the single road as quickly as he could while also keeping an eye on his surroundings to search for the school.

In three minutes astral time, which had no real formula but Wylan had gotten used to counting to 60, he finally found it. At least, he supposed it was.

The wheat and farms were long back down the road, replaced by stretches of flat green grass with a single building to Wylan’s left.

The building was huge—a mansion made out of dark wood and cream coloured walls. As he floated higher, he noticed marble pillars and greenery in the courtyard.

As Wylan got about 300 feet away from the mansion, a breeze ran through his body and hair.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

In the astral plane, wind and other physical sensations just weren’t a thing. Whatever created the wind wasn’t natural.

Wylan shivered and he felt a tug to go back to his body.

Not yet. He snapped to himself, flying closer to the building and going through the outside wall.

“You get back here Brekker or I’ll break your other leg and you’ll be walking with a double limp!” A girl shrieked as she ran out of the door.

Wylan followed the girl curiously. Other people his age? His father hadn’t said anything about that. Although, now that he thought about it you couldn’t really have a school with one child. That would just be plain tutoring.

As Wylan made his way through the next wall, he saw the girl stomping over to where a boy with sunken cheeks and pale skin was. He had a black cane clutched his left hand. Presumably “Brekker”. “I only need it for a moment, Zenik,” the boy said. Only it came out more like a rasp than anything.

Did people smoke at this school?

The thought was instantly shot from his brain as another boy walked—no swaggered in. His was tall and thin like a toothpick, his limbs long too. He had his hands in his pockets and his initial thought was, I like him.

Why? Wylan had no idea. Maybe it was because of his eyes, which were glittering and brown. Or the way he walked—like he owned the building and everything in it. Or how he looked so comfortable in his own body. Or how his facial features were—

“Kaz, c’mon,” the dark skinned boy said. “You steal Nina’s stationary and envelopes on a weekly basis. Shouldn’t she know why?”

Nina crossed her arms and nodded defiantly. “Thank you Jesper.” She then looked over to Kaz. “I don’t want you using my stuff without me knowing why!!” She snapped.

“I’m well aware of your opinion on the matter, Zenik.” Kaz said, eerily calm. “I’ll ask Brum to buy you some new pens when he goes out to the market again.”

“You aren’t answering my question, Brekker,” Nina said, tapping her foot impatiently. “Either you tell me why you stole my stuff or I break your other leg.”

Kaz pocketed a pen and envelope in his jacket pocket and leaned casually against the wall, crossing his legs, placing both of his hands on top of his cane. “I sneak letters to my family.” He said simply.

When Nina and Jesper opened their mouths to speak, Kaz put a hand up.

Well he’s obviously the leader, Wylan thought as he watched this interaction unfold. And, to be honest, Wylan could see why. This Kaz guy looked like he could rip out your eye with one hand while choking someone else with the other, in addition to having polite conversation with another person.

“And before you ask, no I will not send your families’ letters.” Kaz stated.

Nina and Jesper’s mouths clamped shut.

Kaz cracked his knuckles beneath leather gloves and Wylan couldn’t help but be curious. What power did he have? Fire manipulation? He cocked his head to one side and looked at Nina as if they hadn’t just been arguing. “Is that explanation acceptable, Zenik? Or do I have to elaborate?”

Nina let her arms fall to her side. “You are insufferable, Brekker, you know that?”

“I do, you’ve told me plenty of times before.”

Nina turned around and flicked her hand with it. “Borrow my pens and envelopes as much as you want, Brekker. But you better not break one or I’ll kill you and make it look like an accident! Mark my words, Brekker!”

Kaz had a sly smirk on his face as Nina shut her door loudly. “I wouldn’t put it past you, Zenik. Wouldn’t put it past you…” he walked down the hall and Wylan followed, noticing an obvious limp in his right leg.

Wylan began to feel his head throb, a sure sign of a headache coming on, indicating he didn’t have much time left in the astral plane.

Wylan followed Kaz into another room, curious to see what he was writing. This one was pretty large. The bed looked incredibly comfy, however it was stripped of comforters and pillows. Instead, there was a pull-out couch pushed in the corner with a pile of sheets and blankets and a pillow next to it on the floor.

Wylan watched as Kaz sat down at the desk, leaning his cane against it. He took out the pen and envelope out of his pocket before opening his desk drawer, withdrawing a single sheet of blank, white, paper.

Kaz leaned back in his chair and didn’t say anything for a long time. It looked like he was waiting for something. Or someone.

Wylan didn’t have to wait long to find out. He almost yelped in surprise when a tiny bronze skinned girl suddenly appeared at the windowsill, crouched low like a frog.

He was still trying to figure out what had happened when the girl at the windowsill hopped off gracefully and landed silently on the hardwood floor. “How’d you know I was there?” She asked.

Kaz turned back around to face his desk and clicked the pen a couple of times before responding. “I told you, I felt your presence.”

The girl drew closer to Kaz and perched on his bare bed. “I still don’t believe you.” She stated. “Anyway, why did you lie to Nina?”

Inej couldn’t see it from her place on the bed but Wylan saw as Kaz’s left hand twitched. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me Kaz.” The girl said slowly. “Even from here I could tell you were lying.”

Kaz pursed his lips tightly before parting them again. “I needed a pen and envelope.”

“But why her specific pen and envelope? You have plenty of stationary here already.”

“It’s not the same.” Kaz said, beginning to click the pen again. He paused for a moment. “Zenik’s pen’s ink flows better than mine.” He said dryly.

The girl barked out a laugh and rolled her eyes.

Kaz began clicking the pen once again and the girl must have taken this a sign for her to leave. “Come down for lunch?” She asked as she softly landed on the ground again and made her way to the closed door. “You barely come down for food, I’m afraid you’ll starve to death.”

Click, click, click. “Believe me, there are worse ways to die than starvation.”

The girl sighed and walked out the door, closing it softly behind her.

Wylan’s headache was getting worse. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on.

Just a little longer, he told himself. He just wanted to see who Kaz was writing to and what about. If the other girl was so sure he was lying earlier about his family...well...he wanted to know.

Wylan watched as Kaz methodically and slowly wrote on the piece of paper with Nina’s pen, her envelope next to it.

Kaz’s writing was small yet incredibly messy—Wylan just managing to decheiver each letter.

D-E-A-R

A strike of pain zapped through Wylan’s head and his hand automatically went to hold it. Just a little longer…

Z-

Kaz began the line of the next letter but Wylan couldn’t take it any longer. He was using all of his strength to root himself in this strange boy’s bedroom but the pain was beginning to travel down his neck...to his shoulders…down his arms.

Wylan closed his eyes and relaxed his body, watching as the rainbow streaks overwhelmed his vision as he was being brought back to his physical body.

For a split second, it was like putting on a tight body suit. Wylan always liked to close his eyes for this part.

When he opened them again, he was back in the van, strapped and shackled. His head, shoulders, and arms no longer felt pain but they were sore.

He glanced at his watch again. 11:25. Only three real minutes had passed while he was in the astral plane.

While Wylan knew a lot of things about astral projection, how time worked in the astral plane was beyond him.

All he knew was that you could spend a certain amount of time in the astral plane and, when you came back, the real time you were gone for was shorter.

Wylan’s mind went back to the other teenagers in that building.

What were they like? What did they do? That small girl—the one who had been on Kaz’s window must have invisibility.

Kaz…maybe fire because of the gloves?

As for Nina and Jesper, he couldn’t think of any clues he might have gotten from his short observation of them.

It was irritating because he wanted to know what Jesper’s ability was.

The car rattled along the dirt road for another three hours, the boy in the front often sliding up the curtain between them to check up on him.

Where did he think Wylan was going to go? He was shackled to the seat so tightly he could hardly breathe, let alone escape from the van.

When they finally stopped and Wylan heard a door opening in the front, he thought that maybe they’d arrived and someone would be coming to the back door to unlock him.

But no one came.

Instead, Wylan heard a sharp whistle, an eagle’s call, and then the van revved up once again.

This time, when the van stopped less than a minute later, the boy and the driver of the van opened the back and began unlocking him.

The driver was older, maybe in his late forties early fifties and he had similar blue eyes as the boy’s.

Wylan wasn’t sure if they were related in any way or if it was pure coincidence.

“Try to run and you die,” the driver said roughly.

“If you’re a flier, I’ll follow you until you’re too exhausted to keep going and shoot you in the head.” The boy added.

Wylan blinked. Did they not know what he did? Or was this just the standard introductory they always did? “Okay.”

When Wylan was unlocked, the two men turned him around and jostled him over to the building. The mansion with the courtyard loomed above them. Wylan looked up and squinted against the sun, finding Kaz’s bedroom window and the part of the wall he had flown through in the astral plane.

“Keep moving, boy,” the man said, digging his elbow into Wylan’s back.

As they neared the front door, Wylan noticed two faces in a nearby window. Nina and Jesper. Was the other girl there also, just invisible?

The boy opened the door and the man shoved him in. “Bedroom’s on the top floor. Choose one.”

The door slammed shut and Wylan was left with the boy who seemed like he’d rather be anywhere but with him.

“I’m Wylan Van Eck.” Wylan introduced himself hesitantly.

“I know.” The boy responded. He began to walk away.

“What’s your na—“ Wylan tried but the girl, Nina, poked her head through a doorway.

“—Don’t bother to ask him questions, Wylan,” Nina said, rolling her eyes. “He won’t answer them, believe me.”

“What’s his name?” Wylan asked.

“Matthias Helvar, the only one of us to get close to Jarl Brum, the disgusting man who drove you here.” Nina muttered. “He’s as strong as an ox but not that bright—“

“I can still hear you Zenik!” Matthias roared from another part of the building.

“I was hoping you would!” Nina shrieked back. She rolled her eyes and beckoned Wylan closer. “C’mon, I’ll bring you to where all of us hang out and sleep.”

Wylan followed Nina through the building’s intricate rooms and maze like hallways. He didn’t even realize someone was behind him until he spoke up.

“So what do you do?”

Wylan spun around and saw Jesper. He was grinning and swinging his arms around as he walked. “Oh, uh. Hi!” Wylan sputtered. He had the urge to introduce himself again but surely, if Nina had heard him introduce himself to Matthias, Jesper knew his name too?

He momentarily forgot his words as he craned his neck up to look at Jesper.

“Wylan?” Nina prompted.

“Oh. Oh! Sorry. I got…” Wylan coughed awkwardly, trailing off. “I do astral projection.”

“Whoah,” Nina said. Jesper nodded. “What’s that like?”

“It’s cool.” Wylan said as he began climbing the carpeted stairs. “When I was younger I’d visit the Eiffel Tower and the Leaning Tower of Pisa.”

“What was that like?” Nina asked, as they climbed the second set of stairs to the third floor.

“It never gets old. I sometimes wish I could stay in the astral plane forever.” Wylan breathed. He hadn’t visited France or Italy in forever. He should go tonight.

“Why can’t you?” Jesper asked as they began to climb the third set of stairs. He was trailing his arms behind him, on the handrails.

“It eventually becomes physically painful and I’m forced to come back.” Wylan said.

Nina made a sympathetic face and said, “how long do you have to wait before going back?”

Wylan shrugged. “Depends on how long I stay in the astral plane. If I stay longer, I have to wait longer until I go back.”

They had finally gotten to the top of the fourth set of stairs and Wylan recognized it from being in the astral plane earlier. Kaz’s room was down that hall and Nina’s was the closest room to the left.

“Here’s where most of us sleep and hang out.” Nina explained.

“How many people are there? Who live up here, I mean.” Wylan asked.

“Five of us, now six with you here,” Jesper said.

Six? Wylan repeated in his head. He mentally counted the people he remembered from earlier. One, Nina. Two, Jesper. Three, Kaz. Four, the invisibility girl. Five, him.

“Who’s the sixth?” Wylan asked.

Nina rolled her eyes and pointed to a nearby couch where a white wolf was curled up.

“A wolf?” Wylan asked, incredulous.

“Yes,” Kaz said dryly, stepping into the hallway, cane in his right hand. “He’s our pet.”

Wylan almost fell over when the wolf stood up and growled in Kaz’s face. Kaz didn’t flinch at all. “I am not a pet, Brekker.”

Kaz’s eyebrow twitched upwards.

The voice...the voice of the wolf sounded familiar. Wylan glanced back at Jesper who looked unsurprised.

Kaz didn’t do anything for a long while, just stared into the wolf’s blue eyes. Then, he swiftly turned around and walked to Nina, removing her pen out of his pocket.

Nina snatched it away and inspected it, making sure it still worked. When she was positive Kaz hadn’t done any damage, she put it in a pocket of her red dress.

Kaz glanced over at Wylan for a moment, and Wylan could practically feel the silent assessment he was making, before turning back around and retreating back to his room.

The wolf jumped off the couch and morphed into a boy—Matthias. His massive arms were crossed and he looked like he wanted to kill Kaz on the spot. “I don’t understand how anyone is friends with that demon but hate me.” Matthias snapped as he stomped away. A door slammed.

“Poor baby,” Nina grumbled. “Don’t mind Helvar, Wylan. Come on. There are three rooms you can choose from.

“So he can turn into a wolf? Is that what he does?” Wylan asked curiously.

“Not just a wolf. Though, I think he prefers a wolf over all the other animals he can turn into.” Jesper explained.

“Room number 1,” Nina said, opening a door. “A beautiful one person room with a desk, a bed, a wardrobe, and a window overlooking the endless grass.” She opened her arms. “This is the largest of the three,” she added in.

They walked to the next one, Jesper gone as he had returned to his own room. The second room was further down the hallway and across from another door which was cracked open slightly. “That’s Inej’s room.” Nina pointed out before opening the door across. “Room number 2. The exact same as room number 1 except it’s slightly smaller.”

The third room was exactly the same except there were two windows and it was the smallest one. It was at the very end of the hallway.

“I’ll take this one.” Wylan said, walking inside and sitting on the bed.

Nina’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you sure? You don’t want the big one or the medium one?”

Wylan shook his head. “No. I like this one. It has the most windows.”

Nina shrugged. “Okay. Suit yourself. I’m going back to my room. We have lunch at 12 down on the main floor in the dining hall. You better come down then or earlier or all the good food will be gone.”

“Thanks Nina,” Wylan smiled.

Nina smiled back but then scratched her head. “Did I introduce myself already? I swear I didn’t—“

Wylan’s back went ramrod straight. Right. He wasn’t supposed to know anybody’s names here. “I think you did,” Wylan said hesitantly. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you.”

Nina waved and was out the door.

Wylan walked around the small room, checking his watch. 11:45. He opened the drawers of the desk and the wardrobe, finding nothing except coat hangers and blank sheets of paper. He then sat on his bed, facing the larger window of the two.

“Nina didn’t introduce herself.” The voice was raspy and dark and Wylan knew exactly who it was before he turned around.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Wylan said. He could feel the blood rushing to his face.

“I could hear everything. She didn’t once say her name. The only thing anyone called her while you were around was Zenik.” Kaz was leaning against the door frame, his hands resting on top of his cane.

Wylan blanched and felt smaller than when he was standing next to Matthias or Jesper.

Kaz cocked his head to the side. “I’m Kaz Brekker.” He said with a nod. “Mr. Van Eck, what ability do you have?” The words were polite and Kaz’s voice sounded almost genuinely nice if not for the way Kaz’s eyes were boring holes into his skull.

Wylan opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

“Kaz, you’re scaring him.” The other girl—Inej—stated, suddenly appearing at Kaz’s left. She looked at Wylan and smiled. “I’m Inej Ghafa.”

Through all of this, Wylan’s brain was turning like gears. Something occurred to him. “How come you know Nina never said her name but don’t know what my ability is? Jesper, Nina, and I were talking about that while going up the stairs.”

Kaz’s eyebrow quirked as if he were amused. “You’re a smart one.”

Wylan played with the hem of his shirt. “I can astral project. What do you guys do?”

“I can turn invisible,” Inej said.

Wylan looked at Kaz expectantly. Eventually, Inej signed when it was obvious Kaz wasn’t about to reveal anything about himself. “He can manipulate fire.”

Kaz didn’t say anything at all and, instead, walked away.

Only when Wylan heard the door close did he realize that Kaz didn’t answer his question about how he knew Nina didn’t say her name but not his ability.

“Sorry about him,” Inej said. “He’s not one to talk much.”

“That’s fine. Too be honest, I’m more afraid of Matthias than Kaz.” Wylan said. He was tempted to ask about the market Kaz had brought up earlier when he had been in the astral plane but decided against it.

“Well, I’ll leave you to get settled,” Inej said. “I’m sure Nina has told you about lunch at 12:00?”

Wylan nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” Inej said, and left Wylan with his thoughts.

He was so disoriented and confused. He was without his luggage until after supper so his room was bare, and reminded Wylan of a hospital room.

Wylan wanted to do something. Draw or paint. Anything.

He checked his watch again. Five minutes until lunch. There was no point in exploring the building if lunch started soon. Besides, he hadn’t eaten since he was back home—almost four hours earlier.

Chapter 2: Nina

Nina was the first one at the table for lunch, like always. She could smell chicken coming from the kitchen and a massive bowl of Caesar salad was set on the passthrough window.

All the other four students had their schedule. Matthias would be down next, then Jesper. After that it would be Kaz immediately followed by Inej.

As for the new kid, Wylan? Well, Nina would see when he’d come.

Matthias came through the doorway in front of her. At least he was in his human form this time.

A couple days after she had arrived, Matthias had crawled in as a tarantula. When he had morphed back into human, Nina had been tempted to break all of his limbs right then and there.

“Zenik,” he nodded curtly as he took his place to the left of the head chair.

“Helvar.” She replied, her voice equally icy.

Nina could see the way he swallowed hard and the way he wouldn’t look her straight in the eyes. He’s still scared of me…she thought. Good.

When Nina had been nine and Matthias, was ten, she had accidentally broken a man’s arm when his hand had roamed where it shouldn’t at the diner her mom worked at.

Matthias had shown up and began to befriend her. It was nice and Nina had almost considered him a crush. Almost. But, Matthias had ulterior motives and, late at night, he had broken into her house and tried to steal her away. Presumably to this school.

However, Matthias and Jarl Brum, the head of this school, had greatly underestimated her. She had almost suffocated the boy to death before her conscience told her to stop.

Nina had warned Matthias to never come back.

She had been too nice back then. She should have killed Matthias there on the spot. But all Nina could remember was Matthias’ pleading eyes and she had remembered that he was only a boy.

The stairs creaked and Wylan came down the stairs, hesitantly peeking into the dining room before walking in. “Is there...um...a specific chair I’m supposed to sit at?”

Matthias pointed to a chair at the very end of the table. “Over there.”

Wylan pulled out the seat and sat.

It was almost completely quiet, but Nina knew this kid wouldn’t stay silent for long. He was the curious type. The real question was, would the question be about his surroundings, Nina, or Matthias?

Wylan answered the question when he looked over at Matthias. “So...if you can morph into animals, morphing, can you turn into a unicorn or another fictional animal? Like a dragon?”

Matthias stayed still in his chair like a soldier. His heartbeat and breathing were steady. “I have never tried.”

That was utter bogus. She had asked him the same question when Matthias had told her about his ability.

He had once tried to turn into a dragon it had not worked.

Why was Matthias lying? To look cooler? Like he didn’t believe in fantasy creatures?

But Nina didn’t say anything. She wasn’t in the mood to get stabbed in her sleep.

“But why? Aren’t you curious?” Wylan asked.

Even though Nina was probably only a couple years older than Wylan, she thought he acted much like a curious little kid. One that would surely annoy Matthias to no end.

Matthias shook his head. “No. Not necessarily.”

Jesper came down the stairs, skipping at least three steps at a time. “What’s for lunch?” He called out.

“Caesar salad and chicken breast.” Nina responded as Jesper took his spot next to Wylan.

She could feel Wylan’s heart rate speed as Jesper made himself comfortable at the table.

Kaz slowly made his way down the stairs, cane in hand. Inej followed suit, her feet making no sound.

Kaz took his place to the right of the head and Inej between Matthias and Nina.

A maid came out of the kitchen, doors swinging behind her, and began plating up Caesar salad.

Wylan gestured to the empty head chair. “Who sits there?”

“Jarl Brum,” Nina responded. “The man who drove you here in the van.”

“But he only joins us for supper.” Jesper added in, picking up his fork and beginning to eat.

“He apparently has very important business to attend to.” Nina added, taking up her fork.

Matthias glared at Nina. He seemed like he wanted to say more but nothing came out of his mouth.

“So, what’s your power, Jesper?” Wylan asked, stabbing a crouton.

Nina perked up a bit and tried to recall whether or not Jesper had introduced himself. Unless he showed up after Nina had left, it wasn’t possible. And Jesper hadn’t voiced that he knew Wylan from before.

Astral projection. That was what Wylan said he did. He could separate his physical body with his astral one.

And no one could see astral bodies. It was a perfect spy tool.

Had Wylan spied on them before he arrived? When? Nina hopped it wasn’t when she had been sneaking snacks from the kitchen. That wasn’t a very good first impression.

Kaz must have realized this too because he stopped eating and narrowed his eyes. But he didn’t say anything either.

“I can manipulate the molecules of solids.” Jesper said slowly. “There really isn’t a shorter way of saying it.”

Wylan’s eyes widened. “How does that work?”

Jesper shrugged. “I don’t really know. But I can change solids to other solids.”

“Can you give me an example?”

Jesper smirked. “I can do one better. I can show you. He picked up his knife and spun it around his fingers like a baton. He closed his eyes and his brows wrinkled as he willed the stainless steel to change.

Slowly, the shininess dulled and Nina could only explain it as the growth of a person’s hair. You can’t really see any change if you’re always looking at it. It’s something you only notice after a period of time passes without looking.

Nina blinked and the knife was black as night.

Jesper handed it to Wylan who inspected it so closely Nina was afraid he’d cut himself.

“It’s coal.” Wylan stated.

Jesper grinned, victorious. “It is.”

“Can you turn it to—“

“—Gold? Diamond? Quartz? Wood? Yes, yes, yes, and yes. Anything solid.” Jesper said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms lazily.

“Incredible.” Wylan said, clearly gobsmacked. He passed the knife back to Jesper. “What about texture? Can you change the texture of things you change? Like, for example, turn the knife into normal wood and then petrified wood?”

Jesper frowned then shrugged. “Huh. I’ve never tried.”

Wylan looked like he was about to jump out of his chair and do a dance. He pointed to the black knife. “You think you could try?”

Matthias cleared his throat and said in his gruff voice, “the table is supposed to be for eating. Not for experimenting. You should do that in your own time.”

Wylan’s cheeks went pink, his eyes flicking back and forth between Jesper and Matthias. “Sorry.”

Jesper glanced at Wylan, his brows furrowed. And, when Matthias wasn’t looking, wrapped his hand around the knife and closed his eyes.

The knife, which had been made of coal previously, was now made of hard, petrified, wood.

Grinning, Jesper poked the handle of the knife into Wylan’s side gently.

Wylan glanced over to Jesper nervously and he broke out into a smile when he saw what was in Jesper’s hand.

“Take it,” Jesper mouthed. Wylan gingerly took the knife into his hand and put it in his breast pocket.

It seemed as though everyone at the table was looking except Matthias.

The rest of lunch passed like any normal day and, soon, Matthias stood up at the end of dessert (a delicious apple crumble) and everyone else followed suit.

As they were exiting and splitting in their own direction, Wylan came up to Nina. “Is that how lunch always is?”

“Awkward? Silent?” Nina prompted.

“Tense.” Wylan said finally.

“Yup.” Jesper said, coming up behind Wylan as they began the climb up the stairs.

“It’s even worse when Brum is over for supper.” Nina said, shivering. “He tries to make conversation but Helvar is the only one who talks with him. Sometimes Kaz adds in.”

“Why does Matthias like Jarl Brum so much?” Wylan asked curiously. “He’s got powers like all of us but he seems to be like...a second in command—first when Jarl Brum isn’t here.” Wylan scratched his head and ran his free hand on the smooth handrail.

“Ooo, don’t let Kaz hear you say that.” Nina said, a grin on her face. “Kaz likes to think he’s the boss around here.”

“Well, he kinda is though,” Jesper said.

“He does have that kind of aura.” Wylan agreed. “He’s very...intimidating.”

“Ah, don’t worry about Kaz. He’s a real teddy bear when you get to know him.” Nina said, turning her head back to look at Wylan again and laughing at his incredulous expression. “Nah, just kidding. But all you gotta do is stay out of his way and you’ll be fine.”

As they got to the fourth landing and about to climb the last set of stairs, Kaz walked around the corner, his cane hitting the floor loudly like a rabbit thumping its hind leg as a sign of danger. “Brum is gone for the night. C’mon.”

Nina glanced behind her at Wylan and Jesper before following Kaz down the narrow hallway.

She felt a question bubbling out of Wylan before he even spoke. She turned back around and made a zip-it motion to him.

Nina was in no mood to watch Kaz murder the poor kid.

She remembered walking these exact steps when she first arrived.

She had been terrified but too proud to show it. Nina felt sorry for Wylan; he had no idea what he just got himself into.

Kaz pushed open the double doors and the night air flowed in, refreshing against Nina’s skin.

The balcony was beautiful. The wooden handrail was so intricate that Inej had confessed to coming out here when she couldn’t sleep and just trace the endless patterns.

Nina would have probably joined her if not for the fact that she slept like a log and hated this balcony because of her traumatic experience on the first day she arrived at this school.

Inej was perched on the handrail, ankles crossed.

Wylan waved at Inej in greeting. “Hi!”

Kaz pulled a rock out of his pocket and all Nina could see was Koja, her little fox friend that she had owned. With his soft red fur and his black, button, eyes that her mom lovingly made for her for her birthday.

Nina made her way up to Inej. “What do you think of Wylan?” She asked her quietly as Kaz began his usual, menacing, speel.

“He seems sweet.” Inej said. “You?”

Nina was about to respond but Wylan’s voice cut her thought off. “Wait. You can’t be serious.

“He’s always serious.” Jesper said. He was twirling a pen around his fingers.

They chatted quietly as Kaz explained everything to Wylan.

“So Jarl Brum can create force fields and he made one around the perimeter of this school?” Wylan’s blue eyes were wide. “And it’s kind of like a portal and you can’t get back once you go through?”

“Exactly.” Kaz threw the rock up and then caught it. He gestured for Wylan to watch and then threw the rock upwards as far as he could.

Matthias as an eagle caught it and flew to the gate around the perimeter. When he got ten feet away from the gate he chucked the rock through the invisible force field. It disappeared with a quiet blip.

Nina glanced over at Wylan who looked utterly alarmed. He spun to Kaz. “And no one can get out of...wherever it goes?”

“Exactly.” Kaz said again with a curt nod. He laid his hands on his cane and waited for Matthias to fly back to them and morph back into a human.

Wylan gulped as Matthias reopened the balcony doors. “And...and no living human has gone through I hope?”

Matthias shook his head. “No. No one has been foolish enough to go through that force field just for an experiment.”

“When I was in the astral plane I went through it. I felt a breeze. And there isn’t any wind in the astral plane.” Wylan piped up as he followed Kaz through the doorway.

“But that’s not the same thing,” Nina stated. “You can go to places in the blink of an eye. You can’t do that here.”

“And you didn’t see anything odd or out of place?” Kaz asked without turning around.

“No. It was just normal grass and ground. The only thing that told me something was weird was the breeze.”

Kaz didn’t say anything immediately after that. However, once they got to the fifth floor and Matthias retreated to his room, Kaz sat down on a bench and stared at Wylan with a calculating expression on his face.

Jesper and Inej grinned at each other. “Scheming face,” they said together in a whisper.

“Van Eck, have you ever tried momentarily returning from the astral plane without your physical body?” Kaz asked. He leaned back and rested his bad leg on his other thigh.

“What? How would I be able to do that without my physical body?” Wylan said with a frown. “Would I be like a ghost or something?”

“So...you haven’t tried?” Kaz said smugly.

Wylan was at a loss for words and his mouth moved but didn’t form words. “I can try.”

Kaz stood up and smirked—the closest thing to a smile he had. “Good.” And, before anyone could muster a reply Kaz began his way down the hallway.

As soon as the door closed Wylan sat down in the place Kaz had just left.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Inej retreated back down the hallway quietly.

“So, are you going to try it?” Jesper asked excitedly and Nina could feel the blood pumping through his body.

“I...I guess. I can’t imagine it working though. Wouldn’t I need a second physical body? And that’s not possible.” Wylan went silent again. “Why is he even asking me this?”

“Don’t question him.” Nina said, retrieving a cookie from her pocket she had taken from the kitchen. “I’m sure he has good reason.”

“But aren’t you curious to know? Like…” Wylan trailed off, fumbling for words.

“After years of being in the same quarters as Kaz, you kind of learn that his mind works in strange ways and that you don’t question him.” Nina said.

“But I am curious.” Jesper added in. “Of course. But yeah, even if you do ask him, nine times out of ten, he won’t respond.”

Wylan still looked hesitant. “Well...alright. Let’s see…” he shut his eyes and Nina watched carefully, curious to know how the body reacted to astral projection. Would she be able to feel where he was like she could Inej or was he off the grid completely.

Wylan’s heart slowed, almost to a deadly place and Nina was about to run over there but Jesper stopped her. “Let him do his thing.”

Then, Wylan’s whole body went limp and Nina could barely hear a heartbeat. She turned to Jesper. “You think that that’s normal?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Jesper didn’t say anything but his accelerated heartbeat told her everything.

They awaited with bated breath and Nina mentally searched the room for something—anything that could tell her where Wylan was. But she heard nothing.

Then, all of a sudden Nina saw it and Jesper stiffened beside her.

A single finger was floating a couple feet away from her. But she couldn’t feel any blood or a pulse running through it.

“Wylan?” Jesper asked, reaching a hand out to touch it.

Jesper had almost touched it before the finger was sucked back into the void as Wylan’s heart rate sped up and he took in a deep breath in his physical body.

He quickly ran up, feeling a little light headed. “Did you see my finger?” Wylan asked excitedly.

“Yeah.” Jesper said. “It was just...floating there.”

“It was super weird.” Nina added in. “I couldn’t feel any pulse even though you were there. You’re right, you’re like a ghost.”

“How’d you do it?” Jesper said. He was fiddling with the pen again.

Wylan opened his mouth then closed it. Opened it, then closed it. “It...it’s really hard to explain. The closest thing I can say is that...it’s like you’re in putty and you have to...to push yourself through it and it’s super hard and really tiring but entirely possible, but it takes a long time.”

Nina wondered if it was anything like how she imagined when she played around with muscles in bodies. Like it resisted her enough but was still pliable in her hands. Whatever Wylan was trying to convey, was something almost inflexible. But not quite.

Jesper rolled the pen around, thinking hard. “Like some kind of metal?”

Wylan shook his head. “It’s...it’s not as hard as metal. It’s like…well, putty. As you work it, it becomes easier to handle and maneuver.”

Jesper grasped the pen in a fist and when he uncurled his hand it was a purple-ish ball. “Maybe something like this?” He offered and threw it at Wylan who dropped it and sheepishly picked it up to inspect it.

Wylan rolled it around in his hand and poked it a couple of times. He tried pulling it apart so quickly that it tore. He told Jesper this and Jesper tweaked it.

For 45 minutes Nina just watched. Well, not exactly. She went down to the kitchen to get some snacks (waffles and some cheese and crackers) and she sat down at the little bench. While Nina was rather interested in this new kid who had arrived, she didn’t really want to watch Jesper and Wylan play around with a ball of putty—whether it was helping Wylan with his astral projection or not.

So, Nina hung out with Inej in her room for a bit. She didn’t know what she’d do without Inej in this weird, closed off, place. She couldn’t imagine being the only girl in a house full of boys. Although, to be honest, Jesper and Wylan were fine. Jesper was a bit eccentric and he never stopped moving but it was better than Matthias’ stick in the mud manner and Kaz’s attitude that resembled a pre-teen boy in the middle of his rebellious war phase that thought wearing all black was super cool.

Supper was uneventful and Nina wanted to puke up her food when Brum asked everyone how their day was and only Matthias replied with a curt “satisfactory”.

When Nina was younger and she was still with her mom, the night time was their getaway.

Nina would stay up until her mom’s shift ended at 11:30 and they’d stargaze and drink hot chocolate until 12:15 where they’d promptly fall asleep in their rickety, old, outdoor swinging bench.

Nina loved sleep. But she loved her mom more.

Now, without her mom, sleep was second priority. Food was obviously first.

Nina snuggled up in the fuzzy comforter she had made Brum buy her from the market when she first got here and promptly fell asleep.

And, like every single night when her body woke her up at the godforsaken time of 6:30 in the morning, she was curled up in Matthias’s bed, an arm slung across his waist like they were an old married couple.

Chapter 3: Inej

Inej could never sleep past five in the morning.

It was physically impossible for her body to sleep in. Whether she fell asleep at 8 in the evening or 3 in the morning.

Even Kaz slept in later than her. Not by much, usually only thirty minutes, but still.

After getting dressed, she noiselessly padded out of her room, down the four flights of stairs, and exited the building into the fresh air.

The school had a lot of windows but there was one specific place, behind the school, that had no windows and was the perfect place to scale the side of the building.

Of course, she could still scale a building with windows. It was just that she preferred not to.

There was barely any wind when Inej got to the top and leaned against the chimney, letting herself lie on the black roof like a cold blooded animal warming itself.

Inej’s thoughts drifted and hopped from thought to thought—about Kaz’s plan, Wylan, Jarl Brum and Matthias, and Kaz’s secret associates.

The roof was something of a safe haven to Inej. Even though if Jarl Brum were to ride in he’d see her, she knew he wouldn’t. Brum never came to the school this early.

There was a flap of wings nearby, and Inej didn’t even sit up as the eagle landed on the roof and cocked its head to the side before morphing into Matthias.

“You shouldn’t come up here. It’s dangerous.” Matthias states as he sat sprawled his legs out over the roof. He was close enough that it was comfortable but he wasn’t too so that Inej felt unsafe.

Inej didn’t say anything. He always greeted her the same way every morning.

And every morning she’d respond with the same thing. “It’s not dangerous up here.” And Matthias knew what she was implying—that down there, in the school, was much more dangerous.

They stayed like that—Inej laying on her back and Matthias sitting down—silently contemplating about whatever managed to run through their heads at that moment.

Matthias pursed his lips after awhile. “Please tell me you aren’t going to go. You could be punished very severely if you do this.”

Inej sat up and frowned. “I’ve done this over one hundred times. You can’t tell me not to go.”

“I’m not telling you not to go. I’m hoping that you won’t. Whatever Brekker gets you to do every two weeks can’t be good.”

Inej rolled her eyes and ran a hand through her long, dark, brown hair. She hadn’t put it up yet in its bun so it floated around with the light wind. It almost reached her butt when she stood up. “I think I should cut my hair.” Inej said suddenly.

Matthias glared at her but didn’t acknowledge her changing the subject. “Up to you I guess.” He shrugged.

As much as she liked her long hair, it could be such a hassle. It was heavy too.

But Inej felt like if she did cut it her balance would be off from such a large weight off of her head.

But those thoughts were stupid. There were so much more important things to think about than whether she should cut her hair or not.

“It would look good either way.” Matthias said with another shrug.

“You should head back inside.” Inej pointed out. “It’s almost six. You don’t want Nina waking up without you.”

Matthias made a scrunched up face and he looked like he wanted to say something. But, instead, he stood up, transformed into an eagle, and away he flew.

When Inej walked into Kaz’s room, Kaz was sitting at his desk, an envelope twirling around in his gloved hands.

“How was your roof chat with Helvar?” Kaz asked nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair and spinning back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. His gloves were on top of each other at the corner of his desk.

“Good,” Inej said and perched herself on Kaz’s windowsill. It was the best spot to sit.

Kaz raised an eyebrow.

“The same conversation as always.” Inej said again. “Said I shouldn’t be on the roof, said that I shouldn’t deliver the letter for you…” she shrugged.

Kaz pocketed the letter and picked up his gloves, beginning to slide them on.

“How did Wylan do last night?” He asked, stretching his fingers beneath the tough leather.

“He managed to get a finger through from the astral plane.” Inej recounted. “He explained it like he was pushing through putty.”

Kaz nodded as he stood up and grabbed his cane. He had had it for as long as Inej could remember. She was pretty sure he brought it from where he lived when he was collected by Jarl Brum or Matthias.

They were about to head down for breakfast when a voice came through the vent underneath Kaz’s bed.

The vent was a great spy tool. It connected to the main entrance of the house. The sounds were quiet enough that they wouldn’t alert anyone else on the floor but it was loud enough to spy on other people’s conversation.

It was Yuri Vedenen, the school teacher, and a mysterious voice that had been appearing on occasion for as long as Kaz could remember, who had arrived at the school before her.

Inej and Kaz glanced up at each other at the same time. Kaz gave a slight nod, and Inej dashed out as fast as she could.

The mysterious voice was a puzzle for both Kaz and Inej. Unless Kaz has figured it out without telling her. And, if that was the case, she’d be having a strong word with Kaz.

Inej jumped onto the handrail and slid down as quickly and quietly as she could.

The voice couldn’t be pinned to anybody that they knew. Jarl Brum and Yuri were the only two adults who ever showed their faces, but the owner of the mystery voice had never been seen by any of the students before.

Every time they could hear the voice through the vents, Kaz would stay up in the bedroom to listen to the rest of the conversation while Inej would run/slide down the four flights of stairs to catch a glimpse of the mysterious person.

Every single time she was too slow and the person was gone, leaving just Yuri alone in the entrance hall.

This time she was determined to see something—anything—that could help her and Kaz in their search for the mystery man.

Inej hopped off the rail and landed silently on the main floor before cutting through the study and then the two living rooms (who needed two living rooms?)

As she got closer she quieted her footsteps even more and neared the half wall that separated the living room and the entrance hall.

“So please try to be discreet.” The mysterious voice said. “We don’t want a coup like last time.”

“Yes, yes. Of course.” Yuri repeated. “Discreet.”

Inej turned herself invisible and peeked her head above the half wall.

Yuri was in his normal black garb and was clasping his hands together.

And the mysterious man…

Inej couldn’t see anyone except Yuri.

Inej silently walked closer. Where was the voice coming from?

She followed Yuri’s gaze and it seemed like he was looking straight ahead. But not glazed off in any way.

“Good. I expect to hear from you soon.” The man said again.

Inej quickly walked behind Yuri to see what he was looking at.

She almost made a noise with her mouth.

Yuri was looking at a face floating in front of him.

The man that was peering at Yuri like he would the dirt on his shoe. He had unruly orange hair and bright green eyes.

Inej only caught a glimpse of the man before he disappeared and Yuri continued down the hallway towards the staircase.

As soon as she knew it was safe, she sprinted up the staircase, skipping as many steps as she dared.

She was about to start the third staircase when Kaz appeared in front of her. Inej tried to stop, but there was too much momentum and the next thing she knew she was on the floor, visible again and on all fours. It seemed like a miracle that she wasn’t touching any part of Kaz.

While Kaz was fully clothed save for his face, Inej knew that both of them would rather not come in skin-to-skin contact. Especially Kaz.

Inej jumped up immediately and offered Kaz her hand.

He didn’t take it.

Inej didn’t take it personally.

“I saw the face of the man!” Inej exclaimed.

Kaz shook his head in disbelief. “What?”

“We have to have breakfast. Nina’s keeps track of us and if we aren’t on time she’s going to be suspicious.” Kaz said in a clipped tone. “After breakfast come up and tell me what you saw.”

And without waiting for Inej to respond he began making his way down the staircase.

If Inej knew that Nina wasn’t paying attention to everything she would have slid down the handrail and passed Kaz. But she didn’t. Even if she really wanted to.

Breakfast was excruciatingly slow and she couldn’t stop moving. Inej wondered if it was like how Jesper felt.

Only Kaz seemed to recognize how impatient she felt. Maybe Matthias too, but she knew he wouldn’t bring it up.

Once breakfast was finally over, it was their thirty minutes free time before class, Inej was the first one on the top floor and waited in Kaz’s bedroom on his windowsill, invisible.

Kaz was dead last up the stairs. She supposed if she was in a better mood she’d rationalize. The guy did walk with a limp. But Inej couldn’t stand it any longer. She began flickering in and out of sight.

When Kaz walked in Inej opened her mouth but Kaz just glared at her. Inej promptly closed her mouth while Kaz took at least one full minute to close the door and lock it.

“You are the worst.” Inej said as Kaz took his sweet time sitting down at his desk chair. He pulled off his gloves and placed them one on top of the other on his desk.

Kaz didn’t address her last comment. “What did you see?”

Inej pursed her lips. “It was a man with orange hair and green eyes. He was contacting Yuri through this...this portal thing. So he wasn’t actually physically there. That’s why I could never catch him before or see him because he was wherever he was.”

“Did you manage to catch his surroundings?”

Inej shook her head. “It was just his face and even then I didn’t see much because he disconnected or closed the portal almost as soon as I caught a glimpse of him.” She changed the subject. “What were Yuri and him talking about?”

Kaz closed his left hand around his cane. “They were talking about taking blood tests of everyone here except Matthias. Put a sleeping tonic in our supper and take the blood while we sleep.”

“And they talked about a previous coup?” Inej asked. “What’s that about?” While it wasn’t her first time hearing about the previous troubles that occurred at the school, no one ever talked about it unless it was absolutely dire.

She had pieced together that before any of the current students attended the school—even Matthias—there were more than four students who attended this school. And they tried to escape. Something horrible happened but three of the four of them had managed to escape.

And she was working as Kaz’s messenger to contact two of them.

“The last student loyal to Brum woke up while they were secretly taking blood and that was the last straw.” Kaz said it so simply. Like he was asking for some salt for his soup.

Yuri Vedenen was an okay teacher. He knew his stuff but he had a tough time getting it out of his mouth. He was powerless (although Kaz still believed he was hiding whatever powers he might have no matter how long Inej spied on the man).

The six of them had to endure six hours of classes a day, not including breaks and lunch. They were taught math, science, English, history and physical education.

Five minutes before “school” was out for the day, Kaz got up from his seat to throw a piece of paper in the garbage. On his way there, he slid the sealed envelope onto Inej’s desk. Matthias glared at her before looking in the opposite direction.

When Yuri dismissed them Inej was the first one out of her seat and immediately turned invisible, sliding down the two flights of stairs to the main floor and out the door.

She climbed to the top of Yuri’s car with ease and gripped the roof racks.

Yuri came out a couple of minutes later, got in his car, waited for Jarl Brum’s signal, and then they were off.

This was always Inej’s favourite part of the journey. The wind running around her body and the warmth of the sun shining down on her. Plus, it gave her plenty of time to just think.

She liked to prattle off powers that she could see Yuri having if he had powers. She could totally see flight or some kind of kinesis like maybe Phytokinesis—plant manipulation.

But that was just for fun. She still believed he was powerless. Surely she would have known by now.

But Kaz insisted. “He’s got a power.” He always said when Inej, Nina, or Jesper brought it up. And then, with just her in the room he’d say “I know he’s got one. He’s hiding his power. I have firsthand experience with hiding it and that man is hiding one.”

And Kaz would go quiet and Inej would slowly leave his room.

Chapter 4: Kaz

Inej arrived back at the school the next morning on top of Brum’s van. He read the letter after she left to get changed for breakfast.

KB,

What you mentioned in your previous letter is incredibly concerning. While we never got to the point where we knew what the school’s goal was about, we know that the obligatory meals are one of the last things on the to-do list. You are correct in trying to escape as soon as humanly possible with IG.

NL is wondering why you aren’t including the others in your escape plan. He thinks that you should try to get everyone out. (But, between you and me, I understand just getting out with IG).

Anyway, just know that we will both be there when you give the signal.

Good luck,

ZN & NL

Kaz closed the letter up and began tearing it up into little pieces. He’d put it in the fireplace later to be burnt.

No more than two minutes later Kaz could feel the familiar sense of being watched. “It’s happening tonight,” he said quietly, brushing the little bits of paper into his palm. “Take anything you need.”

Inej flashed into view and she didn’t comment on how he knew she was there. She looked slightly sick, like she should, but pretty much okay. That was always the excuse when Inej had to deliver a letter to Nazyalensky and Lantsov. That Inej was sick and couldn’t come down for supper, which was always an important meal because Brum always attended. It had been a close call though. Now with Brum and Yuri forcing everyone to go to meals and finishing their plates, they would want to make sure that Inej joined them for supper.

But using Nina’s acting skills and Wylan’s knowledge of chemicals to create a small stink in the room, Yuri and Brum left her alone. Of course, they left Matthias in charge who already knew that Inej wasn’t in her room so, in actuality, they were all fine.

Inej didn’t move.

Kaz knew it was coming before she even spoke.

“I can’t leave.” Kaz waited for the inevitable. “At least, not without Nina and Jesper and Wylan. And maybe Matthias if he wants to.”

Kaz turned his back. He knew Inej wouldn’t be able to leave without the others. He was hoping she wouldn’t say so, but Kaz’s mind went through just about every possible way this plan could go wrong. And Inej being too caring was one of them. So he told her what he had already planned if this event occurred. “Okay. Fine by me. But I’m leaving tonight.”

When Inej had first arrived, she was young, frightened, and traumatized from her experiences before Brum had captured her and brought her over. As she should have been, because working in a pleasure house against your will is utterly awful and completely illegal.

But, over time, they had slowly grown closer, despite Kaz’s compulsion to pull back and just stay silent.

Kaz had a strong sense or, at least, he hoped that Inej would come with him anyway. Why would she want to stay here, trapped, when escape was an option? Kaz had been planning this for ages and one little mistake could cause his and Inej’s deaths. In fact, it could cause everyone’s deaths.

He reached his gloved hand out to turn the doorknob to leave, halting when Inej spoke. “I’m not going.”

Kaz spun on his heels. His leg was beginning to throb. “What?” His voice felt dry and he hoped he hadn’t heard correctly. Except he knew that he had.

“I’m not going without everyone else. And you can leave, that’s completely fine.” Inej’s voice was the complete opposite of what Kaz felt. “I’m going to figure out a way to get us all out of this mess.”

Kaz wanted to say something—anything. But he pursed his lips and spun back around. He yanked open the door maybe a bit too harshly as he left.

He eventually found himself on the second floor, on one of the small balconies behind the building. It’s railing wasn’t as intricate as the one on the fourth floor where he traumatized Nina by throwing her stuffed fox into the force field.

Even though the rails weren’t as pretty, they were tall and opaque. And hollow.

Kaz knelt down on the wooden floor, putting all his weight on his good leg, barely recognizing the spattering of rain getting on his coat. He laid his cane down next to him.

He dug his fingernails into the groove separating each plank of wood and it popped out of its place, revealing a hollow space.

His metal box was his arms length away on the right side. It was about the size of a shoe box, and he wasn’t planning on leaving without it.

“Ah, so this is where Kaz’s personal belongings are.”

Kaz almost got whiplash from how quickly his head swivelled.

Jesper was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. A light smile played on his lips.

Kaz stood up as quickly as he could while also grabbing his box. He grasped his cane while popping the plank back in its place. “It’s pretty much empty now so you can use it if you’d like.” Kaz said in a clipped tone.

He couldn’t get Inej’s voice out of his head.

“What are you doing?” Jesper asked nonchalantly.

“Nothing.” Kaz replied, gripping his box tightly. But then he remembered something.

Jesper watched him with interest as he silently leaned his cane against the railing before opening up the box and digging his hand inside.

Kaz pulled out a fluffy red thing and handed it to Jesper. “Here. Give this to Nina tomorrow morning. I’m sure she’ll be ecstatic.”

Kaz remembered Nina’s face when she thought he had thrown the little stuffed fox into the portal. He had created a duplicate the evening Nina arrived but kept the actual thing in case he needed leverage over Nina.

Jesper took the stuffed animal and inspected it with awe. “Is that Koja, Nina’s old stuffed animal her mom made?”

Kaz hadn’t known that her mom had made it, and that just put him in an even more foul mood. “Just give it to her.” He seized his cane once again and maneuvered his way around Jesper and back into the warmth of the school.

Jesper jogged up behind him. “Wait.” He lowered his voice. “Are you going to leave? Like leave-leave?”

Kaz kept his face calm and didn’t reply. Whether Jesper took this as a yes or no, it didn’t matter.

“Are we all leaving?” Jesper hissed again.

Obviously, Kaz thought, Jesper thought of the former.

Of course, Nina appeared then and Kaz wanted them both gone. He was close to doing something he might regret and he didn’t want that. He wanted to be gone and he wanted Jesper and Nina to leave him alone.

“Is that Koja? Oh my gosh!” Nina exclaimed loudly and snatched the little stuffed toy from Jesper’s fingers. She petted the red fur on its head then looked at Kaz, curious. “I thought you—“

—Kaz shoved passed both of them roughly and didn’t look back. He had to leave. He had planned for it to happen in the evening when Yuri was leaving for the night but now his mind spun for other possibilities.

“Someone’s in a bad mood,” Helvar commented as Kaz came up over the fourth staircase.

“Shut up,” Kaz snapped and slammed his cane down harder than usual.

All he could think about was Inej and he hated it.

Think about something else, he told himself as he made his way back to his room until he would go down for breakfast.

Making sure the door was locked and inspecting every little nook and cranny in his room in case Inej was watching, he sat at his desk chair and laid his box on the desk.

It was slick with condensation as Kaz opened it.

There wasn’t a lot of stuff in it but he could already feel the waters rising above his head, trying to drown him and take him under.

But Kaz forced himself to take off his gloves anyway. It felt painfully slow but this was imperative to their plan.

Every single day since he created this plan with Z and N, he had been taking off his gloves for an hour every day.

If he couldn’t take off his gloves, his plan wouldn’t work. The whole thing was riding on him taking off his gloves, and on Z and N. And he had his mind set on doing it. Kaz wouldn’t fail. It was out of the question.

Kaz shakily picked up the silver coin, which had slid to the corner of the box, and inspected it closely.

It was a coin from Jordie’s first pay. After Jordie had been paid for the first time, they had picked out the shiniest one and decided to save it for good luck. It was their way of remembering that some good could come out of bad.

A week after that though...The waters rose more quickly and Kaz slammed the coin down on the table with a metallic screech. The waters slumped back and Kaz picked up the next item in the box.

It was a wolf statue made of bone, about the size of Kaz’s thumb. It was intricately designed and incredibly light.

After Matthias had insulted Jesper’s mom in a fit of rage, Kaz has snuck into his room and stolen the prized possession Brum had apparently given him.

That evening, after Matthias had found the wolf to be missing, he ransacked Kaz’s room looking for it but couldn’t find anything.

Kaz laid the statue down and picked up the next object. A smooth, round pebble, pitch black. This time, Kaz couldn’t hold down the waters and his whole body shook.

Repressed visions flooded his memory and Kaz couldn’t stop them. The canal. Jakob Hertzoon. Pekka Rollins.

Him and Jordie having powers to manipulate water at will. Sitting on the edge of the canal and making water animals—horses, dogs, birds.

Then the plague. The smell of death that clung to their tiny apartment. Jordie, who didn’t get it at first but, who got it after Kaz had healed.

Kaz not touching Jordie in case he could catch the plague again. Realizing his water powers had vanished. Oh, Kaz remembered that day clearer than the rest. Feeling utterly hopeless.

The day the plague was officially pronounced over, Jordie was still laying in the street, weak.

Kaz still hadn’t touched him. For the first time in weeks, he left their little nook between two buildings to go down to the canal. He had been stupid enough to think that maybe the canal was magical and would bring his powers back.

But no. His powers didn’t reply to his hand movements as he had grown so accustomed to.

After silently weeping at the edge of the canal for a few minutes, he saw a shimmery rock a few feet away in the water.

Impulsively, he waded in and picked it up. The water was strong and it felt like walking in molasses. Kaz hadn’t felt that before. Normally, walking in water was as easy as walking through air. He inspected the rock and thought that maybe he’d give it to Jordie.

On his way back to their alleyway, he was so caught up with looking at his rock that he banged into a man in a trench coat. He toppled to the cobblestone ground and the man helped him up. Neither of them wore gloves. Kaz didn’t think anything of it and kept on walking towards the alleyway.

And then the memories appeared more quickly. Jordie lightly asleep, Kaz pocketing the rock and his fingers brushing one of the buildings that they were sandwiched between. How it had burst into flames. Kaz had scampered to the other side of the alleyway in terror, his back touching the other wall, and that building burst into flames too.

The next thing Kaz knew he was on Reaper’s Barge, Jordie’s, burnt, limp, body next to him. Kaz was doused in water and saw no massive burns on himself.

“Kaz!” Inej’s life brought him back to the present.

He was breathing heavily and Inej’s face was so close to his own that he jolted backwards. “Get away from me,” Kaz rasped out aggressively. He released his hands gripping the desk for dear life and scrambled to put on his gloves which were neatly stacked in the corner of his desk.

Inej took a giant step back and sat lightly on his bed. “Are you okay? Nina and Jesper were worried about you.”

Kaz scowled. He saw Inej’s eyes flicker to his desk where the coin, the wolf statue, and the rock were. But she didn’t say anything. “I’m fine.” He growled as he swept the three objects into his hand and pocketed them.

Inej picked at the loose threads on his comforter silently. Kaz expected her to speak but she didn’t say anything.

They sat there in complete silent and Kaz’s attention was painfully brought to his laboured breathing. He hated how weak he sounded. He wanted those memories gone. Why couldn’t Wylan have been a memory manipulator instead of an astral projector?

Kaz tried to calm his breathing but every time he did he could feel his body in the water, arms wrapped around Jordie as he kicked relentlessly to land from Reaper’s Barge.

Kaz could do nothing but watch his chest move up and down so fast that he could feel slightly dizzy.

He averted his gaze and instead forced himself to look at Inej who was still playing with his comforter’s loose threads. She was breathing calmly and Kaz tried to match up his own breathing with her’s.

That was when Inej began speaking. “Nina, Jesper, and Wylan want to talk to you.”

“It’s not possible to all get out.” Kaz answered slowly. “I’ve went over thousands of different plans with all four of us before Wylan got here. None of them worked. Someone died or all of us died. It just doesn’t work. And now with Wylan? That’s just too many people.”

“Maybe you missed a way.” Inej said, finally look at him and letting the thread between her fingers go. “We can all help. It must be exhausting thinking up plans by yourself.”

“I didn’t miss anything” Kaz responded sourly. “It’s literally impossible to get all five of us out.” Besides, he added silently, how would he tell Z and N about the change? Wylan could contact them, he supposed. That was the whole reason he asked Wylan if he could leave the astral plane without his body.

“We can all think of a plan together.” Inej said.

“Tell me your idea on how we’d all get through the forcefield since there’s no way that we could all hide in Yuri’s car.” Kaz asked with a raised brow.

Inej thought for a long moment. “We could get Nina to hold Brum down and then force him to put down the forcefield.”

“And if Brum refuses?” Kaz asked.

“We’ll kill him?” Inej said although her voice was unsure. “And hope that when he dies his forcefield goes away too?” She paused before gesturing to Kaz. “What is your idea? Even if it doesn’t work just say it.”

Kaz bristled. Late at night, when he thought of ideas of escape for three or more people, he had had one good idea as to how they’d all escape through the forcefield. He’d never told Inej, because it would give her too much hope. But the idea could almost certainly work. Maybe. But he said it anyway. “I’ll take down the forcefield.”

It took Inej a moment before she understood what he meant. When she did, her eyes went wide. “Kaz, Brum will notice if you have your gloves off and try to even get close to him.”

“Brum thinks I’m a pyrokinetic. Not a power absorber.” Kaz said so quietly that he could barely hear himself.

Inej nodded slowly, like she was in a daze. “That could work. If Nina can hold down Brum and Yuri and Matthias if he’s a lot of trouble, we can get you to touch Brum and take down the forcefield.” Her eyes were bright and Kaz wished to be that hopeful.

“It’s not that easy.” Kaz said. “There’s undoubtedly something that we won’t expect.” Which is why he wanted Z and N. Especially with N’s...specific power.

“You’re right, but five different powers have a better chance of escaping than two.” Inej said. “Especially since no one here knows what you do.”

Kaz crossed his arms. “The more people planning to escape, the more likely someone’s going to die.” He wouldn’t let them all go on a suicide mission.

Inej sighed then stood up. “Alright.” She tilted her head to the side. “At least come down for breakfast. We’re behind schedule.”

The dinner table was quiet and Kaz couldn’t not notice the small nod Inej gave Nina as she sat down.

Halfway through breakfast Matthias grabbed his stomach and snapped his mouth shut. No one said anything as Matthias practically ran from the dinner table. Kaz heard pounding on the floor as Matthias went to find the nearest bathroom.

Nina grinned. “That should keep him in the bathroom for a while.”

Kaz slammed his utensils on the wooden table and stood up. “No.” He growled and he would have left if not for Inej slipping past him and blocking the doorway completely.

“Listen to them. We won’t talk in much detail in case the room is bugged, but there aren’t many times we can talk without Matthias around.” Inej said forcefully. She didn’t move until Kaz was fully sat back in his chair.

“Here’s the plan,” Jesper said. “Nina snaps Yuri’s neck and tortures Brum until he gives up and takes the forcefield away. Simple.”

“Not that simple.” Kaz said and picked up the knife, testing it against his gloves. “We don’t know what Yuri’s powers are and Brum won’t easily give up.”

“But Yuri told me that he doesn’t—” Wylan began.

“—And you believe him?” Kaz asked with a raised eyebrow.

Wylan pursed his lips and his shoulders tensed in annoyance. “Okay, then what? How the heck are we going to make Brum take the forcefield away out of his own free will?”

Kaz placed the knife down. “Leave that to me. You all will deal with Yuri and anything else that could possibly happen.” He turned his gaze to Inej. The red haired man with the green eyes. The thought ran through his head and Inej nodded curtly, as if she could read his mind.

“We can’t do anything if we don’t know all the details.” Nina said. “Later, you two tell us everything.”

“There is no safe place here,” Kaz replied easily. “And the less you know, the less you can tell.”

“Who are we supposed to tell? Yuri? Matthias?” Jesper asked.

Kaz huffed. He still was sure this wouldn’t work. “Just...it’s safer if you don’t know everything.” He heard footsteps again and his spine straightened. “Meet me in the spare bedroom across from Inej’s after classes.”

Less than two seconds later, Matthias came back in, still looking a little green.

“Are you okay?” Inej asked.

“Yeah, I think I just ate a bad piece of egg.” Matthias muttered, keeping his head down as he plopped himself down in his chair.

Kaz couldn’t eat anymore. He palms were slick with sweat and his throat felt incredibly dry.

***

“So tell me where Matthias is again?” Wylan asked curiously.

“Every day after classes, he speaks to Yuri about us. Kind of like to see if we’re doing everything we should. It takes at least one hour.” Nina replied with an eye roll.

“That long? What does he talk about?”

Nina snorted. “Probably what we wear, what we talk about, how much we eat, how long our hair grew since he last saw him.”

Kaz cleared his throat. “Now is not the time, Zenik.” He had to think. How was he going to pull off an impossible stunt that could kill them all if anyone made the wrong move or they got something wrong.

All five of them shut their mouths and brought their focus’ to him who was sitting on the desk. “Wylan, how’s leaving the astral plane without your body?”

Wylan shrugged. “Well, I mean...I can make a little portal through about the size of my fist.”

“Good. I want you to go into the astral plane, follow this road until you see a farmhouse with the sign The Bonds outside. Find a person inside and tell them I’m taking three more people.” Even saying it sounded impossible on Kaz’s lips. “Also tell them the signal is the same. And, at the very end of telling them, before you go back into the astral plane, say what’s written on here.” He gave a piece of paper to Wylan. “Once you’ve read it, tear it up and burn it. And when you come back, stay where you are until Jesper comes to get you.”

Kaz pointed to Jesper. “Go now and when Wylan gets to the astral plane, hide the body where we discussed.” He looked harshly at Jesper to make sure he understood and nodded. “Go now and come back the second you’re done.”

“Wait, are we going before supper?” Nina asked.

Kaz ignored her. He couldn’t disclose a time this open where anyone could be listening. This was the whole reason he chose to meet in this room was because there were no vents and an incredibly small window that faced a brick wall.

He waited until Jesper and Wylan left before turning to Inej and Nina. “You two will deal with Yuri and anything or anyone that might be a surprise.”

“What if Yuri is powerless?” Inej asked.

“He’s not. But if his power isn’t deadly don’t bother too much.” Kaz said.

“And you’re sure you can deal with Brum by yourself?” Nina asked skeptically.

“Yes.”

Jesper slipped back into the room. “Wylan’s gone. What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to, on my signal, turn the nearest thing into a sunflower and chuck it as high in the air as you can.”

“What?” Jesper, Nina, and Inej said simultaneously.

“Just do it or so help me.” Kaz snapped.

“And what do I do before you give me the signal?” Jesper asked, scratching his arm uncertainty.

Kaz held his head with his hands. He felt overwhelmed and very close to lashing out and murdering every single one of them in this room including himself. “I—I...just don’t get in my way but be ready at any moment to give the signal. And go get Wylan once everything begins.”

Kaz’s ears perked up as he heard the massive van Brum drove pull up to the school.

They were all on their feet in seconds. “It’s showtime,” Nina muttered. “When do we know to start?”

“You’ll know.” Kaz responded, grabbing his cane and opening his door.

The walk down the stairs was painfully slow and his bad knee began twinging again.

He took off his gloves and pocketed them, trying his hardest not to allow them to shake.

When he got to the first floor, Nina and Jesper spread out, and he knew Inej was invisible right next to him.

Brum was down the hallway, talking with Yuri about their day. Kaz steeled himself. He wished he could get Inej’s power and then sneak up behind Brum and grab his forcefield power but he could only reuse his power once every twenty four hours.

He was thinking of just walking by, brushing his own hand against Brum’s. But as soon as he was a couple feet away from Brum, Matthias bounded out of the hallway to Kaz’s right, smacking him straight in the back and making Kaz topple into Brum.

Well that was one way to do it, Kaz thought sourly as Brum swore multiple times and grabbed Kaz’s hand, yanking him back up and nearly popping his arm out of its socket. Kaz blinked harshly, keeping the waters at bay. Brum’s hand was freezing cold and felt rubbery. “Watch where you’re going, Brekker.”

When Brum continued on with Yuri, Kaz rustily moved his hands and fingers like he did with water when he was a boy. But nothing happened. He felt absolutely nothing.

Kaz’s breathing became jagged and heavy. Panic began to set in his chest. There was no rushing of power down his arms and out of his fingers, there was nothing. Kaz didn’t have any power. Which only meant one thing.

His hands began shaking uncontrollably this time as he turned to Inej who flickered into his sight. His voice was raw. “Brum doesn’t have any powers.”

Then who has the force field powers? The question ran through both of their minds.

Inej responded so silently Kaz felt like he might faint. “The mysterious voice.”

Chapter 5: Matthias

Matthias watched as a spider on the wall as Brekker told Inej that Jarl Brum was powerless.

He watched as the two of them skittered away, leaving Matthias alone in the empty hallway.

Matthias didn’t know why he turned on Brum. Maybe it was because he noticed the changes in his former father figure.

How, when he called people with powers “disgusting” and “unnatural” he no longer added in “except for you, Matthias.” Instead, he just said “no offence” to Yuri whenever he was in the room.

How Matthias slowly came to enjoy being around the people in the school, save Brekker.

Or maybe it was because Matthias wanted to escape too but he just never had the courage to.

Whatever the reason, he just wanted to leave. Maybe even earn Nina’s respect back.

Matthias let go with all eight legs and turned himself into a fly. It was time to put his own plan into action. Everyone thought he was stupid. And he used that to his advantage. After puking his guts up during breakfast, he snuck back to the kitchen as a spider and listened in. After talking to Yuri after classes for ten minutes, he went back and listened in on the other five’s conversation.

Actually, Matthias had been planning on telling Brum everything after breakfast but he took the rest of the day to think about everything. His situation. His feelings towards Jarl Brum. And, while Matthias hated Kaz to the core, he had to admit the guy had a brilliant mind.

Flying through the vents and tiny cracks in the walls, ceiling, and floor, he shot up into the secret sixth floor which was inhabited by Pekka Rollins. He found him at the cramped dining table, reading a newspaper. After shifting back to his human form, Matthias tried to make himself seem as worried as possible. Acting wasn’t his strong suit. “Quick! We’ve got an orange alert! I have to take you to the safe house.”

Pekka Rollins’ eyebrows shot up he began breathing heavily. He ran a hand through his hair quickly. “Okay. Hold on. I need to grab a couple of belongings.”

Matthias wasn’t sure what to do. Should he let the man grab his things? Was that what he’d do if he was still on the other side and completely worried for the Rollins’ life?

But he took too long to contemplate it. In any real emergency Matthias would have all the answers. Rollins’s mouth curved upwards into a sick grin, now understanding it was all a hoax. Matthias began thinking of an escape route before Rollins took the offense and chose the first one to come to his head. He closed his eyes and prayed no one was under him as he turned into an elephant and the floor broke beneath him.

He counted the floors as they bowed underneath his weight and broke. One, two, three, four, five. As the fifth one broke Matthias clamped his eyes shut even harder and made himself turn into a white wolf.

Matthias could smell Kaz. His smell was distinctly gross and sour and he followed his nose even after he could smell Rollins on his tail.

Kaz was on the third floor balcony with the other four, surrounding the hole he had made. Most of them looked worried but otherwise unharmed. Wylan noticed him first and pointed, fear in his eyes. “Kaz, you better get a touch of this man or I will rip your other leg off.” Matthias growled. Kaz looked slightly shocked and his eyebrows rose up.

Of course he knew Kaz’s ability. Matthias had spied on him for hours on end until he figured it out. He had been so confused before he realized what exactly Kaz did. How Kaz and Jesper had accidentally touched the day Nina arrived and Kaz could change the paper in his room to objects like knives and rocks. How Kaz never seemed to use his fire powers except for the first day where Brum swore he saw the kid burn two buildings down.

He picked up speed, jumping over the balcony’s railing and turning into a fly before he could hit the ground.

Matthias immediately changed course and began flying back up to the balcony. But suddenly he came face to face with Rollins’ shoe and he quickly changed course to avoid being swatted to death.

By the time Matthias made it back to the balcony, Nina had gone and he assumed Inej had too. Jesper was holding onto a rock for dear life, Kaz looking up at the sky with his arms outstretched.

Matthias watched with amazement as the rock slowly morphed into the brightest sunflower he had ever seen. Jesper threw it up as high as it could go. For a split second, Matthias wondered what Nina’s favourite flower was.

But all those thoughts soon vanished as a loud roar almost deafened him. He spun around and glimpsed a woman and a thing. Some kind of animal. It was massive with wings, talons, and fangs. As it got closer, it looked like the animal’s blood was pitch black. They were headed towards them at full speed.

He didn’t have time to alert Kaz when Pekka Rollins escaped through a portal and reappeared on the dormer roof, just feet above Kaz who was so concentrated on opening the forcefield that he didn’t hear Rollins jump.

Matthias roared as he began to shift into a lion but then he noticed someone—or something. A floating dagger near Kaz. Inej.

Matthias flew inside the building, turning into a wolf as he went and following Nina’s scent of tangerine and sweat.

Nina was standing in the middle of the kitchen, Yuri on one side, closest to Matthias, and Brum on the other. Her fists were clenched and both of the men were scratching at their necks hastily. Matthias got closer and growled as he noticed one of Yuri’s hands begin to curl.

A puff of grey clouds formed and Matthias saw Nina’s eyes widen at whatever Yuri was showing her through the clouds.

Matthias knew this trick well. Yuri had used it against him when he had been a boy. Matthias had been mischievous and Yuri had created the clouds to show him his younger sister, huddling on a cold, damp, street alone. Matthias had begged Yuri to make it go away but Yuri only listened once Matthias was crying for at least an hour.

Nina’s fists began to slowly unclench and Yuri and Brum both started to relax as they both managed to get some air.

Matthias shifted into a lion and skidded through the rest of the hallway, digging his claws into the wood to slow down in front of Nina. He opened his mouth and let out a mighty roar. Nina put her hands to her ears but her lips were slightly upturned.

He noticed Yuri’s cloud and saw the familiar shape of Nina’s mom, rocking slowly back and forth in a rocking chair. “Hop on.” Matthias said, trying to sound normal but the jowls on the lion were large and human speech just sounded foolish.

Nina climbed on his back just as Brum jabbed out with a dagger.

And then they were off. Matthias ran as fast as he could go. Perhaps he should have turned into a cheetah instead. As they got to the hole that he had created as an elephant he bent down and jumped up to the second floor, feeling his back left paw slip a little on loose planks.

He steadied himself once again and jumped up to the third floor, making his way down the hallway to the closest balcony. He slowed as he got to the balcony door, pawed at it from underneath, and it opened. If Nina hadn’t been on his back he would have just run through it.

He jumped off the balcony and landed gracefully on the grass, lowering his back so Nina could slide off. “What made you change your mind?” She asked curiously.

Matthias shifted back to his human form. He was slick with sweat and he could hear shouts in the distance. “I...I don’t know.” He swallowed the lump in his throat and, for the first time, noticed the trees nearby bent almost at a ninety degree angle. When had it become incredibly windy? “But it feels right.” And then the question popped into his head again. “Hey, what’s your favourite flower—?”

But he was cut off by Nina’s deafening shriek and the sound of a gunshot.

And then everything went black.

Chapter 6: Jesper

The sound of gunshot made everyone stop. Inej was the first to recover. She turned herself invisible and hopped from the balcony’s railing to the roof,

Kaz was no longer straining to keep the forcefield open for the two newcomers. Apparently, Kaz had explained a couple minutes before, they were old students who had managed to escape. The woman was a wind manipulator named Zoya Nazyalensky while the monster was Nikolai Lantsov who wasn’t always a monster, mostly he was a man who just so happened to turn into a horrendous monster.

Jesper was holding onto a stick that he had turned into a sword, but now he wondered if he should have made something strong. A crossbow maybe?

Kaz was still leaning against the balcony’s railing, out of breath. But now he seemed ready for a fight. “Let’s go. Make us a gun and some bullets. You shoot. Come on Wylan, keep up.”

The three of them ran back inside the building. Jesper picked up random splinters and pieces of things on the floor, creating a revolver out of a pebble. It fit in his hands nicely, and he made a second one and gave that one to Kaz. As they made their way outside, Jesper yanked up a handful of grass and quickly shut his eyes, picturing shiny bullets and their heaviness in his hand. When he opened them again he gave half of the bullets to Kaz and kept the other half for himself.

He turned to Wylan and grinned lopsidedly. He had only just met Wylan but Jesper would willingly die for him. “What weapon are you most comfortable with? Bow and arrow? Sword? Ninja stars?”

“None, preferably.” Wylan said, scrunching up his nose.

“Shield, it is then.” Jesper nodded, clicking his tongue and picking up a fallen leaf.

Inej and Nina ran over to them. Tears were streaming down Nina’s face and Inej’s face was pale. “Matthias is dead.” She sobbed out.

Kaz looked alarmingly unfazed by this revelation. “How?” He turned to Inej gravelly.

“Gunshot. It was Brum on a balcony and Matthias didn’t see him.” Inej replied, putting an arm around Nina and squeezing tightly.

Jesper blanched. “Where are they now? Yuri, Brum, and the other man?”

“I think the winged thing dealt with Yuri. As for Brum and the other one, I don’t know.” Inej replied.

The wind picked up again in strong gusts and they ran to the front of the house. Zoya was in the middle of the field, the wind she had created whipping her black hair everywhere. Rollins was trying to make his way through, using the portal in front of him as a shield to absorb Zoya’s heavy gusts.

“Where’s Nikolai?” Jesper asked.

But nobody needed to answer, for there was a massive roar that made the building wobble on its foundation. “Inej, Wylan and Nina, go help Nikolai with Brum. Jesper, come with me.” Kaz said as he made his way over to Zoya and the red haired man.

Jesper watched as Kaz stretched out his hands. Suddenly, the man fell through the ground in a portal.

Zoya whipped her head around to see both Kaz and Jesper. “Now we don’t know where he is.” She said spitefully.

“Oh, we do.” Kaz said simply. His voice was patient while Zoya looked ready to slap him across the face—possibly the only person in the world who could ever get away with such a feat.

And, just like what had happened with the man, a portal formed under Kaz and he fell through, cane and all.

Jesper yelled and tried to grab at Kaz’s gloved hand. Kaz gripped on tightly and Jesper tried to heave him up. While Kaz wasn’t heavy, he wasn’t light either. But then his heart sank as he felt Kaz’s glove begin to wiggle off. “No!” He said with gritted teeth, trying to maneuver his hands to grip Kaz’s forearm. Instead, however, gravity won and Kaz fell through Jesper’s fingers like cold stone through the portal, leaving him with one of Kaz’s leather gloves. Zoya shrieked.

Then, all was silent. There were no roars from Nikolai and the wind Zoya had been conjuring up was gone. “He’s almost as stupid as Nikolai.” Zoya snapped, marching up to Jesper, trying to fix her hair.

“But you know you love me,” a blond man came into view, a self-assured smile on his face. He was in rags and slicked with dirt.

Jesper watched as Zoya’s face melted into relief.

“Where’s Kaz?” Inej asked, her head turning to look around.

Jesper retold the short story and Inej went completely silent. She gripped the dagger in her hand and Nina slowly held her hand. “I’m sure he’s okay. We just have to wait.”

Wylan’s voice was quiet and his voice wobbled. “Are you okay?” He was still holding the shield. It had a couple of talon streaks in it.

“I don’t know.” Jesper responded truthfully. All he could see was Kaz falling through that portal. “I just feel...numb all over. Exhausted too. How are you feeling?”

“I’m...pretty shaken up. When my father sent me here I thought I would be just coming to a weird boarding school. Not getting into...all of this.” Wylan bit his bottom lip. Jesper took Wylan’s hand in his. Wylan didn’t pull away.

Five minutes later, the five of them sat on the front porch, waiting for Kaz’s return.

“It’s amazing that this building has managed to stay up after Matthias put a hole right through the center of it.” Wylan mused, trying to make conversation but failing miserably. No one was in the mood to talk. The sun was setting and Jesper had managed to find some food in the kitchen for all of them to eat.

When the sun was just a sliver behind the hills in the distance, Nikolai looked at all of them. “What are we going to do if Kaz doesn’t come back?”

Jesper threw a pebble at the force field which disappeared. “Well, the force field is still up.” He said sourly. Wylan’s hand was still warm in his own.

Inej stood up suddenly. “Oh my goodness.” She breathed. Everyone turned to look to where she was looking. The road in the distance. And a limping figure was making its way slowly up to the school.

“Kaz!” Jesper shouted, and soon they were all shouting and hooting and hugging one another.

They all ran as close as they dared to the forcefield to watch Kaz’s slow limp up the road. When he got close enough to see his face, everyone saw how beat up he looked. He had two black eyes and he didn’t have his other glove or his cane. His clothes were ripped and he looked like a zombie.

All of them waited patiently as Kaz raised his hand, letting the forcefield down. Jesper threw a pebble to make sure.

“It’s gone…” Nina said, taking a hesitant step forward onto solid ground. They all took steps forward and soon they were laughing and hollering and shouting again.

Jesper gave the one glove back to Kaz who put it on with a small smile. “We did it.”

#grishabigbang #gvbbfic #six of crows #soc #six of crows fanfiction #six of crows fanfic #soc fanfiction #soc fanfic

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janeykath318 · 7 years

Text

Kirk x Reader: Starfleet Matchmaking

The Information Paperwork was twelve pages long and you groaned at how many questions there were, hurling the PADD down when you’d finally finished and hit enter.

“They need this much to find us a compatible husband prospect??” You complained to your friend Amy. The two of you were entered in the Starfleet Partner Match, having reached 30 and despaired of finding a man the conventional way.

Might as well give it a try, you’d thought. Couldn’t be worse than the last two blind dates you’d been on. Living on a Starbase for the last five years, you’d had surprisingly poor luck in the dating area and now that you were back on Earth, you’d been too busy re-establishing friendships and working to look seriously.

“Well, yeah. It’s kind of important to know preferences to have any sort of chance of making a successful match,” Amy said, brushing a lock of red hair away from her face. She’d gone along with it partly for moral support, partly for curiosity.

“What did you put?” You asked curiously.

“Under the musts, definitely “has to be a male over six feet”. I’m tired of being taller than my dates.“

Amy was a statuesque five feet ten inches and wanted to be able to look up to someone for a change. You, on the other hand were a hair over five feet three inches, but found shorter men to be insufferable, for some reason, though you hadn’t marked a specific height on the preferences.

“I put blue eyes, energetic, and personable,” you commented. “At this point, I’m just hoping it’s not a complete disaster. Ten years ago, I had super high idealistic standards for a guy, now, I just want to find a good one.”

“I feel you, Y/N,” Amy sympathized. “But you didn’t settle for less, like I’ve seen happen to old friends. What age range did you check?”

“Thirty to forty,” you replied. “I wouldn’t mind if he falls in the older part of that range. Older men do have an appeal to me now.”

“I noticed,” she said dryly. “Well, in a week or so, they’ll have the results and we’ll get to meet the candidates. Here’s hoping for good luck.

The next week, Captain James T. Kirk and his best friend Dr. Leonard McCoy were waiting nervously for the arrival of their prospective dates.

“There are about a million ways this could go horribly, terribly wrong,” Bones griped. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. She’ll take one look at me and run for the hills.”

“Aw, Bones. You just have to ease up on the scowl a little, that’s all,” Jim encouraged him. “What’s is gonna hurt anyway? We’ve tried finding people the usual way and haven’t had any luck. At least this way, there’s a better chance of meeting someone who has similar goals and interests.”

Jim had had several unfortunate romantic dalliances end due to transfers and his devotion to the Enterprise.

He was hoping to NOT end up as a captain hopelessly married to a ship. The Enterprise was great, but a man got lonely after a while. So, here they were, sitting at Starfleet Headquarters waiting to find where and when they’d meet the ladies.

Jim’s PADD dinged and he read the message on the screen.

“Well, I’m going to the commons, by the Founder’s statue.”

A moment later, Bones received his own summons.

“I’m headed to the same general area, only the Kelvin statue. Nice, non-threatening, public place all things considered. If she turns out to be a serial killer, you’ll hear me screaming for help.”

Jim laughed. “You’re hopeless, Bones. Let’s go.”

When you saw the one and only Captain James Tiberius Kirk coming toward you, your stomach did several flip-flops and you caught your breath. Surely the great captain wasn’t resorting to a match-making service? It was well known that pretty much any sentient being would fall at his feet. Maybe he was just passing by.

“Lieutenant Commander Y/L/N?” He asked, destroying your theory. You looked down and saw the name you’d been sent. Sure enough, it was Captain Kirk they’d set you up with. Dang it, he was even taller in person. You swallowed hard and summoned a smile, telling yourself firmly NOT to act like an idiot.

“Yes,” you said in what you hoped was a friendly tone. “Nice to meet you, Captain Kirk. This is a……surprise, I must say. I never thought a famous hero like yourself would need the assistance of Starfleet’s services.”

The blue eyes twinkled at you and your stomach flipped again.

“You’d be surprised. I’ve found there’s a vast difference between the number of people who merely want to see if I live up to my reputation” (he made a face) “and those who could consider life with a starship captain. After all, I’m leaving again on a mission next year.”

He looked closely at you, but not in an offensive manner, more like he was trying to place you.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. Recently assigned planetside?”

“Yes, I’ve been on the Yorktown for six years. Came home three months ago. I’m Waiting to see which ship I’ll get assigned.”

“Which division are you?”

“Science. I’m an astronomer.”

“Cool. That’s a field that’ll never get old. All those new stars to find and chart, old ones going supernova, vast expanses…” he got a dreamy look in his eye and you put a positive mark in your mental checkbox.

A guy who loved space so much couldn’t be as bad as he’d been painted by critics and gossips. You’d met some of his crew on the Yorktown while they’d been waiting on the Enterprise rebuild and had been stunned at how much they loved their Captain. Despite saving the world twice and a whole Starbase, he still was viewed as mostly lucky and a bit crazy by some–people who didn’t know him.

“Which is why I’m hoping to get a posting on a starship soon,” you added. “I’ve had my fill of being stationary.”

“And of being single, I take it?” Jim added.

“Yep. At least this way, you know they’ll match you with someone who has similar goals,” you explained. “I’ve heard for Captains, the pool is even smaller, given the rank requirements.”

“True. And a lot of people can’t take the stress that comes with loving one, which is why so many captains are divorced or never marry. I must warn you right now, I do tend to be in the thick of things a lot, so if you’re looking for stress-free, I’m not the man you’re looking for.”

It was your turn to give him a searching look, requiring you to crane your neck a bit. This clearly wasn’t the cocky, careless, Kirk from eight years ago. He was no less handsome, but in a more mature way and oh, those eyes!!

“If I couldn’t deal with danger-loving Captains, I wouldn’t be here talking to you,” you told him. “Plus, You’re the first guy I’ve met that hasn’t made any short jokes right off the bat. Refreshing.”

Jim grinned and it was gorgeous.

“If that’s the first thing a guy comments on, well, he’s an idiot. Do they not even bother to look at your face? Very pretty.”

You felt your face flush at the complement, delivered in a lower pitch that made you tingle a bit.

“Not bad, yourself, Captain,” you said lightly. “I admit I put blue eyes as one of my preferences and they picked the bluest pair they could find. Are you sure you’re all human?”

“Yeah. It’s another part of the Kirk legacy, I guess.” Jim said sheepishly. You wondered just how heavily that legacy had weighed on him throughout his career and how it had shaped him into the man he was now. Hopefully, he’d one day feel comfortable telling you.

Jim, meanwhile, was already planning how he’d convince Spock they’d need you for the astronomy department. If he wasn’t mistaken, there were still several openings in that area. He was very interested in your dark eyes and smile, not to mention your field of study.

“So, it’s a date, then?” He asked hopefully.

You smiled and shook his hand.

“It’s a date, Captain.”

Afterward you texted Amy.

“How’s it going? I think my date can be considered a success!”

“Not so hot at first,” she responded. “He seemed like a total grump killjoy. Once you get him talking though, he’s not bad. Pretty darn hot. Agreed to meet again. Says his name’s Leonard. Who did you get?”

“Captain Kirk.”

“WHAT?? I demand details!”

“He’s nice and charming and really, really smart. And gorgeous. Come over and I’ll tell you the rest.”

“On my way.”

I’m not sure who all likes Jim/Reader, so I hope you don’t mind my fluff!!

[If you liked this, I’m also going to write Amy’s first meeting with Bones. She’s kind of sassy.]

#Kirk/Reader #first meeting #kirk x reader

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boschlingtumbles · 4 years

Text

White Wedding (Chapters 10-16)

Jaime (What Have You Done 1 of x)

The first day he kept him at bay through his normal mixture of sarcasm and superiority. Batting down Ned Stark’s pathetic attempts at ingratiation was almost satisfying. He deserved it, really, and Jaime almost laughed when after trudging after him through half the city, Jaime hailed a taxi and jumped in, slamming the car door shut in Ned’s face. Only for Ned to show up at Cersei’s, tired and dirty, two hours later right as Jaime was in the middle of inquiring whether Cersei had ever noticed that Robert talked with his mouth full. “I thought you were going to help Jaime childproof the kitchen?” Cersei eyed Ned’s disheveled appearance disdainfully. “I missed the cab,” Ned ground out, “and had to walk. I didn’t know the area and I got lost several times.” Good riddance. The second day, it was just annoying. Ned always got up to talk to Robert in the painfully early morning before Robert departed for practice, which doubled the volume of noises that Jaime had to sleep through. Even being mean to him wasn’t as fun as it had been the day before, when Ned just stoically endured it as he had yesterday. Plus Jaime couldn’t get a moment alone with Cersei. Ned just kept popping up with a stupid question or a corny joke. It was driving Jaime mad. “I can’t concentrate with his stupid horse face jumping out at me at every corner,” Jaime hissed on the phone to Stannis. “I made a perfectly good list of all the disgusting things that Robert does while eating and I’ve barely gotten through a third of them.” “Did you include the fact that he double dips?” “Everyone double dips, Stannis,” Jaime rolled his eyes. There was a distinct hiss on the line. “It’s so unlucky! Of all the times for Ned Stark to get a crisis of conscience, why did it have to be now?!” Jaime warmed to his theme. “It’s not unlucky. Robert’s fucking with you and he’s winning. Get your head in the game.” Jaime made a doubtful noise. Like that sod was capable of psychological warfare. “I think it’s just Ned. He’s really weird and irritating. I don’t see how Robert stands having him around.” “You underestimate him,” Stannis growled. “Ned? Maybe. Weird, irritating, pretentious, so fucking earnest, dull, mindlessly loyal—“ “Not Ned,” Stannis sounded exasperated. “Robert.” Jaime blinked. He had seen Robert get stuck in a revolving door once. “Look, you have to understand that he’s a person of average to slightly below average intelligence who has realized his life will be much easier if everyone thinks he’s a moron.” “That’s ridiculous,” Jaime scoffed. “Why would anyone ever do that?” “Because he’s very lazy. And I suspect he finds it funny.” “Well have you ever considered maybe he’s just really stupid?” “I did live with him for eighteen years!” That was a good point. Stannis was also weird and irritating. Probably Robert had just built up a tolerance. “Look it’s fine to be related to someone stupid. My cousin Lancel makes Robert look sharp. My point is that Ned is driving me mad and I’ve made no progress on planting seeds of doubt in Cersei’s mind because everywhere I go, he follows after.” “Maybe that will work to our advantage,” Stannis said thoughtfully. “Huh?” Jaime wondered if maybe stupidity didn’t run in the family. “Look we’ve been attacking the Cersei angle. Maybe there’s a Robert angle. And nobody knows Robert’s secrets like Ned.” “Why would there be a Robert angle? Of course the big doofus is happy to marry her.” “Happy to have Tywin Lannister as a father in law?!” Stannis sounded horrified. Jaime considered. “Ok I’ll ugh... talk to Ned,” he said begrudgingly. With a shiver of distaste he hung up, and stepped out of the closet where the washer and dryer were kept. Since Cersei sent all her clothes to the dry cleaner, he’d discovered this was the one place where he could plot uninterrupted. Unobserved, he could sneak into this room and call Stannis or just jot down random ideas in a solo brainstorming session, as Cersei and Brienne did muscle toning yoga or whatever faddish obsession Cersei had fixated on for the day, nobody ever suspecting that he was working from within to bring down this entire— “Hi!” Ned gave a forced smile from where he had been waiting outside the closet. “Whatcha doing?” “None of your business, Stark,” Jaime snapped. Ned flinched but stood his ground. Jaime reminded himself that perhaps this was not the best way to worm out Robert’s secrets. What was the best way? Alcohol. Alcohol was the best way. “Say, all this baby proofing has made me really thirsty,” Jaime said, shifting gears. “Do you want some water?” Ned offered. “Cersei also has some sparkling apple cider in the fridge?” “No,” Jaime shuddered. “I meant a proper drink.” “It’s noon,” Ned blinked. “So are you coming or not?” Jaime raised an eyebrow. Ned’s shoulders fell. “Just let me grab my wallet.” Ned drunk was not an improvement on Ned sober. It had been easy to get him drunk because Jaime had told him he didn’t like the first beer he had ordered and could Ned finish it so he could order a new one. And then he did it again on the third beer. And then he suggested shots and Ned was too tipsy to notice that Jaime was dumping his over his shoulder when he took them. But now that Ned was drunk, Jaime was discovering that he was a really REALLY affectionate drunk. “Stark, people are staring,” Jaime said through gritted teeth as they staggered into the sunlight from the dark cave of the bar. “At what?” Ned hiccuped, his chin resting on Jaime’s shoulder and his arms wrapped around him. “At you! Let me go!” Jaime tried to use his words. It was like talking to a rock. “I can’t,” Ned said in a reasonable tone, arms remaining firmly laced around him. “Can you walk slower? It’s very hard to walk like this without tripping.” “You don’t say,” Jaime growled, aiming them for the water fountain in the center of the traffic circle. Ned could clearly use a nice cold bath. “Remind me why you can’t let go?” “Because Robert said not to,” Ned said seriously. What? “What?” Jaime said trying to keep the slowly growing rage out of his voice. “Stick to him like glue he said,” Ned nodded, his chin digging into Jaime’s shoulder each time. Gods. Stannis was right. Jaime could never tell him, he’d be more insufferable than he was already. But that didn’t mean that Robert was secretly a person of normal intelligence masquerading as a moron. He had just gotten lucky. Per usual. “What else did Robert say?” Jaime prodded, now that he had the perfect window of inquiry. “That you were going to try and ruin the wedding,” Ned squeezed him tighter in what Jaime realized with dawning horror was a hug. “But you wouldn’t really do that.” “Of course not,” Jaime said, trying to get them closer to the fountain. “That’s good,” Ned continued obliviously. “Because Robert says that Cersei said if anything went wrong with the Vogue coverage, the wedding would be off.” “He did?” Jaime stopped in his tracks. “Mmmm hmmm,” Ned stopped. Eureka. No more trying to undermine Cersei’s bizarre affection for the idiot Baratheon. No trying to do vice versa for Robert (not that Jaime thought Stannis’ idea had any particular merit). All he had to do was create some kind of disaster that would lose them the Vogue coverage. How hard could that be? “You know Stark, you’re not so bad,” Jaime said magnanimously, patting the reddish-brown head currently lolling on his right shoulder. “Does this mean your forgive me for that Aerys thing?” Ned immediately said hopefully. “What?! No!” Jaime yelped. “But,” Ned finally let go and turned to face him, eyes wide, face pale and practically radiating injured innocence. “But...” “Go on, spit it out,” Jaime sneered. Ned opened his mouth and a stream of bile splashed out, spattering Jaime’s jeans and shoes. Jaime closed his eyes. When he opened them, Ned was still standing in front of him, miserably guilty. With a howl of rage, Jaime grabbed him by the shoulder and flipped him over his back into the fountain. A load of laundry, a shower, and a telephone call later, Jaime reported what he had discovered. “How do we make sure this wedding doesn’t have Vogue coverage?” Stannis said doubtfully. “I mean does it have Vogue coverage to start with?” “Not yet,” Jaime admitted. “But it’s only a matter of time. Unless we do something.” “I don’t see how we take something away from Cersei that she doesn’t already have,” Stannis repeated stubbornly. Ugh good co-conspirators were so hard to find. “Take for example the photographer,” Jaime pressed. “There is a shortlist of trusted Vogue wedding photographers, and the odds of getting a spread increase if you’re already using one. This close to the wedding, there’s only one that’s available.” He paused for dramatic effect. “The famously reclusive Ellyn Tarbeck.” “Never heard of her,” Stannis said flatly. Jaime kicked the door of his closet in frustration before remembering that this was supposed to be a secret phone call. “You’ve never heard of the Tarbecks?! Tarbeck International?! Lannister Corp. destroyed the company, picked it up in a hostile takeover and sold the pieces off for scraps. Walderan Tarbeck, the CEO, committed suicide? Ellyn Tarbeck went on the news and said my father as good as murdered him? Like it was thirty years ago but it’s super famous?” “Were they a shipping company?” “Uh no, mining.” “And this happened before I was born?” Jaime growled. “My father’s about to become your sort of father-in-law, you’d think you’d have done some research.” “But he’s not. At least not if we’re successful. If it makes you happy, I will dedicate an hour to the subject of the Tarbecks after work today.” “No it’s just, it’s general knowledge okay?! And Cersei certainly knows it. That’s why she asked Robert to ask her. Because Ellyn Tarbeck is a crazy recluse who doesn’t read the papers and won’t know that Robert is marrying a Lannister. So he might, just maybe, have a shot at hiring her.” “Okay?” Stannis asked uncertainly. “And that’s why you need to create a distraction for Robert tomorrow, the day he’s supposed to be driving up to Tarbeck Hall to ask her. I’ll offer to go, and the moment I introduce myself to Ellyn Tarbeck as the bride’s brother, it’ll be game over,” Jaime explained. “They’ll have to go with a non-Vogue photographer, Cersei will be furious at Robert for delegating something he said he’d do himself, and this whole excruciating ordeal will be over.” “Your plan may have some merit,” Stannis conceded. Was it the accolades that he deserved? No, but he would work with what he got. Jaime left the closet with a jaunty spring in his step. After days of banging his head against the wall, he finally had an evil plan. Who knew evil plans were so hard to come by? He had a newfound grudging respect for Cersei who had always shown a natural aptitude for this sort of thing. And even better, Ned was curled up in Robert’s bed, dead to the world. Jaime had an entire afternoon to himself. What to do, what to do... A short drive to the Citadel later, he found Brienne in an enormous library, struggling to unchain a book with an antiquated wrought iron key that looked profoundly unsuited for the purpose of being a key let alone being a key to that particular book. “Need some help,” he grinned. “Oh!” Brienne looked up startled, and then a smile spread across her face. “Aren’t you supposed to be child-proofing the apartment with Ned?” She asked, failing to hide the amusement on her face. “He’s feeling under the weather,” Jaime said lightly, taking a seat across from her and resting his chin on his hands. “So how’s this library gig treating you?” “Oh Jaime, it’s absolutely brilliant!” Brienne gushed, her face lighting up even further. “Archmaester Marwyn actually knows a surprising amount about the First Men and the Long Night. I’m learning so much! It’s given me a wonderful idea for my thesis this fall—I can’t wait to get started.” Jaime eyed the dusty leather tomes around her skeptically. He couldn’t imagine finding anything of interest between these pages. But if Brienne liked it, he could make himself take an interest. He reached for a book. “No touching!” Brienne slapped his hand away. “Don’t you want me to get an education?” Jaime pouted, shaking just hand out as if she’d hurt him. “Not with these books, it’ll be my head if anything happens to them,” Brienne eyed the book he’d reached for with some concern, as if his mere presence might have damaged it. “So I’m not allowed to touch anything old,” Jaime furrowed his brow in pretense of thought. “Please don’t,” Brienne turned back to the sticky key, frowning slightly she tried to gently jimmy the lock mechanism. She didn’t even look up as he stood and walked around, although she certainly looked up when she felt his lips on the nape of her neck. “Jaime!” “What wench,” he teased, nuzzling her and letting a hand drift down to the top button of her shirt. “I’m not touching anything old. I just want a proper education,” his hand popped the button and moved down to the next. “Jaime! You certainly don’t need any more education in... that area,” Brienne leaned away from him but made no effort to remove his hand. He popped the next button. “Well a refresher course never hurt. Perhaps I could brush up on a few skills,” he kissed her collarbone. “I don’t think—“ Brienne’s breath caught as he sucked her collarbone. “That’s right wench, don’t think,” Jaime pulled her chair around so he could kiss her properly, cupping her chin in both hands. “I don’t think the reading room is the place for this,” Brienne managed to push him away after a minute. Jaime groaned, but obediently started to rebutting her blouse which he’d managed to get half off. She caught his hand. “No, I meant there’s a bathroom downstairs in the stacks. Give me a two minute head start and knock twice,” her blue gaze met his own evenly. Jaime felt weak at the knees. “I knew there was something you could teach me,” he managed. Brienne’s answering smirk was all the reply he needed.

Ned (What Have You Done 2 of x)

Ned had been dreaming that he’d been sleeping entangled with Catelyn, back in their cozy Winterfell apartment, safely removed from the rest of the world, when the alarm went off. He opened his eyes to discover that he was in fact sleeping entangled with Robert, who let out a completely undisturbed snore in his face.

“I swear if that alarm goes off one more time, I’m going to push you out a window Baratheon!”

And the rest of the world was very much not removed, Ned winced, scrambling over a still sleeping Robert to get to the alarm clock. Jaime growled something from the cot across the room and turned over, pillow over his head. His best efforts to repair relations with Robert’s future brother in law notwithstanding (well his best efforts and two quite unfortunate weak stomach incidents), Jaime still loathed him.

The mornings were the best times. Once Robert actually got up, they’d have breakfast together and it felt a bit like when they were roommates back in Aerie, and Robert would tell him his football stories and rib him about not having enough fun.

“What’s up with Cat?” Robert asked as he slopped some smoothie into a bowl for Ned. He added a sprinkle of granola and some banana and shoved it over to Ned.

“She and Robb are doing well,” Ned took a spoonful, to avoid wincing. His Ravyn conversations with Cat would be the best part of the day, only they had been... sparse. The Summer Islands had bad reception, and it seemed like Hoster always had something that demanded Catelyn’s immediate attention whenever they finally did manage to connect. They were going to give it another shot later this morning.

“What’re your plans for the day?” Ned asked to change the subject.

“I’ll have practice and lifting until three or so. Then Cersei wants me and Beric to film some footage for the foundation she... I mean I am setting up,” Robert scratched his head sheepishly. “She’s rounded up a couple kids to throw the ball around with. She says the commercial’s going to go live tonight. Whaddaya think Neddy, I’ll be on tv!”

“You’re always on tv, Robert,” Ned laughed. “Every Sunday.”

Robert pretended to sulk at his triumphant moment being taken from him and Ned laughed again, and for a moment, he was having fun, as he’d promised his wife. Then Robert looked at the time and realized he was running late and yelped. Ned chuckled ruefully—the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. How many times had he helped Robert find his missing cleat in college? Then, as he found it (under a still-attempting-to-sleep Jaime’s bed), Robert opened the door.

“I’ll see you this evening to watch my spot! Play nice with my wifey and don’t forget to spend some time planning the stag party!”

Ned had been mid-toss of the shoe when that bomb dropped, and his throw went badly wide. Robert, with the reflexes that had probably earned him a living as a professional athlete, managed to catch it anyway.

“The stag party?” Ned repeated in a strangely high-pitched voice.

“Chyeah!! It’s gotta be the best ever! I am the stag king right?! My last hurrah!!!”

“I thought,” Ned cleared his throat, “you were asking one of the other groomsmen...”

Robert snorted.

“You want Stannis to plan my stag party?”

Ned winced at that image.

“I just assumed Thoros...”

“Look I love the guy, but I’m pretty sure he’d be happy camping in the Riverlands. I need five star hotels! I need Michelin Star restaurants! And most of all...”

Ned rolled his eyes, knowing what was coming.

“I need women!”

“But Robert...” Ned scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “People don’t tend to think I’m... very fun.”

“That’s nonsense! I think you’re fun!” Robert gave him the same smile that he’d always given him right before persuading him to do something he really shouldn’t. And as always, Ned felt his willpower ebbing away.

“Well if you’re sure you want me to do it,” Ned felt his lips forming the words despite himself.

“Attaboy!” Robert grinned. “And don’t forget...”

“Best. Stag. Ever,” Ned recited dutifully along with Robert.

The door slammed, and Ned wondered what he’d just done. He wasn’t the party person. Robert was the party person. But of course Robert couldn’t plan his own party. And if he didn’t want Stannis doing it, and he didn’t want Thoros doing it...

Let it never be said that Ned didn’t do his duty.

“Have you ever even thrown a party, Stark?” Jaime asked from the cot where his eyes were still closed.

Ned glared.

“It’ll be fine,” Catelyn said, when the Ravyn call finally went through. She was beaming at him, looking tan and happy, and Ned felt their distance as an almost physical ache.

“Gods know you’ve been to enough of Robert’s parties to know what he likes. You can make the hotel reservations and the restaurants and then just delegate the night clubs to Oberyn Martell,” she continued.

“Delegate?” Ned repeated doubtfully.

“Of course! Who’s going?”

“Robert, me, Stannis, Jaime, Thoros, Beric, Oberyn and Mace,” Ned recited. Renly and Tyrion were still not of legal drinking age, despite Tyrion’s protestations that he knew a guy who made the most amazing fake IDs.

“So put Oberyn on entertainment, Mace on restaurants and Beric on hotels,” Catelyn shrugged. “Your work is practically done.”

“But what’ll we doing during the day?” Ned fretted.

“I guess that’ll depend on where you’re going. Where are you going?”

“I don’t know!!!”

“You’ll figure it out,” Cat rolled her eyes, and then the screen jostled and there was a squeal of ‘Da Da!’ and then he could see his son.

“Robb!” He beamed until his cheeks hurt, his heart practically bursting from his rib cage. His boy, his darling boy. This was what was important, the three of them. They’d get through anything together.

“How is he doing? Is he behaving himself? Has the cough gone away yet?” Ned asked, fingers touching the laptop screen where Cat was struggling to get a squirming Robb situated on her lap.

“The cough is gone, and he’s learned a new word! It’s...”

“Catelyn!” A brusque voice interrupted from off screen. The trace of a frown creased Cat’s forehead as she turned.

“Daddy, I’m trying to talk to Ned,” she said. Robb, sending his mother’s distraction, clambered off her lap and crawled away. Ned’s fingers touching the screen grasped frantically at his vanishing son.

“Our friends the Estermonts just walked in the door. You remember Lomas don’t you? He’s your age and already a city council member! Come talk to him Cat, please,” Hoster Tully said from off screen.

“Daddy—“

“Catlyn!”

Cat gave Ned an apologetic look and he tried to smile back. The screen blinked to black.

Ned sighed.

That day, he accompanied Jaime to Cersei’s. She in turn dispatched them to a superstore with a list of items she still needed for the nursery.

Jaime spent the first hour resolutely not talking to him. Ned resigned himself to his polite ice breakers going ignored, knowing that Jaime Lannister was constitutionally incapable of staying quiet forever. Sure enough, by the time they’d hit the second store to find all the things the first store didn’t have, Jaime had transitioned to casual malice.

“You didn’t talk very long to Cat,” he said, pretending to examine a diaper genie.

“Oh you know,” Ned swallowed. “She’s so busy with her family.”

“They sounded like they were having a great time,” Jaime batted at a mobile, sending it spinning. “So nice of Hoster to try and introduce her to some people her age.”

“Yeah,” Ned looked at the ground.

“Hoster was a little annoyed about your wedding as I recall. I’m glad he’s gotten over that,” Jaime smirked.

As if Hoster Tully has ever gotten over anything.

Mercifully, by the time they got back to Cersei’s, Brienne had returned from her morning at the Citadel. Ned got sent to put together a day bed in the nursery, and tried not to think about Cat and Robb while sitting in a child’s playroom.

When he was finally released from duty (Brienne had assured him that she would keep an eye on Jaime and Cersei had disappeared to supervise that commercial Robert had been talking about), it was 5:30. Robert wouldn’t be done for another hour or two. Ned felt vaguely at loose ends and more than a little sad. Basically, he could use a drink.

And really, Ned thought, as he walked to High Heart, this was perfect. He could catch Thoros alone and discuss the bachelor party. Everyone was coming later to watch the darn commercial, so he’d already be in the right place, and he could even get some dinner while he waited.

“Why the long face?” Thoros grinned as collapsed on the bar stool. Ned, aware that he had a long face, rolled his eyes.

“Oh c’mon, that was funny,” Thoros poured him a pint of beer without asking and pushed it over.

“Robert wants me to throw the stag party. I’ve never thrown a stag party!” Ned took a long sip of his drink. If nothing else, his alcohol tolerance would be significantly higher at the end of this summer than at the beginning.

“Me neither,” Thoros shrugged. “What were you thinking?”

“Well the first step is deciding what to do. Any chance you have any ideas?” Ned asked hopefully.

“Um camping is pretty fun and easy to plan,” Thoros started.

“Robert already vetoed it,” Ned sighed. “He said you’d say that. He wants five star hotels.”

“Right,” Thoros grimaced, using a rag to wipe down the counter a patron had just vacated. “Maybe I can sell a kidney on the black market.”

Ned winced. He knew that Thoros couldn’t afford casual trips to Braavos or wherever Robert wanted to go. And that of course Robert would pay for him to go if Thoros asked, and of course Thoros would never ask. There had to be a way around this...

“I think Olenna Tyrell has a summer home in the wine country outside of Highgarden. Maybe we can call Mace and get him to ask her if we can go there for a long weekend,” Ned said slowly.

“Wine country?” Thoros looked up hopefully.

“And it’s Olenna Tyrell. Whatever her summer home is like, you know it’s better than a five star hotel,” Ned continued, gears clicking in his hotel.

“The restaurants in the Reach are supposed to be amazing...”

“We won’t need plane tickets, everyone can drive...”

“Highgarden has plenty of nightlife...”

“We’ll go wine tasting during the day, maybe even go boating on the Mander one afternoon,” Ned took another deep gulp of his beer and they grinned at each other. This could really work!

“That won’t work,” Mace said flatly, when they Ravyned him from Thoros’ laptop. From off scream there was a howl.

“Loras, no screeching when Daddy’s on the phone!” Mace protested. A glob of food hit him in the face. “And no food fights!”

“Sorry,” Mace winced at the two of them through the screen, “just hold on—“ there was a pause as he wrestled a cherubic toddler into his lap. The cherubic toddler landed a chubby fist in his eye and then blew a raspberry at the screen. Mace gave them a haunted, desperate look. Behind Ned, Thoros was stifling a snicker.

“Daddy can’t go wine tasting because Daddy’s losing his fucking mind,” Mace crooned, bouncing little Loras up and down. “Daddy needs strippers and booze and cocaine. Daddy wants to do a line off a stripper’s ass Ned. Not discuss the Honeywyne burgundies. Please.”

His voice broke on the last note. Ned realized that he had the dark shadows under his eyes of someone whose child was not sleeping through the night.

Thoros was still snickering.

“Don’t laugh you bastard,” Mace hissed. “Alerie knew he had chicken pox and left me with him all week. I’ve put on twenty pounds since we got married. I spend my working hours as a glorified errand boy for my mother. This stag party is the only thing that is keeping me going, I swear.”

His eye had started twitching. Loras began attempting to gnaw at his arm.

“It’s okay Mace, we understand,” Ned began in a pacifying tone.

“Do you? If I have to watch Frozen one more time, I will use this stupid plastic spork to remove my eyeballs, so help me Stranger! Promise me Ned!” Mace gestured at the screen with a happy green spork.

“Frozen?” Loras burbled looking up.

“Oh no,” Mace breathed.

“FROZEN!” Loras screeched. The screen went black.

“So it sounds like a no on wine tasting,” Thoros said glumly.

“Back to the drawing board,” Ned mumbled. Five star hotels for Robert, night clubs for Mace, budget for Thoros. What was he going to do?

“Maybe I should just develop an illness,” Thoros poured a glass of beer for himself as well. “A debilitating illness that prevents me from going.”

“As long as you plan to rent a hospital room for Robert to visit you in,” Ned shrugged.

“What if I said it was a work emergency?”

“Robert would probably hire a bartender to replace you on the weekend in question.”

“Do you think I’m being stupid? It’s just he’s done so much for me already, and I really don’t like the idea of taking his money...”

“It’s not stupid at all. I’m sure we can find some place in Westeros that has nice hotels with good discounts...”

When Robert and Beric joined them an hour later, they had made little progress. It didn’t help that summer was the height of the tourist season. Ned shut Thoros’ laptop guiltily.

“Turn on the television!!” Robert demanded, already grabbing at the remote.

“Relax, it’s not running for another twenty minutes,” Thoros laughed. He turned to Beric. “Ready to be famous?”

“I just want to be left alone,” Beric said dolefully.

“What’ve you been up to?” Robert asked Ned.

“Oh the usual. Um, I talked to Mace today.”

“How is the old windbag?!“

“Um...” Ned was unsure how to describe the nervous sleep-deprived wreck he’d seen. “He’s very excited for your party.”

“Obviously,” Robert smirked. “It’s only going to be the —“

“Best. Stag. Ever,” Ned, Beric and Thoros recited dutifully in unison.

“Hey! Here it is!” Robert suddenly interjected, turning up the volume.

“Yo, EVERYONE SHUT UP!” He shouted are the rest of the bar, who fell silent.

There was a brief highlight reel of Robert playing football, then a cut to him walking down the Maesters’ field.

“Hi! I’m Robert Baratheon, the quarterback of the Oldtown Maesters. Sports teaches us leadership, teamwork, and drive. But it’s not just for professional athletes. Ask my friend Beric.”

The camera panned out to include Beric, who waved. Thoros wolf whistled.

“Stop it,” the real Beric groaned.

“Shhhh, my boyfriend’s on tv,” Thoros shushed him.

“I played three years of football with Robert, until a motorcycle accident ended my career. I might have lost an eye, but I didn’t lose my love of the game.”

Now the camera panned to a whole group of children adorably doing drills.

“Here at Oldtown, we want everyone to have a good time,” Robert said cheerfully. “Even children with physical limitations.”

“I don’t think I can do that,” a boy with a prosthetic leg tugged at Robert’s sleeve, pointing to a footwork drill.

“No worries, Lommy, let’s work on throwing instead! Hey, Beric, go long!” Robert shouted cheerfully and snapped the ball to the boy. With a cute grin, he slung the pig-skin and Beric caught it, diving dramatically through the air to hit the ground and roll.

“Touchdown!” Robert shouted and high-fived Lommy. Beric came jogging up, a tad mud-spattered.

“So the next time you’re looking to make a donation, I hope you’ll consider Storm’s Ending,” Robert winked at the camera. “Where all children get the chance to be kids.”

The last shot was Lommy waving from Beric’s shoulders, giving a gap-toothed grin as a little jingle played with the number to dial.

The commercial ended.

“AWWWWW,” Thoros ruffled Beric’s hair. “That was adorable!”

“Not bad,” Ned admitted, trying to disguise the fact that he had gotten a little teary eyed. He just missed Robb so much!

“I still don’t see why you need a commercial asking for donations when you’re planning to privately fund the whole thing,” Beric sulked, batting Thoros’ hand away.

“Publicity,” Robert shrugged. “Cersei’s going to run the spot every day until our wedding. It’ll elevate my public profile outside of sports and ensure that everyone who thinks of me thinks of summer camps for kids and not...”

“Public drunkenness,” Thoros offered.

“Assault and battery,” Ned offered.

“Three interceptions in one game,” Beric said under his breath.

“... other stuff,” Robert finished, crossing his arms and glaring at them.

“Well it’s great. Nice catch, Beric! Back to your old form,” Ned patted his former teammate on the back.

“Where did you get that outfit?” Thoros asked. “Because you looked like... really good.”

“Cersei picked it out. I think the shirt was tailored. I don’t even want to know how she got my measurements,” Beric shook his head.

“Well I thought you looked good,” Thoros repeated slightly dreamily.

“So did I,” a new female voice breathed behind him. They all turned. A pretty if innocent looking high school girl was staring at Beric in fascination.

“Um guys, this is Jenny, the owner’s granddaughter,” Thoros said blinking. “Jenny, this is Ned, Robert, and Beric.”

“You were awesome,” Jenny giggled, still ogling Beric who had begun to blush. She took a step toward him. “Are you like, an athlete?”

“I’m in law school,” Beric took a step back.

“I’m an athlete,” Robert said hopefully. Ned smacked him in the back of the head and Thoros took that as his cue to usher Jenny away from the bar.

“Dondarrion, did you see that?” Robert craned his neck to look at the clearly underage girl’s ass. Ned smacked him again.

“You’re like... a sex symbol now!” Robert continued cheerfully, rubbing the back of his head.

“It was one girl,” Beric mumbled, his face now fully red.

“Says you,” Robert snorted. “Take it from somebody kind of famous, you gotta enjoy it while it lasts. Because the next thing you know, you have ONE BAD GAME...”

“I’m not a sex symbol am I?” Beric shot Ned a panicked look.

“Of course not,” Ned said soothingly. He looked over his shoulder where another group of girls were giggling and pointing at them. He put his arm around Beric’s shoulders and angled them so their back was to the rest of the bar. “Everything will be better with a good night’s sleep, you’ll see.”

He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, Beric or himself.

At any rate, when he and Robert finally got back to the apartment, it was with a deep sense of relief that he let himself collapse back into the bed.

It had been a long day, but it was finally, thankfully over.

Ned wasn’t sure what woke him up, only that he woke with the uneasy sense that there was someone picking their way through the apartment.

A soft rustle.

He squirmed deeper into his blankets. Robert was snoring next to him, he could dimly make out Jaime’s back across the living space.

A floorboard creak. Closer this time.

What if it was a burglar? Worse, what if it was Tywin Lannister?!

Ned felt his heartbeat racing. He could see it now, a shadowy figure approaching the bed.

“Who’s there?!” Ned demanded, trying to keep the quaver out of his voice. If it was a burglar he’d wake up Robert. If it was Tywin Lannister, he’d wake up Jaime.

“Oh good, I thought I’d find you here,” said a smooth slightly over-confident voice that Ned knew and struggled to place for a moment.

“...Oberyn?!”

The shadow sat down on the bed.

“The man, the myth, the legend,” it said cheerfully.

Ned laughed, partly in relief and partly in disbelief.

“What are you doing here, Martell?!”

“Scoot over, you’re hogging the bed,” Oberyn kicked off his shoes and proceeded to slide under the covers with them. Ned was mildly relieved that Jaime was still asleep. He got enough jokes about him and Robert.

“There, now you’re comfy, now answer the question,” Ned prodded.

“If you must know, I was visiting my eldest, Obara. Her mother is an escort here in Oldtown.”

Ned sighed. Oberyn had always lived a little faster than the rest of them, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he already had two daughters. Obara and... Nymeria. That was it.

“Do you always break in to Robert’s flat for a quick snuggle when you’re in Oldtown?” Ned snarked.

“Maybe I’m here to see you, Stark,” Oberyn smirked.

“Are you?”

“Yes, actually. At the behest of a mutual friend who called me in deep distress during a break in the Frozen marathon.”

Ned sighed.

“Look, I told Mace I’d do my best. And I will, I’ll find something.”

“See this is why you should be nice to me,” Oberyn flashed his perfectly white teeth and even in the dark Ned could see his sharp smile. “I’ve found a solution to your problem. Well, rather Mace and Thoros’ problem. It was for Thoros that you suggested a free summer house right?”

“I’m not made of dragons either,” Ned protested.

“But your father is,” Oberyn stretched languidly. “Anyway, you think too small.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Why settle for a summer home, when you could settle for a summer palace?”

Ned blinked.

“You mean...”

“I called my brother Doran. He said it’s fine. We are all cordially invited to the Water Palaces in Sunspear.”

Ned’s brain clicked frantically. Sunspear, in Dorne. In a friggin’ palace. Dorne with its famously beautiful women, its incredible cuisine, its reasonably accessible location...

“Thank you Oberyn... that’s amazing,” Ned stammered out. “I owe you one, seriously.”

“Great,” Oberyn yawned. “Then scoot over more. I’m going to crash here.”

“Wait, what?” Ned blurted.

“Had a fight with Obara’s mother. Took Mace’s call while we were... engaged,” Oberyn gave another slightly feral smile.

“You’re as bad as Robert,” Ned huffed, but he obediently scooted over further.

“I’m worse,” Oberyn said smugly.

Ned rolled his eyes and reminded himself to kick him out before Jaime woke up.

Brienne (What Have You Done 3 of x)

Brienne tried to ignore her growling stomach as she gently blew the dust off a tomb that Archmaester Marwyn had sent her to fetch. She felt the normal tickle of incredulity as she thought his name. She was working for Archmaester Marwyn! In the Citadel! He knew her name! Well, he often called her Brian, but it was with affection. Like a nickname. Archmaester Marwyn had given her a nickname!

These precious hours in the afternoon that she spent managing Marwyn’s bibliography were a much needed oasis of peace and quiet from the raging storm of Cersei Lannister beyond. She thought forlornly of Jaime’s attempts to save her from this fate. He had such a good heart. If only he hadn’t become one of the many nuisances she had to manage.

It was bad enough that she was running around with florists and musicians and club promoters and septons on speed dial. But now she was constantly running interference between Jaime and his sister, because he never stopped using those moments to try and get in some digs about Robert.

“He’s so clumsy, his apartment is full of things he’s managed to break and hasn’t replaced yet. And lazy. Have I mentioned how lazy he is?” Jaime had pretended to complain about his accommodations, while watching Cersei under his golden lashes to see if any of his words were having an affect.

Brienne also glanced at Cersei nervously. Her blond head was bowed over her phone, her expression hidden behind her hair.

“He’s not clumsy, he’s just strong,” Brienne interjected from Cersei’s other side. “And he’s very tall and big, it’s not surprising he has a little more trouble than most getting through an apartment. And he’s not lazy, he’s only a professional athlete who is really busy and doesn’t have time to replace the mixer or whatever it is you’re complaining about.”

Jaime rolled his eyes.

“I’m not sure staying out at all hours to go drinking with friends is really appropriate father material,” Jaime tsked on another day, when he’d managed to evade Ned Stark yet again.

“But I’m sure he’ll give that up once you’re married and the baby is here,” Brienne hastened to assure Cersei.

“Have you noticed how he always talks with his mouth full,” Jaime snorted after they’d all had dinner and Ned and Robert had been dispatched to do the dishes.

“It was only because he was so excited about what you were saying about the wedding,” Brienne offered weakly to Cersei.

Honestly it was a little exhausting spending all this time defending Robert, when most of Jaime’s critiques were true. But she knew that Robert’s heart was in the right place, even if Jaime couldn’t see it. Jaime was protective of Cersei, and maybe yes a little too stubborn for his own good. Brienne felt another surge of affection for her prickly knight in shining armor.

“And what exactly will Robert do once his football career is over? Be a house husband while you run Lannister Corp?” Jaime asked snidely as they watched his car pull up below.

All the same, she would kill him if she had to take much more of this.

“Robert has plenty of ambitions beyond the football field,” Brienne replied rather waspishly.

“He does?” Jaime’s lip curled into a sneer.

“He does?” Cersei turned, looking genuinely surprised.

Shit. Ummmmm think. Think think think. He must have said something to Renly?

“He wants to start a bar,” Brienne announced triumphantly, grasping at a wisp of memory. Or was it a brewery? “With Thoros.” Or was it Ned?

“Huh,” Cersei said, and then went back to deciding who could be trusted to sit at her father’s table.

“See, maybe you don’t know him quite as well as you think you do,” Jaime said triumphantly, shooting Brienne a smug look. “Why not postpone the wedding? Really take some time to learn everything there is to know about each other?”

No! How could he twist it! Brienne glared at him. Jaime winked back.

“Why even Brienne probably knows Robert better than you do,” Jaime said lightly and sauntered out.

“That’s definitely not true,” Brienne assured Cersei. “I just spent a lot of time at their house because Renly...”

“Oh Brienne,” Cersei took her hand and patted it. “You don’t have to worry, I know everything.”

“You do?” Brienne said, a wave of relief flooding her senses. Because finally, this whole ridiculous charade could be over and Cersei could talk some sense into Jaime and they could go back to planning this wedding which really was spinning somewhat out of control.

“It was so obvious,” Cersei smiled somewhat pityingly.

“It was rather obvious wasn’t it?” Brienne blushed, thinking of Jaime’s borderline blatant hostility.

“And you’ve been such a dear helping as you have.”

“Well of course! You are my fa—friend,” Brienne stammered, realizing she’d been about to say family. Which of course she wasn’t, it’s not like she and Jaime had ever talked about it, it was just all this nonsense about weddings that was making her fanciful...

“I can’t imagine how difficult it’s been for you,” Cersei said sympathetically.

Brienne cocked her head. Something about the gushing empathy felt a little... excessive? She flashed back on her conversation with Melisandre.

“What do you think we’re talking about?” Brienne asked suspiciously.

“You’re in love with Robert,” Cersei said matter of factly.

Brienne felt her eyes bulge slightly and her mouth twist in an expression of involuntary disgust at the idea. Because... Robert?!?!

“Oh please don’t cry, I’m not mad,” Cersei mistook her expression for something else entirely. “I should have realized that’s why you befriended Renly all those years ago. To be closer to him. You knew it was hopeless of course, but you just couldn’t help but torture yourself. And then you finally got over him and moved on to Jaime, but me asking you to be the maid of honor at our wedding has dragged up all these suppressed feelings and I just think you’re so... brave,” Cersei suddenly enveloped her in an awkward hug. Brienne stood stiffly, not really sure what to do with her arms. At length she settled on a gentle shoulder pat.

At least Cersei could no longer see her expression, because... Robert?!

Robert who could never remember anybody’s name, who leered at every girl in a short skirt, who belched and farted and scratched his ass in public. It wasn’t that he was aesthetically unattractive, quite the opposite (although Renly would definitely be the best looking of the three, Brienne added loyally), but the idea of thinking about him romantically was just... ugh!

But how could she say that to Cersei, who actually despite all odds and every indication to the contrary, really did like him?! There was no helping it.

“It is very... hard... sometimes,” Brienne tried to sound a little tragic.

“You mustn’t worry that I’ll tell Jaime, this is just between us. These old feelings will go away as soon as the wedding is over, you’ll see,” Cersei squeezed her more tightly. “And you and Jaime will live happily ever after. You know Brienne, you’re so much more than a friend to me. I’ve felt it for some time. You’re like... a sister,” Cersei stepped back and beamed at her.

Caught in the floodlights of Cersei’s dazzling smile, the warmth of her gaze, the faint scent of her perfume, light and feminine and perfectly Cersei, Brienne had no choice but to smile uncertainly back. Because more than anything, she wanted Jaime’s family to like her, to support their relationship. And she had just won over another member. All she had to do was make sure that this wedding didn’t blow up in her face.

Naturally the first person she wanted to tell was Jaime. She caught him shrugging his coat on to take the car back to Robert’s.

“Guess what?” She hugged him from behind.

“You’ve forgiven me for being better at this than you,” Jaime smirked.

“You are, but it doesn’t matter,” Brienne let him go to kiss him lightly on the lips. “She won’t listen, because she’s in lo—“

“Oh look at the time,” Jaime checked his watch ostentatiously. “I’d better get a move on if I’m going to get to Tarbeck Hall.”

“Tarbeck Hall?” Brienne frowned. That was where that photographer lived. The one Cersei was so hellbent on getting. “Isn’t Robert going?”

“Oh something came up with Renly, he had to run back to King’s Landing,” Jaime said nonchalantly. Brienne raised an eyebrow. Renly was at theater camp.

“Where is Ned?” She asked slowly.

“Stannis thought it would be better if he drove Robert. You know how Robert is with driving on highways. Stannis didn’t want him to get a speeding ticket.”

“So Stannis suddenly needed Robert and Ned in King’s Landing, and you just... volunteered... to get the photographer out of the goodness of your heart?”

“I do have a terribly good heart,” Jaime gave her a roguishly crooked grin.

“It’s not that good.”

“You wound me, wench.”

“Jaime!” Brienne hissed, the picture snapping into focus. “You’re going to do sabotage the photographer! You’re going to say something terribly rude or be an ass or a jerk or... or... SOMETHING, and then Cersei will blame Robert because he was supposed to go!”

“Cross my terribly good heart, Brienne,” Jaime crossed his heart easily, “I will not be rude or an ass or a jerk. I will be completely normal and polite.”

Brienne stared at him. He never lied to her, but he wasn’t above holding things back. What was she missing?

“Right then,” Brienne said matter of factly. “I’m coming with you.”

“I hardly think that’s necessary,” Jaime started to protest. “Doesn’t Cersei need you here for moral support?”

“She has phone calls all morning, an appointment with her publicist this afternoon, and then she’s meeting Melisandre in King’s Landing to discuss cakes. If you’re going to be a gentleman, I don’t see what the problem is,” Brienne tilted her head, voice treacly sweet.

Jaime rolled his shoulders back, prepared to do battle.

“As you wish, milady,” he took her hand and kissed it. “I will not have my gentlemanly credentials impugned.”

Brienne rolled her eyes, but still blushed as she retrieved her hand.

Tarbeck Hall was in the northernmost reaches of the Westerlands, and Oldtown in the Southwest of the Reach. It was a six hour drive, and Jaime didn’t miss an opportunity to show off his chivalric bonafides. She emerged from a rest stop to discover that he had picked her a garland of wildflowers.

“For my Queen of Love and Beauty,” he bowed and placed it on her brow.

“You know I’m nothing of the sort,” Brienne huffed, removing it gently so not to damage his hard work.

“I beg to disagree,” he frowned, looking a trifle sulky when she placed it on their dashboard instead. “You don’t like it?”

“Of course I do, it’s just, it’s hardly historically accurate. Those were reserved for princesses and ladies and great beauties,” Brienne stumbled a bit trying to explain. “Not for big athletic sorts like me.”

“I happen to think you are a great beauty,” Jaime said gently.

“Well the world disagrees,” Brienne snarked back, and slammed the car door to show she was done with the conversation.

A pensive, somewhat stilted silence ensued, and of course Brienne began to feel a bit badly. It wasn’t Jaime’s fault that Ron Connington had called her “Beauty” in fifth grade. It wasn’t his fault that the boys would throw flowers at her and run away laugh-screaming in terror lest the Beauty get too close.

Jaime would have never done that. Jaime had never been anything less than caring and protective. She loved him endlessly, adoringly, down to the last hair on his ridiculous blond head. She loved his harebrained ideas and his ridiculous family and... wait! She hadn’t even told him!

“I forgot to tell you!” She blurted into the awkwardness. “Cersei said I was like a sister to her,” she said proudly.

Jaime looked over, although he did not match her excitement, somewhat to Brienne’s disappointment. Instead his features seemed to be conveying more of an affectionate bemusement.

“You know she’s always liked you fine.”

“But that’s not good enough! I want her to like me more than fine, and now she does!” Brienne poked him, trying to prod him into some enthusiasm.

“That’s Tyrion and your father and now Cersei,” she smiled.

“Is that what all of this is about?” Jaime arched just eyebrow. “Getting my family to like you?”

“No...” Brienne said, not entirely convincingly.

“What on earth would make you think I cared one whit what my family thinks of us?!”

“But I care!” Brienne protested. “I don’t want to cause problems with your family!”

“And I don’t want my family to drive you away!” Jaime ran a hand through his hair.

Brienne paused.

“Why would you think they would drive me away?” She asked gently.

“Because they’re completely nuts! My dad is literally blackmailing my sister into marriage, she’s fine with it as long as it helps her raise her public profile, Tyrion’s fine with it because apparently he thinks forced marriages are a thing that can work, and I don’t want you to spend all summer in this black hole of insanity and decide I’m not worth it,” Jaime admitted.

Brienne rested her head on his shoulder.

“I will never think you’re not worth it,” she said quietly. “You are worth everything.”

Jaime leaned his own head against hers carefully, eyes still on the road.

“You’re just so good Brienne. And my family really REALLY isn’t.”

“I don’t think you have the clearest perspective on them,” Brienne sighed. “But even if you’re right, it wouldn’t matter. At the end of the day, nothing matters but you.”

“I love you,” Jaime lifted his head so he could kiss her temple.

“I love you too,” Brienne answered. “Is there any chance this was why you’re trying to torpedo the wedding?”

“Nope. Cersei needs to be saved from herself and as usual, I’m the only one willing to do what needs to be done. Well me and Stannis.”

“She doesn’t need to be saved from herself, she’s marrying the father of her child.”

“She’s marrying a promise that she’ll be CEO of Lannister Corp when father steps down.”

“She loves him.”

“She doesn’t,” Jaime squared his shoulders stubbornly.

“How can you be so smart and so wrong,” Brienne groaned, breaking their cuddle.

“Maybe the same way you won’t wear my flower crown,” Jaime huffed.

“If I wear your flower crown, will you stop trying to sabotage the wedding?” Brienne tried.

“Not a chance.”

They finally found Tarbeck Hall an hour past Lannisport, where the smooth highways had given way to crumbling pavement. They almost missed the shabby sign, which directed them up a winding dirt road.

Brienne was starting to think Jaime was deliberately hitting all of the potholes on purpose, but finally they arrived at the ramshackle mansion. Brienne shivered. She wasn’t superstitious but this place definitely looked haunted. She half expected storm clouds to suddenly gather and a thunderclap to greet their arrival, but the summer afternoon remained oppressively hot as ever.

“What do you know about Ellyn Tarbeck?” Brienne whispered.

“Elusive and world famous photographer who’s features have headlined every major magazine in Westeros?” Jaime smiled at her, and Brienne felt like he was making a joke that she wasn’t quite getting.

“And she lives here? She must be loaded!”

“It’s her husband’s family estate.”

“Is her husband... with us?”

“No he killed himself maybe thirty years ago. They say she went quite mad for a while.”

Brienne swallowed. A madwoman in a haunted house and she had to convince her to photograph a high society wedding while Jaime did... something nefarious. No pressure.

She walked up to the front door and pressed the buzzer, fully expecting some kind of trap door to open up beneath her feet. Instead a doleful bell sounded, chiming eerily off the crumbling stonework.

Jaime was humming something under his breath, still seeming oddly at ease.

“What are you so chipper about?” Brienne arched an eyebrow.

“I’m on an adventure with you, why wouldn’t I be chipper?” Jaime asked innocently.

“Huh,” Brienne gave back, unimpressed. She rang the bell again, trying not to wince at the sound. There was the sound of a door unlocking.

“Rush rush rush, all you young people nowadays in such a rush,” a woman with silver hair and sharp blue eyes stepped out. She was tall and slim, with a faded glamour about the sundress she was wearing, paired rather incongruously with hiking boots. Her skin was a walnut brown that spoke to long days outdoors, and made the blue of her eyes and the silver of her hair stand out all the more starkly.

“Ellyn Tarbeck?” Brienne asked politely.

But the woman had frozen, her eyes fixed on Jaime. For a moment, nobody spoke. And then her gaze narrowed.

“You!” She pointed at Jaime dramatically. “Lannister!”

“Jaime Lannister, specifically,” Jaime said politely.

“Why is a Lannister darkening my doorstep?” Ellyn Tarbeck hissed at Brienne.

Brienne opened her mouth, completely at a loss for words.

“I’m the bride’s brother,” Jaime interjected helpfully.

“The Baratheon bride?!” Ellyn Tarbeck took a step backward, hand on her heart.

“Yes, Robert Baratheon intends to marry my sister Cersei Lannister. Tywin Lannister’s only daughter. Since he’s paying for the wedding, you can really think of him as your employer,” Jaime replied in a faux helpful voice that Brienne distrusted deeply.

“Get out,” Ellyn Tarbeck hissed.

“Am I to understand that you no longer wish to photograph the Baratheon-Lannister nuptials?” Jaime said in a voice that fell a couple miles short of shocked.

“GET OUT!!!” Ellyn Tabeck screeched and then slammed the door in their faces.

Brienne blinked as the echo of the slam ricocheted off the world around them.

“Well I think that went rather well, don’t you?” Jaime smiled brightly.

Brienne glared.

“What?!”

Jaime (What Have You Done 4 of x)

Jaime didn’t feel bad. He really didn’t. It wasn’t his fault Brienne had decided to come along and shoulder the burden of trying to stop his evil plan. She could have stayed in Oldtown and had a perfectly pleasant day off instead of schlepping across all of the Reach and the Westerlands in an impromptu road trip.

“Cersei will be so upset,” Brienne twisted her hands as she paced to and fro in front of the car. She had her cell phone out and had been debating calling her for the last twenty minutes.

“Neither your fault nor your problem,” Jaime tried to give her a shoulder massage, but she shrugged him off.

“I can’t tell her Robert asked you to do it, because then she’ll call off the wedding. Maybe I can tell her that I insisted on doing it? But she’ll be so mad! What if she hates me?!”

“Then I would have a stern talk with her. She’s not allowed to hate you,” Jaime sighed.

Brienne gave him a very doubtful look and then resumed pacing. Jaime cast about for ideas.

“Look, just put the phone down. Let’s do something while we’re here. Didn’t we pass a turn off sign for a waterfall a mile back? Let’s go see a waterfall.”

“I’ve seen waterfalls,” Brienne fretted. “This is serious.”

“All the more reason not to make any hasty decisions,” Jaime said soothingly. “Some fresh air, some exercise, some nature—it’ll help you think clearly.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Brienne hesitated.

“When will you learn?” Jaime grinned. “I’m always right.”

There was a little empty parking lot for the waterfall, which they eventually found about a mile down a pleasantly wooded trail. Jaime had forced Brienne to leave her phone in the car, and she already seemed more relaxed. He could tell by the way the line of her neck had lengthened, the slight bounce of her blond hair, the spring in the step of her sinfully long legs... not a Queen of Love and Beauty indeed.

“What are you looking at?” She said, sensing that his gaze had wandered from splashing of the small waterfall.

“You know what I’m looking at,” Jaime dropped his voice, just to see her cheeks pink.

“Stop,” she pushed him.

“Let’s go swimming,” he proposed, not eager to return to the car, pending call to Cersei or otherwise.

“Now? Here?”

“Why not, it’s a perfectly lovely natural pool. There’s nobody around. It’s hot as balls.”

Brienne rolled her eyes.

“As you wish,” Jaime shrugged, but proceeded to kick off his shoes and strip to his boxers.

“Jaime! What if someone comes!”

“I’m not naked,” he laughed. “Unless you’d like me to be...”

While she stammered for a response, he picked his way down into the pool below them. It was even better than he had hoped, the crisp bite of the fresh water. He plunged his head under and then shook his hair, aware that his gaze was not the only one who had wandered from the waterfall. With a mischievous smirk, he started paddling out toward the center.

“Jaime, get back here!” Brienne whispered, as if someone might hear them.

“Not a chance,” he treaded water as the pool became deeper. “And you know I got a candy bar from that gas station. I’m going to get cramps, Brienne. You’ll need to rescue me.”

“I will do no such thing,” Brienne lifted her chin.

“You were a lifeguard in high school! Didn’t you take an oath?”

“Lifeguards don’t have to take oaths, Jaime,” Brienne laughed.

“I bet you took one anyway,” Jaime teased. He let himself slip under the water and pop back up with a sputter. “There it is! The cramp!”

“You don’t have a cramp!”

“Brienne, I’m drowning!”

“You’re not drowning!”

“Brienne, you need to rescue me!”

“You don’t—“

Jaime let himself slip beneath the water for a second time, and sure enough, he heard the splash seconds later. Brienne took easy sure strokes out to him, and towed him on with her to the other side. They collapsed on the bank dramatically. Jaime tried to give a pathetic cough.

“Oh stop it,” Brienne smiled down at him, resting on her side. She was still wearing her white tank top, but had removed her shorts to reveal the cotton panties underneath.

“Traditionally the rescuer gives the kiss of life,” Jaime pointed out.

“You’re incorrigible,” Brienne leaned down and kissed him. He savored the kiss for a moment and then slid his hand down her back to cheekily squeeze the swell of her ass.

“That is not part of the kiss of life,” Brienne joke scolded him. Then she pushed off and paddled backward toward the fall.

“Come back here!” It was Jaime’s turn to scold. She only splashed him in response. With a huff, he dove in after her.

Perhaps an hour later, they clambered back up toward the trail, retrieving their shoes and discarded clothing. Brienne seemed vastly more at ease, and Jaime found that his own restless anxiety had correspondingly subsided.

“I know you were peeking during Marco Polo,” Brienne butted him with her shoulder.

“Wench, I am shocked and appalled at your distrustful nature. I’m just naturally intuitive!”

“Naturally intuitive when your eyes are open!”

“Who hurt you to make you like this? Was it Renly? It was probably Renly. Little shit never met a rule he couldn’t br—“

They rounded the corner and Jaime trailed off abruptly. Ellyn Tarbeck, still wearing her hiking boots and sundress, now with a large camera complete with bulky lens, was leaning against their car.

“Hello again,” Ellyn said at last, when neither of them seemed inclined to speak.

“Ms. Tarbeck,” Jaime said cautiously, trying to edge between her and Brienne. She wasn’t supposed to be violent-crazy, but that camera would pack a wallop if she started swinging it.

With a snort, Brienne stepped back around him.

“Needless to say, I found your unexpected arrival very upsetting,” Ellyn Tarbeck said, fixing Jaime with a steely look.

He swallowed, and wondered what he would do if she sprung. Could he hit an old lady? He looked at her arms, dark brown and wiry. He rather thought he could.

“I went on a hike, as I often do when I want to be alone with my thoughts. Some of my deepest wells of artistic inspiration come from my time in nature, and this afternoon was no exception,” she cleared her throat, looking off to the side. Was she nervous?

“Young lady, I saw you at the Castamere falls. I had been taking some shots of the light beams on the water when the two of you quite rudely interrupted. But since I was already there... well I took some shots. And I am very pleased with them, and will need you to sign a waiver allowing my further use of your likeness should I wish to use the images in my work,” she rattled off in a rush.

Jaime arched an eyebrow. Brienne looked dumbstruck. Seeing that she appeared incapable of speech, he stepped in.

“May we see the images?” He asked, partly to buy her time and partly because he was intrigued.

She glared at him with an expression of undisguised loathing. He smiled sweetly back.

“Here,” she grunted, thrusting the camera at him. “Use that black switch to toggle. If you touch anything else, I will bury you.”

Jaime ignored that last part and blithely began to toggle away. The light on the water shots were he supposed well done, but it was all rather artsy and dull and not his thing... then he came across the first picture of Brienne. This was his thing.

It caught her mid backstroke, lips partly open in an infectious smile. The sun had caught her eyes and ever bead of water that cling to her windmilling arm—it was joyous, it was beautiful, it was... Jaime’s eyes slid to the way her white shirt clung to her curves... hot.

“Let me see,” Brienne pushed him gently. Mouth dry, he handed it over. She looked down at the screen and abruptly her face flushed.

“No, I’m sorry, but no. You can’t use this,” she firmly shoved the camera back into Ellyn Tarbeck’s chest.

“If it’s a question of money,” the woman said uncertainly.

“It’s a question of looking a fool for strangers to gawp at,” Brienne huffed. “Jaime, come on. Let’s go.”

He let her pull him into the car, where she carefully pulled it out into the highway without ever so much as looking at Ellyn Tarbeck. It wasn’t until they were a mile down the road that she pulled over, and he realized that she was shaking.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, reaching around her shoulders to pull her into a one-armed hug.

“I just feel so embarrassed,” Brienne mumbled into his shirt. He stroked her hair tentatively.

“That she was spying on us? I don’t think we were really doing anything...”

“No! Of that picture, I look ridiculous!”

Jaime pulled back so he could stare at her.

“Brienne, you looked athletic and happy and pretty sexy. What on earth is wrong with that?”

“I look like I don’t know...” Brienne bit her lip. “that I’m ugly.”

Jaime sighed, and pressed his forehead against hers.

“Remember on the ride up when I said that was in your head?”

Brienne nodded, eyes sliding down to the ground. He lifted her chin up to catch her gaze again.

“I can’t see better evidence. Why would Ellyn Tarbeck, a perfect stranger, care about embarrassing you? She took the picture because it was beautiful. She doesn’t know you from Addam.”

“Maybe she does that,” Brienne mumbled.

“Does what?”

“Takes pictures of... big girls.”

Jaime wasn’t sure whether he wanted to bang his head against the window or cover her in kisses to prove how beautiful she was.

“Ellyn Tarbeck is a wedding photographer for Vogue. She doesn’t take pictures of big girls. She does artsy crap like a groom lifting a bride’s veil at sunset. Now get out of the car.”

“Why?”

“Because we are driving back to Tarbeck Hall and she is going to show you her photography. Let’s make a deal. If you look at her other photos and think they’re beautiful, then it means the photos of you are also beautiful, and that voice in your head belongs to a prepubescent Ron Connington and he can go to hell. If you don’t like her other photos, then I’ll smash her camera to little bits.”

Brienne gave a watery smile.

“Even if I don’t like her other photos, you can’t do that. Just make her delete them.”

“Deal,” Jaime leaned over and kissed the tip of her perfectly freckled nose.

Had he thought the ride up was tense? It was nothing compared to the return, when he was so close to vanquishing this demon. If he’d fucked up his sabotage mission, he would have just moved on to the next plan, and the next, and the next. Never would he get such a perfect opportunity to make Brienne see herself as he saw her again.

They pulled up to the mansion and Jaime hopped out determinedly, before Brienne could change her mind. He rang the doorbell.

There was a pause, during which Brienne slowly let herself out and joined him with a hangdog expression.

The door opened.

“Have you changed your mind?” Ellyn Tarbeck demanded of Brienne while ignoring Jaime completely.

“I... I mean we,” Brienne stammered.

“Brienne would like to see some of your other art. She wants to know in what kind of context you might conceivably reproduce these images,” Jaime cut in.

“Oh,” Ellyn Tarbeck looked blankly surprised. “Well I suppose there’s no harm.”

All the same, she seemed dangerously close to shutting the door on Jaime. Only Brienne lacing her fingers into his stayed the woman’s scowl.

“I’ll let you look at a few coffee table books,” the photographer ushered them into an enormous library. She began pulling out large books, seemingly at random, and tossing them on a sofa for Brienne to peruse. “If I’m not working on commission, this is my bread and butter. I like that one there—Life in the Ruins of Valyria. Here’s a couple wedding books; not my best work, but it’s what the public wants. Here’s one from my time in the Iron Islands. I’ll give you a few minutes to flip through, while I make some tea. Please let me know if you have any questions.”

Brienne nodded with a polite smile and Ellyn Tarbeck excused herself.

Jaime claimed the book of the Iron Islands, flipping through it efficiently, and shortly finding a similar photo of some girls sunbathing on a rocky outcrop. There could be no doubt that they met all traditional definitions of beauty—one caught lowering herself into the water could well have been a mermaid. He turned to show Brienne, but caught her looking down at a photo from old Valyria, a child touching her mother’s face, oblivious to the melted spires of rock behind them. Brienne was smiling down at it a trace wistfully. Jaime decided to let her explore at her own pace, though he did leave the Iron Islands book open to the page he’d found.

There was a companionable silence while Brienne buried herself into the books, meticulously studying each page. Jaime meticulously studied the way she wet her lips in concentration, the way the light caught her white-blonde eyelashes.

Just as he was starting to feel rather drowsy, the Tarbeck woman returned, holding a mug of tea. She had not offered to make them any, Jaime noted with some disdain.

“I can’t promise I’d ever use your photos, but I might include it in a collection, or a similar installation in an art gallery. If it were in an art gallery, it could be conceivably purchased for a private collection,” she explained crisply. “You could neither limit its distribution nor would you be entitled to any profit I might make. On the other hand, they are quite stunning. My models are typically happy with the results. What do you say?”

“I think,” Brienne blushed, “that might be acceptable.” Jaime squeezed her hand encouragingly. His girlfriend the model! Suck it, Ron Connington.

“But,” she bit her lip. Oh no, was she second-guessing herself? She was making such strides!

“I have a condition,” she said finally.

“No strings on the distribution and no profit-sharing,” Ellyn Tarbeck said sternly. “I will not have you interfering with my artistic expression. And certainly not my bottom line.”

“It’s not that,” Brienne squared her shoulders. “I will sign your waiver if you agree to photograph the Baratheon-Lannister wedding.”

Wait what?

“That is, if it’s okay with you?” Brienne squeezed Jaime’s hand back, an almost imperceptibly triumphant look in her eyes. Jaime managed to smile through gritted teeth.

“Of course...That’s... why we came out here, after all.”

“Good,” Brienne nodded, then turned back to Ellyn Tarbeck. “Do we have a deal?”

Maybe she’d say no. It was only a handful of photos after all. A handful of insanely gorgeous photos. What was that compared to a decades-long blood feud?

Ellyn Tarbeck delicately set down her glass of tea.

“We have a deal.”

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck. This had been such a perfect plan. How had it failed? Well he knew how it had failed, and even now he couldn’t be completely upset about the way things had turned out. Still. It had been such a good opportunity. But there would be others. Of course there would. That’s what they had to focus on. That this was just one bite at the apple. One bite that he had slightly screwed up, but only with the very best of intentions. He wondered what Stannis would say to that.

Stannis (What Have You Done 5 of x)

Stannis gently closed the door to his office. He walked over to the couch where he typically had important clients, board members or investors sit and laid down. Delicately he inserted the ear buds into his ears, and closed his eyes as the classical music washed over him.

Today had been... appalling. First, he had to deal managing Robert’s estate, and Cersei’s hare-brained idea for a charitable organization. He knew the Lannisters created “charities” for any passing fancy that they promptly abandoned, but that was not how the Baratheons did business. It didn’t help that she had been swigging a glass of champagne during their Skype call. How was he the only person who didn’t think she was actually pregnant?! The signs were right there!!! It was SO OBVIOUS!!

Then he’d had to deal with a shareholder’s meeting regarding unexpected storms in the Jade Sea that were playing havoc with their shipping routes. There was a possibility that they might miss their projected earnings for the quarter, and everybody was in a testy mood. It didn’t help that Melisandre had been making him sleep on the couch. He was developing a terrible crick in his neck and could barely keep his eyes open.

All because she was annoyed at him for keeping secrets. Of course he was keeping secrets! She certainly wouldn’t approve if he had told her the truth!

After he’d half dozed through the shareholder meeting, he’d had to hurry over to the hospital to meet Robert and Ned, who he had convinced that Renly had been injured in an accident at drama camp.

“So it turns out it wasn’t him,” Stannis said, as they hurried into the waiting room. Ned came to a halt and Robert promptly plowed into him, sending Ned sprawling.

“What do you mean it wasn’t him,” Robert growled.

“Erm, there was a mixup with the campers,” Stannis said tentatively, having not particularly thought this lie through beyond luring Robert and Ned away from Oldtown.

“And you didn’t think to call us?” Ned pushed himself stiffly to his feet.

“Errr... no,” Stannis said blankly. Well playing dumb worked for Robert.

There was a long pause as Ned and Robert stared him down.

“That was very inconsiderate,” Ned said at last.

“I’m sorry,” Stannis offered tepidly.

“We traveled three and a half hours to get here. Robert had engagements he had to cancel,” Ned continued sternly.

“I’m very sorry,” Stannis tried insincerely.

“It’s unlike you to be so careless,” Ned went on. Stannis wanted to grind his teeth, as Ned continued to lecture him on the importance of thoughtfulness, selflessness, family, duty, honor.... Who did he think he was talking to? Robert?!?!? As if Stannis had ever fallen short of the standards of good behavior. Even this was a thoughtful and selfless attempt to save his brother from his worst instincts, and did he get any credit? Of course not!

Speaking of his brother, Robert had been quiet the entire time. Something of a record. When Ned FINALLY ran out steam, Robert only eyed him suspiciously.

After a long pause, Robert cleared his throat.

“You know you can always... talk to me,” he said awkwardly.

“Of course,” Stannis said quickly, the biggest lie he’d told yet.

They stared at each other again.

“Well come on,” Ned finally tugged at Robert’s arm. “We have to get out of city limits before rush hour hits.”

It was with some relief that he had headed back to his and Melisandre’s apartment. Only to confront someone heading down the stairs with an enormous box.

“That looks heavy, let me help,” Stannis scrambled to assist, even as his brain was registering that the person was too short to be Melisandre.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” said the allegedly pregnant Cersei Lannister, shifting her grip on the giant box and continuing down the stairs.

How was he the only person seeing this?!

After a brooding pause, Stannis had decided to go back to the office.

Now as Bach soothingly lulled him into calmness, he was able to let go of some of the outrage that had dogged him all day. It was all about to be over. No more lying or subterfuge, which he had always been terrible at. No more distractions from work. And most importantly, no more Cersei Lannister.

Yes, any moment, Jaime would call on his cell to let him know that Ellyn Tarbeck would be photographing the Lannister-Baratheon wedding over her dead body. Cersei would let Robert know she would be marrying him over her dead body. And this would all be gloriously over.

His cell phone rang. He glanced over. It was Jaime Lannister.

“Success?” Stannis picked up immediately.

“Um... not exactly,” Jaime answered cautiously.

Or it wouldn’t be over. Because nothing ever went according to plan.

“What do you mean, not exactly?” Stannis bit out.

“Well I introduced myself and she naturally freaked out and told us she would never do the wedding and to get the hell off her property.”

“Okay?” Stannis sighed, waiting for the shoe to drop.

“And then she might have snapped some photos of Brienne while we were taking a dip at a local watering hole. Brienne was terribly embarrassed and I encouraged her to go back and meet with Ellyn Tarbeck, so she could see that the photos really were quite lovely. And then one thing led to another, and Brienne said she’d let Tarbeck have the rights to the photos if she did the wedding,” Jaime blurted.

Stannis slowly slid off the couch onto the floor.

“If you think about it, this is actually a good thing,” Jaime said nervously into the silence.

“How?” Stannis asked hollowly.

“Well it’s really done wonders for Brienne’s self-esteem. You know how fixated Cersei is on appearances, and I think it was starting to mess with Brienne a bit, but she’s been pretty proud of the photos. I actually heard her telling her dad about them, and she never brags about things like that.”

“I understand why it might be good for Brienne Tarth’s esteem. I fail to see how this development is good for out objectives,” Stannis ground out.

“Oh,” Jaime said. There was a pause. “Well it’s not.”

There was another long silence.

“I’ll come up with something else,” Jaime said a tad defensively.

“I think you have done QUITE enough,” Stannis retorted. “I will come up with a plan to interfere with the Vogue coverage without your assistance.”

“You?” Jaime sounded doubtful.

“Me!” Stannis huffed. And then he hung up. Because he had been taking a lot of guff from people all day, but one person who was in no position to cast stones was Jaime-can’t-even-take-advantage-of-a-perfectly-good-blood-feud-Lannister.

But Jaime maybe had a point. Hadn’t he just been thinking how bad he was at lying and subterfuge? He wasn’t a particularly sneaky person. How was he going to subtly interfere in the runaway train that was this wedding? Subtly interfere in a way that didn’t make Robert hate him forever?

He needed help. He needed advice.

“Why are you still here, everyone’s gone home,” Davos Seaworth stuck his head in, blinking at finding Stannis sprawled on the ground.

Stannis stared at him. Thank you gods.

“Are you... er... alright?” Davos raised an eyebrow.

“You are my best friend, Davos,” Stannis began. “I hope you know that. I would literally trust you with my life.”

“Did you like have a fall or something? Should we be taking you to the hospital?”

“And I have the utmost respect for your intelligence,” Stannis continued, ignoring him.

“What did you even fall off of? Can I drive you or do we need to call an ambulance?”

“I’m fine,” Stannis struggled to a sitting position, looking up at him. “If you were going to stop a wedding and nobody could know it was you, how would you do it?”

“Bribe the priest?” Davos tried to joke. Stannis considered.

“It’s the High Septon of the Great Sept of Baelor, he probably doesn’t do that sort of thing,” Stannis decided.

“Great Sept of Baelor?! Stannis, are you trying to stop your brother’s wedding?” Davos glared at him.

“Not the wedding per se. Just certain media coverage,” Stannis frowned.

“Well don’t piss off the Sept of Baelor or you’re screwed. I can’t believe Robert and Cersei even managed to get that place. It’s super orthodox you know, and I can’t really picture them taking pre-Cana,” Davos laughed.

Stannis tried to smile, but he really had no idea what Davos was talking about.

“Um pre-Cana?”

Davos saw his expression and sighed.

“Have you ever even been to sept?”

Stannis scratched his head. Cassana Baratheon was the sort of person who considered herself ‘spiritual’ rather than ‘religious’. And Steffon Baratheon was the sort of person who considered himself neither.

“Maybe a couple times at Sevenmas?” Stannis frowned. He definitely remembered Robert getting into the sacramental wine and puking on Renly’s shoes. Renly had cried the whole way home.

“Uh right, the big septs don’t let you get married unless you meet with a septon beforehand. They talk to you about the sacredness of marriage and kids and sex and divorce and stuff. It varies from sept to sept how intense it is. Sometimes it can go for like six months.”

“And you were saying...”

“Just that picturing Robert and Cersei sitting there promising some septon that they’re virgins is a funny thought.”

It was a funny thought. Somehow he couldn’t picture either of them doing that. Something was fishy. And Stannis was going to get to the bottom of it.

“Thank you Davos, you’ve been very helpful.” Stannis stood, brushing himself off.

“I have?” Davos asked doubtfully.

“Yes. Now I’ve got to go make some calls.”

“What about the hospital?”

“What are you talking about?”

“For your concussion?”

“I assure you,” Stannis gave a slightly unnerving grin. “I am thinking perfectly clearly.”

The easiest way to get to the bottom of this was to talk to Robert. And as luck would happen, Robert had been brought up talking quite recently.

Stannis once more picked up his cell phone.

Robert answered on the third or fourth ring. (While such response was not particularly prompt, that he picked up at all was unusual. Stannis was used to having to call several times, and leave copious voicemails and texts before getting any kind of response. Usually in emoji form.)

“Stannis, what’s up?” He said, sounding a little stilted. Like he was on stage but didn’t know his lines. Well that made two of them.

“I was thinking about what you were saying earlier,” Stannis began tentatively.

“Oh?”

“About how we can always talk.”

“Um right.”

There was a pause.

“Did you want to talk?” Robert finally asked, sounding as though he rather hoped the answer was no. Stannis face palmed.

“Yes.”

“Okay, what did you want to talk about?”

Stannis racked his brain.

“I just feel like we haven’t really... talked... in a while,” he finally said tepidly, cursing his lack of a good segue.

“Oh is that what the Venmo request was about?”

Stannis frowned.

“What Venmo request?”

“You were mad I didn’t tell you about the wedding and you’re worried that we’re drifting apart? Awww Stanny!”

Stannis had literally no idea what he was talking about. He habitually split everything. He knew Robert tended toward the belief that over the long run, all expenses would eventually net out. But as far as Stannis was concerned, the best way to net everything out was to split everything and that was that.

But Robert seemed markedly less cautious, and this was at least a path toward discussing the High Sept of Baelor.

“Yes,” he said. “I feel like I don’t know what’s going on in your life.”

The statement was ludicrous. He could literally turn on a television and see what was going on in his brother’s life.

“I’m sorry, that makes complete sense,” Robert said. He could practically feel Robert nodding along earnestly on the other side of the phone.

“How’s er... wedding planning going?” Stannis asked.

“Eh it’s fine. Did I tell you I booked Tom Sevens for the after party? It’s going to be epic!!! And on Tywin Lannister’s dime too, ha!”

Stannis rolled his eyes.

“Cersei does most of it, honestly. The only thing she really put on my plate was getting the photographer today. Good thing Jaime was there to cover right?”

“Yeah, good thing,” Stannis growled.

“He’s not my favorite, but he really saved the day you know.”

“You don’t say.”

“Credit where credit is due right? The whole wedding might have been sunk without him!”

Stannis tried to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth.

“Say, I had a question about the Sept of Baelor,” he said.

“Ugh, church is such a drag. Remember when we got kicked out because Renly wouldn’t stop crying during Sevenmas mass?”

“We got kicked out because you drank a bottle of sacramental wine!”

“No, it was definitely because Renly wouldn’t stop crying.”

“He was crying because you threw up on his new shoes!”

“Hahahahaha that’s right. See, I told you it was his fault. So what’s the question?”

“Well Davos said there’s some kind of pre-ceremony education course you have to do?”

Robert groaned.

“Ugh it’s the worst. Cersei had her father make a huge donation to get the space, so they’re letting us do most of the classes online. It’s like three hours on Sundays. Cersei just texts me the answers.”

Stannis frowned, first at the flagrant rule bending for those with money, second at the flagrant rule breaking by Robert, and third at the fact that there didn’t seem to be an angle here.

“So it’s a done deal? You just have to do some stuff online?”

Maybe he would have to bribe the septon...

“Well that and meet with some deacon next weekend to get the final nod. They just want someone to talk to you and make sure you’re living in the light of the seven and all that jazz. Cersei is worried they’ll be able to tell she’s pregnant, so she’s sending me with Brienne.”

“How’s that work? Won’t they notice when you show up with a different bride?”

“Nah, it’s not the same guy. This is just some little foot soldier. As long as we seem like good sept-going people, it’ll be fine. Anybody could show up really, it’s not like they check.”

Stannis blinked. And then he smirked. Anybody.

“That gives me an idea,” he said casually. “It seems so silly for you and Brienne to come all this way to King’s Landing when you’re both in Oldtown. Why don’t I take Melisandre?”

“Really? You’d do that?!”

“I would be delighted to assist.”

“Wow that’s… huge. You’re such a good brother. I don’t think you’ve ever let me down in your whole life.”

Stannis shifted uncomfortably.

“Well let’s not get carried away.”

“I’m serious! I would trust you with my life. You would never deliberately screw me over and there’s not many people in the world I can say that about.”

Stannis was having an acute pain somewhere in his gut. He wondered if this was acid reflux.

“I would certainly always act in your best interest,” he managed finally. His gut uncurled slightly.

“No it’s more than that. You always keep your word to the letter,” Robert continued blithely. The stomach ache intensified. “If you give me your word that you’ll go the High Sept and impress the deacon, I know you’ll do it.”

“Eh,” Stannis managed, clutching his side.

“So I have your word that it’s done? I can’t afford something like today’s mix up happening on Sunday!”

Stannis sat heavily, bringing his knees to his chest.

“Stannis, I have your word right?”

There was no helping it.

“Yes,” Stannis managed. He wondered if it was too late to get Davos to take him to the hospital.

Melisandre (What Have You Done 6 of x)

Melisandre did not do weddings. She just... didn’t. She hadn’t liked weddings at the red temple, which were simple hand-tying ceremonies followed by a jump over a pit of coals. She didn’t like weddings, but if you were going to have a wedding, that’s how a wedding should be. Just a pledge of love before R’hllor and maybe a little fire. But even back then, when she had been going to temple, she had felt suspicious of all the guests, the dress, the ring.

It felt performative. Like love wasn’t love unless all your friends and family saw you declaring it. It felt ostentatious, with the five thousand dollar dress that you’d wear once. It felt... fake.

And this wedding, this Frankenstein horror of white lace and pink tulle, was everything that was terrible about weddings rolled into one. Weddings under the faith of the seven already were especially irritating. Melisandre didn’t think it was crazy to point out how completely sexist and archaic the concept of a father giving away his daughter to take on her husband’s family name was. Sure, why not treat an adult woman as chattel? And don’t even get her started on the vows. The woman was supposed to love, cherish and OBEY?!?! Get a fucking dog.

Then add in Cersei, for whom the ostentatious and performative aspects of the wedding were the whole point.

Then add in the part where Stannis was plotting behind her back, thus undoing literally six years of working on their communication issues together.

Then add in... whatever this was.

Cersei delicately put a bite of red velvet cake with vanilla frosting in her mouth. She chewed, an expression of concentration on her face. Then she spat, into the bucket held by the Crossroads Inn pastry chef’s assistant.

“Too moist. The cake overpowers the frosting,” she announced. The chef and his assistant and the owner of the Crossroads Inn all nodded gravely. Melisandre looked out the window.

“Are you getting this down, Melisandre?!” Cersei snapped. With a sigh, Melisandre produced her notebook.

“Sample 63: Too moist. Frosting overpowered,” she read dully.

Cersei nodded in satisfaction, previous equanimity restored. She took a swish of her sparkling apple cider to cleanse her palette and waved an imperious hand for the next sample.

But the worst part of this whole wedding nonsense, hands down, was her involvement. It had been a terrible confluence of needing to beat Stannis at his own game and needing to save Brienne from her silly self-effacing self. And now, she was watching as Cersei took a mere sniff of carrot-cake before bellowing “NEXT!”

Sample 64: Carrot-cake.

The dreary fact was that Melisandre was the only bridesmaid in King’s Landing. There were good, sensible reasons that she should be shouldering some of this burden. At least if she didn’t want Cersei Lannister, Queen of the World, to pitch a fit and ban her from the wedding. Cake tasting, at the time, had seemed like a low-key, even fun activity to choose. But she didn’t even get to try the samples!!

Cersei spit a piece of what looked like German chocolate cake into the bin.

“Too rich!”

Sample 65: Too rich.

“I think I’ll do four layers, each with a different flavor,” Cersei said to Melisandre as Melisandre carefully drove them both back to her apartment.

“The largest base layer will be vanilla and vanilla cream icing. Simple, elegant, and it will taste completely boring. I can give it to the second tier wedding guests and anyone who has displease me,” Cersei turned the rear view mirror so she could fluff her hair.

Melisandre turned the rear view mirror back to its original position.

“The second layer will be that devil’s deluxe chocolate with the sea salt sprinkles,” Cersei continued, ignoring her entirely.

Melisandre tuned out the discussion of the third and fourth layer, idly wondering what she would have for dinner. And what Stannis would not be having for dinner. Let’s see how he liked fending for himself when he got home from the office.

She pulled into her parking garage. She had gotten into the service elevator, gotten out on her floor, walked down the hallway and had her key in the lock before she realized that Cersei was still trailing after her, wondering where she could get a tiny bride and groom of spun sugar perfectly modeled on her and Robert.

Melisandre grudgingly let her in, while fantasizing biting the head off a tiny spun sugar perfectly modeled on Cersei Lannister.

“This is nice,” Cersei looked around their lofted apartment. “It will be so easy to child proof when you and Stannis get married.”

Melisandre schooled her features into a smooth blankness so that she wouldn’t flinch at Cersei’s remarks. She hated weddings.

“Let me give you the grand tour,” Melisandre said politely to change the subject. Unfortunately that meant Cersei pursing her lips over every streak of dust—“you should just get a housekeeper, that’s what I do”—and shaking her head over every pot in the sink—“you don’t have a chef?!”—and even the box that the tv had come from that she hadn’t bothered to ever move out of their bedroom—“really it’s an empty box, I’ll move it myself.”

It was as Cersei accomplished the latter task that Stannis came in. Melisandre took some dark joy in the expression of frozen outrage when he spotted her.

“Stannis, don’t mind us. We’re just doing some wedding prep,” Melisandre slid her arm around Cersei’s waist. Cersei beamed at her. “You know how excited I am about the wedding!” Melisandre added, just to twist the knife.

“Excuse me... I... I forgot something at the office,” Stannis muttered, looking like he might puke. He hurried back out the door.

“Melisandre, I’m touched,” Cersei said. “You know, maybe this is silly, but I always got the sense that you didn’t like me very much.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Melisandre said weakly.

“And you seemed very unenthused about the wedding,” Cersei continued.

“Nothing to do with you,” Melisandre said, this time truthfully.

“I suppose it is silly. Well I’m glad to share this moment with you,” Cersei squeezed her into a hug. Melisandre went stiff. She didn’t do hugs. “It’s nice to have another friend I can trust.”

“Well off you go,” Melisandre gently disentangled herself. “I’d hate for you to hit the rush hour traffic getting out of here.”

“Oh so true,” Cersei dropped the tender act briskly. “Let’s circle up regarding the final menu. Toodles.”

And she was gone.

Melisandre went to the freezer and got out a pint of ice cream. She proceeded to collapse on the couch.

She was still there when Stannis came back several hours later.

“Is she gone?” He asked abruptly.

Melisandre arched an eyebrow at him, and took another spoonful of ice cream.

“You’re being so childish, just tell me what’s wrong,” he huffed.

Like he didn’t know exactly what was wrong.

After a brief staring contest, Stannis looked away.

“I signed us up for some more wedding duties,” he said stiffly.

What?

“What?” She said, ice cream forgotten.

“Well you did say you were so excited about it,” Stannis said in a faux innocent voice that wouldn’t have fooled Robert.

“What are we doing?” She growled.

“Pretending to be Robert and Cersei to meet with a deacon at the High Sept of Baelor this weekend,” Stannis shrugged.

Huh. Obviously he was planning something, but this sounded kind of innocuous?

“You know it would be highly unethical to volunteer to help, and then use that opportunity to mess up this wedding,” Melisandre pointed out.

Stannis took a deep breath.

“As a matter of fact, I do. So let’s make a deal.”

“A deal?” Melisandre inquired suspiciously.

“You’ll do all the talking,” Stannis said.

Melisandre considered. If there was a trap here, she wasn’t seeing it. What better way to make sure Stannis behaved?

“Deal,” she said firmly. And caught just the tiniest glint of triumph in his eye.

Honestly, between her job at the research lab and staying mad at Stannis and Cersei’s incessant wedding related chatter, she kind of forgot about it. The engagement party was coming up, and Cersei had been doing her level best to drum up the publicity to an unbearable level. Some tidbit of news about the wedding was front page of the Daily Ravyn every day—Melisandre could only imagine what strings Cersei was pulling with Varys to make that happen. She’d given the exclusive engagement party coverage rights to Agora (but confided that both Varys and Petyr Baelish had been invited as guests, so if they happened to snap a photo or two or write about their own experiences, it was hardly her fault).

She’d even had that thrice damned advertisement for Storms Ending Summer Camps playing non-stop every day. It was bad enough that the jingle at the end was unbearable catchy. Melisandre had found herself humming it in the shower. Much worse was the uncomfortable realization that in a certain light, her brother’s boyfriend might actually be... hot?

Which was terrible! It was BERIC. He was shy and awkward and if he and Thoros were doing anything, it was like holding hands or cuddling or something. That’s how Melisandre preferred to think about it anyway, and any intrusion upon that world view was most unwelcome.

And don’t even get her started on the invitation to the engagement party. It had come in a package, and Melisandre had immediately gotten excited, because who doesn’t love surprise packages? She’d opened the package and inside was a beautiful carved wooden box. She’d opened the box, and some kind of trigger activated a song—a music box? It was a jaunty little ditty, and the box was fully of sandalwood shavings that smelled heavenly. There had been a scroll in the shavings and she had plucked it out with some curiosity. Only to discover with horror that it had been sealed in red wax with a golden lion etched in the center.

Grimly, she had grabbed a letter opener and given the lion a sharp thrust to the heart.

In perfect calligraphy, she had been invited to a party at Casterly Rock to celebrate the engagement of Miss Cersei Joanna Lannister to Mr. Robert Orys Baratheon. The party was naturally on the weekend of Westeros’ national heritage day—so like Cersei to claim a long weekend when everybody might have better things they wanted to do, when the price of flights would naturally be higher and... Melisandre had suddenly realized that the tune was in fact a remixed version of “Rains of Castamere”, a folk song long associated with the Lannister family. With a shudder of horror she had slammed the box shut. Only to see that the wooden carvings which she had dimly registered initially were a border of intertwining lions and stags. Melisandre had hissed and shoved the box away.

So yes, with the lead up to the engagement party on top of everything else, it might have slipped her mind that Stannis had uncharacteristically volunteered them for this sept thing.

Slipped her mind, that was, until Stannis unceremoniously shook her awake at 8am on a Sunday morning.

“It’s the weekend!!” Melisandre groaned and snuggled deeper.

“We’ll be late to the High Sept,” Stannis said patiently. “I mean that’s fine with me...”

“Ugh no, I’m getting up,” Melisandre sighed. Then it turned out she didn’t really have any sept appropriate clothing. She ended up using one of her work outfits, and then putting a sweater on over that and then buttoning it to the top just to be safe.

Stannis frowned when he saw her outfit.

Melisandre blinked.

“Were you expecting me to go to the Sept in one of my red dresses?” She asked slowly.

“No!” Stannis said, but his gaze skittered away from her.

Melisandre brushed a bit of lint of this sweater, which she had worn in the lord knew how long.

“Are you expecting me to tank this meeting?” She scowled. That was totally it, wasn’t it?! He thought she was going to be all fire and brimstone and salt and smoke and get Robert and Cersei kicked out of the sept!

“No,” Stannis repeated, still staring out the window.

“Good,” Melisandre bared her teeth in an approximation of a smile. “Because I’m not going to.”

A promise that was perhaps easier said than done.

As VIPs, they were ushered first through the Great Sept itself, then through a series of gardens and courtyards and shrines to various aspects of the Seven, then, standing before a small unassuming door, they were asked to wait in an alcove with a beatific Maiden statue.

Melisandre scowled at its vacuous expression. Each successive space, overflowing with opulence and the kind of wealth that could be working to improve the lives of the faithful rather than smother their senses in unthinking awe, had left her in a worse mood.

It was quite different from the spartan halls of the Red Temple, and Melisandre felt a nostalgic ache for the smoky steps in High Hill. She and Thoros had left their temple on bad terms (well Thoros had been thrown out and she had left), but it didn’t mean that she didn’t miss it.

In contrast, here she was standing in front of a marble statue of a simpering Maiden some fourteen feet tall, clutching some kind of fabric in a strange pretense of modesty from what was an undeniably erotic piece of art. This is exactly what was wrong with the Seven, Melisandre sniffed. It fetishized and sexualized purity and demonized sex. You were an innocent, a mother or a witch. Those were your options. Melisandre would choose witch every time.

The door opened, and Melisandre pasted a demure smile on her face.

Except this time.

“Welcome my children, I’m Brother Ray,” the deacon beamed at them, and Melisandre fought not to roll her eyes.

He ushered them into a cozy room that had been furnished like a study, taking a seat in a plush armchair and waving a hand at the couch across from him. Melisandre sat, smoothing her skirt carefully, and Stannis followed suit.

“The online process is just so impersonal. We felt it was important to spend at least one afternoon getting to know you as people,” he gave a saccharine smile. “We just want to make sure it’s a good fit.”

We just want to make sure you conform to our oppressive, gendered and outdated mold, Melisandre snarked to herself.

“Of course,” she said instead, and tried to give a little laugh like Cersei did. When the deacon looked alarmed, she turned it into a cough.

“Are you frequent sept-goers?” The deacon asked Stannis.

“She’s really the religious one,” Stannis squeezed her shoulders.

R’hllorites didn’t believe in hell, but maybe she could make an exception for Stannis.

“And you Miss Lannister? Do you attend sept often?”

“Every Sunday,” Melisandre answered stoically.

“How would you say the Seven guide you in your every day life?”

Melisandre felt her mind blank out. This was like one of those nightmares she used to have in school about taking a test she hadn’t studied for. That was, if the test was also on principles that she loathed with every fiber of her being.

“Well... I pray to the Maiden, obviously,” Melisandre finally blurted.

“Do you? What do you pray for?” The deacon asked mildly.

“Ummm, protection? From... from... temptation!”

“Temptation? Like...” the deacon prodded.

“Sex! And um, lustful thoughts?”

Beside her, Stannis snorted. Ass.

“So you’re a virgin?” The deacon inquired.

“Of course,” Melisandre said through gritted teeth, kicking Stannis sharply in the ankle.

“My, that’s rather unusual in this day and age,” the deacon frowned. What?! Wasn’t that what she was supposed to say?

“I’m just... rather old-school in my beliefs,” Melisandre managed.

“And you?” The deacon turned to Stannis.

“I hadn’t had any sexual relations before we met,” Stannis replied, an answer which managed to be both literally truthful and situationally appropriate. Show-off.

“And have the two of you discussed family planning?” The deacon asked.

The ensuing lecture on remedial sexual education left even Stannis blushing. Melisandre FULLY believed in body positivity as much as the next person, there was something about being encouraged to explore an anatomically correct model of the vagina by a man who went by Brother Ray that left her thinking celibacy was underrated.

Finally, they were off that topic. Thank the lord.

“Now let’s discuss healthy conflict resolution,” Brother Ray beamed.

Shit.

“Open communication is key to any relationship,” Ray began.

“So keeping secrets would be bad,” Melisandre said sweetly.

“Or being passive-aggressive,” Stannis glared back at her.

How about just aggressive? Melisandre thought as she narrowed her eyes.

“I love how you’re engaging with this material,” Brother Ray piped in. “Now why don’t we try some role play. Robert, why don’t you pretend to be Cersei. I’m going to give you some criticism, and I want you to react as Cersei would.”

He cleared his throat.

“Cersei, it’s your turn to take out the garbage and I’m frustrated that you keep putting it off.”

Stannis crossed his arms and sat silently.

First, that was a terrible Cersei impression. Second it was an even worse Melisandre impression! She didn’t just launch into silent treatment when she was in the wrong, this was clearly when she was in the right and Stannis was being a frustrating asshat! He had failed at communicating first! She was just giving him a taste of her own medicine!

“So you’re saying Cersei shuts down,” Brother Ray leaned forward. “Cersei, what would you say to that?”

“Robert knows why I haven’t been taking out the garbage,” Melisandre growled. “It’s because he’s keeping a secret from me even though the last time he did that, things got really out of control and he ended up in the hospital.”

“Okay but first it’s not really a secret if you know about it—“

“IT’S THE PRINCIPLE!”

“and second it’s not that kind of secret and you know it—“

“AGAIN IT’S THE PRINCIPLE!”

“and third you’ll just yell at me!”

“Okay well why don’t we talk about yelling,” Brother Ray interjected hastily. “It’s important when resolving conflict for each party to feel heard. I want you both to start by paraphrasing the other’s point, leading with ‘I appreciate that you feel...’ and going from there. Robert?”

Stannis didn’t respond. Melisandre kicked him.

“Oh right! Ahem, CERSEI, I appreciate that you feel worried about me when I keep secrets. That it... hurts your feelings,” Stannis swallowed. “Please know that it was never my intention. I just knew you wouldn’t approve and I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Huh. Okay maybe Brother Ray wasn’t a total waste.

“Robert,” Melisandre began, rolling her eyes. “I appreciate that you get frustrated when I won’t talk to you. Because... because you love me and it makes you feel shut out. And I only get so frustrated because I love you too.”

Stannis squeezed her hand. Melisandre swallowed.

“Wow, really well done,” Brother Ray nodded his head enthusiastically. “Okay, I admit I had some doubts initially, but I think we’re done here.”

“Done?” Melisandre frowned.

“Yes, I think the two of you are ready to get married,” the deacon stood. He shook Stannis’ head firmly, and as Melisandre reeled, he pulled her into a hearty hug. Ugh, hugging. Still, she had to admit, this Brother Ray gave pretty good hug.

They exited the Sept complex in kind of a daze. They didn’t speak to each other at all until they got back to Stannis’ car and sat. Automatically, Stannis locked the doors.

“I meant what I said back there,” he said quietly.

“I know. I did too.”

“So you’re not mad?”

“A little mad. But Stannis—I need you to call Jaime Lannister up right now and tell him you’re done with this. Please—I don’t know how much more wedding warfare I can take,” Melisandre said, trying to hold his gaze.

“You... might be right,” Stannis sighed heavily. “I just don’t want Robert to throw his life away on this. She’s not really pregnant!”

Melisandre massaged her temples.

“I assure you, she really really is,” she ground out. “Now call Jaime. On speaker.”

Stannis huffed, but did as she commanded.

“How did the High Sept go?” Jaime asked immediately.

“There was an issue,” Stannis scowled.

“...being?”

“That it went really well. The deacon assures us we’re ready to get married.”

“How very nice for you,” Jaime sighed. “I don’t suppose you have any more bright ideas?”

“As a matter of fact I don’t,” Stannis looked over at Melisandre. “I’m done.”

“Wait wait wait.... you don’t mean...”

“I’m out,” he said firmly. Melisandre gave him a small smile. She hoped Jaime wasn’t too upset.

“I should have known,” Jaime drawled.

Okay, not upset.

“Excuse me?!” Stannis sputtered.

“It’s just like you to give up when things get hard! This is exactly like when we tried to stop the mayor!”

“I GOT SHOT!!!”

“I’m disappointed in you, Baratheon. Melisandre got to you didn’t she?!”

“I’m evaluating my priorities,” Stannis growled. “Much as I believe you did in your interaction with Ellyn Tarbeck.”

“Hey!”

“I’m going to hang up now.”

“FINE! Well I didn’t want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice.”

“What? Are you going to call Robert and tell him I won’t help you break up his wedding anymore?” Stannis rolled his eyes.

“I’m activating my fail-safe. Just remember, you brought this on yourself.”

“If you had a secret atom bomb that would nuke this wedding, I think you would have dropped it by now,” Stannis said suspiciously.

“Maybe I was worried about collateral damage. And maybe I was holding back. But I’m not so worried any more,” Jaime growled.

“You’re bluffing,” Stannis scoffed.

“I assure you I’m not,” Jaime replied evenly. “But I suppose you’ll find out. See you at the engagement party.”

He hung up.

Melisandre and Stannis sat staring at his cell.

Why did she feel like things had not improved?

Thoros (What Have You Done 7 of x)

Thoros got to the bar early, as it was his turn to open. Honestly, he was a little relieved that he could go to his full-time job and just get a break from thinking about the hit his finances were going to take from this stag party, keeping Beric from having a nervous breakdown over that commercial and where he was going to find time and room in his budget to rent a tuxedo (naturally the engagement party was black tie... like everyone just had tuxedos lying around?!).

No sooner had he opened the bar than Jenny Oldstones and her grandmother appeared. He would have called it spooky timing, except Jenny had been basically stalking him to get closer to the love of her life. Which was great. She was a good kid. He just wished she had chosen someone more age-appropriate to have a crush on. Who didn’t happen to be his boyfriend.

“Ember,” the old woman beamed at him. Thoros gave a gallant bow back and she laughed. She always claimed he smelled of smoke, and he had learned to just play along.

“Wood witch!” He tossed her the keys and she made them disappear with magical swiftness.

“C’mon gran, he isn’t here yet,” Jenny whispered, tugging her toward the door to their apartment above.

“Um actually, Mrs. Oldstones, may I have a word?” Thoros asked.

She lingered as her daughter retreated with a wave.

“I’ve worked here part time for three years and full time now for three, and I was hoping I could get a raise,” Thoros said, holding his breath.

“I see two stags running with a wolf and a viper,” the tiny gnarled woman said wisely. “There’s a fat flower and lightning and I see you too. Not a lion in sight, but lions are far-seeing.”

“Um okay,” Thoros blinked. “Is that a yes?”

“It’s a no,” she patted his hand. “But I’ll give you time off.”

The door swung behind her and Thoros sighed. He wondered if Dorne would take IOUs. Maybe he could just show up with a huge handful of paper notes and hand them out everywhere they went. That would be fine right?

With a snort at the image, he started unloading the clean glasses. Maybe he’d get lucky on tips. Sure a lot of the students didn’t bother, but classes at the Citadel had finished last week and they were due to see some tourist traffic. Probably the very next person to walk into this bar would be some heavy drinking heavy tipping out of towner.

The door swung open and Thoros looked up expectantly.

Oberyn Martell strolled in.

Fuck. Well two out of three was a start.

“What do you want?” Thoros said suspiciously.

“Is that anyway to greet an old friend,” Oberyn grinned.

“You’re just here for the free drinks,” Thoros sighed.

“Yup, got twenty minutes to kill before a date.”

“Aren’t you here visiting your daughter?”

“Can’t a man do both?”

“Apparently,” Thoros laughed and started to pour Oberyn one of the dry Dornish ciders they had on tap.

“Getting excited for the Water Palaces?” Oberyn asked cheerfully. “You haven’t lived until you’ve tried the Dornish spiced wine.”

“I can’t believe your brother has a summer palace,” Thoros said. Sometimes he forgot that while Beric’s parents were pretty wealthy, Robert and most of his other friends were like astronomically wealthy.

“I can’t believe he’s letting us use it,” Oberyn gave a languid shrug. “He doesn’t typically trust me.”

“I wonder why,” Thoros said drily.

“Is that any way to speak to the guy who rescued you from faking a coma to get out of the stag party?” Oberyn shook his head.

“Ned told you?!” Thoros groaned.

“I guessed. But you’re sorted now right?”

“Just need the money to pay for this rental tux, and then the restaurants in Dorne, and then the stupid morning suits and pink pocket squares Cersei wants us to wear,” Thoros rubbed his temples. “And nobody fucking tips around here,” he shot Oberyn a meaningful glare which he ignored. “But I’m the bartender, aren’t you supposed to be telling me your problems?”

“I’m worried about Mace,” Oberyn sighed. “Ever since he knocked up that Alerie Hightower in college, he’s been a nervous wreck. He was plucked before his prime, Thoros. He never got a chance to bloom.”

“We can’t all have two children with two mothers on two continents,” Thoros rolled his eyes.

“Three,” Oberyn said with some modesty. “Ellaria’s expecting.”

Thoros topped off Oberyn’s glass and poured one for himself to toast.

“What are we drinking to?” Beric came in, still wearing his suit from his summer internship at the courthouse and looking a little woeful.

“Oberyn’s a dad! Again!” Thoros laughed.

“Third time’s charmed,” Beric patted Oberyn on the back. Then he swiped Thoros’ glass and drained it.

“What’s wrong?” Thoros frowned.

“There’s a hashtag,” Beric said miserably.

“See this is why I don’t use social media,” Thoros replied patiently. Suddenly, they heard someone running down the staircase at the far side of the bar.

“Hide me!!” Beric blurted, his one eye huge.

Thoros sighed and let him around the back of the bar, where he crawled into the space normally occupied by the garbage bin, dragging the bin back in after him.

Jenny burst into the bar panting slightly.

“Hi!” She said to Oberyn, her face abruptly falling when she realized he wasn’t who she thought he was.

“Hello,” Oberyn put his phone away and gave her a smirk. Thoros smacked him in the back of the head.

“I thought I saw your roommate come in from the window upstairs,” she mumbled to Thoros. (Thoros hadn’t had the heart to embarrass her by breaking the news of their relationship yet.)

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” Oberyn said smoothly. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Thoros was reaching to hit him again when Jenny saved him the trouble.

“Gross, I’m fifteen, old man. Now get lost, PERV!”

She stomped out.

Thoros tried to swallow his laugh. From Oberyn’s glare, not very successfully.

“Is she gone?” Beric whispered from behind the garbage.

“What in the seven hells is going on?!” Oberyn said slowly. “Since when does Beric have more game than me?!”

“You haven’t seen the commercial?” Thoros asked, dragging the garbage out. “Coast is clear,” he nudged Beric with his foot.

Beric emerged looking sheepish.

“With him and Robert? How could I miss it,” Oberyn rolled his eyes.

“It’s made him irresistible, but only to young women,” Thoros grinned.

“There’s a hashtag,” Beric repeated, shoving his phone in Oberyn’s face. Oberyn inspected it.

“#oneeyedhottie,” he read. Then he smirked.

“Hey Beric, while you’re back there, can you get me a bottle of that good tequila? The one Thoros can’t reach?!”

“I’m taller than you!” Thoros growled at Oberyn.

“No problem,” Beric meanwhile said politely, reaching up to get it. Oberyn lifted his phone and snapped a photo.

“Hey what—“ Beric turned back flustered on hearing the sound.

“#oneeyedhottie tends bar at #highheart,” Oberyn narrated as he typed in his phone, fending off Beric with one arm at the same time. There was a whooshing sound as he uploaded the photo.

“What in the seven hells?!” Beric snapped.

“Yeah, Oberyn, what gives,” Thoros frowned.

Sure he did kind of think it was good for Beric to internalize that not everybody just saw him as an eye-patch with scars, but Oberyn wasn’t the one that had to lure him out of the apartment every day.

“I’m solving your tipping problem,” Oberyn yawned. “Do you have a sharpie?”

“Here,” Thoros handed it over. Oberyn wrote ‘TIPS’ on one of the now empty cups.

“Gee, why didn’t I think of that,” Thoros snarked.

“Not the cup idiot. Beric. His many female admirers will come flocking to the bar to be served by him, and I’m sure they’ll be eager to impress.”

“First, they would be Beric’s tips not mine. Second, did it ever occur to you that maybe he doesn’t want to do this?”

“I’ll do it,” Beric said immediately.

Thoros turned and Beric blushed.

“I just... I know it’s been an expensive summer and you’re worried about it. And this is mortifying already, why shouldn’t we get some tips out of it? Plus I can’t actually make the drinks you know. I’m just handing them to people. It’s your money.”

Thoros considered.

“We’ll split it. If it works.”

“My post has... four hundred and sixteen likes,” Oberyn checked his phone.

“Well as always, the pleasure has been all yours,” he winked and strolled out.

Thoros and Beric looked at each other. From the far end of the bar, there was the sound of someone running down the stairs.

“Hi Jenny,” Beric said politely.

“Ohmygoshareyoutendingbartonight?!?! That’s so cool!!”

“Do you want a ginger ale or something?”

“Sure!” Jenny beamed at him, and stuck a dollar in the jar.

The bar was two-deep with mostly legal customers and Thoros felt serenely happy. He’d had to empty the tip jar twice. Oberyn might make a lot of trouble, but he wasn’t such a bad guy, Thoros decided. Also life was great. Beric was stammering and blushing his way through flirting with the customers and it was adorable. Plus this meant he’d be around when the bar closed. And Thoros could think of plenty of ways for Beric to... help him close the bar down. Heh. Nope, nothing could ruin this night.

Jaime Lannister walked into the bar.

Thoros mentally facepalmed and continued making the cosmo-tini a sorority girl had just ordered with renewed focus. If you don’t make eye contact, he probably won’t even notice you, he told himself as he twisted a lime peel.

Jaime arched an eyebrow at the crowd surrounding Beric and instead made a beeline to the stool across the bar from where Thoros was working.

Thoros kept his head bent to the task at hand, emptying another container of cranberry juice. Had they ever run out of cranberry juice before?

Jaime cleared his throat.

Thoros arced the cranberry juice into the recycling bin, and then bent down into the fridge to see if there was any more.

“Hey! Asshai!” Jaime yelled.

Oh! There it was in the back. Thoros started to reach in, only for someone to grab his top-knot and pull. Hard.

“What can I get you?” Thoros asked glaring and rubbing the top of his head.

“A fucking miracle,” Jaime huffed.

“Not on the menu,” Thoros gave an apathetic shrug. Great, another non-tipper.

“Of course you can’t help,” Jaime sulked, slouching deeper on his stool. “How could anyone understand what it’s like to have a sister that you would DO ANYTHING for, and have to watch her throw her life away on someone who’s not nearly good enough?!”

Thoros blinked.

“And the worst part of it is that she’s so friggin’ vicious when she gets mad! I can’t even tell her he sucks to her face! She would just marry him out of spite!”

Thoros sighed and poured him a beer.

“Nobody understands me,” Jaime sulked. He took the beer absent-mindedly without acknowledging it in the slightest.

“I need a fail-safe plan. Do you have a fail-safe plan?”

“Run away and live in the woods,” Thoros said matter-of-factly.

“Of course you don’t have a fail-safe plan. How could you? How could anybody have a plan to stop this disaster of a wedding?”

Thoros finished the next drink and passed it to Beric, who gave him a bemused smile as a girl wrote her number on a cocktail napkin. He really REALLY couldn’t wait until everybody left.

“If Cersei can’t ruin this wedding with her unreasonably high expectations, and Robert can’t ruin this wedding with his laziness, WHO WILL RUIN THIS WEDDING?!” Jaime demanded the moment he returned, waving his empty glass for emphasis.

Thoros yoinked the glass from his grip before he could break it and refilled it for him. He tried to be polite and neutral through the ensuing six hours as Jaime proposed increasingly absurd and/or illegal solutions to this disaster, including but not limited to burning down the High Sept with wildfire.

“I shouldn’t have threatened Stannis with a nuclear option when I didn’t have a nuclear option,” Jaime groaned, feebly pushing his glass toward Thoros. “Now I need to find a plan that ruins the wedding AND sticks it to Stannis.”

Thoros had been considering charging him for this drink but decided not to. Maybe that would teach the crazy old bat to give hard-working loyal employees the raises they deserved.

He refilled, and pushed it back.

“Thoros,” Beric whispered. “They keep ordering sex on the beach and winking! What do I do?!”

“Wink back?” Thoros teased. Beric glared.

“I’m doing this for you, you know.”

“I know, and I’m very grateful, my lord,” Thoros ruffled his hair. “I will make the cocktails, you just focus on survival.”

“It’s easy for you to say!” Beric snarked, but he leaned into Thoros’ hand anyway. “They’re completely besotted. It’s worse than ever!”

“It’s the bartender effect,” Thoros said wisely. “Everyone is hotter behind the bar. It’s magnifying your already dangerous levels of the hotness.”

“I don’t have dangerous levels of hotness!” Beric stammered, loosening his tie. There was a thud as a girl fainted.

Beric flushed.

“I need an exit strategy.”

“Don’t we all,” Jaime sighed, abruptly joining the conversation.

“You be quiet,” Thoros said sternly. “Your thing is completely different. Beric, you do a last call. I’ll hit the lights and you can duck under the bar. Then I’ll say you went out the back.”

Jaime rested his head on the bar and poked at the ‘TIPS’ cup that needed to be emptied once more.

“You’re just smug because Oberyn solved your money problems with the whole Water Palace thing. And pimping out your boyfriend on Ravengram.”

“How do YOU know about my money problems?!” Thoros growled.

“Do you have to put it that way?!” Beric called over his shoulder as he tried to signed a girl’s very tight t-shirt without actually making contact with any part of her.

“Oberyn said something about it in bed with Ned and Robert,” Jaime yawned. “And yes I do,” he turned to look at Beric.

“This is the last call!” Beric raised his voice while glaring at Jaime.

They managed to refill their ‘TIPS’ cup one more time before Thoros obediently hit the lights. And poof, Beric had disappeared. It was like magic, if magic involved his boyfriend once more cowering behind the garbage.

“I think he went out the back!” Thoros exclaimed in a shocked voice when the lights came back on. There was a general stampede, and as he hung the ‘Closed’ sign, Thoros let himself imagine a perfectly empty bar with just him and Beric.

The dust cleared.

Jaime Lannister was still perched on his stool, the very last customer.

Thoros glared.

“I said last call Lannister. Don’t you have a girlfriend to visit or something?”

“I am not moving from this stool until the answer to my problems comes walking through that door,” Jaime said stubbornly, shoving the glass at him.

Thoros gritted his teeth and began to fill it, resolving to DEFINITELY charge him for this one, when the door opened.

Jaime and Thoros both turned to stare. Even Beric furtively popped his head out.

Ned Stark came shuffling in.

Jaime began to bang his head on the bar.

Thoros considered joining him. He had closed the bar! He had hung the sign and everything! Why were people still here?! It was supposed to just be him and Beric!!!

“It’s last call,” Thoros said to Ned, trying to be polite.

“I hate you, now leave,” Jaime added, not trying to be polite.

“I got a text Jon Arryn,” Ned said in a hollow voice, ignoring them both and collapsing onto a stool.

“Our Lit teacher from high school?” Thoros frowned. Weird. He avoided contact with teachers as a rule.

“He’s like a second dad to me,” Ned said dully. “He’s in the Summer Islands this week, and he’s friends with Hoster Tully so they had drinks. Hoster tried to set him up with Cat! He said our marriage is on the rocks and if Jon had any interest he could arrange a date.”

Ugh fine. Thoros poured him a glass of beer too.

Ned took a long swig.

“Her father is trying to ruin our marriage!! And I know she can think for herself, but she places way to much importance on his opinion and I’m getting super freaked out!”

Jaime had straightened and was looking at Ned blankly.

“If her father demanded she dump me, would she do it??” Ned asked the world at large.

“Why would he ask? The whole marriage was his idea,” Jaime mumbled to himself.

Thoros started to tell Jaime to stop talking about his thing, that it was Ned’s turn, but Ned got there first.

“Her father hates me! And Jon Arryn’s his best friend! Like from childhood!”

Jaime opened his mouth to say something and then stopped. A slow smile was spreading over his face.

“It’s brilliant,” he whispered, and Thoros felt the back of his neck prickle with a sense of foreboding.

“Stark, c’mon. It’s late and we’ve gotta get back to Robert’s,” Jaime straightened and slung an arm over Ned’s shoulders.

“Why are you being nice to me?” Thoros heard Ned ask as Jaime ushered him out of the bar.

Thoros noted that neither had bothered to tip. His friends were assholes.

“Is it safe?” Beric asked, looking sheepish as he emerged.

Well, except for one.

“Just you and me,” Thoros drawled and Beric blushed. What to do, what to do, what to do…

That weird feeling of foreboding hadn’t really gone away, but Thoros resolutely ignored it as he hopped up on the bar and grabbed Beric’s tie to pull him closer. Jaime’s evil plans were somebody else’s problem. He just hoped he was somewhere far away when the bomb dropped.

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