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wannabe-fic-writer · 3 years

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Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Long Way From Home Part 2

Summary: You and Natasha are left with the realization of what your future holds.

Genre: Fluff

Request: Yes / No

Word Count: 2,408

* * * * * *

You weren’t entirely sure what to expect after Katya’s return home. Hope led you to believe that the situation would draw yourself and Natasha closer. But realism made you understand that if/when that ever happens, it wouldn’t be anytime soon.

Natasha was even more shocked than you were to find out that Katya was her daughter from the future. That shock went even deeper when she realized that Katya’s other parent was you.

Maybe it was that realization that pushed her to stay away from you. And you didn’t want to further push her away by being overbearing.

So for the first few days, you’d given her all the space she needed. You resolved to not speak to her unless she spoke first, you made sure she knew you were there whenever she was ready but didn’t become annoying about it.

But days turned to weeks and she hadn’t said or done anything. With the knowledge of what the future held in your head, coupled with the feelings you already had towards Natasha, you decided to take a different approach.

Switching some things around on your personal and work schedule, you made it so that the two of you spent more time together: working out and training, going on missions, having breakfast together whenever she was actually hungry. Hell you even volunteered to do public appearances with her and everyone knows how much you hate those.

It was all in an attempt to get the woman you cared so deeply for to at least speak to you.

Luckily, it worked. Whatever the case may have been, her noticing the effort you were putting into being there for her or her getting annoyed with how persistent you are, she started to strike up little conversations when you were together.

None of the topics ever held much weight but they seemed to make you both happier, helped lift that tension between you two.

In a few weeks you two grew closer, as you’d hoped, occasionally throwing the term friend around which definitely grabbed the attention of your teammates, especially those who knew exactly how you felt about the redhead.

While neither of you brought up Katya or what her presence meant, both of you thought about it a lot. With good reason.

Having learned what you did from Banner during the “Time Heist”, you know that it’s possible that in this particular timeline you and Natasha don’t get together, or maybe you do but you break up, or you just never get married, or don’t have kids, or you adopt so you never have Katya. You’d have to talk to Doctor Strange to know the true number of possibilities but your head was ready to explode whenever you thought about it so you were fine not knowing.

The one thing you hoped with all hope, was that you kept Natasha in your life. No matter what the future became you just wanted- you needed Natasha there.

Only problem is, after all that progress you’d made in your relationship with her, everything stopped. Conversations, hanging out, seeing each other around, going on missions together. All of it went away. And it wasn’t because of you.

With how much your new schedule allowed you to see Natasha, you wouldn’t have dared to change it. Which let you know that it was her schedule that changed. Better put, she changed her schedule.

You aren’t sure what you’d done. The last time you spent together, the two of you had watched some movie that she really wanted to see. Conversation flowed freely, laughs and smiles exchanged in between. You’d ended up falling asleep during the sequel of the movie and woke up to her in your arms, her head tucked under your chin.

The moment had left you feeling completely content so, with her soft breaths against your neck and your arms wrapped around each other, you fell back to sleep with ease. Only to wake up to her gone. And you hadn’t seen her around since.

After everything, after all of that, you refused to take steps back. You’d fight for her until she told you to stop.

“Um, anyone see Natasha?” You ask, stepping into the kitchen.

Today marks a week of not seeing the redhead around as she continues to dodge you. You had been looking all over her, your search interrupted by Steve calling you and Bucky into a meeting regarding your last mission with him. But now that it’s over you’re back to looking for her.

Sam, Bucky, and Wanda look up at you as you walk in. Your brunette friend raises her eyebrows at your question, tilting her head in silent curiosity.

Chuckling quietly, Sam asks,“ she still avoiding you?” His eyebrows wiggle slightly as he asks, amusement in his eyes.

You raise your eyebrow,“ I’m sorry Wilson I don’t understand what’s funny.” You tilt your head challengingly at him.“ Last I checked she’s still not giving you the time of day at all.”

Bucky and Wanda snort, struggling to hold in their laughs. Wanda bites her lip and turns away from Sam, having to sit her mug of tea down as she finally lets her laugh out. Which breaks Bucky’s resolve. Splutters of laughter leaving both of them as they face away from you and Sam.

He smacks his lips and waves you off,“ it ain’t even that funny.” He grumbles and looks down at his lunch.

“What’s not funny?”

Your eyebrows raise at the voice behind you, eyes slightly widening in hope as you spin around. Green eyes look into yours and Natasha’s pink lips press into a thin line before she turns on her heel and walks away.

Looking back at the trio, you point at the spot Natasha had been in with a disbelieving chuckle. Only to have Wanda shoo you away, gesturing for you to go after Natasha. Understanding what she means, you immediately take off after the ex-assassin.

Luckily for you she hadn’t gone far.

You turn the corner and see her marching down the hallway. She’s moving much faster than you’d like, not giving you time to truly appreciate the tight yoga pants and tank top that adorn her body.

Instead you focus on catching up with her, which doesn’t take much due to your enhanced genetics. Catching up to her just before she can get to her bedroom door, you reach out to grab her arm, gently pulling her back.

Only for her to twist her hand, grabbing your wrist and nearly slamming you into the wall, your arm twisted behind your back. You know if she wanted to she could make this hurt but she doesn’t. Most likely using it to intimidate you as she speaks.

“Stop following me Y/Ln.” She practically hisses through clenched teeth.

You turn your head to look at her over your shoulder.“ Usually I’d agree to that but not this time. I think I deserve some answers Tash.”

Using the little nickname causes her hold on you to loosen, her jaw unclenching.“ Don’t call me that.”

“Fine,” you huff, shoulders dropping as you turn your head slightly to hide your smirk.“ Just talk to me Natty.”

Her eyes roll and she drops your arm, stepping to the side and pushing her bedroom door open. Your eyes widen and you slip inside before the fingerprinted door closes and locks behind her.

She quickly spins around as you step in and the door closes. Irritation writes across her features even deeper than before.

“You can turn your ass right back around Y/Ln. I told you to stop following me.” Her arms cross over her chest.

Shaking your head you say,“ and I told you no.” A frown forms on your face as you look at her. Staring into those green eyes causes your feelings to swell.“ Don’t you see how this is hurting me? Being ignored by someone I care about without a single explanation as to why? And you can pretend that you don’t but it’s obviously affecting you too or you wouldn’t be so upset with me trying to talk to you.”

“Y/n just leave it alone. If I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to talk.” She tries to brush it off.“ We’ve gone without talking to each other before so just, go back to that.”

For a second you’re ready to walk away, catch her at a better time but you were done chasing her.“ No. I don’t want that and I don’t think you do either. Stop avoiding me and your feelings and just talk to me!” Your frustration pulls the words from your brain out of your mouth in an exasperated exclamation.

Natasha wastes no time returning the frustration.“ No okay!” She shouts, running her fingers through her hair.“ I don’t like feeling like this so I don’t want to talk about it!”

Eyebrows pinching together, you tilt your head in confusion.“ Feeling like what, Natasha?” A heavy sigh falls from your lips.“ You aren’t telling me something and it’s killing me.”

Silence falls between you, once again stirring up that frustration.

“What feeling?” You beg her to tell you, more thankful than ever for soundproof walls, otherwise the whole team would hear your yelling.

She glares at you as if you’d personally offended her, then shouts,“ like I’m falling in love with you!” Her hands rise and fall with her words. Resting at her sides in clenched fists as she keeps shouting.

You drop your hands, shoulders sagging as you feel your heart swell. It seems to start beating a mile a minute and your face softens.“ You’re falling in love with me?”

“Yes. No! I don’t know.” Her voice strains as if she’s choking up.“ I don’t know if this is real or not. Just because Katya exists in some future doesn’t mean that she exists in ours. It doesn’t mean that we’re supposed to be together.”

Those words, that simple expression of her feelings makes you realize that she’s been thinking about the exact same things you had been.

It’s not like what you’ve been feeling towards Natasha was forced. But you did worry if it was all just you subconsciously trying to make that future with Katya happen. Except you knew it wasn’t.

She: Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, ex-assassin/superhero, she’d had your heart long before Katya ever arrived. You fought it tooth and nail because the two of you weren’t on good terms but truth is, you’ve loved her since your first undercover mission almost 15 years ago.

The first time your best friend had pressed her lips against yours in a sweet kiss meant to distract and deter your targets, you knew you loved her. Maybe she didn’t feel what you did then but she’s feeling it now.

“I love you.” You tell her, watching as she stops ranting and looks at you with scared eyes. Giving her a soft smile, you take a cautious step closer, reaching forward to take her hand. You squeeze it, as if to let her know that this is real, that what you’re about to say is real.

“I’ve loved you for a long time now Natasha,” you take her other hand,“ Katya being here, the realization of who her parents are, that hasn’t forced my feelings for you. If anything it made me realize that I didn’t fight hard enough. I just let you go and I was so stupid for that. I should’ve tried harder to keep what we had, I should’ve said something about how I felt before.”

Green eyes bore into yours as you speak, a flood of emotions in them.“ Why say something now then? Why wait until you meet the little girl who we apparently parent? Just because it’s supposed to happen doesn’t mean it has to.” Her tone goes from genuinely curious to irritated in a matter of seconds.

But you don’t let that hinder you. Instead you smile softly at her, letting your honest feelings show in your eyes.“ Because I don’t think we’re supposed to be together. I think we’re meant to be together. Everything we’ve been through together, every laugh and argument, every insult and compliment, it’s all led us to this very moment.”

Fear overtakes her other emotions and it settles in her eyes.

“And yes it’s scary, terrifying even, but that makes it all the more beautiful. We can run from this. We can act like we don’t love each other, act like this isn’t what we want. But we both know that we,” you pull her hands up to press against your chest, knowing she can feel your heart pounding,“ this is home. It’s everything we need and more than we ever could’ve asked for.”

You see the battle in her eyes, you get a little scared that she’ll choose to run from it, so in a last attempt to fight for this you ask,“ don’t you think we’ve been away from home long enough?”

Like the clouds parting when a storm ends, you see Natasha’s eyes light up. They get bright as she stares at you and you finally finally see that gorgeous smile.

She pulls her hand from yours and before you can get dejected about it, she wraps it around the back of your neck and pulls you down.

When she speaks you feel the breath of her words against your lips,“ I’ve been looking for a true home for a long time.”

You understand exactly what she’s trying to convey, you hear the unspoken admission of feelings and you feel her opening the door for you to come in. So you do the same in return.

“I promise I’m not gonna hurt you Romanoff.”

In a split second her lips press against yours and it’s like you’re taken back in time. Those same feelings you’d had when she kissed you for the first time come back tenfold. Soft pink lips mold against yours as you place your free hand on her hip to pull her closer.

For a moment you wish you didn’t have to breathe as you wanted nothing more than to continue to kiss her. But your lungs start to protest at the lack of air so you both reluctantly pull away.

Natasha rests her head on your chest and you wrap your arms around her.

With her in your arms you can’t help but to think: It feels good to be home.

* * * * * *

Taglist: @owloftheshadows @natasha-danvers

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha x reader #marvel fic

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sarahjkl82-blog · 3 years

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Artistic Instinct Chapter Nine

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, warning of racist language (Nush talking about her mother's experiences), yearning, fluff to second base (yes, my darlings- IT IS ON!), alcohol is mentioned, food, anxiety attacks.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

People often think artists

Create with their hands

But really they create

with their hearts

So please be gentle

For we wear our vulnerability

On our sleeves

And freely give all we have

Hoping someone will fall

In love with the parts we offer

R. Evelyn

Chapter Nine

The sharp buzz of the door startles you out of your daydream. Laden with roughly the entire contents of your spice cupboard, vegetables, meat and prawns, your hands are crisscrossed with creases from where the weight of the totes has gouged at your skin. A smart-looking kindly gentleman greets you, “You must be Ms Pierce. Mr Pike has asked for you to wait here for him.”

Wow! Marcus’ place has a concierge - who did he have to blow to get a place like this?!

Throwing the bags onto one of the hotel lounge-like chairs, you slump into another as you rub soreness from your hands. A small ping tells you that the lift has arrived - you look over in the direction of the noise, a tremor of excitement rippling through you. An adorably scruffy Marcus, wearing old jeans and a t-shirt, steps out - his face utterly beaming on seeing you. “Hey! How are you doing?” he leans in to kiss your cheek twice - hang on, when did this start being a thing?

“Why didn’t you let me pick you up? You’ve carried so much over- lemme see your hands,” his brow knits on seeing the rapidly reddening welts as he takes your hands in his, brushing his thumbs gently across your palms.

“You live four roads away from me - they’re not that bad! And anyway, you can help me now- which floor do you live on?” You outwardly roll your eyes at the sweetness Marcus shows you, secretly enjoying the stroke of his fingers and the ghostly press of his lips still burning a hole in your cheek.

Marcus takes all of the bags from the chair, refusing point blank to entertain you helping him to take them upstairs - you watch as his arms twitch under the weight, enjoying the mixture of confusion and shock at your strength across his face, “you carried all of this?”

Nodding at him, you try to take a bag again, but he dangles it just out of reach, “Watch it - you do realise that I have two other brothers apart from Ads? I will think nothing of rugby tackling you to the floor and pinning you down,” you warn, enjoying the flush brought to his cheeks.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Marcus flusters as he calls the lift, handing you the smallest, lightest bag.

✪✪✪✪✪

Exiting at the top floor, you’re taken aback by the amount of light and quiet that washes throughout the building. Feeling so removed from the shadows cast from the tower blocks and the hustle and bustle of the streets below, the broad daylight offers a sense of serenity, a peace that invites itself into the soul and makes itself at home. As Marcus unlocks the door to his flat, you kick off your shoes at the entrance, “You don’t have to do that,” he offers through the keys in his mouth, holding the door open with his elbow, still refusing any help from you.

“Oh believe me, if I didn’t, my mum’s radar would go off and I would be cruising for a bruising,” you giggle, taking in the glorious spaciousness of his apartment, “I promise my feet aren’t too stinky and that I put on clean socks.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Marcus’ eyes crinkle at you, “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“A coffee would be ace - strong and black please,” you reply, your gaze drinking in the details of his home. Books line the shelves along one wall - such a mixture of titles ranging from airport bestsellers to obscure art catalogues - the relief to see actual paper and hardbacks adorning the shelves rather than trinkets and plants when so many keep their books electronically in their pockets.

A couple of large canvases lie propped against another - long hours preventing them from being hung - their bright colours sure to bring joyful hues to quite a stark room. There are a few photo frames dotted around - mostly pictures of a moment in time rather than poses - of people you assume are friends and family from back in the States. Handing you a steaming mug, Marcus looks over your shoulder as you look at a photo of an older couple dancing and laughing at a wedding, “That’s my mamá and papá at my oldest sister’s wedding. It was such a magical day - just so much love in the air.”

“You can feel the joy radiating from them,” you offer, lowering your gaze from him to grab the frame next to the picture of his parents, “Are these your sisters or cousins? You all look very alike.”

“Yeah, my little sisters,” he grins proudly. “This one is Beth - she’s two years younger and is a paediatrician in Texas. Has two kids with her wife, Sophie. And this one is Cat - she’s doing her own thing out on the West Coast as a musician. They definitely inherited all the clever and cool genes.”

“Hah! You’re kinder to your sisters than I am to my brothers,” you grin, “They’re all total idiots but due to some weird genetic and biological insistence, I still love them.”

Taking a gulp of your coffee, you turn back towards him, “Come on you, we’d better get to work if you want a curry this evening.”

He pouts, looking more like a sulky little boy than a middle aged man. You can’t help but laugh at the sad puppy dog eyes he is conjuring at the thought of work, “Oh poppet, what’s wrong?” you teasingly mock.

“I kinda hoped you were a magician who could just magic a curry outta nowhere so we could watch films til the others arrive,” Marcus grumps shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, there is UberEats for that but you horrible lot put me up to this so you’re going to help,” you wag your finger at him, “But as you’re the only one here, you get the honour of being the chief taster,” you add, tapping him playfully on the nose.

With a soft huff and a furrow of the brow, Marcus guides you into the kitchen where, whilst he was making your coffee, he has helpfully already put all the fresh produce in his fridge as the sides are delightfully blank apart from the bags of spices.

“What are we making today, Chef?”

“Ok, meat dishes are a spiced yoghurt leg of lamb, a keema - don’t you give me that look, a cardamom butter chicken, and, a prawn and courgette curry,” you turn to Marcus’ fridge to find the lamb, “Needs to come to room temperature before we cook it.”

“My tummy is rumbling already,” Marcus adds, his eyes glinting excitedly as he licks along his lower lip, the skin glistening damply. You have never quite figured out whether your love of his lips is due to their fullness or the association with the kindness of his words.

“Hah- you’re not getting away without having some veggies, too, mister,” you cluck as you hand him a bag of onions and several bulbs of garlic to skin, chop and crush for the various dishes.

“Ok, Moooom,” Marcus dramatically rolls his eyes at your dictate, “I admit, I’d rather eat sugary or salty things over green stuff but I can make an exception for curried veg.”

The arch of your eyebrow virtually reaches your hairline at him teasingly calling you mom, so you reach for the towel, twist it and flick him hard on what you’d hoped would be his hip but catch him square on his arse instead.

A yelp of pain and wide eyes greet your action, “Did you just…? Oh, it is on.! You might think you’re tough from your brothers but my sisters taught me sneaky tactics.”

“Come at me, bro!” you taunt from the other side of the kitchen, putting up a boxing stance.

Brandishing the hand without the paring knife in your general direction, he answers, “Nope, gonna use the element of surprise and attack when you least expect it!”

Tutting your tongue at Marcus’ weak ass response, you grab the spices you need to prepare under the power of your pestle and mortar. With the waft of roasting cumin soaring through the air and your battle with your boss at a supposedly declared ceasefire, everything starts to feel comfortable and easy again. You could be six years old and standing on the chair next to your mum, watching like a hawk as she lovingly prepared meals for your family with an ever burgeoning belly. It was then, during those hours shared in the galley kitchen that became your time with her when normally it felt pretty split between her work as a GP and your brothers.

What the fuck… You jump out of your skin when a warm, solid wall presses you out of your nostalgic reverie, “Hah! Pinned ya! Sneaky tactics- told ya they worked,” a deep, soft voice whispers in your ear.

Your heart flutters like a bird trying to escape its rib cage with the closeness of Marcus, the heat rising through your body from your proximity to him - a visceral response to the glorious cocktail of masculine smell from his aftershave and body wash.

What do I do next?

Why can’t I bloody think straight?

Wiggling yourself around so that you face him, his face now so close that you can feel his warm breath upon your cheeks. Your eyes playfully catch the steady gaze of Marcus’ deep soulful pools. It would only take the smallest of movements to reach forwards and kiss him right on that stupidly gorgeous, plush Cupid’s bow and crease. But… what if he doesn’t want that? He’s my fucking boss - that would be a stellar move to make…

Instead of the tiny incline forwards to press your lips against his as every inch of you screams to do so, you drop to the floor and crawl out from between his legs, “Not pinned well enough it seems,” you tease haltingly as your tongue sticks in your dry throat.

As you check the browning of the cumin seeds, out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus’ head drop sadly, hearing a small sigh - his hands still upon the work surface and feet not having moved from the position he had pinned you in moments earlier.

Did he want to...? No, surely not.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Nush,” Marcus humbly apologises, pushing himself off the side, “I hope that I haven’t made things awkward.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” you softly say, pouring the roasted cumin into the mortar, ready to be ground, “I was the one who flicked you on your arse - I am the one who should be apologising.”

You beckon gently to Marcus, who has now taken refuge in the furthest corner of the kitchen from you - wringing his hands instead of chopping the onions, “Come over here - I want you to experience one of my most favourite smells of childhood. These are roasted cumin seeds and when you grind them, they release the most heavenly scent.”

After a few grinds, you offer the bowl towards Marcus’ face as he closes the gap between you, “I… Wow! I wouldn’t have thought it would make such a difference but it’s almost like you’ve entirely transformed it. See,” the dimple deepens in that right cheek of his, “you are a magician.”

“I love how spices - a bit like paint - can take on completely different characters depending on how you treat them. Leave the spice whole and you have this mild and fragrant taste. If you crush them, then their attitude comes back tenfold with a vengeance. Toast them, and they may as well be Clark Kent in a phone booth.”

Looking up you see Marcus gazing at you with a sweet half smile on his face - could he like me… like that?

“Sorry, you don’t need to hear me blathering on,” you fluster, waving your hand in a dismissive gesture as the heat rises through your face.

Shaking his head gently without dropping your regard, “No. No, please don’t ever stop. Your passion for things is beautiful.”

“Growing up, I didn’t realise that other people didn’t have whole cupboards filled to the brim with herbs, spices and seasonings. I mean, for all the damage the British Empire reeked, you’d have hoped that the spices would have entered more of their culture, but no! Apparently, my family was the weird one for having food with a flavour,” you shrug your shoulders at some of the ridiculous things you’d heard as a child - accusations of differences you’d never thought to be of note.

Marcus chuckles at your indignance, “It’s funny you should say that. I didn’t realise that my mamá had an accent until it was pointed out to me when I was a kid.”

Noting your slightly confused expression, Marcus explains, “She’s Argentinian- came to the States as a political refugee as she was a journalist following the disappearances during the Dirty War. Met my dad, and I came along very soon after, and the rest is history..”

You can’t help but laugh at the flush on Marcus’ cheeks as he recounts his personal history to you, “Love can’t be held back when it hits and it’s obvious that they’re still crazy about each other now from that photo.”

“Exactly, no point in wasting time when you know what you want,” Marcus grins, looking at his feet.

“My parents have a similar story. My dad is as English as they come - I mean we’re on a freaking island so there’s no true thing as being completely English. My mum is from Pakistan - Karachi - it’s in the South.”

“She came over due to the fighting between East and West Pakistan - the two countries that are now Pakistan and Bangladesh. It kept interrupting her studies to become a doctor so she came to England and restarted her degree here.”

Marcus’ brow creases in thought, “Why did she restart her degree? Could the credits not just be transferred to the college she moved to in the UK?”

“Hah- yeah. It was the seventies, during a time where all Southern Asians were P*kis - no matter where they were from on the Indian subcontinent- and thought of as dirty, lesser beings. There were constant race riots for anyone who wasn’t ethnically white or English. She would never have been taken seriously with her mediocre medical training from some Adobe hut in the middle of a jungle,” you fume, pounding the seeds into fragments. The mortar being threatened with the same fate too.

Marcus’ fingers wrap around your wrist to try and prevent your rage at the ignorance of others from causing you an injury, “I am so sorry,” he pulls you into a warm, tender hug, tucking your head under his chin, “How long before food can take care of itself so we can put a film on? I think we both need a rest.”

“Hmmm, ten minutes and then most things can simmer or be switched off ready for a reheat or proper cook this evening,” you say, leaning reluctantly out of his comforting arms to go check on the bubbling saucepans of food.

“‘K. I’ll go get things set up so you can flop for a bit,” Marcus touches you gently on your shoulder as he goes to set up the front room. You go to squeeze his hand but it’s removed from your shoulder too quickly for your response.

✪✪✪✪✪

“You ready?” Marcus calls through the wall as you turn off the heat from the final pans.

“Mhm,” you mumble in response to his question - double, triple checking that everything is off. Too many fire alarms ruining perfectly lovely meals or moments.

“What did you pick?” You ask, curling up on the other end of the sofa to Marcus, “Do you have no cushions?”

“Shit, no -I’m a guy, what can I say? - lemme grab the pillows from the bed,” Marcus jumps up, calling through from his bedroom, “Bet you have loads on your couch.”

“A fuckload, but, mainly to hide the fact the springs have gone. It’s like a precarious balancing act of comfort on there,” you surreptitiously sniff the pillow, inhaling the smell of Marcus’ shampoo, “Did you give me your pillow?”

A confused look is shot at you from the other end of the sofa, “Whaddya mean?”

“Smells of your hair,” you say as you squish it into the perfect comfy shape, “Like a mixture of lemon and eucalyptus.”

“That’s a sharp nose you’ve got. I gave you the other side though,” Marcus huffs through a chuckles he shakes his head at your somewhat strange comment, “Guess I’ve been sleeping across both sides then.”

“Best thing about sleeping alone- getting to starfish across the bed. Unless of course…”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at your awkward dig to find out whether he’d brought home the goddess from Friday’s antics, “So you wanna know if I brought home Kemi?”

“She was very beautiful. You’d have been mad not to,” you try to school your expression as best you can, keeping your eyes glued to Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly singing about true love, desperate to hide the jealousy coursing through your veins.

“Must be mad then. Didn’t even kiss her,” Marcus honestly answers whilst copying your tactic of staring at the tv, “She could see that there was someone else I liked so it would have been cruel to have done anything.”

You mull this over in silence, trying not to speak, to ask a million questions.

“Nush.”

“Mhm?”

“Can I talk to y…”

You both jump as an alarm goes off on your phone to remind you to turn the lamb down in the oven.

“Oh shit. Hold that thought,” you jump up from the sofa, heading in the direction of the kitchen with zero thought of what the man at the end of the sofa is desperately trying to tell you. Fiddling with Marcus’ ridiculously swanky oven until it looks like it is doing what you want it to do, you walk back in with two ice cold beers from his fridge.

“Raided your fridge,” you cheekily grin, holding one out to Marcus, the condensation running, down your fingers, “Hope you don’t mind!”

“Good thinking, Batman,” Marcus nods in appreciation, “Any more alarms set to scare us both?”

“Only due to go off when the film is done, so…” you yawn widely, “We’ve got a while yet.”

Marcus’ hand that was slung over the back of the sofa, lifts to stroke your shoulder, “You sleepy? C'mere, you.” With a soft tug of your t-shirt sleeve, he pulls you into his side - your willingness to sink into his broad chest very apparent. Your ear is pressed against him, his heartbeat singing a lullaby to you as his fingers stroke and caress the silken waves of your hair. You wonder at how this man - a total stranger a week ago - has seemingly knitted himself into becoming a cocoon of safety for you, his gentleness and calm offering a haven of tranquility in your otherwise cacophonous world, as the light in the room slowly fades to black.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Uh oh.”

“Hey, welcome back, sunshine!” a gentle pair of fingers stroke back the hair that had drifted into your face as you dozed.

“Sorry for falling asleep. Again,” trying to finesse your way through the heat flaming your cheeks, you offer an awkward grin towards your chuckling pillow, “Guess we’d better start getting things finished as we’ve only got a couple of hours until everyone arrives.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Marcus! I don’t want to move either but this curry won’t finish cooking itself.”

“Spit spot, there’s work to be done,” Marcus trills as he adopts his best attempt at a British accent.

“What the fuck was that? Did you just turn into Dick Van Dyke or something?” You tease mercilessly at the appalling sound coming from those lips, choking back laughter at his mock offended face.

“C’mon, you’re right. We’d better get moving,” Marcus stands with a stretch and a creak before reaching back to tug you to your feet.

Back under the glowing lights of Marcus’ kitchen, his presence is now constantly close to yours as you glide together around the space - stirring, chopping and checking. Every time he passes, above the general aroma of cumin and coriander, the onions and garlic, you can smell the cedar and amber upon his skin- a deliciously masculine scent that only seeks to entangle your senses further.

“Here, try this,” you hold out a heaped teaspoon of mince curry to Marcus, “This is the keema - I promise that I only put in the two chillies you chopped for me, this time.”

“Mmm, that’s so good,” he says thickly between chews, stealing the spoon from you as he dives in for a second, third, fourth spoonful.

“Hahaha! Leave some for the others- and you need to try it with some raita and fried onions too,” you check through your dog-eared, yellowed and slightly sticky recipe book that your mum had handed you the day you’d left home at eighteen - a memo of all the times you had cooked them together.

“Shit, I’d better start the chicken,” going through the spices in front of you, you search for the cardamoms that would make the butter chicken sing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Marcus’ head snaps up from the green beans he was preparing towards you, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I can’t find the cardamoms for the butter chicken - gah I knew I’d fuck this up!” you cry, scraping your trembling hands through your hair, eyes flashing around the room wildly as your cortisol rises, making you want to run and scream at your failure to feed your friends.

“Whoa - where’s this coming from? C’mon, look at me. Look at me, Nush,” Marcus has his hands on either side of your shoulders, squeezing them gently, “There’s enough here to feed our whole office for the week with the daals you prepared yesterday, the vegetables we’re about to make and the meats that we’ve cooked up already here. Andy is bringing all the rice and naan, Kiri is bringing beers and Dian is on gin and tonic duty. You have done more than enough and I will not allow you to get this upset over one missing ingredient especially when there is a small store downstairs that I’m sure will have it, if we cannot find it after we look for it together.”

After seeing your numb nod as an agreement, Marcus moves his hands to the side of your head to focus your gaze on him rather than the panic seeping through you. As he strokes his thumbs across your cheeks, you allow your eyes to close and your breathing to regain a normal pattern.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Marcus searches your now open eyes.

“My reactions are ridiculous. Most people tell me to stop being so stupid and that just whips the storm inside my head even more,” you whisper, “But you. You know how to slow everything down and stop the spinning.”

The corner of Marcus’ mouth twitches, “D’ya wanna know a secret?” You nod at him, “As you know, I was married before. When it ended, I totally spiralled. The world kept spinning too fast and I experienced constant anxiety, very nearly burning out of my role.

“I was lucky. My boss was understanding but made me promise to get some support. He knew of someone mental health trained within the FBI who was there for mainly hostage negotiations - not part of the true psych team but someone who could help without it turning up on your record.

“Kwame worked with me for almost a year - pretty much to the point my decree absolute came through. Our sessions were done on a track - by running with me, he was teaching me the skills I needed to control my fears. By my feet hitting the tarmac, he was grounding me. By going over running techniques, he was teaching me how to control my breathing- taking longer and deeper breaths. And running is just repetition. A mindful repetition that allows your brain to have a bit of a break.

“So when I see you start to spiral, I try to give you the same steps he taught me. Get you grounded, opposite me so you copy my breathing and hope that gets you on the right track.”

“Thank you,” you drop your head forwards, relaxing onto his chest. He feels so - safe.

“You don’t need to thank me. Well, okay maybe you do as look what I’ve just spotted,” Marcus holds the offending spice aloft.

“Oh my god, I could fucking kiss you. You have just saved the curry,” you dramatically declare, clutching the cardamom jar to your heart before placing it next to the other ingredients on the counter.

“Go on then.”

What?

His comment makes you snap your head over to catch Marcus’ tremulous gaze, his eyes darting between the floor and your lips. He takes a small step, closing the small distance between the two of you, threading his fingers between yours. Each slow movement offers an unspoken opportunity for you to step away. To tease him and move on with the day.

But why on Earth would you?

With your heart racing faster and faster, you lure him ever closer with your eyes, soft but absolute in their conviction of what was about to pass between you. A small part of you understands that when you kiss him, something will change forever. That within his lips you may find the place to call home - the aching in your stomach may cease and life could start to make sense again. The anxieties of the week washing away, the pain of your collective pasts and the hint of a brighter, happier future before you.

When he doesn’t move again, you seize the moment. Pushing up onto your socked tiptoes, you tilt your chin, inclining your face until your lips come to rest upon his in the sweetest, chastest kiss. Drawing back slightly to check that Marcus is okay with a raise of your eyebrows and widened eyes, he holds your gaze steadily, similarly stunned - a mirror of each other with racing hearts and slightly parted lips. It’s like in that moment everything around you ceases to exist as anything other than extraneous nonsense - all the noise inside your head silenced by that one touch.

A small dumbstruck smile creeps across Marcus’ lips before he lowers his head to press another gentle kiss upon you. Then another. Then another. Each press of your lips a little longer. A little deeper. Your lips part to allow his tongue entry as every single thought is quietened by the taste of him. Dropping hands for his to cradle your face and yours to thread through his hair as your bodies press together tightly.

Oh the taste of him is utterly exquisite! From where you’ve been using him as chief curry taster, there’s an element of spices with the tiniest hint of mint. And how you have missed having that beautifully solid warmth of his body next to yours. Inhaling his breaths that fall upon you, your hearts match each other’s rhythms as your lips explore each other, every sensation drawing together to create a humming ball of energy, like you are standing at the point where lightning strikes the Earth.

✪✪✪✪✪

Hands fisted tightly in each other’s clothing - both stuck in the quandary of wanting to tear the fabric from your bodies but also frightened of pushing the other too far. Finally pulling apart, you gaze upon Marcus - all lust blown pupils and dopey smiles. Your foreheads come back to rest against each other, unable to quite let go just yet, not wanting to break the spell and return to reality.

“I have wanted to kiss you since perhaps the first time I met you,” Marcus murmurs as his lips gently ghost over your cheeks, “Maybe even from seeing the photo in your file when Andy drove me here from the airport.”

“Was the person, me?” You quietly ask, finally with the confidence to finish that conversation, “The reason you didn’t kiss or sleep with the goddess?”

He drops his eyes as he gives you a small nod, “Normally, I’d have just asked you out but I was scared of fucking up. It’s been a long time since I felt a spark with anyone.

“You’ve entered my life in this whirlwind of intelligence, beauty and tenderness - I didn’t want to frighten you or make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t reciprocate.”

A thousand thoughts flood your mind as Marcus says those words. All at once, you want to tell him how safe he makes you feel. How much now that you’ve started kissing him, you never want to stop. How the cruel critics of slumber, silence themselves when you feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

Instead you stand there, silent.

Trying to stroke out the creases you’ve created in his t-shirt as you attempt to find words to put into a logical order, you notice his face twitching when the material under your fingers makes contact with his sides, “Oh Marcus, are you ticklish?”

“Um, no,” Marcus tries to deny breezily as he takes a small, hesitant step back from you, pretending to steady himself.

Making a small movement towards him, your hands at the same level as the point of the bunched fabric - you ask, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Marcus is now eyeing you suspiciously - desperate to kiss you again but also a little worried as to what havoc your fingers might reek.

“Then, why are you moving away from me?”

“No reason…” his usually deep voice now a little tighter and higher, “Nush… What are you about to ARGH!”

His knees crumble beneath him as you attack his sensitive sides, “Gah! Quit it, woman,” he weakly commands between wheezes and hoots of laughter.

Taking full advantage of Marcus’ prone and vulnerable position, you take the opportunity to straddle him - effectively pinning him to the floor, “This is how you pin someone.”

“I let you pin me,” Marcus corrects you with a wink.

“Oh really?” you contest, entirely unconvinced by his bravado.

“Yeah,” he says with a small wiggle, bringing his hands to the back of your head, “Cos y’see, I can flip our positions quite easily.”

Suddenly, you find yourself flat on your back in Marcus’ kitchen with zero air in your lungs to form any sensible thought other than to kiss him hard. His large hands cradle your head as he props himself gently above you on his elbows. You feel his entire body covering yours. Deliciously pressing against every single inch of you and oh how it takes every bit of the minutismal amount of self control you have to not beg him to fuck you senseless into that floor.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Shit, is that your door?”

“Fuck,” Marcus pushes himself up to kneeling between your legs, “Can we pretend we’re not in?”

The harsh realisation of an evening with your colleagues, albeit lovely people, sinks in to you both.

“Nope,” you groan, popping the p with a deflated gusto, “Hang on, don’t buzz them up until I’ve tucked my boobs back into my bra.”

“I dunno, makes for easier access,” Marcus lopsidedly grins with a wink as he heads for the door.

“You certainly didn’t seem to make hard work of it earlier,” you mumble at him, before you affix a smile to your face, “Hey! How are you all doing?”

A sea of never ending hugs envelopes and separates you from Marcus as everyone piles into his apartment. The stupid grin still firmly in place on your face since you’d first kissed, you find that every time you look over at him, he’s gazing right back, mirroring that lovestruck smile.

“Oh my god, it all smells so amazing,” Dian waxes lyrical, squeezing you tightly as she inhales a lungful of exotically scented air, “What’ve we got?”

You take her by the hand into the kitchen to show all the different things you had bubbling away. Andy ducks into the kitchen behind you, laden with bags filled with pilau rice, naan and chapatis, and a beautiful small bunch of spring flowers in his other hand - tiny tête-à-tête daffodils with multiple heads along each stalk, brilliant yellow and red tulips standing like soldiers and the otherworldly looking stems of hyacinth, wickedly scenting the air under your nose as he thrusts them under there.

“Hey pretty girl, here’s all the bits you asked for. You deserve a much bigger bunch for what I’ve roped you into but I know you love the early blooms,” he offers by way of apology, sticking a kiss to the side of your forehead, “Smells fucking good though as ever. Hope you don’t mind but I’ve brought a box to take some home for Greg - he was a jealous arse this evening so I suppose I should share.”

“You know the way I cook, enough for several small armies,” you wonkily grin at him, truly thankful for the part he’d had to play, “‘Fraid there’s no easy way to say this and you will have to be the one to break it to Greg, but there’s no butter chicken tonight.”

“You’d better have a damn good excuse for this slatternly behaviour, madam,” Andy gives you a serious side eye for this infraction.

“Well…”

“Initially Nush couldn’t find the cardamoms but then we ran out of time. Plenty of food here, though,” Marcus answers for you, his hand gently holding your hip as he reaches around you to grab a couple of beers from the fridge.

You see Andy catch Marcus’ hand lightly stroking your side as he walks back to Kiritopa, but are entirely grateful when his expression and mouth say nothing. The light chatter in the kitchen, whilst Dian dips a teaspoon into all the pots, is interrupted by a small knock at the door. Sticking your head around the kitchen door, you spot Marcus opening the door to a nervous-looking Harper. Andy sidles past you, to pull her into the main room, rather than her previous position of standing on the doorstep, utterly awkward and obviously feeling quite out of place.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind me coming. I know I wasn’t there Friday but I don’t really do large crowds and drinking.”

You walk over to her amidst the chorus of “not to worry”s and “lovely to see you”s, “Fancy something to drink now? Got plenty of soft options and I think I’ll stick alongside you as I’ve got to make sure I don’t burn stuff.”

“Including yourself, this time,” Harper retorts quickly with a small smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

“Hah, chance’d be a fine thing,” Andy laughs, slapping your shoulder before turning back to clink bottles and talk with Kiri and Marcus.

✪✪✪✪✪

Through the full length doors of Marcus’ balcony, evening spring sunshine streams through, bathing the group of your co-workers in a gentle, diffused light that flows around the room coating you in a golden glow. You all eat your fill and then some, with full tummies and tired eyes - the kitchen still full of half eaten dishes.

“Can we make this a weekly thing?” Kiritopa asks through a mouthful of food, hopefully.

“Not unless we take it in turns or get a take away - I don’t have the physical or emotional energy to make this level of curry every weekend,” you pointedly remark, looking up from your coke to meet Marcus’ eyes.

You’ve spent the evening barely speaking to each other for fear of alerting the others but surreptitiously brushing past so that you can sneak touches. Tender hidden strokes that feel like the kindest stitches on hidden, gaping wounds.

Marcus stands up to help usher the evening to an end and get you to himself again, “I have some boxes for y’all to take food home as otherwise, I’ll be eating this for weeks - delicious as it is.”

Everyone thankfully takes their boss’ hint and head into the kitchen to grab platefuls to reheat after long days. Slowly saying their goodbyes, your friends drift off in the direction of their homes as you throw yourself in an exhausted heap of bones on his sofa. Two strong hands grip you under your arms, to drape your torso across his lap.

“Hey tired girl,” you slightly open your eyes to spy a smiling Marcus gazing down at you. His fingers draw lazy patterns over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I’d like to take you on a proper date this week. Wanna do this properly. Make a bit of a fuss.”

“Yeah? Not just pin me down and ravish me on the kitchen floor?” you grin widely at him.

“Well, I’d hardly call that a ravishing…” your eyes widen, eyebrows raising at Marcus’ comment, excitement pooling in your tummy, “Yeah, I saw there’s an Argentinian restaurant in Blackheath so how about steak, Malbec and homemade ice cream before I bring you back to either yours, or mine, for another, even better ravishing?”

“That sounds amazing, although with the amount of food in my belly, I may never have to eat again,” you give your stomach a rub, “But the ravishing…”

Hauling you up to sitting across his lap, you protest loudly, “I am going to crush your legs.”

“Stop making ridiculous comments and c’mere,” Marcus demands as he gently turns your head towards him, stealing a delicate kiss from you.

“I...should… - argh! Stop kissing me for a second,” you beg halfheartedly, “I should go home.”

“Stay.”

“Please stay,” Marcus desperately entreats you, “I’m not expecting anything but I’d love it if you stayed. I know you’ve got nothing here but give me two minutes and I can have a spare toothbrush for you. I’ll drop you home early tomorrow morning so you can grab some clothes and then we can go into work together?”

It feels as though the wind is knocked out of your lungs with the depth of Marcus’ need to be around you.

How does he do it?

“There’s no games with you, are there?” you twist in Marcus’ lap so that you now straddle his thighs, placing your hands on either side of his ridiculously handsome face.

“No,” he shakes head slowly, all the while holding eye contact with you, “I’m too old and I know what I want.”

“What’s that?”

Stroking his hands up and down your sides as he nuzzles your neck, he clearly and confidently declares,

“You.”

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

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barnesandco · 3 years

Text

Little Hands (IV)

Series Masterlist

Communication is key.

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo 2021. Word count: 2248. Square filled: “Sung to Sleep”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: More Hydra Evilness, More Sad Child, Parental Anxieties. Brief mentions of war, sickness, death, grief.

A/N: I know 2.2k words isn’t objectively a lot but boy did this feel like it. I hope every word is worth it and that you enjoy! Lmk what you think!!! Also I won’t even lie, the idea of Steve’s kids is 100% from one of my favorite comfort fics, family means no one gets left behind or forgotten, by the genius, the wonderful cosmicocean. IT’S SO SOFT. Pls read it.

You’re stunned when Bucky tells you what’s going on. The idea that his daughter (?) was made in a lab like some kind of experiment, and that the man who led said experiment now wants her back like she is his property, his weapon, is too horrid to consider for very long. Weaponizing an innocent child. Hydra.

Bucky gave you the broad strokes of the investigation – currently running on little more than educated guesses based on the meagre intel they have – and has let you know that he has had to recuse himself from the case, due to his… personal connection. That leaves him somewhere he finds awkward, to say the least.

It's evident in the way the corners of his lips turn down, how he is constantly rubbing the pads of his fingers against the coarse scratch of denim, while he watches Ana watch Zoya, Steve’s 17-year-old daughter, working on a tablet. Zoya tucks a strand of hair behind her hijab, then continues to draw up a storyboard, narrating the events to the younger girl. Steve had apparently forgotten the lunch his kids had made him at home, so Zoya had brought it in, and decided to stay the day.

Ana’s quiet, attentive for the most part, listening with her full capabilities, but her eyes flit away from the screen every now and then to look at you and Bucky, as if to reassure herself that you’re still there.

Besides that, there aren’t all that many distractions present for an already precocious child. Most of the team has dispersed for the investigation, with the exception of Peter, who is sat at a table in the corner making intentionally fruitless efforts at teaching Morgan chess, while she giggles and tries to stack the pieces like Jenga blocks instead.

However, Bucky’s restlessness is infectious, and you think he needs to get it under check before it grows any further. That’s why you stand, saying, “Could we go for a little walk, Bucky?”

He nods, man of few words that he is, and leads the way. You’re sure he knows that you formulated it like a request for his benefit, but he doesn’t mention it. It’s just as well – that he knows you like that, and knows when to accept the proverbial hand being offered.

Bucky takes you to a corner of the roof that you’d mistake for a community garden if you didn’t know any better. The Avengers seem to have green thumbs, or at least, a significant portion of them do. They’re good with plants, and possessive about them, too. Autumn ferns grow outside the circle they seem to have been planted in – with a sign shouting Wanda! – to invade the territory of a vegetable garden labelled Bruce (accompanied by a Hulkish, green thumbs up presumably not drawn by the man himself).

Meticulously maintained daylilies and columbines, in vivid reds and vibrant purples, litter the edges of the path that has been carved through this little paradise, and the birdhouses between them stake the claim of the owner more effectively than a neon sign screaming Sam Wilson. Bucky’s told you about his abilities, how they veer into the decidedly supernatural but Sam insists are only the residue of a childhood with homing pigeons.

Nothing here looks like Bucky’s, though. He seems to be taking it in, perhaps thinking about his own little paradise back in the city, and how he’s chosen to keep it distant from that of his teammates. That worries you. He worries you.

And this, the situation with Anastasia, becoming a father, it’s terrifying. Hell, if it scares you this much, how is he feeling? You ask him as much.

“Bucky, are you okay?”

He laughs, softly, disbelievingly, no malice in his scoff, only fear. Only the sound of a voice saturated with consternation and total, complete anxiety. “Would you be?” He asks back.

“That’s why I’m asking.”

Bucky evades the questions, turning first one way on the path, and then the other, approaching the edge clear of shrubbery and blooms alike, resting his palms on the top of the wall.

“I can’t be a father.”

The solemnity in his tone allows no room for negotiations, but then, neither do the facts. “You are,” you reply, somewhat hesitantly, because the technicalities of how Ana came to be are still a little blurry to you. She’s far from a normal child, and not quite a clone, either. She is of Bucky, though. His, in any way that counts.

“That little girl was created in a Hydra lab as a super soldier to serve the cause,” he says, shaking his head vigorously as the cause repulses him even more than it does you. “And who knows what else she was put through before SHIELD fell and Orlov got her out, and it’s my fault.”

“You didn’t—”

“I didn’t ask for it to happen but it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t happened. They used me to make a super soldier from scratch, and now I’m supposed to raise her? It’s not that simple. I’m not Steve. I can’t…”

Being honest, you feel you’re pretty far out of your depth here. But you’ve promised him your help, and you’ll do your best.

“You don’t have to. There are other options.” You’re sure you’re overstepping. Perhaps this gentle companionship has not yet reached the point where you can give advice on parenting. But if you don’t, who will? Steve, whose answers don’t enter the gray territory Bucky’s mind is residing in right now, who parents like he was born for it?

Steve chose fatherhood. Bucky has been nailed to it like it’s a new cross to bear, heavier than all the previous ones put together.

His gaze roams the grounds that stretch as far as you can see. You’re both far away from home right now, far outside your comfort zones.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into my mess, sweetheart. It’s not right. You have things to do, and I shouldn’t have—”

“Bucky, I’ve been staring at the same four sentences of dialogue for the past month. I literally could not have been happier to get out of the house. Even if I do wish it was under better circumstances,” you say fervently. You’re here because he needs you. Because Ana needs you. It’s nice to be needed.

“That’s one way to put it,” he smiles, and you’re glad to see it.

“Not to mention, it’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault except whoever your team is looking for,” you insist. “And Ana’s a sweet girl. A little quiet, but Baba says I was, too.”

This, Bucky thinks about. You wonder if he was a quiet child, too. “What’s he like?”

“Hmm?” The reverie snaps like a rubber band.

“Your father?” Bucky asks, shyly, his eyes meeting yours, letting you know exactly why he’s asking.

You look up at the clouds, think back to Boston, to time shared between the library and the park. A childhood with books, lunch breaks under a desk in an office at MIT, stealing his glasses and running away with them, rubbing at his stubbly beard like he was a housecat. Inside jokes with your father and rolled eyes with your mother. Laughter and tears, laughter with tears.

After a long while, trying and failing to summarize your father, you say, “A jokester. The most sarcastic person I know. But still kind of neurotic, to be honest. The kind of parent that makes you show up at the airport a full four hours before your flight.” It’s grossly insufficient. For a writer, you’re not very good with words. You suppose it’s not the words that are the problem; it’s the lifetime they have to encompass. “What about yours?”

Bucky sighs. “Soldier. He’s one thing I don’t feel bad for not remembering because it wasn’t Hydra that wiped those memories. He just died when I was really small. Survived the Great War only to be killed by TB a few years later at home.”

“I’m sorry.” You avert your eyes. Grief feels private, even decades later, even in the smallest doses.

He shakes his head, smiles fondly, up at the sky, too, like you did. Only, he’s smiling at it, like he’s thinking of someone beyond the clouds. “Don’t be. Was a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t allowed to hurt anymore.”

“You sound like my therapist.”

“I sound like my therapist.”

At this, the two of you look at each other and burst into laughter. It feels forbidden, as though the severity of the situation condemns joy. That isn’t fair, you think. The situation is that of a child, and nobody needs laughter more than kids do. Food for the soul.

When the echo of your exhilarations falls, Bucky grows serious once more. “They have them for kids, now, too, right?” He asks, referring to therapists. “Do you think Anastasia should see one? She’s not exactly… normal, you know?”

“Maybe.” It’s a difficult question, but a good indicator of how Bucky is growing to feel about Ana. “You’d make a good dad, if you wanted to be one, Bucky,” you say, and mean it. It’s plain as day that he cares about her.

“I can’t even remember my own.”

“Parental instincts are intuitive, not genetic,” you tell him.

“You been reading handbooks?” He teases.

“You’d be surprised by how much you learn from the rabbit holes you fall down while researching books,” you deadpan.

“Can any of that research get the nightmares out of my head? I think it might scare a kid.”

The self-deprecation hurts, but your response is honest, heartfelt. “She likes you already.”

“She won’t if she thinks I’ve run away,” he answers, straightening up. He might be trying to evade the conversation, but you’ll let him, for now. He’s gotten some fresh air, had some time to clear his thoughts, or sort them, at least. And so you return, to the little girl who has a tighter grip on both of you than you even realize.

------

Ana grows unsettled as night darkens the sky. It could be the ruckus she isn’t quite used to. It could be the toy fire truck Tony has been altering with his utensils to increase its noise output, much to Morgan’s amusement. It could be the actual parrot perched on Sam’s shoulder.

Whatever the cause, she hasn’t succumbed to it enough to make a seat out of the fridge again. She’s sitting in her seat, between Bucky and yourself, eating the hummus Bruce and Wanda have made. Nat discusses sniper scopes with Clint, Peter tries to get away with eating the side of vegetables on Jordan’s plate without Steve noticing, and Bucky eats silently, eyes almost constantly on Anastasia, who takes it all in while her knee bounces up and down with an ever-increasing speed, much like her father’s.

You excuse yourselves soon after dessert, after Morgan has fallen asleep against Jordan’s arm on the couch, and Steve and Tony’s friendly debate is starting to develop the edge it tends to when they’ve been bantering for too long.

Bucky sets up on the sectional in his room, and leaves the ridiculously large double bed to you and Anastasia. It’s been a strange, strange day, and one can only hope that tomorrow brings some ease, a balm for the prickly, fiery ache that has settled over the man you care so much about.

------

When you wake, it’s because of singing. For half a moment, you think you’re in a dream, but as your eyes adjust to the blanket of dark, you see the shadow on the sofa nearby. Only, it’s bigger than just Bucky. Anastasia is sitting on his lap, her head cushioned against his chest. Scrambling for your glasses, and turning on the lamp on the bedside table, you notice that there are trails of drying tears on her little cheeks, and she’s still shaking with the aftershocks of whatever scare she must’ve had during the night.

Not for the first time, you curse your deep sleep that meant you didn’t wake with Ana, but watch in wonder as Bucky sings.

Hush, little baby, don't say a word Papa's going to buy you a mockingbird

And if that mockingbird won't sing Papa's going to buy you a diamond ring

Ana’s eyes begin to close, but she fights the sleep. Bucky doesn’t let her. He lies down, easing her down beside himself, singing all the while.

And if that diamond ring turns brass Papa's going to buy you a looking glass

And if that looking glass gets broke Papa's going to buy you a billy goat

His voice fills the room, low though it may be, and he curls himself around Ana.

And if that billy goat won't pull Papa's going to buy you a cart and bull

And if that cart and bull turn over Papa's going to buy you a dog named Rover

She succumbs to the lull of his tone, his song, his promises, sighs a little sigh, lets the last, little hiccup leave her body.

And if that dog named Rover won't bark Papa's going to buy you a horse and cart

And if that horse and cart fall down You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town

Bucky lifts his hand from where it was stroking the hair at her temple, and lays his arm over his daughter. They’re safe, for now. Together.

#SSB2021 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #dad!bucky barnes #mcu #marvel #marvel fanfic

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cinnaminsvga · 4 years

Text

Taming of the Bridezilla | Seokjin

→ summary: Picture this: You had been (not-so) cordially invited to the wedding of your least favorite cousin—a woman who had been hellbent on making your childhood a living hell. Now older and wiser, you would think that you would put aside your differences and attend your cousin’s special day without any hard feelings, right? You wouldn’t seek revenge, now would you?

→ genre: fake dating!au, i2l, humor/crack, fluff → warnings: seokjin and oc paradoxically have big yet small brains, fake proposals, not-so fake mutual pining, thinly veiled baby-making jokes, terrible family members, ass slapping (no worries it’s consensual) → words: 6.3K → a/n: first of all, no this is not a horror fic; i just thought the title was funny. unless you consider the stupidity of the characters to be mildly horrifying, then sure you can count this as a horror fic. this insanely ridiculous fic was commissioned by @breadoffoxy!! anyone who loves chaotic jin is an angel in my book. yes, this comm is a bit longer than expected but what can i say... i love me some jin. anyway i hope you guys enjoy!

“You got the ring, right?”

Seokjin pats his left breast pocket and gives you a quick smirk. The bump where the ring should be is fortuitously hidden by his large and garish boutonniere, looking to all the world like he had pinned a whole head of cabbage to his suit. Even then, he still somehow manages to make it work. “Of course I did. This entire plan would be useless if I didn’t have it,” he says.

“What flavor did you get? I quite like the watermelon one,” you muse, smacking your lips in anticipation. “Though it’s hard to remember since I haven’t had a ring pop in years.”

Seokjin laughs loudly, startling a group of aunties gossiping in the corner. They all shoot glares at him, though the effect has lost its novelty as they’ve already been glaring at you from the moment you arrived. You suppose that they have a good reason to, considering that you both arrived at the reception an entire 30 minutes late. You can imagine them cursing you under their breath, saying something like, “You’ve brought dishonor to us all!” or whatever it is that aunties like to say these days.

“I could have gotten you all the flavors available at the convenience store if you wanted, but then we’d be 40 minutes late instead,” Seokjin sighs, pretending to be anguished at the thought.

You snort in the most unladylike manner that you can, grinning wildly when you hear one of the aunties gasp in horrified disbelief. From the way they’re reacting, you might have thought that you just flashed them your Borat-inspired neon green thong.

“I do love a man who can treat me well,” you giggle, earning a soft pinch from him.

“Oh, hush. I know you love it. You nearly burst into tears the other day when I bought you a McFlurry because your broke ass was a dollar short,” Seokjin teases. You squawk indignantly, unable to come up with a retort.

“Whatever! Just because you’re a trust fund baby doesn’t mean you get to bully my impoverished state. Just you fucking wait ‘til I get hit by a wealthy 77 year old’s BMW and then I’ll be made for life,” you huff, your illusion of annoyance quickly shattered by the large, dumb grin on your face. “Hey, would you still love me if I broke all my limbs but had a massive bank account?”

“I’d rather buy you McDonald’s for the rest of your life than see you in pain,” he answers simply, patting you gently on the head. “Though I suppose helping you inject thousands of calories into your bloodstream would also cause you pain later on in life, but hey, at least you’d go down doing what you love.”

“Oh, yes. Keep talking dirty to me. I love it when you talk about the ways you’d kill me by association.” You laugh, casually looping your arms together as you walk past the slowly growing crowd of aunties and entering the reception hall to find your seats. Almost everyone is already in their seats, with a few guests milling about and greeting one another with tight-lipped smiles and hollow laughter. The sight brings goosebumps up your arm, bringing back terrible memories of having to make niceties with these people despite knowing that they despised you and your less affluent family.

Remember, you’re only here as a representative for your parents, you tell yourself. You’d rather bear the brunt of the thinly-veiled insults than to have your parents have to experience this hell. Besides, you have big plans for today, and they would only be brought to an end if your mother ever found out what you wanted to do in the first place.

“As they say… We’re here for a good time, not a long time, which I suppose is our philosophy for tonight as well,” he quips back. He taps you lightly on the hand, wrenching your gaze away from the magnificent chocolate fountain on the dessert table and back to his somewhat less magnificent face. A straight-up lie, but it is the only defense mechanism you have in your arsenal that can keep you from staring at how gorgeous he looks in his suit and tie like a braindead idiot. Denial, after all, hasn’t failed you during the last five years that you’ve been in love with your own best friend.

“What is it?” you ask, curious when he furtively points out one of your cousins near the front of the hall. “That’s Namjoon. Do you know him?”

“Know is a strong word,” Seokjin hums, winking at your cousin when he happens to turn towards the two of you. Namjoon’s eyes light up when he sees him, but his excitement immediately vanishes when he notices who Seokjin has beside him on his right arm. You could see the mental cogs going on inside Namjoon’s head as he stares at the two of you, but you don’t get to see him reach a conclusion before Seokjin is pulling you away, walking in the opposite direction.

“Seokjin? What was that all about?” you ask, though you have to admit you’re kind of afraid to know the answer to your own question. As much as everything about tonight’s scheme had been your idea, you can’t help but think that Seokjin’s intense enthusiasm to help you isn’t merely out of his own desire to help you as a friend, but rather due to his innate calling to cause chaos wherever he goes.

“I have a secret bonus surprise for the bride and groom once we get kicked out from this joint after we do our thing,” he says. “And, dare I say, it’ll be quite a treat for all the guests here.” The smirk on his lips is downright heinous, only exacerbating the frantic racing of your heart. There must be something wrong with you, not with how badly you want to do unspeakable atrocities to him and his evil-looking ass. Or perhaps he was simply put down on Earth to test your slowly fraying sanity.

He snaps you out of your dumbfounded, horny stupor when he continues, “If everything goes according to plan, then we’ll truly end this night with a bang, no pun intended.”

“What was even the pun there?” You raise a brow, slightly disconcerted by the way Seokjin was struggling to keep his laughter (at his own joke) at bay. “You know what? Don’t even answer. I guess I’ll just have to find out later tonight.”

After some pointless meandering while the two of you locate your seats, you are finally able to locate your table, unsurprisingly situated near the farthest corner of the hall where no one would have to see you. You’re honestly more surprised that your newly-wedded cousin had even remembered to give you a seat, though you suppose that it must have been at the behest of your uncle. While your devil of a cousin has always been rude and cruel to you, you have to admit that at least her father knew some manners, though that only begs the question as to what happened to his daughter along the way. Genetics and expensive etiquette classes can only help so much, you suppose.

“Thank you again for doing this with me. You really didn’t need to,” you say when you take a seat, nearly elbowing him in the process. Your chairs are wedged right beside the emergency exit and a grotesque ice sculpture of the bride and groom, forcing the two of you to sit so close that you could feel Seokjin breathe directly into your ear. If you shifted just slightly to the right, you’d basically be sitting on his lap (which is a prospect that intrigues you greatly, but you refrain from voicing it in fear of creeping him out… for now).

“How could I ever resist the offer to ruin your cousin’s wedding? This has been on my bucket list for years,” he winks cheekily at you. “Besides, you’re my dearest friend, Y/N. You could ask me to fight a bear naked, and I’d gladly let it eat my dick in one chomp!”

“I wouldn’t let a bear eat your dick,” you say kindly, patting him gently on the back. “You can’t afford to lose an inch when you only have two to offer.”

Before you could laugh hysterically at Seokjin’s howls of betrayal, your attention is pulled away when the soft violin music stops playing abruptly. From far away, it’s hard to tell what’s going on until you notice a bright light reflecting off of the sea of attendees, the balding head of the reception’s host bobbing up and down as he makes his way to the front of the hall.

“Attention esteemed guests! We will now begin serving dinner shortly. Please remain in your seats as our waiters attend to you.” The host speaks into a crackly microphone just as a few scraggly-looking underpaid teenagers in black dress shirts come out with the first course of the night.

Seokjin cranes his neck, trying to see what the food is. “What the hell is that? Why does it look like green shit in a bowl?” he murmurs, loud enough so that only you can hear. “I didn’t know your cousin was a Dr. Seuss fan. Are we being served green eggs and ham?” Before you can guess, you watch as his nose crinkles in disgust, a vile stench making its way to your area even though none of the waiters were even close to your table. “Oh my goodness, is that stench what we’re supposed to eat?”

“Smells like a barnyard,” you comment, though you aren’t as surprised as he is by the revolting smell. “Well, my cousin always did like making atrocious vegan recipes on her shitty WordPress blog, so I wouldn’t put it past her if she made up the menu for her own wedding.”

“She’s a vegan and a bully? What are the odds,” he says drily, cringing when he watches one of the guests begin to dry heave the moment a spoonful of the green stuff enters their mouth. “Christ. I didn’t know I was signing up for a life or death mission.”

“At this rate, I don’t think we’re getting served until the end of the night anyway,” you say, observing as the understaffed employees tried their best to get to every table while insufferable aunts did their worst to hinder their progress by nagging and complaining. Why were they so adamant about eating the food anyway? Were they itching to get diarrhea on a Saturday night? You do admit that it would probably be better, so then at least you’d have an excuse to leave earlier. “Though I suppose... Do you think eating the mystery goo while it’s cold would be better or worse?”

“It’s okay, I’ll treat you to McDonald’s when we finish up here,” he says, smiling sweetly at you. Never in your life has the mention of greasy fries and chicken nuggies made your heart race faster than it did at that moment, but then again, it could also be your high-blood pressure kicking up. Either way, you can’t ignore the way your face heats up at his offer, now more excited than ever for the reception to be over.

You and Seokjin chat as you wait for everyone around you to finish eating, not even bothered when the waiters forget to bring your food. You’re in the middle of debating the pros and cons of cock and ball torture when large dark shadows loom over both your heads, much like a solar eclipse. A cold shiver runs up your spine when you look up to find the reptilian faces of your aunts, the fumes of their designer perfume creating a cloud so noxious that you could feel your lungs shrivel into prunes.

“Hello, Y/N. It’s nice to see you after such a long time,” your Aunt Sohee greets, her tone indicating that there was nothing pleasant about seeing you at all. Your aunt, who had gotten so much botox done that she was reminiscent of a plastic balloon ready to pop, has her entourage of fellow aunties behind her, all of whom looked ridiculous in their fake designer dresses. You swear you can see that one of them had forgotten to snip off the Made in China tag before wearing it to the wedding.

“Aunt Sohee, you’re looking… young,” you say after a moment, deciding to settle on lying for now. Even though your main plan for this evening is to create chaos at your cousin’s wedding, your one condition is that you wouldn’t cause a scene with your aunts. While you are hardly in the running for favorite niece, there is still a 1% chance that you could get some inheritance from them once they hit the grave, so you’ll have to grit your teeth and bear the incoming barrage of personal questions coming your way lest you lose out in the long run.

“Why, thank you. I can’t say the same for you,” she huffs, shamelessly grabbing my cheeks and squishing them like stress balls. She peers sourly at your disfigured face, trying to squint judgmentally at you but failing due to her horrendous plastic surgery. “How old are you? Why do you have so many wrinkles?”

You feel your eyebrow twitch involuntarily, unable to respond even if you wanted due to the gorilla-hold she has on your face. You side-eye Seokjin, who is looking back at you with a blank and calm expression. You had already told him beforehand that you wouldn’t be arguing with your aunts, but that doesn’t mean he’s not allowed to be an asshole.

Being an asshole, after all, is Seokjin’s favorite pastime.

“Hello, Aunties. My name is Kim Seokjin, and I’m Y/N’s long-term boyfriend. She’s told me many good things about you,” he says with a polite smile, his hamster cheeks puffing up in that adorably boyish way. The surrounding aunties all begin to coo at his handsome face (unfair!), but they’re quickly silenced by a sharp glare from your Aunt Sohee. She appraises him, giving him a once over with a pursed lip.

“Long-term boyfriend, huh? Are you sure you aren’t paying her or something? Y/N hasn’t had a boyfriend in years. Her cousins have told me that she’s been too busy with other… extracurricular activities to bother sticking around,” your aunt says snidely, her sneer deepening. She lets go of your face, crossing her arms when she spies the expensive watch on his wrist. “Ah, I see that you’re well-off. I just can’t possibly see why else you’d be staying with her if not for other reasons.”

You can feel your blood pressure rising, the veins on your forehead undoubtedly bulging as you try to suppress your rage. Screw your cousin for spreading a rumor that you’re a whore! It’s as if you were the one sucking guys off in the locker rooms when the two of you were in the second year of high school and not her. You haven’t even had your first proper kiss, for heaven’s sake!

Instead of getting angry, Seokjin’s expression hardly changes at all. His serene smile is still plastered on his face, but only you can tell that he’s even remotely bothered by their rude remarks. You can feel the air around him turn frosty, but your oblivious aunties are still too busy tittering amongst themselves, exchanging insults at your expense.

“Oh, are we that obvious?” Seokjin tilts his head, feigning innocence. Your head jerks towards him, your eyes bugging out of their sockets. What the fuck? “You are so right, Auntie Sohee. I’m sure Y/N must have informed you about our predicament. You see, we’ve—”

“Your predicament?” Aunt Sohee scoffs, interrupting Seokjin mid-speech. “I can’t believe the nerve of this girl, bringing her little boy-toy to the holy matrimony of her cousin—”

“—been trying to produce an heir to the Kim Line for months now,” Seokjin sighs heavily, looking off into the distance with glazed, dreamy eyes. You nearly cough out a lung at his sudden proclamation, about to interject and ask him what on earth he was talking about. Your words die on your tongue, however, when he grips your hand tightly underneath the table. He taps three times on the back of your hand: an old sign that you both made back in high school whenever he was busy bullshitting his way out of trouble.

Luckily, none of your aunts notice your blunder, all of them too occupied trying to wrap their heads around what Seokjin had said. Multiple mouths drop open in surprise and disbelief, including your Aunt Sohee. Her penciled eyebrows arch comically high, her smoothened forehead wrinkling infinitesimally (a feat in itself, for you were sure she had long since lost any ability to move the skin on her face.)

“I beg your pardon?” she whispers, staring daggers at Seokjin.

Then beg, you think to yourself. Judging by the way the corners of Seokjin’s lips lift slightly, you have a strong feeling that he was thinking the same thing to himself. Instead, he says, “Yes, Aunt Sohee. You see, I come from a long line of businessmen. Ever heard of Kim Enterprises.”

Her face turns pale. “You mean… the Kim Enterprises? The one that owns—”

“South Korea’s largest chain of department stores? I’m flattered that you’re familiar,” he winks. He leans forward, gesturing for your aunts to come closer, like he’s imparting state secrets to them. “My older brother, who has been married for quite some time, has chosen to remain childless at the behest of his wife. For that reason, my father put me up to the task of producing an heir for the company.”

“An heir?” your aunt repeats, dumbfounded.

Seokjin nods, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Yes, it’s quite unfortunate, but it’s a responsibility I’m willing to take. My family is notorious for planning our lives, even for the next 50 years, so I am forever grateful to have Y/N who is willing to bring me multiple potential heirs to my family.”

“Multiple heirs?” Your aunts shriek in unison, causing a few nearby guests to look over at your table in curiosity. You wave at them awkwardly in apology, hoping to get them to ignore the absolute clusterfuck happening right in front of you.

You feel Seokjin kick you gently in the shin, urging you to say something as well. You clear your throat, channeling all the pent-up Seokjin energy that you had indirectly absorbed over the years of being his friend. “That’s right… My Jinnie has always been so lonely, living in his gigantic mansion with his piles of money. He may have never felt the loving touch of his father, but I’m certain that we’ll be great parents to our children. Why, we’re almost like a pair of rabbits when it comes to—”

Aunt Sohee clears her throat abruptly, a deep flush coloring her cheeks as she glares daggers at you. She looks absolutely peeved, and it takes all your mental fortitude to restrain yourself from jumping up in triumph. Take that, wench!

“I have to admit that this is somewhat… unexpected,” your aunt says carefully, pointing a tight smile at Seokjin. He beams back, positively delighted.

“Y/N is quite the catch. I’m grateful to have her in my life,” he says, his tone growing soft by the end. He looks at you then, and you find a mysterious emotion floating in his eyes that you can’t quite name. When you blink and try to get a closer look, his careful façade is back in place.

Eventually, your aunts lose interest in you once they realize they can no longer bully you, not when you had an incredibly rich boyfriend to back you up. “Must be nice being a rich boy, huh?” you snicker, teasing the blushing boy beside you. Thanks to his hair growing longer than usual, the tips of his ears are miraculously hidden away. When you brush his hair back, they are as red as a baboon’s ass.

“Oh, shut up. You know I hate flaunting my dad’s money,” he whines, pouting cutely. He fingers the watch on his wrist, staring at it uncomfortably. “This isn’t even my watch. I had to borrow one from my brother.”

“Well, you did it for me, so I suppose it’s not all bad,” you laugh, pinching his cheek lightly. “Plus, it was funny watching my aunts shut up for once. They’re just mad that you’re richer than the groom.”

“Really? What does he do?”

“He’s an entrepreneur.” You snort, emphasizing the word with air quotations. “Honestly, he just calls himself that while he waits for his self-made business to pop off or whatever. No such luck so far, if what I heard was right.”

“Lucky for you, you’re stuck with my devastatingly handsome face and stinkin’ rich bank account,” he jokes, contorting his face into a funny expression until you’re left snorting at his antics. Little does he know, you still would’ve l***d him even if he wasn’t any of those things, but that’d be too cringey to say. What are you, some sort of romantic lead protagonist?

It takes a little bit over an hour for dessert to start getting served, by which point the bride and groom decide to make their rounds to greet the guests. “Don’t you think this is the perfect time to put our plan into motion? The dance floor is open and we should be able to make it to the center without anyone noticing,” he whispers, his breath tickling your neck.

“Yeah, let’s go,” you say, but just as you’re about to get up from your seat, a flurry of white blocks your path in an instant. You startle slightly, falling back to your chair and hitting Seokjin in the chest with a soft grunt. “Shit, sorry about that Seokjin—”

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my dear cousin,” a voice cuts you off, the disdain in their voice dripping like acid down your ear canals. Your blood freezes instinctively, years of past trauma crashing down on you as your childhood bully stands just inches away from you, her blood-red lips stretched into a broad smirk.

“Kairi,” you greet.

“Y/N,” she responds.

“Seokjin!” Seokjin adds helpfully.

Your cousin turns to him slowly. “Quite right,” she hisses, eyebrows pinched together in thinly-veiled annoyance. “I’ve heard through some whispers that my baby cousin finally managed to snag a rich kid for a boyfriend and I just couldn’t help but let my curiosity drag me over here.” She looks you up and down, snorting at what she sees. “You would think that having a chaebol as a boyfriend would mean you could at least afford a proper dress.”

You glance down at your dress: a hand-me-down from your mother because you couldn’t be bothered to buy a new one, not when you’d rather choke on Satan’s hot fiery balls for all eternity than spend any amount of money just to attend your cousin’s wedding. Despite this, you can’t help your cheeks from heating in embarrassment, an automatic response after years of bullying and torment from that spoiled bitch.

When you don’t reply, Kairi’s smirk widens. “Oh? Cat got your tongue? Sugar daddy couldn’t even be bothered to buy you a dress? While you’re at it, maybe you should ask for a new car too. I’m surprised you even made it here alive in that old metal deathtrap of yours. You’re lucky you were just late to the reception instead of dead on the street.”

You can sense Seokjin staring at you from your right. Your fists are clenched tightly on your skirt, your nails nearly tearing the fabric in your searing rage. Slowly, carefully, Seokjin slips his hands underneath yours—he pries your death grip open until he can lace his fingers in between yours. At once, your anger melts at his tender gesture, your focus pulled away from your cousin and back to him. He thumbs the back of your hand, as if assuring you that he’d handle this himself.

He smiles at Kairi, not a single ounce of kindness in his eyes. “Yes, indeed. It is my mistake entirely for not ordering a dress much sooner. Y/N is so incredibly humble; she’d rather wear a vintage outfit than wear one of those paper-thin dresses from YesStyle that you and your bridesmaids seem to favor,” he sighs, pretending to be pained.

“Paper-thin? YESSTYLE?” Kairi screeches, her voice breaking the sound barrier. You watch in fascination as her skin turns an unflattering ruddy shade.

Unperturbed by her murderous aura, Seokjin prattles on. “Quite right,” he mocks her with her own words, smirking ever so slightly. “Though, I must apologize for being late to the reception. That was my fault as well. My father had a general meeting this morning for all the employees at the company, as he had wanted to announce that I would be the Vice President starting next Monday. We tried to leave sooner, but everyone had been too busy congratulating us,” he apologizes, though not apologetic in the slightest.

Your cousin could cosplay as a walking crack pipe with how much steam was puffing out of her ears. She’s livid, so much so that her fury was preventing her from formulating any sort of comeback. “You—how dare you—I swear on my—” she stutters incomprehensibly, her vulture-like nails tearing her dainty paper-thin skirt into shreds.

Just as she looks about ready to blow, her father comes around to your table. He places a hand delicately on his daughter’s shoulder, immediately understanding the situation when he sees you. “Kairi, I think it’s time for you to greet the rest of the guests. Uncle Iverson said he has a gift for you that simply cannot wait,” he says, doing his best to appease you. He gives you a genuinely regretful look; you shake your head, waving off his concern.

“It was nice seeing you, Kairi. I hope you and your husband will have a wonderful year together,” you say. You gasp exaggeratedly, holding a hand to your heart. “Oh, sorry. I meant to say I hope you have wonderful years together. Pardon my mistake.”

Before the scant amount of brain cells in your cousin’s brain could process your words, her father pulls her away, dragging her to the next table over. Once they’re out of earshot, you heave a sigh of relief. Beside you, Seokjin lets out a laugh that he had been undoubtedly holding in the past few minutes, sounding like a fish gasping for air with how much he is shaking with mirth.

“Fuck, that was hilarious. Did you see how angry she got? Beautiful,” he says, wiping away a stray tear. “Love that for us!”

“Damn. I knew you were good at bullshitting, but even your acting skills almost convinced me,” you whistle lowly, impressed. “You sure you’re not a con-artist in disguise?”

“All good businessmen are con-artists, my young padawan,” he snickers, winking at you. He shrugs. “You get used to dealing with assholes like her when you attend enough rich people parties. Besides, all good lies are rooted in the truth, after all. That’s what my father taught me when I was seven.”

“You must have been a terrible child, then.” You laugh, before realizing what he had just said. “Wait. Rooted in the truth? What does that mean?”

“Oh. Well,” he clears his throat, giggling nervously. He rubs his neck, embarrassed. “I am the vice president of dad’s company now. I just lied about the meeting being this morning. He announced it a day ago or something. Not that it’s a big deal or anything…”

You gawk at him, speechless. Not for the first time in your life, you are once again stunned by the absurdity of the man before you. How did men like him exist outside of cheesy k-dramas? He’s handsome, rich, funny, AND well-mannered? It’s almost like some love-crazed author had penned him into existence for their entertainment.

Seokjin breaks you from your reverie, tapping you thrice on your shoulder. “Shall we go? The dance floor is still empty. It’s now or never.”

You nod excitedly, standing up to head towards the center of the hall. This time, there is no one stopping you as the two of you make your way towards your destination. The lights near the dancefloor are still dimly lit, as most of the lighting is currently focused on the guests as the bride and groom make their rounds to greet everyone. Even if Seokjin got onto his knees right now, only a few people nearby would notice, so you’d have to do something to catch people’s attention.

“This is going to be moderately to highly embarrassing for a few moments, but I think that’s the atmosphere we’re going for, isn’t it?” Seokjin whispers, his mouth embarrassingly close to yours as he holds you gently by the waist. There isn’t a need for him to stand so close to you, but you have to admit his presence is mostly calming—minus the fact that he’s been your crush for five years and he’s going to be fulfilling one of your deepest fantasies in front of your entire extended family. No biggie.

“I suppose so. What are you gonna do to get their attention?” you ask, palms beginning to sweat. Despite this, Seokjin still takes your hands into his own, a small smile on his lips.

“Just watch,” he whispers, before slowly getting down on one knee.

Ba-dump. Here we fucking go.

“My dearest Y/N… The apple of my eye, the straw to my berry, the con to my dom,” Seokjin says, projecting his voice so that it can be heard even above the music. One of the violin players is even startled long enough to stop playing, further causing more heads to turn in their direction. You hear a gasp coming from your left, but you force yourself not to look. Instead, you stare right back into Seokjin’s sweet brown eyes, your heart beating a mile a minute.

This isn’t real… This is just a prank, bro. Get over yourself, you hiss internally, but your heart refuses to listen.

“You’ve been in my life for almost half a decade, and not a day goes by wherein I don’t wonder what it would be like to live the rest of my days with you. In many ways, I wouldn’t be the person I am if it hadn’t been for your presence in my life,” he says. If you look deeper into his eyes, you can almost trick yourself into thinking that they looked wetter than they had just a moment ago.

“Y/N, you are the person I’ve loved for years now. I used to think you didn’t like me as much as I liked you, so I was always scared to pop the question. I had many opportunities to ask, but I suppose tonight just felt like the right moment. I was afraid that if I didn’t do it now, I might never get the chance to ask again, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you slip away out of cowardice.”

For some reason, his words seem almost too real, like he was speaking the truth. You have never doubted his acting skills, but would you be willing to wonder if there was even a small possibility that there was some truth to his tale? You swallow thickly, the need to ask just dangling on the tip of your tongue.

He rifles through his jacket pocket, procuring a small velvet box. He thumbs it almost reverently, his hands shaking slightly, but you can blame that on the nerves from hundreds of people watching you. He takes a deep breath, opening the box with a soft click. “My dearest Y/N… Would you give me the honor of spending the rest of my days with you?”

You feel your breath get knocked out of you in an instant, the genuine adoration in his eyes too much for you to handle. You stammer slightly, too busy staring at him to properly register the loud claps, screams, and hollers all around you. “I… Seokjin… This is…”

“MAKE THEM STOP! SOMEONE KICK THEM OUT RIGHT NOW!” You dimly hear your cousin screaming obscenities somewhere, but you are still too caught up in the moment to care. The world only consists of you and Seokjin—nothing else matters right now.

When you look down at the box in his hands, fully expecting to see a comically large ring pop nestled in its cushions, but instead you find—

You gasp, nearly doubling over in surprise. “Oh my god, Seokjin. Is that a real fucking diamond ring?!”

He shrugs, smiling wryly. “Only the best rocks for the girl who rocks my socks off every night,” he jokes, but his nervousness is palpable. He’s sweating, a drop trailing down the side of his face despite the strong air conditioning.

Oh shit. It hits you right then that his proposal is real. The damned idiot is fucking proposing to you in front of your most hated family members, and he’s proposing to you for real.

“Kim Seokjin, please fucking explain yourself—”

But before he can have the chance to open his mouth, you feel rough hands grab you by the shoulders, pulling you away from him. “I’m sorry I have to do this, ma’am. Bride’s orders,” one of the waiters says, awkwardly escorting you to the exit. When you turn back, you see another waiter pulling Seokjin away as well, the box with the ring still clutched tightly in his hand.

The two waiters deposit you outside the hall, bowing stiffly before heading back into the room. You’re still breathing heavily, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Seokjin isn’t any better, bent over with his hands on his knees. From your vantage point, you can see how red his entire neck is, his blush reaching even past the collar of his shirt.

“Seokjin…” you trail off, unable to say another word. You’re completely flabbergasted, elated, annoyed, and mostly just mind-fucked because when on earth did Kim Seokjin ever have a crush on you?!

“I’m sorry. That must have been quite a shock,” he coughs out a laugh. He rubs his face, embarrassment rolling off of him in waves. “I just… It was sort of a last-minute decision I made. I’ve been into you for years now, and I know I’m kinda putting you on the spot by proposing like that, but I knew if I didn’t do anything soon, you might just slip away before I can say anything.”

“Wait. So are you really… proposing to me?” You squeak out the last bit, your face mirroring his reddened state.

“No!” He shouts suddenly, before covering his mouth with his palm. “S-sorry, what I mean to say is, it wasn’t really a marriage proposal. It was more like… just a general proposal? I do want to live with you forever, but I know that thought must be daunting and—oh god, I don’t even know if you like me like that, so this must be incredibly weird and out of line. Please excuse me while I shove a cactus up my ass—”

“Seokjin,” you interrupt, silencing his rambling. He clamps his mouth shut. “Are you… asking me out?”

He nods his head. “Yeah…”

“And what you said is true? You actually like me?”

“No, you don’t understand. I love you,” he says, before getting shy again. He looks down at the ring box. “Fuck. This isn’t a real engagement ring, by the way. It’s more like a promise ring, so you don’t have to feel bad for rejecting me.”

“Oh my god, I’m in love with an idiot,” you groan, pulling him into a hug. You nestle into his chest, giggling hysterically into his shirt. “I fucking hate you.”

“Wait, I’m getting mixed signals over here,” Seokjin says, gasping when he feels how tightly you embrace him. He doesn’t complain, however. He returns the gesture in kind, nuzzling deep into your neck. “So, does that mean the feeling is mutual?”

“Yes, you idiot. Now give me my ring.”

“My pleasure, princess.” He laughs, drawing away slightly so that he can slip the ring on your finger. The diamond shines brightly under the fluorescent lights, but nothing brings you more joy than having the boy you love in your arms.

As the two of you are sharing a sweet moment, it takes a second for you to realize that the commotion from inside the venue still hasn’t stopped. When you crane your heads, you spot one of the doors had been left ajar, allowing you to slip your heads through the crack just in time to see Seokjin’s beautiful bare ass being projected onto a large screen.

The musical notes of Rick Astley’s most popular song play loudly on the speakers, drowning out the sounds of the bride screaming bloody murder as the IT people tried their best to sort out the mess. The Seokjin on the screen slaps his ass in time with the tune, his glorious moon-shaped globes shaking mesmerizingly for all to see.

When you look to Seokjin for an explanation, he merely shrugs his shoulders. “They really should do background checks on the people they hire for these things. Taking that one video editing course in university really does pay off, huh?”

“Sure does,” you grin, linking your arms together. “Now let’s get some fucking McDonalds.”

And so, you lived happily ever after—the end.

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drabbles-of-writing · 3 years

Text

Reverse Au! Dump

Don’t mind my idea dumping here. Brain decided to have fun while I was at work and I have too many wips as it is, so… Thought I’d ask before I dumped, experience. Used morningmark’s comics as a base, so if you want reference. Now this isn’t all that well compiled, but here it goes.

Magic in the Other World is varied as it is crazy. So many styles over the generations and not a lot of organization. There are some that try to categorize it all, but that works as well as you’d expect. Some were lost, some erased, some weren’t passed down/recorded because “the power is all mine! Ahahaha!” It took a lot of time and collaboration, but eventually a sort of system was installed to help out. Still a lot of work to do, but its a step forward. Nowadays the term Wild Magic is generally reserved for those that aren’t all that well documented and understood.

Some Magics are very powerful and desirable, but also tend to be very high risk/high reward, kinda pass/fail, pretty literally Do or Die most times. So not a lot of people can use those or are even willing to. Story says this one guy named Odin hung himself on a massive tree by his own spear for nine days, no food water or rest in constant pain before he could unlock the secret of Runes. But it’s also said he gouged out his own eye to drink from the Well of Wisdom so…

There are lots of different ways to channel magic too: wands, staves, jewelry, certain gems, familiars, potions, enchanted armaments, chants, scripts, etc. Each tool has its own advantages and disadvantages and play into a Witches’ style. Every Witch has at least two methods of spellcasting. Only children have one. Haven’t thought of how Luz gets her Palisman though. Maybe its one of those magic Artifacts like Dr. Strange’s cloak, Elder Wand, Thor’s hammer, or a Green Lantern’s Ring. Something that can’t be recreated because the secret is lost, materials no longer exist, too hard/dangerous to make, accident that can’t be recreated, etc. Happens more often than people like.

Camilla is sometimes called the Blue Witch. She’s a healer by heart and trade, but push her and she will become a one Witch Battleship. Bismark who? Aaaaand she just deleted a whole battalion. And the fortress behind them. Hide me. There are the very rare occasions, like count on one hand rare, when someone near and dear to her heart is in trouble that she takes up her other job. She’s especially terrifying when she decides to torture, those who know how to heal the body know best how to break it. Many shades of Blue, some are very close to Black. She doesn’t necessarily hate Humans exactly, but doesn’t have the highest of regard from past experiences.

Luz has training and is a proficient Witch for her age. Camilla and her father were adamant about having a general knowledge/skillset alongside her specialized skill. Jack of all trades and a master of none, still better than a master of one. She has gone through the system for her magic with varying success. Oracle magic? Zero talent. Bard classes? She can play an instrument, but can’t sing at the same time. When she does sing she tires too hard and messes up. It’s only when she doesn’t try, like absently singing along with a song or playing by her heart, that she’s good at it. Beasts? Can use them, but would rather play with them. Bleeding heart and all that. She does have a good handle on healing magic partly due to Camilla drilling necessary skills into her and partly osmosis. Her father arranged for some CQC lessons from an old friend of his which the girl loved. You get the idea. It wasn’t until she discovered Glyphs that she found her niche and her skills took off. Glyphs are one of those ‘eccentric’ or 'archaic’ styles since they haven’t been used in so long after being lost and are barely understood. She still has a long way to go, but she is on her way.

Luz never really had much in the way of friends, partly cuz of high profile parents which leads to certain pressures and a target on her head, partly because of her magic style and personality, and partly because of the trouble been going on. Luz grew up her whole life with this tension of a group of anarchists trying to burn society that’s just trying to do the right thing. The anarchists started small, but have been a growing problem the past few decades with talk how to 'reshape the world’ in not a good way. Anyone with critical thinking skills can tell this is a bad idea, but they are too brainwashed to notice. They harass anyone who doesn’t follow their rhetoric and attack anyone who even questions them. Luz’s parents put a real kink in a lot of their plans for years, which makes Luz guilty by association.

Luz got caught in one of those sudden larger scuffles and was accidentally chucked/blown through a portal created by an attempted tactical retreat that went off course. Hence why she can’t go home because she hasn’t learned how to do portals yet. Those are high level anyway so how did these guys pull it off so easily? Luz has a hard time blending in obviously. Learning how to use a phone was a fun endeavor. Internet was a trip. Luz is amazed how these people can do all this cool stuff without magic. Keep a low profile sure, she can pass off as a weird out of town kid. Keep the beanie on, underperform in gym and stuff because some things don’t change, like genetics. Someone sharp eyed will see discrepancies. The Beanie has a small Glamor spell built in that covers her witchy traits but she forgot the ears which is why it sits like it does. Luz can erase memories in case she has an accident, but it’s less of a 'remove my face from this picture with a scalpel’, and more of a 'lemme just hack off the past hour or three from your brain with an axe.’ If she tries to take any more then she starts burning into some more dangerous territory and those Wiped are groggy and disoriented for a while after already. Then the magic attacks start happening and her heroic instinct/anti-bystander complex kicks in and there goes that. It runs in the family so Camilla isn’t surprised in the slightest when she finds out.

“Oh titan, why did you curse me with another me?” “I’m right here Mami!”

Eda has a shack very akin to Grunkle Stan. Lots of junk that Lilith can’t believe that people are dumb enough to buy. She’s also involved in some not so legal dealings on the side. Well, Eda isn’t actually hurting anybody and the tax dollars she should be paying would only go towards some politicians’ next yacht or another pointless overseas 'investment’ instead of where it’s supposed to go so. Eda does give some good intel on occasion and a place to vent so Lillith overlooks her. Lil’s more of the secret police for witches and a petty crook isn’t part of her job anyway. Eda understands Luz’s predicament and is willing to help. The cover story is that Camilla work in hospitals and has to work crazy hours while her dad passed away so is living with Eda for a while. King is that kind of critter that grew up weird and acts like ten different animals all the time.

Gus is the nerdy kid who infodumps on everybody, even if they’re not listening. Loves anything fantasy/sci-fi related and plays Minecraft too. A good kid at heart, but needs some social skills. Keep him away from anything more sugary than tea. Luz learned a lot listening to him. Not all of it is entirely useful, but still. Some of his ramblings give her some good ideas for magic and stuff, like putting Glyphs on cards.

The Blights are the cool rich kids obviously, and have some discipline and social issues. Big family name makes them intimidating for normies and a meal ticket for the unsavory. These kids need real friends. They decided to act out to get some attention from the parents who then decided to ignore them. “If you’re going to act like a child tantrum, get treated like one.” Ed is perfect for Drama classes, if he were allowed to partake. Can’t decide what Em is great at, hacking perhaps? Amity’s car is an inheritance from the only family to treat her as such Twins aside, even if she’s too young to remember it. She only remembers that she has feelings surrounding the car. All three of them were pretty impressed with Luz for standing up to them, calling them out on their shit, and not giving a crap about their family name. Being treated like a normal person is pretty weird. Can we get her to do that again?

Amity tried dating Boscha once, didn’t work out very well. Boscha is still hurting over Amity’s comment of “I’d rather go date the new weird kid (Luz) than go back to you.” It’s one of the reasons she goes after Luz. She has that kind of Bud personality from Spider Man, feels lesser and so acts out so much.

“Wow, this new Witch is amazing. Not as cool as the original Witch.”

“What is it with the Witch with you?”

“Oh, she’s a hero. Looks out for the city and the little guy. She inspires me. Makes me want to be a bigger person. *sees Luz* What’s up Luz-er?”

And that’s what I got right now. I know there was more, but it’s lost to the void right now. Might come back later, maybe not. Lemme know what you think.

............

DAMN you weren’t lying when you said you had an info-dump this is *chefs kiss* you got me intrigued now

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futurebicon · 3 years

Text

Carolina

Marine Biologist AU that no one asked for but I wrote because I miss my second home. Probably two parts.

Very brief mention of a family members death

"Hi welcome to-" Leo stopped his normal speech when he was met with the two most gorgeous men he had ever laid eyes on. "Welcome to the Fort Fisher aquarium. I'm your tour guide Leo and this is Regulus." He somehow managed to snap out of his shock even though the greeting was all muscle memory.

“Two guides. Must be special." The red haired one laughed a laugh that made doves fly. "I'm Finn." He shook their hands.

"That and both of us wanted a break from sticky children trying to swim with the sharks and gators." Reg smiled.

"Sharks? Like ocean sharks? And ocean alligators?" The shorter one asked in shock and a lot more than a sprinkle of fear.

'Fuck he's adorable' Leo swore internally. "Alligators are typically fresh water reptiles but if you are asking if they are real sharks and alligators, than no. They're they’re hyperealalistic mechanical sculptures." He kept a straight face.

"Cute and funny." Finn flashed him a smile after another angelic laugh.

Leo had to remind himself to not die right then and there.

“Don't worry, Logan" Finn told the other one. "I'll protect you from the scary teeth, baby."

Now Leo was sad.

“Oh yeah, right after you stop ogling over our hot tour guide."

Now Leo was slightly less sad and confused.

“Actually." Regulus pulled out his phone. "Our manager just texted and said he needs someone in the gift shop. Have fun." He left with a pat on Leos back.

Leo glared as he walked away, they didn't get texts from anyone for any assignment. Hence the walkie talkies on their belt loops.

“So, follow me and we can start the tour." +++

“This is our 235,000 gallon tank." Leo stood over top of the two story tall tank. In here we have our eagle rays, round stingrays, whiptail stingrays, hammerhead sharks, sandbar sharks, sand tiger sharks, hammerhead sharks. We also have two moray eels and an abundance of fish including shanks and groupers. And a personal favorite, Sheldon the green sea turtle.” Leo stood on the rusted grate with ease as if he didn’t care about the hammerhead only a few feet away from his toes.

“Um, this is great and all but can we not stand on the edge without a railing?” Logan stayed as far away as he could an the 2 feet wide walkway.

“You’re completely safe don’t worry.” Leo flashed a reassuring smile.

“Okay yeah but-”

“Stop being a baby, Lo.” Finn poked his side.

“I’m sorry I’m scared of falling into a 23 foot deep death cylinder filled with sharks.” Logan defended himself.

“Alright we can go officially start the tour.” Leo laughed. “But we do have to walk across the tank.”

“We what?” Logan asked.

“It’s okay. Just don’t look down.” He decided to risk a wink.

“Listen to the hot guide, babe.” Finn kissed Logan’s cheek. “I’ll hold your hand.”

“I love you, Harzy. But I do not trust you enough to not try and scare me.”

“I promi- no I don’t. Fine.” Finn whined when his plans were spoiled.

“Alright, let’s go.” Leo laughed.

They got across the walkway with only a few exaggerated wobbles to scare Logan. And a very grumpy Logan when Leo told him there was another way around the tank.

+++

“So here we have our bald eagle Maverick.” Leo walked up to the opened enclosure. “He’s five years old and has been here since he was two. He was found on the side of the road nearly starved after being hit by a car. If you look at his left wing you can see it juts out a little. That is due to the bones fusing together incorrectly and it makes him unable to ever fly again.” He recited the well known script.

“Poor baby” Finn stuck his bottom lip out.

Leo blinked away the urge to kiss the sad look off his face.

“If we walk up here you can see the aquariums prized possession.” Leo smiled. “Luna the albino Alligator.”

“Oh my god.” Finn hurried over to the glass.

“She looks like you, lover. Pale as fuck.” Logan teased.

“Luna is one of just 100 recorded albino alligators world wide.”

“World wide?” Logan asked in shock.

“Yeah. It’s an extremely rare genetic mutation and due to the inability to hide from predators they’re numbers are next to zero. Very soon they’ll be no more albino gators.”

“What happened to that alligators toes?” Logan pointed at the dark green alligator.

“That’s Gantur. He still hasn’t learn that Luna’s the leader.”

“She bit them off?” Logan’s eyes went wide.

“Don’t underestimate her. Ready to continue?”

+++

“This is my favorite exhibit.” Leo’s face lit up as they walked up to the touch pool.

“Touch anything as long as you use two fingers and don’t pick anything up.”

“Are those stingrays?” Finn pointed towards the end of the touch pool.

“Yeah. They’re still babies and their stingers have been trimmed. Their barbs are like thumbnails and can be clipped monthly without any harm.”

“What are those?”

Leo’s face lit up impossibly more.

“These are horseshoe crabs.” He held onto one of the dark greenish brown banjo shaped creature.

“They are also called living fossils due to the fact that they haven’t evolved at all since the dinosaurs, around 450 million years. It’s mostly due to the fact that they didn’t need anything added or taken away for survival. They were made perfectly. Now their tails.” He pointed to the long stick like end as it moved around with the help of what looked like scaley gills. “Most people look at it and think it will hurt. But it won’t hurt at all. They are extremely, extremely clumsy and use the long tail to flip themselves back over.”

“Sounds like you.” Finn kissed Logan.

“Rude.” Logan scoffed.

“Horseshoe crabs aren’t actually crabs at all. They’re actually more closely related to scorpions and spiders. Watch.” Leo smirked and flipped it over.

There were five pairs of claws moving around as the gills moved up and down like abs, causing the tail to move with it.

“Here-” Leo grabbed Logan’s hand, he tried hard to ignore the way his skin burned. “Touch it.”

“Oh no I’m okay to just look.”

“Come on, just touch it.” Leo begged. “Please just touch it.” He pouted.

“Oh my fuck you’re adorable.” Logan voiced Leo’s exact same thoughts from before.

“Here” he blushed and bit his lib to contain the smile. “Touch it.” He guided Logan’s hand down to the center of the legs, desperately trying to not think about how close they were. Logan’s t-shirt touching his blue polo shirt with his name stitched in the side. The way he could feel Logan’s breathing against his side, the way his leg was pressed between Logans le- stop it.

“Eww that feels weird” Logan’s laughed raised goosebumps on his arm.

“You’re touch his mouth.”

“Ew ew ew ew” Logan pulled his hand away quickly as Finn cackled.

“You asshole” Logan laughed as he pushed Leo lightly.

“Sorry, but it’s funny.” Leo laughed.

“You are now my second favorite person on earth.” Finn put a hand on Leo’s shoulder. “Oh my god I’m crying.” He wiped his eyes.

“Wouldn’t mind if he stayed our favorite.” Logan smiled.

Leo blushed and moved onto the regular view of the huge tank.

+++

“So how’d you get a job here?” Logan asked Leo as they walked around.

“I’ve lived on the island my whole life and started volunteering here when I was 13.” He explained. “I’m going to UNCW for marine biology. Are you two just here for vacation? Even though it’s April.”

“No. We’re actually moving down here. My grandparents owned the arcade on the boardwalk and left it to me once they passed.” Finn told him.

“Oh. I’m sorry about their passing.”

“It’s okay. Didn’t really know them at all.”

“Well I’ll hopefully see you around.”

“Maybe you don’t have to hope.”

Leo tilted his head in confusion.

“We were just wondering if you would want to show us around the island.” Logan told him. “We’ve only been here for a few days and this is the first place we’ve been to. Not even the beach.”

“Oh that’s nearly a sin.” Leo teased. “I’d love to show you guys around. I get off in an hour.”

“Perfect.” Finn said happily. “Do you want to drive over to our house and then switch cars or do you need to change?”

“That’ll work. There’s a locker room and since there’s next to no one here considering the time of year Evan will probably let me leave early.” Leo couldn’t hide his smile as they walked into the brightly lit gift shop.

Logan let out a loud gasp and ran over to the 6 foot long jellyfish stuffie. “I want it.”

“It’s tentacles are going to strangle you, love.” Finn shook his head.

“Kinky” Logan wiggled his eyebrows.

Finn scoffed as three other people in the quiet store laughed.

“Oh hi again Regulus.” Logan smiled at the black haired man who was sitting on the countertop beside the register tossing a brightly colored foam ball with turtles on it between his hands.

“Hey” He smiled back.

“What’d they need help with down here?” Finn looked around the empty room cluelessly.

“He didn’t help me?” The girl beside him raised an eyebrow. “Hi, Rue by the way.” She waved before going back to glaring at Regulus. “Did Evan tell you to help me?”

“No.” Reg smirked. “Just wanted to leave Leo alone with his crushes.”

“Reg” Leo pushed him.

“It’s mutual.” Finn said and Logan nodded.

“Okay. I’m gonna go ask Evan if I can get off early so I can show you a tour of the island and then get changed and I’ll be back down.” Leo changed the subject quickly.

“They’ll show you a tour of their bedroom and then get you off early.” Rue said quietly but not quiet enough. Leo shoved her hard as Logan, Finn, and Reg cackled.

+++

“So are we ready?” Leo walked back down in shorts and a UNCW t-shirt.

A cropped UNCW t-shirt.

“Uh- yeah. Yeah. Um, yeah.” Finn stuttered failing to make it look like he wasn’t staring at Leo’s tan abs.

Finn on the other hand had no shame. His eyes raked his entire body as his mouth went dry.

“Alright. I’ll follow you guys?”

“Huh? Oh yeah.” Logan nodded.

“Get it Knut.” Reg cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted as they left the gift shop and headed outside to the 100 degree weather.

@lumosinlove

#lumosinlove #sweater weather #sweater weather lumosinlove #oknutzy #Carolina

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proudfreakmetarusonniku · 3 years

Text

anyway I need to go to bed but I have too much energy so I am channeling it into headcanons. here u go species headcanons for Everyone on the Dream smp with explanations because I’ve put a TON of thought into this. They’re probably like half contradicted by canon but fuck it My City Now.

Dream- A (juvenile) stage of being a god. He, DreamXD, and Drista have become known as “dreamons” but that’s technically a separate species, all spawned from them. He's not really focused on being worshipped in his own right, preferring power in the mortal realm, though he’s not averse to pretending to be his brother (the god worshipped by Church Prime) or his sister (a minor goddess of death worshipped by many hidden cults) if it can help him get power. He’s got pure white skin everywhere except his face (which is pale but human-like), black blood, entirely green eyes, pointed ears, fangs, claws, and digitigrade legs ending in hoof-like claws.

George- A human, the only human on the whole server. Humans are pretty rare, vastly outnumbered by hybrids but outnumbering any other species, and “pure” humans (what we'd consider to be a completely normal appearing human) are all but nonexistent. For example, George has eyes with dark sclera and white irises.

Sapnap- A blaze hybrid. He’s got a few rods surrounding him and his eyes blaze with fire. It’s usually just warm but not hot enough to hurt but if he's agitated or upset it can easily burn hot enough to set things ablaze.

Callahan- A reindeer hybrid. He’s got antlers, reindeer ears, fur around his arms, and hooves.

Awesamdude- A creeper hybrid. He's tauric, with four insect like legs. His skin and is green and mottled and has a texture similar to leaves. His eyes are pitch black. He has a tendency to make hissing sounds when stressed, though he can’t explode like a full blooded creeper.

Alyssa- A mouse hybrid, with large mouse ears and a long tail. This definitely isn’t an in joke for the thousands of hours I spent browsing TVTropes as a child and the “what happened to the mouse” tROPE SHUT UP.

Ponk- A demon hybrid, with pointed ears, slit pupils, a small spaded tail, and small horns.

BadBoyHalo- A full blooded demon, with pointed ears, a tall stature, pitch black skin and hair, fangs, claws, hooves, a long spaded tail, long horns, and small bat like wings. He’s rather self conscious about how intimidating he looks. He's also a lich (with Skeppy as his phylactery) which is why he has pure white eyes (a trait the undead share).

TommyInnit- An absolute mess, genetic wise, since I’m taking Tommy's joke about being born in a lab and running with it. He's mostly angel, and was basically cloned from Phil's DNA (from a feather that fell off his wings that somehow someone got a hold of) but had a bunch of other hybrid and human DNA mixed in to make him somewhat stable enough to actually survive gestation. He has very small, dark wings that are useful for balance and little else, fangs, claws, and pointed ears. His bones are very light, making him fragile but a lot more dexterous. His blood is slightly off a human's, being slightly pinkish. His freckles, wings, blood, and eyes glow slightly and are patterned like the night sky. Technically undead as of his resurrection, and maintains the many injuries of his death permanently (bruises stay and don’t heal but don’t worsen, broken limbs can be moved at unnatural angles, ect.), pale, corpse like skin, and one of his eyes turned pure white.

Tubbo- A ram hybrid, with small curved ram horns, horizontal pupils, ram ears, a tail, and hooves. Nice and simple after the absolute mess that was Tommy.

Fundy- A limited shapeshifter, able to change his species, though he prefers to be in a fox-like form. He inherited this from Sally, who had similar abilities, though with more strength. He's always got certain features he inherited from each parent that he can’t change though- wings, pale skin, and ice-like freckles from Wilbur, and salmon scales coating his wings and cheeks, and ginger-and-white hair from Sally.

Punz- A dragon hybrid, with dark horns, dark sclera and slit pupils, wings just large enough for limited flight, a strong tail, fangs, claws, and blue scales coating his cheeks, wings, tail, arms, and legs. Has a natural inclination to sleep in a pile of his wealth he only holds off on when he feels it’s at risk of being stolen (which, since this is the Dream SMP, is almost constantly).

Purpled- An enderman hybrid, with small horns, pointed ears, purple blood, and ender particles surrounding him. Parts of his arms and legs are covered in leathery, pure black skin.

Wilbur- Half angel, half fucking refrigerator because cc!Wilbur hates us (affectionate). His skin is unnaturally, icy pale, and his blood is an icy blue. His freckles are the colour of ice reflecting. He's got wings from his father, large enough to glide, but they’re pale coloured and slightly transparent. He has fangs claws, and pointy ears. His blood, wings, and eyes glow slightly and are patterned like the night sky. As Ghostbur, he’s got the injuries of his death apparent at all times, though they don’t hinder him or cause him pain, corpse like skin, pure white eyes, and is permanently transparent.

JSchlatt- A ram hybrid. He’s got large ram horns, dark sclera and horizontal pupils, a ram tail, fur around his arms, and hooves.

Skeppy- A construct made to be Bad's phylactery. He's fully made of diamond, and appears as a moving human statue (though entirely made out of diamond), though he has limited shape shifting ability to change his “hair” and “clothes”, though he has to remain the same mass. He has some small red detailing on him out of redstone (which was used partially in his contruction). The egg flipped the red and teal in his colour scheme. Also he's smalllllllllllll.

Eret- Part ghost, due to being descended from Herobrine. She has pure white eyes, pointy ears, and under stress he becomes partially transparent. They tend to hide their nonhuman features (ears under hair or hats and eyes under sunglassses) and are often mistaken for human.

Jack Manifold- Started as a wolf hybrid, with large wolf ears and a tail. After dying, he came back from hell as a hellhound with red and blue “flames” coming from his eyes, ears, and replacing his missing tail he lost in one of his deaths with two made of this fire. The fire is chillingly cold to the touch, and not warm. His eyes are also monocolour, though in heterochromatic red and blue instead of the usual pure white found in undead.

Niki- A moth hybrid, with antennae, monocolour amber eyes, fluffy wings, and more fluff around her neck, wrists, and torso. These and her hair are patterned gold and black, though as of now she’s dyed them all pink. Idk I just feel like moths fit her for some reason.

Quackity- A duck hybrid, with golden wings and webbed hands and feet. He’s also a shapeshifter of sorts, however instead of shifting into different forms he shifts into different beings, from alternate realities that never came to be. These can be used to shift into near identical copies of those around him, to impersonate them, or to shift into alternate versions of people (like Mexican Dream to Dream). These aren’t Quackity, though, and as such they have their own pool of canon lives, and while he has lots of influence over them they can still act autonomously.

Karl Jacobs- An inter dimensional being made of time itself. While his current form is mostly human, he has technicolour rainbow blood, freckles, and patches on his skin, along with clock-shaped pupils that change with the time. His “natural” form is a vaguely humanoid mess of ever shifting colour.

HBomb- I didn’t know what to do with him at first- he was a cow hybrid in my pfp set- but I just think the idea of him being a chill cat hybrid who turns full nyaa whenever he’s in a maid dress to be funny so he’s a cat hybrid now. With dyed-white cat ears and a dyed-white cat tail.

Technoblade- A piglin hybrid primarily, but he’s definitely got some weird traces of other species. He’s got tusks, pink hair, pink pig ears, a pig tail, and hooves, but he’s also got paws from some other animal hybridisation in his blood, and has a tallness that suggests demon blood somewhere down the line. His red eyes aren’t natural, and only occurred after he was sacrificed to be the vessel of the Blood God.

Antfrost- A cat hybrid, with blond and brown fur, a cat tail, paws both on his hands and feet, and cat ears. He’s also got split pupils and blue sclerae (though a different shade to his irises).

Philza- An angel- the creation of a god or goddess to help serve them (Dreamon's would be an example of the angels the Dream's can create, though they’re primarily running wild nowadays.) The creation and servant of one of the gods of death, Kristen, to serve her in the mortal realm. He’s got very large feathered dark wings, pupilless unnaturally bright eyes, pointy ears, fangs, claws, and dark blood the colour of the night sky. His wings, eyes, freckles and blood glow brightly and are patterned like the night sky. Injuries reveal that he's fully inhuman under his skin, appearing to be a void of colour that also glows and is patterned like the night sky. His crows, who are messengers from the afterlife, have this same pattern on their feathers.

Conner- I don’t know much about him tbh but. He’s just a hedgehog hybrid. I mean he’s joked enough about canonically being the kid of Sonic and Elise. He’s got blue hedgehog ears and a tail, and blue spines mixed in with his dark hair.

Captain Puffy- A sheep hybrid, with small curled sheep horns, sheep ears, a fluffy sheep tail, hooves, and hair curly and soft like wool. The split in her hair between brown and white is natural, though she keeps a small section dyed rainbow.

Vikkstar- Another angel, though of a god long gone. His entire body, even his “clothes” (which are made of flesh) glow intensely bright and have the pattern of the night sky.

LazarBeam- A gingerbread hybrid, which I’d say is dumb but we’ve already had a refrigerator hybrid so. I don’t know what else to say here.

Ranboo- Half enderman, half god of some sort. Has small horns, pointy ears, an inhumanly wide mouth with fangs, claws, digitigrade feet ending in hoof-like claws, pure black and white skin, pure black and white hair and freckles on the opposite side of the skin, red and green heterochromatic eyes barely distinguishable from their sclera, and red and green blood. Hmm, I wonder what other character shares similar descriptions... :)

FoolishG- A more matured god than Dream. Appears to be made entirely out of gold, with his hair and freckles appearing like copper. His pure green eyes have a similar texture to emeralds. Also he’s like. Massive. He’s like eleven Skeppy's.

Hannah- A nymph of the forests. Has prehensile vines and flowers flowing in her hair all the way to the ground, and half of her face and one of her arms are entirely made of these prehensile vines and flowers. Makes flowers grow in her step, after being corrupted by the egg they wither around her instead.

Charlie- Slime hybrid. Honestly just kind of got the most impractical parts of being a hybrid, having random sections of skin changed into green slime which drips everywhere and kind of gets in the way. It doesn’t seem to bother him though.

#my headcanons #making that a tab cause this was fun to write #dream smp #dsmp #dream smp headcanons #dsmp headcanons #dsmp species #dream smp species #the whole dsmp cast #literally all of them #excluding npcs #but including Mexican dream and Drista technically!#under a read more because LONG #i wasn’t joking when I said I did everyone

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sepublic · 3 years

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Magical Tears and Green Bile?

Looking back at Episode 3, I noticed that the specific shade of green that Willow’s eyes turn when she does circle-less magic, seems to be different from the type of green that her spell circles are;

This COULD be an animation error, and/or I’m overthinking this. But it’s interesting when you consider the theory that strong emotions can lead to circle-less magic, due to the bile sac’s connection to the heart. Keep in mind that we only ever see Willow pull off this circle-less magic, where her eyes glow that specific green, whenever she’s highly emotional, stressed-out, and/or aggressive.

What’s interesting is that the specific shade for Willow’s glowing eyes also seems to match the essence that Belos drains from that poor Palisman, too;

And we know Palismans have their own source of magic. We know that witches create palismans, so someone like Eda would definitely know where their magic comes from- And so she would’ve known about alternate means of magic, back when Luz asked her about it in the beginning of The Intruder. All of this points towards Palismans having their own source of magical bile… And if so, then this particular Palisman’s bile has that distinct shade of green.

Combined with the idea that Willow’s more emotional magic manifests as a similar green- And it’s possible that we have a canon, on-screen, universal depiction of Magic Bile! Specifically as a green substance… And whenever Willow is highly aggressive, her heart beats faster, tapping into her natural bile reserves; And from this more pure, unrefined source, her eyes manifest the traditional Bile green, instead of the specific color unique to her circles.

Because we know that circle colors seem to vary among individuals, and probably don’t allude to magical skill- The Lead Demon Hunter’s circles are green, but he doesn’t handle Willow’s plants all too well and seems to be more of a Beast Keeper than anything else. Boscha’s spell circles are also pink, yet she’s in the Potions Track… And if spell circles DID allude to an innate affinity towards a particular type of magic, I feel like the Coven System would’ve seized upon this fact to permanently decide someone’s magical track as soon as they can manifest circles.

We see toddlers who don’t align with any magical tracks, presumably because they’re too young and developing to display any particular affinity; And we see Amity and Willow as about that age, being able to cast spell circles. We know toddlers can cast spell circles, yet they aren’t immediately placed into a magic track- Which furthers the idea that circle colors don’t indicate anything about one’s skill. It’s probably just a biological trait, like different eye or hair colors.

So the idea is that all magic comes from the traditionally-green bile… But in the process of converting it into a spell circle, that magic manifests as a color specific to the individual, and as a reflection of their specific genetics. However, if an individual draws upon emotions to cast circle-less magic, directly tapping into their unaltered bile reserves- Then the glow of that bile is shown in their eyes, having not been processed the traditional way through a witch’s limbs, avoiding that typical pathway. Possibly it’s in the eyes because the brain influences emotions, after all- And eyes are linked to the brain, after all. Regardless, the bile-magic is released in a different manner than spell-circles, apparently just from the body as a whole rather than the hand/foot.

This may be a result of more emotional hearts pumping blood, and thus bile more intensely- And this could lead to magical bile circulating through the whole body instead of the limbs, if the heart’s pumping becomes intense enough. Spread equally and in larger quantities due to emotions, an individual can cast spells without making a circle, just by emanating it from their body- And their eyes glow that distinct bile green, displaying how raw it is. Actually, I have to wonder if a witch’s eyes act as a vital pathway to their bile sac, hence why Willow’s eyes grow the color of bile when her heart beats faster.

Perhaps this’d explain why Belos specifically pours that Palisman’s bile into his eyes- It’s so the bile can reach the sac attached to his heart, and thus be spread out evenly through his body. AKA, Belos didn’t have any problems with his eyes, at least not specifically/exclusively. They say the Eyes are a window to the Soul, the Soul is related to emotions, emotions are connected to both the brain and heart, the former of which is directly connected to one’s eyes. This is just putting into my head, the raw image of a witch who’s so raw and emotional, their magic manifesting so powerfully, that they literally cry magic bile.

And that’s reminding me of what Eda said about human fantasies and myths being inspired by the Boiling Isles. And how a common fantasy trope is magical tears bringing stuff to life… Are witches actually capable of magical-bile tears, under particularly intense emotions? Is this trait the source of the ‘Magical Tears’ trope, which Luz herself brings up in Sense and Insensitivity? That’d be wild… And now I’m imagining members of the Healing Coven, who specifically cast spells that intensify their emotions, so they can literally cry magical tears when it comes to particularly serious injuries. I imagine this’d be incredibly draining, of course, as it directly extracts the bile itself in a tangible, liquid form- Maybe it could even have adverse effects on the bile sac!

At the very least, this’d make for some interesting angst… Though I imagine one would have to willingly tap into their magical reserves when crying, or else you’ve got a magical mess every time they feel emotional. Willow’s usage of circle-less magic when we first meet her seems unintentional, but we can’t say for sure- And if it was, then maybe it’s just another symptom of how potent her own natural power is. For all we know, frequently experiencing these raw emotions through her life, and the effect it had on her heart and bile sac, is what contributed to Willow’s own raw power? Now I’m just imagining an episode where Willow’s magic weakens, and she realizes it’s because she’s no longer in as much emotional turmoil, and the kind of confused feelings that could come from that…

And it’s REALLY making me look at the Blight kids under a new lens. If Amity’s magical prowess, early in life, came from her parents’ abuse. If Odalia and Alador legit fedinto this abuse because of this idea, especially if they felt like they needed to step in and actively improve their ‘weaker’ child, since Amity apparently isn’t as talented as Emira and Edric. And for all we know, Ed and Em’s talent is a manifestation of their own trauma from their parents- A trauma they hide better than their little sister as Illusionists, but a real and genuine pain.

For all we know Ed and Em frequently experience panic attacks or something of that nature… And who’s to say Amity certainly doesn’t either? Then this just leads me to imagining Willow accidentally causing damage at home during an outburst, but her fathers reassure her it’s okay… Whilst Odalia and Alador just get angrier at their kids for the chaos, which just makes things worse. I wouldn’t put it past them to specifically traumatize their kids to bring out their ‘potential’, and how this could connect into the Blight ideas of needing to be ‘strong’, in both the magical and emotionally stoic sense. Strong and stoic enough to handle this constant turmoil for the sake of weaponizing it… Ugh. It’d REALLY mess someone up, and everything we’ve seen so far indicates that Amity, Emira, and Edric are pretty messed-up as is. The Twins are probably better at hiding it, but that doesn’t change what’s there- It’s equivalent to sweeping something underneath a rug.

Of course, maybe I’m just wrong and magic bile can come in different colors, and Willow and that poor Palisman just so happen to align. But it makes you think, doesn’t it- Especially the idea that even if bile isn’t that particular green, it can still manifest and well up in one’s eyes if they’re emotional enough.

#the owl house #owl house #the owl house willow #willow park #the owl house belos #emperor belos #palismans #magic bile #speculation #theory #angst

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carnegiemuseumnaturalhistory · 3 years

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Who is the bigger fool – the fool or the fool that falls for it?

by Stevie Kennedy-Gold

The start of April only means one thing – pranks galore thanks to April Fools Day! Ok, ok, I realize that’s not necessarily true as April also marks that spring has sprung, many small critters are emerging from their hibernations, and we celebrate, among other things, Earth Day and Arbor Day. But we can all agree that April usually starts with a load of laughs, some fibs, and some fools. In the animal kingdom, however, fooling isn’t regulated to one day. In fact, many amphibians and reptiles rely on their ability to fool both predators and prey to survive.

Masters of Disguise

Fig. 1: Because of the large blotches on their backs, people often confuse the nonvenomous gopher snakes with venomous rattlesnakes. Gopher snakes play into this confusion, however, by imitating rattlesnake behaviors.

One of the oldest tricks in the book when it comes to fooling another is to transform to look like someone, or something, else. Although herpetofauna lack access to theatrical wardrobes teeming with makeup and outfits, they evolved behaviors and physical attributes that allow them to imitate other things. The gopher snake (Pituophis catenifer, Fig. 1), for instance, is a totally harmless colubrid species found across the western and middle United States and into Canada. They are beautiful animals, having splotches of gold, reddish-brown, and black along their bodies, and, due to these colorations, are often mistaken for rattlesnakes. What’s more, when spooked, gopher snakes tend to flatten their heads, coil into a strike position, and quickly sway their tails to and fro, a rattlesnake imitation that includes a realistic sound component when it occurs in dry grass. Most snakes are solitary animals and prefer to avoid conflict and avoid expending energy in get-away attempts, so scaring away potential predators through imitation is preferred over fighting and biting. Often times, this imitation works, and potential predators leave the gopher snake alone.

Fig. 2: Smooth horned frog (Proceratophrys boiei) specimens in the collection. Although the points above their eyes have been distorted due to preservation, it is clear to see how these frogs used their coloration, patterning, and morphological features to blend into leaf litter on the forest floor.

Predictably, snakes are not the only masters of disguise. Many frog species have unique morphological features that allow them to resemble other items in nature. The dark brown coloration and the points above the eyes of the smooth horned frog (Proceratophrys boiei) give it the appearance of a leaf (Fig. 2), allowing it to blend seamlessly into the forest floor and enabling it to both evade predators and ambush prey. Similarly, the entirely aquatic Suriname toad (Pipa pipa) looks like a dead leaf in the water due to its brown coloration and flattened body. Unless you’re an omnivore that prefers dead, low-nutrition leaves, the imitation tactics of these frogs improves their chances of survival and fools any prey items not clever enough to see past their disguises.

Deceptive Practices

Not all imitations are meant to help an animal blend in. Sometimes, imitations serve “nefarious” intents. Although not apparent to an outside observer, alligator snapping turtles (Macrochelys temminckii) have a sneaky tactic to lure prey directly into their mouth. The tongues of these turtles evolved a vestigial piece of flesh, called a lingual lure, to protrude from the tip. Alligator snapping turtles will sit on the bottom of lakes and rivers and open their powerful jaws to reveal this pink bit of flesh. They then move the lingual lure around to make it look like a tasty worm, fooling unsuspecting fish right into their giant maws. Spider-tailed horned vipers (Pseudocerastes urarachnoides), a species endemic to Iran, employ a similar tactic, albeit far more noticeably to the casual observer. Admittedly, the common name of this animal gives away the punch line, but, nonetheless, this species of viper evolved to have a unique tail. Much like how a rattlesnakes’ rattle is made of modified scales, the spider-tailed horned viper’s tail scales evolved so that the last few scales bulge out into a small bubble and the scales leading up to that bulge are heavily keeled, or ridged. While keeled scales are common in most species in the Viperidae family, the keeling on these tail scales is extremely exaggerated, making the scales look like long spikes, or even legs. When you combine the long, keeled scales with the large, posterior bulge, the tail of a spider-tailed horned viper actually looks like a spider! With the snakes speckled coloration allowing it to blend into surrounding rocks and a solid tail wiggle performance, the snake’s tail looks like a tasty spider lunch to unsuspecting birds… which then become lunch for the snake. Imitation is the best form of flattery… or maybe a reliable way to fill your belly!

Now You See Me, Now You Don’t

Whereas some reptiles and amphibians are the masters of disguise, allowing them to hide from predators or to lure unsuspecting prey, other herps use subtler bodily alterations to fool potential prey, predators, and even conspecifics (animals of the same species). Take, for example, color changes. Chameleons often come to mind at any mention of lizard color changes, but it is actually a misconception that chameleons perfectly blend into their surroundings, mimicking every leaf and twig in the background. In truth, chameleons and many other lizard species change colors to improve thermoregulation and to communicate with conspecifics – males signaling to females that they’re ready to mate, or relying on darker colors to demonstrate aggression. There are, however, some species of frogs that do lighten or darken their hue to blend into their surroundings. The gray treefrog (Hyla versicolor) is present across most of the eastern and middle United States and, as its name implies, is an arboreal species. Because it spends its time among green leaves and gray-brown tree trunks and branches, the gray treefrog has evolved the ability to change its body coloration so it can blend in perfectly with the substrate upon which it perches. If it is on a bright green leaf, the frog will shift to a green hue. Upon landing on a mossy rock or a lichen-crusted tree trunk, the frog will change to a more gray, blotched hue instead. One second, you can see the animal perfectly and, in the next, it has completely melted away into its surroundings.

Leaving Something Behind

Other herpetofauna use more exuberant tactics to evade capture. Unlike the camouflage-wielding gray treefrog, many lizard and salamander species will self-autotomize their tails to avoid being eaten. In these instances, the herp has already been seen (or, worse, caught by a herpetologist!) and needs a quick getaway. Running away without a distraction means that the predator will likely give chase and possibly capture the lizard or salamander. However, by self-autotomizing – or breaking off – their tails, these animals increase their chances of escaping. This drastic tactic is effective because the tail continues to wriggle around and move once detached from the animals’ body, making it a tasty and easy to grab meal! Many predators become distracted by the tail, leaving the lizard or salamander free to make its escape. Interestingly, this behavior is not strictly regulated to predator attacks. I witnessed a prolonged aggressive battle between two male western fence lizards (Sceloporus occidentalis), where one male lost his tail and, instead of leaving it to writhe on the ground and eventually decompose, the lizard (attempted) to make a hasty, grapple-filled retreat from the other male, all while holding his detached tail in his mouth! Although this seems morbid, it’s actually quite clever – tails require a lot of energy and resources to make, but then the appendage stores energy in the form of meat and fat. This male fence lizard was likely keeping hold of his old tail so that he could later consume it and regain those resources. And, don’t worry, most salamander and lizard species can regrow their autotomized tails (Fig. 3), an ability that many herpetologists take advantage of when we need tissue for genetic studies.

Fig. 3: Example of tail loss and regrowth in a female Anolis carolinensis (green anole). The red arrows points at the old break point, and you can see how the tail color differs in the new growth.

The list of herpetofaunal imitators and imposters, pranksters and fibbers goes on and on. Although these disguises and imitations aren’t meant to make other animals giggle and laugh as our April Fool’s Day pranks often do, these tactics allow these reptiles and animals to live another day, evade unwanted attention, or snag a tasty meal. But, at the end of the day, it really does beg the question… who is the bigger fool – the fool or the fool that falls for it?

Stevie Kennedy-Gold is the collection manager for the Section of Amphibians and Reptiles at Carnegie Museum of Natural History. Museum employees are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

#Carnegie Museum of Natural History #April Fools #Amphibians #Reptiles #Green anole #Salamander #Lizard #Frog #Snake

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btsrunmylife · 3 years

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“The Library Keepers: Jamais Vu” - Chapter 1: Planet X

Word Count: 3,712

Genre: Sci-Fi / Fantasy / Action / Adventure / Humor

Rating: Explicit…eventually

Summary: After two years of being stationed on Space Station Baldur, you’re not really expecting anything exciting to happen anymore. With little by the way of scientific discoveries, you and your team are getting a bit restless. Sent out on “special assignment” with Mission Specialist Kim Namjoon, you really aren’t expecting to find (or even see) much of anything.

What you do find is something beyond what either of you could’ve imagined.

Back | Next

The silence is deafening, ringing loudly in your ears, as you try to see a few feet in front of you. The ship’s lights have gone dark, leaving you with nothing but the stars shining through one of the portholes to light your way.

You blink, taking stock of yourself. You wiggle your fingers, still clenched tightly around your safety belt. You shrug your shoulders, roll your neck, do a mental check of your chest, your nervous and fluttering stomach, your waist. You shift in your seat, experimentally stretching your legs and flexing your toes.

The next thing you do is reach for the helmet hanging to the right of your seat, blindly groping the wall until you find the latches holding it there. You tug it down from the wall and secure it over your head, attaching it to your suit. You reach for an oxygen tank next, practiced hands attaching the hose to your helmet.

Once situated with your oxygen tank turned on, you switch on the little flashlight attached to your helmet, glancing down at yourself.

You’re still strapped in your seat. Nothing seems to be broken. There are no holes in your suit, nothing holding you down except for the safety belts.

But something’s different.

You glance around you, the aircraft’s aisles free of clutter thanks to how well you strap things down in zero gravity.

Gravity.

Experimentally, you reach for another one of the helmets, unhooking the latches and allowing them to fall away.

They fall.

They don’t float.

The helmet clatters to the ground with a loud bang.

“Specialist?”

You startle at the voice in your headset. You take a deep breath to calm your racing heart. “Namjoon?”

You hear him sigh. “Good, you’re okay.” A pause. “You are okay, right?”

“I think so?” you question, patting yourself down. Your stomach is a little iffy and you’re pretty sure you peed a little, but you’re...yeah, you’re okay. “Are you?”

“I’m okay,” he confirms, a rustling sound coming from somewhere up front. “I think...we should...I mean--”

“Namjoon, what happened?”

There’s a prolonged silence, one that leads you to think things are really not as okay as he says they are.

“Joon?”

“We -- we crashed,” he mutters, sounding a little astonished.

“Into what?” You’re dumbfounded. The only thing for miles is stars. Stars and space rock, just like you told your commander. How in the hell did you crash?

When Mission Specialist Kim Namjoon doesn’t answer, you grind your teeth together. “Joon?”

“Come see for yourself.”

You have a feeling, a sinking feeling that starts in your chest and drops all the way down into your stomach. Your stomach rolls and you have to fight down the bile in your throat. You don’t like the sound of his voice, don’t like the fact he won’t tell you what’s going on. You don’t like not knowing if your life is in danger or not.

Part of you doesn’t want to know what you’ll find when you get to the front of the ship. The other, the scientist in you that is always curious, is dying to know.

You quickly undo the straps holding you down and get to your feet, a little unsteady after so long of being in zero gravity. The floor of the ship feels weird beneath the soles of your military-grade boots, heavy in a way you’ve been mostly unfamiliar with for the past two years.

You give yourself a moment to adjust. Your entire body feels heavy and when you move to put the oxygen tank on your back, that feels heavy too.

You grip the straps of your tank tightly, nervously, as you slowly make your way to the front. The ship really isn’t that long, only having enough space to hold up to four people at a time with enough storage space for a short trip away from the station. But it still takes you a minute or two to get from one end to the other, passing by the little sleep pods on either side of you, meant more for convenience than comfort.

When you reach your colleague, you notice that he, too, has donned his helmet and oxygen tank and is staring out the front window. He doesn’t turn to you as you approach, although you’re sure he can hear you coming, and when you step up behind him you see why.

In front of you, glowing under the light of a moon is a hill covered in what appears to be grass and flowers. Instead of green, the grass gives off a bluish, purple hue and looks almost cottony. It bounces and shifts, as if swaying in a breeze. The flowers’ stems stretch and weave high into the sky, as high as some of the tallest sunflowers back home. Their petals are a deep purple and appear larger than your hands, each flower having at least seven petals that stretch into a trumpet shape, with red stigmas sticking out of the center.

An excitement you haven’t felt in the two years on the space station tickles at your chest, fingers itching to reach out and touch. To see if they’re really as soft as they appear. To see if they contain similar genetics to the plant life back home.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, enamored.

“Yeah,” Namjoon sighs.

“We should—“ You start turning toward the door, but Namjoon grabs your arm. As you shift on your feet, you notice the unsteadiness of the ground beneath you. It sways.

The two of you pause, looking at each other in mild panic before you’re carefully approaching the front of the ship. You lean a little closer to the control panel, aiming the flashlight on your suit directly in front of your spacecraft. There, just underneath you, is a pool of deep green. Little flecks of iridescent particles float across its surface, sharp rocks sticking out of the water in front of you, just offshore.

Your eyes widen.

“We should call this in,” Namjoon finishes your previous thought.

You feel your cheeks flush, suddenly thankful for the tinted visor of your helmet, because you hadn’t even thought of that. “Right, yeah.”

Namjoon laughs softly and sits back down in his chair, a little clumsy due to the gravity and the unsteadiness of the craft, and presses a few buttons on the dashboard. He frowns when nothing clicks on, hits another button, and tries again.

The spacecraft remains eerily silent and you glance toward the oxygen reader on the wall, still displaying a steady 93%, but no longer ticking.

There’s another sinking feeling in your stomach. “Joon?”

He’s silent for a moment, gloved hands flexing over the controls. “Our communication systems must have been impacted by the crash. We’ll need to check the rest of the ship for damage too.”

You nod stiffly. You’ve trained for this, gone through extensive procedures so both of you know exactly what to do in situations like this, but you still feel like you’re on the verge of a panic attack.

Yes, you’d wanted to discover something -- and you’re still dying to step out of this spacecraft and get a sample from those flowers -- but what’s a discovery without anyone to report it to? What if you can’t get the comms up and running and you never make it back to Baldur?

Namjoon must sense your mounting panic somehow, because he gets to his feet and squeezes your shoulder, the pressure light through your suit. “It’ll be okay. We have extra oxygen tanks if we need them. We have enough food to last us a few days if we portion it out. If they don’t hear back from us by then, they’ll send someone.”

Right, yeah, totally. His logic makes sense.

You offer a tight-lipped smile you know he can’t see and pat his hand. “Right. You get to work on the comms. I’ll go check the engines.”

“Okay,” he takes a step back from you, watching as you turn toward the back of the ship. “And Specialist?”

You turn your head. “Mm?”

“Be careful.”

Your lips quirk into a smile. “Aren’t I always?”

Houston, think we got some problems, find somebody who can solve ‘em 🎵

You groan to yourself as the song pops into your head unbidden, tossing away the pliers you’d been trying to fix the ship with. Although the engines are fine, the rest of the ship seems to have suffered from the crash and you’ve been trying to get things up and running again for the past few hours. But no amount of tweaking of wires or reconnecting power boards would work, and you have the sinking suspicion that whatever body of liquid you’d landed in was responsible.

You feel yourself starting to sweat so close to the heat of the engines and adjust the temperature with a dial inside your suit. The suits really weren’t designed for comfort -- not really -- but the ones you wear now are lightyears more comfortable than the ones you used to wear, material much more pliable and accepting of movement. You remember the ones you wore during training, so stiff and heavily insulated you could barely breathe. You’d sweat a lot during those days, practically baking under the hot lights of the training station.

These are much better, making repairing the ship more manageable, but no easier.

You huff and push to your feet, dusting yourself off. You’re still not sure what to make of this whole gravity thing, your legs feeling weak after not carrying your weight for so long. You’re also finding yourself having to readjust, so used to handling tools and manipulating wires mid-float. The mere weightiness of everything is a shock to your system.

You press the button for your comms. “Joons?”

A crackle of noise, then, “Go ahead, Specialist.”

You steel yourself. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

Silence, a sigh, and then, “I have some bad news too.”

Your heart sinks. “The comms?”

“Yeah, they’re completely dead. No power source at all. What’d you find?”

“Well,” you breathe out slowly. “The engines are fine--”

“That’s great!”

“--but the mainframe was damaged in the crash. It might be repairable, but--”

“But it’s beyond your expertise,” he finishes for you, voice conveying his disappointment.

“Unfortunately.”

The two of you settle into a silence that’s weighed down by the severity of your situation. Your mind races for a solution. You wish you had paid more attention in your tech classes, wish you had read more manuals and studied the schematics of these things a bit more. You wish you were more prepared than this.

“Joonie?” you ask, your voice so quiet you’re not sure he hears you.

“Yeah?”

“What are we going to do?”

You’re not sure he has the answers. You’re not sure there is a good answer. Stuck on an unfamiliar planet with no way to contact the space station, your options are rather limited.

“I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “I guess we wait it out, hope that someone comes looking for us.”

His solution doesn’t comfort you. In fact, it does the opposite. You’re not so sure just waiting around is a good idea. You could be waiting for a while before anyone decides to send out a search party, let alone find a planet you didn’t know existed.

“Okay,” you agree, but only because there’s not much else you can do. Namjoon might not know entirely how to fix the situation, but he’s still the Mission Specialist and, therefore, the leader of your excursion.

Pushing away the doubts eating away at you, you try to remain optimistic as you head back into the Navigation Bay. As you pass by the sleeping pods, you glance at the frozen oxygen reader on the wall, still reading a firm 93%. You’re not so sure anymore whether you can trust it, knowing how finicky the tech gets without a steady stream of power.

You pause before you can make it to Navigation, bending at your knees and crouching over. You pull your arms from inside your sleeves and bury your face in your hands inside your suit, pressing firm fingertips to your eyes as they begin to sting.

You can’t cry. You won’t.

Your suit isn’t meant for crying and you need to conserve oxygen.

Even telling yourself this, you feel the tears slide down your cheeks. You sniff and swipe at them, feeling your heart ache in a way you don’t let it very often.

For the first time in two years, you find yourself wanting to go home. You want to be curled up in a nice, comfortable bed, surrounded by the softest sheets and fluffiest pillows. You want to be sipping from a soothing cup of tea or a nice glass of wine. You don’t want to be stuck alone in space, with no idea of when or how or even if you’re going to get home.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and startle, swiping furiously at your eyes and moving to get up. Namjoon tsks into your comms and eases you back down, wrapping his long arms around you. The hug is awkward and not at all as comforting as he probably intends, helmets bumping and suits crinkling, but it’s nice. It’s nice because you know you’re not entirely alone. It’s nice because you know you have Namjoon.

For the time being, it’s enough.

A faint breeze sways the trees, disrupting the long, blue, tail-like branches and making their fan-shape crowns shutter. You listen in awe to the sound they make, like little fountains of water clattering to the ground. A faint whistle floats through the air as the thin wisps of leaves lift from the ground and reach with the wind, stretching and swaying through the air. Your body yearns to feel it softly kiss your skin like the sweet ether of earth.

You want to taste the air on your tongue, the way you would back home. Would it contain salty undertones like the air near the ocean? Or would it taste sour, sweet, or even foul? You’re curious, but not yet willing to take the risk of removing your helmet. You’re not sure whether the air here is breathable or, better yet, whether any of the flora and fauna you’re observing is poisonous. Although seemingly earth-like in composition, you have yet to actually test the biology of anything, most of your equipment still waiting for you on Space Station Baldur.

In the three days you’ve been on Planet X, as Namjoon has begun referring to it, you have yet to see or hear any signs of a rescue crew. The skies, a brilliant shade of green and deep blue, are quiet, barren apart from the smattering of stars and the oblong moon, tinted blue through the planet’s atmosphere.

With Planet X’s crust and stratosphere so much closer to the galaxy overhead, the stars appear brighter and bigger, with the climate being significantly cooler than the earth’s surface. Interestingly, you’ve noticed that the plant life compensates for this and, as you run your gloved hands over the branches and leaves of the trees, you feel a significant heat radiate from them. You know of plants back home that generate heat like this, like the Eastern skunk cabbage and Voodoo Lilly, but the few that do only do so to promote flower pollination. Without ample time to observe the vegetation on this planet and their life cycles, you’re only left to wonder whether their heating mechanisms are for pollination or for surviving in such cool temperatures.

“Specialist?”

You touch your hand to your comms, thankful that at least some of your tech is still working, even if it sometimes fritzes out and all you hear is static. “Yeah, Joon?”

“I think a storm is brewing on the horizon.”

You glance in the direction the ship is angled and search the skies. Sure enough, a tumultuous cloud is looming closer, strong gusts of winds bending flower stems and tree trunks to the ground.

You let out a little sigh as your little excursion, the furthest you’ve dared to venture out, is cut cut short and quickly pack up the small case of samples you’ve been collecting. Recycling used food containers, you’ve managed to collect close to fifteen samples of local organisms so far. Although you have nothing to examine them with yet, you hold out hope that a ship will arrive for you soon.

After all, they had to have noticed you’ve gone dark by now, that you’re no longer locatable through your ship’s GPS. Surely they’ve realized something is wrong.

Pushing the thoughts aside, you quickly board Mikrocosm, the ship having drifted with the currents of the lake you’d landed in and washed ashore early on your second day here. As is routine by now, you store your case of samples in a little nook just outside the decompression chamber before stepping inside. The outer door shifts closed behind you and you begin the process of decontamination, spraying yourself top to bottom with a hose attached to the wall. A fan kicks on, controlled from inside the ship, and dries you as the foreign air surrounding you is vacuumed out of the bay. Once finished, the inside door hisses and unlocks, allowing you to walk through to meet Namjoon on the other side.

The muffled, filtered breathing of your colleague greets you and he motions you further into the ship, handing you a pouched protein drink. Relief washes over you as you sink into your seat in the Navigation Bay, kicking your feet up on the control panel that’s currently rendered useless.

Namjoon glares at your mostly clean boots on his equipment, but doesn’t say anything as he hooks his own protein shake to a tube in his suit, hands disappearing inside to no doubt attach the other end to his mouth.

“Anything interesting today?” he asks, words muffled around the tube he’s placed between his teeth, maneuvering one arm back into his sleeve to release the clamp on his feeding tube.

“Nothing new,” you sigh, following suit and getting your meal prepared. Running low on supplies, the two of you had begun rationing things out even more, only allowing yourselves one protein shake a day with drinks of water in between. The nutritionist in you knows the dangers of such a restrictive diet, but any more and you’d surely run out before help comes.

If it comes.

Your eyes drift to the oxygen reader on the wall, still frozen on 93%. The sight doesn’t render you broken the way it had when you’d first arrived, but it still makes your heart trip unsteadily every time you see it. It serves as a stark reminder that your lives have come to a screeching, unsettling halt that’s almost completely out of your control.

A rumble rolls through the planet’s atmosphere, shaking the ground beneath you, and your gaze shifts to the oncoming storm. You know very little about the planet you’re on, including what you should expect from those dark, foreboding clouds.

The sound of rain hitting metal echoes through the room and you glance above you, hoping your ship is strong enough to withstand whatever is falling from the sky. Judging by what little you do know of weather on earth, you think the lake your ship crash landed in is a good indication that whatever this planet’s rain is made of, at least, won’t melt it.

You hope.

“It’s green,” Namjoon mutters, sounding a bit awed as he points a finger to the window. You follow his gaze toward the raindrops skittering across the plastic casing of your windshield, green rivulets flowing across the surface and sliding down.

“It’s pretty,” you comment, eyes moving from the drops to the moon beyond, slowly disappearing behind the storm clouds. You’re a little puzzled once it’s gone, still able to see just as clearly, and it takes you a moment to realize there’s other light sources on the planet.

The trees and grass you’d been so raptly examining slowly fade into light, like street lights flickering on at night, branches and stems glowing a delicate and muted green.

You purse your lips, moving your feet off the panel to sit forward in your seat and observe them. Even at night, the moon usually shined so brightly that you never noticed the plants’ luminescence before. You make a mental note of it, wondering if it has anything to do with the heat that radiates from them.

“Damn,” Namjoon breathes next to you, and you can only nod in response. Every moment you spend here is an adventure, something to be astounded or perplexed by.

You watch in silence as the flowers stretch with the wind, up toward the sky, trumpeted petals opening as if reaching for the nutrients the rain provides.

“Do they...seem alive to you?” you wonder aloud, the sight so similar to a pair of lips parting for food that it leaves you feeling a little uneasy.

Namjoon turns to you, is quiet for a moment, before you see his shoulders rise and fall. “I don’t know, maybe? It wouldn’t be so crazy, would it? We’re on an alien planet.”

Your lips twitch at his teasing tone. “True. I just--”

You pause, tongue coming out to wet your lips. It brushes the straw of your forgotten protein shake and you flinch back in surprise. You relax when you realize what it is and shake your head at yourself. You can’t help but be a little jumpy. Ever since you arrived on Planet X, you’ve felt like something was...off. Like there’s something more to what’s in front of you than what you see.

And, dare you admit, you feel like you’re being watched.

A sudden whirring sound jolts you from your thoughts and you spin around to face the wall. Your eyes scan the area in front of you, unable to find the source of the noise until you spot movement out of the corner of your eye. Eyes shifting to the oxygen reader on the wall, you’re surprised to find that it now says 100%, the red needle shaking and quivering, as if trying to continue its ascent to a number that doesn’t exist.

“Uh, Joon?”

“Specialist, get down!”

__________________________

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#bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #kim namjoon #fanfiction #sci-fi #bts au fic #bts au #bts x reader #bts space au #alien bts au #btsrunmylife.story

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

Text

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 17)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

UPDATES FOR WITCHER OF THE NIGHT WILL BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY NOW IN MY TIME (GMT +8)

CHAPTER 16.1

WOTN MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: You couldn't save everyone and it was a decision to sacrifice yourself for the betterment of a family you've began to hold dear. Your existence in the continent continues to confuse everyone, including you and Geralt himself.

Warnings: Blood? Poor Jaskier. Cusses. Implied rape from fuckin' assholes. No more glitters and rainbows. Bloedzuiger from the games? Gifs of Geralt with jet black eyes? I mean..why? shouldn’t it not be a warning? Heh.

Words: 5.9k

A/N: Anybody missed me?! Heehee! Now, I fookin miss Geralt and Midget together. Damn it. *sits in a corner and cries* I can’t believe I’ve surpassed my own curse where I only reach up to 5 chapters then keep a story unfinished due to lack of inspo and will. 😭😂 (Update has been earlier due to my uncle’s birthday tomorrow and I might not be able to use my laptop. Hehehe) We’re in the middle of the whole fic, bb’s. This is where everything’s going to happen now. Probably might earn some temple scratching somehow. Hehehe.

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue! PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK AFTER READING, BB!

Disclaimer: PNG’s and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and this fanfic is definitely from moi. (Credits to bi-jaskier and others who deserves credit for the gifs)

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

7 BILLION PEOPLE IN EARTH. YOUR DIMENSION. There was a myth that seven people might look exactly like you out of the billion that were born. Though, being identical was a once in a blue moon circumstance that held no support or proof that it happened.

Twins even had their own genetic differences, their DNA's were not even the same or even mutually identical to one another.

But, you were transported into another dimension that you didn't know about and based on their conversation and how you've perceived from what they were saying is that you have already been in their hands when it never even happened from the start.

They sounded like they've already seen you somewhere when they haven't at all.

Chevaliers circled around you with their swords sheathed from where it rightfully belongs. They've had a malicious glint in their eyes, dangerous and full of spite. Disgust even included in their humanized souls---if they were even still human. They were looking as if you were an oddball. Judgemental to the fullest; vaguely telling that you were considered as a freak for being the witcher's woman.

Forest green eyes scanned yours, listless but an anomalous situation from the group of uncharitable gallants who seemed to have similar odious characteristics. This cavalier stood out rather than the rest because his eyes held sympathy and not hostility. He was gracile, the same body built as Jaskier. But, wearing no armor just like the vampire you loathed the most. Other than a brown doublet which matches his chocolate colored hair.

He crouched before you, thoroughly scrutinizing your face under his gaze; finding something distinctive or common with the lass that they have captured three days ago, "Wasn't she the one we captured, Ty? That thief named Savia?" his tone held curiosity and astonishment when he saw the exact same face of the woman.

There was no differences except from the aura he could feel. You had her face, voice and body structure. Entirely the same for his wits to disfunction from what he has witnessed.

The scrubbing echo of gravel, dirt and leather made you turn your head to where it was. Tybalt. The fucking vampire who stabbed you on the hip and tried to sell those women away. He was there, right in front of you; grinning like a mad man like he has caught a mouse in the cage, entirely anticipating this moment to capture you once again with purposes you didn't know yet.

Kolby was nowhere to be found. After trying to protect you from the hands of Tybalt, your Hirikka was pushed back by the vampire and his strength, making you screech as Kolby loudly whimpered and growled when he'd stumbled; his back flat from the far distance before skedaddling off through the woods. The simple escape back to where he belonged pinched a your heart because he had already been a part of what made you happy with your stay in their dimension.

You didn't expect his leave to be so early; in the midst of being captured by the hands of real life monsters.

If people were scared of monsters in this world you were currently in, then they should think twice because the cruel form of life in every damn world was the humanity it thrives in; continuing to become cruel, vicious, evil and cunning because people lived to strive more with greed surging through their veins as their own demons try to conquer.

Humanity was everyone's main enemy and not their monsters.

Tybalt gave you a subtle tilt of his head, his grin utterly sinister; those teeth of his never showing the fangs that you have seen back at the marketplace when he was trying to provoke Geralt as he was butchering off his knightly minions.

The break of dawn was coming to a start. Peachy orange glow of the sun hiding began to rest beneath the mountains and clouds that looked the same back in earth. Its glow have made everything more frightening while you were surrounded by a bunch of armored men and a vampire who obviously had strength and skills to kill you in a blink of an eye.

Geralt never scared you because his heart was good. No doubt about that because he had offer you his house from the first day you've met, even treating your wounds and saving you from an Alghoul who wanted to eat your insides. But, Tybalt was different. He didn't appear to be like a person to trust even the slightest except if you were a princess in the castle.

He had his hands on his hips, eyes digging to examine your face. The way he stood held power and cruelty as he clicked his tongue, "S'not the feisty one. I know this maiden's scent. She's the real one, aren't ye', you wench?"

Tybalt abruptly crouched down in front of you, his fingers speedily grabbing onto your roots and turning them in an aching posture that had you growling, teeth barred from the feral reaction. The wrinkles of his nose shown when he defiled your space, abrasing the column of your neck that ignited an intense shiver from the disgust as you cowered away and struggled against his hold.

You've heard Jaskier's footing come to a stand, his doublet spilled with his own blood. Hair all wild and facial expression livid for their sudden visit. The golden, sharp dagger tightened around his fist as he marched heavy steps towards the higher vampire.

But, his assault came to a stop when one cavalier shielded him before he could have Tybalt within reach, strongly punching him in the gut that made him stumble to the ground in less than a second. Jaskier sputtered out droplets of blood, a pointed sword punctuating the tip on his jugular.

Jaskier's pained moans made you snarl right back at the queen's right hand man which made him instinctively tut, "But, the fragrance has a distinctive scent to it now---I don't even know what's runnin' inside the mind of this whore anymore," Pause. Tybalt huffed, scoffing with a grin as he interrogated, "---What did the witcher do to ye'?"

You could feel his terrible breath on your face. His hold unwavering from the resolute strength that he had when you lowly grated through clenched teeth, your eyes screaming elfish because of how you were trying to dillydally in hopes of seeing a white haired witcher to come running towards you with his horse. But, considering how he was probably out to hunt a monster, he was probably busy and distracted. So, expecting the worst was better than awaiting for a moment that will never come.

"Me." you fooled around despite being in the vampire's hold, "---He's doing me. I've waited for the time to say that if someone ever asks me what my lover does---so, worth it, Leonidas."

From your foolish response, Tybalt sneered before nodding off towards the paladins who surrounded both you and Jaskier; sharing an understanding to do what is needed and before you could even turn your head back to check on Jaskier, they were already beating him down to pulp. You've heard more grunts from the twink of a toubadour which made your eyesight go foggy from being hopeless and such a waste to live in their world where you had no magic to keep everyone out of danger, "No! Don't hurt him!" you shrieked out loud, the gallants never ceasing despite of your pleads.

More blood dripped out of the side of Jaskier's lip as he took another strong blow on the gut; making his body jerk that laid from the outstretched land of the meadow. You've uttered one loud scream to catch their attention, noticing the other gallant that you noticed to be standing on a corner was just watching everything unfold like he didn't want to be involved with their horseshit.

"I swear to God, he's a weakling! Stop!---please, stop! You'll have your witcher! I'll give you your witcher just stop!"

With one signal of his head, the cavaliers stopped their battering. Jaskier feebly straightened his limbs over the short grass, coughing out more blood from their corporal punishments, grumbling out a grouse from your choice of words in which you described him with, "Shit. Rat. I've stabbed three knights in the neck for you."

If Jaskier didn't acknowledge that fact and the risk which he has given to keep you alive, you wouldn't have noticed three dead bodies laying on the farthest end of the meadow where the forest began to meet its field.

You've harshly turned your head back to Tybalt, wanting to spit on his face for being one of the best imbecile in their world but decided against it to not irritate him further until Geralt was around. His eyes were livid, staring back at you and in your peripheral vision, you've seen the back door of your house slightly ajar, a slip of a pair of the prettiest blue eyes hidden behind the hatch that made you swallow from the consternation of Cirilla being found and taken with you.

If one person was needed for capture, it should be you; not the princess. If one was to leave their world, it must be you because you didn't belong to their dimension from the start.

One cavalier took his mask off, shaking his head for his black, medium length hair to fall down his neck as he curiously crouched beside you and Tybalt. Features telling you that he was stupefied from what he was seeing with his fixated gaze on your face, "There's a whole lotta' crazy we got here in the continent! The Butcher of Blaviken created bloodbath for this maiden?"

Though, astonishment isn't the only sensation he was feeling when you've felt his fingers graze upon the lines of your ear; seeming to be bawdy and suggestive from the sudden touch and you couldn't help but wrest away from his reach. Howbeit, Tybalt's hand that was yanking on your head made it difficult to.

"Though, this harlot is less feisty than the other! I would rather much have her for tonight,"

The knight's sentence was sheared off when he was strongly pushed by the shoulder from the vampire; his fingers pulling away from outlining your lips with his fingers as he fell on his ass flat on the ground. You've been pulled by the hair to stand, making you pant harsh breaths from how painful it was feeling. Hands were trying to wrench his fingers from your head but his hold was too tight for you to tweak away.

"Ingrith wants her untouched just like the other," Tybalt droned as he pulled you close to him, seeming to be tall as Geralt. His height being an advantage over your small form as he dragged you anywhere he wanted. The knight who was pushed to the ground grunted from how he was assaulted, scowling from Tybalt's shoving as he cackled in a shady manner when he heard the latter set boundaries from their current captive.

"Ye' know ye' shouldn't fuck with a witcher's tart, Allard."

"I would! The weccan' wouldn't mind, does he?" the disgusting cavalier brought his feet to a stand, dusting the grass from his flat derriere as he looked back at Tybalt with a slight tilt of his head; the longer his gaze holds, it turns even more disgusting as he looked like he was undressing you with those dark hues of his, they were the type of stomach-churning that can make you sick in no time, "Oh, she's probably a fuckin' freak like him, lad." the latter stated as a matter of fact, smirking in between his words as he nonchalantly continued.

"---Where's the freak?"

They were making your blood boil by how you could hear they were treating him. Has it been always like this in his world? ergo, he was living a life where people see him ghostly rather than a gifted human as he was seen in your eyes. You couldn't help but sarcastically giggle from their rude speech, "He has a name and it's Geralt. Don't disrespect him like that when you're actually the real freak, Edward." pause. "---You fuckers are worse than any other human." before you can even think twice, spit drizzled on Tybalt's face when you've fumed and barked back, "---More evil than the devil himself and I pray for each and one of you to go to fucking hell,"

"The devil don't exist here, ye' foolish cunt!"

Without any delay or second thoughts, a deafening sound of a slap has rumbled; it was a saddle-sore, the strong smack lingering longer on your cheek as excruciating as it can get. He probably used a little bit of his inhumane strength because of how you've descended down the ground; the side of your head hitting as your whole body fell. Your palms flat on the terra firma, receiving bruises on the edge of your lips because of how you've nosedived in it.

"Rat---!" Jaskier shouted from the background before you've heard the gallants haul him down to kick his face hard.

The asshole squat down to where you were stumbled down, his face showing no pity from what he'd done; slapping you on the face like you deserve it from being all talk and no help, "I suppose ye' don't know where he is. Fair enough then! Let's give er' a lil' bit of a chase---" pause. "---He must try and serve his purpose to the land of Kaedwen other than being a freak of a mutant and slaughtering monsters for coins,”

You spat out the metallic taste of your blood that went inside your mouth, shifting your eyes to where he was bent. You've placed your fingers on your side, gesturing towards the princess who seemed to be shaking and panicking from inside the house, seeing silver clasped around her hands as she was contemplating how to defend you both from the gallants. She had the sword that her and Geralt uses whenever they were trying to train; the weapon which has been in your hands as well.

But, you subtly gestured for her to stand down and hide. It won't be such a nice sight if she did want to help.

"You sound like the castle's loyal pet. Hilarious."

The whole scenario was a fight or flight, and the logical part of your brain screams to cooperate with what they wanted before anything ends up more badly than it can ever get. You lifted yourself off the ground, sitting on the floor while you give Tybalt the death glare as he grinned because he knew the action he did was a trigger for you to comply.

"Where's the other girl?" he chuckled, watching your fists tightened to your sides when you were on your feet. A bloody, deep gash on your cheek when some stone has scratched it and also from Tybalt's whack.

"Don't even think about it, you asshole." you immediately hissed when you knew he was talking about Cirilla. The latter also stood on his feet, tall and confident that his plans were going on the right path today.

"What? She yer' daughter? aren't ye' a child?"

"I'm no child, you fucker! Stop dissing my height like this!---and yes. My daughter. She's my daughter, so don't even think about it!"

Surprisingly, there was no tears seen in your face. They didn't deserve your tears. These people needed to rot in hell, you mindlessly thought to yourself and irritatingly bit on the insides of your cheeks which slightly drew blood from how angered you were. Peering up at the man who was giving you an obvious snicker because he could read that you were succumbing from how they've caught you in hindsight and in a weak position.

The lion cub of Cintra stood behind the doorway, crying her eyes out from how impotent she was because of how everyone wanted her to stay back. Cirilla knows she could help but people who surrounded her wanted not to use her powers as she has yet to learn and control. Hence, she couldn't do anything but watch another person in her life be in a snare or better yet, drown to die in this person's own blood.

So far, hearing those words hurt her heart because she couldn't do anything when you were unconditionally risking your life for her not to be involved because that's what it's supposed to be.

To you, she was being treated more than she can ever expect; the title of a daughter that she didn't knew she missed to need, a mother despite of being not connected through bloodline. But, a woman who would care for her well-being just like how her grandparents did loved her.

Consider herself lucky even though how unfortunate her life began. She received a father and a mother that will risk everything just for her to be safe and she knew she was crying right now because she cared for you; she was concerned like how a daughter would.

Your jaw tightened because you wanted to bash their skulls over and over again until they were dead. They probably was from how you've intellectually murdered them inside your mind since the moment they arrived. You irately peered up at Tybalt, your forehead tightly creased, mouth in a tight frown as you gave him a death stare.

"You want Geralt of Rivia right? then, take me. He'll come after if you take me, just don't kill Jaskier and my daughter."

Jaskier hurriedly shook his head and audibly muttered out his negations to himself from what you had in mind. You were surrendering yourself to them. The bard promised to the witcher not leave your side as much as he would do, but his family was prevailed over the count of cavaliers who came; thinking Geralt was probably there to fight with. But, no. The opposed held a number and Jaskier wasn't mutated nor skilled to know any form of magic for defense.

He knew today will be a loss and after hearing your next words, the humble toubadour knew that you've risked your life again for the betterment of their kingdom and theirs.

"Tell Geralt I seriously need some saving---and I promise this will be the last time I'm needing him again," you forced a smile, looking at the bard with your vermillion all drenched in claret red liquid while trying to send off the meaning that you would be okay while you were away with them.

Nevertheless, he never heard the fast, anxious beating of your heart for what will welcome you to wherever they decide to put you in.

Rough hands shoved you forward, making you look away from Jaskier as you began to take grudging steps to where Tybalt's horse awaits, the image of your smile falling was the last that Jaskier can remember before you left, "---Also, tell him I have a very important secret to say so he better hurry up!"

Scattered skeletons were buried beneath the dank ground of the gloomy swamps. Nightfall has taken its course when Geralt arrived; surprising to say that he arrived earlier than he expected to. Some trees were dead while the others have been cut-off by their limbs from inexplainable reasons. From monsters who probably lived in the area and based on how the moon aligned, it was already midnight; close to morning.

The witcher was wounded. Abnormally drained and in fatigue from using his little spells to slaughter the Bloedzuiger; his arm, back and torso currently in pain due to its acidic blood that splattered him, slightly ruining the body of his armor and the under shirt he wore.

Geralt has used Aard and Igni to fight off the beast and his energy spiked low to the point that he could sleep standing on the ground. But, the idea of his family alone made him push the plan aside because his family was more important than his life.

The latter even took a faster route to arrive and slaughter the beast earlier than his estimated days.

He was just beyond drained and parched tonight.

Long, begrudging sighs left his lips. His hair was sticking all over, eyes still black from the potion he drank, clothes all wet from being shoved under the water and a face too grubby that also held burnt patches that will surely heal in no time. Though, some will probably earn him a scar or two. He was stalking towards his horse, his silver sword that was used for monsters on one hand when the witcher has heard a tiny step of footing that broke a twig, making him slightly turn his head to the quiet noise he heard.

This intruder took more cautious steps closer and he wanted to curse out loud for all the interruptions that made his life more complicated than it already is.

Human. Geralt knew it was human. This person even had a scent to it. She was a woman who had a strong floral fragrance; rose and earthy.

"You shouldn't be here," he lackadaisically declared to no one in particular as he sighed for the hundredth time this day. Heedful of the woman hiding behind a dead tree as he strolled to where Roach waited, ignoring her as he strolled.

Thus, the woman was strong enough to acknowledge a witcher in his full form as she decided to walk towards him, talking in pure fascination to have seen one in the flesh.

"A Witcher. I've heard tales of your kind. Though, I’ve heard new wicked bavardage from town that this particular beast has slayed my own kind for the sake of saving one. Wouldn’t it be wiser to choose the lesser evil or the greater good?" she scoffed before continuing, “---aren’t you quite miserly to have done such thing by killing less or maybe more than a dozen and salvaging yours?”

Geralt dropped the loot that he has ransacked from the monster, dropping them inside his leather bag with a scowl. This woman's tone of voice perking his ears that made him cease his packing.

"You were never just a mere epic," she sarcastically laughed in spite. The timbre of her voice thoroughly distinctive and familiar for Geralt to be incorrect. He gave her a sharp side-eye, his eyes jet black when his mind went in befuddlement after recognizing a face that he managed to memorize since the moment that this certain woman came in his life.

"You're the witcher they're finding. The butcher! You were the reason I was taken! Feckin' Geralt of Rivia, aye!"

She was you.

A face that always keeps his mind going in haywires. Features that can be considered as a strong weakness for the witcher because of how he'd easily let his guard down with just a glimpse of a face that could ruin his resistance over having another woman be prone of peril in his dangerous, hindering life.

Even only hours of being away from you; half a day to be precised. With just by seeing her face tempted him to reach out for what he longed for; to touch the face of the woman who'd felt deep sensations for him---accepting of what he actually was with no judgement in her mind. The ache and worry in his chest was not helping how he yearned to never leave you alone in the first place.

He couldn't help but take a step close to the woman who also had the same height as you. His obsidian eyes staring straight into her soul like he'd seen the devil and he was happy to worship; jaw tight as his lips came with a lour.

Geralt looked utterly monstrous for a person who wasn't used to seeing his kind.

"Midget?"

The woman instinctively took a step back despite of how she was running her mouth a while ago; fear shutting her confidence that she could confront him for bothering a life she also dreaded to live in. Her eyes filled with horror and disgust in which Geralt clearly has seen without the use of his doubled up heightened senses.

She was not his tiny mortal. This woman in front of him was beyond different. The real you wouldn't look at him in sheer revulsion; no profound emotion in those eyes that he was used to seeing.

She had her brows in a tight twist, sending him a nasty glare that got him humming out in distaste from an attitude he wasn't use to seeing with a face like yours, "I'm not a fucking midget! What a shitty name you've got me! Doesn't sound too nice to hear too! Ya' fuckin' brought me ill-fate!"

Geralt was quick to turn around his heel. Brooding once again from the bafflement that got him thinking again. Why did you have a person who looked exactly like you in their world?

"You're not her." he stated as a matter of fact, sounding confident with his assumptions because the witcher knows he is right. Geralt walked over to his horse, huffing out a breath off his nose from sheer displeasure as he heard the woman jogging to where he wanted to go.

"Apparently not. You're mistaking me with another unfortunate little lady then!"

"Who are you?" Geralt didn't bother to give her a glance no matter how he wanted to relieve the longingness to see your face; to know that you were safe in their home with Jaskier and Cirilla, hoping that everybody was protected and safe from anyone.

But, this woman with him was not you. He needed to remember that.

She tightly crossed her arms on her chest, eyeing the brooding man as sharply as the woman could with her maroon colored cloak strapped around her shoulders, the hood off when she'd arrived to have seen him, "The name's Savia, witcher."

"Why are you here?" he timidly grumbled, his silver sword in a scabbard after the fight. Roach neighed aloud, huffing out a breath when Savia was an arm close to her, acting like she didn't like her.

Geralt couldn't help but raise a brow from his horse's sudden actions, bringing up a hand to shush her with his fingers brushing along her mane.

Savia can't help but take a cautious step back at that; his horse's reaction making her feel unwelcome and unwanted by the pair. Though, her blabber mouth couldn't help but run on and on, being all chatty when she was in the verge of being chased down by gallants. Savia knew she could outrun them like she wasn't even being pursued from the start because she has been doing this for years; stealing lots of valuable things then never being found after as she can always escape from the brutal hands of lords, inn keepers, and a whole lotta' more.

"I've escaped! Stolen goods from the castle? Their riches? Serves them right for keeping me in prison! Oh! I could steal yer' coins too, if you want. But, now I shan't retrieve them after telling all my plans! I'm no fool! I'm a skilled thief. Sounds professional, isn't it?"

She couldn't help but giggle, utterly blowing with the wind from the occupation she had; confident regardless of how unseemly her job was to live. Though, Geralt didn't give any negative reactions because he was the last person to judge someone who had an indecent job just to live in their world.

He kills and hunts monsters for a living. It doesn't sound too appealing for a normal human, correct? Hence, he wasn't in the position to criticize a thief especially when this poacher looks entirely like you.

"---I've killed some knights out there just to escape, ye' know? Maybe a bunch! Ye’ can still count em with your fingers!" the witcher ceased ferreting around in his bag when he'd finally given her his attention. The color of his eyes subsiding and turning back to its normal hue. Gold in the middle of the night like star light illuminating her gloom and it made Savia stare at him in awe because of how he typically looked like without the potion and all.

Well, hearing the gossips about him from the women in the brothels and men who shared their wicked tales were really true because the witcher who stood before her right now was a complete knockout who had a terrifying shadow he left behind.

Savia couldn't help but pout her lips inquisitively, catching sight of his amber heavily examining her face with a gist of feeling that she couldn't recognize because of how she has never receive nor experienced the look of love. But, the woman was sure he was only blinded by the fact that the face she had held whatever he holds dear; a person he had in mind that he swore to protect, desire and care for.

Savia has never seen a witcher look considerate and warmhearted. The opposite of what people claimed his kind to be. He was the butcher of Blaviken. Perhaps, she have been a witness of his character changing with one simple cast of a face he claimed to be important.

She knew that midget was too significant to him when his face turned back to normal, stretched in a way that has him looking anxious, bothered and utterly worried from the words he heard.

"I'm wondering how I've been involved by a witcher I never seen or met. They were weird! Got me bruises because I never knew where you were and I couldn't tell where ye' live!" pause. Savia's lips emitted an awkward scoff, "---Those fucking gallants did a number on me for days that I have been imprisoned. They were thinking you would go and save me---oh, shiver me timbers! No obsidian--golden eyed witcher would save me from my demise!"

Geralt torpidly blinked back at her, his forehead tightly creasing; trying to deliberate what was happening. His thoughts immediately skipping to bad ideas and outcomes because of the fact that you had someone looking like yourself.

"They were shitty and off one's rocker! Especially that sorceress because she wanted to cast me under her spell, trying to get me examined because I didn't belong to their world---wondering if I had some sort of magic in me for her to possess. She was batshite crazy!"

He couldn't help but irritatingly shut his eyes, mutely giving himself a talk while he kept his mouth shut; not risking to be heard nor is this woman close enough for her to know what's inside his thoughts. Geralt chose to stay silent, breathing down long heavy inhales and exhales from the drawbacks that suddenly occurred.

Here was destiny starting again.

Savia loudly huffed before him, raising a cocky brow when she hadn't heard that deep, gravelly voice that sounded unfamiliar from the ones she has always been hearing, "Are witcha's always this silent? I've been doing all the talking! It's like you're a mute!"

The Witcher heard footfalls coming from a distance. Two gallants. It was only a pair for now and if the woman didn't took her flight before the entire horsemen arrives, she would be taken again and be behind bars in the fortress of Kaedwen.

Would he save the thief who made everything more complicated by looking exactly like you? Creating a mishap by stealing jewelry from the queen?

Everything he thought about would result in an intense migraine because Geralt know you'll be accused of a crime that was never done by his midget. Therefore, taking you in for captive would end up being like hitting two birds in one stone; they get to have him running off to where the castle is and also have the accused thief who didn't need no convincing because of how Savia showed up in their lives; ruining yours.

"Fuck. Why did you need to show up now and complicate things---even had to fucking steal ornaments from the queen with a face who is utmost valuable to me."

The frustrated question was sent to Savia who stepped back from the latter; his teeth suddenly barred and feral, sharply staring down at her. Totally irritated by what she'd done. Geralt heard metal being dragged out of its scabbard and it took him one turn of his head to be welcomed by two knights who was ready to pounce on him by seeing what he was.

One of his monikers slipped out of their tongues with such disgust and a hitch of their breath. There was no use for killing cavaliers tonight because this woman hardly have been involved in his life, yet he would still save because of having a weakness that seemed unfair for her to have.

Geralt raised his hand towards the taller knight who opened its mouth to shout at his fellow horsemen who held their torches from a far distance when suddenly a string of glowing, white line shot through his head; casting Axii for the men to take despite of how the witcher was feeling low with his energy that has been used prior to hours before they arrived.

It was a simple magical sign where it compromises hypnotic effect; it can be used to calm down people or animals, manipulate their minds or be used to hex enemies. A triangular white symbol surrounded the string of line which paved its way towards their heads; passing through both as they were momentarily stunned, acting as if they were puppets and Geralt had the strings.

Thus, after a while; Savia was astonished to see both armored men attacking each other like they were in a battleground and they were both forgotten.

Yet, it wouldn't last long.

"Witcher! What did you feckin’ do?!" she squeaked, heart beat racing from the adrenaline rush.

Geralt had not taken a second before jumping on his horse, gripping onto her reigns and pulling to turn her around, quickly nudging her to gallop towards the path back to where he could go home.

He needed to come back home. The heavy and worried feeling inside his chest wasn't just the result of overthinking. Geralt knows that there was something happening now and it wasn't good. He needed to know if you were safe, all in complete set of limbs when he sees you, if ever he could even get to again because the dreaded feeling was rising higher in such a toxic amount that would make him blame himself when you're gone.

Geralt couldn't even think straight for even contemplating about the idea that you were gone and out of his reach.

"Leave before they actually kill you. It can only last for seconds due to the energy left in me,"

He'd run off before Savia can even acknowledge his kindness. The Butcher of Blaviken has helped her escape. He wasn't a murderer nor did he hurt her.

"Geralt of Rivia, right?!" she yelled out to no one in particular after watching Geralt leave with his horse. The simple yell has caught the attention of more gallants, seeing the flames of their torches walking their way through the forest and through the swamps that got her zipping her mouth shut. Those two hypnotized gallants falling on the swamps behind her from beating each other to death.

Savia couldn't help but hum in interest, whisper-yelling her next words as if the witcher can hear her amongst his troubled heart.

"---Thank you for letting me escape! you're helpful after all!"

Geralt please axii my puxii LMAO. FEEDBACKS ARE SO MUCH APPRECIATED! (Strikethough over the tags mean I couldn’t find your blog, bb’s.)

Taglist for WOTN: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernaturalhero @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @covid-donotenter @deadlydemon @cheesecakeisapie @angelofthor @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum @stuckupstucky, @shesthelastjedi, @a--1--1--3, @gutfucks, @raynosaurus-rex, @britty443,

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza, @crazybutconfidentaf

General taglist for Henry Cavill: @agniavateira, @iloveyouyen, @rahdaleigh, @silverkitten547

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