Hail Loki

A trans devotional prayer ===

Hail to the shaper of flesh and bone Who urges my feet to freedom Who guides my hands to joy Who inspires my lips into prayer

Hail to the breaker of prisons Who shifts and constructs their shape so easily Who fills me with the reverent act of Creation Who holds me steady with every dose Hail to the Othered god Who keeps me in his arms as I tremble with nerves Who strengthens my resolve with self-knowledge Who demands my work and my growth in my journey Hail to the guardian of queers Who welcomes the different before her Who leads us to rest in our selves Who gives us the words to ask our Questions Hail to the one who loves me Who takes me for who I am Who walks with me where I'm at Who encourages me to be my full self Hail, Loki, in all your shapes Bless me and be with me on this day And every one after ==

© ocean-in-my-witchy-soul

Anyone can use this prayer in your personal practice if it speaks to you. I'd be honored.

Through the Senses

Chapter 3. Smell.

The third instalment of TTS is here! To read the previous chapters you can go HERE or to AO3 or FF.net.

This one’s from Katniss’s POV.

Hope you enjoy ❤️

  The electric fence, covered in early morning dew, loomed on the horizon. 

 Keeping to the narrow alleys of the Seam, Katniss reached the empty Meadow. The smell of freshly cut grass tickled her nose. 

She quickened her step. The place would be crawling with Peacekeepers soon -- and not the usual lazy kind. 

 The officers patrolling the streets today had been sent directly from the Capitol to oversee the reaping. They wore spotless uniforms and walked in a straight line. 

 Young and arrogant, they always kept their eyes peeled for any irregularities. The thought of catching some poor sucker trying to break the law drew them in, but the prospect of showing up the local authorities --and gaining some glory-- was what truly drove them on their quest.

 Luckily for Katniss --who spent her days breaking the law— their loud, coordinated footsteps, paired with the stench of bleach they left behind, were hard to ignore.

 Stealthily, she walked over to the loose spot in the fence and, hiding behind a clump of brushes, flattened out on her belly and slid underneath.

 After retrieving her bow and sheath of arrows, she moved deeper into the woods. There, hidden by the thick line of trees encircling District 12, she breathed easy again. 

 Wrapped in the scent of pine needles and wet dirt she knew so well, Katniss made her way to the rock ledge where Gale was waiting for her. 

 Breakfast was good that morning. Fresh bakery bread; goat’s cheese packed in fragrant basil leaves; sweet blackberries, tart and juicy, that tasted like summer dreams. 

 The sun was high in the sky when the hunting partners walked back to the district. Their satchels were full; their hearts heavy. A good haul didn’t matter as much when the reaping was just a few hours away. 

 Eager to get rid of their goods, Katniss and Gale stopped by the Hob first. 

 The sweet smell of ripe strawberries followed the hunters. Stubborn and thick, it hung in the air as they traded their fish for bread and salt. 

 After visiting Sae, Katniss wrapped her arms over her hunting bag and stepped out into the bright day. Keeping her eyes to the ground, she hoped the visiting Peacekeepers wouldn’t notice the unmistakable fragrance trailing behind on her way to the mayor’s house.  

 By the time she got home, a warm bath awaited her. 

 After scrubbing off the dirt and sweat from the woods, Katniss washed her hair. Clean and refreshed, she rested her neck on the lip of the tub, stretched out her legs, and closed her eyes. 

 As the water cooled down around her, she took a deep, long breath. 

 The anise shrub Mrs. Everdeen had planted on the windowsill was in full bloom. The soft, cotton-like blossoms released their heady scent into the muggy air, sending memories of hearty winter stews and rainy afternoons back into Katniss’s mind. 

 Soon she’d have to dry off and get ready to go to the square, but for a few blissful seconds, her world was at peace. 

 Prim hadn’t taken any tesserae. Their pantry was full. 

 Somewhere deep, in that place in her soul where she tried not to dwell, Katniss hoped her father would approve.

XXXXX

The cave was still dark when Katniss opened her eyes. 

 Pushing her hood away from her face, she stretched out her neck and greedily filled her lungs with cold, early morning air.

 Outside, a fierce storm raged on, pelting the rocks of the cave, and filling the small space with the rhythmic patter of droplets hitting wet earth. 

 The scent of damp tree bark and green moss that filtered through the rocks reminded her of her woods, but the strong arms holding her tethered her to reality. These weren’t the woods surrounding District 12. Her life in the Seam was miles away. 

 Trying not to disturb her district partner, Katniss gingerly flipped over on her side. It was a tight fit inside the sleeping bag, but she didn’t mind. Having Peeta there, keeping guard right next to her, beat being alone, any time. 

 “You OK?” he asked, lifting his arm to accommodate her movements. 

 “Mm-hmm. Just needed to change position,” Katniss mumbled, drowsily resting her head on his shoulder and her hand over his chest.

 Peeta’s arms wrapped around her. 

 He smelled of sweat, dirt, ointment, and… rust? 

 Probably the dried blood on his bandages, Katniss thought.  

 It wasn’t the most enticing aroma —some might have even found it nauseating— but, to her, it was better than the most expensive Capitol perfume. 

 She was so relieved to have him there, alive and kicking and resting in her arms instead of dead by the river bed, that she rubbed her nose against his t-shirt and smiled.

 “Hey, that tickles,” Peeta chuckled.

 “Sorry,” she said around a yawn.

 Lifting his free hand, Peeta began brushing the loose strands of hair on her forehead, gently stroking them back into her messy braid. “Not a problem.” His voice was a soothing caress when he asked, “D’you want me to tell you a story to help you sleep?”

 A story? 

 The world outside was falling apart. 

 The star-crossed lovers of District 12 were still trapped in an arena with a crazed career hot on their trail, but as she lay there —comforted by the steady warmth of Peeta’s body beside her— none of that seemed to matter much. 

 Maybe a bedtime story is just what I need. “Tell me about those cakes you make,” Katniss asked, “the pretty ones.” 

 Still stroking her hair, Peeta told her about the bits of chalk he collected when he was little, and of the funny animals he liked to draw on the sidewalk. “Then, when I was eight,” he whispered as her breathing evened out, “my father asked me to make those same caricatures on a birthday cake. I’ve been in charge of frosting ever since.”

 Peeta’s soft words blended with the gentle melody of water dancing around them, and before long, Katniss drifted off. 

XXXXX

Wrapped in her mother’s old shawl, Katniss rocked back and forth. Back and forth.

A few feet away, a fire danced in the hearth. 

The smoke of burning hickory and eucalyptus leaves floated through the house, infusing the empty rooms with its soothing aroma.

Dull, Katniss stared at the flames and rocked. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Morning broke.  

Sae bustled about in the kitchen, humming softly to herself until the smell of scrambled eggs and toast filled the room. 

“Come on, girl, breakfast’s ready,” Sae called out.

Too tired to do anything but comply, Katniss dragged her feet over to the table, sat down, and slowly cleaned her plate. 

Days went by.

The rocking chair by the fireplace swayed back and forth. Back and forth.

Sae cooked and scrubbed the house clean. Traces of lemon peel and soap lingered in the air late into the night.

Lost in a world of pain and shadows, Katniss buried her nose in her mother’s shawl and, numbing her senses with the smell of mothballs and lavender that still clung to the soft fabric, rocked in her chair. 

Back and forth. Back and forth.

“Spring is in the air today,” Sae said one morning. “You ought to get out. Go hunting.”

The idea seemed absurd, but a few hours later, Katniss left her chair and walked down to the study.  

Wrapped in the musky smell of her father’s hunting jacket, she fell asleep on the couch.

The next morning, Peeta came back. 

Shaken, Katniss shut the door behind her and ran up the stairs and into her room. 

The scent was very faint, but it still laced the air. 

A white rose —shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snow’s greenhouse— stood among the dried flowers in a vase.

Grabbing the vase, Katniss stumbled back to the kitchen and threw its contents into the embers. 

The flowers flared up. A burst of blue flame enveloped the rose and devoured it. 

Fire beats roses again, she thought, smashing the vase on the hardwood floor.

Back in her bathroom, Katniss peeled off her clothes and stepped into the shower. 

Chamomile scented bubbles danced around her, washing away the weeks of dirt and neglect.

Later, as she untangled her hair, rubbing pomegranate infused oil to the damaged strands, she began to wonder about the world outside her door. 

Haymitch was probably at home —drinking himself into oblivion.

Peeta was back. 

Where was everyone else?

XXXXX

Restored after a good night’s sleep, Katniss stretched her arms and legs until they reached the edges of the bed. With a contented sigh, she relaxed onto the mattress and turned to the empty space next to her. 

The sheets were rumpled but cold. Peeta had woken up early. 

Frowning, Katniss flipped over, buried her nose in his pillow, and took a deep breath.

Nutmeg, vanilla, orange peel, and something else —deep and enticing that she identified as exclusively Peeta’s— tickled her nose and soothed her worries.

Smiling again, she pushed the covers away and got up. 

After brushing her teeth and getting ready for the day, Katniss threw the windows open.  

The smell of sweet lemons and ripe cherries greeted her, making her heart jump in joy. The trees in her orchard were in full bloom. Summer had begun. 

Humming a happy tune, Katniss walked down the stairs. 

As she neared the kitchen, her nose picked up hints of cinnamon, melted butter, and bacon sizzling in the skillet. 

Her stomach grumbled in anticipation. Sunday Brunches with Peeta were something she looked forward to all week. 

“Morning!” she said, slipping into the kitchen.

Peeta turned away from the stove. His eyes lit up at the sight of her. “Morning! Did you have a good night?”

“Yup.” Katniss walked over to the counter and reached the teapot. It was already full. “How about you? You woke up early.”

Peeta turned his attention back to the skillet with the bacon. “I woke up at seven. I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I figured I could start my day.”

With a soft hum, Katniss poured herself a cup of tea. “Want some?” 

“Yeah, I’m almost done here.” 

While Peeta cracked two eggs onto a waiting pan, Katniss poured two teacups and carried them back to the table where she sat down. 

Resting her elbows on the countertop, she watched him work. 

He looked good. He had recovered some of the weight he’d lost during the war, and the yard work he did every day had given his pale skin a healthy golden glow.

“Got any plans for today?” she asked as the earthy smell of the freshly brewed tea hung around her.

 Peeta began to plate the bacon and eggs. “Not really, but it’s a nice day out. We should do something.”

 “How would you like to go for a swim?” 

Peeta turned around; eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really? Where?” 

“I know a place.” Katniss reached out and took the plate he was offering. French toast with cinnamon, maple syrup, fried eggs, roasted apples, bacon. The smell alone was enough to make her mouth water. 

Peeta sat down. “Is it far from here?”

“It’s a bit of a walk -- we’ll need to take some food for later -- but I think it’s worth it.” Dipping a bit of bread in the egg, she added, “You should bring your watercolors.”

Looking up from his food, Peeta smiled at her. A soft, warm smile that spoke of the trust between them, the joy he found in the small moments they shared. 

Blushing, Katniss nodded to his plate. “Eat up, your food’s getting cold.” 

They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence, stealing shy glances over their food while Katniss made a mental list of everything she wanted to show him on the way to her father’s lake. 

wild valley pt2 | chanyeol

.summary. Park Chanyeol; sweat rolling down a naked back mixed with motor oil, you; white sugar sticking to your gums at sunset– ice cream flavored. Drugs, booze, money. He’s everything you’re not, the question is – for how long? .word count. 5.6k .mechanic!au | gang!au | car shop!au. .pairing. chanyeol x reader .genre. romance, angst (smut in the future)

.warnings. mature language, sexual mentions, drug use

♫ let me set the mood ♫

teaser.  part 1.  part 2.  part 3.   part 4.  part 5.  part 6.  part 7. (m)  part 8. (m)

For it being such a small room, this is probably the most calm place in the whole garage. The front desk is crowded by Baekhyun’s obnoxious presence, and the main room is always packed with the bunch of them, whether work is being done or not. But this room, hanging almost separate from the main room, feels peaceful. The windows are covered by thin, black curtains to keep out some of the heat, instead relying on the sharp brightness from the UV’s lining the ceiling.

It’s a place he’s comfortable with, having gone here enough times to know it inside out and back again. The loud buzzing of the needle is, if anything but that, the rhythm in which his blood pumps and his bones shake. Literally. Jongdae lets out a little breath as his tongue peeks out of his lips, almost finished filling in the big black area of the drawing. Chanyeol lets his eyes go around the room, glancing over the many navy filing cabinets filled with designs and drawings. The door connecting it to the garage is glass, but has blinds to cover it as well.

You can never be too careful, Chanyeol guesses. After all, having tattoos isn’t illegal, but giving them is, and though police are corrupted beyond belief, Jongdae probably doesn’t feel like doing time. Better safe than sorry. The blond moves the tattoo gun with an ease that only comes from many years of practice, on himself and on Chanyeol probably. Some of the smaller tattoos on Yeol’s lower arms are slightly faded or have spread out, proof of the practice his friend has put in to get where he is.

Though he could cover them up, the tattoos have their own memories, and so he chooses to keep them. Chanyeol pulls in a deep breath as he looks over at his bicep, able to imagine the finished piece already. At his little hiss, Jongdae looks over to check if he’s doing good, to which Chanyeol nods out of habit. “Can we take a little break, I want a smoke,” he sighs though, looking at the shine of the white lights on the polished concrete. Jongdae pulls the needle from his skin to wipe some of the blood and excess ink away, before grinning down at his friend.

“I’m ‘this’ close to finishing it, Yeol.” He holds his two index fingers about a hair apart, and shakes his head. “You really can’t sit out the rest? You have a problem.” As if he doesn’t know that himself. Chanyeol rolls his eyes and pushes himself up, before freezing mid-way.

“Ah shit, you’ll have to wrap it up then, right?” Jongdae nods with a knowing grin, the wrapping up process is annoying to say the least. With a groan, Chanyeol drops back down on the chair, running a hand through his white hair in annoyance. “Fine, finish it then. But hurry, I need to take a leak.”

Jongdae glares at him, before pushing his head back down. “I’m not gonna hurry anything, unless you want to mess it all up.” Jongdae brushes his hair out of his face, and turns the machine back on, grabbing a steady hold on his arm. “Now, quit being annoying and stop flexing.” Chanyeol grins, before relaxing into the seat, and looking back at the ceiling. A soft ring announces the new presence before he even opens the door. Chanyeol doesn’t flinch when the needle is pushed back in his skin.

The door is shoved open, revealing the older, dark haired man. “You sure took your time,” Jongdae sighs, but gratefully turning over his shoulder to smile at Junmyeon. The elder has a tray of coffees, and hands them to the others with a little nod. “Thank you.”

Chanyeol grabs onto the cup with his free hand, and immediately takes a big gulp. “If I’m not allowed to feed my one addiction, I’ll feed the other.” The guys smile at him, though Junmyeon looks at him with a little disproving frown. The brunet plops down in the chair of Jongdae’s desk, brushing some of the papers to the side. He takes off his jacket and lays it over the back of the chair, before leaning closer to inspect Yeol’s arm. Said man sighs deeply. “I’ve got something to mention though, Suho.”

“What’s up?” he asks, frown now settling deeper between his brows. Maybe it’s the fact that Yeol speaks so little, that makes both of his friends worried right away. Whatever is important enough to tell, must be important enough to worry about.

“I, uh-” Chanyeol pulls in some air at a particularly painful part, before looking between the two others, “I found someone trying to break in yesterday night. When I came back from the club, while you guys stayed. I came here so I could work some more, right?” Both nod, Jongdae finishing the last few black lines covering his arm. “I didn’t recognize him, so it’s probably nothing to worry about. I scared him away, but the lock to the door needs to be changed.”

Junmyeon bites his bottom lip in thought, before giving a curt nod. “I’ll check for any new gang mentions just in case, but it doesn’t sound too dangerous.” He places a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to go find Yixing, he’ll know if anything is up. Find me when you’re done here, yeah?” With Chanyeol’s nod as agreement, Junmyeon makes his way to the door, setting off the bell again. “Byun, where’s Lay at?”

Jongdae sighs deeply, and leans back. He wipes the rag over his work again, and smiles. “I think— you’re done, man. Let’s go see it in the mirror, yeah?” Jongdae grabs his hand to pull him up, and wipes his stained hands on his pants, before giving the taller a little poke. “Hey, Yeol?”

“Hm?” Chanyeol looks over to the blond, and raises an eyebrow. Jongdae is probably one of the people least concerned about the gang wars and the politics, but even he has a sharp frown lining his brow.

“You sure it’s nothing? It might not seem like much, but that’s always how it starts. I can’t help but think of Dongkyu whenever new groups of people arrive in town.”

“Don’t tell Junmyeon that,” Chanyeol says, voice lowering slightly.

Jongdae nods. “Why do you think I waited until he left? I know I shouldn’t worry, but— Just rather have you be careful, is all. I’m not planning on losing anyone else.” Chanyeol doesn’t answer, doesn’t need to for Jongdae to understand his response. Chanyeol too- has lost enough people he cared about. “Let’s go look at your newest decoration now, come on,” Jongdae brightens, shoving him towards the full-body mirror next to the desk. “If you like it we can wrap it up. And then you’ll have to come back probably in a few days to check for any patchy parts.”

Chanyeol grins at his excitement, and checks the new tattoo in the mirror, right in the center of his bicep. The skin is still red from the intrusion, but soon it’ll heal and leave another memory on his skin. This one is a deer skull, Jongdae’s design and it fits right in with his others. He gives his friend a small smile, and squeezes his shoulder. “Thanks, Chen. It looks great.”

“I’m glad.”

You pull your hair out of it’s messy bun, and breathe out deeply, trying to settle your heartbeat. Your clammy hands are wiped on your pants, before push them to your sides. You’re not the most sporty person by far, but going on a run always makes you feel better. Definitely now you’ve been eating all this ice cream. You sigh and make your way to the door, ignoring the cigarette ends on the sidewalk. It really seems that everyone in this city except you and your sister smoke.

When you ring the bell, there’s no answer. You look around the street with a frown. Your sister’s car is nowhere to be seen, but that isn’t out of the ordinary. There’s barely any space to park, so she chooses to leave it around the corner most times. You huff, before walking over to the window. Your big sister always leaves the key on the top of the windowsill, a place just obvious enough for people not to try it out. The white paint of the windows are chipped, showing the wood under it in multiple places. They’re also impossibly high, and you’re stuck wondering how Yuna ever got it up there in the first place.

No matter how much you reach, you can’t get up there. You glare at the windowsill, before taking a step back. Fine, then you’ll have to resort to other measures. You bend down and kick your shoe off, before tossing it at the windowsill. It makes a loud thump when it hits, but still the stupid key doesn’t fall down. This is why you should always have a key on you. You hop over and pick up the shoe again, now using it to try and reach higher.

“Need help?” a soft voice sounds. You’re so surprised that you physically jump, turning on your heel. The man that stands on the sidewalk is tall, and at least a good five inches taller than you. He has soft features, you first notice, bright, round eyes and a cute button nose. His lips are prettily curled in a natural smile. His dark, orange hair looks surprisingly amazing on him, and is messed casually forward to hide most of his brows. You can’t help but notice the piercing in his nose, and the multiples littering his ears as they catch the sunlight.

He’s wearing a black, leather jacket with a badge on the right side, blue and red, and ripped dark jeans that fit tightly around his thighs. His shoes are worn to the point where you can’t recognize what brand they would be, but the black combat boots still look stylish on him. He’s really handsome, and so you feel immediately embarrassed being caught looking like this, sweaty and gross. He doesn’t seem to care too much though. His warm eyes glint when you don’t respond right away, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh, I was just- uhm—” you panic, putting your shoe back down. What if he thinks you’re trying to do something illegal? Because you’re not, you’re just an idiot.

“Don’t worry,” he smiles, stepping into the dry grass and closer to you, “I know Yuna hides her key there. Let me help.” Before you can move out of the way, he’s reaching up over you for the key. This means your face is level with his chest, only covered in a dark gray shirt. You notice he smells impossibly good, like something fruit, sweet and sugary. He smiles wider when he hands you the key, before taking a few steps out of your space. When you kinda just stare at him for a moment, he flushes. “Oh, I’m— I’m a friend of Yuna’s roommate, I’ve been here quite a lot. I’m Baron.”

He hold his hand out to you, so you slowly take it, shaking just briefly. Though you want to be sceptical about this stranger, he looks genuine. “I’m Y/N, Yuna’s little sister. I moved in a couple of days ago.” He nods in understanding, before you turn to the door. “Uhm- come in.” When you unlock the door, you slip in quickly, kicking off your shoes and looking around the street. Baron follows behind politely. “Is that your car?” you point out, gesturing at the dark blue car parked across the street. You don’t know much about cars, but it’s a pretty one, and looks like it’s been taken great care of.

“Yes, it’s my baby, that one.” He smiles, and stuffs his hands in his pockets. For a second you just stand in silence, before Baron speaks up. “Oh, I came to get some of the stuff Maria left behind. She was gonna come get it herself but she had to work today. You don’t have an idea where it is, by any chance?” As you close the door, you push out your lips and shake your head.

“I don’t know, sorry. Yuna cleared everything out before I came, so I don’t know where she would have put everything. But I’m sure she didn’t just toss it out!” You squeeze past him to walk over to the door at the end of the hall and open it. “Take a seat, you can wait here for her. I don’t know where she ran off to so quickly, but I think she’ll be home soon enough.”

You open the curtains to let some of the light in, and take a deep breath. Inside, the temperature is just great. The coldness sticks to your skin, a grateful change from the suffocating warmth outside. “You’ve been here for a while, right? Is it always this hot?”

Baron laughs as he takes a seat in the sofa, and looks over at you. “Pretty much. A lot of my friends are new in town too, they’re struggling with the heat. It’s pretty much the only thing they can talk about, if I’m being honest. That it’s too warm to do anything during the day.” He gestures his face at you though. “But if you can go for a run in this weather, you must be pretty heat resistant.”

“I just forced myself to,” you giggle, “because if I keep eating ice cream like I’ve been doing, I’m pretty sure I’ll end up becoming one myself.” As he laughs, you hear the familiar sound of a car making it’s way down the street, and you press your face to the glass. Yuna’s old white car passes the window, slowing down. “Ah, there she is. I’m gonna go take a cold shower, upstairs.” You turn to him again, and give him a little wave. “It was nice meeting you, Baron.”

The young man blinks his wide eyes a few times, before nodding. “Yeah, it was nice meeting you too. Maybe I’ll see you again?”

“If you come buy some ice cream of mine, sure,” you wink, before slipping through the door to open it for your sister.

It’s late, though he’s lost track of how late exactly. All he knows is that good people are asleep right now, and he’s not. Chanyeol blows out all the smoke in his lungs, and looks around his living room. There’s too much people gathered here, but for once he doesn’t mind. Tonight feels like a night he’ll call his, having modded the car Jongin won with, and though the King of the streets drives the best, it’s the teamwork that did it. Well, that’s what he thinks, at least. Junmyeon sits next to him, tossing back the amber liquid in his glass like it’s water.

Chanyeol hasn’t drank much yet, not tonight. Tonight, he hungers for something stronger. He aches for something to make his world float, and this sends him to sit up from the couch to make his way through the people. The good thing about partying in your own house, is that no one can tell you what to do, and what not to. He pulls the end of his smoke out of his lips to put it out on the stone counters as he passes them, entering into the room connected to his living room. 

The kitchen has significantly less people, but has a clearer purpose. The pillows tossed in the corner are occupied by people making out, some sprawled out over the cold tiles without a care. His coffee table has been dragged over to the middle of the room, and is surrounded by people sitting on the floor. White powder is spread on the table, as someone drags clear lines to separate it. Some people are pouring new drinks, way too much vodka being poured into the glasses, not that anyone would care.

He makes his way over to the corner to search for his friend, as music blares through his speakers. But sadly, he can see only a tuft of Baekhyun’s brown hair, where he sits with a body on top of his and their faces connected. If he would try to get in there now, Byun would definitely connect his fist with Chanyeol’s nose. Fuck. He doesn’t feel like drinking so much that his head feels like it’s being squashed by gravity in the morning. He looks over at the small table, watching as a girl parts the clean lines. As he stares, the girl looks up to catch his eyes, and cocks her head to ask him over.

But Chanyeol shakes his head and pushes past some people to go for the drinks instead. Coke is only for very special days, and this isn’t one. Before he can make it there, a strong hand wraps around his shoulder and pulls him back. Jongin. His purple hair is brushed sleek back, eyes free but equally as dark. He smiles at the taller, and then points through the people at what Chanyeol can only assume is where Baekhyun is making out. “I saw you try to find him, but he’s a little preoccupied right now. I thought business came before sex, but not for him, it seems.”

“I don’t blame him. It’s hard to shake habits,” Chanyeol nods, low voice barely reaching over the music. “I don’t want to disturb him when he’s like that. I’ll just get whined at, or worse.” Jongin nods and laughs, lifting his shoulders.

When Chanyeol turns to go find his spot in the couch again, Jongin pulls him back though. “Oh, Yeol. I have—” he reaches in his inner jacket pocket, and pulls something out. “I got them from Byun earlier tonight, and was gonna do them with Kyungsoo. But he’s gone off wherever the the fuck, so if you want.” The round pills in his hand are half red, half blue, small enough to loose if you’re not careful. Chanyeol takes a breath, before taking one of them and knocking his fist with the younger’s.

“Cheers. To another victory, ey.” He pops the pill in his mouth to feel in slowly dissolve, watching as Jongin does the same. “I’m gonna go join the mess in the main room, you coming?” Jongin opens and closes his eyes a few times, before nodding. As they push back through the people, Chanyeol takes off his jacket. It’s already too warm and he’ll surely get even more sweaty in half an hour. He tosses the jacket on the dining table, and makes his way over to the couch to crash down next to Chen and Suho.

Jongdae looks over at him with slightly hazy eyes when he does, lifting a brow. “You don’t look very drunk for the host of the party. You need some help there? If you mix whiskey and a shot of vodka—”

“I’m good, Dae. Don’t worry about me.” He holds his tongue out then, showing the last of the dissolving pill on his tongue. Jongdae’s eyes widen a little, most likely since Chanyeol doesn’t do this a lot. It’s true, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys it any less than his friends do. He lets his head fall back into the couch, and takes a deep breath. The air smells like alcohol, like smoke and weed and strangely— like memories. Maybe this is why he chooses not to throw parties in his own house anymore. When Jongdae’s hand comes around his wrist in concern, Chanyeol just smirks slightly. “What’s up? You want a kiss?”

Jongdae rolls his eyes before breaking out laughing. “Every time I’m genuinely concerned about you, you have to do something to make yourself seem like even more of an asshole, huh?” Chanyeol just smiles, and looks across the crowd of people gathered in front of his eyes. Bodies move together, swaying limply to the beat like they can’t control their limbs anymore. They most likely can’t, since he knows that no one here is sober. As he watches, tracks of magenta seem to follow the movements, his eyes heavy and light at the same time. He can vaguely make out Jongin’s face in the mix, grinding against some girl with fiery red hair.

When he looks over to his side, Jongdae’s gone. His head swirls, and when he looks up again it’s to realize that he has no idea how much time has passed since taking the pill. It could be a few seconds or an hour if him laying here, he has no idea. His body is hot, clothes clinging tightly to him. The alcohol he had earlier feels burning in his stomach, the good kind of heat. And then someone is stepping in front of his view, and before he can get annoyed she puts his hands on her hips.

Chanyeol looks up from under his lashes, and takes the girl in. It’s the girl who was pulling lines on the coffee table earlier, her hair how tied up and her eyes dark, pupils wide. She leans forward to put her hand on his shoulder as Chanyeol rights himself a bit, hovering her lips over his ear. “We don’t know each other yet.” She pulls back to brush some of his hair out of his face, and then leans in again. Her lips burn against the cold of his piercings along the shell of his ear. “I’m Hana.”

Chanyeol slides his hands down her hips to pull her on top of him on the couch, body to body on fire. “That’s easily fixed then, Hana. I’m Yeol.” The girl tilts her head back a little to smile at him with red lips and bleached hair, her eyes black. She mouths something he can’t make out, before their lips meet in a rough pull of desire. His fingers tangle in her hair, her boobs pressed against his chest and her thighs slotted over his easily.

“Take me home, Yeol,” she whispers in his ear, tugging on the soft hair at his neck. Chanyeol smiles when her lips come back over his, her moan going lost in the sea of music and people. He breathes out deeply, before standing up and holding her body up in his arms. Hana squeaks and wraps her arms around his neck.

“We won’t have to go very far, baby.” He pushes through some people he can’t really make out, and licks a strip up from her chest to her neck. At her moan, Chanyeol smiles against her skin. “Bet you’ll look so pretty spread out on my bed.”

Today has been a slow day. It’s Saturday, which you would think would bring tons of customers, but nope. Yuna warned you that everyone in this burning city goes out on fridays, or, well— that they go out all the time but most on fridays. So everyone is probably in bed with a big, fat hangover. You’d call it unfortunate, but it doesn’t change much. You peek out of the shop to look both sides of the street, but everything is empty. It’s coming up on lunch time soon, so a bit of peace is appreciated.

It’s not that you don’t want to go out or anything, but you still don’t have friends to go with. You’d feel horrible making your sister go with you, Yuna’s really not a party animal. She could be, if she wanted to, but your sister has grown out of the party fase when she was forced to move out by your parents and figure out a way to make money all on her own. You sigh, and wave some cool air in your face with a paper flyer.

Since Yuna has left you to take over the shop, she’s been looking at opening another shop, and you couldn’t be more proud. You’re really lucky having her. You turn when the machine beeps, indicating that your caramel and clove ice cream is ready. That’s probably the most fun part of working here. You get to experiment with flavours and create your own kinds. As you ungracefully plonk the heavy bowl beside the others and slot it into the free hole, a person makes their way up the street.

White hair, dark clothes— and immediately a smile makes it’s way up to your lips. The stranger from before is wearing a black t-shirt today, his overalls only half on and tied around his waist. This way you get a view of the tens of tattoos adorning his arms, too far to make out in detail but impressive to say the least. He has his signature frown on his face, looking appropriately pissed after what you guess must be a hangover.

You’d be pissed too if you had to work with the pounding between your ears. The white haired man makes his way across the street much like you remember him doing, feet dragging and cigarette between his fingers. As soon as he gets close enough, you put your paper flyer down and brush some of the strands of hair behind your ear. “Hey, you. I knew I’d see you again some day.”

He looks up from the road when you talk, and stops in his tracks. He’s still standing in the street, but doesn’t seem to care much. He just lifts an eyebrow at you, and crosses his arms over his chest. “You work on Saturdays too? Really?” Though he looks standoffish, you swear that you can see some kind of intrigue sparkle in his eyes, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

“I don’t know why you say it like that, when I’m clearly not the only one.” When you cock your head at his outfit, he shakes his head and walks off the street onto the sidewalk, only a few feet away from you now. You can see the dark circles under his eyes, dark purple against his soft skin. You don’t know this man, so you shouldn’t care, but some worry settles in your stomach while you look. “Maybe you should take a day off, though, get some sleep? I’m not trying to tell you what to do but you look tired. And if I know anything, it’s that you always work better after a nap!”

The man licks both of his fingers and pressed them to the end of his smoke, putting it out that way, before he tosses it further up the sidewalk. Rude. Though he doesn’t say anything, you can see that your words work through into his mind, eyes moving from the floor to you. Eventually he sighs, and shakes his head at you, his low voice sinking even lower. “I don’t need sleep. And I’d suggest you don’t give random people on the street advice, since not everyone will appreciate your opinions as much as I do.”

As he tilts his head back a little to look at the clouds passing by, you get the opportunity to see the bruises lining both sides of his neck. These, though similar in color, are clearly not from tiredness, and suddenly you realize that you might have held him on a completely wrong level. When he looks back down, he raises his both eyebrows at your silence, before reaching into his pocket. Maybe this isn’t a person you’d make friends with, you suddenly think, looking at him more objectively now. Boys like him are the boys parents tell their daughters to stay away from, but you’ve never been one for judging others by their appearance. 

As he takes out the red and white box, you notice how dirty his hands are, covered in a black, grimy oil that leaves black marks on everything he touches. The man doesn’t care, and so that probably means this isn’t a special occurrence to him. “How come you always walk here?” you decide to ask, not willing to let the conversation die down just yet, “Don’t you have a car?” This makes him snort, the sound deep and too short to fully be enjoyed, but enough to make your skin glow.

“I walk here because it’s in walking distance, and because it’s the only moment of my day where I am not surrounded by cars.” He has a small smile on his lips as he looks up at you, but as soon as it came his face smooths back to that same frown you’re getting used to. “What’s it to you?”

Shamelessly, you roll your head to the side and tap a little beat into the glass of the display, smiling. “The more I know about you, the closer I get to your heart.”

“Don’t have one,” he sighs, plopping his unlit cigarette between his lips and putting the box back in his pocket.

“I don’t believe that,” you say, just looking at him for a second. When he looks back, you giggle. He looks about ready to escape this conversation, so you pout slightly. “Knowing you won’t give me your name, I’ll go back to my first method, which is selling you something cold instead. I made new sugar & spice flavor, if you wanna try it—” you lean over the bar, ignoring the feeling of the cold metal digging into your belly.

He sighs and looks over his shoulder once, removing the black stains on his large hands with the flimsy piece of cloth he pulls out of his back pocket. The frown on his face is deep again, like he’s constantly tired of you, and maybe he is. But you decide not to care too much, since he could have walked away by now. He’s still standing here, isn’t he? “I already told you I don’t like ice cream.”

“You also told me you don’t want to talk, but here we are.” At your playful grin, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, lips flattening into a line. Once his fingers are decently clean, he gets rid of the rag and strikes his smoke with his lighter. “Oh, come on! It’s hot and you look tired, and everyone likes ice cream! You can’t just ignore me for the rest of the time I’m here.” This makes him raise one eyebrow, and pull open the door to the neighboring shop.

“Watch me,” he says, and with those deep spoken words he walks into the run-down diner, not looking back. You sigh deeply as you watch his figure disappear into the darkness of the hall, but can’t help the wide smile that comes to your lips.

As your sister chops the bell peppers, you peel the carrots, watching her over your shoulder. She looks tired, hair messily pulled in a ponytail that has chucks spilling out carelessly. Seems the heat is making everyone tired. Or maybe, not everyone has that childlike enthusiasm anymore. Most people have had it harder than you have after all. You sigh softly, before pouting. “Hey, Yun?”

“Yes, Dew,” she calls, voice smiley despite her slight frown as she puts the vegetables in a bowl. You smile a little at your childhood nickname, honeydew. It was the nickname your aunt used to call you after your favorite ice cream flavor, and somehow it stuck.

“You know a lot of the people here, right?”

Your sister hums slightly, and walks across the kitchen to grab a spatula. “Well, I wouldn’t say a lot. I know a decent amount of people, yes. Why?”

“There’s this guy that I keep seeing around. He has white hair and a bunch of tattoos, and is very handsome. And I don’t know his name but—”

Yuna freezes mid-motion at your words, before she turns. Her eyes look wide, mouth opening slightly. “Is he really tall? Kind of broody, doesn’t smile a lot?” You nod, surprised at her ability to describe him so accurately. “That’s Park Chanyeol. He’s—” she pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, and frowns, “for lack of a better word, he’s trouble. Him and his friends sort of run this city, when lights go out. I’ve never had to deal with them personally, but I know that they run that car repair shop down in the city. Exo Customs.”

“Park Chanyeol,” you repeat, looking at the floor with a little frown.

“Oh, no.” Yuna points her finger at you, and shakes her head as she wipes her hands. “No, you don't. I know that look you have, it never brings anything good. You can make friends with anyone else in this town, but not the Exo guys. They— I know you see the good in everyone, but they’re not to be messed with.” She looks intently into your eyes, checking for any kind of disagreement, but she won’t find any.

You pout. “You say that as if they’d want to make friends with me anyway. This Chanyeol guy always glares at me whenever I see him.” When you turn away from her, Yuna sighs deeply, and comes over to give you a hug.

“I’ll take you to meet some of my friends tomorrow, okay? I know you’re a social, little butterfly, and all this isolation must be draining you.” When she gives you a little wink, you smile at her gratefully. She knows you better than you know yourself sometimes. “You’ll be able to make all the friends you could ever want, I mean that. Just no Exo, ‘kay?”

“No Exo,” you repeat, smiling down at the cutting board in front of you.

Oof. I hope you liked this chapter!! Having a slow start, it’s nice. For once you’re not just dropped into the shit! But if you know me, you know it won’t stay this easy. So strap in or something, because hopefully we’ll get dramatic soon. Thank you for reading, my little muffins!

If you want to be (un)tagged for this series, you can send me a message!  @ninibears-erigom @suhoerections @kimjongdaely @kyungseokie @kpop---scenarios @yeoldontknow @baekwell--tart @skjdln @strongpowerhope @i-dont-wanna-kokostop @brie02 @baby-hands-x-x-blr @baek-byunies  @shxrl4747 @lucymheng @byunfirstlady @chanyeolol @my-spot-at-the-sun

Finding Life Pt. 3

Masterlist

Finding Life Masterlist

Pairing: Brunnhilde x Luna - Skrull OFC

Warnings: Mentions of an attempt at suicide and forcing others to help carry out the act.

Summary: OFC is a Skrull that exposes herself in order to save the Avengers while on a mission out in space. Luna regains consciousness on the ship after she released a virus that forces skrulls to return to themselves, I explain it in the story slightly. Luna and the team are still on the ship and are in orbit around the earth. The team is reassuring the threat is taken care of before returning as well as helping Luna get calmed down, seeing as she hasn't been her natural self in decades for fear of being taken into custody. Brunnhilde and Luna have an established relationship.

A/N: Ok, so apparently I am choosing to ignore some parts of Endgame and hold to others.

Words: +1,600

————

“We had to sedate her,” the tech began as the Valkyrie entered into the observation room outside of the small infirmary. The green skinned woman in the infirmary curled up in the lush armchair dozing as she gripped tight to the blanket wrapped around her and an IV stand behind the chair.

“Why,” The Valkyrie spoke up as she stepped next to the tech, Steve was in the room along with Tony, Thor and Carol. Tony turned to the tanned warrior and she immediately noted his black eye along with how beat up Steve was as well.

“Luna panicked, tried to force us to kill her because she is convinced we were going to imprison her,” Tony spoke up as he met the Valkyries gaze.

The warrior paused; this made no sense. “Where did you find her? I had been attempting to track her down and let her know it was ok. She had left her…”

“In the hangar about to jettison herself into the sun,” Steve huffed out, not meeting her gaze for a moment before finally looking up for Brunnhilde to note the gash across his nose.

“She-. I don’t understand, why would we,” the tanned warrior began, looking between the five that were in the room. “She sacrificed years of covert operations to save us from rogue Skrulls that were headed towards earth. Can she shift? Is she even a she,” the Valkyrie asked, still confused about her lover that was sedated and green. It rambled in the warriors head if the woman, the Skrull was still in love with her, especially after the note Brunnhilde had found attesting to the love Luna had showed her over the past year. Telling the tanned warrior, she did truly love her and apologizing for breaking her trust.

“That’s the beauty of the virus the Kree invented,” the tech began to explain. “It paralyzes the gland that helps them to phase into anyone. In the process it forces them to revert to true form, meaning down to molecular level to what they were at birth. Luna was female thus she returned to female. The only thing that has technically changed is her skin tone.”

“But she has hair, Skrull don’t..,” Brunnhilde began still just as bewildered. The warrior was trying her best to keep a stoic appearance but had a feeling they were seeing through it.

“She’s only half Skrull hence the black hair,” Carol finally spoke up. “From what I can understand she was born on Tera, her mother a Skrull and her father Kree. I’m surprised Luna isn't blue due to Kree genetics being so dominant.” The blond woman finished as she looked over at the Valkyrie.

“But-. I still don’t understand why she panicked,” the tanned warrior spoke up, meeting Carol’s gaze before looking back to the Skrull curled on the chair.  

“It was once intergalactic law that if it was found out that a Kree bred with an inferior species then both parents as well as the result were to be taken to Hala,” Carol explained preparing to say more but was stopped by the Valkyrie.

“No need to elaborate, I can guess what would happen. The Kree no longer have a foothold. There is nowhere or no one to take her to. It's an old law,” Brunnhilde spoke up.

“Luna doesn’t know that. It was outlawed but some rebel bands still practice. More than likely she would be forced into a breeding project. I don’t blame her I would have panicked to,” Carol spoke as they looked into the room the moment another tech entered to place something into the IV drip that hung over the skrulls head.

“What are they giving her,” Steve asked.

“Something to keep her calm when she wakes,” the tech spoke up.

“The virus; how long until it runs its course and she can shift again,” Thor now asked, it was a question they all wanted answered but hadn't dared to ask.

“I’m not entirely sure,” the tech began looking at Carol. The newest Captain looking troubled at what she was about to say.

“I know it wears off. I had been told it takes a month to run its course but the Skrull we used it on never survived that long,” Carol hushed and looked away.

“Is it alright if I go sit with her,” Brunnhilde began hinting to the Skrull. The monitors on their side of the glass showed the green woman was waking.  

“Sure. Be prepared in case she panics. It has been several decades since she has donned her skrull form, so it is a shock for her still,” the tech admitted, turning to show Brunnhilde out of the room they were in and to the infirmary.

The room was quiet but for Luna’s steady breathing. The monitors running silent along with the IV drip thanks to all the technology. Thankfully the chair it appeared Luna had curled up in was large enough for the Valkyrie to perch on the edge next to her.

The warrior noted the oil black hair hiding Luna’s features as if she was ashamed of them. The tech told her Luna hadn’t taken well to waking up in her Skrull form but that was due to how long she had kept it. It would pass once she grew accustomed to it.

Leaning forward, Brunnhilde couldn’t help but to brush the ebony strands out of the Skrull’s face and behind a pointed ear. Unconsciously Luna tried to draw away, but it was no use. Bright purple eyes opening to slits enough for Brunnhilde to note the bright gold starburst surrounding the iris.

“I’m not mad,” the warrior breathed out not sure if the other heard. Calloused hand caressing along soft pale green cheek, tracing the purple freckles along her jaw before pausing at leaf green lips. “It’s alright baby. You don’t have to fear me. Any of us. You’re safe.”

The blanket moved slightly, it appeared Luna was moving her hands. The Valkyrie continuing to caress over the others jaw, the warrior shifting forward to look at the nasty cut over green brow. Thor had admitted to cold cocking the Skrull to take her out of the fight before she walked into the room.

Luna’s features contorted for a moment and a sigh passed green lips as a tanned thumb passed over them, the flesh feeling as soft as she remembered. This time the Skrulls legs shifted under the heavy blanket and it appeared she tried to straighten.

“Wake up easy. I don’t want them having to put you back out,” Brunnhilde spoke quietly, noting her eyes move back and forth.  

“You’re on a spacecraft outside the earth's atmosphere. You saved us from a Skrull take over but at your expense,” the warrior explained calmly the moment Luna opened her eyes to take in the tanned woman before her. Without hesitation Brunnhilde reached into the blanket to take Luna’s hand, tangling tanned fingers with green, the nails still covered in purple polish.

“It’s alright baby. I’m not mad. I need you to stay calm for me,” Brunnhilde continued as she stole a glance to a monitor, noting the Skrull’s heart rate elevate and heard someone outside the door. “Luna,” the warrior began, purple eyes going wide.

Immediately the Skrull tried to tug away only for Brunnhilde to get to her own feet to assure Luna knew she wasn't being kept in the chair; but Brunnhilde refused to release her hand. Though it appeared Luna wasn’t getting up or what they had given her wasn’t allowing her to act too violently.

Finally shaking from the Valkyries grasp Luna looked her over nervously, trying to bury further in the chair and flinging the blanket to the floor. Pale green skin littered in patterns of purple freckles on display since she was only clothed in a tank top and cotton shorts. Hand going to the IV in her arm but didn’t dare mess with it.  

The memory of the last time she had tugged the needle free led to her being sedated. Again.

“Why aren’t you screaming at me,” Luna nervously panted, eyeing the warrior who slowly took a seat back in the chair next to her.

“Should I? I mean; I should be screaming at you for trying to kill yourself, but not for this,” Brunnhilde smiled and hinted to the green skin. A tanned hand even daring to reach forward and caress along a pale green forearm. Luna was frozen to the spot.

“I never told you what I was. I’m going to be used as a test subject aren’t I,” her voice shivered. The Skrull still refused to believe it was this easy to be forgiven, especially after the tales her parents had told her before they were found out.

“No. And I’m only upset you felt the need to hide this from me for fear of someone turning you in,” Brunnhilde smiled, reaching to caress over the bruised eye socket earning a hiss before trailing it to purple speckled cheek.

“I’m going to kick Thor’s ass for hurting you,” the warrior laughed as Luna leaned into the touch.

“To be fair I did jump on Tony and give him a black eye before Thor pulled me off,” Luna smiled to show fangs. The Valkyrie smirking at the fact she had gotten a hit in on Tony.

“Doesn't matter. He’s still getting his ass beat for hurting my girl,” Brunnhilde smiled leaning forward to press her lips to Luna’s.

“Don’t ever hide this. Your beautiful like this,” the Valkyrie spoke across her lips the moment they released, and Luna relaxed into the chair. The Skrull nodded with the sentiment in the statement.

“How about you let me hold you,” the warrior spoke softly, another careful nod had the tanned warrior maneuvering to sit behind Luna. Slowly Luna turned sorely to her side in order to lay her head between the warriors breasts, tanned fingers lacing into ebony locks to massage over her scalp.

Februwhump Prompt

“Poison/Poisoning” (Read on AO3)

He hardly notices the injury when it initially happens.

They’re in the midst of battle, arrows and spells are flying across the field, daggers and swords flashing, and while he notes the tugging sensation in his side, it’s barely enough to catch his attention. He’s focused on holding Haste on Beauregard and it doesn’t feel serious, so he ignores it.

It’s not until the battle is finished, as they enjoy the thrill of a hard-won victory, that the adrenaline starts to fade and he realizes something isn’t right.

“Caleb?” Nott appears at his side, placing a steadying hand on his hip as he sways dangerously. “Are you alright?”

“I-” A violent shudder tears through him, muscles spasming, and he curls in on himself with a strangled noise.

He blinks, and it feels like a bare second, but when his eyes open he’s on the ground, facing sky, Nott screaming for Jester next to him. The world has gone wavy, colors bleeding from one to another, impossibly bright and vivid, and he knows...he knows...something? His thoughts aren’t cooperating, sliding over his mind like water on an oiled surface, refusing to stick, refusing to coalesce into something helpful.

The panic’s distant, his pain gone, and it takes longer than it should for him to realize it’s because he’s gone numb. He can’t feel his arms or legs, and his lips are tingling unpleasantly, like a limb fallen asleep. That’s not a good thing, but he’s so tired it’s difficult to focus enough to make sense of it. If he could rest for a few minutes, maybe that would help.

He relaxes, the ground a welcoming bed; letting go feels like the easiest thing in the world. His eyes are still open, but unfocused- there’s blurred movement, flashes of color. Things go suddenly still, and it’s quiet, calm and peaceful past the rushing in his ears, and sleep is so close-

Something slams into his chest, and it doesn’t quite hurt, but feels of immense pressure. It feels awful, overwhelming, like he’s being crushed, and when he tries to voice his dismay nothing happens; he’s choking, but there shouldn’t be anything to choke on, there’s nothing, they weren’t in the water, he hadn’t set fire to anything, there shouldn’t be smoke, why can’t he breathe, why isn’t he-

There’s another solid thump to his chest and he drags in a sudden gasp of air, and that he feels, burning it’s way down his throat into his lungs, until he’s coughing, hacking, but he can’t feel it, can’t feel his body. Does he still have one? He doesn’t think his mind would exist without it, but there’s no way to tell. Perhaps he’s dead and simply doesn’t know it yet.

Feeling starts to come back, fingertips and toes prickling; the sensation spreads, up his arms and legs, quickly overtaking him. There’s lightening crawling in his veins and he needs it out. He digs at his arms, clawing, to release the pent up sparks, but hands grab his, pulling them away, and he’s being held down, pressure on his wrists and ankles. There are voices, garbled, but he understands the words, has heard those words often enough, though he’d hoped not to hear them again-

‘-for your own good-’

-flashes as his eyes open and oh gods, it’s the nurse, the orderly, Campion, and he’s dead, he should be dead, he’d killed that man with his own hands, how is he here again? Or maybe...maybe he didn’t kill Campion? He thought he had, but perhaps he never left, is still there, never got out, never recovered, and this- all of this, Nott, the Mighty Nein, everything- is just a figment of his fractured imagination. Stranger things have occurred; people left in solitary hallucinate to create company, he knows this, he knows this , he did this to people himself, didn’t he, he knows what can happen.

Or maybe all of that did happen and they just sent him back; he’s gone mad again, he certainly feels mad, or they got tired of his bullshit as they rightly should and sent him back to keep him out of the way but safe. It would be a well-intentioned kindness, though he thinks he’d rather be dead then back here, tied down, left in the quiet with his own thoughts and memories, forgotten to the world outside. He can’t stay, he can’t stay, he has things to do, with or without them, and he’d hoped they’d help, that he wouldn’t have to do this alone, but by the gods he will if he must, but he can’t get out, can’t get free, and the voices, gods the voices are back, why won’t they leave him alone? They’re loud, so loud, and getting louder, a cacophony of voices, driving him insane, scraping the inside of his skull like curved knives, and he’s drowning, drowning in sound, in voices, in words, and why won’t it stop? Why won’t it stop, make it stop, make it STOP, makeitstopmakeitstop MakE iT s t O p-

-quiet-

-blessed quiet, only the sound of his blood rushing in his ears, like a river in a deep cavern, but without the distraction of the voices, without the noise, comes other things-

-the air tugs at his skin with tiny hands, pricking like needles, like knives, like tiny claws and sharp-toothed mouths, gnashing and gnawing, and gods, they’re eating him alive, but he can’t stop them, can’t move, can’t get away, and he writhes, screaming, begging to anyone he can think of, anyone who might have loved him once, who might love him still, though why they would he can’t begin to fathom.

Mutter, vater-

-Nott, the rest of the Nein-

-Astrid, Eodwulf- he’s failed them terribly, left them alone, left them behind, left them with-

-Trent, Master Ikithon, he’s never shown mercy before, and there’s no reason to think he’ll start now, but Caleb can’t help but try-

They must be down to his bones by now, tearing through meat and sinew, but they keep going; he’s screamed his throat raw, pained wheezes all he has left, but still it continues and why won’t he die, why won’t they let him die, let him go, to whatever comes next, just let it stop-

-and then-

    -everything fades-

          -quiet-

                -peace-

                      -he opens his eyes-

-and blinks blearily into a dimly lit room.

He's exhausted, wrung out like a dish towel. He hurts, his whole body aching as if he's gone ten rounds with Beauregard in a bad mood; he swears his hair hurts.

He shifts, his heart starting to pound in his chest as he realizes he's restrained. Ripped strips of fabric are carefully wound around his wrists and ankles and secured to the bed frame, keeping his arms anchored near his sides and his legs from kicking.

The film of fever sweat on his skin itches uncomfortably; there’s something in his mouth and when he prods at it with his tongue it topples out easily- a twist of toughened leather he recognizes from his own component pouch, speckled with saliva and indented from his teeth.

“Was-?”

“Caleb!”

There’s a flash of movement to his left, and he flinches hard, movement caught up short by his bindings. Then Nott is there, perched on the edge of the bed at his side.

“Sorry, sorry. Are you alright? Wait, no, that’s a dumb question, but are you yourself again?”

Caleb blinks, thoughts muzzy and slow. “Who else would I be?”

Nott’s ears perk up and she smiles. “Oh good. I think you’re doing better. I’ll let Jester know.”

She starts to move and Caleb grabs for her; again, he’s pulled up short, and he makes a noise of frustration. “Nott, please- untie me first?” His voice wavers, and something in his tone must catch her attention because her smile softens and she pats his arm.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m just getting my wire out to message her. Give me a second and I’ll have you loose.”

True to her word, she stays perched where she is; her warm weight pressed up against his side is soothing. After she sends the message to Jester she puts the wire away and gets to work freeing him.

“What happened?”

“How much of the fight do you remember?” she asks as she deftly starts undoing the knots at his wrist.

His brow furrows as he casts his memory back. “We won, I think. We won, but then things get a bit, ah, a bit…” The harder he tries to recall what happened between then and now, the more it makes his head hurt, until finally he gives up, letting his eyes slide shut to rest as Nott works. Once he’s free Nott settles against his side again, a light hand resting on his ribs.

“We did win, but you were hit during the fight. Here.” She pats his side, the warmth of her hand seeping in through the thin linen of his shirt, and he can vaguely recall a tugging sensation, barely more than a sting, lost amidst the rage and fury of the overall battle.

“Ja , I think I recall. I’m guessing it was not an ordinary wound.”

Nott shakes her head. “It was a poisoned blade. Jester didn’t have anything prepared to deal with it other than healing the wound itself. We had to let the poison run its course and hope for the best. It was rough going for a bit there.” Her voice goes quiet and she looks down at where his chest rises and falls under her hand as he breathes. “We almost lost you, you stopped breathing, but Fjord got you going again.” Her fingers twitch, claws catching in his shirt, and he raises a shaking hand to set it on top of hers, giving it a squeeze.

“I feel like I have been put through a wringer, ja, but otherwise, I think I am doing much better, Nott.”

He almost doesn’t want to ask, but, “Why the bindings?”

Her ears droop, shoulders hunching up to meet them. “You kept clawing at yourself. You were drawing blood. We didn’t want you to hurt yourself worse.”

“Ah.” He clears his throat. “Yes, well. Thank you, for that.”

She looks up at him, golden eyes gazing at him from under her hair. “You’re not angry?”

He dredges up a smile; his meager energy stores are waning quickly, but it’s important she know this. “No, Nott, I’m not angry. You all were helping me. Sometimes helping someone means doing something...unpleasant. So thank you.”

She smiles at him, still a little uncertain, but not as worried as she’d looked earlier. “Ok. Well, why don’t you rest a bit more, and Jester will come check on you soon. She’s got all her spells back now, and she prepared something to help you if you still need it.”

“That sounds good.” He closes his eyes, exhaustion cresting over him like a wave, and he’s out before she leaves the room.

i offer you a lifetime

anonymous request: omg. Bucky Barnes and prompt 31 - “I have loved you my entire life.” angsty but with a fluffy ending if possible? please, for my aching heart haha. I can’t handle anymore heartbreak post IW

word count:1,503 rated: T+ (sessy times allusion) a/n: i’m working through the prompts in my inbox, but please feel free to leave me more!! even if it’s your own prompt you’ve made up, feel free!!

ASK BOX LINK (ask questions, leave reviews, or request prompts!)

It is strange how fate has twisted you and James Barnes together.

You met at the Stark Expo back in the 1940s, and you said goodbye as you watched him fall prey to the cryo-chambers.

“No!” you sob, lurching forward. Your superhuman strength gives you an edge over the doctors holding on to your arms, and you shake them off. “Leave him alone! Leave him alone!”

You throw your arms and sling the doctors against the wall, your vision showing nothing but red. You groan and tears stream down your cheeks, his frozen body haunting you. “James,” you cry, his name a sad echo on your lips. You scream again as you feel a needle pierce your flesh. Your body goes slack and your vision fades to black.

-

“Разве вы не задаетесь вопросом, кто мы были прежде всего?” he asks her, his eyes far off as he stares into the sunrise. Their mission is to execute an elected official, and they’ve chosen to sit on his house and wait for him to go on his morning run.

She sighs and rubs her hands together, the leather of her gloves causing friction against her skin, “У меня нет такой роскоши.”

He bites his lip and she’s forced to think about their mission instead of his mouth. She swallows thickly and pulls out her weapon, trying to think about its inner parts instead of his inner parts.

“I know,” he whispers, “but it’s nice to dream.”

-

“Bucky?” your hands touch his face as a flood of memories swarm your brain.

Tears surface and you can’t help as they spill over your lids, the realization that he’s here and he’s safe, and he’s yours. You sob and he gathers you up in his arms.

His body has broadened, and filled out with muscle now that he’s probably eating a full three meals a day. His hair is so long it passes his shoulder and you can feel the weight of his chin against the top of your head.

“I-I thought,” he stutters, his words muffled by your hair.

You peel yourself away from him to stare at him and assess how he’s changed.

His eyes are bright still, but there are wrinkles tainting his once taught skin with time. His cheeks are flush, living proof he’s being treated well. His lips are no longer dry and cracked, bloodied from hiding behind his mask.

“I thought you were dead,” he murmurs, his eyes lost in looking for you.

The blue in his irises turns glassy as tears glaze over his eyes. His fingertips are rough as they graze over your cheeks and down the column of your neck, eyes following as he continues his ministrations.

The first tear falls onto his cheek and you feel your heart break. “I’m not dead,” you whisper, trying to respond somehow. “And you’re here, and I’m here and-and, how did you find me?!”

Your words string together in some form of sentences but you aren’t sure what you’re saying because you’re so lost in the way his touch feels familiar. He shakes his head and grabs you by the cheeks, surging forward to meet you with his lips on yours.

Time stops as you meld your mouths together, his fingers holding you steady as your hands roam his body. You can’t help the smile that upturns your lips as his teeth knock into yours. You push yourself onto your toes to get closer to him. Bucky’s chest brushes yours and you decide to press into him completely, now unsure of where his limbs end and yours begin.

“Bucky,” you exhale against his lips, feeling the edge of his tongue press into your mouth. Your tears are on his cheeks and his hands are in your hair, “Where are we?”

He laughs, resting his forehead against yours, “Wakanda.”

“Wakanda,” you try the word on your lips, turning your head to look around his shoulders at the scenery on display. “It’s beautiful.”

Bucky hums, “Eh, it’s hardly a competitor.”

You blush like you’re back in the 40’s and Bucky still has your heart now, even seventy years later. Laughter bubbles on your lips and you drop your head to his chest, feeling his hands traipse over your back.

“C’mon,” he nudges you with his hand against your skin, “let’s get you settled in.”

He takes you around, introducing you to Shuri and T’Challa. Bucky seems to have found friends here, and you can’t help but be the slightest bit jealous. You’ve been devoid of him for years now, and they’ve been able to relish in his presence. You have to shake the feelings away, clinging onto Bucky’s bicep as he shows you around the city.

He talks to various townspeople, introducing you. Eventually you get to a secluded part of the countryside, a small hut in the distance.

“Wow,” you whisper, looking around as the sun begins to set.

Bucky nods, “Wakandan sunsets are a pretty close rival to Brooklyn’s sunsets.” He wraps his arm around your shoulders and it’s like the weight of the world has disappeared. You lean into him, “No contest.”

He sighs and you stand together and watch the yellow bleed to orange to then morph into blue. The stars are painted in the sky right in front of your eyes and you’re so overwhelmed by the beauty of it and the intensity of the moment that your eyes water all over again.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he says to you.

You press your hand to his abdomen and look up at him, “I can’t believe you remember me.”

“How could I forget?” he smiles, and you swear his eyes twinkle. You push him and instead of moving away from you, Bucky pulls you closer. He kisses the crown of your hair and then your temple, his lips lingering as the fire in your belly ignites.

Your eyes slip closed as his mouth trails down the column of your neck, his fingertips drifting to your waistline to dig into your hips. You bite your lip, trying not to smirk as goosebumps raise on your arms.

Bucky leads you back into his hut and you’re surprised at everything that’s inside. You see a small desk, littered with paper and pencils, drawings strewn across the desktop. There is a small oil lamp on a nightstand beside his bed. You barely have time to blink before he’s shut the door and lights the lamp.

The warm glow that emanates in the hut adds to the tension, the golden hue dancing across Bucky’s face, creating shadows. His eyes are deep and suddenly his hands are back on your waist, drifting over you like ghosts.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” he tells you, tilting his head down to kiss the corner of your mouth. His face is rough from the stubble, but the friction against your smooth skin does little to stop the storm raging inside you.

Bucky’s fingers dance across your abdomen, sparks igniting where he touches. His kiss trails over your cheek and down to the juncture of your jaw and neck. You gasp and he snaps your body closer to him, making your waist flush to his own.

“I have known you all my life,” he murmurs, his nose trailing the shell of your ear. Your eyelids shut without your permission and you fall slack in his grip.

Bucky leans back to look you in the eyes, his thumb tilting your chin up. He smiles, licking his lips before he confesses, “I have loved you my entire life.”

The words tumbling from his mouth stir your emotions and you lurch forward to kiss him again, accidentally catching him off balance and he goes tumbling backward, catching himself on the bed. You take a moment to readjust and then find yourself climbing on top of him to straddle his waist, hands roaming under his shirt.

“Promise me,” you speak finally, your voice breathless as you tug on his shirt. You swear you’re hysterical by the way he looks at you with wide eyes and parted lips. You squeeze your eyes shut to concentrate, “Promise me this isn’t a dream. That when I wake up after this is all over that you’ll still be here.”

He nods and settles his hands against your thighs, rubbing circles into your skin with his thumbs, “Darling, I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stay here, with you.” Bucky pulls you down and kisses you soundly, whispering between connections, “I love you.”

You nod, smiling as you keep your mouths connected. Something in you clicks, and you feel whole for the first time in a long time.

“I love you too, Buck,” you whisper, a giddy smile on your face. “I love you.”

Bucky’s grin mirrors your own, but as soon as reality sets in and he understands what you’ve said, his eyes grow dark once more.

“C’mere,” he mumbles, pulling you down by your shirt, “Let me show you.”

TRANSLATIONS:

(Russian) Разве вы не задаетесь вопросом, кто мы были прежде всего? Do you not wonder who we were before all of this?

У меня нет такой роскоши. I do not have that luxury.

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!!!!!

Five Parallels

1.) Ivar Mayhew’s first reaction to Parker Jensen was something akin to a starving wolf seeing a very small rabbit. An instinctual knowledge that what little she had would fill the wanting void inside him. That isn’t to say he was starving for love or anything like that, but there was definitely something missing, and now he knew what shape it took. Then he saw her own void, recognized the far seeing look in her eyes whenever she inched too close to the edge of, so close to falling in and being lost. So he offered out his hand. giving her an anchor point to hold onto so she didn’t lose herself and, gloriously, she took it. She saw the looming darkness that would consume her, and she fought back. Every time he saw her, she pushed herself, rebuilt herself piece by piece. Like a dandelion pushing through concrete- she blossomed. His first impression of her was wrong. He was not a wolf to be fed, he was a man seeing the first sunrise after years spent imprisoned.

1.) Parker Jensen’s initial reaction to Ivar Mayhew was something similar to experiencing a sunrise after years of missing it, only being seeing the dark chill of midnight and the blinding sear of a midday sun. His personality was warm and patient despite her many issues; not only seeing the looming maw threatening to swallow her whole, but acknowledging all it took for her to just be able to exist with it. And he stood there with her, refusing to let her fall prey to it or to deal with it alone. It was a steady nourishment that she didn’t realize she was lacking. She had been wrong about what she first thought of him. He was more than a comforting sunrise, he was a meal. A rabbit, made of fat and sinew, perfect for sustaining the hungry wolf that was her heart. And she was starving for more.

2.) it wasn’t often Ivar found himself having one of his ‘bad nights’, but this one was just about the worst. A change in the weather made his spine ache and given that said change was an uncharacteristic warm front did nothing to help his comfort levels. He tried everything- pacing and stretching out the muscles surrounding his ‘problem’ nerves, alternating heat and cold, a dose of his ‘as needed’ prescription, but nothing helped. When the tell-tale tingle of his legs numbing began, he resigned himself to a night in his chair, feeling sickly hot and sorry for himself. His bad luck continued when Parker texted to ask if he wanted to get together later, and as much as he wanted to see her he knew he was in no shape to be good company. He shot off the quick explanation and apology, and settled himself in front of his television for a self-pitying marathon of... whatever was on. He fell asleep within ten minutes. His sleep was troubled, influenced by what he was hearing subconsciously and unable to wake up due to the medication he took earlier. It was a garbled mash of bad memories, war movies, and horrors that could have happened on missions. He was in the hallways of Borley, only they were filled with an unending forest, and he was on a mission- the mission. Only before he could even move, the wild hunt was on him, only instead of being gored and impaled on their horns, he was in their teeth. Unending knives chewing into him, setting his legs on agonizing fire. A voice called out to him, from deep within the maw of pain. It was comforting and unintelligible, and he instinctively swam towards it, through the infinite needles and thorns and all manner of things that bit through his skin. He awoke with a start, hands immediately shooting out in an attempt to protect himself from whatever assault was sure to befall him. All that awaited him though was a warm hand caressing his face, while the other laid gently over his own- which he found tightly fisted in Parker’s hair. He released her as quickly as if she burned him, and his eyes darted around to confirm that he was safe and in his apartment- that thus wasn’t some cruel new form his nightmare took. “Parker,” he breathed in relief, subconsciously leaning into her touch. “Wha’ ‘re y’ doing here?” She removed her hand to turn off the television that was still going, and he whimpered at its absence. “You said you were having a ‘bad night’, so I thought I’d come over to make you some soup in case you were sick. I only just put it to simmer and you started having a nightmare, are you ok?” He was thrown for even more of a loop at that; It had felt like the nightmare had lasted years instead of only seconds. He felt certainly felt like it had, like he had just been hit by a truck and it dragged him along for a week straight. he felt the oncoming breakdown that was about to occur, and as much as he appreciated her presence, he needed her to not see him at his lowest even more. “Parker,” he ground out, fisting his hands so tightly on his knees that his knuckles turned white. “‘M about t’ break down- ‘nd I love y’, but I need y’ t’ leave f’r this. I cannae have y’ see m’ like this.” In response, she silently let go of him, convincing him she complied to his wishes for only a moment, before she took him by surprise by tugging his tightly folded form out of his chair and into her lap on the couch. She gently tucked his face into the crook of her neck, and soothingly rubbed small circles on his back. “I’m not leaving you alone during this. But when I’m holding you like this, I can’t see your face, so you don’t need to feel weird about it. It’s ok- you can let go.” At her words, he broke. Frustrated tears and muffled sobs wrenched themselves free from his chest, wracking his body so hard he shook. He wasn’t even totally sure of why he was crying, but logically knew that it happened sometimes. Some days you hurt, nothing went right, and you grew frustrated- culminating in a massive release of tears. But- You can know the ins and outs of something, and still be surprised by its occurrence. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, with him upending his slew of emotion, and her murmuring soothing words of comfort into his hair, trying to even out his breathing levels. Hours seemed to pass like nothing, until he slowly regained himself- now feeling worn out and small. “...feeling any better?” Parker asked, tentatively, still taking a gentle approach out of consideration for him. He was overcome with fondness and gratitude towards her and the care she bestowed upon him. Still feeling weak and embarrassed at himself, he could only respond with a small nod. “Ok then,” she kissed his head and made to stand up. “I’m gonna draw you a bath and after if you’re hungry, I’ll get you whatever you want.” He kissed her palm as she walked away, stretching and shaking his body to wake it up. He had a full charge on his legs, but they were almost completely numb. After a small debate he decided to not bother with the chair- it was only to the bathroom after all. He walked, slowly and carefully, and found that Parker had drawn him the most simple, yet enticing, bath- scalding water with just a few drops of lavender oil (the kind she wore on her wrists when she was feeling fancy). Sinking into it felt like heaven. Actual bliss came a few moments later as she silently slipped in next to him, fitting herself perfectly to his side. He smiled and absentmindedly ran his knuckles over her skin- forging a path from her jaw to her hip. Blissfully, the previous hours were now miles away, unforgotten but irrelevant. And as the water cooled around them, a comfort settled in his chest. which fully blossomed into contentment as he drifted away to a light slumber, assured in the fact that this was a good day- because Parker was there.

2.) It had been months since Parker’s ‘incident’ and at this point she was well-acquainted with ‘bad’ days. What she was not used to, not lately anyways, was being sick. She knew the morning she woke up after a routine mission. The pressure on her chest, the throbbing in her head, the slight run to her nose that made her feel like she was visibly repulsive to every person that saw her- she had the beginnings of a cold. ‘This is fine.’ She told herself as she sluggishly got ready and took Hampton out for a slower than normal walk. ‘I just need to make it through today and then I’ll crack into my stash of ‘the good shit’ and sleep it off.’ Only, once she got to her desk, her stash of ‘the good shit’ (or unregulated Nyquil from Eastern Europe that still had Russian writing on it) was missing. And in its place a quickly scribbled note from one of the technical officers saying how it was an ‘emergency’ and they’d replace it as soon as they could. Fuck. She figured she still had time to get rid of it before it got too bad, and scrambled back to her room to hole herself up in recovery. Once home, she dug her humidifier out of the depths of her closest, filled a small cooler full of water bottles and ice packs, and strategically placed electric blankets in her bed. “...wha’ ‘re y’ doing?” Came a tentative question from the doorway, where Ivar stood looking at her as if she was wearing something ridiculous; which she absolutely wasn’t- she was just bundled up in her thickest sweats and robe she had even though the weather outside was at a sweltering 90. “Oh! Hey Roo’, I’m just uh...” she scrambled, the sudden embarrassment not helping her sluggish thoughts any. “I’m starting to get a bit sick so I’m trying to sweat it out before it gets too bad.” “Y’r gonna give y’rself heat stroke is wha’.” He said fondly as he began undoing all her handiwork. “N’w take y’r clothes off an’ get in bed.” Normally Parker melted at those words, but in this context she could only pout as she began removing her layers of micro fleece and wool-rayon blend. As it usually did, it quickly grew a lot worse. A fever crawled across her body, leaving her dripping with sweat, but too exhausted to wipe any of it off. Her nose became clogged and her chest cracked with every breath that now took effort. Ivar came back in the room carrying a tray full of crackers and ginger ale, and was shocked to see just how far her illness had progressed in the minutes he was gone. “I w’s gone f’r only five min, th’ fuck happened!” He exclaimed, clearly shocked by the change in her state. “Told you it was gonna get bad.” Parker sniffed, feeling unfairly impetuous and difficult. Her body rattled with a coughing fit and he firmly guided her to bed. As soon as she was tucked in he immediately set about to checking her temperature and getting her medicine and feeding her and just generally fretting about her like a worried mother hen. When she told him as much he only nodded in total agreement. “M’ aware ‘f how much y’ hate bein’ cared f’r, bu’ I also know tha’ y’ hate missing work more. So ‘f y’ let me fret about y’ as much as I wan’, then I promise y’ll get back t’ work faster.” As much as it bugged her, she conceded the point to him. “Agreed. Now get your ass under these blankets- I’m freezing and need to steal your excessive body heat.” A wide, enthusiastic grin was her only warning before she was tackled to the bed with his embrace. 3.) Ivar knew that Parker had an ‘ex’. The whole reason why she was so hesitant in the first place to start a relationship (barring the ‘three months of dying’ factor), was because she had just gotten out of a relationship. She didn’t want to make a mistake because she needed to ‘rebound’. He appreciated the reasoning behind it, and left it at that. Which he was now immensely regretting as he saw her idly talking to a blonde archivist; who’s impossibly tall 6’4 frame loomed over hers like a shadow. ‘Oh,’ he realized. ‘He’s not an ex, he’s an ‘ex’.’ And before he knew it he was interrupting... whatever it was they were doing, with a protective possessive arm around Parker’s shoulders and a quick kiss to her temple. “Hey.” He nodded in greeting to the other man, before turning completely to her. “Break f’r lunch?” “Oop, Than this is Ivar, my boyfriend, Iv’ this is Thanarak, he’s one of Cthylla’s familiars and an archivist here.” She said, introducing them both as they made to clasp hands. His grip was a good one, steady and firm, with slight pressure, whether to establish a challenge he couldn’t be sure. But he was prevented from responding by her reply. “And I Can’t, sorry. I’m trying to find an obscure passage from an Edda that purportedly no longer exists, and then I have to translate it.” She sighed, gesturing to the piles of leather bound books that surrounded her on the table. He smiled warmly at her, unable to find her work habits anything but charming, and produced a chilled ‘meal replacement’ smoothie from his back pocket. “Wha’ am I always tellin’ ye? N’ matter how hard y’ work, y’ still need t’ eat.” “This’ll still be here if you go.” A voice broke through, reminding Ivar that they were not alone. “Can’t.” She said definitively, chugging half the bottle without breaking eye contact with the book in front of her. “I’m on a roll. If I stop now I’ll have to start over from the beginning.” “Why don’ I lend m’self t’ help th’n? Dinnae see why Than her’ can’ tell me what y’re looking for.” At her bright agreement (with a satisfying smooch of gratitude), she shooed them away so they could tackle a separate section. “I didn’t take you for the studious type.” The other man said. It was innocuous enough, but Ivar knew when someone belittled his intelligence. “What can I say?” He smiled, making sure his canines were prominently displayed (in a friendly manner of course). “‘M a man ‘f many talents. A keen eye does well watchin’ th’ gate.” “Though, I understand you’ve been out in the field recently. Is that advisable given your situation?” Ivar felt his muscles tense in defense, and fought back the urge to cover the node on his back. “M’ ‘situation’, as y’ put it, is completely manageable. ‘Sides, I only go a’field in support ‘f Parker. ‘M sure I dinnae need t’ tell y’ how unnecessary tha’ is.” Ivar tried not to feel too pleased at the slight frustrated blush that earned, proving his suspicion that Than rarely, if ever, did field work (and certainly never with Parker). “...Thank you, by the way.” The other man’s voice was so hushed, that it was a struggle for Ivar’s heightened hearing to catch it. “F’r what?” “It’s... not my place to say but, even without our past, Parker is well loved here in the archives. And we’ve been noticing her improvement. I can confidently say that you’ve been a major factor in that, so thank you.” Ivar assesses the man before him; non-aggressive body language, honest facial cues, and a scent about him that was somehow both open and unknowable. Ivar smiled(genuinely this time) and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Y’ act like I have a say ‘n anythin’ when I’ comes t’ her. Now c’mon! Wh’ever finds this f’ckin’ tome firs’ buys t’other’s tab f’r t’night.” They were both sorely disappointed when Parker came bounding around the corner an hour later, book in hand and babbling about how Scribe had it, and had already translated it, the entire time.

3.) Parker knew about Ivar’s past at Borley (and the ex), but didn’t realize just how... grand scale everything was until she was walking briskly down it’s marble hallways, trying desperately to keep up pace and listen to the mission debriefing at the same time. Ivar though took to the intensity like a duck to water, as if he never left. The mission itself was fairly benign, a local werewolf pack had been stirring up some trouble, so they asked Ivar to come set them straight since he knew them personally. He initially didn’t want to, having planned to spend the rest of his life sans his old organization, but Parker had thought it a wonderful opportunity. She could finally meet his family, he could catch up with old friends, and finally get closure to his abrupt departure. Only she hadn’t realized that his ex was the reason he left. They had originally been partners and kept their relationship (and short engagement) to themselves as much as they could- but during a mission to contain and redirect the wild hunt he had been gored in an effort to save some civilians. Thankfully everyone survived, but his main sciatic nerve had been severed. He thought it was the right thing to do (especially when the Borley techs gave him a way to walk again), she did not. All throughout the mission she had made comments about ‘how impressive his performance was considering his condition’, and it royally pissed Parker off. Ivar though just shrugged it all off, completely unbothered. He further explained that she probably meant well, but had a bad habit of coming across the worst way possible. Seeing his carefree laugh as he talked about her, like he barely gave it any thought, released a balloon of pressure Parker wasn’t aware she had been holding onto their entire visit. She had been making a big deal over nothing; she wasn’t an ex, she was just an ex. “Maybe so,” Parker agreed as she tucked herself to Ivar’s side. “But if she ‘means well’ again I’m still going to deck her, nobody talks about you with that tone while I’m around.” He just chuckled and kissed the top of her head in agreement.

4.) A common misconception was that Ivar met Parker first, before her twin. While the two meetings were within an hour of each other, Carter definitely made himself known first. He had been sitting, reading the file on the mission he was being assigned to, when a hand clamped over his mouth and (with great effort) managed to drag him into a secluded broom closet. “You Rook?” The strange (that descriptor would remain for as long as the two knew each other, but evolve to something friendlier), man asked, utilizing the extra two inches of height he had over him to loom as threateningly as possible. “Yes, now who t’e fuck ar’ you!” He shouted, getting into a defensive stance as soon as he was released. “Relax relax, look I’m Agent Thorn ok? The twin of the Agent you’re being assigned to? I just needed a word in private.” He lowered his guard, but not by much, assessing that if this man truly wanted to start something, he would’ve by now. “How’d y’ get tha’ information? I’s classified.” “...I snooped duh.” He said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s not important right now! What is important is that you’re meeting with my sister in about 30, and I needed to make sure you’d actually help her.” “Y’ mean do m’ job? Ye’ was plannin’ on i’ thanks.” “Don’t be a dick you know what I mean.” “No I don’! Am I goin’ mad or is this th’ most fucked ‘shovel speech’ ‘ver given?” “Not really- kinda? I don’t know, all I know is that, Parker, that’s her name-”

“I can read y’ dick.”

“Parker is going to try so hard to not need help, and I just need to make sure you won’t fall for it.” He explained, body language telling Ivar that he was clearly near the point of begging. Ivar debating between messing with him, telling him what he wanted to hear so he could get away quicker, or just being completely honest. He was clearly upset and willing to do anything (including kidnapping) for his sister, but as Ivar was about to speak and assuage his fears, his legs gave out the warning beep that they were out of charge. A combination of things happened then: the strange man shrieked and flailed about, smacking Ivar accidentally which threw his head back into the wall just as his legs gave out. The next thing he knew He was waking up in chair, alone. He would later find out that Carter had dragged his body back to where he found him, where his wheelchair sat in wait, leaving him for someone else to find and deal with. Agent Succubus had opened the closet door, only to see the predicament and that it was Carter involved, and promptly closed the door to leave. Their second (and officially first) meeting went a lot better.

4.) Parker has been nervous to meet Ivar’s family, but after spending the past few days with them, her anxiety turned into a comfortable ease- sure that she had made a good impression and developed enough of a rapport to carry on any conversation over dinner. That had been a mistake. Turns out they, his sisters, Siobhan and Olivia, had been patiently biding their time until the night before her departure. It was around midnight when they decided to steal Parker away (complete with ropes), and take her to the middle of the nearby farmlands.

“Sorry f’r the theatrics.” The eldest said genuinely, voice even and warm. “But tradition is tradition.”

“Welcome t’ th’ family.” Olivia grinned, a trustworthy mischief promised with the baring of her teeth.

“So!” Siobhan clapped, shifting focus to… whatever they were about to do to her. “We all like t’ go running as a pack, but since we’re sort of ‘initiating’ you, as it were, we thought you’d be more comfortable if it were just us girls.”

“What do you mean?” Parker asked slowly, mind racing with a fresh wave of anxiety for the unknown. Olivia just grinned again in response and began shucking off her clothes. Parker hastily looked away, only peeking when her form changed from that of the young woman, to that of a sleek tawny wolf.

“You mean you want me to streak? Out in the open? At the coldest part of the day?” Siobhan just gave her an open gesture in return, confirming her suspicions. Rolling her eyes Parker quickly threw off her clothes, finding it a bit childish but overall glad that they weren’t asking her to do something worse or less traditional than streaking.

“You’v’ got a min’ head start.” The other woman called after her as Parker began her mad sprint, already missing the warmth of her flannel.

She was quickly joined by the transformed Olivia, with Siobhan catching up soon after, and Parker allowed herself to enjoy the silly freedom of it all. Running, howling, and laughing into the night- she felt heady and alive, and most importantly, fully embraced and accepted by the family of the man she loved.

 5.) Ivar and Parker came to the same conclusion at the exact moment.

They had just gotten through with a week that had separated them with missions, diplomatic visits, and a two-day stint in the med bay. They were exhausted, but both had agreed into doing a ‘date night’; Nothing special, dinner at home, but something where they could just be alone together for a while.

Parker had tackled the actual food portion, while Ivar had scrambled around working on the living room because ‘atmosphere’s important dammit’, and she had to admit that the candles and music really added a sense of romance to the fact that they were just eating spaghetti on her couch.

The silence that stretched between them was comfortable, both parties too tired to do much more than enjoy the other being there, and it was only really broken when Ivar turned up the soft music and took her hand to dance. They swayed lethargically to Lou Reed’s cover of ‘This Magic Moment’ and Parker could feel his contented sigh as she rested her head on his chest.

She only looked up when he placed a knuckle tenderly under her chin, guiding her lips up to meet his in a sweet kiss. She looked into his eyes and something within her snapped. Unknowingly, her hold on his shoulders tightened as she blurted out “I need to marry you.”

A genuine look of shock crossed both of their faces, and Parker’s eyes traveled to his hand that wasn’t on her. She let out a choked laugh to see that he had already been pulling out a ring during her sudden outburst.

“Did y’ really jus’ cut off my proposal wi’ y’r own?” He laughed, feeling ridiculous and giddy.

“Yeah.” She smiled, burying her face as far into his chest as she could.

“Does this mean y’r sayin’ yes?”

“Well it depends.”

“On wha?!” He practically howled, both of them slowly doubling over in attempt to contain their laughter and mirth.

“If you’re saying ‘yes’ to mine.” Ivar took a deep breath and up righted himself, suddenly serious.

“I cannae say ‘no’ t’ y’ Cariad, so please say ‘yes’ an’ marry me.”

“…Y’know, I could say ‘yes’ to you a thousand times Roo, and it still wouldn’t be enough to let convey just how much I want that. Or how much I love you.”

“’M sure I can get an idea ‘f it.” He slipped the ring on her finger, and once secure, swept her off her feet so that she was being carried in his arms.

“Let’s get t’ work on those ‘thousand yes’s.” He said, voice filled with tempting promise, as he took them to her bed- fully intent on properly celebrating their date night.