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the-hot-zone · 3 years

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Too Old To Play With Toys: The Sad Truth Behind Sokka's Boomerang

This is Sokka’s boomerang:

[ID: a screenshot of Sokka’s boomerang from Avatar: The Last Airbender. It has just been thrown, and it whips through the air in a rapid, whirling motion. End ID.]

And as we all know, it always comes back. This characteristic makes Sokka’s boomerang a returning boomerang, rather than a hunting boomerang. This is an important distinction to make, and it’s where the heart of this headcanon lays. Let me explain.

Accuracy: What’s the Difference Between Hunting and Throwing Boomerangs?

There are three types of boomerangs: the hunting boomerang, the returning boomerang, and the cross boomerang. We’re only going to be discussing hunting and throwing boomerangs, but feel free to learn about cross boomerangs and their construction--they’re really cool. As a general note: the following sources and information pertain to Aboriginal Australian cultures. Boomerangs were used elsewhere, but mainly as throwing sticks, not returning boomerangs.

So, hunting boomerangs, also known as throwing sticks or kylies, have this basic shape:

[ID: a black silhouette of a hunting boomerang. It is shaped like a skinny tear drop, with a slight curve along its form, and it widens asymmetrically at its ends. End ID.]

[ID: an overhead shot of three hunting boomerangs. They are carved from glossy, light-brown wood. End ID.]

Artist: Aboriginal Elder, Joe Skeen Snr. Buy here.

The hunting boomerang is straighter, larger, longer, and deadlier than the returning boomerang. “With it,” states the Britannica, “animals were maimed and killed, while in warfare it caused serious injuries and death.” This is due to its shape, which allows it to travel in a relatively straight line. With its capability for distance and force, the hunting boomerang is a very powerful tool.

According to Boomerang: Behind an Australian Icon by Philip Jones, a hunting boomerang can travel around 100 meters. If the boomerang is heavy enough, and the throw forceful enough, large prey, like kangaroos, can be killed. If you want to see a hunting boomerang in action, watch sections of this Youtube video. The range and accuracy of this tool are amazing.

The returning boomerang, which was used in eastern and western parts of Australia, is very different:

[ID: a black silhouette of a returning boomerang. It has two arms that widen towards the middle and connect, forming an angled shape, like a triangle with two sides. End ID.]

[ID: a painted returning boomerang. The base is formed from a smooth, light-colored wood. Designs are painted at the end of its wings, in the middle of its wings, and towards its center. At the center is a stylized turtle. End ID.]

Artist: unknown, but sold by Aboriginal-owned business Murra Wolka. Website here.

As you can see, the returning boomerang is shorter, smaller, and angled sharply. The shape of it allows it to trace an elliptical path, thus returning to the thrower. But this property is not without its drawbacks:

“A hunting boomerang needs to fly well and nearly straight to strike prey some 200 metres away. The trouble is that the best-flying boomerangs tend to return, rarely departing beyond fifty metres from the thrower. With the returning form ‘there is no certainty of hitting the mark. It may come back too quickly and may hit your own friends standing near you.’ While recognising that the best-flying boomerangs do return, Aborigines defined a technological problem. They needed to strike a compromise between flying ability and hunting requirements...” (Australian Museum).

Now, the returning boomerang could still be used to hunt, but not to kill or maim prey. Its application was craftier:

“When hunting ducks, for example, nets were set up at either ends of a creek or river. A boomerang was then thrown out over the ducks which gave them a scare so that they took off up the river and flew directly into the nets. From there they were collected. At other times during the hunting of birds the returning boomerang was thrown horizontally along the ground into a flock, and, as they took off the boomerang would follow them into the air. This may or may not kill the bird and a harder way to hunt” (murruppi.com).

Still, this wasn’t the main application of the returning boomerang. In actuality, it was used as a toy:

“The returning boomerang was not primarily designed for hunting as it is too light and wouldn't guarantee a kill. Rather, it was designed as a toy for young aboriginal boys. The toy would allow a youngster to practice throwing skills but still make it fun” (murrippi.com).

So, Sokka’s boomerang? A plaything.

Let’s Bring It Back to ATLA: What Does This Mean?

With the above information, Sokka’s use of his boomerang in canon becomes almost tragic. His boomerang was probably given to him by Hakoda when he was very young. He used it to learn how to throw; one day, when he was older, he would have carved his own throwing stick, and used it to hunt alongside his dad and the other adults of his tribe.

Instead, Sokka’s boomerang is another aspect of his childhood that was twisted by the war. His boomerang is--should have been--nothing more than a toy. He shouldn’t have had to use it to fend off Zuko, attack Azula, and defeat Combustion Man. Regardless, it did become a tool he used to help defeat the Fire Nation, and that’s pretty fitting when it comes to ATLA’s ideas of childhood and war: Sokka spent years acting as his tribe’s protector; Katara spent longer acting as a mother. Thus, his use of his boomerang throughout the show displays how Sokka was forced into a war-torn world at an incredibly, unfairly young age. As a result, he was forced to adapt in ways that took from him.

And we’ve all seen Sokka’s boomerang in action. Here’s a video of his greatest hits--literally. His accuracy is insane, and he catches his boomerang every time. He’s more than ready to have a hunting boomerang, yet we see him use his returning boomerang throughout the show, and long after he earns his ice dodging mark. Tbh? I think that Sokka didn’t want to carve a hunting boomerang without his dad guiding his hands.

So, you might be wondering, what happens post-war?

Eventually, I think Sokka retires his returning boomerang and carves his own hunting boomerang, but the shape of it is particular:

“Some scientists argue that a throwing-stick, commonly used by indigenous hunters around the world, is the precursor of the boomerang... Through trial-and-error the boomerang was refined to a point where the most desirable size, proportions and curvature were established. This refinement brought one serious problem: any improvement in flying resulted in a tendency to return. There is little doubt that indigenous hunters brought this experiment to its ultimate conclusion, by producing the perfect returning boomerang” (Australian Museum).

In short, making a good hunting boomerang is hard. Lots of trial and error, and still, hunting boomerangs come in a wide array of shapes. Thus, I headcanon that Sokka carves his hunting boomerang differently, as compared to the other members of his tribe--it’s more curved. This would show that although he's grown up and is in a post-war world, he's changed in some ways that can't be completely undone.

In other words, Sokka eventually moves on, but the way he throws and uses his boomerang is going to be a little different.

Conclusion

TL;DR: Sokka’s boomerang is a plaything, and this has sad implications. But also? He never should have had one in the first place. Firstly, boomerangs were traditionally made from green hardwood, which I don’t believe can be found in the South Pole. I on god can’t find any authentic sources for bone or metal boomerangs. To be more accurate and still keep with the trend of throwing weapons, I would’ve given Sokka a nuqaq and darts or a bola.

Also, as far as I can tell, Sokka’s boomerang is the only aspect of Aboriginal Australian culture Bryke used in ATLA (I can’t get a confirmation on Hakoda’s name). This is cherry-picking to the max, and it perpetuates the harmful ideas of pan-indigeneity wrt one large, singular culture.

So, if you enjoyed this, please consider supporting aboriginal artists and charities. You can buy aboriginal art from murrippi.com and Murra Wolka. This article here provides a list of charities as well as active GoFundMe’s for families affected by police brutality against Aboriginal Australians. Thank you.

Sources

“Hunting Boomerang - Extreme Range - The Aboriginal Karli” by Throwsticks Channel

“Boomerang Information“ by Murruppi, Djirrbal/Ngadjonji Tribe

“Boomerang” by the Encyclopaedia Britannica's editors for the Encyclopaedia Britannica

“It Comes Back ... What a Nuisance!“ by Stan Florek for Australian Museum

Boomerang: Behind an Australian Icon by Philip Jones from Wikipedia

Murra Wolka

Gonna tag @atlaculture because I think this is of your interest. <3

#atla #avatar the last airbender #sokka #atla meta #atla headcanons #atla hc #YES this is angsty shhhhhhh #am I doing meta right?

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kunthug · 2 years

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october, november, december, all wrapped in one, for final maybe not final notes // sketches for another wave

(scraps from a day this year)

i was afraid of dying. afraid of becoming god.[2]

eeyah, not me reblogging at the beginning of the year, “i am going to survive the year even if it kills me” and the year actually going on to do just that.💀

an impossible act, to wrap up the year inside a neat red bow and say this is what it is, what it was,

as much as what it could have been {this is always the most painful part, the prolonged yearning for the unlived, all deserved stalled by drab wordling.}

this is something it had been: “she referenced her elliptical contents monthly and wondered, bent at the edge of her bed, how her thin-paged life, her black-type days amounted to only this.”[3]

the void chased me, psssst-ing me around may

this year of spiraling, this year of uncertainties fucking me silly, the year of ten days to never forget—burning rage, god it was so much rage that burned straight to the earth’s core

& suddenly a rupture

& suddenly the visions started chasing me

visions of after the end of the world came, warground body warground, to nearly die but then died in some way?, a deity’s intervention,

frequencies unearthed from the body’s graveyard

unlocked where i then ran to the very edge, found gateways & was flung back to ordinary time i most certainly did not want to be in, reluctantly making do with life's flimsy pacifiers, these lean seductions.

living knows the most comical ways to humble hot heads like mine, it’s like 😋 why won’t you give up thrashing like a chicken in water and just drift?

drifting isn’t a subject unfamiliar , so legion-i, universes's ho, reclaimed spirals, reversed, took two steps back to origin(s), back to the water, back to sewing unknowables, lavender.

unspilled rage does nothing but eat you up, & i stopped getting frustrated, it only makes breathing worse & it meins these mfuckers win again & i’m too tired anyway. so i went along as what that being flung back said, hey there’s still much to do, so much glitter left to cry.

before now i’d noted how i was always coming of age, & growth being cranes in the sky you can’t really map, even with the most abstract tool. but this year i saw stuff liveeeeee

in the gift of erotic melancholia: “i am only becoming sexier and more inconsolable” over time,teehehehe. sad clownery to reverse adverse impact from brash moments of living.

growth in some mercurial stamina, but stamina all the same. how much i discovered my word is bond, my word is blood.

fear my fucken arch-nemesis i now know it’s shape. wasn’t it kincaid who says things are less threatening when there’s a name, a border around it? fear’s on a leash—on the way to being my bitch— in essence. #bigbrag like when it shoves it’s head in again, i can go say yo! you! go suck my toes.

less

ether-ine i have been, and hope to smear that into “the new year” in some form. let the heat of the hands find their way to make objects felt, seen, especially heard. letting all the tending on the inside flourish.

there’s been many notes on this aesthetics of a thing, and me, being in a state of both defining & we’ll see what happens, found a great big node to be reminded of:

david levi strauss noting in between dog and wolf that in ancient times, before there were anaesthetics for pain, there was just aesthetics: art(aesthetics, form of sensation) bridge-holders for pain, there's something else holding that shit.

it's more than just a studio note, as the year instructed to return back to being an artist, whether i call myself one or not. externalise boo, externalize. essentially this always: the lived poetry— life being total art, but also making tangible things out of it

for the destruction of work & the proliferation of joy.[1]

understanding that ones poeisis can be a way of inwardly and outwardly facing away from the oppression of these many orders. i learnt that too strongly this year, facing away not being ignoring (how could you sef, with all the violence in air) but attending to things it snatches from u

learnt the essence of smallness, all its big potentials, comfort in the very act of creation. similar to august wilson who mused: "you create the work to exalt and celebrate a common humanity."

that’s it, some sort of mantra to remember ? that liberation is in the day to day.

good grief! all the things i said bye to.

a year eros tarried and carried me still,

big big expanse inland, the world was happening inside. the body that i am longs still, i am still stretching the limits of my longing.

but i try to make a practice of gratitude, make space for grief and make a repeated exercise of seducing that other world here in trickles, gleam as the moon, strong intentions on pleasure, upward spirals only, learn slowly in the mistakes, slice time even more for bloodgems, seed, love all the new growth that came from fracturing-as-opening: humor, etherine still but here, still here, very here. homesick but doing this thing of rooting i know i’m capable of.

i’d hoped this spiral will string along many other lovely things than words, but perhaps more intent with this in the coming months? this is the only picture that— bruhh idek—just makes sense

it’s always been the sensate for me, so i’m abiding with this other unrelated space that just, again, makes sense

extra to this: [4] more. [5]

and to dot, not scheming, just reclining in the prayer father left today, what i’ll find in the mercy of the blood, grace of ancestral lineage.

& these secret prayers, asé. these new architectures, asé. this new divination. moving wild and calm still.

i’m exhausted but ready…

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

[2] spill: scenes of black feminist fugitivity, alexis pauline gumbs, pg. 61.

[3] spill: scenes of black feminist fugitivity, alexis pauline gumbs, pg. 22.

#bruhh this year was wild #wilder than these #mild lyrics

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mst3kproject · 4 years

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The Ship of Monsters

Check me out, I’m being topical! I had another review almost finished for today, but when I saw the news I knew I had to set that aside and find a movie about life on Venus. This one is a ridiculous Mexican film starring Lorena Velazquez from Samson vs the Vampire Women (looking only slightly less like Cher) and one of those amazing cardboard robots you only get in the very worst of late 50’s and early 60’s sci-fi.

An atomic war on the planet Venus has killed off all the males, so an expedition is sent out in search of replacements, consisting of a native Venusian named Gamma, her Uranian navigator Beta, and their robot Tor. After promising the Empress that they will bring back only the most manly of men, they wander the solar system a while collecting creatures with penises before an engine problem forces them to land on Earth. The first human they meet there is Laureano Gomez, a singing cowboy with a well-earned reputation for telling tall tales. One might assume one could predict the rest of the movie from there… but then Beta turns on Gamma and reveals that her true mission all along was to conquer a planet to feed the vampires of Uranus!

I gotta say… I did not see that coming.

The Ship of Monsters is supposed to be a comedy. It’s seldom funny when it’s trying to be, although it mercifully avoids being the kind of desperately unfunny a lot of bad comedies are… possibly this is because it’s in Spanish, and by the time I’ve realized something is stupid there’s another subtitle to distract me. The jokes, such as they are, are pretty standard. Tor the robot was created by an alien race, who were aware of Earth but never bothered exploring it because they thought the inhabitants weren’t very intelligent. Laureano is in the habit of telling ridiculous stories to his drinking buddies, so of course when he claims the Earth is being invaded by space monsters they don’t believe him. That sort of thing. The movie is much funnier when it’s just showing us absurd situations, but to nobody’s surprise, The Ship of Monsters is at its funniest when it’s trying to be serious.

This hilarity comes in many forms, covering just about all the possible bases for a dirt-cheap 1960 sci-fi film. We have spaceship sets made of cardboard, covered with buttons that don’t actually press and levers conveniently placed so people can bump into them during fight scenes. We have Tor, with his tin can body that’s always a little dinged up but never in the same places, giving us clues as to what order the scenes might have been shot in. He also has wiggly spring antennae and makes a little whirring noise every time he moves. We have space babes in silver bathing suits and glittery high heels. Vampire-Beta, sporting plastic fangs that look like they came from the bottom of a cereal box, could be the female counterpart to the guy from Dracula vs Frankenstein, and the puppet used to represent her in flight is nearly as bad as the one from The Devil Bat.

The ‘monsters’ of the title are a bulging-brained Martian prince, a scaly cyclops, a spidery creature with venomous fangs, and the mobile skeleton of what appears to be a *damn worwelf (he tells us that his race has Evolved Beyond Flesh... apparently not Beyond Bones, though). The costumes are all terrible, particularly the warwulf puppet, whose backbone extends into his mouth and who has to be carried around with his feet dangling in any shot that’s not a close-up. It’s nice, though, that a little imagination went into them, and somebody gave a bit of thought to the idea that a monstrous appearance is relative. The Martian tells Beta that he admires her ambition and might even marry her if she weren’t so ugly by his planet’s standards.

At the end, naturally, this alien invasion is defeated by Laureano, his twelve-year-old brother, and a cardboard robot, while Gamma just stands around and screams. With a movie like this I expect nothing less. The denouement contains my favourite intentional joke in the whole thing, in which Gamma stays on Earth with her True Love, and Tor the robot takes his, the Jukebox, back to Venus with him! Tom Servo would have given a speech to congratulate the happy couple, and I can just see him breaking down into happy tears before he got five lines in.

(The wirwalf skeleton is not present at the climactic fight, by the way… no explanation is offered, and I strongly suspect that they broke the puppet trying. I rather enjoy this omission, because it lets me imagine him getting lost or maybe buried by an enterprising dog, and finally finding his way back to the landing site only to learn that they’ve left without him.)

I called Laureano a cowboy but he only has one cow. Her name is Lolobrijida and she is the very first time I have ever seen a movie spur a hero into action by killing his cow. She gets a proper Teenagers from Outer Space death, with her skeleton left behind propped up by metal struts like a dinosaur in a museum!

I also called him a singing cowboy, which he is – there are several songs, including one in which he tries to explain to Gamma and Beta what ‘love’ means. The songs have pleasant but forgettable Mexican pop melodies, and none of the lyrics make a whole lot of sense. Being translated over-literally from Spanish probably didn’t do them any favours (my own Spanish tops out at yo no tengo dinero), but I still can’t imagine that the What Is Love song clarified anything.

Laureano himself comes across as kind of a fool, but he’s not actually a full-on idiot, which is quite important. If he were the kind of one-dimensional ‘comedic nitwit’ embodied in characters like Dropo, or the janitor from Reptilicus, he’d be insufferable. Laureano is no genius, but he’s got personality traits besides being stupid – he cares deeply for his little brother Chuy and for his animals, and he doesn’t treat Gamma and Beta’s appearance as two women for the price of one. Very quickly he decides that Gamma is the one he loves, and he sticks to that, doing his best to let Beta down gently even when she offers to make him a king. He’s also smart enough to trick Beta into dancing with him so he can steal the device she uses to control the rocket and Tor, and to listen to Gamma when she tells him about the various monsters’ weaknesses.

Gamma and Beta, on the other hand, don’t have a lot to them besides the basic fact that Gamma is the Nice One and Beta is Evil. Gamma starts out in the story with a strong sense of duty, and it’s a bit disappointing to see her abandon that because of Tru Luv. I would have liked the ending better if she’d taken Laureano home with her so that the two of them could be the Adam and Eve of the new Venusian race. Meanwhile, Beta shows no sign of any loyalty except to herself and her own ambition. Her original mission, to secure Earth as a blood supply for the Uranians, falls by the wayside as she decides she’s going to conquer and rule the planet herself.

So The Ship of Monsters isn’t exactly a feminist manifesto, but neither is it complete misogynistic garbage like Project Moon Base. The whole premise, after all, rests on a planet of women being able to develop space travel all on their own! This is a fairly surprising plot point, because in many ‘planet of women’ movies like Fire Maidens of Outer Space or Cat Women of the Moon, the ladies need the virile Earth Men to come to them.

There’s also a little bit of actual science peeking out of the cracks. The moment for launch of the rocket from Venus is determined by when ‘the elliptical orbits coincide’. Launch timing is, indeed, a delicate art depending very much on what’s orbiting where. There’s also the moment when, trying to land on Earth, Gamma and Beta worry that the friction, combined with our oxygen-rich atmosphere, will set their ship on fire. This stuff is pretty impressive coming from a time when the moon landing was still nearly a decade away. There are even a couple of scenes in zero gravity that honestly aren’t totally terrible. I mean, I’ve seen better, but I’ve also seen much, much worse.

There’s also one weirdly prescient moment when Laureano, telling one of his silly stories in the pub, describes being surrounded by dinosaurs – only to get a laugh a moment later when he mentions that they had beautiful plumage. I’m not sure whether this is meant to be a joke in that Laureano is exaggerating an actual encounter with an angry bird into something more fearsome (I think we’re to assume that the whole story is totally made up), or whether it’s just supposed to be funny that Laureano thinks dinosaurs had feathers instead of scales. Either way, it’s the equivalent of the moon Fornax in Menace from Outer Space being so reminiscent of Io. There’s no way the writers could have known that, but it’s interesting nonetheless.

The Ship of Monsters is very cheap and very dumb, but it’s good fun for those of us who like crummy old alien invasion movies, and I recommend it to anybody in that demographic. As for actual life on Venus… I feel like a lot of the people getting excited are too young to remember when Bill Clinton told the world that we had totally found life on Mars. Humans have been discovering life on other planets for about two hundred years and every single one of those ‘discoveries’ has turned out to be either a mistake or an outright lie. We have plenty enough to panic about this year without a Venusian invasion.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #the ship of monsters #cows in fridges #60s #tobor is robot spelled backwards

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mermaidxatxheart · 4 years

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Stockings Over the Fireplace

This is my last submission for @panicfob‘s #25DaysofChristmas

Prompt: Stockings over the fireplace

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Word Count: 4k

Summary: Bucky has to leave on a mission in the middle of decoration shopping with you. He doesn’t make it home until Christmas Eve, but you have an even better present for him.

“Oh! I love this.” You gasp, rushing over to the shelf. It’s an old decoration, big and heavy. It depicts multiple Christmas carolers standing in the crisp white snow under an old fashioned gas lamp. “Are you sure?” Bucky picks it up and it’s heavy, even for him. “It’s kind of old.” He starts and you look at him with those damn eyes and tempting smirk. “I like old things. My mom has one like this.” Your fingers curl into his jacket and he knows he’s screwed.

“Yeah, alright.” He sighs and you grin, kissing him sweetly. “How come I can never say no to you?” He frowns, resting his chin on your shoulder, and his arms around your waist. “Because I’m cute? And you love me too much.” You reply, reverently picking up the decoration and setting it in the cart. Your hands drift back to a small decoration, a musical round base with figures ice skating on top. You twist the knob underneath and pull the stopper out. The song starts to play and the little people move across the surface, twisting and spinning. You lean back into his arms with a contented sigh. “There’s no such thing as loving you too much, baby.” He whispers, placing the music box in the cart. But you’re right, you’re cute and he adores the way your face lights up when he gives in to you. You twist in his arms, resting your head on his chest. “Is it super lame that I’m really excited for our first Christmas together?” You ask, twisting your foot nervously. “Well, if it is, we can be lame together.” He smiles. “Oh, thank god.” You sigh. “We need stockings for the fireplace.” You say, twisting your face into his coat and inhaling deep. “For just the two of us? Isn’t that a little silly?” He asks. “No, Steve and Sam and Tony and the others are coming over. Except for Clint. He’s gonna be with his family. And Nat is going over there for dinner, but she’s coming over to our place in the morning.” You say, your face breaking into a wide smile, hand wandering to his butt. “Our place.” “Whoa.” He jumps at the playful squeeze. “Alright. We can get them stockings.” He agrees, grabbing your wrist. “Yay!” You squeal, pulling away and pushing the cart. His phone rings in his pocket and he sees you freeze, looking over at him, your beautiful smile fading. He digs his phone out and internally groans at Steve’s picture. “Hey, Steve.” He answers and you huff in annoyance. “Hey, man. I know I promised you the weekend, but there’s a complication in Norway.” His best friend says and he wants to slap him. “How long?” He asks, keeping his eye trained on your back. Your shoulders are visibly tense and he can only pray that it’s a short trip this time. “Undetermined. Wheels up in 30. Maria’s coming to pick you up.” He pauses on the line. “Tell Y/N I’m sorry.” He adds. “You’ll have to tell her that yourself, punk.” He sighs. He hangs up and slowly makes his way towards you. He’s about to say something, but your sniffle stops him dead and he winces as if you slapped him. “How long?” You mumble. “I don’t know.” He admits as he watches your hands ball into fists on the handle of the shopping cart. “Baby,” He starts and your shoulders hunch, you brush at your eyes. This hurts him worse than any slap or shouting match. It’s only a few seconds before you turn around and wrap your arms around his neck, squeezing him to death.

“You better come back to me. Uninjured, sir.” You mutter, fingers curling into his hair desperately. “Yes, ma’am.” He mumbles, squeezing you tight. “I love you so much.” He backs away slowly, knowing Maria will be here in a moment. You pull him back to you, kissing him with all your might. “You better take care of my heart, since you’re taking it with you.” Your cheeks are wet, you’re so upset that your chest is quivering as you try to fight your tears. He brushes your cheeks gently, ignoring the phone ringing in my pocket. “I promise.” He pulls his gold card out of his wallet and presses it into your palm. “Buy anything you want. I’ll help you decorate when I get home.” He says, tipping your head down, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I love you.” He makes sure that it’s the last thing he says to you. Before every mission, he makes sure that you always know how he feels. He heads for the front of the store, shouldering the door open. Maria is parked out front in a big black SUV, waiting for him. He heaves himself in and slams the door. She takes off, heading for the private runway. “Packed you a bag. Nice boxers.” She smirks. “You know I keep a go bag ready in my closet.” He rolls his eyes. She does this every time. “Yeah, but I like to snoop. You can tell a lot about a man by his underwear.” She says mildly and he can’t tell if she’s joking. “Here.” She pulls a ziplock bag out of the middle of the seats and drops it onto his thigh. “Tell Y/N thanks for the cookies.” She says as he tucks the bag into his pocket for later. “You’ll have to tell her yourself. You have her number.” He reminds her. “I know.” “Find anything else you liked in my house?” He continues dryly. “Oh, absolutely.” Her phone dings and she checks it quickly before rearranging her expression “I have to find out where Y/N gets all her lingerie.” She waggles her eyebrows at him. “I’m sure that will be a fun conversation.” He grins. “Who was the text from?” “Y/N. Told me to watch your back.” She looks at him with a smirk as she pulls onto the highway. *** T W O W E E K S L A T E R The hotel gym was empty; the way Bucky prefers it. He jumps on the elliptical, deciding that today can be leg day. They’re two weeks into this mission, currently waiting on some intel before they can move. You’ve been sending him pictures of the decorations, asking what he likes or doesn’t like. It makes him feel a little better, almost as if he’s there with you. Almost. Sam and Steve join him a few minutes later. He ignores them as long as he can, but their eyes are like ants crawling over his skin. “What?” He snaps, turning to glare at them each in turn. “How’s it going?” Sam asks casually. “We’re in fucking Norway. Two weeks from Christmas.” He rolls his eyes, picking up the pace. “How d’ya think I’m doing, Wilson?” “I think you’re a sour wolf.” He grins. He stares at him. Coming to a stop, he climbs off and walks over to his bag, pulling out the last cookie. His eyes widen as he stares at Bucky in panic. “Hey, Buck, come on, man. I was only joking.” He tries to backtrack quickly. He breaks the cookie in half and walk over to the other side of Steve, handing him half while glaring at Sam. “Thanks, pal,” Steve says happily, shoving the whole thing into his mouth. Sam all but squeaks in shock and horror as it disappears. His eyes dart to his hand and Sam bolts off the machine as he crams the cookie in his mouth, fending Bird Brain off with his metal arm. He kicks his legs out from under him and they both topple to the ground. He chews while pushing his face away. “Sam, do you really want it now?” Steve chuckles and Sam rolls away with a groan. Bucky clambers back up and gets back on his machine. “Jerk.” He sighs. “How’s Y/N holding up?” Steve asks, glancing at Bucky. “Says she’s okay. Wants us to come back now. Apparently, you guys are coming over on Christmas Day.” He tells them. “Oh yeah. We were invited before you were, Tin Man.” Sam grins and he wants to trip him, just a little. “She went to the movies today, dunno what she saw, though.” He says, ignoring Wilson. “When will she be home?” His best friend asks. “Not for another hour or two,” Bucky replies. A voice in the hallway draws his attention, Steve’s a split second later. “No, I know. I can’t believe I’ve managed this long. I’m about to-” Maria Hill walks into the gym on her phone and stops dead when she sees the three of them. “No, I’m still here.” She mutters and Sam grins. “Who are you talking to, Maria?” He asks. “Your mom, Wilson. She says, what was that? Oh yeah, mind your own business.” She snaps. “I swear, getting any privacy in this place is impossible.” “The roof is good if you need to be alone,” Bucky tells her. “Just prop the cinderblock in front of the door.” “Thanks, Barnes.” She turns and leaves. He frowns, looking at Steve. “She’s been acting so weird, ever since we got here,” Bucky says and Steve nods. “She’s always on the phone. Two days ago, she answered a call in the middle of taking out those two guys.” Steve says. “Nearly bit my head off when I asked about it.” Sam agrees. “We should find out what she’s up to,” Steve says, hopping off the machine. Sam readily agrees, following him. “Just so you know, this is a terrible idea,” Bucky warns, following them. But he has at least an hour until you’re out of your movie, so to kill some time, he’ll do some snooping. They head up the stairs to the top floor, not really sneaking. Once they reach the top, he leads his idiot friends over to the roof door. He stops dead when he realizes that it’s closed. Did she forget the cinderblock? He motions for them to wait as he opens the door. Bucky digs out his phone as he props the door open. If she’s out here, he can just say that he wanted some privacy to call his wife. He walks around the outside, but there’s no sign of her. He makes his way back to the idiots and shrugs. “Spies.” Sam snorts and they head back for their rooms so he can shower and call you. *** T W O W E E K S L A T E R CHRISTMAS EVE “Good job, everyone,” Stark says as they leave the jet. “Barnes, get home in one piece so I don’t have to sleep with one eye open, yeah?” He grins. “Your girl terrifies me.” He rolls his eyes and climbs into the company car. “She should.” He mutters, gesturing for the driver to go, ignoring his nervousness. It’s late, long after dinner, but you know he’s on his way and you promised you’d stay up. Christ, he misses you so much. He’s sore all over and he can’t wait to shower and just fall into your bed. He jerks awake as the car comes to a sudden stop and he looks around, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry, sir. The car ahead of us-” The driver starts timidly, gesturing to the brake lights in front of us. He glances around, recognizing his surroundings. “It’s alright. I’ll walk from here. It’s not far.” He yawns, grabbing his bag. “But, sir.” “Go home. Merry Christmas. Go be with your family. I’m just around the corner.” He says, swinging the door shut and giving a wave. He hikes his bag over his shoulder and makes his way home. His legs ache, his back is pinching and pulling with every step. He reaches the front walk and smiles to himself. The house looks perfect, lights line the front porch, changing the puffy snow to bright colors. The front living room light is on, casting an orange glow over the front yard. Your carolers' ornament is front and center in the bay window and he can’t help but smile. He heads up the walkway and opens the front door. You’re standing at the end of the front hall, eyes bright. You’re gonna cry, he can already tell. Despite how anxious you are to have him home, you’re giving him space, holding yourself back. The front hall is decorated simply, Christmas cards from your family and friends. The glass of the stained-glass window is frosted with some sort of washable spray. A round ball of mistletoe is hanging from the dome light fixture halfway between you. He drops his bag and stares at you. He shrugs out of his jacket with a loud sigh before kicking off his boots. “How is it that I leave you and you get more beautiful?” He groans. You laugh while rolling your eyes as he turns to face you, holding out his arms. “Okay, let me have it.” He says and you step forward, slipping gently into his arms. You kiss him softly, your hands cupping his face. “Mmm. I was expecting you to be a little more... enthusiastic.” He murmurs, burying his face in your hair. “I know you hurt. I’ll jump on you later.” You reply, resting your head on his chest. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” He sighs, holding you close. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a nice, relaxing shower? When you’re ready, I’ll give you a nice back massage in front of the fireplace.” You suggest, pulling back and picking up a glass of whiskey. You place it gently in his hand, kissing his lips. “I’m glad you’re home safe and sound.” You lead him through the house and he pauses, looking at the tree. “You decorated everything?” He asks and you tilt your head. “Not entirely. I left the star for you. It didn’t feel right. I waited as long as I could.” You bite your lip and he pulls you against his side, kissing the top of your head. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Next year, I’m telling Steve no more missions for the holidays.” He sighs. “Wanna shower with me?” He asks and you smile. “Not tonight. Go relax. I’ll be here when you come back down.” You promise. He kisses you deeply again, pulling you flush against him. Your hands start to creep up his neck, tugging at his hair before you pull back. “Nice try, mister.” You say breathlessly and he grins, not even bothering to feign innocence. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He heads up the stairs to get ready for his shower. The hot water beats down on his shoulders, working out the knots as best it can. Finally, he decides he’s soaked long enough and climbs out. He dries off and cleans up the bathroom before pulling on a pair of low riding pajama pants. He downs his drink before going back downstairs. You’ve started a fire in the brick fireplace, a massive number of stockings crowding the mantle. You must have heard him behind you, because you turn, eyes widening slightly. “Oh.” You murmur and he raises an eyebrow. “Oh?” He questions. “Is it too late to take you up on that joint shower?” You ask and he laughs. “Little bit, doll. Sorry.” You grin and gesture to the makeshift ‘bed’ you’ve made on the floor. He lowers himself down and looks up at you. “How do you want me, gorgeous?” He asks. “On your stomach. Anything else and you won’t get much of a massage.” You admit and he grins. “I’m fine with that.” “Stomach, Sarge.” You order and he groans as he shifts onto his stomach, laying down. You straddle his hips and he’s fairly certain one of you is facing the wrong way. Your hands are like fucking magic as you start at his neck, working out all the stiffness. He sighs contentedly as you work down his back, paying special attention to his shoulders, the scars that mark him. You’ve never shied away from any part of him. Jesus, he loves you. He lets his eyes drift closed, relishing in the feel of being home with the woman he loves, having your hands on him. It’s been too long. The longer you work, the more his muscles turn to actual puddles under your expert fingers. A moan escapes and you chuckle, laying down on his back, cheek resting against his shoulder. “Feel better?” “Mmm, much.” He sighs and you tilt your head, pressing kisses along his skin, across his back to his metal shoulder. “I love you so much.” You mumble. “I love you, too.” He smiles. Your lips trail over his scars for a few more minutes before you push yourself up. He misses the feel of you. “I have to pee. You should put on a shirt before you catch a cold.” You say, disappearing into the kitchen. “You know I don’t get sick.” He calls, pushing himself up. You gasp loudly. “Quick, knock on wood before a super big gets you!” He laughs, knocking on the door frame as he jogs up the stairs to grab a shirt. “Do you want some cocoa?” You call up the stairs. “Absolutely!” He calls back, about to slide his drawer closed when he realizes that your wedding picture is missing off the dresser. He frowns, looking around until he realizes it’s laying on his pillow. He smiles to himself and places it back in the center of his dresser. “Sweet girl.” He mutters, pulling his shirt on and heading back downstairs. “Baby?” He calls. “Living room.” You reply and he walks in, finding you in front of the fireplace. He wraps his arms around you from behind, nuzzling into your neck. “Were you missing me?” “Yeah. You found the wedding photo, I assume?” “Yeah. I put it back.” “Now that I have the real thing.” You sigh, leaning back against him. “Do we really need so many stockings?” He asks and you nod. “Yes. I’ve labeled them already.” You say with a gesture. He takes a step forward to read the names decorating the stockings. “Uncle Steve, Aunty Natasha, Uncle Sa-am,” He stutters. “Keep going.” You urge, holding onto his wrists. “Uncle Tony, Aunty Maria, Uncle Thor, Aunty Laura, Uncle Clint, Mommy, Dad-dy,” his voice breaks and he knows he’s squeezing you too hard, harder than he should be. “Last one.” You prompt. “Baby Barnes 7•12•20.” He looks down at you, his vision going blurry. You cover your mouth, hiding a smile so wide your cheeks just might crack. “Are you serious? I’m not being pranked?” “Not the kind of prank I would pull.” You roll your eyes and his gaze drops to your stomach. “When did you find out?” “About a week before you left. I was going to tell you but then you had to leave and I didn’t want to distract you. I made Maria promise she wouldn’t say anything.” “Maria?” His eyes snap back to yours. “She always gets your bag. I knew she would have found the test; she’s always snooping. I made her promise to let me be the one to tell you.” “Have you been talking to her this whole time?” “Yeah. She was helping me, got me into Stark’s medical lab for checkups and prenatal care. The stockings were her idea.” You say, starting to look nervous. “I knew she was acting weird.” He mutters. “I can’t believe you’re really pregnant.” He rests his hands on your abdomen reverently and you search his face. “You’re happy?” You ask apprehensively. “Happy? Baby, I’m fucking thrilled!” He picks you up and kisses your face all over. You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Oh, thank god.” “I can’t believe you. You shouldn’t have been waiting on me like that, sweetheart.” He frowns, setting you back down. “I’m alright. I wanted to. I knew you’d be tired and sore. I wanted to make you feel good. You do so much for me, Bucky. This was the least I could do, make our home feel like an actual home, like when we were kids. I know we grew up in different times, but it’s not so different.” “How did I get so lucky?” He mumbles, pulling you close again. “I dunno.” You shrug and he laughs. “Can we go to bed? I really missed you.” He sighs. “Let’s go. We have a big day tomorrow.” You take his hand and lead him up to your bed. *** Bucky groans as his alarm goes off. He slaps at his phone and you shift against him with a whine. “Make it stop.” You complain. “We have to get up.” He mutters, finally finding the off button. “People are coming over. Steve’s gonna want coffee.” You groan, burying your face in his chest. “Round three was a mistake.” “It was your idea.” He laughs. You push yourself up and straddle his hips with a grin. “I know. You should know better than to give me what I want.” He grips your thighs, already willing to give you round four as soon as you say the words. But then you swing your leg over, climbing off the bed. “Tease.” He sighs. “You start the coffee? I’ll start the breakfast pizza.” You kiss his forehead before grabbing some clothes and heading down the hall to the bathroom. He gets up, straightening the blankets on the bed before pulling on a fresh pair of pajama pants and a plain white shirt. The kitchen tiles are cold on his bare feet as he makes his way to the coffee pot. A round of nerves spikes through him as he thinks about the day ahead. He turns the coffee on and gets out a bunch of mugs. There’s a knock on the door and you come down the stairs. “I’ve got it.” You call. You open the front door and it sounds like everyone showed up at once. “Bucky’s in the kitchen with the coffee. Yes, Steven, there will be enough coffee for everyone.” You sigh and he just has to laugh. Bucky’s friends come through to greet him and he realizes your ploy to keep them out of the living room for a few minutes. You join them a few seconds later, arm snaking around his waist. “So, I was thinking, once everyone has their coffee, we can do presents and then eat? Clint and Laura asked us all to join them for dinner later.” You say, catching Maria’s eye. “Sounds good to me.” Steve agrees happily. Once everyone is settled in the living room, you sit on his lap in his arm chair, hand squeezing his in a death grip. “Okay, everyone has stockings, your names are on them.” You say and he can feel your pulse thumping erratically in your hand. Maria skips up first, finding hers easily. Steve and Sam find theirs next. Steve’s blue eyes widen as he reads the name on his stocking. He grabs Sam’s, checking the name on that one. Sam swats his hand away, before seeing his name. His gaze shoots over to you and Bucky puts a finger to his lips, gesturing to everyone else. One by one, their reactions are the same as they realize the importance. “First of all.” Tony starts, holding his up, pointing to the name. “Shouldn’t nine say ‘godfather’?” He asks and Buck rolls his eyes. “It can be changed later if that’s the decision we come to.” You reply with a pleasant smile. “Fair. Second of all, congratulations. How long have you known? Did Barnes know the whole time we were gone?” “No, but Maria did.” He says, narrowing his eyes at the dark-haired woman. Steve pulls you to your feet, crushing you in a hug. “I’m definitely The Godfather, right?” He whispers and you just chuckle, returning the hug. “I love you, too, Stevie.” You grin. You settle back into his lap, pulling his arm around you as you watch your family start to open their presents.

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#panic's 25 days of christmas fics #panic's 25 days of christmas #marvel #marvel fanfic #Bucky Barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #romance #mermaidxatxheart-writes #fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #fanfiction

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ashestoashesjc · 5 years

Text

Bad Witches (0.3)

Some towns sleep more than they’d care to admit. They claim to be the town that never does, but they sleep. They bustle until the wee hours when even the traffic lights must catch shut eye. (This is the leading cause of late night car accidents, in fact). But not in Riverwake. No matter the hour, Riverwake is alive and in motion. At the peak of dawn, the rumble of mechanized street cleaners is something of an alarm: A new day is here. The only challenge is survival. The road is now adequately shiny.

On a day this beautiful, a person would be mad to waste even a second of it inside. This is why when the coven meets at their favorite restaurant, Giorgio's, for cocktails and gossip, they ask for outdoor seating, beneath a veil of dark gray umbrellas.

After the waiter brings around the first tray of flutes, Bev flags him down and whispers in his ear. When he returns, he has a pitcher filled to the brim with a hazy, dim yellow. He places it at the center of the table and walks off to attend to other diners.

Shrugging, Bev says, "Save him some trips."

During a third round of mimosas, Kate off-handedly mentions her father-in-law and his rocky relationship with his son, but that he thinks gifting Dan membership to their familial country club is effective enough as tension relief. Dan's typically too busy to take advantage of it, she says.

"But you still want to," says Bev, drinking from her orange-tinted glass.

"I didn't say that," says Kate.

"You didn't have to," Bev says, swatting at the air, "Does anyone else hear that buzzing? What is that? Do you think a WASP snuck in?" The other witches attempt to stifle their giggles.

Turning bright red, Kate leans back into her seat, clutching at her glass and bringing it closer to her face so as to slightly cloud the next words she mutters, "I can invite guests, by the by."

The witches' ears perk up.

"You know, I don't think I've ever been to a country club," Matt says, "The wealthy have historically neglected basic hand-washing techniques. Seems like a petri dish, but in a higher tax bracket.”

"I'm from the country. And I've been to a club. Does that count?" Haley asks, still nursing her first mimosa.

"What should we wear?" Bev asks.

Kate sets her glass down to refill it from the orange pitcher, "Dress for spring."

So, they do. The next morning, they are all casual shorts and solid-colored polos and white visors. Only, it's a month away from the dead of winter and it's the middle of Massachusetts. Bev, Matt, and Haley stand outside of the given address and, with their miserable shaking, resemble a group of very posh street urchins.

Kate arrives in a cozy-looking fur-lined parka and upon seeing the other witches' bewildered expressions, snuggles affectionately into the mink hood, "Teach you to mock me."

The other witches follow Kate into the almost intimidatingly large, red-bricked building. What are presumably wings stretch nearly a kilometer in each direction.

"One of you couldn't have ch-checked the weather before leaving the house?" Bev admonishes, one shiver away from legally qualifying as an icicle.

"T-throwing a lot of stones in that g-glass igloo, aren't you?" Haley asks.

The combination of central circulated heating and at least two fireplaces (one in the den closest to the club's entrance; one in the more formal of the two dining areas) nearly melts the witches as they linger with Kate at the front desk.

"Okay, we're approved," Kate says, shaking hands with the attendant behind the desk, "Just don't touch anything."

"Damn. There goes my Grand Theft Itinerary," says Bev.

Looking at her sternly, Kate says, "Don't even joke about that. They will absolutely kick us out."

The witches huddle at the end of the entrance hall, dissecting the list of offered activities. Bev is interested in exactly none of them, but does wish to examine their stock of spirits. Matt begins spraying himself with hand sanitizer the moment he notices how many of the items have a "Group Activity" label.

A woman in a calf-length Houndstooth coat walks past the group but stops to gaze at Kate's jacket, fawning over its charm and subtle glamour. She asks if Kate also bought her coat from Nordstrom. She then asks if Kate plans to play in a tennis match later.

Kate happily confirms that, yes, she will be playing. They chat for a little longer and Kate is still smiling when the woman bids her farewell and walks further into the club's interior.

"How are you going to play?" Matt asks, pointing to the tennis poster pinned to the cork bulletin board at the lobby entrance, "It's Doubles and three of us will likely solidify if we venture outside."

"Oh, we're still playing tennis. Do you know how much I had to bribe the babysitter to come on such short notice?" asks Kate, "They have a heated indoor court," she says, taking off her coat to reveal a sensible, pale beige skirt and thin, rust red pullover.

"Oh, they're fancy fancy," says Haley.

Kate finds the sports center in the left wing, guided by the rambunctious sound of middle aged aerobics. It is a vast gymnasium filled with varied exercise equipment and a bounty of helpful regimens: elliptical trainers, stair masters, Homeless Person Avoidance Training, medicine balls, etc. There's even a rock climbing wall mounted in the back. There are no cables attached to it for fear that people may actually wish to use it, but it has its scenic benefits. She then sees the tennis court, a green square girded with a chain link fence. She spies the sign-up sheet on a plastic folding table at the entrance and begins scrawling her name.

As she flourishes the Barston-ending 'n' and admires her penmanship, an unexpected voice takes her by surprise.

"You're in the way," says the voice and Kate notices that it belongs to the robust, older gentleman looming behind her. He is accompanied by a smaller, leaner fellow and together they look like a before and after advert for malnutrition.

Kate nearly leaps out of the man's direction when she notices her folly. "Sorry! I wasn't paying attention."

"Never seen you here before," says the shorter, wheat blond man.

"Yes, I'm a new--" begins Kate, holding out her hand in anticipation of a handshake.

"Who's your husband?" interrupts the other man, a gray halo of hair situated on the perimeter of his scalp.

"I'm not sure how--" starts Kate, slowly lowering her hand.

"That's how you got in, right?" he asks as he bends down to add his own name to the roster, "Bring the 'Girls' for a 'Fun Weekend' at the country club and then fuck off to whichever Wellness Spa you crawled out of?"

"That's--" Kate tries to interject.

"We promise not to beat you too badly later, okay?" the blond interrupts as he saunters off, followed shortly by his friend.

She is left standing alone at the front of the sports center, not entirely sure she has correctly interpreted the preceding events. In her mind, she loops through their meeting again and again, wondering what she did wrong. When she does realize that she, in fact, ‘Just Got Dunked On’, grim is not the right word to describe the aura she emanates. It's pretty close, though.

Kate staggers into the common area and, seeing the rest of her coven lying haphazardly across an island of recliners, plops into one of the vacant chairs. Her entire demeanor is a haggard sigh.

Trading concerned looks, the witches aren't sure who should handle this. They play "Rock, Paper, Sigils" while Kate slumps further into the padded leather. The agreed upon worst candidate for helping someone through distress is also apparently really bad at games of chance because when she loses, Bev swears under her breath.

Bev very tepidly strokes Kate's back and whispers, "Now, now. Emotions are..." she gulps, "Perfectly normal. I have them all the time." She retches.

Taking Kate's hand, Matt asks, "What happened?"

A full body sigh later and Kate appears to have summoned the drive to retell the tale. By the time she's through, the witches bear the expressions of those personally wronged. How dare anyone make fun of Kate? And not even behind her back like a decent person. WASPS have feelings, too.

"You should've led with that," says Bev, cracking her knuckles, "I'll kill them."

Matt nods, "I don't know about getting someone else's blood on me, but yes, murder seems in order."

Haley can't believe what she just heard. She really can't. She stopped listening halfway through to stare at someone she thought might be her Little League coach. But why would they be here, ten states away in this country club common area? It just doesn't make sen-- Oh, no, that's someone else, nevermind. Oh, god, now everyone's looking at her. Make something up, make something up.

"Like a flock of crows in V-formation," says Haley. Nailed it.

"You guys... you have no idea how much this means to me," says Kate, a welling in her eyes, "I know with you by my side, Bev, we can--"

"Oh, yeah, no, I don't want to play," Bev corrects.

Clearly disappointed, Kate's face sobers a little, but she looks to Matt with hope.

"Sorry, me either. I didn't mean to mislead you," says Matt, sincerely apologetic.

Kate feels as though the dinghy she just acquired footing in has capsized beneath her.

Haley smiles.

Kate looks to her nervously, but the smile only widens. "Have... you ever actually played tennis?" Kate asks.

"Sure, I played a little at home," Haley says. Kate sighs.

"Of course, we had wooden rackets and the strings were made from goat guts, but how different could it be?" Haley asks. Kate sighs again and internally resigns to her fate, but still intends on having a very fun, very non-competitive time.

On the court, shortly before their starting match, Haley tests the weight of the carbon fiber racket. She tosses it from hand to hand and gives a few practice swats. Once, she sends the racket flying, leaving her to run to the middle of the court and retrieve it.

Their first few matches - one with a couple from Denver and the other with the woman they encountered in the lobby and her "chiropractor" who is definitely only half her age because it helps to be young and limber in his profession. Definitely - are nothing to write home about. Haley's home, in particular, is where you should not be writing to. Because they would not be very impressed with her performance. But after getting used to how light this inferior plastic racket is, the aerodynamics of its slender frame, the whistle of its whip through the air, she feels a touch more comfortable.

This comfort is promptly squished like a windshield mosquito when their next opponents enter the fence. Kate's heart falls when she recognizes the sheen of one man's head and the smarm on the other's lips, but her face is unflinching steel.

"Didn't think you'd still be here," the blond says, his eyes a sneer.

The walking comb over assumes his place across the court and, beginning to stretch, says, "They wanted to lose to real men. I don't blame 'em."

Haley exhales. The match begins.

For the first set, the court is a frenzy of movement. Rhythmic thwacking echoes across the gymnasium. The squeaking of sneakers, the breathy grunts upon each impact, the flicked beads of sweat as they dart to strike the racket. All four are giving it their all.

But Kate and Haley are just too accurate. Too fast. Too relentless in their fury.

Nearing the end of their third set, Kate and Haley have dominated the game, easily leading over their opponents' hefty score of one. What was only meant to be a playful diversion sees the girls one favoring play away from taking the whole kit 'n' caboodle. Reigning victorious. But, like, in a fun, non-competitive way.

This is what it all comes down to.

"They would be good at this," huffs the gray-haired man to his partner, "Chicks and tennis." He serves the ball, and Haley, in her distraction, swings and misses. A green blur zips by her head.

The gray-haired man chuckles, "I think that's our point."

"One of them even looks like Serena," his blond partner wheezes hoarsely. They burst into ill-concealed snickers.

"One more round?" Kate asks, bouncing a tennis ball.

"One more round," Haley concurs.

They trade the tennis ball back and forth with their opponents, the net flapping with every pass. For a few tosses, they are very light swings, measured and contained. But in one of her connections with the ball, Kate applies a considerable amount more force to the racket. The tennis ball responds with equal vigor, shooting from her racket's wired face and careening toward the other side of the court.

But it never hits either of the men's rackets. Or makes contact with the ground. It simply floats and whirls at a standstill just past the net.

No one moves a muscle.

The silent stillness of the moment is broken when the blond man appears to muster the confidence to approach the green rotation. He seems to have descended from glaciers with the time it takes him to close the gap. Mere inches away, he stares up at the tennis ball in the exact way that you're not supposed to stare at the sun.

He lifts his hand and reaches slowly upward with an extended finger.

The ball, still in a rapid spin, yet frozen in mid-air, comes undone and pelts the blond directly between the eyes. He goes to the ground and rolls onto his back, his scream slightly muffled by the hands now covering his face.

Exclaiming his name, the gray-haired man runs over to kneel and assist his partner.

Focused on tending to his friend, he is blissfully unaware when, under Haley's intense stare, his shoestrings loosen and then intertwine, lacing together.

"I think that's our point," says Haley.

The man clambers to a stand and starts off toward her with a warning, huffy "Why, you little..." before tripping and spilling to the ground like a freshly slingshotted Goliath.

The blond, a red burn at the center of his face, goes to help him, but his shorts sink quickly to his feet and he falls in a tangle to the green mat.

"That's set," says Kate.

"And match," says Haley.

They grasp hands in a high five and make their way to the fenced door.

As they exit the court, Haley shouts back to the groaning men, "And I would love to look like Serena! She's a goddamn Amazon!" Even after they've exited, Haley can still be heard shouting, "An Amazon!"

They've made it halfway into the main house when they run into Matt just outside of the kitchen, wearing a black apron, stamped with the country club's logo.

"Why are you--?" Haley begins before Matt raises a hand and cuts her off with a sharp breath.

"I went to the restaurant to sample their Chateaubriand," he says, pulling the apron strings over his head, "But someone mistook me for a waiter and one thing led to another, and I report for duty at 9 am."

Slinking down the hall to join them, Bev says, "That's really going to confuse your students."

"Where have you been?" Kate asks.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you guys about," she says.

Occasionally looking over her shoulder to ensure she's not being followed by any of the club's staff, Bev leads the coven to the rear section of the expansive building. Despite the recently watered ficuses, it doesn't appear as though this area of the club receives much visitation.

Taking another cursory look, Bev waves the witches into a room and closes the door behind her. Once she flicks the light on, an old ballroom comes into focus. The dusty, white grand piano, tucked in the room's corner, has uneven keys. The floor is cedar coated in a thoroughly scuffed varnish.

At the center of the room is a freshly painted and ornamented circle, surrounded in thick, off-white candles.

"You've been busy," Kate says.

"Since we got here, I've sensed a mass of souls, trapped just beneath the floorboards," says Bev.

"I felt it, too," says Matt, "I suspected it was just the unease that comes with being in a country club."

"There's that, too," Bev says.

Bev stomps on the floor and a chorus of weak groans ekes up, "That's at least 30? Maybe 40 unhappy ghosts." She locks eyes with Kate, hesitates for a moment, and says, "We have to do something."

Kate, all out of sighs for the day, brings her hands together and lets them go with a deep breath. "Okay," she says, "What do we do?"

There's no boom box available to blast "Wannabe" while they work, so their preparation lacks a distinct Spice, but they each have their jobs and they each complete them with an expected diminished enthusiasm.

Once Kate's finished lighting the candles, Haley flips the light switch and they take their positions.

Because it was her idea, Bev heads the ritual, and thus initiates the throaty, guttural chanting. As she nears the end, like a musical round, another witch starts from the beginning. And the cycle continues until, thrumming like a locust swarm, the coven is in overlapping cacophony.

As their chanting increases in volume and an impossible wind whips their hair to and fro, the candle flames grow into angry blazes. And in an instant, they extinguish.

And the room goes dark.

Then, suddenly, light returns as a host of faint, blue-white specters encircle the witches. As a few seconds pass and they regain more human forms, a great variety of age among them, the "Leader" of the group, a weathered man in an eagle feather-adorned headdress, nods to the coven. One by one, their forms dissipate. Soon, they've all faded, leaving one little girl, clutching a small toy bunny. She waves at the witches and too disappears.

The candles flicker back to life.

"So good of you to release them," Kate says, laying her hand on Bev's shoulder, "The afterlife will be kind to them."

"Right. Release," Bev says, tapping Kate's hand.

From outside of the ballroom there comes a scream. Looking a smirking Bev in the eyes, Kate pulls her hand away and makes for the door.

The chaos encapsulating the country club can be heard in its full intensity the moment Kate cracks the door open.

It's difficult to decipher exactly what is transpiring: a typhoon of well-clothed, well-fed patrons bounds in every direction. They wail and beg and stumble over each other, flown after by a roaring cavalcade of translucent figures.

The witches watch as the little girl who thanked them earlier flies through the bottom of a couple's table and into their roasted duck, chasing them with scornful, flailing drumettes as they scream for mercy.

Kate's face gets in the way of her palm.

"You know, I saw a hand sanitizer dispenser in the bathroom," says Matt, "Maybe this place isn't so bad after all."

#i'm sure i'll catch a bunch of typos and things i want to edit later #but here's snippet 3 #Bad Witches

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blorbologist · 4 years

Text

Alchemist- King Lore/Drabble

Realized ‘oh shit my class is done, I can treat myself’ and by that I mean write 1.5k words ‘cause @servalspots inspired me with Celestial Lore. Also huge thanks for @jesterden for inspiring me by writing such great lore too!! <3

The array was a disaster.

Alchemist’s fur rippled against his haunches at the sight he returned to. The salt overflowed past its noted boundaries; the mercury had dribbled from its flask, the phosphorus powder crisscrossing the iron shavings. Hell, the calligraphy was all nonsense.

Worst of all, the circle was sloppy- an ellipse, by the stars, no circle! Not even complete, either, leading out and away in a sputter of white.

Smatters of chalk lead straight to a very, very scared looking cub, fur powdered with all sorts of chemicals. Alchemist knew they were each warped reflections of eachother- a lot more similar than the cub knew, barring a crucial detail.

His ears slick to the tentative start of a mane, he did his best to hold his mentor’s gaze. “I-I didn’t mean it, honest. I thought you’d want the prep done, for when you got back, and I’d seen you done it enough times.”

“Quiet.”

Alchemist had to stretch a fair bit into the shadows to grasp the cub in his jaws- he nearly spat him out again. Reagents, right. Very toxic reagents, and chalk. Struggling to hold back his spit and his prodigy, he rolled his shoulders, settling his cape to be a pleasant weight against his spine. Satisfied, or as much as he could be wanting to heave, he turned and padded back towards the mouth of the cave. The cub was silent.

As he walked, he scanned the walls of his domain. It wasn’t as clear as he’d like, this far back, but feline vision could only account for so much. Bone-white writing in chalk- equations, theorems, triple-underlined THAT WAS A STUPID IDEA, DON’T DO THIS AGAIN. All in that same scrawl, a shade better than the cub’s. But he couldn’t remember writing a stitch of it.

He backtracked once or twice, braced himself against the wall to peer at some worthwhile notes near the cave’s roof. Finding what he was looking for, he bounced slightly on his pads, jostling the cub.

“Ahhuh! Mh Mrmfrun! Urh, mrph heurh ith whtunt you where mithinh-”

“I… didn’t get a word of that, Alchemist.” the cub whispered.

“Ouh. Yh.”

Alchemist spat him out. The two spent a minute dealing with the unpleasant aftermath - Alchemist rubbing at his snout with a paw and making gagging noises, while the cub gave his messy, slobbery pelt a disheartened lick or two.

Alchemist regained some composure, cleared his throat.

“I’m, uh. Very disappointed in you.”

The cub paused mid-lick, drawing attention to very queer spots. Immediately his demeanor changed- stiff and afraid, again. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t meant to waste so many reagents, and make a mess, and-”

“What are you talking about?” Alchemist snorted. “You’re just as curious as I was at your age, that’s a good thing. My problem is that you didn’t think first.”

“Of the consequences?”

“No.” The lion reached up, as high as his lanky legs and the wall could take him, to smack a crystal embedded there with his paw. Once, twice- it almost wheezed to life, like a dying firefly. In the periwinkle glow, the stars on their pelt winked and danced, and the rows and rows of point-form instructions and scrawled out writing were made clearer.

“You didn’t think of how to do it properly.”

The cub’s little snout scrunched up. “I… I did it like you did.”

“That’s not thinking. No Alchemist gets anywhere on pure mimicry. Because if you copy wrong, you die.”

Alchemist didn’t make the same mistake twice- he didn’t want a mouthful of fur and phosphorus. Instead, he beckoned the cub to climb onto his shoulders, nestled into the neck of his cape. Once secure, he lifted them both up.

“See, here?” He nosed towards one angry-looking scrawl.

He could almost hear the cub squinting. “Equal parts… salt… to iron.”

Alchemist nodded as lightly as he could without dislodging his charge. “Right. And why’s that?”

“To...” A pause, as the cub looked for the answer. Maybe in his head, maybe on the walls. “To balance the array, so their powers balance eachother! And so both contribute, instead of one overwhelming the other!” Sharp claws pricked through the fabric of his cape - the prodigy was grasping at him in building excitement.

“Almost!” Alchemist bucked the cub- no longer scared, the little one laughed, rolling on the cold cave floor. “If unbalanced, or not properly contained, they can cause an explosion!”

He lightly clawed at some nasty looking scorchmarks, from however long ago. His grin was wild, rivaling the cub’s. “They’re both very potent together- it’s why we need a perfectly made outer array. Or the explosion is a lot less fun, and could put us back a lot of progress.”

“By destroying supplies?”

“No!” Alchemist dropped a heavy paw on the cub’s head, messing with his ears. “By killing you!”

The cub’s enthusiasm faltered. Alchemist’s did not.

“That’s why you need to think- you’re standing on the shoulders of giants here, heir to lifetimes of failures and accidents and discoveries!”

He spun on himself, cape nearly touching his forepaws as he gazed wonderingly at the writing on the wall. It spun and made him a little sick. “Why make the same errors made before when you can skip half the learning curve, straight to progress! Half of our skill is knowing when to take the most efficient path, and turning yourself into paste is not good for any of us!”

The cub seemed to be pondering something, tail curling and uncurling in a familiar way. Alchemist almost skidded to a stop next to him, hardly feeling the cool stone beneath his paws. “We are descendants of the stars, my homunculi, my little me! Mortals with the blood of divine in our veins. Usually only smattering on our fur and eyes, yes, but so much more in us.”

The thrill, the sheer joy of this and that, of science and power, was almost addictive. No. Definitely. Definitely was.

“My little homunculi, when we see this through- we can surpass the siphoning and immorality of petty whispers, turn meteorite shards into philosopher’s stones. Use magic and science to pursue our goals, not like some sniveling, incestuous, wise-cracking-”

“That Apedemak fellow?”

Alchemist blinked - his clone’s eyes peered at him, glowing eerily in the light. Just like his, just like him, but not quite. “Yes, that one.”

His lips curved into a snarl, throwing his cloak aside with a paw.

“Fuck him. No methods, no good madness, a cheap hack.” Alchemist’s eyes narrowed, his chest heaving after the rapid-fire rant.

He’s made himself over and over, he knew. From one incarnation to the next, a successful experiment, a tweak to a viable clone-but-not that paid off and gave him results. These eyes or those eyes, these marks and eight others, too.

Not bred, made, with little vials and delicate measurements and some blood of his with its blue-silver sheen. No harm, not to anything that could live anyways at least. Give a chick teeth, give a fly face-legs, give a cub the means to drag God down and kick his ass.

If there were any problems with these methods, they would have stopped long ago… right?

“Our methods are more humane. And efficient.”

He took in a gulp of air, then reached up to dim the glowing shard.

It grew dark, but for their eyes and the fading twinkle of their pelts.

They lit up more crystals, closer to the mouth of the cave.

Alchemist and his homunculi padded from wall to wall. Chattering about the equations, occasionally dashing between connections as the cub’s mind began to pick up speed.

Alchemist watched, pleased as can be, as the chemicals were balanced, scripts rewritten, the damn elliptical array turned into a proper, perfect circle. One that wouldn’t backfire. The mess cleaned up, a proper experiment now possible.

The homunculi’s cry of joy, paws on either side of the focal point of the array, as blue electricity danced along the chalk. The components were consumed, an acrid smell in the air and billows of dark smoke pieced by bright snaps of light. Left in the center was a meteorite shard- glowing, now, levitating just slightly as it was batted at with eager paws.

The homunculi looked to Alchemist for permission, pranced out of the cave when it was given. He nosed his little floating rock, pulsing with power, calling out giddy to his family. Almost just like him- more than blood relatives, almost identical down to their marrow, all more or less far from being Alchemists.

Alchemist himself, though, felt a sense of deja-vu.

Other Alchemists had done this, maybe not every time but often enough. It tugged at his insides, roughly where he was pretty sure a kidney sat. They were him but not, some memories lost, always some improvements made (except for that one time).

He looked once more at the array. Traced each line with a paw- not touching, just drifting over the curves and corners, noting the spaces where symbols would be drawn in detail.

He knew similar circles - bastardized, drawn by genetics in the form of Rosettes. Hundreds of them, on a pelt identical to his own but for their presence. On his cub- his homunculi, yes.

The lines crossed and wavered.

They weren’t perfect circles.

He sighed.

They’d have to do.

#lioden #pride lore #alchemist #alchemy #ocs #apedemak #tw:july storyline vaguely alluded to #apedemak is Awful and Alchemist hates him but kinda for the wrong reasons

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years

Text

The Miys, Ch 77

Ultimately, this chapter was very fun for me to write. I got to expand the universe the story takes place in, write a type of chapter I have sorely missed writing, and also further the plot. It’s a win all the way around!

Also, the winning submitter for the name of the colony will be announced on February 21st, with the actual name they submitted being written into next week’s chapter, so keep your peepers peeled for that!

Edit: Thank you @hypatia248 and @iainkristian for pointing out that I skipped something in my numbering! I’ve corrected it to show that this is chapter 77, not 78.

“Terrans are remarkably resilient, I have noticed.”

I glanced up at Noah with a confused smile. We were taking a walk around the Ark, which we hadn’t done in several weeks. “We’ve almost killed ourselves or each other twice in less than two years. How does that make us resilient?”

They waved one vomu expansively. “That is, partially, the data I am taking into account. For a species that shows a significant propensity for danger, along with a lack of self-preservation that I lack sufficient vocabulary to describe – Wisdom, I do not breathe, that phrase makes no sense – you also display a distinct determination to continue existing. To describe it as paradoxical is what you call an understatement.”

They had me there. “Thanks?”

Noah gave short, low hum that sounded enough like a cow that I had to restrain my laughter. It was their way of trying to grunt, but it still sounded comical. “There are very few species in this galaxy that display both a similar ability to survive and an equal… fragility, for lack of a better term.”

“I’m not fragile!” I huffed, scowling.

“Compared to other sentient species in the galaxy, you are, actually,” they corrected gently. “In fact, it was widely believed for several thousand of your years that sentient species only evolved in two ways: those from extreme environments evolve to be difficult to injure in the first place, while those from gentle environments are easier to injure. Both groups add value to the greater community, but humans are only the third species we have encountered that evolved in extreme conditions but can be injured so easily that you do it every day and think nothing of it.”

I groaned and rolled my eyes. “Oh, come on, Miys. They’re bruises for crying out loud! Everyone gets them.”

“I do not.”

“You are felled by close proximity to spicy food.”

My words were swatted away with a fair imitation of one of Tyche’s dismissive gestures. “The vast majority of species who can break bones and sustain subdermal bleeding in any manner, similar to humans, are species who also die if they do so.”

That stopped me in my tracks. “Our… Miys, Terran insects are more resilient than that.”

“Indeed.” They nudged me to keep walking. “On the other, far end of the spectrum, you have species such as myself,” they gestured to their midsection. “Hujylsogox are difficult to truly damage, despite what you seem to think. We can survive dismemberment, most extremes in temperature, gravity, even vacuum of space. Incineration or dissolution in corrosive elements are the only things to which we are actually vulnerable.”

That means… “Wait. Your species is from an extreme environment? Terrans used to imagine that our home was a ‘death world’. That isn’t true?”

“Within certain bounds, it certainly is. I fail to imagine a species that cannot be killed by your home planet’s environment, alone, much less the life upon it. You may still consider yourselves ‘Death Worlders’ if you like.” A familiar buzz emerged, one I recognized as a laugh. “But my home is extreme in its own right. Suyfum has a heavily elliptical orbit, alternately too far and too close to our star to sustain atmosphere on the surface. Life only evolved underground, where the temperature fluctuations were less extreme.”

A chirp from my wrist showed a file drop from the Ark, which displayed a visual of what they described. “That’s more like what we associate with a comet than a planet,” I murmured.

One liw bobbed in an approximation of a human nod. “The principle is similar, yes.”

Still staring at the simulation, I asked the question that was poking around at the back of my head. “You said we are the third species in the known galaxy that fall in the middle?”

“Third sentient species, yes.”

“What are the other two like?”

A brief hum. “The So-K’nor are a warm-blooded species, predatory in nature. Their home world, So-K’n, is an ice planet with no tectonic activity. They evolved to hunt and communicate by scent, and in the larger galactic community serve largely in their capacity for being able to locate almost anything.” I nodded in fascination and gestured for them to continue. “The other is the Preeyar, an avian species. They are largely herbivorous, hailing from Aiorous.” Another beep had me flicking open my datapad again. What I saw made it clear why Miys had sent the video rather than trying to describe it...

Aiorous had been, for lack of a better description, smashed at some point in its history. The main surface was covered in volcanic activity, most of which boiled on what appeared to be the side that was hit. Radiating out from the point of impact were cracks filled with swirls of yellow, through which peeked hints of purple. “How…” I gasped.

“Life on the planet exists in the rift valleys. When the Preeyar were still primitive, Aiorous collided with a comet nearly half its size. Due to subsequent geothermal and tectonic changes, there was only enough atmosphere left in the valleys for anything to survive.”

“And yet they fly,” I murmured in amazement.

“They persist,” Miys confirmed. “All three of your species persist. Even when injured, or ill, or when your homeworlds are inhabitable for your own kind, you demand to continue living.”

“Can any of them see?” I had to know.

“They cannot. The Preeyar, much like myself, use sound as a means of perception. So-K’nor use scent and tactile stimulus to gather data; they can hear, but too well for most situations, and are easily overwhelmed. Those who take service among other species often voluntarily undergo deafening procedures.”

That’s horrid, was all I could think at the moment. Just as I was about to ask another question, a group came around the corner we were approaching and collided with us. “I am so sorry,” I started automatically, only to be brought up short by their expressions.

The one who had walked, full speed, into Miys swiped at his clothing and sneered, as though someone spilled something on him. The woman I was apologizing to eyed me up and down before turning her nose and shoving past me. I gaped as they all pushed through, their disgusted looks and suspicious glances the only acknowledgement they made of what happened.

Stunned, I couldn’t even find the words to shout after them for being so rude. Miys’ voice snagged my attention. “Wisdom, it is my understanding that, when humans invade another person’s space in such a manner, the custom is to apologize?”

“What? Yeah… Yes, Noah, that’s the custom in most Terran cultures I’m aware of.” Wrenching my gaze from the now-empty corridor, I focused the attention back on my friend. “That was… so weird.” So rude.

“You may want to discuss the encounter with Head Nurturer Costa, Wisdom.”

“Antoine? What - why? They weren’t that rude.” At least, I didn’t think they were. Not enough that I needed therapy.

“Did you not have the proximity update made to your translation implant?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Under protest, but yeah.” The subject was a bit of a sore spot, honestly. Tyche refused to do it unless I did as well, and Conor and Maverick were nagging me to take better care of myself, so I agreed to go through the necessary medical approval - from someone other than Antoine or Grey - to see if I even qualified for the update.

Wait. The software to broadcast the beacon required medical approval, but the software to receive the proximity alerts wasn’t optional, and had recently gone ship-wide after thorough testing and unanimous approval by the Council. “You mean, they ignored the alert?”

“Negative, Wisdom.” They were using my ‘name’ a lot. Usually that meant bad news.

“Then how did that happen? I mean, they should have had a screaming alert that they were going to walk into me.”

“I had no indication of the distress ordinarily caused by the proximity alert. They did not receive the notification.”

My stomach sank as I processed that information. “Could they have disabled it?”

“I am unsure.” Their vomu and liw alike spread in a very human shrug - times three. “When I first arrived at your planet, eleven of your years ago, I would not have believed any of your people capable of understanding the technology on the Ark. Eighteen Terran months ago, I believed it even less. However, I have been proven incorrect to the point of embarrassment, were I capable of feeling such.”

“I need to speak to Antoine.”

“You need to speak with Antoine.”

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#the miys #humans are weird #original scifi #earth is a deathworld #aliens #found family #apocalypse #earth is space australia #humans are space orcs #original writing #my writing

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

don't make me wait another day, chapter 1: let's stop running from love (kamasia) - holtzmanns, writworm42

A/N: Holtz: Can you all believe that Writ and I’s first collab wasn’t a Branjie one? Highkey though, they’re so wonderful and so easy to write with and are hilarious and this was so much fun. I really do love them so much and am so glad to have found such a lovely friend and fellow writer.

Writ: Holtz & I decided to finally put our shared brain cell to use and try something different! We really hope you guys enjoy this, we both love Kamasia so we’re really excited to share this :) Plus, have I mentioned how amazing Holtz is? In every author’s note? Okay. Cause she’s an amazing person to write with and I can’t wait to continue this story with her.

This was based off a tumblr post Holtz saw about a trainer & gym rat falling in love, and we thought we’d add just a dash of useless lesbian to it. Title from My My My by Troye Sivan.

Asia requires her fair share of persuasion to actually get herself to the gym. She rolls her eyes when Monet first suggests it, retorting that she’d rather poke her eyes out with her own makeup brush than look all sweaty in front of a million strangers.

“But girl, all the other strangers are gonna be sweaty too! That’s the whole point of gym, you go be nasty with other people.” Monet rolls her eyes, dropping her gym bag in the front foyer of their apartment and ignoring the dirty look that Asia gives her for it.

“Girl please, you just like that you finally the prettiest one in the room.” Asia huffs, but Monet’s already walking into the bathroom to take a shower.

“Well if I already outshine you, then you don’t have anything to lose, right? Besides,” she pokes her head out from the bathroom door, “I got plenty of sponges with me if you want to mop all that nasty up.”

She disappears behind the door again before a couch cushion can hit her in the face.

It’s not that Asia doesn’t want to go to the gym, necessarily. She has been meaning to exercise more, become more fit. And it is true that running by herself has become quite boring, what with the same bland trails every time.

It’s just that the thought of going in front of people who look so good and are so much more experienced than her is intimidating. The idea of having them all watch her make an ugly fool of herself on equipment that she barely knows the names of makes her sick to her stomach.

Unfortunately, Monet’s girlfriend Monique is a lot more persuasive than Monet is. By persuasive, Asia means that when she’s having a lovely day off to do nothing but laze around in the apartment, thank you very much, Monique barges in with Monet in tow, announcing that they’re going to work out. She doesn’t leave until Asia is behind her carrying a duffel bag full of towels, running shoes, and a change of clothes.

“Trust me, it’s gonna be brown cow stunning.” Monique practically squeals in glee as they walk into the changing room, Asia deciding to keep her skepticism to herself.

She’s already here, after all. Might as well make the most of it.

There’s only one word that pops into Asia’s mind once they enter the gym…smelly. Smelly as hell, as if none of the gym goers have ever washed their workout clothes in their lives.

Monet waves her hand in front of Asia’s wrinkled nose. “No different from your nasty ass socks when you come back from your runs.”

“Rude.”

Monet snickers, ignoring the shove that Asia gives her and following Monique towards the elliptical machines.

“The hell is this?” The machine looks like a death trap, like it’s gonna fling her off should she try and step onto it.

Monique waltzes past her, gracefully climbing onto the machine. “ This,” Monique starts with a flourish, “is an elliptical. Your fat ass never been on one before?”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sakes.” Asia mutters, climbing onto the one next to Monique as Monet snickers. She can beat these ridiculous death machines easily.

It turns out, in fact, that Asia cannot.

Monet pats her arm sympathetically as she leads Asia towards the treadmills. “Maybe you won’t fall off of this one as fast.”

Asia huffs. She’s tired of this stinky, sweaty, idiotic-

Well.

Asia was.

But beside the row of treadmills is a squat rack, and standing by that squat rack is a woman in a muscle top that’s hugging her visible abs and leggings that show off her…assets. Asia isn’t one to stare or objectify, but the woman and her damn high ponytail that cascades down her back are making it incrediblydifficult to be nice and respectful.

The woman is spotting a rather sweaty looking guy who looks like he’s about to pass out any minute. Asia wrinkles her nose. Probably the source of the damn smell of this joint. The woman takes his spot next, demonstrating the move that she wants him to do and the way she squats and sticks her ass out (an ass that’s perhaps facing the treadmill that Asia is on), Asia nearly misses a step and falls off.

“Shit!”

She catches herself with her arms against the railings of the treadmill, a string of swear words leaving her mouth that she hopes aren’t audible to the dreamboat woman a couple meters away from her. Who, to her credit, is still doing squat reps with a weighted bar resting along her back and shoulders.

Okay, so she’s safe; the woman probably didn’t hear, or see. Good.

Only then, Asia looks up again, looks back one more time ( why did she look back one more time?), and notices the woman looking in her direction. Staring. Quickly gliding her eyes away when she sees Asia looking back. Aww.

Asia’s nerves disappear, and she does what anyone else would do when they catch a shy, pretty girl staring at them.

She waits for the girl to look again, and then she smiles.

Kameron is the epitome of smooth. She really is, as evidenced by the way that she completely misses Dave’s (or is it Steve’s?) question. They’re reaching the end of the hour, anyway. His training session is going to be done any minute as it is.

“Pardon?” She puts on the most polite voice she can, because Dave/Steve is all tired and sweaty and not in a good mood after Kameron made him do entirely more burpees than necessary. Along with the fact that he pays at the register after the session is over, so she wants to keep him happy.

“I said,” the man huffs in between sips of his water, “can we do these next week with lighter weights?”

“You want to go lighter?” Kameron raises an eyebrow. It’s not that she’s surprised, per se. It’s just that most men that she trains always feel like they have something to prove with her once they see her muscles.

Dave/Steve (she really needs to figure out his name) tries to get up, but falls back against the seat of the leg press machine. “I think you nearly killed me this time, Miss.”

“Told you, my name’s Kameron, not ‘Miss’.” Kameron can’t help her snippy tone. Screw keeping him happy.

She helps him up regardless, though, keeping him from falling on his shaky legs as he hobbles towards the changing rooms. It’s only then that she allows herself to peek back up at the woman by the treadmills.

Who is smiling at her.

Kameron nearly drops her clipboard, catches it with a slew of curse words that leave her mouth. She looks back up and the woman looks like she’s trying not to laugh, and Kameron can’t help the blood rushing to her cheeks.

She’s smooth. Real smooth. Incredibly smooth.

Kameron watches as the woman hops off her treadmill, looking like she’s glistening rather than breaking a sweat. Who actually looks good at the gym? The woman strides closer to her, and Kameron has to resist the urge to step backwards, because talking to pretty girls for the first time is not her forte. The woman, however, has other ideas.

Oh God. She’s walking towards her. The pretty woman is walking towards her.

She’s smooth. Real smooth. She can do this.

“Hi there!” The woman smiles again, her dimples and white teeth ( God , she has white teeth, how does she have such white teeth?) even more stunning up close.

Kameron can do this. She can do this.

“You a trainer here?”

She can’t do this.

“Um…uh…Hi. Yes. Trainer. I’m a trainer, yes.” Kam watches the other woman’s smile grow even wider at her stumbling, and has to stifle another stream of curses from spilling out of her mouth. She coughs, taking the opportunity to hide her face in her elbow and regain composure.

“What can I do for you?”

“Well, I’m looking for a trainer, and I just saw you working with that guy, so I thought I might inquire about you, ah…”

She’s looking for her name. The pretty woman is looking for her name.

“Oh! Um…Kam. Everyone just calls me Kam.” As she says it, she realizes that her name is literally sewn into her shirt, and she reddens.

God damn, this woman knows what she’s doing.

“Well hi, Kam! I’m Asia.” The woman extends a hand, and Kameron takes it, once again reddening when she feels how fucking soft the woman’s hands are, even slick with sweat.

Kam doesn’t even wipe her hand on her shorts.

“Nice to meet you, Asia.” Kam smiles, knowing her own plain, regular teeth don’t measure up, hoping that Asia won’t mind too much. Thankfully, Asia doesn’t seem to–instead, she just nods.

“Pleasure’s all mine, baby.”

Oh God. She called her baby.

“So… Can I schedule a session with you some time?”

“Oh, yes please.”

Oh, for Lord’s sake.

“Um, I mean… I’m free next week on Thursday at 3?”

“Well, that’s a coincidence!” Asia giggles, flipping her hair a little. Jesus fucking Christ. “So am I. So see you Thursday at 3?”

Against her better judgment, Kameron nods. “See you then.”

It’s only when Asia walks away that reality truly hits Kameron. She is completely, utterly fucked, and somehow, she doesn’t mind.

#rpdr fanfiction #kameron michaels #asia o'hara #asia x kameron #monet x change #monique heart #lesbian au #dont make me wait another day #dmmwad #holtzmanns #writworm42 #s10

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kcowgill · 5 years

Text

Today!

Productive “me” day today.

Lifted (short, light, few sets).

Hit the elliptical (yes, I hate it, but oh well). Just for a little bit.

During my 1x1 with my boss today, we walked to the post office and dropped off the next care package for Rene (my friend, running partner, co-worker who’s in the Air National Guard and has been deployed to Kuwait for a half year leaving his wife and 3.5 year old daughter at home).

After the kids went down and my wife and I had a short sync-up (RIGHT before she realized she had a conference call scheduled at 8:30, oops) - I went back to the climbing gym and got my membership and did some climbing!

I built up my confidence by choosing one of the easiest auto-belay routes, then did the one next to it that was a step up in difficulty. Then I walked around the corner and tried one that was the next step up, but couldn’t figure it out so came down. Some random guy was asking if he could do it or if I was going to do it again, so I let him go. And watched him climb it, so I had a better idea what I had missed. Then I gave it a shot, and made it!

He introduced himself - Nate - and then he convinced me to go a bit away and try a taller, harder route. Why not! We chatted for a bit while another climber climbed the route he had his eye on, then he attempted it. Nearly got to the top, but ended up bailing. There was a slightly easier (but still harder) right right next to it so I opted for that one. I also got fairly near to the top but my forearms were killing me and I couldn’t figure out the next hold, so came down. As my route turned to the right a bit, I swung to my left on the way down and I realized someone was below me! Oops! Fortunately I swung back in time and came the rest of the way down.

Nate had had enough for the day so left, but I figured I’d try one more - it was rated fairly easy, but once again I couldn’t figure out the next hold so I came down. My arms were pretty shot so I called it a night myself. Roughly 40-45 minutes of intermittent climbing. Good times!

#ellipticalblr #carepackageblr #climbblr

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 5 years

Text

Chapter 8 - (totally uninterested.)

How’s it feeling today?

Not good

No?

No. Need you to come help me.

Help you with what?

Lots.

Lots?

Lots!

🙄 coming

I walked into Harry’s apartment right after 5pm on Monday night--and seeing as it was both of our nights off, I figured I’d be nice and bring him some ice cream.

I’d called him from the store to inquire about what he wanted, but I made it clear that he’d only get ice cream if he actually let me study for my upcoming history test. So now, I was sat on the floor of his living room while he was propped up on the couch (with his right ankle elevated in a strangely royal fashion), while he channel surfed.

“Can I have a beer?”

“Are you serious? No! I’m studying. You’re supposed to be doing homework too.”

He rolled his eyes at this but didn’t protest. Instead, he stood himself up and started to hobble towards the kitchen. I’d been nice enough to him--I’d gotten him an ice pack, brought the ice cream, helped him get set up on the couch, brought him a snack and a tissue.

He was feeling alright enough to walk some short distances, but he was headed for his doctor’s appointment later in the week to learn his ultimate fate in relation to soccer. When he returned from the kitchen, he had two cans in his hands.

He tossed one to me quickly, letting out a laugh when my hands flew up to protect my head. “Jesus, you could have killed me,” I chastised. “I didn’t even want one.”

“They’re the ciders you like,” he said. “I keep them around for you.”

He did? “You do?”

“I do,” he said, settling back on the couch before opening the top. He took a sip and then raised it in my direction. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

I cleared my throat, unsure of what to say. Did I tell him that I liked the fact that he kept my favorite drink around? Did I tell him that I liked the fact that he knew my favorite drink in the first place? “Just can’t believe that you nearly decapitated me.”

He laughed, picking up his phone to reply to a text. I glanced back down at the page in my textbook that would hopefully give me more information about the Ancient Greek Empire.

“Truth or dare?”

“Hm?” I looked up at him, positive that I’d misheard him.

“Truth or dare?” He said it again, his eyes still on his phone momentarily, but then he dropped it to his lap and looked me in the eyes as he brought the can to his mouth once more.

“Dare?” I said, still unsure of where he was headed.

“You can’t say dare first, Nora!”

“What? Why? If I’m not allowed to say dare than you might as well just ask me a question!”

“You’ve ruined the game and we haven’t even started playing,” he laughed a bit, keeping his eyes on me as I adjusted to face him more directly.

I let out a sigh and bit my lip, my tone somewhat defiant. “Okaaaay, truth.”

“Do you really think Ethan Davis is right for you?”

I blinked a few times, my face feeling hot as I felt his eyes lock on mine. Voices passed in the hallway outside his apartment. I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Why?”

He shrugged his shoulders, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Dunno--I just--don’t see it.”

“I don’t care if you don’t see it.”

“Okay, relax. No need to be so defensive,” he laughed a little, another sip from the cider. “Your turn.”

“Why do you care about my relationship with Ethan?”

“I didn’t say ‘truth,’” he narrowed his brows at me, but I wasn’t about to stand for it.

“You forced me to answer your question--you can answer mine.”

Harry--who found this much more amusing than I did--tried his best to suppress his smile. “Cause you’re not as bad as I thought. I’d hate to see you end up with someone not right for you.”

I rolled my eyes, dismissive of his words. Sure, Harry was allowed to ‘look out for me’--if you want to call it that--but his opinion on my love life felt out of place and unjust.

I sat there for a second, wondering how on earth Harry and I had become the type of friends to sit around drinking ciders and playing truth or dare. Something about it felt incredible juvenile, but at the same time, incredibly normal.

“Truth or dare?”

I brought my eyes back up to him, suddenly overwhelmed with a desire to blurt out all of my thoughts and feelings. I took a sip of the cider instead as I stood from my spot on the floor. I walked to sit at the far end of the couch--his eyes on me as I adjusted and got comfortable.

“Truth.”

“Do you hate me as much as you used to?”

I twisted my face as if I was thinking long and hard--gaining a laugh from him when I shrugged my shoulders. “You’re less cocky than I thought you were.”

“Oh, gee, that’s great,” his voice was monotonous and unimpressed.

I straightened my legs out, kicking him in the knee a bit. “You’re lucky I can tolerate you as much as I do. Once upon a time we had a rule about only hanging out a certain number of times per week.”

“Yeah--we had a lot of rules that we didn’t really follow.”

“What? We didn’t not follow them, Harry. We just hang out more than we expected.”

He shrugged his shoulders playfully--as if he had more to say--but the door opened to his apartment, revealing Niall, Ethan, and Ryan.

“Hey,” Niall greeted, kicking his shoes off in the front hallway before coming into the living room. “Bit ‘o distance between ya’s, everything alright?”

I laughed, moving to get as close to Harry as possible without being on top of him. “Better?”

“Much,” Harry replied, his arm snaking around my waist quickly. I shot him a smirk--one that might have been too flirty and too playful--but he returned it as Ethan and Ryan came into view.

“How was practice?” I asked, reaching to tug at the hospital bracelet that was still around Harry’s wrist.

“Ugh,” Ryan let out a groan. “Fucking terrible. Coach had us doing all sorts of stupid shit to prepare for tomorrow’s game that we’re definitely going to lose.”

“You don’t know that, do you?” I asked, trying to be positive.

“No, we do, Nora.” Niall nodded assuredly. “We suck, honest to god. Garbage. Rat’s ass. No good.”

Harry shot me a look and let out a laugh at their theatrics, taking another sip of his drink. “Anyone care for a beverage?”

“Or ice cream? I brought plenty.”

“That sounds good,” Ethan said with a smile, pointing at the two of us as we sat cuddled on the couch.

“What did you do to deserve someone like her, Harry?” Niall raised his hands to the sky--as if he were praising the heavens--before heading for the freezer.

“Dunno,” he laughed, turning to look at me. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead--and it sort of sounded like he meant it.

The good news from Harry’s doctor’s appointment was that he’d be able to practice again in a few weeks--but the bad news was that he couldn’t coach his pee-wee soccer league with a strained ankle and a bulky boot.

And don’t get me wrong, I liked kids. They were fine enough--but the idea of 10-15 rowdy children who’d been cooped up all day in a D.C. public school kind of struck me as a good way to get premature gray hair and a stress ulcer before I turned 21.

Harry--in all his booted glory--seemed to find it quite entertaining to watch me try to get a bunch of 6 and 7 year olds to line up and do some kind of warm up drill he’d tried to explain. The problem wasn’t that I didn’t understand, the problem was that Harry was apparently terrible at articulating athletic instruction. Good thing the whole coaching thing wasn’t his Plan A.

His hair was up in a bun at the back of his head--and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t help but find it attractive when he knelt down to help a few of the kids tie their cleats and finish putting their shin-guards on.

“Okay, so, now you basically just have to run a few laps with them and then we let just fuck around for a while.”

“Wait--what?” I asked him, watching as he counted down the list on a clipboard that seemed to have all of their names in alphabetical order.

“Yeah, they just kick it around and chase each other and try to shoot on goal, pretty much.”

“No, not that,” I held a hand up. “You didn’t tell me I had to run. I didn’t agree to run.”

“Nora,” he looked up at me, his eyebrows dipped together to let me know that he wasn’t pleased. “You literally offered to help. You didn’t think about the fact that there’d be running involved?”

“No!” I let out a whine, stomping my foot to show him just how much I didn’t want to run. “I can, like, jog--maybe. Elliptical, fine. Running, no can do.”

“Just try, okay?” He held the clipboard by his side now and offered a smile before putting his hand up to his mouth to yell out to the kids. “Tonight’s extra warm up is tag, and Coach Nora is it first!”

“Fuck, Harry!” I said, looking at him as if he’d just told me that he’d been burnt down an orphanage. “Seriously?”

“You better catch one of them,” he smirked. “Whoever’s it at the end has to do extra push-ups.”

I took off running, setting my eyes on the boy in a green shirt and yellow cleats. The advantage I had was my height--which wasn’t something I could usually say. When you’re playing a game of tag with a bunch of kids, though, longer legs worked in your advantage.

I was able to give the kid a shove--which caused him to fall to the ground before springing back up with a hunger in his eyes I’d never seen. He took off after a girl with a long braid down her back, and I took that as my cue to just stay out of the way.

Harry seemed to let us go on like that for a while, finally blowing his whistle to circle us back up. Once they were situated with some different colored pinnies (there was only one fight about who got to wear which color), Harry was right--we let them go and they made do on their own.

“Is it always this easy? Are their parents really paying for this?”

“Their parents are not paying for this. It’s totally free. Was my idea with the athletics department instead of getting suspended from the team and with the judge for my--” he smirked over at me and lowered his voice. “Arrest.”

“You didn’t get arrested,” I rolled my eyes at him, walking over to join him on the bench on the side of the field as we switched roles in the conversation about his incident. “That would make you way cooler.”

“Yeah?” He laughed. “Much more appealing if I was a criminal?”

“Mhm,” I nodded, watching as one kid shoved another before stealing the ball with both hands (totally against the rules, but Harry didn’t seem to care). “It’d be hard to keep my pants on around you.”

He let out a laugh at that, watching me out of the corner of his eye for a second. I wondered what he was thinking as he reached down to adjust his boot.

I felt that feeling in my stomach--the nervousness and the excitement all twisted into one lump that seemed to settle just below my lungs. I kept my eyes down and focused on the chipped nail polish on my thumb, scratching at it to avoid having to address the feeling in my gut.

I’d made a mistake--I’d let myself get too attached to Harry and now I was stuck in a place where I’d be sure to lose either way. If Harry and I broke up and I started dating Ethan, I’d lose a friend in Harry most likely. There was no way Ethan would want to hang out as a group if he felt awkward about the fact that his girlfriend and the love of his life had previously dated his friend.

But at the same time, the knot in my stomach told me that I’d gotten too attached to Harry. I’d forgotten about the rules and the pretending and somewhere along the lines my heart got brought into the mix and now there was an excitation of my pulse when he looked at me like he was right now.

I’d never been the type of person to think before I spoke. It just wasn’t the Nora Hanson way of being. But now--with Harry beside me and a lot on the line--I chose to be quiet. Instead of talking it out with Kristen or running through my options a thousand times over as I spoke aloud to myself in the shower, I tried to quiet my mind.

And when feelings got in the way, I could remind myself of one thing: Harry and I weren’t actually meant to be. We weren’t actually the best of friends or two people who had undeniable chemistry (though maybe a part of me wouldn’t mind that). We were two co-workers who’d grown to tolerate each other and shared a few laughs along the way. We were working towards a goal and if it hadn’t been for that goal, none of this would have happened.

I couldn’t back out now. I couldn’t tell Harry that maybe, possibly, there was something between us. I couldn’t tell him that a part of me wanted to cancel everything and just spend time with him. Not to convince Ethan of anything, not to keep up with the plan, just to be with him and hear him laugh and watch the way his eyebrows dipped when I said something incredibly stupid that he just couldn’t help roll his eyes at.

If I did that--if I told Harry all of these thoughts, he’d probably pull back and feel uncomfortable and tell me that Nora, you’re a nice girl, but I’m totally uninterested.

And I wasn’t sure if my heart could handle that.

Need you to come over earlier. Have something to show you.

🤔A surprise?

Sort of 🙈

What is it?!

Nora, just come over. Ready when you are 👌

I’m in the middle of an episode of Law and Order!

Nooooraaaaaaa

Fiiiiiine! Give me 20.

The day of Halloween had arrived, and while Harry was more than ready to suit up in our costume, I was appreciative of the quiet morning and a chance to sit in bed and watch TV without any commitments. I’d told him originally that Kristen and I would be over around 7pm to pregame and help the boys set up, but I trudged across campus and over to his apartment with my costume shoved in my backpack when he’d texted.

“You have to be quiet because we’re not supposed to be going up here,” he told me, a small laugh escaping my lips when I furrowed my brows together. He reached for my hand and laced his fingers through mine, pulling me up the first few steps behind him.

He picked up his pace despite the clunky boot, dropping my hand when he got to the last few steps. I knew--just from my general knowledge of apartment buildings--that we were near the roof. He’d pressed the button for the top floor in the elevator, and the only place an emergency staircase could lead on the terminal floor of a building was--

“The roof,” he smiled, pushing the metal door open as he stepped onto the blacktop. “Technically for emergencies only, but I figured I’d do something nice for you as a ‘thank you’ for all you’ve helped with over the last few weeks.”

I stepped out behind him, shielding my eyes from the sun. When he let the door shut behind me, I saw--on the far side of the roof--a blanket laid down with two take out containers and a bottle of red wine.

“Is that ours?” I asked, smacking him in the stomach quickly out of excitement. I danced over, a smile on my face as he followed behind me.

“I had to ask Kristen what your favorite dish was from Beijing Cafe,” he said, lowering himself carefully so as to avoid any further injuries.

“Harry, this is so sweet,” I sat down quickly, thankful for the big sweatshirt I was wearing. My hunger was getting the best of me as I eyed the containers, opening each to reveal the contents inside. I reached for a plastic fork and scooped a mouthful of fried rice up to my lips. “Oh my god, it smells so good.”

He twisted the cap off of the wine, poured two glasses, and then handed one to me. “Yeah, well, eat up ‘cause I have a feeling you’re going to get pretty intoxicated tonight.”

“Me?” I feigned shock and offense while he laughed at my drama. “Intoxicated? Never in a million years would I be drunk.” I took a sip of the wine at that and lost all train of thought. “Pinot noir--you know the way to my heart.”

He was quiet for a moment, and I wondered if he was about to bring up the break up. We both knew it was happening--he’d mentioned it off-handedly in the library the other day, but he cleared his throat.

“Cheers to you being the best fake girlfriend I’ve ever had,” he smiled, raising his cup in the air.

I sighed, momentarily comfortable with the butterflies in my stomach as I lifted my cup to meet his. “Well--you’re also the best fake boyfriend I’ve ever had, even if you’re a dick half the time.”

“Yeah, I mean, you kind of make it easy to pretend,” he had his glass of wine still raised and against mine, but I cut him off before he could say any more. If he finished that sentence, we’d never go back. He’d make it too real, too quick, too much, too anything.

“Cheers to a successful fake relationship,” I said, pushing my glass against his once more before bringing it to my mouth. “We’re a good fake couple.”

His face seemed frozen for a second, like his thoughts were racing and maybe he didn’t like what I was saying. His tongue seemed to glide upon his lower lip, and I thought, for a second, he’d bring it all up.

Was he wondering how much was fake and how much was real? Did he forget, sometimes, that the whole reason this started was so I could get with someone else?

“Good wine,” I commented, offering a forced smile to lighten the mood.

I didn’t understand--if Harry was having feelings, he would have said something. He was the type of guy who spoke his mind and never felt bad about it. If Harry really wanted to, he could have made this real a while back.

“Yeah,” he said. “Good wine.”

I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the fact that Ethan was around, but nightfall had Harry feeling extra affectionate and extremely flirty. The vodka I’d already drank seemed to make my heart feel heavier in relation to the lack of reality in Harry and I’s relationship.

On one hand, pretending to date Harry left me with an adrenaline rush that I’d never experienced before--especially when his skin touched mine. On the other hand, each sweet thing Harry said and did made me feel even more like we were speeding towards a brick wall.

The inevitable break up would happen and everything we’d built--real or fake--would come crashing down.

But at half past 11pm and with the music blaring in their living room, I didn’t seem to have the wherewithal to think that far ahead. His arm snaked around my waist, he pulled me closer to him and spoke into my ear. “You look incredibly hot as a hippie.”

“Y’sure I don’t look like a hooker?” I asked, laughing against his chest as someone pushed past us to get towards the kitchen.

“Baby, y’look incredible,” he said, our faces close together in the dark of his apartment. If I didn’t know any better, I would have forgotten about the dinner we’d had, the things he’d said about Ethan, the agreement we’d made in September to string everyone along.

His hand moved down my back, resting on my butt as he looked down at me, a smirk growing on his lips. But luckily, I caught myself. I took a step back--realizing that we were about to ruin the entire plan because of a few too many drinks and the loud music that seemed to quicken my pulse.

“Harry,” I said, leaning up to his ear so he could hear me better. His arms pulled me closer to him, urging me to continue. “We have to do it. We have to break up.”

I felt his body stiffen, he pulled his head back to look down at me, a look of disgust was smeared on his face. “Nora--you’re seriously,” he cut himself off.

“I’m what, Harry?”

He didn’t answer--his silence made the anger in my chest grow with the thump of the bass. “I’m what, Harry?” I pulled back from him now, putting space between us as the drink in my hand sloshed over the edge of the glass.

He stared at me with angry eyes. His lips moved as if he wanted to form words, but couldn’t. I shoved a hand into his chest, hoping to make him cough up the words like they’d gone down the wrong tube. “What?!”

He swatted my arm away. “If you just want to do it, we’ll do it? Okay? We can break up right here so everyone knows and you can go running into his arms, right? That’s what you want?”

I let out a sarcastic laugh--bothered by the fact that he was so angry with me. He’d been the one putting it off. He’d been the one who’d been treating me like I actually mattered to him and if he was starting to feel like the lines were blurred and maybe we weren’t just pretending--he was late to the party.

He grabbed my wrist and brought me deeper into the living room, his voice still loud as he turned to face me. “Is this what you want? Right here in front of everyone?”

“Harry, relax,” I said, my tone more serious now as I tried to pry my wrist away from him. “You’re being an asshole.”

“Right, of course I am. I’m the asshole, and you--” he paused, trying to find the right words as he looked around the room. “You are annoying--did you know that? Maybe people always used to say that to you because it’s true, Nora. You’re just fucking annoying.”

I could feel my lips part, his words seemed to crawl into my heart and wrap around my lungs. The music seemed to quiet and the voices in the room seemed to become more hushed, and when I looked past Harry’s shoulder, I saw Ethan watching our scene with wide eyes--just like I’d always wanted. But something about this felt real--Harry’s words were not just pretend. The anger in his voice wasn’t just an act, and suddenly, he wasn’t just my coworker with a penchant for pissing me off.

I could feel everyone’s eyes on us, sweeping stares and hurried glances alike made tears well in my eyes as I tried to come to my senses. I was stupid to think that I could trust Harry with that insecurity--baring my soul in the hotel room we’d shared three weeks earlier felt like a dream I was trying to hold onto.

“Fuck you,” I said quietly, my voice too fragile to be any louder. “That’s fucking low.”

“You’re low, Nora,” he said, the pink sunglasses on his face were pushed up and in his hair now. “This whole thing was low.” He motioned around the room, and while everyone else was clueless as to what he was talking about, I knew.

He meant pretending to date to make Ethan jealous. He meant that all of it--everything we’d done over the last two months--was a waste of time and, apparently, annoying.

I turned to walk away quickly, sobs threatening to spill over at any second. I pushed through the crowd and headed for Niall’s bedroom, slamming the door behind me and pausing there until I heard the music get louder and the talking and laughing resume outside. I was stuck--both physically and emotionally--locked inside of Niall’s bedroom as if I didn’t need to get out of this apartment any time soon.

I was drunk--I chalked up the tears and the nauseousness and the quickened heartbeat to the four drinks and two shots I’d had, hoping that if I could just sober up, just take away the tipsiness, I’d be fine.

Maybe I was stupid to think that Harry and I could fake it like we did. Maybe I was stupid to think that things wouldn’t get messy and that there’d be no feelings hurt. And maybe we’d been so good at pretending that both of us got caught up in the moment and thought that there was a chance for something more.

“Nora?” I heard a voice sound from the other side of the door as two knocks made my body shake against it.

I expected it to be Kristen, but when I opened it quickly, Ethan stood on the other side. Of course it was Ethan. His face--upon seeing me--was concerned. He squeezed through and then shut the door behind us.

“Hey, hi, are you okay? What just happened?”

I let out a dry laugh, unsure if any one of us knew the answer to his question. “I don’t know, Ethan.”

“Come here, come sit,” he said, taking my elbow to bring me towards Niall’s bed. I’d flicked the light switch on, revealing a heap of dirty clothes in the corner next to a bike that I’d never seen Niall ride.

I followed him over and sat, wiping at my eyes carefully so as to not damage the inordinate amount of make up I was wearing. “I don’t even know what just happened, but clearly, we’re done.”

The words felt ironic coming out of my mouth--I mean, we’d never really started to begin with. But Ethan didn’t know that, and in this moment, it felt like whatever type of anything I had with Harry was sure to be dead.

“It’s okay, I know, I’m really sorry--he was being a total dick out there,” Ethan said, his voice was soft and his hand now held onto mine between us, our knees touched on top of Niall’s navy comforter. “He’s making a huge mistake by letting you go.”

I nodded, hoping to calm my emotions as I tried to swallow. Ethan’s words were sweet--but I wondered how drunk he was. When I looked up at him, he offered me a smile that I couldn’t help but return--inebriated or not. “I’m sure I look like a fucking idiot,” I said, letting my eyes trail down to the floral print dress. The headband around my forehead (which matched the print of Harry’s shirt) was starting to itch--I grabbed at it quickly, pulling it off and running a hand through my hair.

“You look as beautiful as ever,” he laughed, his blue eyes seemed to scan over my face in an effort to remember my features. Yeah--he was definitely drunk.

Whether it was the alcohol or the crying or the emotional outburst from Harry, I suddenly had the courage to lean forward and kiss him, pressing my lips to his as I moved closer to him on the bed. This is what I wanted, right? Ethan and me, making out, roaming hands, his fingers knew exactly where to connect on my hips as I suddenly was on top of him.

My thoughts seemed to race from Harry to Kristen (she knew the break up was coming, she probably thought the living room scene was planned) to Niall to work to Ethan. But despite the fact that I was kissing the assured love of my life, my head kept circling around Harry and the relationship grand finale and every other scene before that.

Waffles in New York and the emergency room and the information desk and in my dorm when I was sick. Mini golf on the river and driving home to DC in the car. Coaching his soccer league and playing truth or dare. I watched as each scene seemed to play in front of me, my heart pounding against my chest as I heard the door open behind us.

“Nora--can we just--”

I was off of Ethan in seconds, stood up and turning around, smoothing out my dress and combing my hair with my hands, face to face with Harry--who looked remarkably less angry than he was five minutes ago. His eyes were wide and his mouth ajar, he reached a hand up to rub the back of his neck.

Ethan stood behind me, clearing his throat in an awkward attempt to break up the silence. “Hey, man, it’s totally not--”

“Shut up, Ethan,” he scoffed, shaking his head in disgust.

Why did he come in here? Why didn’t he storm out of the party in the opposite direction and find another drink on the way? Why did he choose now to knock on the door and salvage whatever broken pieces he’d left on the floor in the living room? Why, even more so, was he coming in here if he thought I was so annoying?

“Harry don’t be mad at him,” I said, stepping forward, an ache in my chest telling me that everything was crashing down. Like we were a city and bombs were going off around us, the walls were caving in and there seemed to be no way out.

“Of course not, Nora,” his tone was flippant and resentful as he raised his palms towards the sky. “And I can’t be mad at you, either, right? You got exactly what you wanted.”

He looked back at Ethan as he turned to leave. “Go fuck yourself, mate.”

AN: y’allllllll. this is the biggest chapter YET. wow. What do you think? Please come chat with me and share your thoughts and PLEASE reblog if you like my writing or this story or me in general please and thanks :’) *********also i called this chapter 10 at first because i’m an idiot, it’s chapter 8 y’all pls forgive my stupid ass***********

taglist: @bathrobesinparadise @stylesfics-xx @you-sure-are-magneato @bookofstyles @mylovehes @astro-sweetheart @love-qwertyuiop-things @nataleefrantz @biteharrysthigh @wanderlustiing @flooome @singingintherainnnxx @tile-rose

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles story #harry styles series #harry styles fic

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justanoutlawfic · 5 years

Note

Could I request a RainyStar Hyperion Heights prompt? If your still taking prompts (о´∀`о)

The smell of paints, they always reminded Drizella of coffee grinds for some reason. As she looked around the studio, she took in the mess that she would’ve never been allowed to make in her own home or even in the penthouse apartment she lived in on her own. Victoria was always around somehow, always lurking, always judging.

If anyone ever said that Drizella didn’t suffer somehow under this curse, they’d be wrong.

Lily Page stood at the canvas, going over the pencil sketch carefully. Not Lily, Luna. Luna. Drizella had to remind herself of that. Even though she had the same dark brown hair and piercing green eyes, she wasn’t Lily. This wasn’t the woman that wore leather and spoke about the darkness that once harbored her soul. This was Luna Hargrove, a painter, who lived with her mother after losing her paint gallery due to Victoria’s gentrification of Hyperion Heights. She wore overalls splattered with light paints and her hair was pulled back in a bun. The only thing that remained the same was that crescent moon necklace around her neck.

Drizella had met Lily way back before the curse was set. When Maleficent and Regina came to help Henry fight Tremaine, Lily had come along. Drizella had watched her from afar, admiring her fight skills. She could transform into a dragon and had the magic that came along with it. During her session with Regina, Drizella had learned that Lily had been stuffed with darkness, but overcame it with time. It had been told as a confidence booster, as if to say that she could do it too. Drizella had only been tricking Regina at the time, but God, there were others she wished she was right.

There was no way that Lily or Luna was ever going to love her. Not the way she was. It was too late to go back and it wasn’t as if she could give up the curse. All she could do, was make her life as easy as possible.

Drizella cleared her throat and Luna startled, her round glasses nearly falling off her nose in the process. She pushed them back on her face as she turned around to face her.

“Ivy.” She bit her lip, twiddling with her thumbs. God, had she become a shrinking violet under this curse. “How can I help you?”

Drizella ignored her at first, stepping forward to view the sketch. It was a unique view of yin and yang, the sun and moon kissing surrounded by stars smiling. “Pretty,” she whispered.”

Luna shrugged. “I mostly do it for pleasure now. Your mother drove me out of my studio.”

“I heard.” Drizella ran her fingers over the brushes. “So, you paint up here now?”

“Used to be my mom’s home gym. She sold her elliptical so I could set up here.”

“Well isn’t that sweet of her.” She did her best to hide the bitterness of her voice. Of course, even cursed, Maleficent had to be mother of the year.

“Listen, I don’t want to be rude…”

Of course not. Back in the Enchanted Forest, Lily would be threatening to burn her to a crisp. Luna, on the other hand, was so freaking polite it drove Drizella crazy. She turned back to face her.

“I’m giving you back your studio.”

Luna tilted her head. “But I can’t…”

“You can afford it. Trust me.”

“I’m so confused. Your mom said she was going to put something else there.”

“My mother doesn’t know everything. I took care of it.” Drizella held out the keys. “Same rent as before, if you can manage to swing that.”

The tear pooled up in Luna’s eyes and she lunged forward, throwing her arms around her. Drizella stood in place for a minute, the affection a rare treat for her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been hugged and maybe part of that was her own fault. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around Luna and allowed herself to enjoy it for a moment, before slowly patting her back.

“Thank you!” Luna exclaimed, pulling away, the tears falling. “Seriously, thank you!”

Drizella nodded. “Just, don’t screw it up.”

“I won’t, I promise.” She wiped furiously at her eyes. “Hey, I have some wine somewhere. Why don’t we open a bottle, knock a few back?”

Drizella knew she should walk away. In reality, Lily wouldn’t want to spend any time with her. If the curse were to break tomorrow, she’d kill her for what she did to her step-brother.

And yet, Drizella found herself smiling and saying, “Okay.”

#rainy star #drizella tremaine #lily page #remember she's cursed #ouat #once upon a time #anon asks #asked and answered

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ladyherenya · 4 years

Photo

Books read in October

Twenty novels (including two audiobooks), three graphic novels, one novella and two rereads: more books than are pictured above. I can’t remember the last time I read so much in a month. Maybe when I was high school?

It was a combination of factors: Rainbow Rowell’s latest books became available at the library, I realised that Meg Cabot’s Heather Wells books are murder mysteries, and I made the very exciting discovery that I could get Ellen Emerson White’s previously-out-of-print novels as ebooks.

Favourite cover: Life Without Friends.

Reread: Bryony and Roses by T. Kingfisher, Hold Me by Courtney Milan (and then The Road Home).

Still reading: Mapping Winter by Marta Randall and When We Were Warriors by Emma Carroll.

Next up: Warrior of the Altaii by Robert Jordan.

(Longer reviews and ratings are on LibraryThing. And also Dreamwidth.)

The Princess Who Flew with Dragons by Stephanie Burgis: Princess Sofia is unimpressed when her sister’s latest plans involve sending Sofia on a diplomatic mission to Villenne. Sofia wants to stay in her room and read, not remind everyone that she struggles to be a perfect princess. But in Villenne she discovers unexpected opportunities to attend lectures and make friends. And when calamity strikes, it’s up to her to save the day. A solid adventure about friendship and what it means to be a princess, a philosopher and a person all at once. It’s the sort of book I’d like to send back in time to my twelve-year-old self.

The “Uncommon Echoes” trilogy by Sharon Shinn: Set in a world where many of the nobility have “echoes” -- identical copies who follow them, more substantial than shadows but not capable of speech or independent action. Or so people believe. Begins with Echo in Onyx.

Echo in Emerald: After a story about an ordinary woman pretending to be an echo, here is a woman pretending her echoes are ordinary people. Chessie has the ability to shift her consciousness between herself and her two echoes, enough to give the impression that they are three different people with different personalities and jobs. Usually she keeps to the lower classes, but one day she’s asked to deliver a message to a noble who is investigating a recent murder.(Another inversion, another case of themes and variations, as the first book is about trying to conceal a murder.)This builds upon the first book, deepening our understanding of the political context and of echoes. Chessie’s experience of identity is fascinating.

Echo in Amethyst: A story about echo who slowly gains sentience and independence from her original is a good idea in theory, a logical progression for this trilogy. But it turned out to be a massive misstep. The echo belongs to a woman who is abusive towards her echoes and rude towards nearly everyone else. The echo spends a long time incapable of being anything other than a passive observer of unpleasant people. I skimmed bits and seriously considered abandoning this. Not recommended -- but the first two books standalone sufficiently that you could read just those without this series feeling naggingly incomplete.

Pumpkinheads by Rainbow Rowell, illustrated by Faith Erin Hicks: Super cute! All through high school Josiah and Deja have worked together at the pumpkin patch every September and October. Tonight is their last shift. Deja is determined that Josiah is finally going to speak to the girl he likes. Nothing goes to plan. This is a story about changes, chances and choices. It’s also a love letter to everything Josiah and Deja love about the pumpkin patch -- which includes their relationship. I really liked the characters, and the artwork does such a wonderful job of bringing them, and this place, to life.

The Spies of Shilling Lane by Jennifer Ryan (narrated by Jayne Entwistle): Unexpectedly entertaining, a cosy mystery full of excitement, danger and character growth, set against the backdrop of the London Blitz. Mrs Braithwaite, divorced and deposed from her position as head of the village Women’s Voluntary Service, tries to find her missing adult daughter. Mrs Braithwaite is a very forceful personality. I really liked that she is not only challenged to reevaluate her attitudes, she discovers that qualities like bossiness and tenacity can be great strengths. Large, loud and assertive middle-aged women are so often been relegated to irritating or comedic minor characters, rather than getting to be protagonists.

An Enchantment of Ravens by Margaret Rogerson: Isobel has spent years painting portraits of the fair folk. She knows to speak courteously, make bargains carefully, and avoid jeopardising her family’s safety. And then she meets the prince of the autumn court. I have mixed feelings. I really liked Isobel, with her practical streak and her passion for painting, and liked the way she describes her experiences. The people she’s closest to are quickly established as interesting, complex and individual. However, this story leans heavily into a portrayal of the fair folk which I don’t find very appealing. A matter of personal taste rather than quality.

Artistic License by Elle Pierson (aka Lucy Parker): I wasn’t sure what to expect from an early self-published novel about an art student and a security guard in New Zealand, especially as the London theatre world is a big part of why Parker’s other books appeal to me. But Queenstown is such a scenic setting and the characters immediately felt like the sort of people Parker writes about. I particularly enjoyed Sophy’s internal dialogue, and how she and Mick become very protective of each other. They’re so mutually caring! In hindsight, this book could have been stronger... but I liked the characters and their interactions. Sometimes that’s enough.

The Printed Letter Bookshop by Katherine Reay: A story about cross-age friendship and forgiveness, about three different women working together in a bookshop. Madeline, a lawyer, has inherited the bookshop from her aunt. Janet is angry and has an ex husband, adult children who rarely speak to her and old friends she wants to avoid. In the middle is Claire, aware of the shop’s precarious finances and trying to juggle work with motherhood. I’d nearly finished this when I realised it’s classified as “Christian fiction”. I really liked how it is about forgiveness and messy, complicated relationships. Not a perfect book, but it surprised me.

The “Heather Wells Mysteries” by Meg Cabot:

Size 12 Is Not Fat: I discovered that this series isn’t just chick lit, it’s murder mystery chick lit about a former pop singer now working as an assistant director for a college dorm. (Talk about misleading covers!) When a student is found dead, Heather is convinced that it wasn’t an accident but murder. At times Heather reminded me of Mia from The Princess Diaries, which I found fascinating and frustrating (some attitudes are more understandable coming from a teenager than from a woman approaching thirty). Anyway, Heather is kind and humorous, I liked the setting, and the mystery had enough twists to satisfy me.

Size 14 Is Not Fat Either: More of the same, except that this time when a student turns up dead, it’s obvious to everyone that she has been murdered. Instead of trying to convince everyone of the need for a murder investigation, Heather is trying -- unsuccessfully -- not to get involved in it. I like how supportive Heather’s friends and colleagues are. Her father has been absent (in jail), her mother and her manager ran off with Heather’s money, and her long term boyfriend was unfaithful, but she’s still got people in her life who care and who are there for her. And I did enjoy some of her song lyrics.

Size Doesn’t Matter (US title: Big Boned): I was relieved that this time round the murder victim is not another female student. Yes, murder is horrible regardless, but there can be something particularly unpleasant if a story keeps only killing young women. I definitely don’t want murder mysteries to be all grim and bleak, but I prefer it when murder mysteries aren’t this light-hearted. This isn’t a criticism, just a realisation about my personal taste. I kept reading to see some resolution in Heather’s love life. (I know, priorities). I’ve no idea the woman on the cover is wearing a wedding dress. Marketing is weird.

Wayward Son by Rainbow Rowell: Simon, Baz and Penelope set off on a roadtrip across America to see Agatha, who Penelope is convinced is in trouble. Rowell is so good making me care about her characters and their relationships. I liked how this is a journey of discovery -- exploring a new country, finding out things about the world they live in and learning more about themselves. I enjoyed reading this but wasn’t so enthusiastic about the final act (it becomes a story about vampires) or the conclusion (busy setting up for a sequel, it leaves emotional arcs unresolved). Expectations and personal preferences, I guess.

Life Without Friends by Ellen Emerson White: I was so excited when I discovered that this had been released as an ebook. A decade of wanting to read something may be an unfair amount of pressure to put on any book, especially on a teen novel from 1987, but I was not disappointed. White is so good at writing smart, acerbic teenage girls dealing with trauma and intense emotions, like guilt and grief. And Beverly’s relationship with Derek is so believably awkward and tentative and hopeful -- two people with their own flaws and fears making the effort to get to know each other. It’s, like, everything I want from teen romance.

To Be Taught, If Fortunate by Becky Chambers: A team from the 22nd century explore four habitable worlds in orbit around a red dwarf star. It’s a fascinating glimpse into what the future might be like -- what space travel and other worlds might be like -- and a thought-provoking meditation about space, science and life. When it comes to the characters, there’s something quite elliptical about it -- which is fitting, given that Ariadne is writing this account for a specific purpose. It left me feeling unsatisfied, but I think that’s because there are particular things I’m looking for and this novella intentionally -- and effectively -- focuses on something else.

The Sinister Mystery of the Mesmerizing Girl by Theodora Goss (narrated by Kate Reading): The Athena Club return to London from one extraordinary adventure and are plunged into another. Their teenaged kitchen maid Alice has been kidnapped, Sherlock Holmes is missing and there is a plot afoot to impersonate the queen. This story has adventure, teamwork, mystery, unexpected twists, more cameos by characters from popular Victorian fiction, and commentary on late Victorian concerns (like empire and eugenics). My favourite part was the Athena Club's interactions when they interrupt the narrative to discuss their lives together, highlight what they think is important or argue about what Catherine included. They’re a team, a household, a family.

All Emergencies, Ring Super by Ellen Emerson White: A teenager asks Dana, a former actress working as a building superintendent, to investigate a building fire. This was curiously lacking in tension --- until things became intensely personal. By the end, I was seriously disappointed that there isn’t a whole series about Dana solving mysteries. I like that Dana investigates by doing research at the library, making use of her acting abilities and enlisting support from friends. Her friendships are one of the highlights -- smart, difficult people who are honest with each other is an interesting dynamic. And the way White writes about the aftermath of trauma is compelling and thoughtful.

The “Echo Company” series by Ellen Emerson White: I read all five books in two days. They’re fast-paced and some aren’t particularly long -- they were published by Scholastic in the early 90s -- but that is only part of why I read them so quickly. They are compelling and unexpectedly fascinating.

Welcome to Vietnam: Eighteen year old Michael Jennings is conscripted to fight in Vietnam -- and I really wanted to see him to find his feet, make friends and survive. I can relate to how much he cares about his dog, and his sense of humour makes him an entertaining character to spend time with, even though he’s been thrown into a terrible, terrifying situation. Even knowing what wars can be like, I was still surprised by conditions the soldiers faced. I was also surprised by how interesting I found it all. It left me thinking about a lot.

Hill 568: Michael has made some friends (and some enemies), he’s grown accustomed to some of the realities of life on the frontlines in Vietnam, and he takes on more responsibility. White’s characters are lively and, in spite of the situations they’re in, often humorous. That humour is a huge part of why this is an engaging story, like an antidote to the horrors of war, but it also serves to emphasise that all those horrible things are happening to a bunch of ordinary young men barely out of school. This book made me laugh, and made me worry about the characters.

‘Tis the Season: Twenty-one year old Lieutenant Rebecca Phillips is a nurse working in the ER of an evacuation hospital in Vietnam. Although already dealing with grief and difficult family relationships and a nightmarish workplace, she’s a bright, upbeat person who goes out of her way to entertain others. Self-appointed “Court Jester”. During the Christmas ceasefire she goes out on a medical helicopter -- and everything goes to hell. There are more medical details than I, a squeamish person, really prefer, but once I got to know Rebecca -- and also once her circumstances became tense and terrifying -- I was very, very invested.

Stand Down: This has some tense moments, but otherwise feels a bit lighter -- a welcome change of pace after everything the characters have been through. Michael spends a lot of time moping over correspondence (or lack thereof) from a nurse he’s met once -- but in context, that’s very understandable. He so desperately needs something positive and hopeful to focus on. I like that Michael’s and Rebecca’s initial interactions aren’t easy, because that feels realistic in the circumstances, and because it’s a positive sign that they’re able to get through awkward conversations; it sets them up to be honest with each other.

The Road Home: I stayed up stupidly late reading this, on a school night too. White is so good at writing about dealing with the aftermath of trauma, and about smart, difficult people making an effort to build relationships -- friendships as well as romances. This follows Rebecca’s final six months serving as a nurse in Vietnam, and the months afterwards. It’s about the things that get her through the war (letters, friendships, alcohol) and the difficulties of adjusting to life back home. I love how this book deals realistically but hopefully with so many things. I have a lot of feelings and favourite passages.

Applied Electromagnetism by Susannah Nix: Two colleagues who travel interstate to do a job with a deadline find themselves under extra pressure due to complications of bad weather. I liked all the references to Olivia and Adam’s nerdy interests, and I thought the discussions of Olivia’s ADHD and her experiences as a woman in STEM were interesting. Otherwise nothing jumped out at me as deserving of criticism or praise, it was all just okay. Less humorous than I expected from something book described as “romantic comedy”, but that was okay. (And maybe someone else would find it funny, humour is such a your-mileage-may-vary thing.)

The Tea Dragon Society by Katie O’Neill: I love the concept of tea dragons and a tea dragon society. And the dragons are really cute! But the way people’s expressions are drawn in this graphic novel didn’t quite appeal to me and I think that coloured how I felt about the book as a whole. And it’s not a very long story, so it doesn’t have so many opportunities to win over a reader who isn’t enamoured with the illustrations. I’m sorry, book, I’m sure there are other readers out there who will appreciate you!

Runaways: That Was Yesterday (volume 3) by Rainbow Rowell and Kris Anka with Matthew Wilson: Follows on from Find Your Way Home and Best Friends Forever and involves the reappearance of someone from the Runaways’ past, the appearance of children of old enemies and Christmas. I read three volumes of the original Runaways comics last year -- and this volume really left me feeling like maybe I’d appreciate it more if I’d read those more recently or else if I’d read more of them. Or maybe it was just that it focused a lot on a character I don’t like as much? But, I still liked it. I definitely would like to read more.

#Herenya reviews books #Sharon Shinn #Rainbow Rowell #Ellen Emerson White #Stephanie Burgis #Margaret Rogerson #Lucy Parker #Katherine Reay #Meg Cabot #Becky Chambers #Theodora Goss #Susannah Nix #Katie O'Neill #Finally posting this

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miserablesoldier · 5 years

Text

I Don't Know

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Possessed! Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes has been crushing on you from afar in the gym and Wanda has had enough and decides to befriend you but she wasn’t expecting to see what’s inside your head.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warning: swearing, possession, kidnapping (?)

Author's Note: This is a one shot and I don’t tag people so please don’t ask, thank you. Feel free to listen to the song to get a gist of where I was coming from at 4 in the morning. IDK by Bruce Wiegner.

You knew exactly who he was as soon as the very first day you joined your local gym. You went out of your way to not catch his line of sight, meet his eyes or collide into him in any way.

You used very visible and bright blue ear phones and an arm strap that held your phone as music blasted into your ears. It helped to ignore him and the resident in the back of your head.

The voice in the back of your head didn’t belong to you, it belonged to someone or rather something demonic but you had no choice but to house it.

You made a deal, and now, you’re alive but you’re never alone.

It was a coin flip daily on the whether that was a good or bad thing. Seven out of ten times it was bad, but there were some good days and you prayed for those every time you woke up.

Wanda was working her body on the elliptical and saw almost immediately where her friends line of sight was staring at.

Her eyes caught the sight of you, running casually on the treadmill against the wall on the other side of the gym. She shook her head, exhaling and slowed down her rhythm and sliding off. Making her way to Bucky by the weights.

“You know it’s considered creepy to stare at a woman in the gym these days.” Wanda smirked, crossing her arms.

Bucky blinked and set the dumbbell on the rack. He shook his head with a chuckle. “I wasn’t staring.”

A lie. “Oh? Is the term ogling? Leering? Being a 100 year old virgin?”

“Wrong super soldier.” He said, avoiding the questions. He had to admit to himself he was staring but not in a creepy way (he hoped) as it was obvious that you were beautiful but it seemed he’s lost whatever charm he had in the 40s.

He just can’t seem to walk over to you, pick up a conversation with you like a normal, functional human being as he should be. You would come in nearly every weekday and run for an hour or two, then head to the swimming pool do your laps and then leave. Not that he knew your schedule or anything.

“Talk to her then, she’s not going to bite you.” Wanda suggested, shrugging her shoulders and looking over to you.

She had an idea.

And a point. “I can’t...” He's afraid, not of rejection, but of the possibility of him telling her all of his baggage, her running away from him, her being frightened of him and the darker part of him. He hated that.

“Then I will.” She left him, walking confidently over to you.

His eyes widened as he just stood there frozen, watching her walk over to you. A coldness spread through his stomach and straight to his heart, he was nervous and had those butterflies that they all talk about in the movies and books.

Wanda tapped on your shoulder, confused you slowed down the treadmill to a stop and pulled your earphones out of your ears.

Threading the ear buds and wires through your fingers, you rose an eyebrow and chose the polite route. “Yes?”

She looked familiar but you weren’t sure where to place her in your memory. She smiled warmly at you before speaking. “I’m Wanda, me and my friend, Bucky, have been going to this gym for a while now and he’s got this adorable crush on you. He’s too shy to say anything though.”

This was new. She looked back at Bucky and you followed. You saw him, and now you could place her. She was one of those Avenger folk.

Play the part of a bubbly, happy gym girl.

The voice told you and you conceded. You gave him a shy smile, he waved back to you. He was incredibly handsome, intensely strong especially with that metallic looking arm of his, but you couldn’t go there. That wasn’t your future.

Play the part, you remembered. You turned back to Wanda and smiled. “He's shy?”

She laughed and nodded. “Doesn’t look it but he is. Is it okay if I give him your phone number?”

“Not my name?” You smirked.

She liked you. “Well, he’ll need something to moan out.”

This could be fun.

Shut up, you willed the voice in your head.

You gave her your phone number. “My name is (Y/N).”

Wanda was thrilled. “Thanks, hopefully I’ll see you soon.” She winked and placed her hand gently on your elbow and felt something she shouldn’t have.

A dark, old presence.

Kill. Kill. Kill.

It feels so good.

I bet it’ll feel really good to kill him.

Her eyes widened, her fingers lit up with a red essence and it shot up straight to your forehead, sending you to a quick and deep sleep.

You fell forward against her, limp like a rag doll.

Bucky saw the whole thing and rushed over, making sure no one saw. He held you up and you rolled against him, he lifted you up, holding you as he would a bride.

He glared at Wanda. “Why did you do that for?”

She shushed him and ushered him to the emergency exit. “I accidentally read her and she wanted to kill you.”

He shook his head. He couldn’t process that right now. They made it into the car park, Wanda opened the back seat and he slid you in the back, closing the door and getting in the drivers seat.

It was much later, you slowly started to wake up but you kept your eyes closed for as long as possible. Feigning sleep, you felt the straps and confines around your wrists, ankles and abdomen.

You heard her voice, the one who knocked you out and a male voice, you assumed was Bucky's, the one that harboured some sort of crush on you.

Use that.

You’ve done enough, you thought and you listened to what they said.

“Oh, yes, Steve, we will be fine alone in the compound while you and the others are on mission. What could possible go wrong? Oh, right, we kidnapped a woman!” He hissed out.

Wanda tapped her foot. “She will wake up soon and we can find out exactly what she wants from you.”

Nothing, I want to go home. You sighed, announcing your consciousness to them both. They both stood up as you opened your eyes.

You noticed the gun in his hands, your eyes softened at him. “That won’t be necessary.” You winced at the pain in your back.

“I think it is, (Y/N), why do you want to kill him? Did someone from Hydra send you?” Wanda questioned you, her hands lit up red again, ready to strike when provoked.

Your brow furrowed, more confused than you were before. “I don’t know whatever Hydrant is, and I can explain what you think you saw in me.”

The light disappeared from her fingers and he lowered his gun. “What do you mean think she saw?”

You sighed, you hated explaining this part of you. “I am possessed.”

A silence passed.

Wanda spoke first. “Possessed? Like, um, demon possession from those horrible horror films?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, I don’t spin, distort my body or crawl like a crab on the ceiling.”

Bucky chuckled. “Then what?”

“Twenty years ago, I sold my soul. Then, when my time was up ten years later I was killed and dragged into hell. In January of this year, I made another deal to come back but with a friend that takes up residence in my head.”

Another silence.

They didn’t believe you.

“Show me.” Bucky said, you looked up at him.

“I show you and I can go home?”

Wanda considered it. “Yes, but we keep tabs on you.” Until the team comes back from their mission.

Don’t make it worse.

You nodded and closed your eyes, they quickly flashed open pure black. Wanda took a step back but Bucky stayed where he was, staring at you, entranced.

The demon behaved and relinquished control back to you. You looked back at Bucky. “Still want to go on that date?” You laughed a little.

Bucky smiled. “Yes.”

I just want to find a way to get out of my mind,

Craving validation from some people I don’t like,

I don’t know them so why am I caring so much?

I don’t know

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #wanda maximoff #reader insert #marvel fanfic #fanfic #bucky x reader #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #the winter soldier #marvel fics #mcu

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